There were few things in the world that could override that instinct.
And one of them was saving others.
Max wasn’t doing this for himself. He was doing it was Mandy, Georgia, her kids, his brother, and Cynthia. He was doing it for them.
He didn’t have a fatalistic attitude. That simply wouldn’t have helped him. If he was completely convinced that he was doing to die, then he probably would.
Instead, the thing to do, he knew, was to trick himself. He had to convince himself it would come off fine. The plan would go off without a hitch.
If James and Mandy had a break from the constant gunfire that was keeping them pinned in place, they might just be able to get off some clean shots of their own.
The only way to know was to find out. There wasn’t any way to communicate with them. The radios back at camp weren’t portable. They weren’t made for this kind of situation.
Max slunk forward, walking as slowly and silently as he could. One noise and he’d be out of time. He needed to shoot first. That was the only way this could work.
The gunfire still punctuated the night. Mandy and James weren’t firing. Max hoped, once again, that they were still alive. Even if they weren’t, Max still had to do this. He still had to think of Georgia, John, and the others.
A thick tree was close by, off to Max’s right. He was ready to dive behind it. But there might not be time.
It was now or never. Max was close. One of the enemy was fishing for a spare clip.
Max took careful aim, right at the back one of their heads.
Max squeezed the trigger. The Glock recoiled. It was a good feeling. Harsh, but comforting.
The man fell. The shot had been perfect, his body crumpling into the snow. But that was the last of Max’s worries.
The two others spun around. Everything seemed, once again, to be happening in slow motion. Max had to make a split second decision. Did he train his Glock on the second man? Or did he dash behind the tree?
He opted for the second.
He threw himself behind the tree.
Just in time.
Gunfire erupted. Loud bursts. Bullets cut into the bark behind him, and the snow by his feet.
Come on, thought Max. This is your time, James and Mandy.
Max had done this for them.
But there was no crack of the hunting rifles.
Max feared the worst.
A surge of energy suddenly filled him. Emotions flooded his body. Thoughts of revenge swelled through him.
His normal calm-under-pressure pattern had failed him.
These men had killed James and Mandy.
Max threw himself out from behind the tree.
He saw the two men facing him. He squeezed the trigger of his Glock. Three times. In rapid succession.
The first man fell. The bullets had struck him in the throat and the chest.
The other man still stood. Max had missed.
Max squeezed the trigger again.
Btu he was out of ammo.
Long ago, before the EMP, Max had read the Tueller Drill studies, first published in SWAT magazine in 1983. They described what happened when a man with a knife charged a man with a gun. Surprisingly, the man with the knife had a chance. If he could run fast enough, he could attack before the gun-wielding man could get off a shot.
Not a very good chance, though.
With Max’s leg the way it was, the odds were distinctly not in his favor.
To make it worse, there wasn’t time to get his knife out from his pocket and unfold it. No matter how fast he was at deploying it, it didn’t matter.
All this information had been engrained in Max’s mind for a long, long time.
He knew it wouldn’t work.
But he was so filled with rage he didn’t care.
Max charged forward. He still held the Glock in his hand. It was heavy enough to use as a weapon. It wasn’t a knife, but it was something.
The man in front of him already had his gun raised. An expression of surprise came over his face.
Max wasn’t going to make it.
He was sprinting right towards his certain death.
Before the enemy could get off a shot, a crack rang out.
A hunting rifle.
The man fell.
There was hope now. Mandy or James was alive. Or maybe both of them were. Was that too much to hope for?
Max bent down, taking the gun from the man. He wasn’t dead. His grip was still strong enough to try to resist.
Max yanked on the gun and got it free. He didn’t waste any time. The weight of the gun felt good in his hands. At point blank range, Max pulled the trigger, sending a single round through the man’s heart.
Max couldn’t believe it. He was alive. The enemies were dead.
Max had let rage and thoughts of revenge overtake him, and yet he hadn’t died, even though he should.
