Her torso was over in the passenger’s seat. Most of her body lay against Rob’s. He’d moved his head. So he was alive.
Had he been the one talking to her? She didn’t think so.
“Aly?” said Jessica.
“I’m here, Jessica,” came Aly’s soft voice.
“You OK?”
“I’m fine. Rob’s knocked out.”
Jessica realized suddenly that one of her eyes was closed. That’s why her vision had seemed strange.
She tried to open it. No luck.
Was it injured? Probably.
The world looked blurry. And having one eye closed didn’t account for blurriness.
“Am I OK?” said Jessica.
“I think so,” said Aly. “You have a cut on your head.”
“My eye?”
Aly didn’t answer.
That wasn’t a good sign.
“Rob?” Aly was saying. “Come on, Rob.”
Aly was shaking Rob’s body gently. Since Jessica still hadn’t managed to get herself up and off Rob, she could feel the shaking.
Jessica’s mind was still reeling. Still trying to piece the world back together.
What had happened? She’d forgotten that it hadn’t always been like this.
What had they been doing?
They’d been driving in the RV.
There’d been a crash.
Someone had crashed into them.
The pieces were coming back together. One by one.
It wasn’t all a big mystery now. It’d just been a car accident. They were common enough.
But to have a car accident, there had to have been another car.
And another car meant someone else.
And that meant a threat.
“Who hit us?” said Jessica, fighting against the chaotic sea of thoughts to get the words out.
But Aly didn’t respond.
“Rob,” she was saying. “Come on, Rob.”
But Rob wasn’t responding.
And he wasn’t moving.
“Rob!”
And that’s when it hit Jessica.
Rob might very well be dead.
That’s the way life was. Especially life after the EMP. When you least expected it, it could all be over. Or you could lose someone. Just like that.
“He’s not answering,” said Aly. Which was already painfully obvious.
Jessica was still leaning against Rob. His body still felt warm. Could she feel a pulse? No. But that didn’t mean anything. If he was alive, maybe she wouldn’t be able to feel his pulse. It was sometimes hard to find anyway.
She was able to move her hand around, trying to get it to his neck, to the jugular, where it’d be easiest to feel his pulse.
There was a noise on the side of the van that hadn’t been hit. Someone was trying to open the sliding door.
Aly’s head turned. Her hand moved to something. Hopefully to her gun.
Jessica wasn’t fast enough. She was still in pain. And her vision wasn’t right.
The door opened. Extra light came streaming in.
Pumped full of extra adrenaline, Jessica tried to move. To do something.
She got herself partially off of Rob. But everything seemed painful. Or numb. And her body seemed to be moving too slowly.
She did manage to get her head around.
In the open doorway, there was a blurry figure.
“Out of the vehicle!” the figure shouted. A male voice. Loud and angry. Spoken like a cop, sort of. But didn’t sound at all like a cop. “Hands in the air.”
Jessica’s hand was too slow. And her mind was foggy. She couldn’t quite remember where her gun was.
A gunshot exploded throughout the RV.
The leather and fabric interior of the RV did nothing to dampen the sound. It echoed throughout the relatively small vehicle intensely.
The roar filled Jessica’s ears. This only served to further disorient her, making the blurry world feel more confusing and chaotic.
The blurry figure fell backwards out of view.
Aly’s face appeared in front of Jessica. Her mouth opened. Wide. As if she was screaming something. But Jessica heard no sound.
Aly did it again. Her mouth making the same shape. Anger and frustration appeared on her face. A finger appeared, pointing out through the windshield towards the road ahead.
Suddenly, Jessica understood. The word that Aly was screaming, that the roar in Jessica’s ears was obscuring, was clear: “Drive.”
Jessica didn’t know if she could.
But she was occupying the driver’s seat. She was preventing Aly from driving the RV herself.
Aly’s hands were on Jessica now, trying, apparently, to pull her forcibly out of the driver’s seat.
Someone else was at the door. Another blurry figure. Holding something in front of them. A baseball bat, maybe. Or a big stick.
Aly, gun still in hand, pulled the trigger again.
The roar in her ears increased.
Jessica didn’t look to see what happened to the figure.
Suddenly, Jessica found the strength she needed. Her mind found the sense of urgency. And it found the command over her muddled-feeling painful body.
Jessica jerked herself up and off of Rob, getting her torso back fully into the driver’s seat.
Her right foot found the accelerator pedal. Her right hand found the shifter and its button. She threw it into drive.
The RV engine was apparently still running. The possibility that it had stalled out hadn’t even occurred to her.
Jessica floored the accelerator and the RV took off down the road.
Her left eye was still closed, and the world was blurry in front of her.
But she could still see.
Her mind was racing in every direction. She took in a sharp breath, trying to reset herself, trying to take stock of the situation.
Rob was unconscious in the seat next to her.
Aly was in the RV, behind her. Gun in hand. She’d just shot two people.
Jim was stuck in the pharmacy.
Things weren’t looking good.
But she was alive.
