Surviving: The Complete Series [Books 1-3]

by Westfield, Ryan

  So, when a job had come along that paid a lot more for a lot less effort, Jordan had jumped at the chance.

  He’d left his home at the lake and traveled northeast, up near the Canadian border, where he’d worked growing and harvesting marijuana for some guys he’d met through the local bar.

  They’d worked out in the boonies, far away from any stores, and they didn’t like to travel into town much since they were trying to keep a low profile.

  Jordan didn’t know quite how he’d gotten more or less sober. Maybe it’d been the work, being outside, less access to alcohol, or the increased availability of pot.

  But the reality was he’d only had a couple small nips of vodka yesterday. And none today. That, for him, was as close to sober as he was ever going to get.

  He’d been at the pot farmers’ camp when the EMP had hit. Of course, they hadn’t known what it was that had happened.

  There’d only been three of them total at the camp. They’d just sold off a good haul the past week, and they’d sort of been sitting around trying to figure out whether to split with the money or stay around and get another crop going. Earning even more money, of course, was tempting.

  When the cell phones had gone down, Jordan had seen his opportunity. He hadn’t known it was an EMP. All he’d seen was an opportunity.

  He’d taken all the cash and split.

  Of course, given his luck, the car had broken down about a hundred yards from the camp. The noise had woken up his “colleagues,” and they’d come after him. He’d had to evade them in the trees, running until he couldn’t run any longer, and hiding when he’d been too exhausted to move.

  He hadn’t done badly for a man in his sixties. An alcoholic in his sixties, on top of that. But then again, he’d never really been one of those alcoholics with completely ruined health. Instead, he’d always had that kind of old-time wiry strength that you can’t get from going to a gym or training. It was just something natural to him. He didn’t look muscular, but he was incredibly strong.

  His colleagues had chased him through the woods for miles. They’d been desperate for the cash.

  In the end, he’d gotten away from them, and without resorting to violence. Which was good. He wasn’t necessarily the violent type. Not that he was a pacifist. Far from it. He’d been in his fair share of bar fights over the years. And while he hadn’t won each brawl, he’d rarely come out without inflicting some serious damage on his opponent.

  So, he’d gotten away from them without a fight. Merely by hiding. By being clever. But what had been difficult had been the journey back home. That’s what he’d barely survived.

  It hadn’t initially occurred to him that heading back home wasn’t the best idea. After all, they’d be looking for him.

  But when he’d gotten close enough to home, without any other plan, he’d said “screw it,” and decided to head home and have a well-deserved drink. Or a couple of drinks.

  It had been a weird journey. And it had just gotten even weirder, now with all these people in his house. And the power was out? What the hell was going on? And what was Jim talking about?

  Jordan had spent the entire journey home in the woods, avoiding the roads and civilization. Sure, he’d noticed a complete lack of light pollution in the sky at nights, but he’d just shrugged it off. Obviously, his first thought hadn’t been that the power had gone off everywhere and that civilization was on the verge of collapsing.

  And now that’s exactly what Jim was telling him was happening. And while Jordan didn’t exactly like Jim, he never figured him for the type of guy to just make stuff up. Jim wasn’t frivolous, and he wasn’t paranoid. In general, he had his head on pretty straight.

  And Jim had never seemed like the type of guy to lose his head and go nuts. But then again, stranger things had happened.

  And now Jim was there, pointing his gun at a cop. That definitely was something the regular Jim would not do. Unless he’d lost his mind. Or civilization was collapsing and the cops could no longer be trusted.

  Jordan had to consider both options.

  After all, Jordan’s number one rule had always been to look out for himself. And to protect himself, he either needed to align himself with Jim, until a better opportunity came along, or else he needed to get the hell out of there. Being on the same side as a nutjob with his gun trained on a cop wasn’t exactly where Jordan wanted to be. Especially with his various priors and his extremely checkered past.

  “What the hell are you doing, Jim?” snapped Jordan. “You can’t shoot a cop.”

  “My worry is that he’s not a cop.”

  The cop stopped about ten paces away and put his hands in the air. “I’m unarmed,” he said.

  “An unarmed cop?” said Jim, his voice full of suspicion.

  “I barely got out of Rochester alive,” said the cop. “They took my gun from me.”

  “Who did?” said Jim.

  “A mob. I don’t know. Does it matter anymore?”

  “A mob?” said Jordan. “What are you talking about?”

  “He doesn’t know about the EMP,” said Jim.

  “Have you been living under a rock or something?” said the cop.

  Jordan said nothing, just nodded vaguely. He was trying to put all the pieces together, his mind working as fast as it could.

  “I’m Andy,” said the cop. “By the way.” His hands were still in the air. It seemed like an odd way to introduce himself.

  Jim said nothing for several moments. His face was impassive, as if he was thinking deeply.

  “Come on, Jim, put the gun down,” said Jordan. “Whatever this EMP thing is, I’m sure we can work it all out. This guy looks like he needs our help. Isn’t that right?”

