He turned and started back to the Bronco.
He kept to the side as best he could. Bullets whizzed by him. Muzzle flashes up ahead. Mandy and James were doing a hell of a job keeping up the gunfire. So long as one of their bullets didn’t go astray…
Max didn’t think about any of that. He didn’t think about his leg. Or how close to death he was. He thought about the Bronco, getting there. That was it.
Somehow, he made it. Just when he thought he couldn’t take another step with Georgia’s weight applying so much force to his leg.
James had the back door open already and Max set Georgia’s body down roughly on the backseat.
A bullet hit the open door. Better to go in through the back than risk getting into the driver’s seat from the outside.
Max threw himself over Georgia’s body, jamming himself between James, Sadie, and Georgia.
“Get us out of here,” barked Max.
Mandy was already sliding over to the driver’s seat. She had the Bronco in reverse, and sent them speeding backwards with a jolt that threw Max into the seat.
Mandy spun the wheel and threw the Bronco into a sharp turn. Dirt was up around them, dust. Good, it would help obscure them. Better cover.
In a flash, Mandy had it in first. They were hurtling forward, right toward the door Max had flattened on his way in.
“There’s someone in the way!” shouted Mandy.
A man with a gun stood in their path. A shotgun in his hands. Ready to unload.
The Bronco sped towards him.
The man lowered the shotgun.
“Go!” shouted Max. “Go!”
Sadie screamed as Mandy kept her foot on the pedal and flattened the guy. The Bronco bumped over his body, one side of the vehicle going up and down again. A sickening thud underneath the chassis.
But they were out. They were safe, for the moment.
But there was no time to celebrate their victory. Georgia was unconscious, her breathing shallow.
And they were out, speeding away from the compound.
Max had Georgia in his arms, his fingers pressed to her neck.
“She’s still with us. But she’s badly hurt. Get her shirt off. We need to find the wound.”
James had a pocket knife out and started cutting away Georgia’s shirt. A grim look had overtaken his face.
The shirt was colored a deep red with blood. James’s hands, when he took them away, were soaked in blood.
“I don’t see it.”
“Help me get her on her stomach. Sadie, get into the front with Mandy. We need space.”
“Come on, Sadie,” said James, tugging on his sobbing sister, basically pulling and pushing her until she was in the front seat, from which she peered back with anxious terror.
Max and James got Georgia onto her stomach.
“She’s been shot. It missed her spine. Let’s hope it didn’t puncture her lungs.”
Max knew that if Georgia’s lungs had taken the bullet, there’d be no way to save her.
Even if she’d gotten lucky, she’d be lucky to live. The bullet hadn’t exited. It was still lodged inside her.
29
John
“That walk really took it out of you, didn’t it?” said Dale boisterously. He seemed to have gotten even more energized the closer he’d gotten to his little cabin.
“I’m… OK…” John managed to say. He threw himself to the ground and tried to catch his breath. But he was still weak, and his breaths were shallow, as if his lungs weren’t getting the air they needed.
“You did good,” said Cynthia, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Can you make it inside?”
John nodded, and held up a finger, indicating he needed some more time to rest.
In front of John sat Dale’s little wooden cabin. It was picturesque, surrounded by tall evergreen trees, nestled perfectly in the woods. A chimney was perched on the roof. Wisps of smoke escaped it.
The scene looked like something out of a fairytale. Who was this man, Dale? He lived like a woodsman alone in the woods, in a log cabin that he surely must have built himself.
“I’ll get the teakettle going,” said Dale. “Don’t worry, honey, he’ll be fine in a jiffy. I’ve seen men lose plenty of blood before. He’ll be fine.”
John didn’t feel like he’d been fine. His body felt so weak he couldn’t even make it the few steps into the cabin, into which Dale now disappeared.
“You’ll be fine,” said Cynthia, her voice soft. “Just hang in there. Don’t die on me and leave me alone with Dale. I have a feeling he likes to talk a lot.”
