Staying Alive: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (The EMP Book 2)

by Ryan Westfield

  “You’re thinking of staying out on the fringes and picking them off when they finally have to come out?” said Georgia.

  “Exactly,” said Max. “There’s hardly any food in there. They’re going to have to come out at some point.”

  “They were wearing big packs,” said Georgia. “And it sounded like they’d robbed a lot of people… I’m sure they’ll have food with them.”

  “Well,” said Max. “We’re going to have to wait if we want to get the house back. The only other option is to leave.”

  “Leave?” said James.

  “We could take the minivan,” said Max. “But we’d be starting all over. And without most of our gear. I think that’s going to have to be option number two.”

  “What about Chad?” said Sadie. “He’s stuck up there on the roof.”

  “He’s going to have to just wait it out,” said Max. “And hopefully we’ll see Mandy before she tries to enter the house.”

  “This would be a lot easier if our cell phones worked,” said Sadie.

  “Shut up,” said James. “You’re not helping.”

  There were times when their sibling rivalry could be cute, but this wasn’t one of them. It was starting to wear on Max.

  “Kids,” said Georgia. “Come on now.”

  “Yeah, James,” said Sadie.

  “She’s got a good point,” said Max. “But there’s nothing we can do about that.”

  “What if they try to leave in the van?” said Georgia. “We’re going to have to cover both doors… They could easily rush out the front, and get into the van with a bunch of our supplies.”

  “Yeah,” said Max. “What’s stopping them from simply gathering up the best of our possessions and leaving.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Georgia. “I have a feeling they’re going to want the house. They were… it’s hard to describe their attitude. But they just want to take. They want complete control…”

  On the roof, Chad was still pointing down into the house, indicating that he hadn’t seen the men leave yet.

  “Either way,” said Max. “We’ll shoot them when they leave. They’re probably more likely to leave the way they came in. You’re the best shot by far, Georgia. So you’re going to need to move out. You know what to do. Find good cover, and wait. There aren’t going to be any shifts. We’re going to have to stay awake as long as possible. Here, these might be useful.”

  Max took a bottle of strong caffeine pills from his pocket. He shook some into Georgia’s hand. “You’re going to want to take them frequently.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Stay here,” said Max. “James will stay with me. Sadie should go with you. James is a better shot than Sadie, and I need him here. I might not be much good with this leg, and I only have my Glock.”

  “Makes sense,” said Georgia. “We’d better head out now.”

  “If you see Mandy,” said Max. “Do everything you can to warn her. Fire a shot in the air if you have to. She might be too far to reach by shouting.”

  “Got it, come on, Sadie… And be careful, James.”

  There was the hint of a tear in her eye as she crawled over to James and gave him a half hug, which looked hard to do because they were all flat on their stomachs on the ground.

  “Take care of Sadie, Mom,” said James.

  Sadie looked terrified, but she followed her mom.

  Georgia knew what to do. Max wasn’t too worried about them. Keeping his eyes on the house, he watched out of his peripheral vision as Georgia and Sadie crawled away. They’d take the long away around the house, keeping out of sight as much as possible.

  Everything was falling apart. Max liked to run a tight ship. And the situation right now was anything but. They’d lost their house, and their gear.

  “OK,” whispered Max to James, who moved until he was right next to Max. “I didn’t want to worry them, but we’re going to need to get that van out of there.”

  “The van?” said James. “Why?”

  “We might need it for ourselves. It’s too valuable to let them get away with it, not to mention all our gear.”

  Max’s eyes traveled again to the college-aged man dead on the ground, his eyes still wide open.

  7

  Mandy

  Mandy had thought she’d toughened up over the last two weeks. She’d seen bodies. She’d seen people shot. To say she’d been OK with it all would be completely wrong. But she was getting used to it, adapting as people do to intense new circumstances.

  But all that adaptation was failing her now.

  She was still behind the tree, out of view.

  Her whole body was shaking with fear. She felt sick to her stomach, like she might vomit at any moment.

  The adrenaline was coursing through her. Her vision had narrowed down to a tight tunnel.

  She held the gun, but her hands were shaking so much, she doubted she’d be able to use it.

  She’d felt like this before, years before, when applying for her waitressing job. She’d felt like she was going to pass out, just sitting in her car, application in hand. Later, a friend had told her it had sounded like a panic attack.

  If that was a panic attack, then what she was experiencing now was certainly a panic attack.

  What timing.

  She needed to be moving. She needed to take action.

  But instead she was frozen.

  Maybe it was the weeks of dwindling food supplies. Maybe it was the constant stress. Maybe it had all built up to this.

  Mandy had hidden behind the tree as the van drove up the road. She’d heard voices in the distance, towards the house. Then she’d heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire.

  Now all was quiet. And Mandy waited. She didn’t know what’d happened. She was too terrified to look. She was horrified at the thought that Max or Georgia or any of the others had been shot.

  She didn’t know who had done the shooting. She didn’t know who was in the van.

  The sun was low in the sky. Within an hour, it would be nightfall.