Aly’s face was nearby. Jessica turned to look at it. Aly’s mouth was moving rapidly, in time with her hands, trying to communicate something, but Jessica was still temporarily deaf.
She was trying to keep her eyes on the road. Not that it did that much good.
Everything was blurry. Trees and buildings on the side of the road seemed to blend together, creating one long, stretching miasmic background image.
Again, Jessica tried to open her left eye. But it just wasn’t happening. It felt like she had no control over a part of her body that, until just now, had done exactly what she’d always wanted it to, without even having to think about it.
But she could see the road. It was blackish-gray pavement, faded, stretching out in front of her for as far as she could see, which wasn’t far. All she had to do was keep the RV headed that way. Everything wouldn’t be all right. But they’d keep living. For a few minutes. For a few hours. Maybe for a few days.
Everything had fallen apart.
But she had to keep it together. What would Jim have done?
Something practical.
They needed to check on Rob. If he was dead, they needed to know it for sure. And if he wasn’t, he might need medical attention.
There was no way to communicate with Aly except by pointing. So that’s what Jessica did. She pointed at Rob frantically, and then at her own neck, pressing two fingers against her neck as she drove, with one hand still on the wheel, indicating that Rob’s pulse needed to be checked.
Aly got the point. She was pushing her fingers against Rob’s neck. The look on her face was just panic. Pure panic. She was looking back at Aly, shaking her head.
Jessica looked back through the front window.
Nothing but a blur.
But there was something there. A blur against a blur.
Jessica saw
it too late.
A car in front of them.
She was speeding right towards it.
Foot off the gas.
Slamming her right foot against the brake.
She didn’t know if it’d be enough.
5
Jim
Jim made it through the door without being shot. It’d been open.
It was all just luck. Not that he was complaining now.
He slammed the door shut behind him, scanning the dim, narrow hallway he was in, looking for something to shove against the door.
He was in a small utility hallway behind the cash register area. It wasn’t long. There was a toppled-over mop bucket on the floor, some calendars and schedules on the wall, and that was about it. At the end of it, there was a narrow, unadorned stairway.
There was no bolt on the door. There was just a standard keyhole.
Of course Jim didn’t have the key. And there was no key in sight.
The ringing was roaring in Jim’s ears so badly that he didn’t know what kinds of sounds the bikers were making on the other side of the door, but he had to assume that they’d still be flooding into the pharmacy.
There’d definitely been a lot of them, judging from the sounds of the engines.
And after Jim had shot at them, and killed at least one of them, there was no chance that the bikers would retreat. They weren’t the types to cut their losses and run.
Definitely not.
They’d do everything they could to exact their revenge. They’d do everything they could to kill Jim. And that might not even be enough for them.
If they really wanted revenge, there was no telling what they might do. Maybe they’d try to shoot, not to kill, but to disable him. And then they could have their demented fun, torturing him any which way they could.
Jim couldn’t let his mind wander down to those possibilities of pain and death. A wandering mind wasn’t going to help him.
Thoughts of his wife and the others came bubbling up. Worries about their safety. About their future if he died.
He couldn’t think about that either.
His thoughts were more rapid than normal, with his pulse skyrocketing from adrenaline.
Only a few seconds had passed.
Jim had the gun in his hand. A folding knife in his pocket.
And that was it.
No spare rounds. No backup knife. No flashlight.
The reasoning didn’t matter now, but the rest of his gear was in the RV.
No point in blaming himself. Just more wasted effort.
He needed every second he had.
He’d probably die. He didn’t see how he couldn’t.
But the survival instinct was so strong that he wouldn’t fully admit it to himself. His mind was active. Active in looking for every possibility. Every possible route, no matter how unlikely, to survival.
Rationally, he knew he wanted to take out as many of the bikers as he could. Whatever was going on with Aly and the RV, Jim knew that the bikers weren’t good for their survival.
Every biker Jim took out meant Aly had that much more of a chance.
The door flew open. It opened inwards. The steel slammed against the wall.
A big man entered, his massive torso barely squeezing through the doorway.
This would have been a good use of the knife. Tight quarters. But there was no time to get it out, flick it open, and come up with an attack angle.
He’d wasted too much time thinking.
From now on, he just needed to act. He needed to let the anger and fear drive him forward. He needed to act intellectually. Primally. But with a cold and calculating mind that thought only of the best possible route of attack.
Jim wasted no time. He shoved the gun right into the man’s side.
As soon as the muzzle pressed against the fat and muscle, Jim squeezed the trigger. Twice.
By pulling the trigger twice, he wasted one more round than he should have. He had what, three left? He wasn’t sure. Too much chaos in his mind and his environment.
But he couldn’t have this man live long enough to shoot him.
It was two point-blank shots.
The man’s face turned towards Jim, contorting into a horrible expression of pain. His mouth opened in a scream that Jim couldn’t hear over the roar in his ears.
Jim didn’t wait. He didn’t go for the man’s gun or knife. That’d be a mistake. Not enough time.
He ran.