John gave a weak little laugh. Cynthia had a way of cheering him up in the strangest ways possible.
After a few minutes, John was feeling better. He felt his strength returning, little by little, warming up his muscles that had felt dead just minutes earlier. It was amazing the abuse the human body could take, and what it could come back from.
“It’s nice here,” said John, finally catching his breath enough to speak a little.
“Yeah,” said Cynthia, looking around. “If the EMP hadn’t happened, this is the sort of spot people would pay a lot of money to come and vacation at.”
John chuckled weakly. “I was never one for the great outdoors myself. Preferred New York City. Ritz Carlton, the Met, places like that.”
“You were one of those types. Don’t worry, I’ve already got you all figured out. But you’re a changed man now.”
“I’m learning to enjoy the little things. Like having a bullet just graze me, instead of lodging inside me.”
Cynthia laughed.
“I certainly didn’t take any vacations to New York City, but I wasn’t the type for the outdoors either.”
“What’d you do then?”
“Oh, not much. Watch movies, stay in, stuff like that.”
“Sounds fun.”
“I thought it was, but I didn’t know what I was missing.”
“You’d prefer this life?”
Cynthia laughed. “I’m not saying that. But there is something about this. I feel… more free than I did before the EMP, trapped inside, the television always on. I wasn’t really living.”
“Yeah,” said John. “Nothing to make you feel like you’re really alive than getting shot and attacked all the time.”
“I’m not saying this is better, but you know what I mean.”
“I think so. Come on, I’m ready to go inside.”
“You folks going to join me or what?” shouted Dale, poking his head out the quaint front door.
“We’re on our way,” said Cynthia.
She helped John to his feet, supporting a lot of his weight.
“I can make it on my own,” said John, wincing a little as he started towards the cabin.
It wasn’t a long way. Not by any stretch of the imagination. A mere handful of paces. Too close for Dale to shout. But he had a habit of communicating loudly.
And, as John and Cynthia soon found out, Dale had a habit of doing everything loudly.
They joined him inside, and he was busy by the wood stove, making a hell of a racket with a collection of cast iron pots and pans that he banged around.
The cabin was small, somewhat cramped with the three of them in there. But there were three chairs, and they were comfortable. Or at least comfortable compared to simply sitting on the ground, as John and Cynthia had been doing since they’d left the farmhouse. In fact, they’d spent most of their time since the EMP sitting or lying on the hard ground. In comparison, the chairs felt incredible.
“These are amazing chairs,” said Cynthia.
Dale was pouring hot water into three separate mugs.
“Nothing fancy,” said Dale. “Made them myself.”
“Did you make the whole cabin?”
“Yup. And a lot of what’s in it. All the wood stuff, mostly.”
John accepted a mug from Dale, who’d added a metal infuser filled with loose tea.
The liqu
id was hot enough to give off some steam, and it felt comforting to hold it in both his hands.
“Give it a minute to steep properly,” said Dale.
“We’re lucky we came across you,” said John, suddenly realizing just how lucky they were to find themselves in a comfortable home, resting, drinking real tea.
“Thank Kiki,” said Dale. “Or thank that rabbit.”
Kiki was sitting obediently on the floor, curled up.
“Now,” said Dale, sitting down across from John and Cynthia, with his own mug. “I’ve got some sausages we can have soon. But I figure your stomachs have shrunk down a bit over the weeks, and that rabbit filled them up pretty good. So I’ll wait a while on that.”
“Sounds good,” said John. “I’m not hungry yet, but I know I’ll be pretty hungry when I am.”
Dale laughed.
He seemed almost too good-natured.
“I’ve got to thank you,” said John. “You’re being really… almost too hospitable to us.”
“It’s the least I can do,” said Dale. “I could see you’re two decent people. And sounds like you’ve been through hell.”
“Pretty much, yeah. What about you? How’ve you been weathering the post-EMP world?”
