Georgia took a deep breath before continuing onward. Her shoulder was sore from carrying the rifle. Her feet hurt even more. She knew she would have been able to tolerate all this if she was better rested and better fed. But when food and sleep start lacking, everything else gets much, much harder.
It took Georgia what must have been at least another half an hour to walk to the house. She left the road and walked through the woods, which made the distance longer and the path harder. But she wanted to make sure she wasn’t seen.
Georgia didn’t know what the odds would be that someone was in the house.
She took the rifle from her shoulder and held it in her hands, ready to use it if needed.
Georgia didn’t want to kill. Especially not when she was the one robbing someone else. She would kill to defend herself or her kids. But when she was out on the prowl? Could she justify that to herself? She knew that they needed a vehicle… but could she really do it?
I’ll just have to cross that path when I get to it, thought Georgia. But she realized that that was a dangerous proposition, and she promised herself that she would do everything she could not to kill another human being… unless the person was threatening her… Then she would have to do what she had to do.
Hiding behind a tree and peeking out from it, she studied the car. It certainly wasn’t an SUV, a truck, or anything with four wheel drive. It was a small compact car, made in Japan.
It might have been a Honda or Nissan, or even an ancient Datsun, but it looked like the markings might have been taken off, and Georgia wasn’t that familiar with those types of cars.
It would do, though. It would at least get her and her family and most of their gear near the hunting cabin. They would have to walk the rest of the way. With this small compact car, she’d be able to take much more gear to the cabin than if they went the whole way on foot. In Georgia’s mind, more gear meant a higher chance of surviving.
Georgia crept forward, practically holding her breath. She used the movements that she’d learned in the woods, the ones that didn’t scare animals. She moved steadily, making little noise.
She figured the best thing to do was just see if the car had a spare key there, or if by some strange stroke of luck, the key was still in the ignition.
Georgia kept one eye on the house at all times. She was crouched down next to the car, the rifle held in one hand. Her other hand felt underneath the wheel wells. She moved around to each wheel, and tried the bumpers.
No luck.
She tried the doors to the car, but they were locked. She broke her gaze from the house for a moment to examine the car, putting a hand above her eyes to shield her view from the glare. It didn’t look like a key was in there. Who left their keys in the car, anyway?
Georgia considered her options again. She didn’t have any idea how to hotwire cars. Although this car was older, and maybe she could jam a screwdriver into the ignition or something. Foolishly, she didn’t have a screwdriver with her, or even a multitool. But anyway, that might take some time, and the owner of the car, if he or she was home, was bound to come out.
The best thing to do, Georgia realized, was simply confront the problem head on. She wanted to steal this car? Then she needed to simply head into the house, point her gun at the owner, and take the keys from them under threat of violence.
Georgia didn’t like it one bit. But she was doing it for her family.
What were the chances that the owner of the home had a gun? Maybe 50%, thought Georgia, considering it was a more rural area.
Georgia was going to take her chances.
If something happened to her, if she was shot, then James and Sadie still had the map. They would be able to reach the cabin, and continue their life from there on out. Or so Georgia hoped. She hoped with all her heart that they were OK right now.
She’d never been a very sentimental person, but that didn’t mean she didn’t care about her kids. And she was realizing now that she cared for them more deeply than she’d thought possible.
Georgia walked to the back of the house slowly. Still no sign of anyone living in it.
There was a big panel of windows on the back. Georgia walked slowly towards them and peered through. She just saw a darkened kitchen.
Georgia wasn’t going to try to break in again. Not if someone was home. She knocked loudly on the backdoor, hammering her fist against the glass. The area was so quiet, with all the machines off, no air conditioner blowing, no fans, that there was no way someone wouldn’t hear her if they were home.
Georgia slung the rifle back over her shoulder and grabbed the handgun. She stood off to the side, pressing her body against the siding of the house. No one would be able to see her.
After a couple minutes, nothing had happened. No one came to the door.
Someone might be in there. Someone might be waiting with a gun drawn, ready to shoot her if she tried to enter.
But she was going to take the risk.
She was going to have to break the window.
Well, she might as well try the door first.
To her complete and utter surprise, the door was open.
It could be a trap.
But she had to go in.
She slid the door open, and then held her gun forward, walking behind it. She turned the corner carefully, leading the way with the gun.
“Anyone here?” she called out loudly.
She figured it was better to announce her presence. If someone was waiting for her in hiding, they already knew she was here.
She paused in the kitchen and waited. She crouched down and steadied the gun with her other hand. She pointed it at the entrance to what must have been the main downstairs hallway. She’d closed the door behind her, so that if someone was outside, they would have to open the door to shoot her. The glass was thick, and a bullet might not go through it. At the very least, it was some form of protection.
After a long time, Georgia had heard nothing in the house. There wasn’t a single sign that someone was here.
That didn’t mean someone wasn’t waiting, knife drawn, or gun pointed.
But she had to take her chances.
