Constant Danger (Book 2): Defeat The Anarchy

by Westfield, Ryan

  “I’m almost done,” he snarled. His voice was like that of an animal. Like a wolf. Like some savage beast that wanted nothing more than to hunt and to kill, than to tear the world apart piece by piece. “You’re never going to look the same again…. but don’t worry…. you won’t be alive for much longer. It’s not going to be an easy death. It’s going to be slow and painful…”

  The knife bit into her face once again. This time, she felt it running from one cheek to the other, up to her forehead, then down toward her throat.

  She felt the blood thick all over her face. She felt the knife digging deeper than it had before.

  She felt, despite herself, fear. Fear of dying.

  It was natural. It was normal.

  She didn’t want to die.

  This monstrous man’s face blotted everything else out. It was basically all she could see. It blocked the sky. There was only a little space around his head.

  It was dark.

  But not dark enough that she didn’t suddenly see something moving.

  She didn’t know what it was.

  Just that it was something that moved.

  Next thing she knew, that something had collided with her assailant’s head.

  Her assailant grunted in pain and began to fall to the side.

  What had hit him?

  Some piece of metal or wood. Some long, dark object that she couldn’t quite see against the night sky.

  The enemy was strong. He pushed his left arm out, keeping himself from falling over.

  It was all happening so fast.

  James was standing there.

  Just barely standing.

  Something long in his hands. A piece of wood, maybe. He lifted it high above his head, bringing it down in a long, high arc, aiming it right at the enemy’s head.

  The wood collided with the enemy’s hand first, the hand that he brought up to protect himself. But James was strong enough and the swing pushed past the man’s hand and smashed into his face.

  The enemy fell into the snow.

  He wasn’t dead yet.

  James collapsed, losing balance. There was blood all over one of his legs. The swing had compromised his balance too much.

  How had he even been standing in the first place?

  “He’s got a knife!” she said, struggling to pull herself away from the enemy, whose knife was still in his hand. “And a gun!”

  Her face was burning in pain. She didn’t want to feel the bite of the knife again.

  The gun was off in the snow. Too far away to reach. She was going for it with her arm outstretched.

  James may have been down on the ground, his leg may have been bleeding profusely, but he clearly wasn’t giving up. With his arms and a considerable amount of strength and athleticism, James pulled himself toward the enemy, moving powerfully, moving quickly.

  The enemy was bringing his knife up.

  James was too fast. The wood was still in his hand.

  Twisting his torso around in the snow, James swung the wood with power.

  It hit the man in the head.

  Hard.

  James pulled it back and swung again.

  And again

  And again.

  Soon enough, the man moved no more.

  “He’s dead, James,” she said.

  James grunted, moving his fingers to the man’s neck, checking for a pulse.

  “He’s dead,” he confirmed.

  The three of them lay there. One of them was dead. And she and James were alive but gravely injured.

  The snow was falling from the dark sky.

  The snow was all around them.

  The wind was freezing, biting into their bones.

  Barb could barely feel her extremities.

  Behind them, the house burned furiously.

  “You’d have been dead now if you hadn’t gotten out. Did you go through the window?”

  “It was the only way out,” he said.

  “How’d you do it?”

  “Necessity,” he said. “Now come on. There might be more of them. See if you can find his gun.”

  “We’ve got to stop your bleeding,” she said, tasting her own blood in her mouth as she spoke.

  “There may be others out there,” he said.

  “Yeah. But if there were more, they would have attacked us by now.”

  “Still, we should look.”

  “You’re right. I can walk. I’ll do it.”

  “You have the gun?”

  She did. She had the gun now. And she could still walk.

  She knew there was blood on her face. She knew her face was sliced up really good. She saw James wincing slightly as he looked at her. He was trying not to. Her face must have looked bad.

  “Don’t tell me how bad my face is,” she said.

  “It’ll heal,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Not totally,” she said.

  “We all have scars,” he said. “It means you’ve survived.”

  She nodded.

  “You have his gun?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “You’re bleeding too much,” she said.

  “I know. But I’ll be okay for now.” His voice was becoming a little weaker. “Do a trip around the house. Then you can help me stop this bleeding.”

  She nodded. “Then we’ll have to figure out how to stay warm through the night.”

  “Well,” said James, looking over at the burning building. “At least we’ll have a fire.”

  He meant it as a joke.

  But she found that, even with a conscious effort, she couldn’t crack a smile.

  They’d been through too much.

  This wasn’t the time for laughter.

  They’d survived. And they’d live through the night. And what then?

  They’d keep surviving, keep trying. One day at a time. One hour at a time.

  It’d be a long night. Lots of darkness and cold until morning. And when the sun rose, it’d get a little warmer, but not too much.

  21

  Meg

  Despite not sleeping, despite almost losing her life to the temperature, Meg was feeling better than she had in a few days.

  Sure, she’d taken several wrong turns on the way back to Barb’s house.

