Fight or Flight (3 page)

Then, reality came crashing down with one inquiry from a little boy standing with the family gathered behind her.
“Which way?”

Good freaking question.

The group—a woman and three children—was rounded up by an older male and marched west along the sidewalk. At least someone seemed to have a destination in mind. She sure didn’t. Choosing a direction at random, Emerson moved east away from the station. Mostly so that she wouldn’t be tempted to keep following that family.

It was incredible.
All of it. The streets, the buildings, the people. All moving a mile a minute, never slowing down, never questioning their progress. Just going, going, going. Emerson wished she had that kind of direction in her life, but confidence had never been something she’d had in spades. 
He’d
made sure of that.

Dusk was settling over the city and one thing she was sure of was that she didn’t want to be out on the streets when night fell. She could only imagine the types of people the darkness would bring out to play. Walking endlessly, she chose streets and directions largely at random. Gradually, the enormous buildings and jam-packed sidewalks started to fade away, revealing smaller shops in neglected neighborhoods.

The crowds had given Emerson a sense of security she’d been loathed to leave behind, but there were men in uniforms everywhere, guarding doors and blocking entranceways. She still looked put together enough to get inside—unlike some others she’d seen turned away—but there wasn’t a chance in hell any of them would be letting her spend the night. No, if she was going to find a place to crash it would have to be away from the well-guarded hub of the city center.

As the sun sank below the buildings, long shadows stretched out across the pavement like skeletal fingers reaching out for her. At the end of the block, a group of about ten girls loitered in
short skirts and shirts too tiny for the rapidly cooling temperatures. A guy with a leather coat and slicked-back hair leaned up against a brick wall chatting with a couple of them.

As Emerson drew cautiously nearer, the chat seemed to escalate into something more like an argument and she drew to a stop. Without warning, the grease ball shoved one of the girls violently into the wall and then hit the other so hard she fell to the sidewalk when she tried to intervene. Emerson’s pulse pounded in her ears as she scanned the streets for anyone who might step in, but no one else seemed to even notice what was happening.

The grease ball just watched while the second girl peeled herself back up off the concrete and the first adjusted her top. When they were both situated again, the two of them moved to the corner to join the others. Grease-ball struck up a conversation with another girl and that seemed to be the end of it.

Emerson was stunned by everyone’s easy acceptance of his abuse, but she wasn’t about to be the one to say something and risk putting herself on the receiving end of his next flying fist.
Instead, she turned around and headed back in the opposite direction like the
useless coward
she was.

It was almost full dark when she found herself in a park, thinking that maybe she could get a little rest on a bench somewhere. Just inside the gate, however, she ran into a group of teens about her age—a girl and two guys—but it wasn’t their gender, or even their age that attracted her attention. It was what they were wearing.

The guys both sported torn jeans and stained t-shirts even though it was starting to become a bit too chilly for that. One of them even wore a studded collar and several spiked leather bracelets. The girl also wore jeans and a t-shirt, all of which were way too large for her thin frame. At least she had on a jacket. A large tear ripped up the back of it and white fluff poked out like an early snowfall, but she didn’t seem to mind.

A shiver rippled through Emerson. With the failing daylight, she was becoming cold herself even with her heavy sweater and t-shirt underneath. For a moment, she thought about
putting her coat on, before remembering that she had stuffed it in her bag. The one that was now ancient history. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she tried to get closer to the group as inconspicuously as possible. The last thing she wanted was to start trouble—especially with dog collar boy—but if anyone would know of a good place for her to spend the night, it would probably be them.

“We can’t go there,” the girl argued, her golden blonde braid flicking across her back as she shook her head. “You know they raid that place.”

“No, I’m telling you, not tonight.” For someone rocking that much leather and scary jewelry, his voice was rather high pitched and whiny when he spoke. “The place was under renovation, but they ran out of funds. No one’s gonna be there. It’s gonna be the perfect crash pad for the next couple months, at least.”

“I don’t know. You remember what happened the last time we followed one of your hair-brained ideas?”

“It’s not like we’ve got any better options.” The second guy draped an arm over the girl’s shoulders. “The old place is out, you know that, Al. Can you think of anywhere better to go?”

She shrugged off his arm before admitting defeat. The decision seemed to have been made, and that decided it for Emerson as well. Wherever this place was, if it was good enough for them, it was good enough for her.

She did her best to be discreet, but she was hardly James Bond. If they had bothered to pay her any attention whatsoever, it would have been painfully clear that she was following them like some kind of creepy stalker. They didn’t, however, seem to notice or care about her presence.

As they entered a warehouse district, large, windowless, concrete buildings lined both sides of the street. They passed by several before finally pausing outside of one that looked—to Emerson, at least—exactly like every other one. It was going to take her some time to figure this place out.

“You sure, man?” Al’s anxious voice resonated with the swarm of butterflies doing loop-de-loops inside Emerson’s gut. What if she was crashing some kind of private party? What if everyone out here had the same quick temper and violent tendencies as Grease-ball on the corner?

“Yeah, trust me. It’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

Without further argument, they followed dog collar boy across the street and through a rusted metal door hanging open on the side of the building, leaving Emerson standing alone on the sidewalk. This was it. She’d come this far, there really wasn’t any point in turning back now. And it wasn’t like she had anywhere else to go. Night had arrived and it was time to take a chance.

