There’d been a lot of food that’d been taken.
Too much for a single person.
So there were others out there. A group of them, and they were now well-fed.
The mob’s attack might not have been the worst of it.
3
Max
Half a day earlier, hidden behind the trees, Max and Mandy had watched as their flipped over pickup truck had burned. They’d lost the majority of their gear, which had been packed away in the bed of the truck.
They’d been lucky to be alive. The men who’d burned the truck hadn’t gone looking for Max and Mandy. Max didn’t know why. And it didn’t matter.
They didn’t have much with them. Max had a water bottle that was half full. Nothing else in the way of food. All the pemmican had been in the truck. Max was furious with himself for not carrying some in his pocket. He should have known better, considering what he’d been through in the past.
There wasn’t any point in lamenting his past decisions, though. Not now. They needed to press on. They needed to keep going.
Max and Mandy had been walking for half a day. They’d been following a road that led north, according to their compass. It wasn’t one that they remembered from the maps. They kept off to the side, staying behind the cover of the trees when possible.
Max had his Glock with him. And a couple spare clips. He’d lost his rifle. He had his knife in its sheath, his compass, his Vostok watch, a fire starter and some alcohol-soaked cotton balls. He had some caffeine pills with him. Just a couple.
Mandy had her rifle, her handgun, and her Mora knife. That was about it.
They didn’t have any maps. They’d been burned up along with everything else.
“You doing OK?” said Max.
Mandy had stopped. She was breathing heavily. Her brow was sweaty despite the cool weather. Her hair was greasy and some of it stuck to her forehead.
“I’m fine,” said Mandy, having difficulty getting the words out since she was so out of breath.
“Let’s take a break,” said Max. “We’ve been going too fast.”
“No,” said Mandy, waving her hand at him. “I’m fine. Really. We’ve got to keep going.”
Max was having his own problems. His leg was still hurting intensely. Each new step seemed to make it worse. It was stiff and the muscles would occasionally spasm in rebellion against the work they were forced to do.
“You want me to carry the rifle?” said Max.
“It’s fine,” said Mandy. “I know your leg’s bothering you.”
Max hadn’t thought that anyone else could notice. But he supposed he must have been limping notably.
He knew he was better with a handgun than Mandy was. So he decided it’d be better if she had the rifle anyway.
Mandy had said she was fine to keep moving, but she gave no indication that she was ready to keep going. Instead, she remained in place, panting. Max decided to give her a couple minutes. He’d go when she was ready.
If something happened, if they had to fight, they had a better chance of surviving if they were as rested as possible.
It’d be a delicate balance. The faster they got back to camp, or found food, the less time they’d spend weak from near-starvation. But getting back quickly meant taking more risks.
Max didn’t know how long it would take to walk back to camp. He could guess, based on the speed they’d driven at to get here, but there were so many other variables that it wasn’t really worth it. A couple days, give or take, was the most likely, providing that they didn’t come across any unforeseen circumstances.
And Max was sure they’d come across unforeseen circumstances.
What he did know was that they’d need to find a source of food. They couldn’t make it all the way back on empty stomachs.
“Maybe we should try to find a vehicle,” said Mandy, breaking the silence of Max’s swirling thoughts.
“Too dangerous,” said Max. “You saw what happened when we were in the truck. It’s like being in a huge moving target. And for all we know, we were lucky. It could be worse on the way back.”
“You’re probably right,” said Mandy. “So what are we going to do? Where are we going to get food?”
“Well, it’s hard without really knowing where we are. We’re just going to have to do the best we can.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” said Max. “A house with some food in it. A convenience store that hasn’t been raided.”
“We have to find a more populated area first,” said Mandy. “There’s nothing along this highway, from what I can tell. And as you’re always telling me, a more populated area means more dangers.”
Max nodded. “I still don’t have a sense of what’s happened to the populated areas. But my guess is they’re less dangerous now than in the immediate aftermath of the EMP.”
“Sounds like more of a hope than a guess.”
“I don’t hope,” said Max. “That can get you killed.”
Mandy laughed.
It was good to see her face light up for a brief moment, the exhaustion seeming to fade away completely.
It hadn’t even been meant to be funny. Max had been completely serious.
But now he laughed too, laughed at the obstacles ahead that they faced, laughed at the apparent hopelessness of it all, at himself and his attitude and perseverance that had saved their lives too many times to count.
“Come on,” said Mandy. “Let’s go. I’m ready. Thanks for waiting for me.”
“Hey, I needed the break too,” said Max, even though it wasn’t completely true.
They set off, Mandy leading the way and Max taking up the rear.
He kept his eyes peeled as they walked, making sure to not get stuck looking only at the ground, as people tend to do when they get fatigued.
Mandy had lost some weight like the rest of them, but she still looked great. Her jeans were dirty and torn, but they still showed off her figure, and Max had to make sure he didn’t focus too much on her up ahead leading the way. It was certainly more of a magnet for his eyes than just the ground alone.
