Surviving: The Complete Series [Books 1-3]

by Westfield, Ryan

  She held a tray with three teacups on saucers neatly arranged on it. She served one to Rob who took the teacup carefully with both hands.

  Tentatively, he took a sip.

  “Wow,” he said. “That’s delicious. I can’t remember when the last time I had tea was...”

  “It’s imported,” said Lonnie, settling down on a nearby armchair and taking a sip of her own tea. “I got sick of the stuff in the supermarket.”

  “This is a lot better, that’s for sure,” grunted Danny.

  Rob didn’t mention the shotgun that Lonnie was supposed to be keeping trained on him.

  Danny was silent, apparently engrossed in his tea.

  The three of them sat there for a few minutes, taking sips of their tea in that post-EMP silence that seemed to ring out around them. It was a weird scene. Strange. Unusual. Unexpected.

  At least it wasn’t violent.

  Rob had already seen so much violence. Death. Injury. Cruelty.

  And he knew that he’d only encounter more of it as the days passed. He knew that there was no going back to the old world that, in retrospect, felt so safe and comforting.

  This quaint living room here would have seemed old-fashioned before the EMP. And in the days that would follow, in this new world, it would be beyond quaint. It would be like a museum that showcased the old, comfortable world. The hard reality of survival would dictate entirely new types of decoration. Teacups and saucers would be as out of place as they possibly could be.

  Rob figured it was as good a time as ever to bring up his question.

  “So,” he said, holding his teacup between his big hands. “The reason I came...”

  It was strange, having to remind them that he wasn’t some long-lost nephew who was merely paying them a visit.

  “What is it, dear?” said Lonnie.

  “Don’t we have any biscuits?” said Danny.

  “We’re out, remember?”

  “To hell with them anyway.”

  “Anyway,” said Rob. “My friend was... Um,” He didn’t know how to ask his question. He had the idea that it might not be a good idea to mention that his friend was kidnapped. Mentioning violence might shatter the little reality that Danny and Lonnie were clinging to. It might provoke some kind of extreme reaction, rendering them unable to answer his question.

  So he tried a different tack. “Would either of you happen to know if there are any motorcycle owners around these parts?”

  “Motorcycles?” said Lonnie, her voice creaking a little. She sounded sweet, like a doting grandmother, as she searched her memory. “Danny, wasn’t there that big parade a couple years back? There were all these men with their motorcycles. Those old-style bikes, I think.”

  “Out of towers,” barked Danny. “But what about the Johnson boy? He was always riding around on those things. Couldn’t get off one of them long enough to get himself a proper job.”

  “Oh yes, the Johnson boy. What a shame. He never did make much of his life.”

  As Lonnie and Danny recounted the Johnson boy’s various encounters with the law, Rob felt like he was listening to his own story. Sure, the Johnson boy sounded a little more extreme than himself. He’d been arrested plenty more times. Rob had always managed to skirt serious trouble. But who knew? If things had gone just a little bit differently with Rob, he could have easily found himself serving time in the state penitentiary.

  And then what would have happened to him now? Rob pondered that for a moment, as Lonnie and Danny continued. Would those prisoners be stuck in their cells, abandoned by the guards, left to starve to death? Surely not. Surely the majority of them were resourceful. And having spent years locked up, they would have learned all the tricks of the trade, so to speak. They’d know how the cells could be opened, if they just had enough time away from the scrutiny of the guards. It seemed like a sure thing that the majority of them would escape. Escape right into a half-destroyed, lawless world where power and violence were the only authority required.

  “Sam! That’s his name. Sam Johnson”

  “Right on the money, Lonnie.”

  “So this Sam Johnson, where does he live?” said Rob.

  They didn’t seem to want to know why he was interested. Maybe it was because he’d phrased his question innocently enough.

  “Oh, he lived with his dad pretty much all his life. Where was that house again?”

  “Up on Baker, I think.”

  “No, you know what, I know where it is. It was that ramshackle place, off of Route 22. The one with the long driveway.”

  “You know, you’re right. You couldn’t even see the house from the road. But I went there once. I forget what before. Maybe to drop off a bulletin from the city council or something.”

  “Route 22,” said Rob. “Is that the one off of...?”

  “You just head back about a mile and make a left. And that’s 22 for you.”

  Rob nodded his head and took another sip of tea.

  Inside, he was getting more anxious by the minute. Thoughts were rushing through his head about what could be happening to Jessica right at this moment. He imagined terrible things, and he tried to push them to the back of his mind.

  “His dad died a couple years back, and the house really went to seed after that. Sam never really could keep it together. Never mowed the lawn or anything.”

  “And those shutters? Did you see those? The paint was peeling off all over the place.”

  “You think he’d still be around there?” said Rob.

  “Are you looking for him or something?”

  It was the question he’d been waiting for. It couldn’t be avoided any longer.

  Rob just nodded.

  “Look, I don’t want to get involved in whatever it is you’re up to. Your business is your own business. Maybe it’s an old-fashioned attitude these days, but I’m old, so I’m allowed to think that way.”

  “Aw, you’re not that old, Danny.”

