Getting Home_A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller

by Ryan Westfield

  Maybe things would work out OK. Maybe they’d make it. Maybe life would be better, more enjoyable, less full of the bullshit that Georgia had hated about modern life.

  A woman like her could really thrive in this new environment.

  All they had to do was get through the tough parts, the changes, where violence was the rule of law and life was cheap to the point of being worthless.

  She was realistic. She knew she couldn’t let her thoughts get ahead of herself.

  There was still plenty of work to be done. At the moment, her work was shooting deer.

  Maybe she’d get lucky and stumble across some on the way back to camp, even though it was a little late for them.

  Georgia stood up slowly, holding onto the tree trunk for support.

  Before she could take her first step, she heard a twig snap off in the distance, somewhere in front of her, to the south.

  If she was lucky, it’d be a deer.

  If she was unlucky, it’d be someone. Maybe the people who’d stolen their food when the mob had come.

  It’d be just like them, cowards that they apparently were, to approach her when she was alone.

  Had they followed her?

  She didn’t think so. She’d been too careful. She’d moved quietly. She’d checked her surroundings constantly, always making sure to look behind her.

  Georgia didn’t move except to get her rifle ready. She slid her finger over the trigger, where it rested, waiting.

  Georgia didn’t put her eye to the scope. Not yet. The sound hadn’t sounded that far off, and she didn’t want to let tunnel vision allow her to miss something important off her periphery.

  The pain in her back was still there, as was the weakness. She tried to keep her thoughts focused on the present, but they kept seeming to slip, her mind winding its way back to her children at camp. Would they be safe without her? John and Cynthia were capable. But they weren’t her, and Max was off somewhere, his return uncertain.

  Another sound. This one slighter, quieter than the last.

  Something poked its way out from behind a tree.

  It was a deer head.

  Georgia breathed a sigh of relief.

  Not only was it not a dangerous person, but it was food.

  Georgia put her eye to the scope, and, without moving, got the deer right in her crosshairs.

  Most hunters went for the heart or the lungs first. It was easier than a bullet to the brain.

  But a bullet to the brain would drop the deer in one shot. And Georgia knew she could pull it off. She just had to wait until the deer emerged a little farther. She wanted a clean shot.

  The deer moved, inching forward, its head bent down as it searched for food on the ground.

  But before Georgia could pull the trigger, a shot rang out.

  Georgia threw herself to the ground. She was on her stomach, her rifle in front of her, her finger still on the trigger.

  The deer jumped forward, looking startled.

  It was running at top speed. Right towards Georgia, who it didn’t seem to see.

  Blood trailed behind the deer, spurting out of its body.

  Someone had been hunting that same deer, and they weren’t as good a shot as Georgia. They’d hit the deer, but it hadn’t been a killing shot.

  Another shot rang out.

  This time the deer fell. It lay there, about twenty feet in front of Georgia. Its eyes were wide open and seemed to stare at her.

  Georgia’s heart was pounding.

  What should she do? Run? Stand her ground?

  She didn’t know how effective running would be given her fatigue, her weakness. But maybe the adrenaline would help her. She was sure she could do it.

  But while she’d been deciding, a figure had emerged from off in the distance.

  A man. Tall. Big beard. Long hair. Wearing camouflage that didn’t do much to disguise his body in the current climate.

  He carried a rifle at his side in one hand.

  He was casting looks around, trying to spot the deer he’d shot.

  In a moment, his eyes would land on Georgia. And it was too late to run.

  She wasn’t going to shoot him. Not now. Not yet. It wasn’t right. For all she knew, he could be just like her, a good person just trying to survive. He could even have been someone that she’d met once on a hunting trip, someone she’d sat around the fire later with and shared a beer with.

  The man was getting closer. Georgia could see his face clearly now, but he still hadn’t seen her or the deer. He had a wide face, a deep brow, and an intense way of squinting at his surroundings. Maybe he’d lost his glasses and didn’t have great vision.

  But she couldn’t count on it.

  Georgia would make the first move.

  “Hands in the air,” shouted Georgia.

  The man froze.

  But he didn’t drop his gun.

  His eyes moved over to her.

  “Drop the gun,” shouted Georgia.

  “Or what? What’s a little lost lady like you going to do to me?”

  “You already know the answer. Drop it. You have three seconds.”

  The man took a single long step closer to Georgia. The distance wasn’t much now. But still enough.

  Georgia trigger finger quavered.

  She was counting in her head. Three… two…

  If she counted it out, she wasn’t a murderer. She’d given the guy options. If he didn’t want to play by her rules, then that was on him. Not her.

  She wasn’t going to give second chances. She’d fire.

  She may have been ethical, but she wasn’t weak.

  “Fine!”

  The man suddenly dropped his rifle onto the ground and raised his hands high over his head.

  Georgia eased up the tension on her finger.

  “Stay where you are!”

  “I don’t mean any harm,” said the man. “I’m just trying to get dinner. And I don’t react well to being told what to do by strangers with guns. Never have.”

