Surviving: The Complete Series [Books 1-3]

by Westfield, Ryan

  The whole time, his mind had been racing. He’d been pumped full of adrenaline from the fight, utterly exhausted.

  Jim felt like a shadow of his former self. He clutched the knife as hard as he could, until his knuckles were white and his hand sent constant signals of pain to his brain.

  He not only felt shaky, but he felt like he was becoming unhinged. He was aware that he wasn’t making good strategic decisions, but it was a strange kind of awareness that felt like it didn’t have any effect on reality. He waited there for hours in that same position, the knife clutched in exactly the same way. If he’d been thinking clearly, he would have gone back down the steps and retrieved more weapons. A gun, for instance, would be much more useful than the single knife that he still had. Was he getting scared, or was he losing his mind? Or had he simply pushed his body too far in his attempt to survive? Maybe he’d just been through a lot. People did get shaken up, after all, from rough experiences.

  As the darkness settled around him, he started to doubt the entire experience. After all, how was it that he’d been able to kill so many of them, without succumbing to death himself?

  Jim couldn’t get their faces out of his mind. Their eyes. Their small pupils. Staring at him with nothing but death on the mind. The death stare. He knew that if he lived, he’d never be able to fully explain the experience to someone else. The experience of being inches from someone who wanted nothing more than to destroy you completely. But he doubted he’d ever want to explain that to someone. It was either something you had experienced or you hadn’t. And better if you hadn’t.

  As he looked for answers in his own mind, staring blankly into the darkness, he remembered that biker gangs often were associated with methamphetamine use and sales.

  If the bikers had been on meth, maybe that explained why their pupils had looked so small. Just like opiate addicts, whose pupils appeared to be chronically shrunken.

  The actual physical constriction of the pupils led to less light entering the eye. In a low-light environment like the pharmacy stairwell, this could lead to a loss of visual acuity, giving Jim a distinctive edge.

  Slowly, in the darkness, Jim managed to work his way out of his thoughts. He’d been waiting there to die, and now he realized that he was going to live.

  For another day, at least.

  He was incredibly stiff when he stood up. It took minutes just for the numbness in his extremities to go away.

  He checked himself for injuries. Major cuts, broken bones. That sort of thing. He should have done it earlier. Much earlier.

  He was getting his mind back. He was losing the intense fear that had left him almost paralyzed, waiting to die.

  He was physically OK. More or less. As OK as he was going to get, at least. At the very least, he wasn’t going to bleed out. He had some cuts. Some scrapes. His whole body hurt. But what did he expect?

  Judging by his thinking, and the blows to the head he’d taken, he was probably concussed. A doctor would have recommended rest. Serious rest. Well, that wasn’t going to happen.

  He could think clearly enough to formulate a simple plan, and that was what mattered.

  He needed to find his wife and friends. Simple in theory. Hard in practice.

  It might take him some time to find them. In the meantime, he’d need to make sure he was armed. And that he had food and water.

  Arming himself was easy enough. He made his way back down the stairwell where he’d fought the bikers to the death. Now it was pitch-black. And many of the steps were still slick with blood. So he moved slowly and carefully.

  Instead of walking, he sat on his butt and moved down step by step. It was the only safe way to do it in absolutely darkness. There was no light at all, so having darkness-adjusted eyes did absolutely nothing. The clouds must have been covering the light from the moon and the stars. Made sense. It had been a cloudy day.

  With his hands, completely blind in the darkness, he felt around. He felt the bodies of the bikers he’d killed. They were splayed out down the steps in various strange positions, arms and legs at odd angles. He was forced to feel every inch of them. Their flesh had cooled to a large extent and the bodies had started to stiffen up ever so slightly.

  He checked their pockets, their hands, and their ankles, looking for knives and guns. And anything else that might be useful.

  He found a couple plastic bags of pills and powders. Of course, he couldn’t see what he was looking at. But he didn’t really need to know that they were some type of drug. Most likely opiates or meth.

  Obviously, Jim didn’t have any intention of doing either. He’d never done a drug in his life. Maybe a few beers now and then, and that was it.

  But Jim was also smart enough to try to recognize the utility in anything that he found. Opiates, obviously, could be invaluable for pain management. And in this new post-EMP world, pain was almost a given.

  Methamphetamine, even, if it was pure enough, could have its uses. After all, before it had become a street drug, it had been widely used by truckers, students, the military, and all sorts of workers who needed to remain alert for long hours. Of course, it had serious downsides. Serious health consequences. And that was with the pure products alone. The stuff that was consumed nowadays was definitely not pure. It was made in clandestine laboratories that didn’t have to follow a single safety or purification procedure if they didn’t want to. And what motive did they have?

  Jim wouldn’t use it unless he really had to, unless he had to be on the move for days and days at a time. If it was a matter of life and death, then taking an impure substance with serious health consequences still might be worth it, objectively speaking. If it had worked for soldiers and pilots, it might work for the average man just trying to survive.

  Of course, these were decisions for another time.

  Jim pocketed the pills and the powder. Tomorrow, when he had enough daylight to see by, he’d check them out, see if he could make out any markings.

