“Then why even try to stall us with the mention of some secret you’ve supposedly got somewhere?”
“Makes it all more fun,” said Miller, flashing a big grin. “I learn something new every day. If I live another day, maybe I’ll learn something new. Or more importantly, have some fun.”
“What have you got?”
“Oh,” said Miller. “Just one of those radios.”
That got their attention.
They finally turned to look at him.
The leader, the one with the beard, walked over to Miller. He stood close to him. Miller could smell his heavy, rotten, hot breath. He felt it on his neck as the leader’s eyes bored into him.
Miller kept the grin there. Might have been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.
But he did it.
“What kind of radio?”
“Oh,” said Miller, speaking slowly, to draw it out. “One of those shortwave radios. Good for communicating long distances, you know.”
“A shortwave radio?”
“Yup,” said Miller. “Why? I doubt you guys would be interested in something like that.”
“Well,” said the leader, pushing his pasty white face incredibly close to Miller’s. “It wouldn’t work anyway. The EMP was strong enough, at least around here, to wipe out almost all electronics.”
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” said Miller.
The guy’s teeth were horrible. They were all rotten. Maybe that was where the smell was coming from.
“You’ve got five seconds to say what you’re going to say, so spit it out.”
“Five seconds before what?”
“Before I kill you.”
He took a pistol from a holster at his side, and pressed the cold muzzle against Miller’s temple.
But he wasn’t going to shoot. His boss wanted a shortwave radio too badly.
This was good. And Miller knew it. He had some power over them. And he now knew that the rumors were true. Those two hikers hadn’t been lying, and they’d had the correct information. These militia guys would do nearly anything for a radio.
“I’ve been preparing for something like an EMP for a long time,” said Miller. “I shielded the shortwave radio with a Faraday cage. Rudimentary and homemade. But it does the trick.”
Miller knew that these guys probably didn’t actually know what a Faraday cage was or how it worked. But he could tell by their expressions that they’d heard the word before. They knew enough to know that they needed a radio with a “Faraday cage.”
Now it was just a matter of making that information work for him. Miller hadn’t quite figured that part out of it. If only he’d had more time before he’d run into these guys.
“Here’s the deal,” said the leader. “You’re going to take us to this supposed radio of yours. If you don’t, we’re going to kill you. Only first, we’re going to torture you. You’re going to tell us where it is. Trust me.”
“You know,” said Miller. “I was thinking that this radio might come in handy. Pretty useful for communicating with other groups across the country. Pretty useful for consolidating power, if you catch my drift.”
“You sound like you know what you’re talking about, but you don’t know shit.”
“I know your boss really wants this radio,” said Miller. “And he’s going to be upset if you screw it up. That couldn’t be good for you. The best thing you could do is take me directly to your boss. I’ll tell him the location of the radio.”
The leader laughed, throwing his head back and letting out a disgusting cackle. It really showed off his bad teeth.
“There’s no chance in that. Like I said, you’re going to take us to the radio right now.”
“I’m only dealing with the boss,” said Miller.
The punch came fast. The leader’s hard fist caught Miller in the temple.
Miller reeled with the blow. He saw stars. But he took it as best he could.
“Make it easy on yourself, and you might just live.”
“The boss,” said Miller. “Or you’re not getting it.”
Another blow. This one connected with his jaw. Pain flared through his face. Miller reeled again, almost falling.
But he was a big man with a barrel chest. Well built. He didn’t fall. It’d take more than a couple punches to fell him. He may have been a white-collar professional before the EMP, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t physically tough. As tough as they come.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking. I don’t know what you’re planning. But don’t think we’re dumb enough to take you to our boss without the radio. He’s not going to like that. It’s simply not going to happen.”
“That’s the only way you’re getting it,” said Miller.
There was blood in Miller’s mouth. Maybe a tooth had gotten knocked out. He wasn’t sure.
The leader reached into his pocket and pulled out an automatic knife. He hit the button, and the blade flashed out. Double-sided, like a dagger. And it looked sharp.
“We’ll make you talk. And you’ll die. I don’t partially enjoy torturing much myself, but Kenny over here,” he said, nodding his head to the guy who had the shotgun pressed into Miller. “He’s a sick freak or something. He gets off on slicing people to ribbons. I’ve watched him do it.”
Maybe they were bluffing. Maybe not.
Miller decided to wait it out for as long as he could. Take his chances. Because if this plan didn’t work, he couldn’t take out these four guys by himself.
He’d almost convinced himself that there really was a radio. Of course, there was nothing. He’d have to lead them to a place where he could take them out.
“You’ve got two seconds.”
“Boss or nothing,” said Miller.
“Whatever, have it your way. Here you go, Kenny.” He went to hand the knife to Kenny.
The shotgun moved away from Miller’s belly.
“I’ve got my own, boss,” said Kenny. Delight dripped all over his words.
