What had he been thinking, not bringing something with him when he’d left Florida?
Well, he’d been thinking about the law. And about getting into trouble on campus.
But the law and campus rules seemed like distant concerns now, compared to the ones he faced.
James knew deep in his gut that something was seriously not right and it was only going to get worse. He didn’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t find his truck.
He glanced back at the lit-up store. It was the only light visible for as far as he could see. And, unfortunately, it made the store stand out like a beacon, welcoming those who might come and try to take what wasn’t theirs.
James hoped they would be okay. They seemed like good people.
A gust of wind came at him and he leaned against it, happy for the relative warmth of the jacket. And happy for the pain pills. But it was going to be a tough night regardless.
He knew the way to the highway. To the on-ramp.
But would his truck still be there?
What would Matt have done if the traffic had moved? Surely he’d wait for James.
19
Matt
“But you don’t understand,” Matt was saying. “This isn’t even my truck. Damaging it isn’t going to do anything to hurt me, if that’s your intention, which I believe it is, given your anger at me for crashing into your vehicle ... and I’d like to point out that such an action wasn’t indeed my fault.”
“Not your truck, eh?” grunted the big, broad man with a reddish face like a plate of nails.
“No, indeed not, sir,” said Matt, trying his best to be polite.
Matt was scared. Terrified. In fact, he’d urinated in his pants. Not that anyone needed to know that fact. Fortunately, his shirt and jacket would cover the crotch area, hiding the embarrassing wetness.
But he was trying to think positively, despite his terror.
He just needed to talk himself through this.
Maybe he could get out of this.
No, he was sure he could get out of this.
He had a lot of positive qualities after all.
But what were they?
Well, what was his job?
He was a professor. And what did that entail? Why did he have that job?
He had it because he was good at talking and thinking, right?
Okay. So he’d either talk or think his way out of this situation.
Thinking. Thinking.
Well, he couldn’t really think of anything.
Okay, then, what about talking?
He’d try it. It was all he had.
Think positive, think positive. He thought the words over and over.
“Not his truck! Hey! He says it’s not his truck!”
There was laughter.
Something smashed into the fender.
“Now I must insist ... this is really getting ridiculous ... what about the person who slammed into me? How is this my fault at all?”
“What about me?” said someone else, a terrifically strong-looking woman, with her hair in a tight ponytail. “What about me? Huh? What about me? What about me?”
She repeated the words over and over, like a mantra.
A loud noise. Something else smashing a taillight out.
Now a hissing noise, as the truck began to sink lower, the air rapidly exiting punctured tires.
“Now that’s really uncalled for,” said Matt. “Look, people, I’m sure we can come to terms with this issue ... if we all just take a couple of deep breaths and calm down.... I always say in class when an issue comes up, that there’s not going to be any resolution until we can all at least agree that each party needs to be respected ... that’s always first and foremost in any argument.”
“First and what?” spat the man, reaching a beefy hand through the window that Matt had quite foolishly lowered in order to speak more clearly with his assailants, or, at that time, potential assailants.
“First and...” But Matt didn’t get a chance to answer.
The beefy hand grabbed him around the bicep and yanked on him. Hard.
“Shit!” he found himself exclaiming. Not quite the eloquent professorial deposition he had hoped for.
Matt’s head slammed hard against the upper part of the door.
His vision went blurry for just a second.
Shit.
He’d never hit his head that hard.
How many years of study had he just lost with that one blow? How many brain cells had bitten the dust?
The door flew open. This time, it was the passenger side door.
The strong woman there reached across.
“Hey! He’s mine!”
“That’s what you think!”
“If he hadn’t stopped short, I never would have hit him!”
“He didn’t have working brake lights!”
“What an asshole.”
Matt was on the ground now. The words, growled out, flew above him like flies. He had barely registered getting taken from the truck, and was unsure who it was who had pulled him out, or whether he’d been taken out from the passenger or driver’s side.
What he was sure about was that he was receiving blows. Hard ones. Kicks, he thought, but he couldn’t be quite sure. Maybe there were some punches, or maybe he was being hit with a tire iron.
Wasn’t it strange, to not even know the instrument he was being struck with?
It was really something of a philosophical problem. A philosophical conundrum that would serve as a sort of metaphor for the problems man faced in the modern world. Yes, that really was quite interesting. He would have to remember it when he was preparing his next lecture or paper. Publish or perish they always said. And he certainly did publish. He’d have to work this theme into his next piece. Yes, it would be something of a solid article.
“And take that!”
“Hey, don’t you think that’s enough?”
“Enough? Screw you, bud! I decide when enough’s enough.”
“Ladies and gentlemen...” Matt started to say, his mouth full of blood and loose teeth that made it difficult for his tongue to form the words he wanted. “We can all agree that...”
But he didn’t even know what he wanted to say.
For once, he was lost for words.
“Give him a good one.”
“Here we go.”