  The bikers didn’t have much else useful on them except weapons and drugs. They didn’t have flashlights or bottles of water. They didn’t have matches, although a couple of them had lighters.

  Jim pocketed everything he could, and made his way all the way down both flights of steps, sliding on his butt the whole way.

  There wasn’t any light in the pharmacy, and he had to move slowly and cautiously, feeling the way with his hands and his feet so that he wouldn’t trip over anything.

  Finally, after what felt like hours, he was back outside the pharmacy.

  With his eyes already accustomed to the darkness, he could see quite a bit. The moon and stars were covered by clouds, as he’d assumed, but the cloud cover wasn’t quite totally complete, and there was enough ambient life to see by. Enough to walk by, anyway.

  So Jim could see, but he couldn’t see that far.

  He stood still and he looked, and he listened, trying to determine if there was anyone else there.

  No sign of anyone. Of the bikers or the RV.

  It seemed that they’d all left.

  It seemed as if his wife and the others had done what he’d said and left the area.

  He was glad. He couldn’t hold it against them. Others, in the same situation, might have felt abandoned.

  But Jim didn’t.

  If Aly had left, he knew it would have been hard for her. Almost impossible. He also knew that it was likely she was still alive. Unless something else had happened to her.

  If she’d stayed, the bikers might have gotten her and the others.

  Jim’s purpose now was clear. Find Aly, Jessica, and Rob. Find the RV. Reunite with them.

  Hopefully, they hadn’t just continued on in the RV, leaving Jim completely for dead. Hopefully they’d found a safe place to shore up for the night, thinking that they might look for Jim again in the morning.

  Now all Jim had to do was either wait here at the pharmacy for them to return, or to try to find them tonight.

  If he had the energy
, he would have started out walking tonight, and then returned to the pharmacy in the morning.

  And he was about to do this, but as he took his first step forward in the open air, he realized how shaky he was. He hadn’t eaten and he hadn’t had anything to drink.

  No drug would erase this state that he was in. Nothing would help except rest and food and water.

  So Jim made his way back into the pharmacy, intending to feel around for beef jerky and sodas on the floor. If he was lucky, maybe he could find an orange juice container or two.

  Again, he found himself back in the pitch-blackness of the pharmacy, and he knew that, even though he’d feel better with food and fluid, it would be a long, difficult night, wondering whether or not he would see his wife again.

  He wasn’t the type of man who found it easy to sit back and rest. He liked to be up and active. He liked to be the one on the move, always active and feeling like he was accomplishing something.

  But sometimes that wasn’t the smartest thing to do.

  He’d be his own worst enemy tonight, and he was already aware of that. Once his stomach was a little fuller, and his strength started to return, he’d try to convince himself that he should set out down the road, looking for Aly and the others. But more than likely, he’d have just enough strength to get far away from the pharmacy, and not enough strength to return there by early morning. It was a perfect recipe for having Aly return to the pharmacy, only to find Jim long gone. Then, she’d have no choice but to assume the worst, that he was dead and gone.

  He’d have to stay there, in the dark, resting, eating, and rehydrating, fighting against his own most basic impulses.

  13

  Rob

  Rob had a tremendous headache, and his whole body ached. But other than that, he felt surprisingly good for having been knocked out for who knew how long. He’d just had his mouth hanging open in complete surprise while Aly told him everything that had happened.

  Granted, his own experience had been pretty strange on its own. Apparently what had happened was that the second crash had woken Rob up from his passed-out state. It had only taken him a few seconds to realize that something was horribly wrong. And then? He’d done what he had to do. No matter how unpleasant, he wasn’t going to let Aly die, no matter how dazed he was. He’d been aware enough to realize that she was about to die unless he did something. So he’d done it. There wasn’t a point, the way Rob saw it, in overthinking it.

  Rob and Aly were standing outside the RV, surveying the damage. They’d just finished dragging the corpse of the man Rob had killed a few meters away from the RV. It seemed frivolous, maybe, but this way they didn’t have to actually look at the corpse. But there was still blood all over the front seat. And bits of bone. Both Rob and Aly had his blood on them. And it was still fresh.

  “So there’s no way it’s going to work again?” said Aly, standing there with her hands on her hips, as if she was trying to solve some difficult-but-resolvable problem.

  Rob couldn’t help but let out a frustrated chuckle that sounded half like he was exhaling sharply and half like he was laughing at a not-so-great joke. “Seriously, Aly?” he said. “Look at it. The engine’s completely caved in.”

  The RV had really done a number on the engine. There was no way they could even get the hood up.

  “But don’t you think that...” Aly paused, as if thinking that if she thought just hard enough she’d come up with something that would work. “Maybe just try starting the engine again?”

  “We’ve already tried that, Aly. There’s no way it’s going to crank. There’s just no way.”

  “I thought some of these RVs had engines in the rear or something.”

  “Well, not this one,” said Rob. “Come on, we’re wasting daylight. We’ve got to come up with a plan. And it can’t include the RV. We’ve got to give up on this.”

  “But... Come on, isn’t there something?”

  It was getting ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. But Rob understood where she was coming from.

