Getting Out: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (The EMP Book 1)

by Ryan Westfield

  Or he might be a single lone prisoner.

  There was no way to know right now.

  Max looked around, his eye leaving the scope for a moment. He didn’t see anyone near him.

  He put his eye back to the scope, and got the crosshairs right on the gaunt man’s head. Max knew he could put one right into his forehead. The man would die instantly. He wouldn’t feel much pain. Just an instant of terror and confusion. And then he would be gone, dead to everything.

  Max paused. Was it ethical to simply kill the man? After all, Max realized quite well that he was merely hypothesizing about his potential prisoner status.

  What if the man was just like Max, Georgia, or Mandy? What if he’d been through hell the last few days, and was wandering the woods without provisions, looking for a way to survive like everyone else?

  Should Max confront him, head on? That was Max’s instinct, to confront the man like a man, to speak to him and to question him. But at that point, it would just be the man’s word. Max would have no way of knowing if he was telling the truth or not.

  He had a bad feeling about the gaunt man. A feeling deep in his gut.

  Max knew the safe thing to do was to pull the trigger.

  He moved his finger inside the trigger guard, feeling the trigger against the end of his index finger.

  Max knew he had to shoot the man, but he didn’t want to.

  He hesitated just a moment too long.

  He heard something off to his side, but it was already too late. Something struck him on the torso. Something sharp.

  Someone was there with a knife. Max understood the situation quickly. He didn’t yet feel the pain from the cut, but he knew that it was bad. It was a sort of strange background awareness he had.

  Max turned, gripping the rifle with both hands, and jammed the butt as hard as he could into his attacker.

  The man fell, the rifle colliding with his side. Max heard a sickening crunching sound.

  Max managed to scramble up to his feet. The adrenaline was pumping through him, but he was also starting to feel the pain from the wound.

  His attacker was a man with a completely shaved head. He had tattoos all over his face and his arms. He wore a wife beater t-shirt. He clearly was some kind of escaped inmate. Max’s initial assessment had been correct.

  Max knew that the man in the red would be approaching. Max didn’t have much time. He needed to deal with this man first before the red shirted man arrived.

  But Max was wounded. It was hard to move his right arm, and when he did, the pain seared through him like a red hot poker. Why couldn’t the pain have taken a little longer to kick in?

  The convict on the ground grunted. He opened his mouth, full of rotting teeth that had been filed down to vicious-looking points. He roared something unintelligible, some curse.

  Max knew he didn’t have time to waste. Holding the rifle in his left hand, he reached for his Glock and drew it.

  The man sprung up from the ground in an instant, charging Max.

  Max’s finger squeezed the trigger, letting loose two rounds which hit the convict in the chest. He screamed and fell heavily, the holes in his chest visible through his shirt.

  Before Max could do anything else, something heavy hit him in the back.

  He knew who it was in an instant. It was the man in the red shirt. It felt like his fist had hit Max hard in the back.

  The blow made Max reel, falling forward. He managed to catch himself from falling, stepping forward with his right leg.

  The man behind him rushed Max from behind, slamming his weight into Max’s back.

  Max fell forward, right towards the convict he’d just shot in the chest. He held both guns as tightly as he could, knowing that he could not relinquish them.

  But the convict, despite being gaunt, was surprisingly strong. He seized the rifle while Max was lying on top of the dead man. The attacker had too much leverage, since Max held the rifle with only one hand towards the muzzle. Max couldn’t hold onto it for much longer. A second later, the rifle had been ripped from his hand.

  Now his attacker was armed with a hunting rifle.

  Max acted quickly, wasting no time in thinking.

  Despite the pain, Max spun over onto his left side. He raised his right arm, pointing his Glock at his attacker, who was already raising the rifle.

  Max’s finger squeezed the trigger, and the Glock fired.

  The round hit the attacker in the leg. Max’s aim had been off from the pain, from the strange angle, from firing quickly, from being disoriented.

  Max saw in slow motion as his attacker squeezed the trigger of the rifle.

  Max gritted his teeth upon impact. He felt the round slam into his thigh. The pain ravaged his body, a searing hot sensation burning through his nerves.

  The attacker’s aim had been bad. Just like Max’s first shot.

  But Max wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

  He steadied his right arm as best he could, keeping the Glock straight. He took his time. He took a deep breath and held it. He had it lined up perfectly.

  Before his attacker could fire another round, Max’s finger squeezed the trigger of his Glock.

  The bullet hit the attacker square in the middle of his forehead. His lifeless body crumbled to the forest floor.

  Max felt the intense pain. It was trying to overwhelm him, but Max wasn’t going to let it. He wasn’t done yet. He had to keep going.

  Max lay silently on his side. It was too much effort to keep his right arm up, so he let it fall to the forest floor.

  There were no more sounds. No animals. And no convicts.

  Max knew it was the end of the battle.

  For now.

  There had just been two of them.

  It was good that Max had got them before they’d gotten to the group. If the convicts had snuck up on them, it might have been disastrous.