Miller watched as Kenny took something like a Bowie knife from a leather sheath.
“Remember,” said Kenny, pointing the knife at Miller. “You asked for this.”
Miller figured they’d just try to scare him. Maybe drag the point of the Bowie knife across his skin. Maybe draw some blood.
That was the best case scenario.
It was almost too fast when it happened. Miller felt a hand on his. He felt his fingers being tugged away.
The knife flashed as it sliced downwards.
Pain in his hand.
Miller wasn’t sure what happened. The pain was diffuse. What had been hit?
Miller looked down at his hand.
His pinky was missing. Completely gone, down to the knuckle.
Blood flowed freely, already pooling on the ground.
Kenny just laughed.
The leader laughed.
The two others chuckled nervously. Maybe they were worried that a similar fate awaited them too, if they didn’t stay in line.
The blood kept flowing.
No one spoke for a long moment.
Miller didn’t know how long he’d last, bleeding out like that. But he didn’t move to put pressure on the wound, or to raise it above his head. It needed more attention than that, anyway.
“Here’s the deal. This is your last chance to come clean and cooperate with us. If not, I’ll set Kenny loose on you. And I mean really loose. You wouldn’t believe what he’s capable of. He’s a sick man.”
Miller knew he was out of options.
“OK,” he said. His voice sounded funny to him. Maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through him, as his body responded to the wound. He felt a little shaky. “I’ll take you to the radio.”
“Good.”
Now all Miller had to do was figure out what the hell he was going to do.
11
Max
The pickup truck came speeding towards them. It looked like two drivers in the cab, and no one in
the back. The bed looked empty. It was an older truck.
They all had their rifles ready.
Max’s hand was on his Glock.
The driver of the pickup didn’t hesitate. Whoever it was drove it right up to them, stopping only about twenty feet away.
They weren’t acting like they were looking for a fight.
The engine cut off.
The highway was silent once again.
“What do we do, Max?” said James. His voice sounded shaky.
“Stay calm,” said Max.
Max walked, Glock ready, towards the pickup.
He could see through the windshield more clearly now. There was only one person. Someone with long hair.
A woman?
The driver’s side door opened.
A woman stepped out.
She was tall, with long legs clad in tight black jeans. Her hair was thick and dark, tied behind her head in a messy ponytail.
She wore a gun on her hip, but she didn’t reach for it.
Not yet, at least.
She and Max locked eyes.
“You’re entering our territory,” she said.
“Whose territory?”
“Ours,” she said.
“You represent a group?”
She nodded.
She was in her early forties, most likely. Her face was pretty, with slightly angular features. No makeup. Her expression was serious, and she stood tall and didn’t waver or quake. She seemed like someone who was sure of herself and used to getting her way.
“Look,” said Max. “I don’t know who you are, or what group you represent. But we’re just passing through. We’re not looking for any trouble.”
She just stared at him.
“What’s the name of your group?”
“We don’t have a name. We’re a self-sufficient democratically organized community.”
Max nodded. “That’s great, but you don’t own the highway. As far as I can tell, it belonged to the people of the United States. The EMP didn’t change that, even if the government has fallen all over. And it seems like it has.”
“How many of you are there?”
“Six.”
“Men, women, children?”
“Three women, three men. No children.”
Max didn’t consider James and Sadie children. They were quickly becoming adults.
“Where are you headed?”
“That’s our own business.”
Max didn’t want to reveal their plan to head to Kentucky. He didn’t know who this woman was, and while she didn’t seem interested in physically harming them (she wouldn’t have been a threat, anyway, against them all, or even Max alone), she could do damage to them in some other way.
“My name is Kara,” said the woman, taking the conversation in a new direction. “You should come with us. We welcome newcomers to our group.”
“We’re not interested in joining.”
“You might change your mind once you see our community. We’ve been building it for years before the EMP. We have medical facilities, showers, bathrooms. We grow our own food.”
“Not interested.”
Max didn’t trust her, or her supposed community. It was better to strike out on their own, take matters into their own hands.
“You could come and see what it’s like. Get a shower. Eat some food. Good food. No pressure, no obligations.”
“Sounds too good to be true.”
Max didn’t trust her, even though she looked like a trustworthy person. Or at least as trustworthy as they came after the EMP.
“Talk it over,” said Kara. “You have time.”
Max didn’t like to take orders from a stranger, but he was smart enough to realize that she had a point. Talking it over would be good.
Their supplies were perilously low, as they always seemed to be. Even a single meal would do them good, allow them to continue pushing on.
And information. They could get information from Kara and her group. Information about the route ahead, about the dangers that lay in their path.
“Come on, James,” said Max, walking away from Kara and heading towards the Ford Bronco.
Chad stood there, looking dazed. Max didn’t know what was going on with him. He didn’t bother calling him for a group discussion.