  Georgia could relate. In a sense.

  “Who are you?”

  “Does it matter anymore? I’ll give you my name, but it doesn’t mean much.”

  “Just do it.”

  “William Baxter, but people call me Will.”

  “And what are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here?” He laughed. “What everyone’s doing, I guess. Trying to survive.”

  “Are you with anyone else?”

  “Just me.”

  “You know anything about a camp near here?”

  “A camp? Just my own.”

  “Where’s your camp?”

  “Over by the big gully, over on the eastern end.”

  Georgia hadn’t been there. She didn’t even know if there was a gully.

  And for all Georgia knew, everything coming out of this man’s mouth could be a lie.

  If he was one of the ones who’d stolen their food, what incentive would he have to admit it? Absolutely none.

  She could take his rifle and leave him there. But that might as well be a death sentence for the man. Without his rifle, he wouldn’t be able to hunt. Or to defend himself.

  It was always the same problem. Trying to tell if someone was out to hurt them or not.

  That was the problem with being ethical, without shooting to kill and not bothering with questions. It was the problem she and Max and everyone else had grown tired of facing.

  But not tired to the point of changing their ways.

  Not yet, at least.

  Georgia stood up slowly. She was going to let him go. It wasn’t an easy choice. But it was the right thing to do.

  Suddenly, bark from the tree behind Georgia exploded. The pieces hit her in the back, pelting against her jacket.

  The gunshot rang out.

  It must have been far away.

  They’d missed.

  Georgia threw herself on the ground again.

  The man, William Baxter, if that was really
his name, was reaching for his rifle on the ground.

  Georgia didn’t look through the scope, but she knew she had him. She pulled the trigger.

  The shot rang out. The gun kicked.

  But Baxter didn’t fall.

  Somehow, she’d missed.

  Baxter was closing the distance between them fast. She saw his face clearly, the anger contorting it. His eyes burned with intensity.

  He was holding his rifle in one hand high above his head, apparently intending to use it like a club.

  Georgia had mere seconds to get off another shot. She was keeping calm as he closed the distance, waiting for the moment that she could be sure her shot would be the final one.

  But before she could fire, the sniper off in the distance fired again. They missed, but the bullet lodged itself into the ground in front of Georgia’s face, sending dirt into her eyes.

  She heard the shot ringing out after she was momentarily blinded.

  Baxter was still coming at her. Georgia could hear him, hear his feet pounding on the ground.

  She couldn’t see much. Debris had gotten into both her eyes, which were filling up with tears as her eyes tried to clear themselves.

  Georgia didn’t have much of a chance of hitting him. But she pulled the trigger anyway.

  The gun kicked and the shot rang out.

  Despite the ringing in her ears, she could still hear Baxter.

  It was too late. She’d missed.

  Georgia was blinking rapidly, trying to get her eyes working again.

  She felt the rifle hit her in the shoulder. Baxter had swung it down like a club. It made a harsh sound as it slammed into her. Her old injury flared up. Pain ran through her.

  Baxter was suddenly on top of her, pressing his knees into her back. He was heavy, and she was pressed into the dirt.

  Her rifle was knocked out of her hands.

  Baxter growled something, but she didn’t hear what it was. It sounded more like the sound an animal would make rather than English.

  Georgia wasn’t going to give up.

  Baxter’s hands were around her throat from behind. He was trying to strangle her. As quickly as possible.

  His hands were strong and rough. He had a firm grip around her neck and he squeezed. Hard.

  Georgia felt the loss of oxygen.

  But she wasn’t going down without a fight.

  Her eyes were finally clear of the debris. Tears flowed down her cheeks and her eyes still burned, but she could see.

  She had a handgun with her. But she didn’t have much of a chance of shooting him in the position he was in.

  She had a knife, too, but if she could get to it, she’d be stabbing wildly behind her in the hopes of catching him.

  She didn’t have much time left before she was unconscious. Mere seconds.

  Her rifle wasn’t far from her, lying there in the dirt.

  Georgia reached out suddenly and swiftly, so that he’d have no time to stop her.

  She seized the rifle around the muzzle with one hand. She brought it up swiftly, raising her arm off the ground as fast and hard as she could. The rifle followed, swinging through the air.

  The rifle collided with Baxter. Georgia didn’t know where, but she heard it. He grunted in pain as hit him.

  The rifle fell away from her hand. She couldn’t hold onto it. She was getting too weak.

  The hands around her neck suddenly relaxed.

  Georgia’s instinct was to gasp for breath, to lie there and recover. But there wasn’t time for that.

  Still sputtering for air, Georgia made one final attempt to get out from under him. She twisted around, moving her body as fast as she could.

  Now she was face up, and she brought her fist up. She punched him right in the face.

  He grunted in pain again. He was bleeding from his head where the rifle must have struck him.

  Georgia felt weak and energized at the same time. Her injuries sapped the strength from her, and now she was dealing with strangulation. At the same time, the adrenaline coursed through her. And even more powerful than the adrenaline was the knowledge that she had to get back to James and Sadie.