  Danny laughed hoarsely. “Like I said, I’m not going to get involved. But you seem like a nice kid, so I’ll give you a piece of advice.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Just watch out.”

  “Watch out?”

  “Keep your eyes peeled. Sam’s dangerous. Half the time he got locked up it was for getting into a fight. Sure, sometimes you’ve got to fight. But he’d fight when he didn’t need to.”

  Rob nodded. He already knew Sam was dangerous. And his friend. They’d kidnapped Jessica after all.

  “Well,” said Rob, thinking he’d gotten all the information he was going to get. “Thanks for the tea. I’d better get going.”

  It felt sad, as if he was visiting his grandparents, and he knew it was going to be the last time that he ever saw them.

  They said their goodbyes, and Rob stepped back across the door’s threshold.

  The door closed behind him.

  And as soon as it did, he realized that he was once again in the post-EMP world. People could hide that fact from themselves, but the reality would always be there, waiting for them.

  His heart starting to pound in his chest.

  The anxiety that he’d pushed aside came rushing back up.

  Adrenaline was coursing through his veins.

  His thoughts turned completely away from the cute old couple and their tea saucers. And they turned to Jessica. And the fight that he knew he couldn’t avoid.

  As he got into the Subaru and cranked the engine, he had the sinking feeling that this might be a fight that he couldn’t win.

  He didn’t feel any relief at discovering where Jessica likely was. He didn’t feel relief in knowing that he knew how to get there, or knowing what he had to do.

  Instead, he felt dread. And he realized that he’d never really before felt true dread. It was a sinking feeling deep in his guts, as if a pit was opening up, a yawning chasm of darkness stretching out inside of him to nothing at all. A bottomless pit.

  It wasn’t obligation that was driving Rob to
press on.

  It was something else.

  Duty.

  Responsibility.

  It was the responsibility that he’d always been chastised for lacking.

  It was rising up.

  And it was driving Rob to do the right thing.

  He put the Subaru into reverse, jammed the accelerator, and the wagon rocketed backwards down the driveway. He hit the road, spun the wheel vigorously, got it pointed in the direction of Route 22.

  And he was off. The wheels spun. The engine whined. The window was down and the air was in his hair. His gun, handed back to him by Danny, was once again within reach.

  18

  Jim

  Jim ducked behind the boat as shots sounded.

  The boat was metal. But thin metal. Jim didn’t know if the rounds would penetrate or not.

  The one thing Jim definitely had going for him was that Andy was a bad shot.

  Even so, Jim acted in order to maximize his safety. That was half the battle. He covered his head with his arms and hands, thinking that he’d rather take a bullet in the arm than the head.

  Jim counted the shots as Andy fired in quick succession.

  Jim’s exhausted brain was trying to take in the situation, trying to analyze it. He needed to stay as calm as he could if he wanted to stay alive. Otherwise, he’d make some error that would see him wind up dead.

  It was quickly becoming clear that Andy, on the other hand, was acting irrationally. Acting out of fear. Discharging his weapon as fast as he could. And from a good distance.

  One round struck the boat. Jim heard the diminutive pinging sound it made.

  The other rounds must have missed widely.

  The large heavy paddle lay at Jim’s feet.

  It was going to be a guessing game. Guessing when Andy’s gun was empty. Guessing whether Jim could rush him with the paddle in the time it took to reload. Guessing just how spent Jim’s body really was, and whether or not he could count on himself to sprint the required distance.

  Jim thought he could do it. But he also knew that his mind wasn’t right. He knew he couldn’t trust his own judgment.

  But what choice did he have?

  It was time to act.

  Silence rang out. There were no gunshots.

  Jim seized the paddle as he rose to his feet. In doing so, he was exposing himself.

  The paddle was heavy. It’d be hard to run with it.

  But it was the only weapon he had.

  His eyes tracked onto Andy, who had apparently been walking towards Jim as he discharged his gun.

  Andy’s eyes widened as he saw Jim. He had the gun in both hands, and he was fumbling, trying to load the gun.

  Jim launched himself forward, putting absolutely everything that he had into it. He focused his entire being on getting to Andy. On destroying him.

  Andy wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

  And it was up to Jim to win that fight.

  Jim’s muscles responded more than he’d expected them to. His feet were slamming into the ground. His arms were moving awkwardly from holding the paddle. He felt his head bobbing slightly in time with his pacing.

  He closed the distance in no time.

  Andy was raising the gun.

  It seemed to be happening in slow motion.

  Jim didn’t know if Andy’d gotten the gun loaded or not.

  It didn’t matter. He’d already committed himself to this. There was no turning back now.

  Jim brought the paddle up, holding it like a club with both hands. As he ran, he brought it back behind his shoulder.

  Jim’s timing was good.

  Only a few feet left now. Andy was right in front of him, each feature of his face clearly visible.

  Jim started swinging the paddle back, as if he was about to hit a home run.

  Andy pulled the trigger. The gun clicked.

  But nothing happened.

  No shot rang out.

  Pure terror appeared in Andy’s eyes.

  The paddle was swinging. Heavy and hard.

  Andy started to bring his hands up to defend himself, either to try to catch the paddle or to cover his head.

