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

by Ryan Westfield

  James was going between Max and Chad, handing things that Max took from the packs to Chad. The items were piling up outside the van, and soon there’d be simply too much to fit. They’d have to make difficult choices about what to bring.

  The sun was starting to rise. Georgia was hoping to get on the road before 9 o’clock, but she didn’t know if that was going to happen.

  The whole situation reminded her somewhat of going on vacation with her kids, trying to get the truck ready at the last minute.

  Of course, they weren’t heading on a vacation at all.

  And the reality of the fresh dead bodies on the farmhouse property couldn’t have underscored that fact more.

  “Mandy,” said Georgia, pulling her aside from what she was doing. “We’ve got to do something about the bodies.”

  Georgia shook out another two caffeine pills from the plastic bottle she carried with her. Soon it would be empty. But for now she needed to stay as alert as possible. She handed one to Mandy, and swallowed the other one herself.

  “Are you sure?” said Mandy. She looked like she didn’t like the idea.

  “Well,” said Georgia. “No, we don’t have to. But it seems like the proper thing to do. We don’t have time to really bury them.”

  “What are we going to do with them?”

  “Drag them to the woods,” said Georgia matter-of-factly. “Cover them with some leaves.”

  Mandy seemed to be considering it. “Have you asked Max?”

  Georgia shook her head. “Honestly, I think he’d want to leave them out as a warning or something, trying to discourage people from coming to the house. But it doesn’t seem right to me.”

  “You think he’d really want to do that?” said Mandy.

  “I don’t know,” said Georgia. That was the truth. Max certainly wasn’t cruel. But he was very practical minded, and almost ruthlessly pragmatic in his efforts to protect the group.

  “All right,” said Mandy. “Let’s do it.”

  “Come on,” said Georgia.

  It was almost startling how everyone had so quickly learned to ignore the dead bodies on the ground. On the side of the house with the van, there were three, all from yesterday.

  First, they went to the young man, the former owner of the van. His eyes were open, and Georgia leaned down and closed them gently. His body was already stiff from rigor mortis.

  “We’re going to have to drag them,” said Georgia. “If we carry them all, we’ll be exhausted.”

  “I’m not sure I can get any more exhausted,” said Mandy.

  “We’ll get to sleep in the van,” said Georgia. “We’ll leave soon enough. We just need to push through for a little while longer.”

  “That’s what I’ve been telling myself,” said Mandy. “But more and more things keep cropping up. It seems like we’re never going to get a chance to rest. I thought we were safe once we got to the farmhouse. I was so happy we were all safe.”

  “That’s the way it works sometimes,” said Georgia. “But we’ll get there eventually.”

  “But who knows what awaits us on the road,” said Mandy. “It could be even more dangerous where we’re headed than here. And we don’t even have a plan. That’s what worries me.”

  “Max thinks that if we head far enough west, we’ll be safer. Remember those population density maps of the US? I think he’s right. Plus, this clueless college kid got halfway across the country fine. He didn’t have any weapons, or even a sense of self preservation, apparently.”

  “I guess we don’t really have any other options anyway,” said Mandy.

  “Nope,” said Georgia. “It doesn’t look like it. Now I guess we can take a leg each.”

  “It’s not very dignified,” said Mandy, reaching down and grabbing the stiff leg.

  “The apocalypse isn’t very dignified,” said Georgia. “We don’t have control over so much. We’ve got to make the best decisions for the things that we can control.”

  Together, they dragged the young man to the woods.

  “That’s a nice spot over there,” said Mandy, pointing to a spot between two large trees.

  Georgia wasn’t even thinking about where the young man should be laid to rest. She was keeping her eyes out for any strangers that might be approaching. She was ready to grab her gun in an instant.

  “That’s fine,” said Georgia.

  They dragged the body a little farther, and then covered him with some dead leaves from the forest floor.

  “One down,” said Georgia.