  Sure, it had taken her all night. Sure, dawn was just breaking, with the sun about to rise over the snowy landscape.

  But she was alive.

  She’d made it.

  Soon, she’d be back in a comfortable house. She imagined curling up on that couch Barb had and going to sleep. Someone else would keep watch. Someone else would have the gun. Someone else would defend them if need be.

  The point was there’d be someone else. And she’d never felt better about her earlier solution to go against what her dad had offered as advice, to try to gather others together in some sort of group, some sort of community that could work together, fight together, and survive together.

  There was the slightest incline to the road. She couldn’t see that far, but she knew she was close to the house. She recognized the trees and the way the road curved a certain way.

  She was excited. Excited to see the house. Excited to see the only people in the world she knew were left alive.

  So when the truck reached the point at which the remains of the house could be seen, she was shocked to see nothing but the smoldering wreckage.

  Her heart immediately began to thump. Where were Barb and James?

  She didn’t waste any time. She drove the truck right off the road, right through the snow, right toward the house.

  The abandoned cop car, stuck deep in the snow, could be seen.

  There was another vehicle there, one that she didn’t recognize.

  There was no one in sight.

  She drove right up to the smoldering wreckage. Staying in her truck, she looked at the building through the windshield. There was nothing left. Just cinders. Part of the foundation remained, and it was blackened and still let off some smoke.


  Was it really all gone?

  She felt something falling inside of her.

  Maybe she would have to do this all alone.

  Then she saw it. Smoke rising from between some trees about a quarter mile away.

  It must be them. It had to be.

  But she didn’t let herself get excited. After all, it could be anyone.

  She put the truck back in gear and drove through the thick snow. Fortunately, the truck could handle it fairly easily.

  She was actually holding her breath as she drove, leaning forward, her eyes anxious to see familiar faces rather than strange ones.

  The pillar of smoke became clearer.

  And now she could see the fire.

  There were two figures facing away from her, seated around the fire.

  They looked like they might be James and Barb. But she couldn’t tell for sure.

  She stopped the truck near them. But not too close. Her hand went to her gun and her grip tightened reflexively, her finger sliding across the trigger.

  Was it them?

  One of them turned around.

  At first, it didn’t look like anyone she knew.

  All she saw was a face full of long, brutal cuts. The cuts looked fresh and deep, even at a distance. The blood had been cleaned up to some extent.

  Then she realized with a gasp that it was Barb.

  Her features were still there. Her face was still the same shape. Her hair was still the same, albeit now matted with blood. But her face would never look the same again. The scars would fade, but never disappear. Meg could tell that even at a distance.

  There was something on Barb’s arm. Some kind of bandage.

  Knowing they were her friends and not some enemy, Meg threw her door open and went running with as much energy as she had left, toward them, toward the fire.

  “What happened?” was all she could think to say.

  James turned to her. He was alive as well. And injured as well. His thigh was heavily bandaged and blood had leaked through.

  “The house burned down,” said James, stating the obvious.

  “You can still talk. That’s a good sign.”

  “I got shot in the leg. Not the mouth. Glad to see you made it back, by the way. What took you so long?”

  “It’s a long story.” It was easier to leave it at that. She’d fill them in on the details later. “You’re not looking so good.”

  He let out a little laugh.

  “How are you holding up, Barb?”

  “Fine,” she said.

  “What happened?”

  “Knife wound,” she said.

  And she left it that.

  Meg looked at James for more information, but there was something in his face that seemed to silently communicate the message: “Don’t ask her any more about it.”

  There was a short silence and finally Barb volunteered a little more information.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “The scars won’t go away. But it’s just skin-deep. It didn’t affect my functionality. And in this new world we’re in, functioning is what matters.”

  “Right,” said Meg, nodding. “That’s good to hear. But what about your arm?”

  “I got shot.”

  “And…?”

  “The bullet’s not lodged in there. A grazing wound, as they used to say. Basically it took out a little flesh and went on its way. The bullet’s probably in the snow somewhere. Or the dirt, I mean, if it managed to bury itself down that far.”

  “That’s good. You got the bleeding to stop?”

  “For the most part. I took some aspirin, though, and it’s taking a little longer to clot than it should.”

  “We’ve got to keep an eye on it. And what about you, James?”

  “Bullet’s still in there,” said James.

  “It is?”

  He nodded.

  “Does it hurt?”

  He nodded.

  “We’ve got to get that out.”

  “I know,” said James.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Well,” said Barb. “We’ve been talking about our options.”

  “Do you know how to do something like that? That kind of procedure?”

  “Only in theory. You?”

  “Same,” said Meg. “What have you two come up with?”

  “Well,” said James, wincing against the pain. “Get something resembling forceps, sterilize them, and go in there and dig it out.”

  “Sounds painful.”

  James shrugged. “It’s what has to be done.”

  “Have anything like forceps?”

  “Not really.”

  “What are our options?”

  “I can check the first aid kit. There might be something.”

