Defending Camp_A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller

by Ryan Westfield

  “Who’s coming?” said Dan, finally lifting himself up off the floor. He couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to see what was happening.

  “Get inside,” barked Joey. “In the back. Go.”

  It sounded urgent. Dan got up quickly and rushed into the store. It was dark, except for thin rays of light that came in through one of the windows in the back. Dust was caught in the light, seemingly hanging in the air, making the place seem abandoned, completely disused.

  Dan realized he was inside one of the local coffee shops, a place called Perky Times. Chairs and tables were scattered around in a disorganized pattern.

  “Get behind the counter!” shouted Joey, coming running into the back from the entranceway, the shotgun hanging over his shoulder.

  The vehicle sounds outside were louder, a deep rumbling that came reverberating through the abandoned café.

  There wasn’t time to wipe the blood away from his nose. Dan got behind the counter, throwing his pack down beside him, before Joey did.

  Joey was older, but he vaulted the counter easily, landing only inches away from Dan’s head.

  “What’s going on?” said Dan in a whisper.

  “Whatever you do, don’t move,” said Joey, his eyes seemingly fixed on a single point in the ceiling, lying flat on his back, the shotgun at his side, untouched.

  18

  MANDY

  They’d spent a couple hours asleep in the cab of the truck. They’d decided against using the watch shift system. There were only two of them. If one of them had stayed awake, it would have meant spending twice as long parked and not moving. Or each of them getting half as much sleep.

  The truck was parked off the road, behind a tree. Hopefully, if someone had come by, it would just looked like an abandoned truck. It was beat up and nothing fancy. Not that that was what mattered to anyone anymore.

  Maybe it was risky. Mandy had had to convince Max to do it. She’d been dead tired, and she could tell he was, too. They’d needed the sleep.

  She was still groggy now, her mind blurry, as she woke up. She’d fallen asleep leaning against Max’s strong shoulder.

  She was still leaning against him now.

  “You awake?” she said, speaking sleepily.

  “Yeah,” said Max.

  “Did you sleep at all?”

  “A little.”

  Mandy glanced up at Max, looking backwards at him. His face was covered in shadows. The sun hadn’t yet risen, and the moonlight drifted into the truck’s cab in patches, broken up here and there by the truck itself.

  Mandy kept her head resting against Max for a long moment before finally rising under her own strength into the sitting position. Her body was stiff, and she felt like he could have really used another eight hours or so. But they weren’t aiming for beauty sleep here.

  “What’s the plan?” said Mandy.

  Max was being unusually quiet. Normally, he’d already have been explaining the plan, telling her about what they needed to do, what they needed to watch for, and what they needed to avoid.

  “Huh?” said Max.

  “Are you still asleep or what?” said Mandy.

  “No, it’s not that. I was just thinking about…”

  Mandy held for breath. Was he about to say “that kiss we shared yesterday?”

  “…that cowboy from last night,” finished Max.

  Mandy let the air out of her lungs slowly.

  “That was tonight, Max,” she said. “It’s not even morning yet.”

  “Something about it just doesn’t make sense,” said Max.

  “Nothing about anything makes sense,” said Mandy.

  “All right,” said Max, looking like he was trying to shake the idea out of his head. “Let’s get going. We’ll eat as we drive.”

  Max started the truck, and slowly backed it up, driving across the bumpy grass until they reached the road again.

  They ate as they drove. Mandy dug into the packs and unwrapped the pemmican, handing it to Max.

  “The flavor isn’t great, is it?” said Mandy, her mouth full of the pemmican. It seemed to take forever to chew, and it wasn’t the sort of food you could just force down, swallowing without fully chewing it.

  “Nope,” said Max. “But it’ll keep us alive.”

  They drove through the sunrise, through the early morning. There seemed to be no one else on the road. Once in a while, they’d pass an abandoned vehicle. Once in a while, they’d pass some bodies lying on the side of the road. Some appeared to have starved, and others had died from bullet wounds.

  Mandy found herself nodding off here and there, despite trying to stay awake. She knew she needed to keep her eyes peeled, despite Max saying that it was fine if she took a nap, telling her that she’d be more help the more rested she was.

  When Mandy was finally wide awake, the sun was high in the sky.

  “You’ve been driving the whole time?” she said.

  “Yeah,” said Max. “You feeling any more rested?”

  “I think so,” said Mandy. “You must be exhausted, though.”

  “I’m fine,” said Max.

  “Your leg OK, though?”

  “Yeah,” said Max. “Doesn’t bother me that much.”

  “Anything happen while I was asleep?”

  Max shook his head. “It’s been the same scene the whole way. A couple of abandoned vehicles here and there. Haven’t seen anyone alive the whole way so far.”

  “It’s pretty strange,” said Mandy. “Where did everyone go?”

  “Well, they died off,” said Max .”Lack of food, violence, you name it.”

  “Yeah,” said Mandy. “I wasn’t expecting to leave the hunting grounds and find the world fully inhabited. But if everyone died, my question is: where are all the bodies? Where is everyone? Dead or alive. You see what I’m saying?”

