Surviving: The Complete Series [Books 1-3]

by Westfield, Ryan

  And it wasn’t like she had anywhere else to go.

  The way she understood it, remaining in Rochester would be a death sentence.

  “Anyone have any better ideas?” said Jim.

  No one spoke.

  “All right,” said Jim. “We’re heading to drunk Uncle Jordan’s lake house. Let’s just hope he hasn’t burned the house down or sold it or something since we were last there.”

  “Jordan’s caused the family a lot of problems,” said Aly, almost as an aside to Jessica.

  “It’s about a two hour drive if I remember correctly,” said Jim.

  They’d entered a nice neighborhood, where the houses had large manicured lawns.

  Jim swerved easily around the stopped cars in the street. It seemed as if some of the cars had been pushed to the side of the road.

  There was no one in the street.

  “Looks like everyone’s finally gone indoors,” said Jim as they pulled into a driveway in front of what must have been Aly’s mother’s house.

  “We don’t have a lot of time,” said Jim, throwing open his door.

  Jessica followed behind the three of them. The front door was locked.

  “Shit,” said Aly. “My key’s at the police station still, along with the rest of my stuff.”

  “Wasn’t there one under the door mat?” said Jim.

  “No, she got worried about it and had me move it. It’s around back.”

  Aly disappeared around the back of the house.

  “I had to shoot a looter,” said Jim. “Don’t be alarmed when you see the body.”

  “Already saw it,” said Rob.

  “I know you did, Rob. I was speaking to Jessica.”

  Jessica just nodded stiffly.

  To her own surprise, shooting dead a man not long ago hadn’t had as much of an effect on her as she would have thought. In fact, she felt nothing except relief that they’d gotten out of the situation alive.

  And, if she was being honest, she felt proud of herself. Proud of what she’d done. Proud of being useful. Proud of keeping a cool head in a tough situation.

  Aly reappeared a moment later with the key. It worked, and Aly swung the door open and rushed inside.

  A second later, there was a scream.

  “Mom!” screamed Aly.

  Jim pushed Rob back roughly and rushed into the house.

  Rob followed, and Jessica followed him.

  A woman who must have been Aly’s mother lay on the floor. Her eyes were open, and it didn’t appear that she was breathing.

  Aly was already on her knees, shaking her mother’s body. Tears poured from her eyes, and her voice was frantic. “Mom, Mom, Mom! Come on!” Now she turned to Jim, and screamed, “Do something!”

  Jim was there by Aly’s side, on his knees, his fingers against the woman’s neck. He shook his head.

  But he wasn’t giving up.

  He motioned for Aly to move out of the way, and he put his hands flat against the woman’s heart and began pumping.

  Rob and Jessica exchanged a look.

  “Mom! Can’t you do something, Jim? Mouth to mouth. Out of the way.”

  Aly tried to push Jim aside to get to her mother’s head. Instead, her feet got tangled together and she lost her balance and collapsed to the floor.

  Jim grabbed her and pulled her up again.

  “Mouth to mouth isn’t going to do any good,” he said. “I’m sorry, Aly. She’s dead.”

  “What? You just saw her.”

  Jessica was still standing by the front door, observing, along with Rob.

  Aly’s mother body was in the room to the left, and to the right, in another room, there was the blood-stained body of a young man. Must have been the one Jim had shot earlier.

  “Come on,” muttered Rob, almost under his breath. “Let’s get to work.”

  Jessica didn’t move immediately, and Rob elbowed her slightly and indicated with his head that they should head to the kitchen.

  Jessica followed him, registering her surprise. He’d seemed like a big lump of nothing, just some kind of useless dud. But it turned out he had some practical impulses of his own.

  Neither one of them said anything about Aly’s mother. There was obviously nothing they could do.

  Except prepare. Gather supplies.

  “You work on the food,” said Rob, gesturing to the cabinets. “I’ll head to the basement.”

  “All right,” said Jessica. “You’ll check for tools, right?”

  He nodded.

  Jessica threw open the cabinets underneath the sink, expecting to find bleach. But there was nothing there except for some large black trash bags.

  “If there’s any bleach down there, grab it.”

  “Bleach?”

  “For purifying water.”

  Rob gave her a stiff nod and disappeared down the basement stairs.

  Jessica assumed that Rob would have enough sense to grab anything else he thought was useful.

  She didn’t know exactly what they’d need, but she figured she’d do a check of the basement after he was done.

  She figured that anything in a bottle, anything from a store whatsoever, might be useful.

  Who knew how long it’d be until they could get their hands on more products. If ever.

  Without any lights, it was fairly dark in the kitchen. The sky outside was still grey, and not much light came in through the windows.

  But it was enough. Enough to see by, and her eyes slowly adjusted to the interior.

  From the other room, Aly’s sobs could clearly be heard.

  Jim was talking to his wife in a low voice, presumably comforting her. But Jessica couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  Jessica concentrated hard at the task at hand.

  She took the trash bags from under the sink, shook them out, and began stuffing everything on the shelves into them that she could.

