Defending Camp: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (The EMP Book 6)

by Ryan Westfield

  It was a fairly long walk around the back of the plane.

  Max led with his gun, taking a single step that placed him in view of the other side of the plane.

  The door to the plane was open. There had been survivors.

  And they were still here.

  About ten corpses lay rotting in the immediate vicinity.

  “I don’t think anyone made it out of here alive,” said Max.

  Max didn’t know exactly what would have happened to the plane during the EMP, but he could take a good guess. The engines probably would have suddenly gone silent. The passengers might have been merely surprised at first. After all, strange things did happen on commercial airliners. Maybe there’d been one or two passengers who’d started to feel some anxiety or started to ask questions.

  As the seconds had ticked by, turning into impossibly long minutes and the engines hadn’t come roaring back to life, the silence would have started to feel like a real, palatable threat. Nothing in the cabin would have worked. The stewardesses wouldn’t have known what to do. They might have started panicking themselves, knowing that this wasn’t normal. Maybe one would have gone to consult the captain, who’d never experienced anything like this. Maybe the stewardesses would have tried to assure the passengers everything was fine.

  But the passengers would have known otherwise. The plane, after all, would have been shooting through the air, piercing the clouds, with absolutely no sign of electronic or motorized life. A ghost plane, in a sense.

  The pilot would have probably been able to glide the plane down, trying to make a landing. Obviously something had gone wrong in some sense. There’d been some interference.

  “So not everyone died in the crash,” said Mandy, taking a couple steps forward.

  “No,” said Max. “But the ones who lived either didn’t know how to survive, or were too injured to take care of themselves.”

  They walked towards the bodies, which gave off an incredible odor. They kept their guns ready and Max kept his eyes scanning their surroundings, rather than letting them focus on the corpses.

  “What’s going on with this one?” said Mandy, holding her nose and bending down to take a closer look.

  “What is it?”

  “Shit,” muttered Mandy, taking a step back.

  “What is it?”

  “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Mandy set the butt of her rifle into the ground and used it almost like a walking stick as she leaned down, bending over. She made retching sounds, but didn’t vomit.

  Max glanced at what she’d been looking at.

  It was a corpse. An older man. His arm was missing. And it wasn’t the result of an injury. It looked like his arm, instead, had been sawed off roughly with some semi-blunt implement.

  The “saw” wasn’t hard to find. Nearby, there was a piece of jagged glass covered in blood.

  “They got desperate,” said Max.

  “That’s disgusting,” said Mandy, wiping her mouth with a leaf, and regaining her composure.

  “I’m going inside,” said Max. “Keep watch out here.”

  “You’re going inside the plane? Why?”

  “There might be something useful in there. Something we could use.”

  “Don’t you think that the survivors would have gotten to it? Just look how desperate they were.”

  “Maybe,” said Max, and he turned and walked through the door to the aircraft.

  Light came in through the destroyed cockpit. Shadows were cast over much of the cabin.

  More bodies. Many had died on impact. And they’d been wearing their seatbelts. Most of them, anyway.

  There were bodies in the aisles. The plane had been almost full.

  The stench was worse inside, even though it was open to the outside air.

  Max moved by the bodies one by one, checking the pockets. There was nothing. Everything had been scavenged.

  There wasn’t any food left in the battered flight attendant station. A couple cracker wrappers were all that was left.

  Max headed back outside, shielding his eyes as they adjusted to the light levels.

  “Anything?” said Mandy.

  Max shook his head.

  “So do you think anyone survived? I mean, is there someone out there who got away from all this?”

  “Maybe,” said Max.

  “It’s crazy,” said Mandy. “This probably happened all over the country. Who knows how many planes just lost power and fell from the skies. We’ve only experienced our own little slice of the chaos.”

  Max nodded. “What we’ve got to do is figure out how we’re going to get around this plane, though. We can’t worry about all that now.”

  “All right, Mr. Practical. Let’s go. Any ideas so far?”

  “I don’t remember another road we can take. And the trees are too thick to get the truck through.”

  “Let me take a look at the map once we get to the car. Maybe I’ll find something.”

  “You do have a good eye for it.”

  “It’s just that I pay attention to the details.”

  “And I don’t?”

  Mandy let out a little laugh. “You do, it’s just you’re focused on different things. That’s why we make a good team.”

  “You’ve gotten over that missing arm pretty fast.”

  “It was just a gut reaction,” said Mandy. “Literally, if you know what I mean.”

  “I got the joke.”

  “You know, I don’t know why we were so worried about being attacked.”

  “We’ve always got to be careful. Never know what’s around the corner.”

  “All the passengers would have gone through security. There’d be no guns on the plane.”

  “You saw what glass did to the dead guy’s arm.”

  “Good point.”

  “Don’t underestimate non-projectile weapons,” said Max. “They can do plenty of damage. They can kill. In fact, we better get used to them ourselves. If we live long enough, we’re going to be using them ourselves eventually.”

  “You’re talking about running out of ammunition?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But there’s ammo all over the US. Haven’t you ever read about how many guns, let alone ammo, exist in the US?”