  “I’m just trying to stay alive,” said Andy the cop. “Just a meal, and a place to stay. That’s all I need. I’m trying to rejoin up with the force, or the National Guard. Or the army. I’m just trying to serve my country.”

  “Listen to him, Jim.”

  “We’re already short on food,” said Jim. “We don’t have room for one more.”

  “You mean two more,” said Jordan. “Me plus him. Listen, Jim. Whatever’s going on, it’s my house. And that means I get to choose who we let stay or not.”

  Jim was silent, but the changes in his face let Jordan know he’d struck a chord. Jim had always been really hung up on personal property, personal rights, and all that stuff. Much more so than Jordan himself was. Jordan knew how to play right into people’s belief systems. He knew how to manipulate people based on their sense of right and wrong.

  Jordan knew which strings to pull. That had always been something he’d been good at, knowing how to get people to do what he wanted.

  And in this case, strange as it may have seemed, he wanted the cop to stay with them.

  Jordan’s hunch was that the cop really was a cop, even if Jim still seemed suspicious.

  If those pot farmers came looking for their money, it’d be good to have an extra guy around. Someone who really knew how to use a gun.

  Sure, Jim had his little revolver there. But as far as Jordan knew, Jim didn’t really know how to use it. He’d been a city guy all his life, tinkering away at his little electronic store or whatever it was.

  A cop, though, would know how to use a gun. He’d protect Jordan from whoever came looking for him.

  Jordan surreptitiously patted the wad of cash that was tucked away safely in his pocket.

  He had big plans for that money. Big plans.

  “So, what do you say, Jimmy? Put the gun down.”

  “How do we know he’s really a cop?”

  “He’s got the uniform and everything.”

  “Anyone could get that uniform.”

  “It fits him and everything. Look at it.”

  “Let’s see some ID,” said Jim to Andy the cop.

  “They stole my wallet,” said the cop.

  “Badge?”

  “Yeah, let me see here. I took it off and hid it.�
��

  The cop rolled up one of his torn pant legs and pulled something out of his sock. It was a shiny police badge.

  “Looks legit enough,” said Jordan, peering forward.

  “All right,” said Jim, grimacing. “But this is on you, Jordan. We’re already having trouble feeding the four we’ve got here.”

  “Four? You’ve got four people crammed into my house?”

  “They’re guests of your niece. Nothing you can do about it.”

  “You could be a little more polite with me. It is my house, after all.”

  “New circumstances, new rules,” said Jim.

  “Can I put my hands down now?” said the cop.

  Jim gave a brief nod.

  “I really appreciate it, guys,” said the cop, ambling over. “I thought I was done for. But don’t worry, we’ll get this country back on track. Have you seen any other members of the force around here? Or the military?”

  Jim shook his head. “Not around these parts,” he said.

  Jim kept talking, but Jordan stopped listening.

  There was a rumbling sound off in the distance.

  “Sounds like an engine out there somewhere,” said Jordan.

  Jim and Andy stopped talking.

  It sounded like it might be a large engine.

  And it was getting closer.

  “You hear that too?” said Jordan.

  Jim nodded. He hadn’t put his revolver back in its holster.

  “It’s too far off right now to get a good look,” said Jordan. “But I’ll just pop on up to the roof.”

  “The roof?”

  “Yeah, I go up there all the time. You can see for at least a mile down that way. The way the trees are makes it… I’ll show you.”

  “I don’t mean to interrupt, but do you think I could get something to eat soon?” said Andy.

  “Stay there,” said Jordan, ignoring Andy.

  Around the side of the house, there was an old ladder that lay partially hidden under a pile of dead leaves. Jordan wasn’t a diligent sort of person, and raking leaves had always been the last thing on his mind. He took the ladder, got it up against the house, and started to climb.

  From the roof, he could see through the pine trees.

  “See anything?” said Jim.

  Jordan squinted. He could just make it out.

  “It’s an RV,” he said. “A big one. Headed this way.”

  “Great,” said Jim. “Just what we need.”

  “Wait,” said Jordan. “There’s another one behind it… and another.”

  “A caravan of RVs?”

  “Looks like it.”

  3

  Andy

  Andy wasn’t a cop.

  And he’d never been one.

  Of course, he wasn’t planning on telling anyone that.

  It wasn’t like he was innocent. He hadn’t just happened upon some dead cop and taken the uniform because he’d had to.

  No, he’d killed the cop. He was guilty. Very guilty.

  It hadn’t been his first option. But he hadn’t had any others.

  It had happened just yesterday. Andy’d been cooped up in his little apartment with the lights out, waiting for everything to go back to normal. He’d been waiting for the world to start turning again.

  He’d been scared. Petrified and shaken right to his bones.

  He’d been desperately hoping it’d all been a dream, that someone would pinch him, he’d wake up, and everything would be normal once again.

  But nothing like that had happened. He’d been running low on water, and his food had run out days earlier.

  He’d heard the noises outside, the screams and the chanting. He’d heard gunshots, and the occasional roaring of an engine screaming along the road.

  The cop had broken into his apartment, probably doing what everyone else had been doing, which was looking for food and water. Or maybe he’d just been doing his job, hunting down a crook, or trying to secure the peace.