  “Uh, Georgia,” said Mandy, as they walked back to the farmhouse. “Maybe someone else can help you with that woman… I just…”

  Georgia knew Mandy’d had trouble with killing to defend herself. But she also knew that it wasn’t something that Mandy could avoid.

  “Nope,” said Georgia. “You’re going to help me with her. And we’re doing her next. The faster you confront your feelings on this, the better off you’ll be. Trust me. It’s going to help you in the long run.”

  Mandy didn’t say anything, but she walked with Georgia to where the woman’s body lay, her throat slit, stab wounds on her torso, dried blood everywhere.

  “Come on,” said Georgia. “You can do it.”

  “I feel like I’m going to throw up again,” said Mandy, turning away from the body.

  “Come on,” urged Georgia. “You did the right thing. You defended yourself. You can’t let this experience make you hesitate in the future.”

  Mandy turned back around, and stared right at the dead woman’s face.

  Good, thought Georgia to herself. Mandy was making progress.

  Together, they dragged the woman to the woods. This time, Mandy didn’t suggest any particular place for the “burial” site.

  Next were the three attackers. By the time they were done, they were too tired to cover the bodies with leaves.

  “They tried to kill us anyway,” said Mandy. “I’m not sure they deserve to be covered.”

  Mandy and Georgia were both panting with exertion, and they had to sit down in the woods to recover their strength.

  “The van should be almost ready,” said Georgia. “But they might need help figuring out what to leave behind.”

  “Any idea where we’re headed?”

  “West.”

  “I mean, more specifically.”

  “I don’t know,” said Georgia. “I’ve never been out of Pennsylvania.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, I’ve been down to the shore, stuff like that.”

  “I haven’t really traveled much either. I visited a friend in San Francisco once. Of course, I drove.”

  “I don’t think we have any maps that aren’t just for Pennsylvania,” said Georgia.

  “Great,” said Mandy. “Why do I get the feeling that each step we take is like two steps backwards? It’s like we’re getting less prepared with each passing day.”

  “Yup,” said Georgia. “I know the feeling. But there’s no point in dwelling on it. Come on, we’ve got to move.

  Georgia stood up and offered Mandy a hand, helping her up.

  “You sure sound like Max sometimes.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Georgia.

  “Hey,” whispered Mandy suddenly, tugging on Georgia’s arm. “Do you see that over there?”

  Georgia looked where Mandy pointed.

  In the distance, between the trees, there was a hint of movement. Whatever it was, it was too far off to see clearly.

  But Georgia was familiar with how animals moved. This definitely wasn’t an animal.

  That meant it was a “someone.”

  16

  John

  The tourist boat was floating down the Schuylkill River, headed in the wrong direction.

  Lawrence had died on the crude metal floor. He’d bled to death. John had held him until the end, silently. There was nothing that could have been done. The tourniquet John fashioned from Lawrence’s shirt didn’t work. The
wound was too massive.

  Now John was covered in Lawrence’s blood.

  As the time passed, John began to partially recover from the shock of losing the man who had become his unlikely friend. His mind returned to practical matters, and he realized that he had no food, no water. His only possessions were his blood-stained clothes and his kitchen knife. If anyone saw him, he’d look like a knife murderer from a horror movie.

  At some point, John decided that a burial at “sea,” or in this case, the river, was the best burial that the former therapist was going to get.

  It took quite a bit of effort to hoist Lawrence’s body over the side of the boat. John had needed to get almost entirely under Lawrence’s body and push upwards. Then Lawrence’s belt had gotten caught on the rough lip of the boat’s side. It had taken what felt like an eternity to solve that problem. Finally, with a huge final push, Lawrence was overboard, landing with a splash in the Schuylkill.

  John was trying his best to think clearly. It was difficult with his pulse racing from the physical exertion, not to mention the anxiety produced by the situation.

  He was sweating, and he didn’t have anything to drink. His throat was already parched. His hair stuck to his forehead and his shirt stuck annoyingly to his back.