  “Good question,” said Max. “And I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

  Mandy had the map spread out on her knees.

  “You know we’re almost at the point where we get off this road,” she said. “From there on out, it’s mostly the suburbs. Maybe we’ll see something different there.”

  “Probably,” said Max. “And that’s where we have to be the most careful.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Closer quarters. Houses close together. If there are going to be survivors, I’d expect them to be holes up in their homes, not out on the open road.”

  “Good point.”

  The day wore on, and Mandy took over driving. Max was intent on staying awake the whole time, his hand near reaching far from his Glock, his eyes covering every inch of the area through the windshield and the cab windows.

  “You’ve got to sleep, Max,” said Mandy. “You’re not going to be any use if you’re too tired to react when something happens.”

  “I’m fine,” said Max.

  “Don’t give me that. I know you too well at this point. You’ve got to admit you have a tendency to push yourself. And usually that’s good. That’s gotten us out of some life or death situations. But really, Max, right now you need to get some sleep. I’ll be fine. I’ll wake you up if something happens.”

  Mandy ended her words with a kind of half-hearted laugh, as if the idea that something could happen was preposterous. But she knew as well as Max did that something happening was a very real possibility.

  “Fine,” muttered Max, finally closing his eyes.

  Mandy glance over at him occasionally as she drove, watching him sleep. His right hand, in his sleep, had drifted over to the handle of his Glock. Even in his sleep, he was trying to protect her. That’s why he pushed himself. It wasn’t usually for his own benefit. Almost always, he was trying hard to save everyone else, trying to do the right thing.

  Mandy wished she’d known Max before the EMP. They’d been neighbors, after all. It was absurd now to think of the missed opportunities they’d had before life had changed and society had collapsed, apparently never to return to its old s
tate.

  Mandy had been going out with Ted, an all around no-good sort of guy. Somehow, she hadn’t been able to see who he really was until he left. He’d been the sort of guy who’d never had a real job. Instead, he’d floated between bands and various scams.

  What would have happened if she’d met Max instead of Ted? Maybe she would have seen him some day in the parking lot, said “hi,” and invited him over for a drink.

  But would anything have happened? She’d been a different person before the EMP. And Max probably had too. He hadn’t spoken much about his past, except to say that he’d worked in an office at some pointless job.

  Maybe the EMP, in a strange way, was giving them all an opportunity to become the sorts of people that they’d never been able to be. Mandy knew that she wasn’t meant to work in restaurants and bars. It was a fine job, but it wasn’t her calling. It wasn’t everything she was capable of.

  And obviously Max was capable of much, much more than simply sitting in an office chair and crunching numbers. Or whatever it was that he was doing. Mandy didn’t even know what type of company he’d worked for. It was apparently so unimportant to Max that he’d never even bothered to mention it.

  The road that stretched ahead of Mandy was the same as it’d been. Nothing going on.

  She drove for another half an hour, with Max asleep in the passenger’s seat, before arriving at the exit she knew she needed.

  Should she wake up Max?

  No. Better to let him sleep.

  Mandy downshifted to slow down, rather than applying the brake. She knew she’d save gas that way.

  The off-ramp wasn’t anything fancy, just a stretch of road that led to a simple two lane road.

  She thought again of waking up Max. She knew he would have wanted her to. It was a change of environment. A chance for new things to go wrong.

  But he needed to sleep.

  He’d been pulling long watch shifts back at camp. He’s been trying to give everyone else more rest, pushing himself to stay up for long periods of time. And she knew his leg was bothering him, even though he’d never admit it.

  He needed the rest.

  Mandy kept her eyes moving as she drove slowly along the road.

  She drove south, glancing up at the sun to make sure she was headed in the right direction.

  Glancing over at Max yet again, Mandy was surprised that he hadn’t woken up with the change in speed. His mouth was open, and he snored lightly.

  Mandy drove past a few large parking lots, a couple big box stores. Billboards lined the streets, and trash tumbled around in the wind. Empty plastic bags, mostly, and a couple empty food containers. Some newspapers. All sorts of things.

  Mandy passed only one abandoned car, a minivan with all the doors open and no one in sight.

  Up ahead, though, there was something.

  Mandy downshifted, slowing the truck down.

  “Max,” she hissed. “Wake up. There’s something on the road.”

  Max continued snoring, not stirring.

  “Max,” she said, speaking more loudly. “Wake up, Max.”

  He remained asleep.

  The object on the road was in view now. It was a public bus, parked perpendicular across the road.

  “Max!”

  Mandy reached across the bench seat and grabbed Max by the arm.

  “What’s going on?” said Max, speaking briskly. He was ready for action, his Glock already out.

  “I don’t know,” said Mandy.

  A noise behind them.

  In the rearview mirror, two black SUVs were approaching, seemingly out of nowhere.

  19

  CYNTHIA

  “This is just too stressful,” complained Cynthia, her voice rising to a wine.

  “You have a better suggestion?” said Georgia, her voice level.