  Andy had decided he wasn’t going down without a fight. Not only that, but he’d decided that it was time to act. Time to take what he needed. No matter whether it was right or wrong.

  He knew he wasn’t going to wake up. He knew it wasn’t a dream. Nothing was going to change unless he changed it.

  And so, when the cop had broken in and flashed his badge, Andy had done what he’d had to do. Or what he’d decided was necessary.

  He’d rushed the cop, taking him by surprise with a kitchen knife. He’d stabbed hard and fast, right in the cop’s stomach.

  It wasn’t until the cop was lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, slowly dying as he bled out, that Andy felt a twinge of guilt.

  But he’d rationalized the whole thing to himself, telling himself that the cop was a bad egg, a bad cop through and through. Why wasn’t the cop out there, trying to serve and protect, instead of looking for food for himself?

  Andy created a wholly imagined narrative for the cop. Andy could only justify it all to himself if the cop really was bad. And with no way to really know, he’d simply decided.

  The human mind was capable, he realized then, of incredible things. Incredible patterns of belief. Incredible conviction in the face of overwhelming evidence. Incredible systems of justification.

  Killing the cop had been a turning point for him.

  Before that, he’d been frightened, waiting alone in his apartment, waiting to die.

  Before the EMP, he’d had a normal job. He’d been an insurance salesman. He hadn’t been anything special, and he hadn’t tried to be. He’d been completely content to go to work in the morning, head to the grocery store after work, and spend the evening relaxing at night by himself in front of the television.

  He’d hadn’t thought much about his lifestyle. But looking back on it now, it seemed as if it was all too easy. If he’d forgotten to pick up something at the grocery store, there was a phone app for that, and the food would be delivered to his door only minutes later.

  Everything had been taken care of. If there was a problem with the plumbing, it was a simple call to the landlord.

  If there was a problem with his body, it was a simple trip to the doctor. And a simple pill from the pharmacy to fix it all.

  Andy recognized that the EMP had changed all that. It’d never be like that again.

  The old system had vanished in the blink of an eye. Andy was smart enough to understand that.

  And the new way of life would be hard. Everyone would have to do everything themselves. There’d be no more deliveries. No more ease. No more getting someone else to take care of one’s problems.

  He’d have to take care of himself.

  Complete self-sufficiency.

  A terrifying prospect.

  So, as he’d sat there next to the dying cop, who mumbled something incoherently, Andy made up his mind to survive by whatever means necessary.

  But what skills did he have?

  Practically none.

  Except for his ability to sweet talk people into deals.

  He’d been good at his job. He could sell people policies they’d never need in a thousand years. He knew what to say, and how to find the right people. It was like he had an innate radar for picking saps.

  So the easiest thing to do would be to trick people. Trick them into getting what he wanted. What he needed. What he desired.

  With just a little bit of cleverness, he could approximate his old life, despite the craziness of this new world.

  Maybe food wouldn’t be delivered to his doorstep, maybe he wouldn’t be able to get a pill from the doctor for whatever ailed him, but he could certainly create a situation in which things were easier for him, where others could do the real work for him.

  That’s when he’d had the idea to steal the cop’s uniform and integrate himself into a community that had everything pretty much already figured out.

  Andy had heard about survivalists before the EMP. He’d read the occasional article about some guy building
a bunker and he’d just chuckled to himself. He’d seen the occasional piece on the evening news about a community of survivalists preparing for the worst. And again, he’d just chuckled, knowing that day would never come.

  But now, those people didn’t seem so crazy after all.

  And they were out there, those survivalists. They were sitting pretty now, having done all the work years in advance.

  So how could Andy get in on that? How could he take what wasn’t supposed to be his?

  The idea stayed with him all through his journey out of the city. He knew he had to get out into the boonies, where he was more likely to find a group with a good setup. They weren’t going to be hanging out in downtown Rochester, that was for sure.

  It’d been a long journey out of Rochester and to the lake house.

  He’d found it more or less by accident.

  It had been a magnificent stroke of luck.

  One that he wasn’t about to give up.

  The uniform he wore would give him prestige and authority. Or so he hoped.

  He had no intention of doing what he’d said and joining up with the police or the National Guard and trying to heal the country. That had just sounded like a good, believable line, one that would make him more convincing.

  From what Andy had seen on his way out of Rochester, the country was done for. Screwed. Toast. Completely destroyed.

  The only thing to do from this point on was to look out for himself.

  If he played his cards right, he could get a really nice setup for himself. And without much work.

  He’d have to see if these people here really had something good going on. If it seemed like they might actually end up surviving, Andy would ingratiate himself into the group as best he could. And then, when the moment was right, he’d do what he had to do to make things better for himself.

  If they didn’t seem like they’d survive, well, he’d take what he needed from them and move on to greener pastures.

  He’d kill again if he had to. Sure, killing that cop had been a shock to his system. But it had been a good shock, like a breath of fresh air.

  He’d do it again if he had to. And it wouldn’t shock him. Instead, it would invigorate him, give him the energy he needed to keep going on.