“We’re probably filthy, aren’t we?” said Georgia’s daughter.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Kara. “You’ve been through a rough time. But you can get clean here.”
“I’m sure I stink like crazy,” said Mandy.
“Follow me,” said Kara. “We’re going to have our regular nightly meeting, and you can all get cleaned up while we’re busy with that. Just boring regulatory stuff. Who does the dishes and that sort of thing. You’ll feel like a new person once you’re clean.”
Kara started to lead them away.
“Hey Max,” said Jeff. “Can I talk to you a minute? I wanted to get your opinion on some traps we’ve set up in the forest.”
“I’d rather stay with the others,” said Max.
“Come on,” said Mandy. With a full belly, she was jovial. “We’ll be fine.”
Max hesitated, but only for a moment.
“What kind of traps?” he said, joining Jeff off to the side.
So far, the plan was going perfectly. Kara wouldn’t have to worry about Max’s suspicions much longer.
18
Max
Maybe Max had been overly suspicious of the whole community. He had to admit that he felt better after eating. Who knew how long it’d been since they’d had a proper meal. Sure, it wasn’t a fancy meal. It was simple, but it had filled them, and Max felt a renewed sense of strength, despite his injuries.
His face hurt, but not as bad as his leg. He tried to walk without limping, as much as possible, so as not to worry the others. He knew they looked up to him, and he didn’t want them to lose confidence in him, lest they lose confidence in themselves and their ability to keep going.
Maybe they could spend more than a night here. Maybe they could spend a couple weeks, recuperating. Max didn’t expect it to be free, not in this new economy of pure necessity. It was an economy of survival. But Max and the others could offer their labor and skills, helping the community get up and running the way it needed to. And the community would repay them in food and shelter. Sounded fair to Max.
Later, they could move on, continuing their way to Kentucky.
Kentucky seemed so far away. And even though there were the legal papers to prove that the farmhouse existed, it was beginning to seem less and less realistic.
Supposing they got all the way there, to the farmhouse in Kentucky, years of back-breaking work awaited them. A running farm didn’t suddenly get up and running overnight.
Max realized he was starting to doubt himself. He shook it off. A few weeks here. Maximum. Then they’d move on.
Max was walking behind Jeff on the way to some small game traps that Jeff had set up.
Jeff moved slowly. He was a big, lumbering sort of guy. He looked peaceful, like he’d never hurt a fly.
“How much farther?” called Max.
“About half a mile,” said Jeff, turning around. “You doing all right with that leg?”
“Fine,” grunted Max.
The truth was, his injury was sending shooting pains through his leg. The more he walked, the more it hurt.
He did his best to ignore it.
Max had a strong sense of ethics. These people had just fed his entire group. And more than their fair share of food, too. The least Max could do was hike a mile or two and examine some animal traps. It was his way of starting to repay his debt.
Max had never liked being in debt.
The light was starting to fall, and Max hoped they’d have enough light to see the traps clearly. He picked up his pace, closing the gap between himself and Jeff.
As he got closer to Jeff, Max found his gaze settling on an odd shape printed in Jeff’s shirt.
It was a gun. Definitely a gun. It looked like it was in some kind of rigid synthetic holster. Who knew what material.
But so what? It would be stupid not to carry a gun out here.
Max had his Glock with him himself.
But even so, something about seeing the gun there sent Max’s mind wandering. After all, Jeff had clearly attempted to conceal his gun. He didn’t wear it openly, like Max.
Why would someone carry a concealed gun in a situation like this?
“The trap’s right up here,” said Jeff, stopping in a small clearing. He waited until Max had caught up with him.
It was a peaceful clearing. A little creek bubbled pleasantly nearby. The surrounding trees were shorter than in the rest of the area. Mere saplings.
There was something strange about Jeff’s demeanor. Max couldn’t place his finger on it but it was definitely there. He would have brushed past it normally, but his thoughts turned again to the concealed gun.
“It’s a pit trap,” said Jeff, pointing to the trap. “Nothing fancy. But it should work.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Well, it doesn’t work. It should, like I said, but it’s been a week and nothing’s turned up. I’ve got these things set up all over the place, and none of them have caught anything.”
Max looked quickly at the trap, but he was sure to keep Jeff in his peripheral vision. It looked like a good trap to Max, just the kind he would have set up himself, the same kind he’d read about and studied on the internet in the days before the EMP. The trap’s “mechanism,” if you could even call it that, were two sticks. One small and one large. The small stick ran up from the small pit, holding the larger stick in place. Once the animal entered the trap, it would knock aside the little stick, causing the big stick to fall, closing off the pit and blocking the animal’s escape.
“What are you using for bait?”
“Leftover grease from the kitchen. I thought it would work.”
“Might be your problem. I don’t know if squirrels and such are going to go for that. There’s plenty for them to eat in the woods.”
“Maybe,” said Jeff, seeming to mull it over. “But I think I screwed up the pit. I don’t think I dug it right. I checked the other day, and some of the food was gone, but the supporting beam didn’t give way.”