“What’s going on?” said Georgia, leaning out the window of the Bronco.
Max explained the situation.
“We’re going, right?” said Mandy. There was eagerness in her voice. Maybe it was the thought of a hot shower, or maybe it was just the idea of getting off the road. Hiding away, resting in some place that was safe and secure.
“Sounds like a bad idea,” said Georgia.
“I don’t know,” said Max. “Let’s at least talk it over.”
Georgia had enough respect for Max that she was willing to at least consider any idea he presented. She nodded at him.
“Pluses,” said Max. “Well, there’s the food, the brief security, and information. I’m not saying we stay there. Just check it out and head out.”
“Why don’t we just move there?” said Mandy. “Sounds like what we’ve been looking for, right? A place to stay safe, a place to build a new life.”
Max fell silent as the rest of them discussed the issue among themselves.
He knew which way the tide was turning with the group. They were tired and hungry.
He himself was badly injured. He could push himself, but sooner or later he’d get sloppy and make a mistake. Without resting and recuperating, that is.
They couldn’t go much farther with what they had.
In the end, Max simply said, “Come on, let’s go. But we’re not staying.”
Mandy couldn’t stop smiling. Even Georgia looked relived. And who could blame them? After all, it all sounded too good to be true.
And that was exactly what worried Max.
12
John
The four of them had walked for days. They’d taken the back trails. Derek and Sara hadn’t been lying about their experiences as hikers. They’d hiked these trails before, and knew them well.
They also knew how to improvise with shelters. They knew how to start fires, and they even knew how to accurately identify edible mushrooms without a guidebook.
John and Cynthia had been too scared to try eating mushrooms on their way to the farmhouse. John had enough sense to know that the death cap mushroom was common in Pennsylvania, and often masqueraded as an edible mushroom.
Before the EMP, there might have been a dozen cases of wild mushroom poisoning a year in the US. John was sure that after the EMP, with people desperate for food, there’d be even more. Only this time, there’d be no emergency rooms to go to. There would be no antidotes to take. People would writhe in agony until they died, with their loved ones watching them anxiously, hoping against hope that they’d get better, but knowing that they never would.
John wouldn’t have had any idea where they were if Derek and Sara hadn’t been able to show him on the map.
They weren’t yet at the Pennsylvania border, but they were very slowly making their way west, on the trails that wound through the thick forest.
The weather was getting that fall bite to it. It wasn’t yet cold during the days, but at night, it would have been cold without a fire.
They’d decided early on to take the risk of having a campfire. Maybe it wasn’t a rational decision. John didn’t know. They’d all rationalized it, saying that the chance of getting spotted was worth having the warmth. Not to mention warding off animals, and cooking food.
But in reality, what the fire mainly provided was a psychological advantage. There was something comforting and fortifying about looking into those glowing embers, those flickering flames, in the middle of a cold dark night in the woods, with no one around for miles. Hopefully.
Derek and Sara’s enthusiasm for having firearms had soon died down. They kept them in their packs and hardly ever took them out. They’d probably been t
he sorts of people who’d been opposed to firearms before the EMP. And while they recognized their importance and usefulness now, they still carried with them enough of their old attitude to make them hesitant to really begin to understand and use their guns.
John and Cynthia, on the other hand, spent long hours around the campfire examining their guns. They learned how to disassemble them, how to load them, how to check the chamber to see if there was a live round. Not to mention target practice. There was plenty of that, and gradually they were getting better. Significantly better. Not to mention more tolerant of the defending assault on their eardrums each time they squeezed the trigger.
Both John and Cynthia tried to work up Derek and Sara’s enthusiasm for guns. But there wasn’t any getting around the fact that they simply wouldn’t do it.
And as they progressed along their journey heading west, John grew more and more concerned. Not just about the whole gun reluctance thing, but about Derek and Sara’s overall attitude. That a lot of people were good and all that. He told them stories about his journey out of downtown Philadelphia, about the horrors he’d experienced, about the viciousness of once common people, but it didn’t do any good.
Part of the problem was that Derek and Sara felt at home on the trail. Sure, they were well aware that the EMP had happened, and that the world had changed, possibly forever. But their vacations, before the EMP, had always involved backwoods hiking. So to them, psychologically, they were basically just on vacation. They’d always enjoyed being away from civilization. And now they were. They enjoyed sitting around the campfire, telling jokes, while John remained vigilant, his eyes always darting around, checking for shadows, listening for strangers approaching.
Early in their journey, they’d abandoned the idea of hiking by night and resting by day. It had simply been too challenging, once the flashlights’ batteries had run out. And they’d run out surprisingly quickly.
When the clouds were thick in the night sky, there was hardly any light at all. Certainly not enough to walk by, even with darkness adjusted eyes.
Getting Out Page 7