Max wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. He desperately wanted to check on Mandy and James. If they needed help, he needed to be there for them.
But Max knew that he couldn’t count on the battle being over.
He couldn’t be careless. He wasn’t going to let his emotions take over again.
For the first time since this had all started, Max felt the cold. It was even colder now than when it had been snowing. The temperature must have been approaching the single digits. A gust of wind blew in, causing Max to shiver.
The dead men in front of him would provide a wealth of equipment. Not just guns, but parkas, hats, socks, and boots. Sure, the parkas might be stained with blood. That was fine with Max, though.
He’d have to wait.
The night was silent once again. Silent and cold.
Crouched there on the ground, the dead man’s gun in his hands, Max looked through the darkness.
The clouds had come along in full force, covering the moon. It was darker than before.
Max was determined to be cautious. After all, there could be more men out there.
But Max saw no one.
Nothing moved. There was no sound.
Everything was quiet.
Max heard his own boots crunching on the snow as he stood up. He’d come back to the bodies later.
He started moving across the silent, dark woods, heading towards Max and Mandy. He kept his eyes scanning the surroundings as he walked.
He was ready.
But it wasn’t enough.
Movement behind him. He heard it too late. Someone was rushing out from behind a tree.
Something hard hit Max in the head. His field of vision swam, and pain seared through his skull.
Btu he didn’t lose consciousness.
Holding the gun with both hands, Max jammed it backwards, hoping to hit his attacker with the butt of the gun.
Max missed.
Something hard hit Max in the back. He reeled in pain, about to fall forward, but he caught himself, putting his left leg out first.
Max barely held onto his balance. But he managed to spin around.
His attacker was a man about his age with a severe face. He wore the same clothing as the others. He lunged forward at Max, swinging his right fist in a wide arc.
Max’s head was spinning. His balance wasn’t good. Instead of trying to duck the blow, he lunged forward, throwing himself at the man’s legs.
It worked. Max’s shoulder slammed into the man’s legs, and Max threw his arms around them, pulling back with all his strength until the man fell, flat on his back.
Max was on top of him in a flash, straddling him, pushing down with all his weight. His vision still swam. But he could see well enough to fight.
The man threw a punch. It caught Max in the cheek, pain flashing through him.
Max’s face was right against his enemies. The face was familiar. It was someone from the compound.
Max was dizzy. He was losing ground. Quickly. Their hands became a messy tangle as each fought for control. The enemy was gaining. Max
’s vision swam. He could barely keep it all straight. It seemed to be happening too quickly.
Hands gripped Max’s neck, squeezing hard, tightening.
“I wanted to get my hands on you myself,” said the man. He spoke with a strange accent. Harsh sounding. The anger poured out of his voice. He could barely contain it. “I could have shot you in the back. Just like you shot my men. You’ve ruined everything. And now you’re going to pay.”
The enemy’s hands occupied, Max found his own hands free. He let his right hand fall to the side. If only he hadn’t lost those spare magazines. His Glock was useless now. He had a knife, but he didn’t have the physical strength to use it.
The guy must have had a gun on him. All Max had to do was find it. His hands went searching, looking for a holster, patting and pawing at the enemy’s parka, trying to find where it ended. He couldn’t see what he was doing. All he could do was reach and search, his hand flailing blindly.
The hands gripped him even tighter. Max was moments away from losing consciousness. Moments away from death.
He had to act. Now. But he was weak. The strength was leaving his body.
“I could have shot you,” growled the man. “But this is much, much better.”
Max’s hand hit up against something. Something smooth. Leather. He fumbled for the gun that he knew must have been there inside the holster.
The enemy didn’t seem to notice. He was intent on strangling Max to death. His face was pressed up against Max’s, his neck craning, his pupils small and contracted, his expression beyond intense.
Max’s vision was going. But he still couldn’t find the gun.
Suddenly, sounds rang out through the woods. Max barely registered them. They sounded like shouts. Max wasn’t sure. He was concentrating on his hand, on finding that gun. If he could just get it, he could end this. He could put a bullet through the man’s torso. He just needed that gun.
