Pushing On

by Ryan Westfield

  John was ready.

  He squeezed the trigger.

  The other guy didn’t stand a chance. He didn’t even have time to get off a shot.

  He collapsed to the ground. John’s round hit him square in the chest.

  Somewhere, off in the forest, a dog barked. It had to be Kiki.

  John spun around.

  The other convict was there, his hand gripping a pistol, rising up to point the gun at John. It seemed to happen in slow motion.

  Before John could throw himself onto the ground, a crack rang out. Another shot had been fired.

  The convict fell, his heavy body hitting the ground with a soft thud. Blood poured from his head.

  Dale stood off in the distance, partially obscured by a tree. He held a rifle, the scope pushed to his eye. He lowered the rifle.

  “Not a bad shot, eh?” called out Dale. “There were only two of them, right?”

  “Just two, yeah.”

  Dale was striding over.

  Kiki got to John before Dale did. She came up and started licking his hand.

  “Good girl, good girl,” said John.

  “You feeling all right?” said Dale, clapping John on the back.

  “Better than yesterday, that’s for sure.”

  “How’s that arm doing?”

  “Feels fine. I’ll get Cynthia to take another look at it today. Thanks, by the way. You’ve saved my life. Maybe twice now.”

  “Don’t think anything of it,” said Dale. “It wasn’t a hard shot. Come on, let’s go see if we can tune into that broadcast.”

  John felt excitement bubbling up in his chest. The convicts had made him briefly forget about it, and the excitement he’d felt last night about the possibility of hearing someone’s voice piping through a radio.

  “What about the bodies?”

  “I’ll take care of them later,” said Dale. “Come on.”

  John turned to follow Dale towards the cabin.

  “Everyone all right?” called out an unseen Cynthia.

  “We’re fine,” yelled Dale happily. “Just took care of some scumbags. We each got one. Not bad for an early morning session.”

  Cynthia stepped out from behind a tree where she’d been hiding. She was holding her handgun, ready to shoot.

  “I couldn’t tell what was happening,” she said. “I heard gunshots, and didn’t know who’d been shot.”

  “You did the right thing by staying hidden. I could have been dead. It wouldn’t have done any good to come running,” said John.

  “You don’t need to tell me that. Why do you think I stayed hidden?”

  “She’s a fiery one,” chuckled Dale. “Come on, before we miss the broadcast.”

  They followed Dale inside, and Kiki followed them.

  “Now first Kiki needs a little treat,” said Dale, taking one of the sausages from last night and tossing it to Kiki, who caught it in mid-air. “And now, for the moment we’ve all been waiting for.”

  John and Cynthia sat back in their wooden chairs, the same ones they’d slept in, and watched anxiously as Dale opened a big wooden trunk that was tucked away in one of the corners of the small cabin.

  “Now it may not look fancy, this Faraday cage of mine, but trust me, it does the trick.”

  It was homemade, and looked like pieces of chicken-wire had been smushed together.

  Dale struggled briefly with the mesh, but he got the radio out.

  “Standard shortwave radio,” he said. “Nothing fancy. But it works, which is more than you can say about most of these radios. Now, let’s see, we’ve got one minute. Good timing.”

  “Why does your watch still work?” said Cynthia, apparently noticing for the first time that Dale wore a working watch.

  “No batteries,” said Dale, grinning. “It’s a mechanical watch. Not a drop of electricity in the whole thing. Old Russian military watch. Won it during a card game twenty years ago, and it’s been going strong ever since. Tough as nails, too.”

  Dale was fiddling with the radio and glancing at his watch, watching the red second hand ticking across the blue dial, on which, inexplicably, was a picture of a scuba diver.

  “OK, here goes nothing. Quiet, everyone.”

  John and Cynthia didn’t need to be told. They didn’t know what they’d hear. But really, anything would be something. Anything would be a spark of hope. Hope that there were others out there, working on rebuilding something, even if it was something as simple as a rudimentary communication network.

  The radio hissed and crackled.

  Someone’s voice came through. It was a woman’s voice. She sounded young, around college age, but it was hard to tell with all the static.

  “Zoe coming at you today. Hope you’re all ready for the exciting updates of this beautiful Tuesday here in upstate New York… undisclosed location, of course…”

  A brief hiss of static obscured the announcer’s words momentarily.

