Defending Camp_A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller

by Ryan Westfield

  And that was where he’d stayed until all the vehicles had passed.

  Night had now fallen and the street once again seemed calm. But the calmness was only an illusion. Dan knew that Mr. Davie’s body lay there. He couldn’t get it off his mind.

  He was back in his grandfather’s room now, kitchen knife in hand, staring down at his grandfather’s face. Moonlight came in through the window.

  Dan had wanted to bury his grandfather. But now things seemed more urgent. He couldn’t stay there, alone in the house. Something would happen. He was sure of it. He’d already had to scare off one intruder. And the next time someone came around, looking for food or water, they probably wouldn’t be so skittish.

  Dan had nothing but that knife to protect himself with.

  Dan left the room, taking the knife with him. He wanted to try the radio, even though it was a little earlier than he normally talked to Max.

  He was more skittish and scared than he had been, and opening the garage to let the generator breathe just seemed like a bad idea. Like he was opening himself up to known danger.

  But he did it anyway.

  He got down on one knee by the generator, putting the knife on the concrete garage floor. He pulled hard on the start cord.

  Nothing happened.

  Shit. He needed the generator to work. It was the only way to use the radio. And he needed the radio.

  He couldn’t make it by himself. He didn’t have the slightest idea what to do. His only hope was Max, that deep distant voice cutting through the static.

  Dan pulled and pulled on the cord. But nothing.

  Nothing at all.

  He was trying not to lose his cool. But the death of his grandfather and the murder of his neighbor were weighing heavily on his mind.

  Dan sat down dejected on the concrete next to the generator.

  OK, he thought to himself. One more try. Maybe he could still get it to start. Just another moment’s rest. He’d already exhausted himself by yanking on that cord over and over again.

  As he was catching his breath, he realized that, given enough time, it was possible he could fix the generator. He’d fixed it once, after all. He could do it again.

  A noise outside the garage startled him.

  It was subtle. Quiet. But it was something.

  Dan kept his eyes on the darkness outside the open garage door, his hand fumbling around blindingly for the knife.

  His fingers found the blade first instead of the handle, giving him a cut. But he got the knife by the handle, ignoring the blood. He held the knife close to his chest. Ready. Ready to strike with it.

  His body was exhausted from too many sleepless nights. His heart was pounding away as best it could. His body felt empty. The adrenaline had taken his strength, and there wasn’t much left to give.

  But he’d fight if he needed to.

  “Who’s there?” called out Dan.

  No answer.

  Should he go to the door? Try to close it? It meant getting close to the yawning opening.

  The candle near him was still burning. Dan knocked it over with his sneaker, and it went out.

  Only the moonlight came in now, casting its light only over a portion of the garage. Dan was left in the dark.

  There was no more noise outside.

  Maybe he’d imagined it. He was jumpy, after all.

  Dan started inching his way towards the garage door. The hand his knife was in was shaky. His other hand was stretched out, ready to grab the cord and slam the garage door down closed.

  Movement. A sound.

  Something rushing at him.

  It was an adult man. But everything was a flash. Nothing but a blur.

  He collided with Dan, knocking him down to the hard ground. Dan managed to keep his head from hitting the floor. He landed hard on his shoulder.

  The guy was on top of him, pushing Dan onto his back. His hands went to Dan’s neck. He squeezed, hard.

  The man’s hair was long and unkempt. His face was filthy. He looked like he’d been living in the wild for years. Or like one of those people who managed to survive adrift in the ocean on a small raft. His beard was long. His face was deeply tanned.

  “Where is it?” screamed the man. His face was inches from Dan’s. His voice was hoarse.

  His hands tightened around Dan’s throat.

  Dan let out a small sound. He was trying to speak. But he couldn’t. Not while being strangled.

  His vision was starting to go black around the edges.

  He still had the knife in his hand.

  “Tell me where it is, or I’ll kill you. I really will. Don’t think I won’t.” The man spoke fast in that hoarse voice of his. He sounded crazy to Dan.

  Bringing the knife around into a reverse grip, Dan swung his arm up hard. He was only able to move it at the elbow. The man’s knee was on his bicep.

  The knife point pierced the man’s side. Dan drove it in.

  The man screamed. Dan pushed as hard as he could.

  The man wasn’t yet dead.

  Dan was acting on instinct. He pulled the knife out from the flesh, and drove it back in. Again and again, until the man was dead.

  Dan struggled to get out from under the adult’s weight. But he got him off him, panting from the exertion. His throat hurt tremendously.

  Dan didn’t wait to catch his breath or to look at the body. He rushed to the garage door, grabbed the rope, and slammed the door down, throwing the locking mechanism immediately afterward.

  Now Dan was alone in the pitch-black garage. The door had no windows to let in any light.

  On his hands and knees, he managed to find the candle he knocked over. He lit it with a match from his pocket.

  Holding the candle carefully, Dan used its flickering light to examine the man he’d just killed.

