19
John
Somehow John had made it to the shore. He lay there for a full ten minutes on his back, breathing heavily. He was so tired that he didn’t even examine his cut right away.
Finally, his muscles aching, John sat up. He lifted his shirt to examine the cut on his side. It was still bleeding, but when he examined it with his fingers, it didn’t seem deep enough to be seriously dangerous. At least not immediately. It was the sort of cut that might get infected, though. Not that he had time to worry about that now.
He needed food. And water.
His throat was parched, and he considered drinking from the river. Then he thought better of it.
Then he changed his mind. After all, for all he knew, he might end up walking for miles before he found more water. And here was a ton of it, flowing steadily right past him.
It would have been better if he’d had something to carry it in. Then he could continue on, deciding whether or not to drink the water later, when he became really thirsty.
John dipped his hands into the river and drank. He knew it was probably polluted with chemicals, not to mention possible pathogens. But the way John figured it, those were long-term problems. He was on the short-term plan, and he knew it. None of it probably mattered. He’d likely be dead by the end of the day.
With nothing but his knife, his clothes soaking wet, John set off. After all, there wasn’t anything to do but go on.
When he’d left his apartment, he’d wanted to just do something. He hadn’t thought he’d live. He’d just wanted to take action.
In the short time span since leaving, he’d lost and regained that drive too many times to count.
Now he… just didn’t know.
So he walked.
Using the sun as his rough guide, he walked northeast.
With each step, he thought of Lawrence bleeding out on the boat. He thought of the farmhouse, the one he knew he’d never arrive at. He thought of his brother, Max, ensconced comfortably in the farmhouse, surrounded by food, water, and guns. He imagined Max having everything planned out perfectly. He imagined Max completely safe from danger.
It was funny that he was thinking about Max after all these years. Either it was because you started to think about your family when you thought you’d die soon. Or it was because Max had always been going on and on about “being prepared.”
He was somewhere outside of Southwest Philly. It was south of where the city met the suburbs, some sort of strange industrial area.
There weren’t normally many people in this area. There weren’t even any sidewalks. It was nothing but factories and warehouses.
John had only been down here once, when he’d gotten lost in a cab on the way to pick up his car from the Parking Authority impound lot. It wasn’t the sort of place that you came to unless you had a good reason.
The fact that the area was not residential was working in John’s favor now. There wasn’t anyone here. Presumably, the workers had gone home.
John walked down the middle of the street. There were some abandoned cars on the side of the road. Some were left with the driver’s door open, as if the occupant had fled rapidly.
On a whim, John hopped into one of the cars and tried to start the engine. The keys were in the ignition, after all. But nothing happened. The engine didn’t even turn over. Must have been the EMP. Some cars worked. Some didn’t. John didn’t know why, and he didn’t have the energy or interest to speculate on why.
The whole neighborhood was eerily silent. Normally, it would have been filled with the hum of the factories, and the noise of the traffic from a nearby highway.
John walked for what felt like hours. In reality, he didn’t know how much time had passed.
Eventually, he had traveled far enough east that the neighborhood had started to change. It was a soft change. Now there were a couple more houses, and even some apartment buildings. There were more trees. He was leaving the city behind.
He didn’t notice the sign that marked the official boundary of the city. But he figured he must have missed it, because the farther he walked, the more trees and houses he saw. He’d left the industrial area behind. And with that came the sounds. Sounds of animals. Birds chirped. Squirrels chased each other.
Nature would continue, thought John. The EMP had had a devastating effect on human civilization. But to the animals, nothing had changed. At least not much. Maybe they noticed that the humans were acting differently—John must have been getting exhausted, considering the strange places his mind was going.
His stomach was starting to hurt. He imagined it must have been the water he’d drunk from the Schuylkill River. He tried to ignore the increasing pain, telling himself that it wasn’t that bad, or that it was all in his imagination.
John was walking down a normal suburban street. Normal except that no one was out.
The houses had tidy, well-maintained gardens. There were bushes and trimmed hedges. John hadn’t been to the suburbs in a long, long time. And this seemed like a strange way to revisit them.
“Hey!” came an unexpected voice. It was male, gruff and weathered.
John didn’t know if it was a friendly voice. But he doubted it.
John spun around, looking frantically for the man.
His grip tightened on his kitchen knife.
“Put that down before you hurt yourself.”
“Who’s there?” said John. “I’m armed…”
“Sure you are,” said the voice.
Someone laughed. Someone else. There were multiple people there.
Finally, John saw them. They emerged from a row of dense hedges in front of a normal-looking suburban house. There were three of them. One wore some kind of military uniform. One wore civilian clothes, jeans and a t-shirt. The last wore a police uniform.
John froze. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t take them all on.
But he could try. If he was going to die, at least he could die trying to do something.
To John’s surprise, the men stood there and laughed at him, their mouths opening wide, their laughter deep and true, as if they hadn’t laughed in ages.