The rusted door squealed in protest as she wrenched it open. Emerson recoiled at the blatant announcement of her arrival, but few faces turned her way. Those that did quickly lost interest once they determined she had nothing of interest.
Easy to do since she had
nothing at all
.

The warehouse floor was littered with people—some clustered in small groups, others alone like
herself. They had all laid out blankets, towels, even newspaper, claiming most of the floor space. The only available space left was near the large bay doors at the front of the building.

Emerson didn’t have anything to make a bed out of, but she was more than willing to sleep on a concrete floor as long as she could sleep. It had been a long, strenuous day, both physically and mentally, and she was beyond ready to crash. She would live and learn.  Tomorrow maybe she would collect some supplies from somewhere before returning. According to dog collar boy, this should be a decent place to crash for th
e next couple of months. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad here, after all.

Easing into her newfound confidence, Emerson settled into an open area beside the bay doors. It didn’t take long to figure out why everyone else had avoided them. While the doors were closed and locked, there was still a brutal draft blowing underneath them. It whipped in and wrapped around her as she stretched out on the freezing, hard floor. She didn’t care. She refused to let things like a little cold wind and the lack of a mattress bother her. She’d made her decision, and now she had to live with it. No matter what that meant.

***

Emerson woke with a
jolt, unsure of what it was that had caused the sudden and unwelcome onslaught of consciousness. She groggily glanced around the warehouse, but everything was quiet. Soft breathing broken up by the occasional snore and joined by the rumble of thunder from above were the only sounds, but something felt . . . off.

She sat up looking around for what it was making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. It was difficult to see in the intermittent light, but still she searched. Then it hit her. It wasn’t anything
in
the light, it
was
the light. Not the steady glow of a street light, or even the brief flashes of lightening, this light was sweeping rhythmically across the room in a circular motion, and it was red and blue. Over the deluge of rain slapping against the concrete on the other side of the bay doors, Emerson could barely make out the sound of voices and radio static.

No! No, no, no.
The police were there and she was most definitely breaking and entering, loitering, and probably about a dozen other illegal things. If they caught her here it was over. They’d figure out who she was, and they’d send her home . . . to
him
.

She briefly toyed with the idea of sending up an alarm, alerting t
he others and joining a race for the closest exit, but she quickly swept it aside along with her guilt. If she was going to make it out of there, it had to be quietly.

The soles of her boots creaked slightly against the concrete floor as she picked her way along the wall, but she didn’t dare take them off in case she needed to make a run for it. Stepping over and around dozens of prone bodies, she made her way toward the back of the building. She had no idea where she was headed, but with the police out front, it seemed like the best direction to go.

The rear wall had a partial second level that looked like raised offices. The darkened windows were a tempting hiding spot, but if the police checked that far into the building, she’d be trapped. No. Getting out was the only option. There had to be another door.
Somewhere.

The further she got from the windows, the darker it got. Sleeping bodies turned into darkened lumps. Using the wall as her guide, Em slid her hands along the roughened concrete surface and shuffled along. Tiny steps to avoid—
Ah, crap!
To avoid exactly that.

Em gasped as her feet caught on something, bringing her down to her knees. Silently cursing her clumsiness, she worked to untangle her feet. It was a sleeping bag she’d tripped over.
And inside . . .

“Mmm. Watch it.” The girl from earlier—Al—rolled over in her sleep.

Emerson couldn’t believe it. This girl had literally been put right in her path. How could she ignore that? With a quick glance to the front of the building to be sure the raid hadn’t begun yet, she shook her awake.

Al shot up so fast—fists flying—that Emerson stumbled backward.

“Hey. Shh. Relax.” Apparently, Al had a serious aversion to being woken up.

“What the hell?”

“The police are here.” Emerson kept her voice low.

“What?” Al scrubbed at her face, dragging
herself the rest of the way back to consciousness.

“The police.
They’re outside.”

“
Shit
. Goddammit, I knew this would happen.” Al started rolling up her sleeping bag, suddenly wide awake.

“Should we wake the others?”

“There isn’t time. We gotta go. Now.”

“What about them?” Emerson gestured to dog collar boy and the other boy from earlier still sleeping soundly on the floor beside them.

“They got me into this mess in the first place. Let’s go.”

Al scooped up her bag and started to the left before drawing up short.

“Dammit all to hell.” She turned around and with a swift kick, connected with both boys.

“What the fuck?” One rolled over to glare at her, while the other only groaned. She’d hit dog collar boy a bit lower than the other.

“Cops are here. Great idea, jackass. Good luck.”

She glanced at Emerson before jerking her
head toward the far back corner. That was more than enough invitation for Emerson. She followed Al to an emergency exit hidden in the deep shadows.

“Rule number one,” Al had to shout to be heard as she pushed the door open and was immediately drowned out by the pouring rain. “Always know where the exits are. Number two. Divide and conquer. Thanks for your help back there, but now it’s time to go our separate ways.
Harder to chase that way. Good luck.”

Al had disappeared
before her words even registered with Emerson. So much for making friends out here. She was on her own. Again.

Chapter Four

Emerson

Emerson’s feet pounded the sidewalk, through puddles, across streets, around corners, and down alleys. She didn’t stop. She didn’t slow down. She didn’t know where she was going or if anyone was actually chasing her. She just needed to get away. Away from the threat of being sent back. Back to
him
. As far away as she could get.