  Max struggled to stay conscious.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he sat up slightly to examine his leg. This seemed to take all his strength.

  The wound was bleeding.

  But he could still move his leg and he could still move his foot, ever so slightly.

  He wasn’t going to die. Not yet.

  Max tore off his shirt and used it to fashion a rudimentary tourniquet, as well as a bandage. He cut the shirt into long strips and was able to use these to do what he needed to do.

  The bleeding somewhat under control, Max tried to stand, but he immediately fell over. He fell with a painful thud on the ground, his head smacking into a piece of dead wood. But he shook off the pain.

  OK, so he couldn’t put weight on his leg.

  Max looked around for something to use as a crutch. He remembered Georgia’s story about fashioning a crutch from a sapling.

  On all fours, moving slowly, Max moved to a small sapling. He took his pocket knife from his pocket and sawed at the sapling’s base. It seemed to take forever, but in the end, he had a serviceable crutch.

  Max wrapped some fabric around the end of it, to make it less painful as it stuck into his armpit.

  It wasn’t perfect, but Max wasn’t going to bleed out immediately, and he could move.

  He recovered the rifle, slung it over his shoulder, made sure his Glock was in its holster, and went to recover his pack.

  He knew intuitively that he couldn’t carry the pack all the way back, at least not the way it was currently loaded down.

  Max opened the pack and started discarding things that wouldn’t be essential. That was the idea, at least. But unfortunately so much of what he had was essential. But he simply wasn’t going to be able to carry it all.

  He knew he needed to get to the farmhouse. It might take him a very long time, given how difficult it was for him to walk. He kept extra ammo for the Glock and the rifle. He kept food and water, which he would need for the journey. He kept the water filters that they would need in the future. He kept his emergency medical kit, which he d
idn’t bother trying to use now, since he knew that he didn’t know what he was doing with it, and he didn’t know what else he could do now for a gunshot wound.

  It was only in thinking of the medical kit that Max remembered being cut. He paused to examine the wound. It wasn’t as bad as he’d initially thought. It was a long cut, but it wasn’t deep, and the bleeding had mostly stopped.

  Max took the provisions that he wasn’t bringing along, which was the majority of what had been in the pack, and carefully buried it under the same leaves he’d used to cover the pack. He took his pocket knife out and carved a single line in one of the trees, to serve as a marker for some future date. In the future, he could come back and recover the provisions. There might come a time when they meant the difference between life and death.

  Shouldering his lightened pack, gritting his teeth against the pain, Max set off, limping with his crutch. His eyes studied the forest around him, and he was alert. He listened to the sounds. He wasn’t going to be ambushed, no matter what condition he was in.

  32

  Mandy

  “I think that’s it,” said Mandy, pointing ahead.

  The five of them had emerged from the woods and were standing in an overgrown field. It had been a good solid two hours of hiking from where they’d left Max.

  They gazed across the field at the house.

  It was a farm house all right, but it looked like it hadn’t been used in years. All of the windows were boarded up with wood.

  “I can’t believe we got here,” said Chad, who had arrived, panting a little, after the others. He immediately threw his pack down and flopped onto the ground.

  The others were tired and hungry.

  Mandy felt mixed emotions on getting “home.”

  In one way, the journey was over. She hoped it had been the most difficult part, but she knew that it wasn’t. She knew that a thousand challenges would crop up in the future.

  And the house… it wasn’t as if she was expecting a castle. But she had been expecting a house that looked a little more… serviceable.

  “It’s not too bad,” said Georgia, standing next to Mandy.

  “Are we going to really live there?” said Sadie.

  “Shut up, Sadie,” said James. “At least we’re going to have a place to live. And we can grow food here. You do like food, don’t you?”

  “How are we going to grow food?” said Sadie, her voice full of snark.

  Mandy knew that she had a point. Getting seeds or animals was going to be a monumental task. She didn’t even know where they were going to start.

  “I hope Max is OK,” said Chad from the ground.

  Mandy hoped so too. Without Max there, she felt lost. She’d led the group quite capably to the farmhouse, but she now realized that they’d all been looking to Max for direction, for what to do next. Max always seemed to have a plan, no matter how bad things were.

  “Well,” said Mandy. “Let’s go check it out.”

  Everyone kept their rifles out in front of them. They knew at this point not to expect the best.

  Chad groaned as he got up.

  The house actually looked a little better the closer they got to it. The old white paint was peeling, but the house looked solid.

  They set their packs down outside, and they decided that Mandy and Georgia would enter first.

  “Ladies,” said Chad. “Excuse me, but if anyone should go in first, it should be me.”

  They were surprised. It turned out that Chad really had turned over a new leaf. He was willing to potentially sacrifice himself for the good of the others.

  Chad held his rifle in front of him, ready to fire it at close range without the scope if necessary. His pack was laying outside with the rest of them.

  The door wasn’t boarded up, and Mandy opened it for him. It hadn’t even been locked.