  “And if not?”

  “A knife. Or two.”

  “Could work. I think I have a multi-tool that has pliers.”

  “That’d be better.”

  “It’d work, sure, but it’d be painful.”

  Again, James just shrugged. “Look,” he said. “It has to be done. I’m not going to make it unless we get this bullet out. I don’t want to end up cutting my leg off.”

  “No, we won’t let it come to that.”

  “He’ll make it,” said Barb. “If we get that slug out. I’ve seen worse. And they’ve made it.”

  Meg nodded.

  “So,” said Meg. “I imagine this fire might attract more attention.”

  “That’s what we were thinking,” said Barb, with the light breaking through the clouds, illuminating her face for a moment, allowing Meg to truly see how badly cut up it was. Whoever had done that to her was a sadist, a monster, someone who’d lost their humanity many years ago. “But we knew we had to wait for you.”

  “Makes sense,” said Meg. “And don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it. If you had left, I wouldn’t have been able to find you.”

  “Well, you might have been able to track us.”

  “If you’d walked, yeah. Or taken the car, maybe. I don’t know. Glad you stayed.”

  “We are too.”

  “Should we clear out now, though?” said Meg.

  “I think so.”

  “We don’t want anyone else showing up, thinking they can get something.”

  “But I thought we were trying to make allies. That was your original plan, right Meg? You still think that’s a good idea?”

  “I do,” said Meg. “Especially considering that it looks like we’ve now lost the majority of our food supplies…. not to mention other things that the house had.”

  “Right,” said Barb. “I’m glad you got your truck. And I’m anxious to see with my own eyes what you have… but it’s not enough…”

  “Realistically,” said James, grimacing through the pain. “We’re not going to be able to hunt enough food to really survive the winter.”

  “You think so?”

  “I haven’t really done any hunting in this state. But I know hunting. And given the human population, I don’t think it’s realistic to think we can survive with the number of animals that there are right now… in the winter.”

  “We’ll have to take your word for it.”

  “I think he’s right,” said Meg. “And obviously we can’t do any farming until spring. And even that could be a long shot in terms of actually getting enough protein, not to mention calories…. a lot of vegetables aren’t very calorically dense at all. They’re nice for salads and garnishes, but those are now just luxuries. We’re going to need serious calories. Protein.”

  “What about potatoes?” said Barb.

  “That’d be ideal,” said Meg. “You can live on nothing but potatoes. They’re calorically dense. The Irish lived on them… nothing but potatoes…. you could have a good-sized man working all day…. of course, he’d need to eat about, what was it, something like five pounds of potatoes a day in order not to lose weight with manual labor?”

  “Sounds good,” said James. “What’s the catch?”


  “Well,” said Meg. “All we need to do to start growing potatoes would be an old potato from the store. We could find one already sprouting in someone’s pantry and just use that…. so we definitely need to think seriously about doing that. But for the rest of the winter, we’re going to need food. That’s going to be the most crucial time.”

  “And where do we get that? Raiding houses and stores?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And yet you really think it’s a good idea to seek out others? Other like-minded folks? We’re going to have more mouths to feed, after all.”

  “Yeah, that’s definitely a consideration,” said Meg. “But look at us. We don’t really know the way to deal with a bullet wound. It’d be great to have someone with medical training. It’d be great to have someone who knows about growing crops, too.”

  “You’re saying different skill sets and all that?”

  “Exactly. Plus, look at us. You two are injured. Shot, in fact. It’s pretty serious.”

  James and Barb both began to protest the extent of their injuries.

  “You can act tough all you want,” said Meg. “But the facts are that you two are severely compromised right now. How well are you going to fight if someone attacks us now?”

  “Fine,” said James.

  Barb seemed more hesitant.

  “Come on,” said Meg. “Let’s be realistic here. James, you can barely walk. And Barb, even if there’s no bullet lodged inside you, you’ve still been shot. That affects your whole system. And I’m not letting myself off the hook easily either. Look at me. When was the last time I slept? I have no idea. I almost froze to death. I drove all night. Took a few wrong turns. I got here. But I’m in no state to fight. None at all.”

  “So you’re saying more people mean more security?”

  “It definitely does,” said Meg. “We’d be fools to think otherwise. Think about the shifts. How are we going to get any sleep? We’re all already exhausted, barely hanging on.”

  “What size group are you thinking?” said James, his face betraying him, giving away the pain he was in, the pain that he was trying to hide.

  “Don’t know. Would depend on who we find. Maybe four more people or so. Four or five. I don’t know. What do you think, Barb?”

  “Well,” said Barb. “This may sound weird. But some anthropologists and archaeologists suggest that early humans, thousands of years ago, lived in very small bands as hunters and gatherers. Now their situation was a little different, but there may be something to keeping it fairly small. I’d say anything under ten would be good. I’ve interviewed some extremely effective guerrilla groups in various parts of the world. They would splinter into groups of about five to ten…”