  After all, they’d left Jim back at the pharmacy. Who knew if he was still alive? All Aly wanted to do, understandably, was to get back to her husband as quickly as possible. And to do that, they’d need a vehicle. And the only vehicle they had was the RV that was clearly never going to start again.

  Rob just needed to figure out how to tear her away from this idea that she was getting fixated on. The fixation had something to do with desperation and a lot to do with exhaustion. He’d been there himself, getting stuck in thought loops that seemed to lead nowhere.

  Rob suddenly realized that he was going to have to step up. Aly was there, peering at the hood of the RV as if she was really thinking that there was a chance that she could fix it. He wasn’t going to tear her away from this unless he took charge and came up with a plan himself. Normally he relied in a large part on the others, either following their lead or collaborating with them. Rarely did he come up with a plan himself.

  Well, now was as good a time as any to start.

  His whole body ached. His head was pounding.

  But he really didn’t mind. Maybe it was because he’d spent years being overweight and feeling like garbage all the time. He’d slimmed down considerably since the EMP. Not carrying that extra weight was enough to make anyone feel better. His muscles literally had much less to carry, much less work to do. His organs were probably benefiting as well.

  That’s what a severely limited diet did to just about anyone. For the others, it had actually been harder to adapt to the diet than it had been for Rob. In a way, his extra padding of fat had been an advantage. It had provided his body with plenty of calories to draw on while he subsisted on the meager rations, day after day.

  “OK,” said Rob, clapping his hands together. “Here’s what I need you to do, Aly. I need you to come back inside the RV with me. We’re going to gather everything useful that we can take with us. Well, first we’re going to make sure we have backpacks. OK?” Rob wasn’t totally used to laying out a plan like that, but he figured that it wasn’t half bad for an early attempt.

  “Just a second, I think I’m onto something here,” said Aly. “Do you see the way the hood is caved in here? I was thinking that if we hammered that out a bit that it might...”

  “You’re great, Aly, but you’re starting to scare me. You’re losing touch with reality.”

  “Says who?” snapped Aly, turning her head towards him and making an expression that frankly scared him.

  “Says me,” said Rob. “I’m your friend, remember? And I want to find Jim almost as much as you do. Here, have this.”

  Rob was surprised that the candy bar he pulled from his pocket still had an intact wrapper. It had been through a lot. He’d kept it there for weeks on end, and it had probably melted and reformed too many times to count. He’d kept it there thinking that he’d need it to get through this “diet,” but somehow he’d ended up feeling better simply never eating it and instead keeping it as a reward for his future self.

  Rob held the candy bar up meaningfully so that Aly could clearly see it and ripped open the wrapper.

  To most people before the EMP, the candy bar, having gone through its countless cycles of heating and cooling, would have been unappetizing at best and disgusting at worst. But to almost anyone still alive since the EMP, it was food. Good food too. It was packaged, and unlikely to expire.

  “You need this more than I do,” said Rob.

  Before the EMP, he’d always been aware of his own blood sugar fluctuations. He’d never been quite diabetic, but he’d always been on the border. And each time he’d visited the doctor, which to be fair wasn’t really that often, he’d been advised that if he didn’t change his lifestyle drastically, he was headed for full-blown type 2 diabetes. He’d always just shrugged it all off as alarmist professional speak.

  But he had been aware that sometimes he’d get into a seriously grumpy funk, usually after some stress, like getting canned from a new job, and
that something with a bit of sugar in it would pick him right up again.

  For whatever reason, this had all stopped for him since the EMP. Despite the intense stress he’d been under, his blood sugar had felt stable.

  His hope now was that the intense stress Aly had just been through had tanked her blood sugar.

  “Don’t try to bribe me with a candy bar,” said Aly. “This is serious stuff we’re talking about.”

  “I know it’s serious,” said Rob, in his most reasonable tone. “And that’s why I need you to be functioning one hundred percent. My concern is that you’ve been under a lot of stress. I think a bit of food might help you recover. I need your help, Aly. Won’t you just try it?”

  He was trying to be as diplomatic as humanly possible, fully aware that she might bite his head off with one wrong word.

  “Fine,” scoffed Aly, seizing the candy bar from his hand in a single motion.

  Rob watched with some consternation as she ate the mashed mix of sugar, chocolate, and articulation ingredients in a single bite. She just kind of shoved it all into her mouth.

  Rob knew from experience that it took a few minutes for something like that to help, so he sort of just stayed quiet for a little while, until gently suggesting again that she accompany him into the interior of the RV so that they could gather supplies.

  “Sure,” she said. Her voice sounded different. Not quite as angry. Not quite as freaked out. Still worried, but reasonably so. Considering the situation, worrying made sense.

  Inside the RV, they got to work.

  They got the packs ready. Scoured the RV for supplies. Some of the stuff was theirs from earlier, but a lot of it wasn’t. A lot of it was from the creepy professors they’d taken the RV from.

  There were decisions to make, regarding the gear. Hard choices, like whether to bring food or rope. There was only so much that the two of them could realistically carry without wearing themselves out too much.

  Aly seemed to be feeling a hell of a lot better, so Rob figured that the candy bar had worked.