“Not too bad, really,” said Dale, kicking his feet up on a small wooden stool, and taking a sip of his tea. “I’ve had this place for ages, and it’s got just about all I could need.”
“You lived here before the EMP?”
“Yup, about ten years. I was never the type for cities or anything like that. Always liked to be on my own, mostly. Of course, I had some friends around. People who’d stop by once in a while when they’re on hunting trips. And there’s a town about forty miles away I’d stop into once in a while, pick up supplies and that sort of thing.”
“Wait,” said Cynthia. “So your life is basically unchanged since the EMP? I mean, this is how you’ve been living for ten years? This place doesn’t even look like it’s wired for electricity. You’re definitely not on the grid.”
“Nope,” said Dale, laughing. “That’s the way I always preferred it. Simpler. And cheaper. I used to drive trucks, but I got tired of it. Made enough money I could buy this little piece of land here, with nothing around it for miles. Seemed to suit me just fine. So I took my time and built the place the way I wanted it.”
“Your friends,” said John, “what happened to them?”
“Well, no one’s been stopping by, that’s for sure. I imagine they’ve got their own problems now. No chance to go on hunting trips for vacation. People used to come from all over. I was bound to see someone at least once a week.”
“What about the town?”
“Haven’t been back yet,” said Dale. “Truth is, I’m a little scared of what I might find. Lots of people don’t stock up the way I do, and I don’t have enough to help others. Except for the occasional meal, of course. Don’t worry, you’re no imposition or anything like that. I wouldn’t have offered if I couldn’t dish up when the time came.” That sent him laughing again.
He seemed fine with his life since the EMP. In a sense, at least.
“Aren’t you worried about your own safety?” said John. “The tea is delicious, by the way.”
“Yup,” said Dale. “It’s good stuff. What do you mean by worried?”
“Well, right now there are those two criminals we told you about. They’re out there, armed, and they won’t hesitate to kill.”
Dale laughed. “The thing about people like that is that they never seem to know how to shoot properly.”
“It only takes one shot,” said John.
“Well,” said Dale. “I just take life as it comes. If they come at me, they’ll be dealing not just with me and my guns, but with Kiki, too. Don’t let her fool you. She can be fierce when she wants to.”
John gazed down at Kiki. She was a sizable animal, and muscular. “I don’t doubt that one bit. But…” John went on to tell Dale a little about the farmhouse where they’d been staying. Cynthia interjected occasionally to add comments and details. Together, they told Dale about what had happened in the suburbs, and how the militia was expanding its reach. And about how the farmhouse had already been overrun with people fleeing the cities, dangerous people who’d do anything to get ahead, to ensure another minute of their own survival.
“Don’t worry, kid,” said Dale. (This was the first time John had been called a kid in decades.) “I know what I’m doing. I’m willing to take the risks. This is the life I want. And it’s the life I’m going to live. Plus, I’ve got communication with the outside world.”
“You do?” said Cynthia. “How’s that possible?”
“I’ve got a radio.”
“A radio?”
“Yup, a shortwave radio. Reminds me of my trucker days. Although those were CBs, of course. Same idea, though, messages traveling through the air and all that.”
“But wait, you don’t even have electricity here.”
“I’ve got some. Just for special occasions. I’ve got a car battery rigged up…”
“But you’d need a…”
“A Faraday cage, yup. I keep it inside it, just in case there’s another EMP. Although I don’t see what the point of another one would be. Everything’s already knocked out, from what I hear.”
“A Faraday cage, that’s incredible,” said John. “So you were planning for an EMP?”
“Not planning for it. Just expecting the worst. It’s part of my personality, in a way, to meet what’s coming cheerfully and with the best-laid plans as I possibly can.”
John didn’t see how that mindset meshed with failing to acknowledge the threat that the militia posed to his own safety, but he was in Dale’s own house, and he wasn’t going to argue the point with him anymore.