  There were boxes of crackers, cookies, and a lot of snack foods in general. She filled one whole bag with those, tied it up, and let it drop to the ground.

  Next, she started emptying the freezer and the fridge.

  There wasn’t much of anything in the fridge except for a gallon of milk.

  The freezer wasn’t what she’d been hoping for. Ideally, it would have been packed full of meat. Lots of protein, plenty of fat, and generally calorie dense.

  Instead, the freezer was packed full of frozen dinners from the grocery store. Jessica knew the type. They were marketed towards women who wanted to lose weight, even though they had no real reason to lose any weight whatsoever.

  It was a good business practice, in a sense. Sell people less calories for more money. They could charge more because it was a specialty product.

  The frozen dinners wouldn’t do them much good. Jessica grabbed one of the boxes almost savagely and flipped it around to check the nutrition label. Five hundred calories in one box. That wasn’t a lot.

  But it would be something.

  She threw three boxes into the bag, tied it up. She grabbed both bags now, and started making her way back out to the car.

  Her body still hurt from the accident. It rebelled against the heavy load of the trash bags.

  Her knee didn’t seem to be working quite right, and her shoulder was making a clicking sound.

  But she ignored it all.

  She ignored the strange hole in her memory, the odd feeling that there was part of her brain she just couldn’t access.

  She remembered enough, she figured, to be able to survive. What difference did it make if she couldn’t remember the accident, or exactly what she’d been doing or thinking in that moment?

  It simply wasn’t as important as the task at hand.

  This wasn’t the time to worry about minor inconveniences like that. There were two people dead in the house, and two more had died not long ago on the road.

  This was life or death now.

  Jim appeared by the door just as she was opening it up. He nodded approvingly
at the trash bags.

  “Get everything,” he said. “I’ll help you in a minute.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “Not sure. Heart attack or stroke most likely. Probably the stress of the situation.”

  “I’m sorry, Jim.”

  “It was my fault,” said Jim. “I did everything the wrong way. I should have never left her here by herself. I should have taken her with us…”

  Jessica stared at his face, which was normally so impassive, so calm. It didn’t show much now either, but she saw something underneath the surface. It looked almost as if he might break.

  He needed some words that cut right to the point.

  And telling him that he’d done the best he could wasn’t going to be enough.

  “She would have died anyway,” said Jessica. “If it was the stress that killed her, she would have died when those guys in the truck attacked us.”

  Jim said nothing, just stared at her.

  But something in his face was changing.

  Aly was still sobbing in the other room, only just slightly out of view.

  “I’m taking these out to the car. Rob’s in the basement. Head upstairs and grab what you can.”

  “OK,” said Jim, apparently surprised to receive orders from her.

  Jessica didn’t bother looking to see if he was heading upstairs or not. She knew what she’d said had worked, and that Jim was practical enough to not fall apart.

  They’d do what they had to do. Aly could grieve later, once they were in safety. For now, she obviously wasn’t going to be of any help, and there wasn’t any point in trying to get her to do something physical like gathering supplies.

  Using her elbow, Jessica got the door open, and began walking to the car, weighed down heavily by the bags.

  “Hey!” yelled out someone.

  Someone was coming out of the house next door, waving his hand at Jessica.

  Her eyes went right to his hand. She half expected to see some sort of weapon. A gun. A knife. Something.

  But he held nothing.

  He stepped out onto the small stone stoop, and another person followed him. And another.

  And another.

  Jessica quickened her pace.

  15

  Jim

  His wife was sobbing downstairs, clutching her mother’s body.

  Jim was upstairs, with a plastic bag in hand, busy emptying the bathroom of any sort of medicine.

  He’d started to blame himself. He should have taken Judy with them. He shouldn’t have left her there.

  And maybe that was true.

  Maybe it’d been the wrong thing to do.

  He’d been so focused on getting to Aly that it had clouded his judgment.

  But that was natural.

  The only thing to do now was to go forward. To make the next right decision.

  Hanging onto what he couldn’t change would just slow him down.

  There were countless bottles and boxes to take. A lot of it was over the counter stuff. Antihistamines, aspirin, ibuprofen, and things like that.

  But Judy had also hoarded prescription pill bottles. Many of them were full or half full. She’d had a habit of going to the doctor when the slightest ache, pain or sensation came up. Then, she’d typically take a couple of the pills, decide they weren’t helping, and then leave the bottle in the bathroom, not knowing what to do with it.

  Jim ignored the expiration dates on everything. He knew they didn’t always relate to reality. He’d heard from a doctor client once that it was safe to ignore the expiration dates for most of the common drugs, like antibiotics.

  For other drugs, it was best to heed the dates. Jim didn’t know which were which, but he figured he’d figure it out later.

  The thing now to do was just gather everything that could possibly be useful. There was no telling in what state Aly’s uncle’s lake house was in, or what sort of supplies were there.

  Jim took almost everything, leaving only the things that would obviously be of no critical use to them. He left the bottles and bottles of skin lotion. He left the brushes and combs, but he grabbed things like tweezers and small scissors. They could be helpful for treating wounds.