  Mandy knew that tonight the moon would be bright. Not that that gave her much comfort.

  Should she head towards the house? She knew she was playing the coward. Maybe her friends desperately needed her help.

  She couldn’t just sit there, waiting. She didn’t know how much time had passed. She didn’t have a watch. She’d always checked the time on her cell phone. But that was before the EMP. Before everything had changed.

  Finally, Mandy forced herself to her feet. It took all her willpower. She peeked out from behind the thick tree trunk.

  The house still stood. There was no movement anywhere. She couldn’t see if Chad was on the roof or not. The van was there. From where she was, it looked as if the doors were all closed. She couldn’t see over to the other side, however.

  Where was everyone?

  Mandy’s eyes scanned the area, looking for something, some sign of what had happened.

  That was when she saw the body lying on the ground. Whoever it was, they were clearly dead. But Mandy wasn’t close enough to see properly.

  She remembered the scope on her hunting rifle. She felt like an idiot for not thinking of it before. Then again, she still wasn’t used to carrying a gun.

  Her hands shaking, Mandy pointed the rifle at the body. Using the scope, she could see that it was a man. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it wasn’t one of her friends. Maybe he was the man who’d driven the van.

  Maybe he’d attacked the farmhouse group, and been killed. Maybe it was safe now to go back into the farmhouse.

  But Mandy hesitated. She didn’t know why, except that it was strange there wasn’t any movement around the house. Normally, someone would have come out to do something. Wasn’t Max going to check that well? And why wasn’t Chad on the roof?

  It was possible, of course, that he was merely on the other side. But the rules of the watch that Max had laid out clearly stated that the watchman need
ed to keep an eye out in all directions.

  Mandy heard a sound behind her.

  It sounded like someone walking through the long grass, a soft, swishing sound. It was so soft Mandy wasn’t sure if she was really hearing it or not. Maybe she was imagining things in her heightened state of awareness and fear.

  Mandy spun around.

  A stranger was walking towards her. It was a woman, only about five feet from Mandy.

  The woman had long brown hair that was matted. Her eyes shone with something, some intense look that chilled Mandy to the bone.

  The woman didn’t speak. She stood still, looking at Mandy, eying her, eying her rifle.

  “Hello?” said Mandy.

  The woman didn’t answer.

  She was practically skin and bones, already quite gaunt. Mandy’s fear shot up another level. Mandy saw that the woman was desperate. Maybe she’d been a normal person before the EMP. Now she was a shell of her former self, hungry and desperate. She looked like she’d do anything.

  The silence hung heavy between them. The moment seemed to stretch forever.

  A thought shot through Mandy’s brain—how strange that two strangers had shown up the same day.

  Then again, maybe Max was right. He’d predicted that around this time survivors would reach these parts. And he’d predicted that they’d be desperate, ready to do anything. Max had said these people would have absolutely nothing to lose. And that they’d already lost their humanity.

  The woman in front of Mandy suddenly rushed forward, charging Mandy.

  Mandy acted instinctually. She swung her rifle at the woman. The butt of the gun collided with the woman’s side. It made a sickening sound.

  Mandy didn’t want to hurt anyone. She never had. But her instincts were kicking in. It was either Mandy or the stranger.

  And Mandy wasn’t going to give herself up.

  She’d do what she had to do, however horrible.

  The woman grunted in pain.

  But it wasn’t enough to stop her.

  Before the EMP, Mandy had never been in a fight before in her life. She’d gone to a school where only the boys fought, and even then only rarely.

  The stranger grabbed the rifle, and she held on tight. Moving her leg, she shot her knee up. It connected with Mandy’s groin, sending pain shooting through her. The pain was almost too much for her.

  They were locked in a battle for the rifle. Both of them held it. It swayed this way and that, like two arms locked in an arm wrestling match. Neither would give up. Their eyes were locked.

  A silence hung in the air. Neither of them spoke a word. Mandy heard only her own breathing, as well as the stranger’s.

  The stranger, despite being starving, had an incredible strength to her. It was strength that frightened Mandy.

  Mandy remembered the knife in its plastic sheath. It might be her only hope. If she lost control of the rifle, she would certainly be shot.

  Killing Mandy would only give the stranger the belongings she had on her. And she didn’t have any food with her. But it wasn’t about logic. It was about the instinct for survival, an instinct that could drive nearly anyone to do things they’d normally shudder to think about. It was an instinct that could cause horrible violence and pain, and not even necessarily for any reason, except that the instincts had become too strong…

  Mandy could already feel her arms getting weak. Their legs were somehow locked together, as Mandy held the stranger’s knee between her thighs, which she pressed tightly together.

  It was a stalemate.

  And there was only way out.

  Mandy knew what she had to do. But she needed one hand free. That meant letting go of the gun. It was a dangerous plan. But it was the only one she had.

  Mandy let go of the rifle with her right hand.

  Doing so swung the balance of power towards the stranger. The stranger almost had the rifle now. Mandy couldn’t hang onto it long with just one hand.

  Her right hand found the plastic handle of the knife with the four-inch blade. It came out of the sheath easily.