“Huh,” said Max. “That’s weird.”
The trap looked fine to Max.
“Why don’t you have a look at it?” said Jeff. “I’d appreciate a fresh set of eyes.”
“I can see it fine from here.”
“You’ve got to really get close to see what I’m talking about.”
“You first,” said Max.
“Me first? What? Are you suspicious or something?”
Max didn’t say anything.
He was suspicious. He didn’t like the fact that Jeff wanted him to get into a particular position. The reality was that the trap could be inspected from where they stood now, side by side.
The only advantage of getting Max out in front, as far as Max could see, was that it was a better position to attack him from.
“Come on, Max,” said Jeff. “I know we don’t know each other, but I don’t understand what you think is going on here. We’re just regular people, trying to survive. Just like you.”
“I’m not moving.”
Max saw it clearly. Jeff reached up inside his shirt, his hand heading towards his concealed gun.
Max was faster. After all, his gun was at his side, easily accessible.
Max had his Glock pointing at Jeff’s chest while Jeff still had his hand up his shirt.
“Pull the gun out slow, muzzle facing the ground. Try to use it against me, and I’ll kill you right here and now.”
Jeff did as Max said. He wasn’t dumb enough to do something stupid.
“Now put the gun on the ground. Slowly. Keep it pointed away from me.”
“We can work this out,” said Jeff. “This is all a big misunderstanding. I just wanted you to check on the traps.”
“Just put the gun down.”
“No problem.”
Jeff put the gun on the ground.
“Now step away from it.”
Jeff took two large steps back.
“Two more steps.”
“Come o
n, Max. This is ridiculous. I know we don’t know each other. But if you knew me, you’d know I’m not that kind of person.”
“Then why’d you go for your gun? Two more steps.”
“I got freaked out. That’s all. I saw you going for yours.” Jeff took the two steps.
Max knew it was nonsense. Just nothing but lies.
“What’s the angle? Why do you want to off me?”
Max kept an eye on Jeff as he bent down and recovered the gun. He checked it. It was loaded.
“You’re been under a lot of stress,” said Jeff. “But you’ve got to realize that it’s made you paranoid. It’s just an adaptive response. Mistrust is good in a lot of intense situations, but you’re among friends now. You’ve got to realize that.”
Max knew Jeff was going to play innocent as long as he could.
There was nothing left but violence. A last resort, but a necessary one.
Max moved forward swiftly. Jeff’s gun was in Max’s left hand. Max drew his left arm back, and swung it around in a large arc. The gun connected with Jeff’s cheek.
Jeff reeled. He toppled over and screamed in pain.
Max was down on top of him, pushing the muzzle of his gun into Jeff’s temple. Pressing hard.
“Tell me,” hissed Max. “Or you’re dead. I’m not wasting any more time on you.”
“Don’t shoot me,” cried Jeff. “It’s not my fault… Kara, she made me do it.”
“What does she want?”
“She wants the women.”
“The women?” said Max, confused for a moment.
“She wants to continue the community. The only way to do that is to have babies.”
Suddenly, it clicked for Max. “So what’s she going to do?”
“She’s going to get everyone to vote to forcibly conscript you all. She thought you were trouble, so she made me take care of you.”
“Great job on that.”
“I’m not like that, trust me. It’s all Kara. I can help you escape. She wants to keep all of you, never let you go.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Max.
“You need my help. Don’t kill me. I’ll help you get everyone out, if that’s what you want. Or you can go now, and save yourself.”
“That’s not my style.”
Max looked down at Jeff, who looked pathetic. Despite the chill in the air, beads of sweat were dripping off his brow. His shirt was drenched in nervous sweat.
Max knew he couldn’t trust Jeff. What he was saying about the women might be true. Or it might not be. He was still trying to save his own skin.
The only thing Max knew for certain was that Jeff would try again to kill Max at the first opportunity he had.
It was either Jeff or Max.
Max knew what he had to do. But he didn’t relish it.
He pulled the trigger, and Jeff moved no more.
Max stood up, his leg aching. There was fresh blood on his shirt.
The moon was out, casting its milky glow on the clearing.
A noise caused Max to look over at the animal trap. A squirrel was approaching it, pausing cautiously at intervals.
The squirrel glanced at Max before diving down into the small pit. A moment later, the small stick got dislodged, and the big stick fell down, falling with a soft thud. It covered the pit, and the squirrel completely lost its cool. Max could hear it squeaking horribly, and throwing itself, as best it could, against the piece of wood that blocked its escape.
Max moved over to the pit and lifted the large stick.
The squirrel, suddenly free, didn’t even glance at Max before dashing off back into the forest.
Max didn’t know how he was going to do it, but he knew what he had to do. If Jeff had been telling the truth, his friends were in serious trouble back at the compound.
Max was only one man, but he had a distinct advantage: he was supposed to be dead.
19
John
John threw his pack down. Cynthia did the same.
They ran towards the sound, their guns in their hands.
John was tired. Completely exhausted. But he pushed his legs, even though they felt like lead.
He could hear Cynthia behind him, panting.