  Jim left the bathroom, leaving the door swinging behind him.

  In Judy’s bedroom, next to the bathroom, he found the bed tidily made and everything put away.

  It was a strange sensation, ransacking the bedroom of his recently deceased mother-in-law, but it was what he had to do.

  He threw the dresser drawers open quickly, looking for anything that jumped out at him. He wasn’t expecting to find much, but it made sense to give everything a look.

  There was a roll of cash in the sock drawer, which Jim grabbed and stuffed in his pocket without counting it. He doubted it’d be any good, but who knew, maybe someone would accept it in a trade.

  The top drawer was filled with jewelry, which Jim grabbed and stuffed into the trash bag without a second thought. Possibly good for a trade somewhere down the line.

  Provided they lived that long.

  The other rooms were filled mostly with junk. Old furniture and antiques and family pictures that would have no use.

  There wasn’t going to space in the car for any of that stuff.

  But, on second thought, Jim dashed into one of the spare bedrooms where he knew a photo album was. Aly might appreciate having it. He stuffed it into the bag along with everything else.

  Jim’s boots were loud as he rushed down the stairs.

  Rob was rushing towards the door, loaded down with trash bags.

  The front door swung open before Rob could get to it.

  It was Jessica, her gun in her hand.

  “There’s a bunch of people outside,” she said. “And they’re angry.”

  “About what?” said Rob.

  The reason didn’t matter to Jim. He didn’t bother to wait for her answer. It’d be something, and there was no reasoning with a mob.

  “How many?” he said.

  “About a dozen now,” she said, answering his question instead of Rob’s. “They were in the neighbor’s house.”

  “Armed?”

  She shook her head. “Not sure, but I don’t think so.”

  “Nobody owns guns around here,” said Rob. “This is a fancy neighborhood.”

  “You can’t be sure,” said Jim.

  Aly’s sobs filled the air as their conversation fell silent for just a brief moment.

  “We’re going to have to get out of here quick,” said Jim. “How much more is there to get?”

  “I wanted you to take a look at the basement, and…”

  “You got most of it already?”

  “I need one more trip to the kitchen,” said Jessica.

  “Go. Now. I’ll get Aly. Then we’re out of here. Rob, help her.”

  They dashed off.

  In the other room, Aly was now curled up in the fetal position next to her mother.

  Jim crouched down next to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

  She continued sobbing.

  “Aly,” he said, using the gentlest voice he could muster in the situation. “I know this is hard. But there was nothing we could have done.”

  Aly just sobbed.

  There was a loud knock on the front door, which Jessica had shut and locked behind her.

  Another loud knock.

  “We’ve got to get out of here, Aly. We’ve got to go now.”

  She turned towards him. Her face was streaked with tears. The little makeup she wore was running. Her mouth was puckered up in a sob and her nose was running.

  “How can you say that?” she said. “My mother just died!” Her words became nothing but a wail.

  “There’s a crowd out there and they want something. They thought we were criminals before, and I’m sure it’s worse now. If we don’t leave now, we’re never going to get out of here. Come on.”

  Jim grabbed her gently by her arms and tried to coax her to her feet.


  But she pulled back away from him and threw herself down onto the hard floor.

  “We’ve got to go, Aly.”

  Another knock at the door. Louder, this time.

  “Hey! We know you’re in there!” shouted someone.

  “Aly,” said Jim. “Get up.”

  She turned and looked at him, an expression of immense hurt on her face.

  Suddenly, the window looking out to the front yard shattered. Someone had broken it.

  Jim stood up in a flash, pulling Aly to her feet as well. “Get back,” he said to her.

  Jim reached for his Ruger, strode rapidly to the front door, and threw it open.

  A dozen angry faces greeted him. Some he recognized. Some he didn’t. Some were neighbors that he’d seen here and there when visiting Judy.

  Some were just faces that he’d seen in passing while driving on that same street. It was strange to see them now, fury and vengeance written across them just like words.

  Jim leveled the revolver. Pointed right at the chest of the nearest man.

  Those in the back of the crowd scattered.

  But four in the front stood their ground.

  “What’s this about?” said Jim, his voice cold and gravely.

  “You’re a killer.” The man’s voice shook a little as he spoke, as he eyed the revolver. But he stood his ground. In another time, Jim might have been impressed.

  “And where are the police?”

  The men glanced at each other.

  “I guess you couldn’t call them?” said Jim.

  No answer.

  “What I suggest,” said Jim. “Is that you all go back to your homes, if that’s where you plan to stay. If you’re smart, you’ll get out of Pittsford. It’s not going to be safe here.”

  “Not with people like you!” came a voice from around the side of the house, where Jim couldn’t see. Probably whoever had shattered the window.

  “I’m not going to explain myself,” said Jim. “The dead man got what he deserved. Some of you know me, and if you’re convinced I’m a murderer, then that’s on you. Either way, I’d get away from this house before I need to take action.”

  Jim stared into the eyes of the man nearest him. He didn’t blink.

  The man turned, muttered something, and the group slowly dispersed.