  “Sure,” said Max. “But the trick is getting to the ammo. Who knows, travel might become more difficult in the coming months and years. And it’s not like we have the upper hand. There are groups like the militia, the compound, and they’re going to do everything they can to secure weapons. That’s why we’ve got to dig in now, get a strong foothold, while we still can.”

  Mandy had a distant look on her face, as if she wasn’t paying attention.

  They were back at the truck. Mandy took the map out from the cab and spread it out on the hood.

  “I’m not seeing anything,” she said, running her hands through her hair. “I don’t see how we’re going to make it into West Virginia without taking the long way around.”

  “What about this road here?” said Max, pointing to a road that ran roughly parallel to the one they were on. At least for this stretch of road. Farther north, closer to the camp, the parallel road took a turn, giving their current road a wide girth.

  “There’s no way to get on there, Max. You can see that.”

  “Maybe there’s an area where we can cut across.”

  “You mean driving through the trees? It’s probably about a mile or so. It’d be tough.”

  “We could try. If we could just find a…”

  Max stopped talking mid-sentence. The noise of a vehicle was coming down the road.

  Max had to think fast.

  A few seconds later, a beat up minivan was visible, coming slowly around a bend in the road.

  “What are we going to do?” said Mandy, her eyes wide with fear.

  “Not everyone’s a killer,” said Max. He knew she was thinking about the recent attack on the camp. Not to mention the countless violent encounter
s they’d had.

  But Max knew it was important not to jump to conclusions. There’d be good people out there, too. Just not as many of them as the bad ones. The most vicious would outnumber anyone else at this point.

  “Get behind the door,” said Max. “Back me up with your rifle.”

  “Be careful, Max,” said Mandy.

  “I’ll be fine,” said Max, handing her his rifle. She was already behind the open truck door.

  The rifle wouldn’t do Max any good. He felt that this time he needed to get up close and personal. More of a job for the Glock. If he needed it, that was. Hopefully he wouldn’t.

  The other option was that they could both take cover behind the truck, shouting out to the minivan.

  And that never seemed to work well.

  There wasn’t any chance of them simply escaping. Max wasn’t going to abandon the truck. Not yet. Not unless things got desperate and impossible.

  Max had his Glock in hand as he walked purposefully towards the oncoming minivan, which was getting slower the closer it got.

  Maybe the minivan would just turn around. After all, it’d be clear to them there was no way through.

  The minivan would only continue if they wanted something from Max and Mandy. That could either be simple information. Maybe also to beg for help.

  Or it could be something more pernicious.

  Maybe they were desperate for food or water. Or medical supplies. Maybe they’d be willing to fight and kill for what they needed. As so many were.

  Max took his eyes off the minivan for a second to glance back at Mandy. She had the rifle ready. Good.

  Maybe Max was getting reckless. Trying to go save a kid in another state. Walking towards an unknown party in an unknown vehicle, hoping they wouldn’t just shoot him immediately.

  Maybe Max was desperate for something, something that he didn’t quite realize. Maybe, despite all of his focus on being practical, on survival, there was part of him that wanted to believe that there were others out there like him and Georgia and Mandy and the others.

  Not everyone could be a killer, after all.

  If that part of him did exist, it was buried deep within him, and impossibly small.

  In that moment, Max was only actually thinking about surviving. If he could talk to these people, maybe they’d give him something. Some scrap of information. He was desperate to know what was going on in the outside world. What were the dangers? What was the current situation?

  Max figured that if things were going to get bad, he’d rather be up close and personal. He could probably get off a shot. Sure, he might take one himself.

  But Mandy would pull through. She might be able to get away. She’d have a better chance doing it this way, anyway.

  The minivan slowed to a stop a few feet in front of Max.

  The driver’s side window rolled down.

  Max raised his Glock, pointing it straight at the window.

  The driver appeared.

  There was no gun. Or there didn’t seem to be. Max didn’t lower his Glock.

  It was a woman, pale with long black hair, tangled horribly in places. Dirt stained her face. Her clothes appeared partially torn, from what Max could see.

  “Anyone else in the car?” said Max.

  The woman didn’t say anything for a moment.

  Max glanced behind her into the van. A figure was lying down in the back. A man, probably. Wrapped in a blanket. Either asleep or dead or injured.

  “You speak Spanish?” said the woman, with a heavy accent.

  Max shook his head. “English?” he said.

  They didn’t seem like threats. At least not obvious ones anyway.

  The woman shook her head. “No English. Only Spanish.”

  This was a problem Max hadn’t encountered before.

  He looked back towards Mandy. He was pretty sure she spoke some Spanish, having worked in the restaurant business.

  “Mandy,” he called out. “I need you over here. It’s safe.”

  He knew Mandy would bring her gun anyway. There was no need to tell her that. Even though he’d said it was safe.

  Max lowered his Glock, but kept it ready at his side.

  “What’s going on?” said Mandy, arriving.