She found herself holding her breath as she moved through the house, gun drawn, finger inside the trigger guard.
She found the keys in a little porcelain bowl on a table by the front door.
She considered searching the house for other goods, but realized that she was already going to be downsizing when she got back to the truck.
Georgia felt a thrill, a complete rush of relief, as she went back outside and unlocked the car.
It started up fine, the little engine purring quietly. There was practically nothing in the car, and it was immaculately clean.
Georgia didn’t have time to ponder her good luck. She backed out of the driveway, and started driving back the way she came.
The car was automatic, so there wasn’t any point in putting it in neutral. She let out a whoop as she let it coast down the hill, heading back towards the pickup and, more importantly, James and Sadie.
As she was rolling down the hill, something appeared in her peripheral vision. There were three people walking along the side of the road.
Their jaws dropped as they saw Georgia driving along in the car. She saw the recognition on their faces, and knew instantly it was their car.
It wasn’t a family. They were three middle aged women. They couldn’t have been much older than Georgia herself. They looked tired and weary, and their faces fell in despair as they realized that their car was gone, and that Georgia was taking it from them.
They weren’t armed.
Instead of shooting, they started waving their hands wildly, as if Georgia had done the deed somehow by mistake. As if she would realize her error, stop the car, and give it back to them.
17
Mandy
Mandy stood frozen as the door opened. A man entered, and Max immediately sprang towards him. Max grabbed the man by the waist and pushed wi
th all his weight.
The two of them crashed into the wall. The man grunted, and Max cried out in pain as the man did something to his arm.
Mandy couldn’t see what had happened. The two were a flurry of bodies.
The next thing she knew, it was all over too fast. Max was bashing his elbow repeatedly into the man’s stomach.
The man fell down, gasping for breath.
Max was holding his wrist in a funny way, as if it was injured. He looked down at the man.
The man started to move.
“Don’t move,” said Max.
The man moved anyway, lunging out towards Max.
Max kicked him in the stomach.
“Stay down,” he muttered.
The man twitched. Max gave him another swift kick.
“Max!” cried out Mandy.
“What do you want me to do?” said Max. “Bake him a birthday cake?”
Mandy saw that he had a point. After all, the man had kidnapped them and imprisoned them in this room. He didn’t deserve any special treatment.
Max wasn’t being cruel about it. Once the man had stopped moving, Max had stopped too. He wasn’t attacking him out of cruelty or enjoyment. It was survival, pure and simple.
“What are we going to do?” said Mandy.
“Got any ideas?” said Max. “Because I’m all out of them.”
“How’s your wrist?”
“Fine,” said Max.
But it didn’t look fine.
He bent down and examined the man. He took the rifle that was slung over the man’s shoulders. He tried to hold up the sight to his eye to examine it. Or maybe he was examining the barrel. Mandy wasn’t sure. She didn’t know much about guns. To her, a rifle was a rifle. A handgun was a handgun, whatever type it was.
“Here,” said Max, wincing in pain as he handed her the rifle.
Mandy took it gingerly. “Um, shouldn’t you carry it?”
“My wrist,” said Max. “I can’t work the gun.”
“I don’t even know how to use it.”
“It’s not that hard. Point and shoot, basically.”
“Basically?”
“Let’s go,” said Max.
“Go? Go where? If we go out there… there are a ton of people out there…”
“We’re going to have to risk it,” said Max.
He walked right out into the day through the doorway. The light seemed to illuminate him completely, even though it was cloudy. Mandy followed him and the brightness of the light surprised her.
The trees were all around them. They had never looked so beautiful. It had been a long time since Mandy had been out in nature. All last night had been dark, very dark, and she hadn’t gotten a look past the magnificence of the majestic trees.
“You see anyone?” said Max in a low voice.
Mandy shook her head.
They were out back behind the store.
“Maybe everyone’s inside,” said Mandy. “I bet they’re terrified.”
“Look over there,” said Max, pointing with his good hand. “A fire.”
Suddenly, they heard yelling.
“Look,” said Mandy, as they started jogging towards the fire. They could now see a group of figures around a man lying on the ground.
“I bet that’s Chad.”
Mandy didn’t know why they were running right towards a group of men with guns. She’d just moved automatically, perhaps sensing that it might be Chad.
But why was she trying to protect Chad? She didn’t even know him. And so far, he’d seemed more like a liability than anything else.
Max was running faster than she was. He had long legs, and good form. He ran easily across the slightly muddy field.
Mandy struggled to keep up, holding the rifle in both hands in front of her.
It started to dawn on her that this was a really bad idea. These men were dangerous. They were armed.
Up ahead, she saw one of them kick Chad in the stomach. Chad went limp.
What the hell was Max planning on doing when he got up there?
She found out soon enough.
“Hey!” yelled Max, waving his good arm.
“The prisoners!” shouted one of them.
“Stay back, Mandy,” yelled Max.
Mandy stopped in her tracks, doing as she was told. She held the gun dumbly, not raising it to a position from which she could fire it.