  But he didn’t get them up in time.

  The wide part of the heavy paddle connected with Andy’s skull.

  Jim had done well. It’d been a good swing. The timing was right. And he’d put everything he’d had into it. The fact that he’d been sprinting forward as he’d swung had only added to the total force of the blow.

  There was a sickening sound as the paddle hit.

  Something happened to Andy’s eyes. Jim didn’t know if they’d rolled back in his head. It was too quick to see, because the next thing he knew, Andy had collapsed to the ground.

  Jim was panting heavily. He dropped the paddle and scrambled for Andy’s gun.

  A guy like Andy couldn’t be trusted. Even when he was apparently passed out.

  Jim held the gun in one hand as he patted down Andy’s body with the other. Most of the gear was on the improvised sled, but he found a few items that Andy had stuffed into his pockets. There was one of Jim’s own knives, a box of matches, and a couple candy bars. Jim pocketed the items, and then took a step back.

  He kept the gun trained on Andy and thought about what came next.

  Andy was still breathing. Shallow, sickly breaths. The hit to the head had been hard.

  He was still alive.

  There was a chance he’d die from the blow.

  But there was also a chance he’d recover.

  And if he lived, there was no doubt in Jim’s mind that after Andy had slunk off to recover, he’d come looking for Jim again.

  A stern verbal warning would mean nothing. This wasn’t one of those old cowboy movies where the bad guy could simply be warned never to step foot in town again. And anyway, Jim wasn’t sure how often that’d worked in those movies.

  There were obviously no cops to call. No jail to lock Andy up in.

  The choice was clear.

  Andy would either be alive or dead. And it was up to Jim to decide.

  He didn’t mind killing. Not if it meant protecting himself, his wife, and his friends.

  Killing was required of him.

  But it didn’t make it any easier. Especially not when his enemy lay wounded, unconscious, on the ground in front of him.

  Andy was completely helpless.

  But Jim knew he had no choice. He had to do it.

  He examined the gun, his exhausted and blurry mind finally registering on the fact that it wasn’t loaded.

  Well, he hadn’t found any rounds on Andy’s person. They must have fallen to the ground.

  A quick scan of the ground didn’t turn anything up.

  Jim pocketed the weapon, and again considered his options.

  He had the paddle, his hands, his feet, and his knife.

  The knife seemed like the most humane method. Slit the throat. Be done with it. Quick and swift. Not as painful or as horrible as bashing Andy’s skull in further.

  Maybe it was the exhaustion, but Jim had to reflect for a moment before he did the deed.

  He had the knife ready in his hand.

  But it seemed like such a horrible thing to do. It seemed as if circumstances had forced them all to behave like savage animals. Like people who’d lost all civility.

  And in a way, that was all true.

  It was every man for himself when you really got down to it.

  Jim had no choice. He had to be both the judge and executioner.

  Andy had crossed the line. And he’d do it again. Those were the choices he’d made, and now he’d face the consequences.

  As Jim knelt down, putting his knees onto Andy’s chest, Andy seemed to almost regain consciousness.

  Andy’s eye flitted open, and, for a moment, they locked right onto Jim’s.

  Jim said nothing.

  He ran the knife swiftly across Andy’s neck, one hand gripping the top of his head firmly.

  Blood
gushed out.

  Andy let out a gurgling noise, and blood bubbled out of his mouth.

  Jim stood up.

  The fight was over. The adrenaline was already starting to fade, and his weakness and exhaustion were returning to the forefront of his consciousness.

  He didn’t feel good about what he’d done. He didn’t feel good about winning the fight.

  Surviving didn’t always feel victorious. It just felt like continuing to press on. Like grim determination.

  Jim knew what he had to do. He had to get the supplies back to the house, check on Aly.

  It was a big job. A tiring job. And he knew that it’d be best to work quickly. After all, gunshots had been fired.

  It was hard to guess, given the variety of terrain, how far the sound of the shots had traveled. Jim knew from experience that sound could be unpredictable.

  What kind of person would the sound of gunshots attract? Someone who wanted to swoop in and pick through the scraps, that’s who. Scavengers, people who were desperate and reduced to being nothing better than carrion birds.

  Jim was under no illusions that he could fight off anyone else. His body felt like it was on the verge of complete collapse. He wanted nothing more than to sit down and eat the candy bars.

  But he didn’t have that luxury.

  Instead, he seized the improvised sled loaded down with gear, and dragged it back to the boat, which he began to survey.

  “Shit,” muttered Jim, as he saw that the boat’s hull had been pierced by a round.

  It was no longer seaworthy.

  There was no patching up a hole like that.

  He’d need a new way to get the gear back home.

  Dragging that sled back around the shoreline would take hours, if not days. And he didn’t even think he’d be able to actually do it, not in his current physical state.

  Jim tore the wrapper off one of the candy bars as he thought, taking almost half of it in a single bite.

  The sugar quickly started to make him feel better, starting to lift his mind out of the fog, making him feel just a little bit clearer, a little more resilient.

  He took a step back from the damaged boat and the laden-down sled, surveying them once again.