  “You speak any Spanish?” said Max. “She doesn’t speak any English. I don’t know what’s going on. They don’t seem to be dangerous. So far, at least.”

  “Right,” said Mandy, appraising the situation herself with her eyes, moving them through the interior of the van. “Yeah, I know some Spanish. Learned some at work. I never got to the point where I was really good, though, so I can’t even say I’m rusty.”

  “Well go ahead,” said Max.

  The van driver seemed more nervous now that Max had been joined by a second person. The rifle Mandy held probably didn’t calm her down either.

  Mandy took a deep breath, and looked like she was concentrating hard before speaking.

  “Bueno. Que esta pasando contigo?” said Mandy, looking the woman right in the eyes. “Que quieres?”

  Max didn’t know what Mandy had said exactly, but he understood the tone. She was being very direct. He knew that much.

  “Ah, que alivio que hablas el Español,” said the woman. “Somos de España y estamos aquí de vacaciones. No se que paso, pero ya sabes, todo se cambio muy rápido, y mi marido aquí tiene un brazo muy pero muy dañado.”

  “What’s she saying?” said Max.

  “She said she’s from Spain. She’s here on vacation.”

  Max couldn’t help but chuckling. It was all the tension breaking. “Hell of a vacation,” he said.

  “She also says her husband has an injured arm.”

  “Is he OK? Ask her what’s going on with it.”

  “I’m forgetting a lot of words,” muttered Mandy. “But I’ll try.”

  “No one’s grading you,” said Max.

  “Yeah, but a man’s life might depend on what I can and can’t say.”

  Mandy spoke again, and again Max understood nothing of the response.

  “She says that his arm got cut, and that he has a bad infection,” translated Mandy. “At least that’s what I think.”

  “She needs antibiotics,” said Max.

  “Don’t we have some?”

  “Yeah,” said Max. “But honestly we can’t spare them. He’s going to need a long course of them. We don’t even have enough for that. And if we did, we couldn’t give them away to some stranger.”

  “I know,” said Mandy. “What should I tell her?”

  Max looked at the woman. Even though he didn’t understand the language she was speaking, he could see clearly in her face now the desperation. She wanted to help her husband. If he didn’t get treatment, he’d surely die.

  This shouldn’t have happened. None of this should have happened.

  “Tell her we don’t have any,” said Max. “And you and I will find a spot on the map that might have a pharmacy. Some little town that might not have been raided yet. That’s the best we can do.”

  Mandy nodded. She began speaking again, explaining to the woman the plan.

  The woman began speaking rapidly, visibly growing more upset. “Pero no vamos a encontrar nada de nada. Todo esta bien jodido. No hay nada de nada. Va a morir. No puedes hacer nada?”

  “She says it won’t work,” said Mandy.

  Max had a feeling that that wasn’t all she’d said.

  “Then tell her we’re sorry,” said Max. “We’ve got to get going.”

  They left the woman and her husband, walking back towards their truck. There was nothing they could do.

  “I’ve never felt so hopeless,” said Mandy.

  “I know what you mean,” said Max. “But never? We’ve been in equally bad situations ourselves.”

  “Yeah,” said Mandy. “But we always get out of them. Probably because of you and Georgia. That woman isn’t going to make it, and neither is her husband. They just don’t have the… instinct I guess.” />
  “You never know,” said Max. “She could make it.”

  “Maybe, I guess. But her husband won’t.”

  “No,” said Max. “Probably not.”

  “Don’t you feel bad about not saving his life?”

  “Yeah,” said Max. “I do.”

  “So what are we doing? I mean if we really wanted to, we could take them back to camp, get the guy fixed up. There’s enough medicine there. But we’re not. We’re choosing to let him die. And yet at the same time we’re risking our own lives to go save some kid in a different state. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “No,” said Max, quietly. “But nothing makes sense now. That’s just the way it is.”

  They got back into the pickup truck and watched the minivan back up, do a three point turn, and drive off back the way it had come.

  “Looks like my language skills really came in handy,” said Mandy, sarcastically.

  Max dug the keys out from where they were wedged between the seat cushions, put the clutch in, and cranked the engine.

  10

  DAN

  Dan had lain on the floor for close to half an hour, hoping against hope that they hadn’t heard him.

  In the end, nothing had happened. The next time he’d dared to peer out the window, they’d been gone.

  Who were those men? What had they wanted?

  Something was changing in the neighborhood.

  Who had that man been that had attacked him seemingly for no reason in the garage?

  Dan had to get out of there. He had to leave.

  He couldn’t wait for Max.

  He probably wasn’t coming, anyway. He was nothing but a disembodied voice on the radio.

  Dan had to remember that. He needed to remember that he couldn’t rely on others. He needed to look out for himself.

  He knew that now. That he was the only one who could keep himself alive. He alone was responsible.

  His grandfather was dead. Not that he’d been well enough to help Dan anyway.

  The emotion of his grandfather’s death had been stifled by the events of the day, by the panic that Dan had felt.

  Well, he’d need to keep it stifled for a while longer. There was no time for grief. Not now.

  Dan needed to be purely practical.