  Dan was trying hard to keep his thinking straight. He knew he couldn’t dwell on the fact that he’d just killed for the first time. He couldn’t think about the life that was taken.

  No, instead he had to think about practical things. And about the fact that he almost just lost his own life.

  The knife was still in his shaking hand, covered now in blood. Dan bent down and wiped the blade on the dead man’s filthy shirt.

  Dan started going through the man’s pockets. He found nothing. Nothing more than a piece of lint.

  How had this man survived since the EMP? He had nothing with him. No tools. No food. No water.

  The only answer was that the dead man had his gear elsewhere. Maybe he’d been a neighbor, for all Dan knew. But that didn’t quite make sense. He wouldn’t have looked like he’d been living outdoors if that were the case.

  So the radio wasn’t operational, his grandfather was dead, and the food at the house wouldn’t last forever. Max was supposedly coming to get him and his grandfather. But was that realistic? Could Dan really put his hope in a faceless voice on the radio?

  Even if he could, would Max really make it there? Who knew what was laying outside Dan’s small neighborhood. He’d just seen military trucks drive by. How would Max manage a convoy like that? He’d have to take the roads just like anyone else.

  Dan gazed down at the dead man.

  The attack had made no sense. What had he been after? Why had he been so crazed to even let Dan respond?

  A gunshot rang out. A popping noise in the distance.

  Dan froze where he was.

  Another pop. Then another. Three in total.

  Dan’s guess was that it was a handgun being fired.

  The garage was technically part of the basement. The front yard of the house was higher than the backyard because the house had been built in a small hill.

  Leaving the body on the garage floor, Dan dashed through the door that led to the basement. The candle blew out from his speed. He dashed up the basement stairs blindly, arriving in the kitchen.

  Another pop from outside.

  Another shot had been fired.

  Dan dashed to the fro
nt door. There was a small circular window facing the street. It was slightly higher than Dan.

  Standing on the baseboard heater, he could see out the window.

  Out there on the street, in the bright moonlight, five figures were walking slowly down the street. They were tall, and each carried a weapon. A baseball bat. A shotgun. A handgun. A crowbar. And another handgun.

  They were right in front of his house.

  “Shit,” muttered Dan, ducking his head down. It was unlikely he’d be seen, since there weren’t any lights inside the house. But he didn’t want to risk it.

  As he shifted his body, the thin metal grill came off the heater. It made a loud sound, and Dan lost his balance as it came loose. He fell onto his back, making a thud.

  Shit.

  Could they have heard that?

  It had sounded incredibly loud to Dan. But would the sound have traveled beyond the confined so the house? Normally, no. But the night was quieter than normal. No machines ran for miles and miles. Silence hung in the air like it never had before the EMP.

  He lay there on his back, his hand still gripping the kitchen knife tightly, not moving, trying not to even breathe.

  He listened as hard as he could. But if they’d heard him, and were approaching the house, he might not hear them walking across the front lawn’s grass.

  Something was going on. Something bad. And he didn’t understand it. But those trucks, the attacker, and now these guys. Things were in motion, whatever they were.

  Dan knew he needed to get out of there. Provided he survived this moment, that was, and the men kept on walking down the street.

  Slowly and as silently as he could, Dan moved, getting himself into a crouching position. He didn’t dare try to peek out the window again, but he put his ear against the front door and listened.

  Nothing.

  No sounds.

  But that didn’t mean he was safe.

  7

  JOHN

  “So you’re all good with your brother, then?” said Cynthia, that classic sarcastic bite echoing through every word.

  “You already know the answer, so why are you asking?”

  “Just wanted to see how angry you were.”

  “Just wanted to see how much you could irritate me, you mean. Right?”

  “Well you just answered my question with a response like that.”

  They were sitting off in a corner of the camp, away from the fire, looking out into the night. John had his rifle across his legs, and Cynthia had hers lying by her side.

  John took a long sip of his coffee. The pot farmers had apparently been huge coffee fanatics, because there’d been plenty of it. Initially they had all decided it’d be best to ration it, but the stress and physical demands had instead won out. And everyone basically drank as much coffee as they liked. It made work easier, and it was somehow comforting psychologically to have a hot drink in one’s hand.

  John hadn’t even been a big coffee drinker before the EMP. Sure, he’d have a take away cup on the way to work maybe, especially if he’d been hung over. Alcohol had been his thing.

  But there wasn’t a drop in sight. The pot farmers hadn’t had any, apparently preferring to indulge in their own product.

  It would have been useful to have some around. For pain relief for one thing. Alcohol had been used medicinally throughout history. And for sterilizing blades, should they have to dig a bullet out of yet another person.

  And above all else, John felt he could really use a drink right at that moment.

  John drained the last of his coffee and set the mug down in the dirt.

  “You’ve got to be careful, John,” said Cynthia after some time.

  “About what?”

  “You can’t let this family stuff, this old history between you and Max, you know, get in between you two again.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. It doesn’t have anything to do with that. I was mad at him for leaving, for making a dumb decision.”