  John took a deep breath and sat down in one of the boat’s seats.

  He closed his eyes, trying to ignore his surroundings. He tried to picture where the Schuylkill River led. Eventually, he knew, it fed into the larger Delaware River, which ran south, past Delaware, eventually leading into the Atlantic.

  John knew he needed get off the boat soon. He certainly wasn’t going to stay on it until the river got wide. And he certainly wasn’t going to float all the way to the Atlantic. He needed to make his move soon, while he could still see the shore.

  Thoughts of Lawrence’s death kept poking at his mind, distracting from the plans he needed to make. The death was just so senseless. The men had already been enough of a threat that John and Lawrence had fled onto the boat. The men essentially already had all the food they’d be able to steal from John and Lawrence, in the abandoned sacks on the dock.

  Maybe there was another reason. John knew he shouldn’t have been thinking about it now, but he couldn’t help it. Maybe the men had been the owners of the boat. He hadn’t even considered that possibility until now. But still, the boat was already gone. Their only motive could have been revenge.

  John had always looked out for himself. But in this instant, he felt that he should have been the one who’d been shot. After all, hadn’t the whole thing been his idea? Lawrence didn’t deserve this. He should have stayed in the city. But John had convinced him to leave.

  Then again, Lawrence would have died for sure in the city, one way or another. That much was certain. Almost everyone there would die, sooner or later. There simply wasn’t any food being grown. The animals weren’t big enough to survive for long. John didn’t want to think about the possibility of cannibalism. And still, that would only work for so long.

  He had to snap out of it.

  John shook his head back and forth like a dog.

  He was studying the banks of the river, trying to figure out where he was.

  It looked like he was somewhere in the sprawl of Southwest Philly. This wasn’t exactly where he wanted to be, but at least here he wouldn’t have to travel through the densely populated West Philly neighborhood.

  It was now or never, figured John. In a couple minutes, he might not have the mental energy to even try to escape. And who knew, maybe the river would become more rapid. The longer he waited, the farther he’d get from the farmhouse.

  Not that he’d ever get there.

  John knew he needed to bring the knife with him, but he didn’t relish the idea of swimming with it. Then again, he couldn’t think of anything to do with it.

  John acted suddenly. He intentionally didn’t give himself time to think about the consequences.

  He hurled himself over the side of the boat completely unglamorously.

  He fell with a splash into the water. It was colder than he’d thought it would be.

  John didn’t look back. He swam, as best he could, with the kitchen knife in his hand. He’d been a competitive swimmer back in high school, but that was a long time ago, and he found himself tiring quickly.

  The bank of the river hadn’t looked far from the boat. But now, with his eyes just a few inches above the water, it looked almost impossibly far.

  John’s form was getting looser the more fatigued he became. He wasn’t aware of where his hands and feet were moving. The only thing he knew was that he had to keep moving them. He had to keep going.

  Suddenly, he felt a pain in his side.

  It took a moment for him to realize what had happened.

  Somehow, he had let the knife swing too close to his body. And it had cut him.

  He didn’t know yet whether it was a simple nick, or a deeper wound. It wasn’t like he was able to check it, there in the water.

  John tried to keep the knife out of the way as much as possible as he continued.

  The pain wasn’t too bad. But it worried him.

  But the only thing he could do was to keep going.

  17

  Chad

  The van was packed. Mostly. Chad had spent all morning carrying all the heavy stuff to the van and trying to figure out a way it could all fit inside. And that was counting on six people being in the van.

  A huge pile of provisions lay next to the van. Everyone should have been working together to figure out what was absolutely crucial, what they really needed to bring. But everyone was so tired, and there was so much to do, that in the end a lot of the decisions were left up to Chad and Chad alone, since he was the one actually loading the van.

  Chad’s muscles ached from the effort. He’d been getting fitter since arriving at the farm. But he still had a lifetime of inactivity behind him. It would take more than two weeks to catch up.