“Seriously, dude, put the knife down.”
“We’re not going to hurt you.”
“Look, we don’t even have our guns out.”
“Why should I trust you?” said John. He brandished the knife in their direction, even though it was pointless. He saw that each of them had a holstered handgun on their belts.
“Don’t tell me you don’t recognize me,” said the man in the military uniform.
“Recognize you?” said John.
His stomach was causing him great pain, and he was feeling dizzy. He wasn’t at his fullest mental faculties, to say the least. Why was this stranger asking him if he recognized him? Why had he called out to John anyway? Was it only to mock him, and watch him while he languished to a death punctuated only by confusion and pain? John’s side was hurting, the wound stinging.
“John!” said the man. “It’s me, Bill Lastring. From EPR. We worked together, remember? On that Perlman deal?”
“Bill Lastring?” said John, dumbfounded.
He remembered Lastring, a coworker that he’d paired up with for the occasional project.
“But… How? What are you doing in those clothes? I didn’t recognize you.”
“National Guard,” said Bill. “I reported for duty when the EMP hit. The rest is a long, long story.”
“I… don’t understand.” John wasn’t sure what it was that he didn’t understand. But he didn’t know what else to say.
“Come on,” said Bill. “I can tell you all about it. But not here.”
“Why not?”
“This is a dangerous area,” said Bill. “If you want to survive, you’ve got to get inside.”
“And even then, you’re not necessarily safe,” said one of Bill’s companions, the one wearing civilian clothes.
“I…” said John, stuttering, not saying a
nything at all.
His initial instinct was not to trust these men. Maybe because of what he’d been through. Maybe for another reason altogether. But the fact was that he knew Bill. Not really well. But they’d been casual work buddies. And Bill was a good guy, with a wife and kids.
Deep down, John knew he didn’t really have much of a choice. If these guys had wanted to harm him, they’d have already done so. Or they could do so later. John couldn’t defend himself against firearms.
While John appeared to be hesitant, his mind was already made up. His grip on his knife was relaxing.
“Come on,” said Bill. “Follow us. There’s food and water. You can’t stay here. The militia makes its rounds.”
“The militia?”
But they didn’t answer him.
Bill and the two others started walking away, heading between two of the suburban homes.
From somewhere off in the distance, there was a loud, low, rumbling noise. It sounded like a massive truck’s engine.
Bill turned around. “They’re coming,” he said loudly. “Come with us, or…”
John didn’t need to be told the rest.
20
Max
The man with the shotgun had stopped in front of Max. He lowered the shotgun a little. But he still held it purposefully, keeping it pointed at Max’s belly. One blast from the gun, and there’d be no saving Max. They weren’t equipped to treat stomach wounds, and he’d bleed out right there on the ground under the open sky.
Max continued to study the man’s face.
Neither spoke for a full minute.
“We need to get through,” said Max finally.
“Who are you?”
“Max, not that that’s important anymore.”
“What are you doing out here?”
There was deep distrust in the man’s voice. But he hadn’t yet fired his shotgun. That was a good sign.
If he’d been out to steal the van, he would have acted by now. He wouldn’t have hesitated.
Then again, it could be part of some more devious scheme.
Max wasn’t yet sure.
“I’m coming from the farmhouse down that way,” said Max, gesturing. “Maybe half an hour’s drive.”
Max was starting to have a feeling that this man was from these parts, that he wasn’t some stranger from the city. And there weren’t many houses around. Anyone from the area was bound to know which house Max was talking about.
“I inherited the house,” said Max. “It’s mine. I didn’t steal it. I came out here after the EMP, but the area’s become overrun. An armed group invaded our home. There’s no way we can continue to defend it. So we’re heading out of the area. But if we don’t pass through, we’re never going to make it out.”
The man didn’t take his eyes off Max. He seemed to be deciding whether Max’s story could be true.
“Who are the people in the van?”
“Friends,” said Max. “One is a neighbor, one an old friend. The other three were strangers until the EMP. We’ve been helping each other.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“I don’t know,” said Max.
The more they talked, the more sure Max was becoming that this man wasn’t a danger in the way the farmhouse invaders had been. He seemed more like an honest worker from these parts, probably just trying to protect his family. Of course, that didn’t make him any less dangerous. Especially not if he ended up deciding Max was a threat.
“I’m going to put my gun down,” said Max. “OK?”
Max knew his friends in the minivan would be thinking he was crazy. Hell, they probably already thought he was crazy for doing what he was doing.
He bent down slowly and placed the Glock on the ground, muzzle pointed off to the side.
Max slowly stood straight again, and put his hands in the air.
“We’re not a threat,” said Max. “Unless we need to be. And I get the feeling the same goes for you.”
The man didn’t lower his shotgun.
But he spoke.
“We’re from here,” he said. “Our house is a quarter mile in that direction.” He gestured with his head in the direction, making only the slightest movement possible, in order to keep his eyes fixed on Max. His eyes occasionally darted to the minivan. We were fine for the first two weeks. But the last few days, there’ve been too many people arriving.”