  John felt the anger growing in his chest. He was feeling hot, even though the night was cool.

  “It sure seemed like it did,” said Cynthia.

  “Yeah, well you don’t know what you’re talking about,” snapped John.

  He didn’t fully understand why he couldn’t control himself. But he also didn’t understand why Cynthia wasn’t on his side, why she was giving him a hard time.

  “I’m going to take a walk,” said John, standing up briskly, shouldering his rifle.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “Better if I go alone,” said John. “I just need to think.”

  “We’re not supposed to walk around alone at night,” said Cynthia.

  “It’s fine. There’s no one here.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “I’m fine,” said John. “Trust me.”

  He took off without looking back, feeling calmer the farther he found himself from the camp and the bonfire.

  Soon enough, he was lost in the trees, out of sight of the bonfire.

  He let his thoughts drift here and there, but kept them away from everything to do with Max.

  John had spent most of his adult life in the heart of Philadelphia. City streets had been his environment, with all their chaos and hustle. Now, despite the violence and hardships he’d persevered through out here, he found that he preferred a life in nature to his old city life.

  He felt himself calming down, his muscles relaxing, the tenseness leaving him, feeling the calmest he had all day.

  That wasn’t to say he was glad for the EMP. Far from it.

  But if he’d known what he knew now, and the EMP had never happened, he could imagine a calm relaxing life for himself, moving out of the city, settling down in some remote town.

  Max would have said there was no point to that. For Max, there was no point in thinking about anything but the practical. About what had to be done.

  And John agreed with him. For the most part. His own change in thinking is what had kept him alive, when he’d seen so many others die.

  That was what made John so mad about Max’s recent decision. It seemed as if Max was just throwing all that practical thinking away to go on some adventure, just so he felt like he was doing something, accomplishing something.

  Then again, now that he thought about it with a slightly calmer head, maybe Max had his reasons. Max was pretty tight-lipped, and didn’t always speak his whole mind, even when pressed.

  Up ahead, John saw something. A light in the darkness. Red and orange, glowing. Definitely not the moonlight reflecting off something. No, it was the glow of a fire.

  A fire? Must have been a campfire.

  John moved into the shadows, getting himself mostly behind a tree. He got his rifle in his hands and his finger against the trigger.

  Using the scope of his rifle, John got a better look.

  It was definitely a campfire. He saw the flickering flames clearly.

  He heard no voices. No noise. Maybe he was too far away still. He saw no one through the scope, no bodies. But there were shadows on the ground. Whoever was there must have been hidden out of view, blocked by the thick strands of pine trees.

  How was it possible that there were people camping out so close to John’s own camp? The only answer was that they were people who were just passing through. Otherwise, the two groups would have run into each other earlier. It wasn’t as if everyone back at John’s camp stayed close to the fire at all times. They were often out hunting, fetching water, or patrolling the area.

  John knew that he needed to investigate.

  Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to do it alone.

  But he didn’t want to head back to camp to get Cynthia or someone else. If he did, it seemed as if the risk of being discovered was greater. It was harder for two people to conceal themselves than one. Harder not to make noise.

  Keeping fairly low, ducking partially down, John began to creep forward through the shadows.

  Stil
l no noise around the fire.

  It wasn’t until John was about fifteen feet away that he could hear the voices. They were talking quietly, barely above a whisper. He had to strain to hear them.

  “I just don’t know what we’re going to do.” It was a male voice. Middle aged, probably. And tired sounding.

  “We’ve just got to do it. There’s no other way around it.” Another male voice. Hard to tell the age.

  “But the thing about is that it’s tough.”

  “Of course it’s tough, but it’s what’s necessary.”

  “I know. Don’t you know that I know that?”

  “Yeah, but you’re acting like you don’t want to do it.”

  “It’s not a question of wanting or not wanting.”

  The conversation continued like that. They were talking in serious tones, as if whatever it was they were discussing was of the utmost importance. That didn’t surprise John. Almost everything now, after the EMP, was a life and death matter.

  John couldn’t make heads or tails of their conversation. The two men never mentioned anything specific, and they gave no other clues as to what it was they were discussing.

  John didn’t know what to do.

  The memories of being captured and almost tortured to death were fresh in John’s memory. He’d been tricked into a vulnerable position that time. He wasn’t going to let it happen again.

  But he hadn’t gone trigger happy. He hadn’t lost it. He wasn’t going to simply shoot strangers on sight, without first finding out if they were a threat or not. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he’d gotten to that point.

  John didn’t want to head back to camp to get backup. He didn’t want to miss anything in their conversation that might reveal their intentions.

  Wanting to get a look at the strangers, John decided to move around to the other side. He’d still be in the shadows, and he’d hopefully be able to finally see them. He needed to know whether they were armed. And if so, with what.

  A twig snapped under John’s boot. The sound seemed loud in the silent woods.

  He froze, hoping they hadn’t heard him. He held his breath.