  “Hope you’re all hunkering down and surviving as best you can. I know we’ve all been working on our canning here. Lots of berries to preserve for the coming winter. Make sure you’ve all got your gear ready and don’t forget to air it out. Just because we don’t have traditional showers, and just because no one’s using deodorant, doesn’t mean we all have to stink any more than we have to. And yes, I’m referring to you, Ted. Now… OK, they’re telling me I have to get onto the—” another hiss of static “—and that wraps it up for that little sad announcement, but as I’ve said over and over, there’s not much good news these days. But we’ll take what we can get when we can get it.”

  Dale was chuckling, muttering, “That girl’s really something.”

  John and Cynthia glanced at each other. They didn’t know what to make of the announcement so far. It was silly and kind of goofy, in an offbeat kind of tone that belied the experiences they’d had so far.

  John and Cynthia had struggled. They’d almost been killed who knew how many times. And they’d had to shoot to kill. They were dirty and mud streaked and blood stained. But this young woman on the radio was cracking jokes and talking about preserving berries.

  “And now we’re going to get to the list… so far we haven’t learned of connecting anyone together. But if you’re out there listening, maybe you’ll hear of a family member or friend who’s still alive. An unnamed community in an unknown location in Pennsylvania recently had the following visitors, who apparently refused to give their full names. Now that’s not much good for most, but maybe you’ll know the whole group, and be able to identify them by their first names. I really have no idea.”

  More static hissed through the radio.

  “So to repeat that list, we have: Max, Mandy, Georgia, Chad, Sadie, and James. OK, folks, that about wraps it up. We’ll be on the air again Thursday. Same time, same channel. Keep a cool head, and keep those guns within arm’s reach. Over and out.”

  “Hell of a program, right?” said Dale.

  Max and Chad…

  John couldn’t believe it.

  Max and Chad. In Pennsylvania. There was no way it wasn’t his brother and his childhood friend.

  “Cat got your tongue or something?” said Dale.

  Cynthia was staring at him. “You think that’s your brother? Wasn’t he named Max?”

  “It’s definitely my brother,” said John. “I know Chad, too. No idea what he’s doing with Max… but… he’s alive.”

  “That’s your brother?” said Dale.

  John nodded.

  He felt, for the first time in a while, that there was some hope for himself and Cynthia. He didn’t know why the news of Max gave him hope, but it did.

  “Too bad we don’t know where he is,” said Cynthia.

  “You don’t know where the other community is, do you?” said John, looking at Dale.

  Dale shook his head. “Nope, nobody does. But I could hazard a guess.”

  “A guess?”

  “Well, there aren’t too many spots where I’d make one
if I was the type to start up a community. If I wasn’t such a solitary guy, you know. And there were rumors for a few years of one… people were setting something up, some group… I forget off the top of my head.”

  “Do you have it written down or anything? Or on a map?”

  Dale laughed. “Nope. I’ve never been one to keep things on paper. Everything’s up here.” He tapped his head with his knuckles. “Except for when I forget it.”

  John didn’t know what to say. For a brief moment, it had seemed like he might be able to find Max. Now that hope was dashed.

  “How’d you hear those rumors?” said Cynthia.

  “Oh, a friend in town,” said Dale. “Haven’t seen him since the EMP. But he’d probably still know, if he’s still alive.”

  Cynthia and John looked at each other.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “I think so.”

  “You really want to find your brother?” said Dale.

  John nodded.

  “From what John tells me,” said Cynthia, “he’d be a big help to our survival.”

  “Yeah,” muttered John. “But that was back when we thought he was at the farmhouse… Now, I don’t know…”

  “I think we should try to find him,” said Cynthia.

  “You think so?”

  “Hell,” said Dale. “If I had a brother, and knew he was alive, I’d try to find him, even if he knew shit about surviving.”

  John made the decision in an instant. “All right,” he said. “We’ll do it. At the very least, if we can find this community, maybe it’s a place we could fit into. Even if Max isn’t still there. You in, Cynthia?”

  Cynthia nodded.

  “OK,” said John. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a plan. For now, at least.”

  “Stay for another day,” said Dale. “I’ll get you two well fed, and get some extra food ready for you to take.”

  “You’ve done enough already,” said Cynthia.

  Dale smiled. “I’ve got plenty,” he said. “And I want to help. So the wise thing to do would be to take what I give you.”

  “Can’t argue with that, I guess.”

  “You know what,” said Dale. “Maybe I’ll come with you two. Just to the town, that is. I’ll introduce you to Harry. He can be a cranky old geezer, but he sure as hell always knows what’s going on. Has his ear to the ground, so to speak.”