  On top of the muscle soreness, Chad was simply exhausted. It wasn’t like the others had had any rest either. But Chad had spent all that time on the roof. It’d been probably the most stressful event of his life.

  He’d frozen up when he’d seen the attackers for the first time. He’d gotten one in his sights, but the guy’d been running. And Chad had just kept waiting until he thought he could really get the shot. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to fire another shot in quick succession, so he’d kept waiting for the perfect shot. And that shot never came.

  The others, Max, Georgia, and everyone—they probably thought Chad was worthless. After all, he was the one who’d been on watch. It’d all been his responsibility. If it hadn’t been for Georgia, who knew what would have happened.

  Chad kept his eyes peeled as best he could, walking around to the other side of the house, to tell Max that the van was almost ready.

  He heard footsteps running off to the side, by the woods. It was Georgia and Mandy, their rifles held in their hands.

  “Chad,” said Mandy, using a loud whisper when she got close. “People. In the woods.”

  Shit. This was the last thing they needed.

  Georgia and Mandy didn’t stop running, and they motioned for Chad to follow them around to the other side of the house.

  Chad lumbered along behind them, running as best he could, keeping his eyes fixed on the woods that they’d come from.

  “What are we going to do?” said Chad, panting.

  “We’ve got to get on the road now,” said Mandy.

  “How many of them are there?”

  “We don’t know. Saw a couple.”

  “Max,” said Georgia, running up the wooden stairs of the porch. “Max, wake up.”

  Max woke with a start. He instinctively reached for his Glock and had it in his hand before his eyes were fully open.

  “We’ve got to hit the road, Max,” said Georgia. “Mandy and I saw people in the woods. More than one. No idea who they are.”

  �
�Shit,” muttered Max, closing his eyes, as if he was thinking hard.

  “We don’t have the energy to fight them,” said Georgia. “We’re all dead tired.”

  “Yeah,” said Max, opening his eyes again. “Realistically, we’re not going to win, especially if they’re intent on taking the house. Better to just let them have it. We’re not going to make it through another day like yesterday.”

  “But we’re not done packing,” said Chad. “I’ve got a lot of stuff in the van, but there’s plenty more I couldn’t fit in. If we left now, we’d be leaving a lot behind. And I mean a lot. I thought you would all want to go through it once more.”

  “We can’t be cowboys about this,” said Max. “We’ve got to leave now, whether we’re packed or not.”

  Everyone else was nodding their head, in agreement with Max.

  Maybe Chad was just exhausted, but in his mind, the provisions were more important than risking another gunfight.

  “Look,” said Chad. “Say we get out of here without getting shot, what good is it going to do us if we’ve left something critical behind?”

  “You were the one packing the van,” said Mandy. “Let’s hope you did a good job.”

  “Come on,” said Max. “We can’t discuss this any longer. How close were they?”

  “Pretty close,” said Georgia. “And getting closer.”

  Max stood up, gritting his teeth in pain.

  Chad moved over to help him up.

  “I’m fine,” said Max. But it was clear his leg was killing him.

  The group cut through the house, taking one last look around for anything that they might need to grab. Chad stuffed a couple unused candles in his pockets. Not to mention a few pieces of cooked venison that were lying out on some newspaper.

  “You’re driving first, Chad,” said Max, as they approached the van.

  “I really hope we don’t need any of this, Chad,” said Mandy, eyeing the pile of left-overs on the ground. She spoke his name with disdain.

  Truthfully, Chad could understand Mandy’s occasional disdain for him. How many times had Chad and Chad alone been responsible for almost getting them all killed? That didn’t mean it didn’t bother him. He wasn’t like Max. Things didn’t just slide right off of him. He felt everything. People used to tell him that he was too sensitive. Maybe that was why he’d gotten mixed up in drugs in the first place. The first time he’d popped a Vicodin, he felt all that sensitivity and anxiety just slide right off of him. Now, without the drugs, it was like he was entering the world again for the first time.