“You know they’re looking for a radio, don’t you?” said John. He couldn’t keep this point to himself. “The militia, I mean.” Somehow he knew that Dale already knew, and had already known everything that John had so patiently explained to him.
“Oh, sure,” said Dale. “But they don’t know I’ve got it. And even if they did, they’d have a hell of a time finding me. I don’t make any transmissions myself.”
“You just listen?”
“You mean there are people out there?” said Cynthia, her jaw dropping as she finally understood the implications. “People… elsewhere?”
“Yup,” said Dale. “Not many of them. I listen to two broadcasts. Pretty short ones. There’s a community in New York state that I pick up, and another in Ohio. There’s another one somewhere around, but I haven’t found them yet. Apparently they’re very secretive about their location.”
“Can we see it?” said John. “Can we listen?”
John was eager to hear something of the outside world. It would be just a little slice of sound, but it would make him feel… connected again. The way he’d been before the EMP, with the internet at his fingertips, with his smartphone always in his pocket.
“Well, there’s nothing now,” said Dale. “No broadcasts scheduled, as far as I’m aware. Nothing but static. We can listen first thing in the morning, though. The place in New York will be sending something out.”
John nodded. That was good enough for him. It was something to look forward to. How the world had changed—he now considered a few minutes of a person’s voice on the radio a little jewel, a little sliver of hope.
“Now,” said Dale. “I imagine after all this talking, you two are starting to work up an appetite again.”
Cynthia nodded eagerly.
“I don’t think it’s fair that we eat your food,” said John. “I mean, I really appreciate it, but you’re already doing so much by letting us stay here. We’ve got some food left, some energy bars and things like that.”
“Nonsense, I’ve got plenty. And you’re having some. No arguing.” Dale laughed like this was the funniest thing in the whole world. “I’ve got a whole root cellar packed to the gills. And it’s hidden real good, t
oo, so don’t think anyone’s going to find it. When I’m feeling chipper, I’ll just be out hunting some deer, supposing they decide to pass by.”
“I wish I could have your attitude about things,” muttered John, looking down at his feet.
“Hey, you’ve had it harder than I have. I’m a lucky man and I know that, and that’s why I’m willing to share with good people like yourselves.”
John nodded without saying anything.
Dale got out a huge cast iron pan and put it directly onto the wood stove.
“These are venison sausages,” he said, holding them out for John and Cynthia to see, before adding them to the pan, along with a healthy amount of butter. “These will have you feeling better than you’ve felt in a long time, trust me. Loaded with nutrients.”
John and Cynthia fell silent as Dale banged around the kitchen, chuckling to himself over this or that. Who knew, really, what inspired his laughter.
Before he knew it, John had fallen fast asleep in his chair. It’s been so long since he’d sat in one that he’d almost forgotten how comfortable they were, and how easy it was to fall asleep in one.
The next thing he knew, Dale was thrusting a plate of steaming venison sausages into his hands and clapping him on the shoulder to wake him up.
John looked up and saw Cynthia beaming at him, her mouth already full of sausage.
The three of them chatted through dinner, enjoying the sausages immensely.
Now, with the rabbit and the sausages together in a single day, John had eaten better than he had in a long, long time. It was almost more protein than his body knew what to do with. He hoped it would store it away for a future time, when the meals would be lean and miserable again, when they’d be tightening their belts and soldiering on to some new and dangerous land.
The conversation turned this way and that, and somehow Dale always steered it away from the new world that they lived in. Nothing bleak was talked about. Nothing horrible. Nothing tragic. Instead, they talked about things they’d read, things they’d heard, things they’d seen on television. Dale was particularly fond of retelling funny conversations he’d overheard in highway rest stops all over the country. As a truck driver, he’d been over practically every inch of the country, always with his ear cocked and his eyes open for comedic situations. Or at least what he considered comedic situations. He seemed to see the humor in everything, even when others would recoil in horror or disgust.
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