Was Max crazy? Normally he seemed intent on making the most practical decisions, decisions that would save his own hide.
But with Chad, it was different. For Chad, he’d risked their lives back at that mob. For Chad, he was rushing towards a group of armed men.
She hoped he knew what he was doing.
There were four men. Each now pointed a handgun at Max.
One looked at Mandy, and trained his gun on her instead.
Max was only about ten feet from them. Mandy was behind, but easily within ear shot.
Max held up his hands to show that he wasn’t armed.
The men didn’t speak.
“Listen,” said Max, firmly frozen in place. “We didn’t come here to harm you. We’re just like you… Confused and scared.”
“We’re not scared of nothing,” said one of men.
Another grunted in agreement.
The other two didn’t seem so sure.
“We’re not with any foreign government,” said Max. “If you didn’t notice, we have American accents just like you. I’m from nearby. I grew up right outside Philly.”
“That’s just what a spy would say.”
“Listen,” said Max. “I don’t care what you fellows think. Because I already know exactly what you’re going to do. And I’m going to tell you what that is, in clear and simple language so that you can follow along.”
“Looks like you’re not the one in the bargaining position.”
“That’s what it would look like, yes,” said Max. “To an untrained eye. But what you don’t realize is that you’re the ones in danger right now.”
“How’s that?”
Max didn’t say anything for quite a while.
Mandy had the distinct feeling that Max hadn’t yet thought of what to say. He was thinking on his feet.
“OK,” said Max. “That lady back there. You see her? She’s not what she appears. She’s not just some ordinary girl. She’s a highly trained marksman, or I guess they say markswoman now. Whatever. She can take you all out before you have time to pull the trigger.”
Mandy groaned internally. She was sure that this wouldn’t work.
But to try to make Max’s lie more convincing, she raised the gun, putting her eye to the scope the way she’d seen people do in the movies. She pointed the gun at one of the men and hoped she was doing it convincingly. She put her finger on the trigger, but made sure to keep from applying any pressure. She didn’t want to shoot anyone by mistake.
“You see,” said Max. “You actually did catch some spies. We’re nothing but the best. The best spies, that is.”
Mandy had the feeling that Max wasn’t used to lying. But she had to admit it wasn’t that bad of a plan. These guys were so terrified of spies that just maybe it would… maybe. But Max didn’t sound too sure of himself. He did, in a way, but he was pausing a lot when speaking.
“Yup,” said Max, again. “We’re spies… The best… And she’s the best sharpshooter…” He was starting to repeat himself.
The guys were looking at each other questioningly.
Mandy knew she had to do something.
“Listen up,” shouted Mandy. “Drop the weapons now. Or I open fire. I guarantee I’ll take out three of the four of you before you can get off a shot.”
Mandy didn’t want to make it sound too unrealistic. She had no idea if it was possible to shoot three people before they shot her, but in her mind three sounded better than four. That just sounded too boastful and unrealistic.
Were they going to buy it?
They didn’t look too smart. The
y had dumb looking faces and confused expressions.
Mandy wished she knew how to do that thing with a gun that made that noise, the thing they were always doing in movies. Cocking the gun? She wasn’t sure. This wasn’t that type of gun. Maybe there was a bolt somewhere. But she couldn’t exactly go groping around with her hand looking for a bolt.
Chad started groaning from down on the ground.
“Aw, shit, man,” he said, loudly. He sounded as if he was in pain.
The moments were dragging on. Mandy didn’t know what to do.
“That’s it!” she cried out. She felt like the best strategy was simply to be completely overconfident. “You’re all going down.”
She moved her body, pretending that she was adjusting the way the rifle sat on her shoulder. She moved her trigger finger around a little, hoping they could see it moving, hoping that it was twitching or something.
“Ok!” shouted one of the men. He started lowering his gun to the ground.
“Drop it!” shouted Mandy.
“What are you doing?” said his buddy.
“Dude, she’s going to kill us.”
“How do you know that?”
“You were the one who said they were spies in the first place.”
“Drop it,” shouted Mandy.
The man dropped his gun to the ground.
Mandy held her breath as it fell, hoping that it wouldn’t fire as it hit the ground. In truth, she didn’t know if that actually happened, but she was pretty sure she’d seen it in a movie somewhere.
The other men followed suit.
Mandy held her gun on them, as if she knew how to fire it.
Max walked forward and picked up the guns. He examined them. She saw him open one of the guns and check for bullets. It was a revolver, she thought. The other guns looked different, more modern.
Max stuck one in his waistband and one in his pocket. He held another awkwardly with his good hand and pointed it at the men.
“How you doing, Chad?” said Max.
“Awful,” said Chad, loudly, nearly shouting. “They took my damn meds from me.”
“What are you taking?” said Mandy.
“Vicodin,” muttered Chad. He sounded as if he was in serious withdrawal.
Getting Out: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (The EMP Book 1) Page 11