Matt saw the windup. He saw what was clearly one of those large Maglite flashlights taking a large arc toward his head.
He didn’t see any more after that, not after his skull caved in, and those brains he valued so much didn’t so much as do anything. They’d think no more.
If Matt could have thought, he might have finally wised up. Or maybe not. He had been quite stuck in his own thought patterns, after all.
Maybe if he’d been a little wiser, he would have thought about his death and what it meant.
He was just another victim of the EMP. Just one of many more to come. But it wasn’t even the EMP that did him in, or the lack of supplies and warmth that would soon come. It wasn’t even really violence directly related to the EMP, but rather just violence that happens when chaos happens. When things go out of balance, the pent-up violence and energy of the masses gets unleashed. And when it gets unleashed, people die.
But Matt couldn’t have those thoughts. He’d never think again. And many more would soon join him.
20
John
He couldn’t believe it had worked.
But it had.
It had been the bluff to beat all bluffs. The ultimate “nothing hand” in a game of poker. The ultimate bar stool argument that led nowhere yet somehow left everyone convinced.
He’d talked a big talk. The biggest of big talks. He’d talked like his life depended on it. In reality, it was his daughter’s life that had depended on it. And he’d somehow done it. He’d somehow talked himself out of the worst odds he could have imagined. He’d managed to use his mind and his mouth to defeat several armed men who
had him and his daughter at an extreme disadvantage.
The pain was really something. Coming in huge waves. He’d never felt anything like this.
But there was nothing to do right now for it. Nothing but grit his teeth and pretend it didn’t bother him.
His daughter would be safe. That was what he cared about. Or, if not safe, at least as safe as he could get her before he checked out.
John was well aware that he didn’t have long. The bullet wound he’d received would only hasten the inevitable. Hell, he’d been on dialysis. He’d known what it meant as soon as he’d seen the state of the hospital, and as soon as Meg had explained to him what was going on. He’d understood that the power wasn’t coming back on any time soon, and that he’d die from kidney failure, his dirty blood clogging up his system. Without the aid of dialysis to filter it, he was as good as dead.
Sure, he’d hoped he could get to the Berkshires with Meg and help her get a good setup, show her a thing or two, impart some wisdom to her that might aid her in the coming difficult months. He’d hoped to do that before he checked out. Well, now he’d have to impart what he had to impart in less time.
Much less, judging from the pain.
Well, that was the way it was going to be. There wasn’t anything he could do about it.
John had lived his whole life in Western Mass. He’d worked some tough jobs and he’d been through some tough times. He’d seen his wife die a painful death. He’d seen his parents go in similar ways.
The region itself had kicked most of the sentimentality out of him long, long ago. He didn’t feel sorry for himself. And he hoped he’d taught Meg enough that she wouldn’t feel too badly about it.
He’d wait to tell her. It’d have to be just the right moment.
Sure, she was tough. But losing a parent was hard. She’d lost her mom already. She’d been through a lot, poor kid.
But she’d make it. He was pretty sure of that. He’d get her going with the gear and some food and water. She had a good truck. And she wasn’t any fool. She knew a bit about living outdoors, a bit about surviving. Certainly more than your average person.
The men were almost done loading the truck back up with the supplies they’d stolen.
There was plenty of tension in the air. But everyone was silent. Guns were still pointed, but not in the same way as before. They were pointed more in general directions now, rather than at specific body parts.
The pain was really something. It was roaring through him. But he managed to keep a straight face. He managed to show nothing. He didn’t like the idea of showing weakness. After all, the big bluff hadn’t worked until he and Meg were driving away safely with the gear.
They were so close. So close to having it all come together.
Meg was looking at him with a worried look. He’d seen that look before. He’d see it still when they discussed her mother and her death. He’d see it when they discussed his dialysis and his own disease.
It’d be hard for her.
She’d make it, though.
She was a strong girl. Always had been.
It was a shame she’d have to do it all on her own. It’d be lonely. It’d be tough. But if she could make it, it’d be worth it. When the spring came, if civilization hadn’t come back online yet, and there seemed to be a good chance that it wouldn’t, then she’d be glad she’d put in the solo effort all winter. Things would finally be looking up.
And anyway, sure there’d be months of hardship. Months of extreme toil. Plenty of pain and plenty of hard work. But what had his own dad, Meg’s grandfather, always said? That life was mostly hard work and not much else. These days people had gotten too coddled. Too complacent. Too satisfied with the status quo, with comfort, with not having to give it their all most of the time.
Too lazy, really. Too reliant on everyone else. Too hung up on their own personal problems.
Whatever.
None of that mattered now.
He just had to keep a straight face until they were already driving away.
He didn’t want to avoid their gazes though. He knew that would look bad, so he kept his face rock steady as he stared them down.
It seemed to take forever, the reloading of the stolen gear.
John made sure each piece was there. Each and every piece, including Meg's gun that had been taken from her. He told Meg to get in the driver’s side. She did as she was told, somewhat nervously, looking around.