  Chad took a step inside, before calling out, “I can’t see anything in here.”

  “I’ll come in,” said Mandy, taking a flashlight Max had loaned her.

  She walked behind Chad, holding the flashlight so they could see clearly. Some daylight came in little streams through the boarded up windows. But whoever had boarded the windows had done a very thorough job, and it wasn’t enough light to see by.

  “This actually is pretty nice,” said Mandy.

  To her surprise, the house was still full of things you would expect in an older house. There were plates in the kitchen, spoons in the drawers. There were bookshelves with books in the living room, and there were beds in all the upstairs rooms.

  There was even canned food in the basement. There were cans of peaches, tomatoes, and even pickles.

  “I’m getting hungry just looking at all this,” said Chad.

  Mandy laughed.

  The danger of a possible intruder in the house seemed to have passed. They spent some time exploring the house before heading back into the sunshine to join the others.

  “It’s better than we expected,” said Mandy. “There’s even food in there.”

  “Nice,” said James.

  “I just hope Max makes it back soon,” said Georgia, eyeing the sky.

  Mandy knew what she was thinking: the sun was going to set soon, and it would be more dangerous out there at night. Not to mention more difficult to find the way.

  But Max had a flashlight. And he was smart. He would make it back, Mandy was sure of it.

  They set about bringing their packs and their gear into the living room of the house. It was strange to see the survival gear and the hiking backpacks sitting on the nice carpet of the living room, next to an old fashioned ornate sofa, with hardbound books on the shelves.

  “I don’t understand why this stuff is still here,” said Sadie, looking at the books.

  “Come on, Sadie,” said Georgia. “There’s still work to be done. You can look at the books later. Give me a hand with the cooking.”

  With her flashlight, Mandy found some candles in the kitchen drawer, along with some matches.

  She was about to bring them back to Georgia so she could get started with the cooking, and to put them around the house where they might need them.

  Only at the last moment did she realize that she was in what was actually a kitchen. She tried the stove.

  To her absolute surprise, when she turned the knob, gas came out of the burner. She lit it with her match and sure enough, it continued to burn.

  “Georgia!” she called out. “Come look at this!”

  Georgia and Sadie came into the room.

  “Wow,” said Georgia. “I can barely believe it.”

  “Well I guess we shouldn’t get used to it,” said Mandy. “I suppose it’s a tank that’ll run out eventually.”

  “Let’s just enjoy it while we can,” said Georgia.

  Mandy turned off the gas to conserve it, while Georgia and Sadie rooted around in the cupboard to see what kinds of pots and pans they had.

  Unfortunately, no water came out of the tap.

  “Maybe it’s just shut off,” said Mandy.

  “Maybe,” said Georgia.

  “Do you think the city water will still be running?”

  “This place is probably on a well,” said Georgia.

  “Yeah,” said Mandy, agreeing, but she realized her mind really wasn’t on the cooking. Her mind was on Max. Part of her wanted to go look for him, but Max had warned her specifically against that. He’d said it would be too dangerous, and that they needed to stay together as a group. The worst thing that could happen, Max had said, was that the group further fragmented.

  Mandy left Georgia, Sadie, and a rather reluctant James, to get down to cooking. They had to improvise quite a bit, because the remaining perishable foods at this point were varied. There was a bit of chicken left, some bacon, a single egg, half a stick of butter. It was a hodgepodge, but it would work. They would be fed. For now.

  “No sign of Max?” said Mandy, sitting down on the front porch steps next to Chad, who’d been guarding the hou
se from the outside.

  The sun had set, and darkness was settling over the land.

  “Nope,” said Chad, looking across the field into the distance. “Not that I’d be able to see him right now anyway.”

  “You think he’ll make it?” said Mandy.

  Chad nodded. “I’m sure of it,” he said. “Ever since he was a little kid, he’s been a tough old bastard. He can deal with anything.”

  “So what’s the story between you two?” said Mandy. “Some kind of childhood rivalry or something?”

  “It’s not complicated,” said Chad. “We were good friends, and then I got into drugs. That’s pretty much it.”

  Mandy didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say, and she was learning that sometimes no words were needed.

  After half an hour, Georgia called out that the food was ready.

  Mandy joined them inside, where they ate in the dining room at the table. Chad remained outside, insisting that he stand guard. Georgia sent James to bring some food to him.

  “It’s strange to be sitting around a table like civilized people again,” said Mandy.

  “I like it,” said Sadie.

  “What about you, James?” said Mandy.

  James had been conspicuously silent all day, all through the walk.

  “It’s nice,” said James. “I’m just worried about what we’re going to eat in the future.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” said Georgia. “Remember, your mother’s quite the hunter.”

  “But we only have so many bullets,” said James.

  “We’ll figure something out,” said Georgia. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

  When the meal was finished, Mandy went back outside to join Chad on the porch.

  “Still no sign of him?”

  “Nope,” was all Chad said.

  She could hear it in his voice. Chad was worried about his friend. Just like she was.