“Same thing happened to us,” said Max.
“I had to shoot one of them,” said the man.
Max didn’t say anything.
“I remember your family,” said the man. “That is, if you are who you say you are. That house’s been in the same family for generations. What’s the name of your grandfather?”
“He always went by Hank,” said Max.
He saw the man’s face relax a little. He knew Max was telling the truth. At least about the farmhouse.
The man nodded ever so slightly. “I didn’t know him personally,” said the man. “But my dad did.”
“We’re not looking to hurt you,” said Max. “Or take anything from you. All we need is to… to be able to move these logs without getting shot. We’ll put them back. I figure you put them here to stop any more cars coming through.”
“Yup, trying to limit through traffic.”
Max nodded. And he waited for the man’s answer.
“We’ll let you through,” said the man finally. “My name’s Miller.”
Max breathed a sigh of relief.
“But we’re not going to let you get off so easy,” said Miller, who hadn’t given his first name.
“We don’t have many supplies,” said Max, cringing at the idea of giving up something that might save their lives later.
Max knew he shouldn’t have been surprised that Miller would want something in return. Sure, he’d known Max’s family. But this was the apocalypse. Society had collapsed. Everyone, to some extent, had to look out for their own.
The rules had changed.
But to Max’s surprise, Miller broke into a smile and finally lowered his shotgun.
“We don’t need anything from you,” he said. “But I think you could all do with a bit of rest at the very least, before you head on.”
Max was speechless. He simply wasn’t expecting this.
“You look like you can barely stand up,” said Miller. “And I’m going to guess that you all haven’t eaten much lately. I don’t know where you’re headed, but I have the feeling it’s a long ways off.”
“I don’t know,” said Max. “We need to push on. The area’s going to be overrun soon.”
“Well,” said Miller. “We’ve decided to stay. I’ve had the house set up practically like a bunker for a long, long time. And with this roadblock, well, it’ll slow people down a little bit. Those with vehicles, anyway.”
Max was hesitating.
It was true, he was so tired he could barely stand up. Half an hour’s sleep or so simply wasn’t enough, not for well over twenty-four hours.
“You sure your place is safe?” said Max.
“As safe as you’re going to get around these parts,” said Miller.
It was a tough decision. They needed to get going. But their chances of survival would be higher if they had some rest, some food. They’d be more likely to make the right decisions. They’d be more likely to react appropriately to danger.
“Penny!” called out Miller, waving over to the other side of the road. Come on out here. We’re going to help our new friends out.”
From the other side of the road, a woman emerged. She was carrying a shotgun as well. A child, around twelve, followed her.
“Everything OK, Max?” said Georgia, opening the passenger door to the van.
“I think so,” said Max. “Excuse me for a minute, will you?” he said to Miller, who gave him a nod.
Max leaned in towards Georgia, and speaking so that everyone in the van could hear, explained the situation.
“They seem trustworthy,” sa
id Georgia. “Not that one can ever really know…”
“We trusted each other,” said Max. “And I’m glad we did. Not everyone is the enemy.”
Georgia nodded. “You’re probably right. I hope you’re right. But the longer we stay around here, the greater the chances are that we’ll get into another gunfight. And that’s what we’re trying to avoid.”
“We can’t defend the farmhouse,” said Max. “But, frankly, we’re going to run into trouble wherever we go. We might as well get some rest while we can. Where we know we’re safe.”
“I guess we don’t really have many other options,” said Georgia. “It’s a long drive wherever we’re going.”
“I say we go for it,” said Mandy.
“Yeah,” said Chad. “And I’m starving.”
Everyone agreed, in the end. They got out of the van and everyone introduced themselves quickly. Meanwhile, they all kept their eyes peeled on the surrounding area. It wasn’t exactly the right time for overly cordial introductions.
“We’d better get to the house,” said Miller. “You can bring the van.”
“How?” said Max.
“Just drive behind me. It doesn’t look like there’s a path. But trust me, there is. It leads right to our driveway.”
“He’s been worried about something like this for years,” said Penny, Miller’s wife. “Everything is set up for the apocalypse. Even the nonexistent trick driveway.”
“I’m impressed,” said Max.
“Wait ‘til you get to the house,” said Miller, who started walking off.
Max and everyone else got back into the van. Georgia drove, taking the van slowly over the soft earth.
Miller walked quickly and purposefully ahead of them, Penny and their son trailing him. Husband and wife kept their shotguns at the ready, and from the passenger seat, Max noticed how they constantly scanned the surrounding area.
Finally, they came to the gravel driveway. By removing the portion that connected to the road, Miller had been able to hide the existence of their house more effectively.
Up ahead was Miller’s house.
At first glance, it looked like a normal house.
But when they parked and got out, it quickly became clear that there was much more to it.
Staying Alive: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (The EMP Book 2) Page 11