Then, before he knew it, they were off, driving away, the neighborhood men with their guns just a memory in the rearview mirror.
“I can’t believe that worked,” he finally allowed himself to say.
Meg said nothing. He glanced over at her. She looked absolutely terrified.
“Meg?”
“I can’t believe...” she started to say, finally speaking.
Then she fell back into silence.
“Just keep driving. The farther we get away from them the better.”
Suddenly, Meg burst into tears. They streamed down her cheeks, and her face did that familiar scrunched-up thing that she’d done ever since she was a little kid.
But she kept driving. She was strong. Maybe she’d shed some tears now and again, but she knew what had to be done and she’d always managed to just keep on going. Keep on keeping on.
She’d gotten some of the good stuff from Western Mass. It was inevitable, having been raised there, going to high school there and all that. But the region hadn’t smashed out all the sentimentality from her the way it had him. And that was good. He regretted that it had happened to him. He regretted the fact that he was a tough man who never shed a tear. Even now, as he was dying, watching his daughter sobbing, his eyes were as dry as they could be. And he felt almost nothing. Nothing but some minor pride for his daughter. And hope that she would survive. To him, hope and survival were the basic instinct. His whole life had been based around survival. Around continuing to keep going. That was just the way it was. The way it had always been and the way it would always be, in one form or another.
“It’s going to be okay, Meg,” he said.
“Okay?” she said, looking over at him, her face full of hot tears.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s going to be okay. Trust me.”
“Okay! How can you say it’s going to be okay?” Her voice was rising frantically. She sounded not unlike her late mother at some of the more stressful points in their long marriage. “You’ve been shot! In the stomach! This is not okay. This is not okay. This is not okay!”
She kept repeating the last sentence. It seemed as if she were going to have a panic attack.
“Meg,” he said, struggling to speak now through the pain. It was getting worse. A lot worse. “Follow my instructions. Take a breath. Hold it. Now let it out. Okay, now again. Breathe. Hold. Release.”
He told her the specific instructions several times until she was under control.
“Now you’re going to need to remember that. I’m not always going to be around to tell you that.” He was aware that his words had particular resonance at this moment.
“We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”
“No hospitals.”
“You’re crazy. We’re going. I’m driving, and we’re going. What would Mom have wanted?”
“Mom would have wanted you to survive.”
“What about you?”
“Meg,” he said, speaking slowly and deliberately, fighting the pain with each word. “These are hard words to say.... I’m not going to make it. But I want you to live.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” she snapped at him. She wiped away the tears, and she was quickly replacing them with her typical snappy fury. “You’re not dying. What a load of shit if I ever heard it. You just don’t want to have to ... I don’t know ... drive or some shit like that.”
It was the Western Mass way, in a sense, replacing painful emotion with personal attacks, however strained they might be.
“I’ve been
shot in the gut, Meg,” he said. “There’s nothing they could do for me ...and that’s even if the hospitals were in working order ... but you saw them ... things are going downhill fast.... now I want you to remember...”
“What a load of garbage,” she was saying. “I wish Mom were around to hear this ... wait until I tell the doctor...”
“Meg.... you’ve seriously got to ... listen...”
The words were coming out slowly now.
Lots of pain.
Too much of it.
He couldn’t make it much longer.
He’d persisted this far. Kept a straight face. Kept the words flowing. Just a little bit longer. Had to see his daughter off right, so to speak.
He didn’t care about himself dying. He’d had an all right life. Wasn’t that big a deal to him.
But his daughter.
She had to make it. Meg had to make it.
She was silent now. She was waiting for him to speak.
His breathing was ragged.
He knew he didn’t sound or seem good. And he knew that was why she was waiting for him to talk.
“Good. You’ll listen to me now,” he said. His hands around his abdomen were soaked in hot blood. He didn’t have long. It would take all his strength to tell his daughter these last few words. He’d have to fight to get the words out. “It’s serious. You shed a few tears. That’s fine. Nothing wrong with that. Wish I could have done it a few times myself ... besides the point.... go to the Berkshires. Get away from all this. Maybe things will come back online, but I doubt it.... chaos has a way of growing, a way of creating more of itself.... even if they can get the power back on, things will have unraveled too fast.... a week without food and everyone will be eating each other.... it’s only been hours at this point.... think about a few days.... seriously, think about it when you’re alone in the Berkshires and lonely, wondering if you made the right decision...”
“Dad...”
“Don’t interrupt me,” he said, continuing. “Not now. Now society is going to fall.... you’ve got to believe me on this one.... or just think about it. Things are too fragile. You know how it is. You’ve spent plenty of time out in nature. And you know what it’s like when you come back into society, when you drive back to some big-box store and you’re just looking at it, amazed that the whole crazy thing keeps running...”
Constant Danger (Book 1): Fight The Darkness Page 16