  Mandy didn’t waste any time. She drove the knife forward with all her strength. It penetrated the woman’s abdomen.

  The stranger screamed. But she still clung to the rifle.

  Mandy pulled the knife out, and stabbed again.

  And again, and again.

  Finally, the stranger collapsed to the ground. Blood covered her already stained and dirty shirt.

  But the stranger wasn’t dead.

  Mandy acted quickly, while she knew she still had it in her. She didn’t want the stranger to suffer more than she had to.

  Mandy bent down and with a single motion, slit the woman’s throat.

  Mandy grabbed the rifle with one hand. Her knife, covered with blood, was in the other.

  Mandy turned around, walked about four feet, and then bent over and vomited the little food she had in her stomach.

  The world was a blur to Mandy. Without thinking, she moved automatically. With blood on her, she started trudging towards the farmhouse. She was in shock, horrified with what she’d done, and wasn’t thinking about the gunshots she’d heard earlier.

  The sun in the sky was setting, but Mandy didn’t even notice.

  8

  John

  Somehow, John had made it down four flights of stairs. He figured he was at the ground floor now. He’d done it on his butt, with his hand on the guardrail, moving blindly. The entire time, he could only hope that there wasn’t anyone in there with him. The screams he’d heard over the last two weeks were still fresh in his mind.

  His briefcase was now slung over one shoulder, and the thin leather strap dug painfully into him. His kitchen knife was in his free hand.

  He was still in the pitch-black darkness, but within minutes he’d found a door.

  His hands gripped the solid steel metal bar of the door and he pushed.

  Light came bursting in, shocking his darkness-adapted eyes.

  John looked outside cautiously, sticking only his head out.

  Shit, he’d found the wrong door. Maybe he’d lost count as he made his way down the flights of stairs. The truth was that John couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken the stairs, if he ever had at all. He was an elevator man, as were most of the building’s upscale occupants.

  Well, it was the wrong door. But it was a door.

  John shuddered at the thought of heading back into the darkness.

  He stepped out the door and found himself behind the building in an alley.

  John was already exhausted from the trip down the stairs. Maybe it was because of the hunger he felt like a pit in his stomach. Or maybe it was because he’d never worked out those muscles before. Not that he worked out much at all. His brother, Max, had always been the physically fit one, while John was more content to save his energy for his investment schemes.

  Despite his fatigue, John started off down the alley. So far, everything looked normal.

  Rounding the alley’s exit, John found himself on Broad Street, which some called the pulse of Center City Philadelphia.

  His jaw dropped as he gazed down the once-bustling city street.

  Then again, he probably shouldn’t have been surprised.

  There were cars parked everywhere, abandoned, some with their doors open, as if people had fled quickly. Most of the cars were in the lanes, but some had been driven up onto the sidewalks before being abandoned.

  The entire street was packed full of cars. There must have been a huge traffic jam to get out of the city. By the looks of it, most people had been stuck and never gotten out.

  There wasn’t a human in sight.

  The street was desolate.

  Except for a dog barking somewhere in the distance, there wasn’t a single sound.

  This wasn’t what John had expected to find. He’d heard the noises, the screams. He’d heard it all. It had sounded like a complete madhouse, complete violent chaos. It had sounded like humanity tur
ned completely savage and ruthless.

  Maybe the flame of violence had burned bright, and then burned itself out. Maybe people had taken shelter in apartments and business buildings, waiting to starve together, too terrified to leave.

  John didn’t know what to do, so he started walking.

  He walked along the sidewalk slowly. His mind was a tumbling mess of stupefaction. He was too hungry and shocked to have many thoughts.

  The shop windows he passed were shattered. There was nothing inside the shops, when he looked.

  It turned out John’s first impression, that there were no people here, was wrong.

  He saw his first body on the sidewalk. It was a young man, with his skull caved in. A bloody brick lay nearby.

  John had no reaction. He was already too numb. He just stepped over the body and continued walking.

  John headed west, towards the Schuylkill River that ran through the city.

  In the first fifteen minutes, he saw many more bodies. He looked at them all. Afterwards, he didn’t give them so much as a glance. Gradually, he stopped even noticing them. Call it shell shock or numbness, but John certainly wasn’t himself. He’d been changed, perhaps permanently.

  John wasn’t even paying attention to where he was. He knew that he was walking west, and that was all that he cared about.

  “Whoa, whoa, what the hell are you doing out here?”

  The voice came out of nowhere.

  John felt so out of it, so numb, that he didn’t even look to see where the voice was coming from. His brain only half registered the sound.

  The kitchen knife was still in his hand, but he had no intention of using it, even if the voice came from a threat.

  “Hey there,” said the voice again.

  It came from a man, who scurried to catch up to John.

  The man wore khaki pants and a button-down striped shirt. His hair was disarranged, and his once-respectable clothes were torn in various places.

  “Hey, I’m talking to you. Can you hear me?”

  Finally, John looked at the man. But he didn’t stop walking.

  “What do you want?” said John.