  Cynthia looked at John, probably expecting him to decline.

  “That’d be great,” said John, knowing that Dale would be a good man to have along.

  32

  Max

  Max and Mandy stood on the outskirts of the little campsite. It’d been a week since they’d gotten here, and in a strange way it had started to feel like home.

  Max and Mandy spoke in quiet, hushed voices. They stood close together, both facing the campsite. They were dirty, tired, and hungry.

  It was early morning, and Sadie and James’s snores could be heard from the Bronco.

  “How’s Georgia doing today?” said Max.

  “About the same. She’s going to live. And she’ll be able to walk and move. But it’s going to take a while. She needs time.”

  “I guess that’s good.”

  “She’s not getting worse. That’s a good sign. The antibiotics helped. No infection, from what I can tell. The fever’s been gone for three days. You did a good job getting the bullet out.”

  “I hope so. All that reading I did before the EMP paid off.”

  “It’s going to be a lot longer before she’s able to walk.”

  “I know. Maybe weeks.”

  “Maybe more,” said Mandy.

  “She’s not going to get any better without food.”

  “We’re running low…”

  “You don’t need to tell me that.”

  There was practically no food left. Fortunately, a small creek ran nearby, and they had enough water.

  Max had set up some traps, like the ones Jeff had shown him. He’d caught a couple squirrels, but nothing bigger than that. And squirrels didn’t provide a lot of meat.

  “Still no sign of any deer?”

  Max shook his head. “Not unless you’ve seen any.”

  “Nope, nothing.”

  “We only have the handguns to hunt with anyway, and ammo is low.”

  Mandy nodded. “What are we going to do?”

  “I’ve been thinking,” said Max, “that the best thing is if I go find some gas.”

  “You? Alone?”

  Max nodded. “They need you here. You’re the only functional adult now. You’ll be able to catch more squirrels in the traps. Without me, it’ll be one less mouth to feed. You’ll be fine until I get back.”

  “I don’t like the idea of you going alone, though. And why now? It doesn’t seem like we should leave yet. There haven’t been any cars that have come by. It doesn’t seem like they’re looking for us.”

  “It might take me a while,” said Max. “Who knows where I’ll be able to find gas, and how long it’ll take me to get there and back. Once Georgia’s ready, we need to be ready to go. We’ll need the gas. We can’t stay here any longer than we have to. We’re too close to the compound, and food is scarce.”

  “You mean it might take you days?”

  “Hopefully. Maybe weeks. There could be a car with gas a mile away, or a hundred. We don’t even know where we are. There was nothing but woods when we were driving out here. I didn’t see any towns.”

  “I don’t think you should go alone.”

  Mandy wore a pained expression on her face.

  “I have to.”

  Max looked into Mandy’s eyes and saw that she knew it was the truth. There wasn’t any other way.

  “When are you going to go?”

  “The sooner the better. My bag’s already packed.”

  “You mean today?”

  “I mean now.”

  “Now?”

  “Right now, yeah.”

  “You’re tired. You should rest first.”

  Max just shook his head. “It’ll be better if you say goodbye to the others for me.”

  “Max…”

  “I’m doing this for all of us,” said Max.

  Mandy took his hand in hers, and held it for a moment.

  But she let it slip away as Max turned and walked to his pack, which he’d prepared during the night. He’d packed only a small amount of food, leaving most of what was left for the others.

  Max shouldered his pack.

  Mandy didn’t wave, and neither did Max. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Max turned and set off towards the road. The camp wasn’t visible from the road, so Max would leave himself a marker, something that only he would recognize.

  It might be a long road ahead, but Max was ready.

  They’d survived. That was the important thing. And they’d continue to survive. Max would do everything he could. And he knew the others would too. They’d made mistakes. Max had made many. But that’s the way life was now—it wasn’t a straight easy path from one point to the next.

  Want to know when book 4 is coming out? Receive Surviving the Crash, a free short story about the EMP, when you sign up for my mailing list: http://eepurl.com/c8UeN5

  About Ryan Westfield

  Ryan Westfield is an author of post-apocalyptic survival thrillers. He’s always had an interest in “being prepared,” and spends time wondering what that really means. When he’s not writing and reading, he enjoys being outdoors.

  Contact Ryan at ryan@ryanwestfield.com

 

 

 
class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share