  “Yeah, maybe I do,” said Cynthia. “Why are we sitting here and waiting for them to come to us? Why don’t we just head out there and get them all while we can, before they get to us?”

  “We’re not talking about just a couple people,” said Georgia.

  “And we don’t know where they are,” added John.

  They were all sitting around the remains of the campfire, near the van and the tent.

  James and Sadie had been fairly quiet, letting the adults talk. Sadie, in particular, looked more scared than usual. She was sitting partially hunched over, her elbows resting on her knees. James was trying to look like he wasn’t bothered, but he kept glancing over his shoulder, and his rifle hadn’t left his hands for hours.

  Cynthia stood up.

  “Where you going?”

  “Nowhere,” said Cynthia.

  “You can’t go off on your own,” said John.

  Cynthia felt everyone’s eyes on her.

  “Like I said, I’m not going anywhere,” said Cynthia. “I’m just heading into the tent for a minute. I need to clear my head.”

  Cynthia stepped nimbly around their entire cache of guns and ammunition that lay spread out on the ground, ready for use.

  John and Georgia continued talking, discussing their plans, leaning in close together, both seated on the old log someone had dragged next to the campfire.

  Cynthia felt like she might explode with the stress of the whole thing, the pressure. It was one thing to be on the run, to be hunted down. It was another to have to sit there and wait.

  To Cynthia, it didn’t seem like any of this planning mattered at all. They were facing a completely different enemy than when the men from the compound came. The compound guys had been tightly organized, essentially a small regiment. That meant they were predictable.

  Now they were facing a mob. By its very nature, it was completely unpredictable. So anticipating their movements was difficult. Devising some kind of strategy for fighting them off was even more difficult.

  It seemed like their best bet was to hide, to avoid being found.

  Fortunately, that was a real possibility.

  The hunting grounds were large and they were somewhat hidden among the trees.

  Then again, if the mob was large enough, and scattered enough, people would come across them sooner or later. It was only a matter of time.

  Cynthia heard a noise. Sounded like a cracking twig.

  She froze.

  She wasn’t far from Georgia and John and the others, but they didn’t seem to have heard it. They kept talking.

  “Guys…” said Cynthia, speaking in a low voice.

  Their conversation paused.

  “I heard something.”

  There was movement behind a tree.

  Cynthia had her rifle ready. A semi-automatic. Georgia and Max seemed to feel more comfortable using Georgia’s hunting rifles. But now that she and John had gradually gotten more comfortable with firearms, they preferred using something that could fire more rapidly.

  Cynthia watched with wide eyes and a pounding heart as a man stepped out from behind the tree.

  He barely looked human. His hair and beard were long and in complete disarray. Sure, it wasn’t like Cynthia had exactly kept up her normal hygiene and beauty routine, but she certainly didn’t look completely wild like this man.

  He wore no shirt, despite the chill in the air. His pants were nothing but tatters.

  There was a wild look in his eyes. More animal like than human.

  “What do we do?” whispered Cynthia.

  Her first impulse was simply to open fire. She was tired of being a victim, of being attacked at every opportunity. She was tired of giving strangers the benefit of the doubt. Being tortured just a week ago, Cynthia was more on edge than ever before. More ready to squeeze the trigger without asking questions.

  But something held her back.

  She just wasn’t that sort of person.

  No matter how hard she tried.

  She couldn’t push herself into a mold that wasn’t her.

  The man stood there, looking confused. He stared at them.

  Cynthia heard
John and Georgia’s footsteps around her. They were standing next to her, their own guns ready.

  “Stay back, kids,” Georgia said.

  Cynthia glanced back at James and Sadie, making sure they were OK and a safe distance from the men.

  Even though he didn’t appear to be armed, there was no telling what he might do, what tricks he might have up his sleeve. And what was more, he might not be the only one there. There was a mob coming, apparently.

  “What do you want?” shouted Georgia, her voice commanding.

  The man didn’t answer.

  Cynthia found her gaze settling on his eyes again. Those wild animal eyes told nothing. Nothing except hatred and anger. The way he stood made him seem like he wasn’t capable of violence. He was rail thin, to the point of being emaciated, and he stood like a limp rag doll, slouched over, his shoulders rolling forward, his spine curved terribly.

  But those eyes told a different story. They said that that he was capable of anything, that violence, no matter how extreme, was exactly what he wanted.

  This is what had happened, probably, to the majority of humanity. Civilization had fallen and the human animal had risen in its place. This man represented something, something bigger than himself.

  Three quick shots rang out.

  Cynthia’s ears rang with the sound.

  Three bullet holes appeared in the stranger’s chest, red pockets of blood decorating his bare hairy skin.

  The stranger seemed to remain standing as Cynthia’s adrenaline kicked up and time seemed to slow down. Then he crumpled to the ground, his arms stuck out at odd angles, an expression of confusion on his face. His eyes remained open, never losing that look.

  Cynthia turned to her right, to see John, standing slightly behind her. His gun was raised. He stood still, almost frozen, his finger still on the trigger.

  Slowly, he lowered his gun.