As best he could in the tight quarters.
He had to shove his way past the dying man’s falling body.
Jim stepped and half-leapt over the mop bucket, made it to the staircase.
Someone else was at the door.
Jim’s only real advantage was that he could see in the darkness somewhat and that they couldn’t.
But that would change soon enough, as their eyes adapted just like his had.
The longer it took Jim to kill them one by one, the less of a visibility advantage he’d have.
Jim turned halfway around and gave the mop bucket the strongest sideways kick that he could.
The bucket went skidding towards the collapsing, dying man.
It was just something else in the way. Maybe nothing. Or maybe it would buy Jim a couple more seconds.
Jim’s hand seized the steel staircase railing, and he vaulted up the stairs as fast as he could. He used his arm to pull himself up and forward, adding more force than his legs alone could provide.
The staircase hit a tiny, cramped landing and doubled back around. Judging by the height of those two-way mirrors, there was only one landing.
Jim seriously doubted that there’d be another exit. Once he got up there to the surveillance area, that’d be it. He’d be cornered. Trapped. He was like a rat, chased by a hunting terrier, rushing down a dead-end hole.
But sometimes that rat was able to turn around and get in a few bites itself. Bad, vicious bites, sometimes. If it was a smart rat. A fighting rat.
Jim was going to fight all the way down.
Or all the way up, in this case.
He got onto the second step of the second stairwell. Looking up it, there was just a doorway to the room beyond. No door. That wasn’t good.
He’d been counting on some kind of door.
No point in worrying about it.
He’d make a stand here at this last landing. And then he’d enter the surveillance room. Maybe there’d be something there he could use in his defense. Some computer equipment to throw, maybe, if it hadn’t been looted, and assuming that it’d been upgraded from the mirror system to digital in the first place.
Jim grabbed the knife from his pocket.
Gun in one hand. Knife in the other.
He pushed the knife blade open. One-handed, getting his thumb onto the stud and pushing. Didn’t want to flick it, since there was the slight chance he’d fumble it and drop the knife. He knew that his fine motor reflexes were degraded now, with the pumping adrenaline.
The plan was to use the advantages he had. Right now that was sight and height.
He’d slash down with the knife as the next guy came up to the landing. Going for the neck, face, and chest.
Slashes did plenty of damage and didn’t require the accuracy of stabbing. Jim knew he could swing his arm quickly with a lot of force behind it, but he didn’t trust himself right now to stab forward towards a specific target.
He’d initially hoped that he could reach through the railing, taking the next guy completely by surprise, before he even reached the landing, but he realized now that the way the stairs were set up wouldn’t allow his arm any real movement.
He’d have to wait until the guy was on the landing. Jim would still have the advantage of height.
And possibly surprise. Although they knew he was there.
What they didn’t know, perhaps, was that Jim didn’t hold any hope in escaping. Maybe the bikers had dispatched a few of their guys to head outside, looking to see if Jim perhaps made i
t down a hidden passageway or stairway and somehow made it out of the building. That’d be good for Jim. Any time the enemy split up it was good.
There were mere seconds left.
Jim had all his attention focused now on his field of vision. He couldn’t rely on his ears. The sound of approaching footsteps would have been ideal.
But life wasn’t ideal.
His mind had been running through the possibilities, clean and cold like a computer chess program, ruthlessly calculating the best attacks.
Now his body needed to be ready to fight. That primal instinct needed to take over.
No one ever won a physical fight with their mind and strategy alone.
Jim saw the men before he heard them.
Two men.
A lot worse than one.
Jim didn’t wait to see if they’d seen him.
The knife edge pointed forward, the knife blade pointed outwards away from him, he moved his left foot and leg.
He let his left leg fall, as if he was stepping down the two steps.
The steps were tall, and his body was falling, trailing his leg.
Time seemed to have slowed down. It was that “in the zone” state that athletes sometimes described.
Jim’s falling body would give more force to his swinging arm, which was moving now in a high arc, the knife starting from behind his torso, and following a high arc around and over his shoulder.
Jim was so close to them he could smell them.
Jim himself stunk, as did Aly, Rob, and Jessica. There hadn’t been many opportunities to bathe.
But the bikers really stunk.
And not just the normal human odor of dried sweat, of an overgrowth of bacteria on the skin.
They stunk like some kind of chemical, vaguely reminiscent of burned rubber.
One of the men was huge. Menacing. Tall and wide. Muscular, but with a big, protruding belly.
The second, who was slightly behind the first man, as if he was trying to pass him, or hide slightly behind him, was diminutive. Scrawny and wiry.
But sometimes those skinny guys were the strongest. And fought the hardest. Sometimes they had that kind of strength that you couldn’t get in a gym, no matter what exercises you did.
Both held handguns.
Jim’s eyes met, for a moment, the eyes of the big man. They locked together. The biker’s pupils were small, almost minuscule. Strange, considering the low light. They should have been large, to take in as much light as possible.
Surviving: The Complete Series [Books 1-3] Page 35