As they walked, the sky above grew cloudy as rain clouds blew in. The grayness didn’t last long before it started raining. It was a light rain, but they still got wet and eventually soaked as they continued on.
No one drove down the highway. The only sounds were of the rain and the occasional bird. Not to mention their own footsteps.
Max checked his watch. It read four thirty, the arrow-shaped hour hand pointing between the indices and glowing ever so slightly. The watch had an automatic movement, the kind that all watches had run off of before the invention of the quartz timepiece. It didn’t require electricity. But it also wasn’t as accurate as a quartz.
Max had regulated his watch himself, getting the daily accuracy rate as good as he could get it. But the watch still gained about five seconds per day. And that was back when he’d had a desk job in an office.
The timekeeping of automatic movements were sometimes affected by how wound up the mainspring of the watch was. And since the watch was charged by movement, a more vigorous lifestyle would keep the watch at a fuller charge.
The Vostok movement was a classic Russian design. Tough and rugged. Able to take a beating, but not as precise as the Swiss-made watch movements.
For all Max knew, his new lifestyle was making his watch run as much as thirty seconds fast per day. He figured that his watch, at this point, might be as much as half an hour off.
There was an atlas back at camp. If he looked up the sunrise times, he’d be able to set the watch accurately again.
Provided he got back to camp alive.
It wasn’t like the exact time mattered so much now, anyway. Although if he needed to use the watch as a compass, aligning the hour hand with the direction of the sun, it might mean seriously decreased directional accuracy.
They walked for another half an hour through the rain before they came to anything.
; It was a rest stop on the other side of the highway.
Max and Mandy stood there, in the cover of the trees, quite far back from the highway itself. They were wet and cold, shivering in the rain.
“I still haven’t gotten used to seeing a highway completely empty like that,” said Mandy.
“Let’s hope it stays that way,” said Max. “Come on.”
“We’re going to go over there?”
Max nodded.
“What if there’s someone inside?”
“There might be. But we’re going to need the food if we want to keep going. I’d do it myself, but I’m going to need backup.”
“The thought of going into that place creeps me out,” said Mandy.
“It should do more than that,” said Max. “You should be scared. We have no idea who could be inside.”
“Thanks, Max,” said Mandy, flashing him a wry grin. “You really know what to say to calm me down.”
“This is one of those times where we don’t want to calm down,” said Max. “The adrenaline helps.”
Max went first, leaving the trees and taking his first step onto the highway in some time. The pavement was wet and his boot sent standing water up his already-soaked pants.
4
Janet
Janet turned around only once as she ran. She didn’t see Art get shot, but she saw his body on the ground.
She just turned back around and kept sprinting down the suburban road. Her muscles burned. They felt like they were filled with lead. But she kept going, her sneakers pounding against the pavement. Her arms pumped at her sides, her handgun clutched in one hand.
She heard the shouts behind her. And the gunshots.
But she just kept running. As fast as she could.
She knew they’d have no mercy with her. And why should they? She’d betrayed the only people alive who knew her name. The militia was her family, and she was leaving it.
She knew their tricks. She knew how they operated. After all, until moments ago, she’d been one of them.
When searching someone, the militia followed a protocol that Sarge had taught them. They were trained to pair up and spread out. If Janet got far enough away, she was likely to encounter two militia members rather than a larger group.
If she was worth searching for, that is. A lot of the times the militia preferred to save their time and manpower and just let people who didn’t matter go free.
But that was only for those who weren’t threats.
And Janet was certainly a threat.
She knew many of the safe houses, many of the hideouts. She even knew where Sarge was.
If a militia member disobeyed an order, he was rewarded with a severe beating. Or a bullet in the head, depending on Sarge’s mood.
If a militia member obviously defected, like deserting the safe house, they got a bullet in the head. No discussion. No questions.
What Janet had done was worse. She’d freed a prisoner.
She was going to get more than a bullet in the head if they caught her.
They’d revel in torturing her, causing as much pain as possible.
But she wasn’t going to let that happen.
Her mind was so set on killing Sarge that she knew she wouldn’t and couldn’t let anything come between herself and her goal.
Janet couldn’t run anymore. Not at the pace she’d been going.
She ducked between two houses, sprinting down the shared driveway.
The homes were large and had been, before the EMP, coveted and expensive places to live.
No one lived there anymore. Janet knew because she’d been part of the raiding party on these particular homes not that long ago. She and ten others had entered every house on this block and shot the people who’d been in the houses. They’d murdered them in cold blood.
It’d been hard for Janet at first to kill. In her former life, before the EMP, she’d been a hairstylist. But that was all so far in the past now. When she occasionally thought back to her old life, something she normally avoided doing, her memories didn’t even feel like her own. They felt more like some movie of a stranger.