  She had to. There was no other option.

  She had to keep low to the ground. The sniper was still out there. Although he didn’t seem to be a good enough shot to distinguish between Baxter, who was presumably his friend, and Georgia.

  But Georgia didn’t want to risk it.

  Georgia was on all fours, in a semi-crouch position.

  Baxter was still reeling in pain, but he’d fixed his eyes once again on Georgia. There was only one thing in those eyes, and that was his intention to kill.

  The rifle lay on the ground between them. They weren’t far apart.

  Georgia was already reaching for her handgun in its holster.

  She had her hand around the handle.

  She was drawing it. Her hand and arm felt weak, but she had to keep going.

  Baxter had gone for the rifle. It was in his hand now.

  Georgia had the handgun out. She raised her arm, holding it straight out.

  Baxter was raising the rifle.

  Georgia took aim.

  She pulled the trigger.

  The gun kicked and Georgia’s ears rang.

  It seemed as if the bullet had hit Baxter right in the heart. A good, clean shot.

  Baxter fell forward, facedown onto the earth. Georgia glimpsed the look of surprise and anger as he fell.

  There wasn’t any time to savor the victory, to savor the feeling of being alive.

  The sniper was still out there. And maybe there was more than one.

  Georgia was still gasping for air. Her brain didn’t seem to be working quite right. Her neck burned with pain where his fingers had been.

  Georgia had to get down as low as she could again. Shelter would be good. But she’d have to crawl behind a tree. She knew the rough direction of the sniper, but not the location.

  Georgia fell to the ground more than she got there herself.

  She lay there, trying to catch her breath, trying to breathe.

  Someone was out there. And they wanted her dead.

  13

  Max

  Max and Mandy remained crouched behind stacks of cardboard boxes. They were trying not to move much or make any sounds at all.

  They couldn’t see what was happening without peeking out, and they didn’t want to do that.

  Light flooded the whole area. One of the cargo doors was open, but Max hadn’t yet heard any sounds. No greetings. No shouts or commands. Nothing.

  They waited.

  All Max could hear were footsteps.

  Now there was some grunting. Some indecipherable sounds. Maybe something being set down? It was a cargo area, after all. Maybe a delivery was being made.

  But a delivery? It didn’t make sense.

  “What should we do?” whispered Mandy, speaking directly into Max’s ear in an incredibly soft voice.

  With the other noises, there wasn’t much chance a whisper like that could be heard.

  Max could feel Mandy’s hot breath in his ear. He tried not to let it distract him.

  Max shook his head at her, indicating that he didn’t know.

  Mandy put her mouth back against his ear. “Do you think it has anything to do with the drugs?”

  “The drugs?” whispered Max, using the same technique.

  “Didn’t you see the drugs lying around? All those people are high on something. There were needles and everything.”

  Max shook his head to let her know he hadn’t seen it.

  How had he missed it? That wasn’t like him. Then again, there hadn’t been much time.

  So that added a new piece to the puzzle.

  Before Max could think about it any further, someone finally spoke.

  “OK, boss, I’ve got it all distributed.”

  “You got everyone a good supply?”

  Max couldn’t hear the next thing. Just some inaudible mumbling
.

  “OK, then. Who’s it going to be?”

  “What about that one?”

  “Too thin.”

  “He’s only going to get thinner.”

  Max was listening as carefully as he could, trying to pick up not just the tone of the conversation and the meaning, but trying to see if he could glean some information about who these men were.

  If they needed to fight their way out, knowing something about them ahead of time would be helpful.

  A quick glance exchanged with Mandy assured Max that she didn’t know what the conversation was about either.

  “All right, you’re right. Load him up.”

  Were they taking one of the workers away?

  Would there be some kind of protest, a fight? After all, it didn’t sound like it was a volunteer program they were running.

  But there was nothing. No fight. No struggle. Hardly even a word. Just some more mumbling, and a couple words here and there from the two men.

  The next thing Max knew, the metal door was shutting again. It slammed down into the concrete and once again the room was dark.

  It’d take Max’s eyes a little while to adjust. He’d have to wait until then before he made any moves.

  For now, it seemed like they were in the clear.

  As Max waited for his eyes to adjust, he felt his pulse with his fingers. His heart rate was going down, but it was still elevated. His body had been ready for a fight that hadn’t happened.

  “What the hell just happened?” whispered Mandy through the darkness.

  “No idea,” said Max. “We’ll wait a couple more minutes and then we’ll find out.”

  “You’re worried they’ll come back?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  So they waited.

  Maybe they should just leave, get out of the whole rest stop as soon as possible. This wasn’t any of their business, whatever it was that was going on.

  But they couldn’t leave just yet. Whoever had come and opened the cargo door might still be out there, waiting. They’d see Max and Mandy as they left the building.

  After enough time had passed, it didn’t seem like the cargo door would open again.

  “Come on,” whispered Max. “Let’s see what happened. Then we’ll get out of here.”

  Slowly, Max and Mandy left their hiding place and began walking through the candle-lit area.