Cynthia tripped. She cried out as she fell down, heavy with a thud.
John turned back to look at her. He knew he couldn’t wait. The scream he’d heard had been someone in pain. There wasn’t any time to go back for Cynthia.
John kept running, leaving Cynthia behind him.
“Don’t move,” came a voice.
John looked to his right. It was one of the criminals, still dressed in his orange jumpsuit. Small and skinny, wiry but strong. Distorted delight on his face.
The criminal pointed a gun right at John’s chest. The same gun John had given Derek.
He was about twenty feet from John.
“Drop the gun.”
“What’s the point?” said John. “Just get it over with.”
“We want to have some fun with you two.”
John spat on the ground. He was fed up. Fed up and exhausted.
John pointed his own gun. As he did, the criminal fired.
The bullet slammed into John’s left arm. He felt the pain, but he still took good aim, and squeezed the trigger.
John’s aim had been good, but not perfect. Still, his practice had paid off.
The criminal screamed, dropping his gun. The bullet had hit him in the shoulder.
John walked forward, getting closer, keeping his gun level and aimed at the man’s chest.
“Don’t do it.”
“Where are the others?”
“Don’t know.”
“This is your last chance. Tell me.”
The criminal spat on the ground. “Screw you, asshole.”
John pulled the trigger. The criminal fell down. A heavy thud.
Footsteps behind him.
John turned. It was Cynthia.
“You OK?” she said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been shot,” she said, looking at his arm. It was bleeding badly.
“It’s fine. We’ve got to find the others.”
Another scream, off to the right.
“Come on.”
John and Cynthia dashed off in the direction of the scream.
A body lay on the ground, tangled in the underbrush. It was Derek. His chest was full of crude puncture wounds.
“He’s dead,” said Cynthia, reaching down and feeling for a pulse on his neck.
John nodded.
He didn’t waste anymore time with Derek. This wasn’t the time to mourn.
Behind a cluster of thick trees, John and Cynthia found Sara. She was lying on the ground, blood coming out of her mouth. Her face was bloodied. Her nose looked like it was broken, blood flowing freely from it.
“Sara,” said John. “Can you hear me? Are they nearby?”
Sara tried to talk, but it was just a gurgle of blood. She shook her head.
“They’ve left?”
Sara nodded. Her eyes were filled with pain and tears.
“Derek’s dead,” said John. He was sorry to give her the news, but he knew that she wouldn’t live much longer herself.
“Come on,” said Cynthia. “We can still save her, I think.”
Sara’s shirt was soaked with blood around the abdomen area. Cynthia lifted the shirt to reveal a bloodied mess, a cluster of gunshot wounds.
Cynthia’s face fell.
“We can’t do anything for her,” said John quietly.
“It’s going to be OK, Sara,” said Cynthia. “Don’t worry. We’re going to get you fixed up.”
But Sara’s eyes were already fading.
“Come on, help me,” said Cynthia, frantic. She was pushing down on the horrible wounds on Sara’s abdomen, trying to stop the bleeding. Cynthia’s hands were soaked with thick red blood. She was crying.
“Come on, Cynthia,” said John, gripping her around the shoul
ders, and trying to pull her away from Sara.
It wasn’t Sara any longer. Sara had died. Her final breaths were over. She was just a corpse.
“No!” cried Cynthia. “Come on, why won’t you help me?”
Cynthia was sobbing. She was worse off than when John had first met her, when her husband had been shot. But she wasn’t crying for Sara. She was crying for everything that had happened to her. She was crying for her husband, for Derek, for Sara, for everyone, for everyone who lived now in this horrible world.
Finally, John got her away from the body.
“It’s going to be OK,” he said, knowing that it was a lie, as he helped Cynthia clean her bloodied hands.
John put his arm around Cynthia’s shoulder and pulled her close to him. She cried into his chest.
John knew they couldn’t wait long. They had to get a move on it. They had to get their packs and keep going. They couldn’t sit there, lamenting the loss of life, while the criminals were still out there. And now they were armed, more dangerous than before, and just as vicious.
“We’ve got to get our packs. Come on.”
John stood up, and tried to pull Cynthia to her feet, but she wouldn’t budge.
“We’re not going to bury them?”
“There’s no time. We need our packs, or we’ll end up just like them soon enough.”
Cynthia hesitated.
“Come on, Cynthia, snap out of it. I need you now. You’ve got to get my back.”
Cynthia didn’t answer. She’d fallen into complete despair, staring at the ground, unmoving, like a statue.
Who knew where the criminals were. Or what they were capable of.
20
Mandy
Mandy wouldn’t have said that the shower had been a disappointment. In fact, it had been great. She felt clean now for the first time in… she didn’t even know how long. She was grateful.
But if she was being really honest, the hot water had only lasted about half a minute, and it wasn’t exactly what she would have called hot. It was more like lukewarm water, trickling down on her, nothing more than a thin stream. Forget about water pressure, like on a normal shower head. The whole setup had reminded Mandy of water coming out of a leaking gutter after a long rain storm.
Getting Out Page 11