Janet was hardened now. Countless kills had done that to her. She had to survive. She did what she had to do. No matter what. No matter who she had to kill. She’d killed women and children. She’d tortured men until they’d cried and screamed and begged to be killed. She’d pulled out eyeballs and disemboweled living men.
That was just life. Life in the militia.
If she was being honest with herself, the transition to a hardened killer hadn’t even been that hard for her.
It had been for some of the men in the militia. Many of them hadn’t been able to hack it. They’d tried to sneak away in the middle of the night. And they’d gotten shot for it.
A lot of the time, it’d been Janet who’d shot them.
But somehow, slowly, the hardened personality that she wore like armor had started to unravel. She began having dreams of what had been done to her family, what the militia was really responsible for.
So in a split second she’d decided to leave. To stop it all.
Her mind had gone right to Sarge.
She had to kill him.
But she had to get to him first.
Janet knew that she didn’t have much time. Two militia members would show up soon. It wouldn’t take them long.
She needed to get into a position that would give her a slight strategic advantage. After all, she had a realistic understanding of her own abilities. She knew that she wasn’t any better than the rest of the militia guys. In fact, she was probably a lot worse at many things than some of them.
She’d never handled a gun before the EMP. Never even seen one.
She had plenty of experience now, though.
The yards here were large. A large shed sat in the back corner of one.
It was common knowledge among the militia that people on the run tried to hide in sheds. They were convenient and often unlocked.
But they were death traps. A quick burst of gunfire through the flimsy wooden sides and everyone inside would get hit.
Janet ran over to the shed. She grabbed the handle and turned it, pulling the door open just a hair. Hopefully that’d be enough to convince them that she’d gone into the shed. She didn’t want to make it too obvious.
It was night, but the moon was out and the sky was cloudless. They’d be able to notice the small detail, and she’d have enough light to shoot them by.
There was a gazebo made of ornately-carved wood in the center of the yard. Janet briefly considered trying to duck down in there. It’d be a good vantage point to the shed. Very close. But not enough cover.
Her eyes continued scanning the yard.
There wasn’t much time.
There were some bushes that grew right up against the house. Before the EMP, they’d been kept neatly trimmed, and they hadn’t grown much over the winter months. But they’d have to work.
Janet ran over to them and managed to squeeze herself between the bushes and the stucco-like siding that covered the lower portion of the house. The thin branches broke as she pushed her body farther into the space. The branches scratched her face and poked her.
But she could deal with minor discomfort. Especially if it meant surviving.
They should be here any moment now.
She waited, staying as still as she could. Her breathing was heavy and she tried to control it. She didn’t want them to hear her.
Heavy footsteps running down the driveway, the soles of boots slapping against the pavement.
They were here.
Janet held her breath. She wouldn’t let any sounds give her away.
Hopefully the bushes and the cover of night would be enough. Hopefully her trick with the shed door hadn’t been too subtle. Hopefully whoever showed up wouldn’t be smart enough to realize that Janet was a militia member herself, that she knew where they normally looked.
Looking out through the tangle of the dens
e leaves and branches, Janet saw two figures moving through the dark yard. One had a shotgun and one had a handgun. That was standard practice when there weren’t enough guns of the ideal type to go around. Pair a guy with a handgun with a guy with something bigger.
Janet had her own handgun pointed out through the bushes. Thorns dug into her flesh but she ignored it. She knew she was bleeding and she didn’t care.
Neither of the figures spoke. They were approaching the shed cautiously, walking slowly now.
Janet knew she had to wait just long enough. They needed to be past her, with their backs to her.
Janet couldn’t hold her breath any longer. It happened all of a sudden. Her body suddenly cried out for air. She breathed in sharply and involuntarily. She’d been so caught up in the moment she hadn’t allowed herself to feel the lack of oxygen.
“What was that?”
Janet recognized the voice. It was Sloane, a man with a woman’s name for some reason that no one had ever figured out.
Janet didn’t hesitate. She squeezed the trigger.
Sloane was a bastard. He’d stolen her food more than once. And he’d rubbed it in her face too, enjoying the fact that he was bigger than she was and could do what he wanted.
The recoil must have knocked a branch loose, because the next thing Janet knew, she couldn’t see anything.
A shotgun blast rang out.
Janet wasn’t hit. They must have aimed blindly in her direction. Whoever the partner was.
Pushing aside the branches, Janet saw Sloane’s body lying on the ground. He didn’t seem to be dead. His body was convulsing on the ground violently. His partner crouched next to him, holding the shotgun. He seemed unsure if he should fight or help Sloane, his injured partner.
Helping fellow militia members wasn’t the norm. In fact, the rule that Sarge had drilled into their heads was that they were supposed to leave a fallen comrade no matter what. Under no circumstances were they to compromise their victory by trying to help one of their own.
It was a vicious, heartless policy, but it worked.
Punishment for disobeying was severe.
Getting Home_A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller Page 2