But there was nothing in the holster. His hand felt nothing but smooth leather.
A shot rang out. Loud and close. Max’s ear’s rang with the sound.
The hands loosened, falling away from his throat. Blood dribbled out of the enemy’s mouth.
23
John
John couldn’t believe it. He’d made the shot. He’d had the man in his sights for long. Too long. The seconds had ticked by, seeming like an eternity. He hadn’t known whether he could do it, whether he could kill the enemy and not accidentally shoot his brother.
Finally, he’d simply had to act. Max was going to die anyway.
John rushed across the snow, his boots sinking, over to Max.
“You still with us, Max?” said John, bending down and grabbing Max by the shoulders.
“Not dead yet,” muttered Max.
John pulled Max to his feet. The color had drained from Max’s face.
“You don’t look too bad. How do you feel?”
“Fine,” said Max. There was blood on his face, and pain in his eyes.
The sound of footsteps. John turned, raising his gun.
“James… Mandy…” said Max.
John didn’t fire at the silhouettes running towards them. When they got into view, he could see them clearly. It was James and Mandy.
“Max!”
“He’s alive!”
Max looked up at them, nodding a greeting.
“Let’s get him back to camp,” said John. “Here, help me.”
“What happened?” said Max. “Georgia, Sadie?”
“Everyone’s fine,” said John. “The plan worked.”
Max glanced around, looking into the woods. “There might be more out there,” he said.
“Come on,” said John. “Don’t be ridiculous. We got them all.”
Max didn’t say anything.
James and Mandy still looked stunned.
“I can’t believe that worked,” said Mandy, speaking in hushed tones. She stared in disbelief at Max.
“I couldn’t have done it without you two,” said Max, nodding at them again.
Max looked unsteady on his feet, and John reached out to give him a supporting hand.
But Max shook him off.
“Just trying to help,” said John.
Max didn’t say anything. He was looking into the woods.
“Come on,” said John. “It’s only getting colder. Let’s get back to camp. It’s not doing you any good out here.”
“Help me get this gear,” said Max, gesturing to the dead man.
“We’ll come back for it,” said John.
But Max was already trying to take the blood-stained parka off the corpse. He fumbled with the zipper, his hands too cold to move delicately.
“Let me get that for you, Max” said James.
Max stood up, moving aside to let James work.
Mandy stood there, shivering, opening her mouth a few times, as if she wanted to speak. But nothing came out.
Finally, the words came tumbling out of her. “I tried, Max,” she said. “I wanted to shoot him… when he had his hands around your neck. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was too worried I’d shoot you instead. I told James not to shoot. I thought you’d get him any moment. I thought you had it…”
A single tear rolled down Mandy’s cheek. She seemed pretty shaken up by the experience, by her own inability to act.
“It’s fine,” said Max. “You already saved me once. One of you saved me when I thought I was dead. You weren’t under any obligation to do it again.”
“I guess I was the least concerned about shooting Max,” said John, laughing. “Sometimes it takes a brother to do something like that.”
James had gotten the coat off the dead man and was going through his pockets. “His handgun’s missing, but there’s some good stuff here,” said James, holding up a compass, a lighter, and an expensive-looking fixed blade survival knife. “He had the knife in his boot,” said James.
“I don’t know why he didn’t just shoot me, or knife me,” said Max.
John shrugged. “He was messed up. Who cares.”
“Motives are important,” said Max.
“Sometimes,” said John. “But not when the guy’s dead.”
“I wish this were over,” said Max. “But I don’t think it is. Come on, we’ve got to get the rest of the gear.” He gestured over in the direction of the other corpses.
“You’re crazy,” said John. “You’re in no condition to…”
But Max was already walking away, limping, blood trickling down his face.
John, James, and Mandy exchanged a look and went scrambling to catch up with Max.
They got what they could from the corpses. The parkas were thick and warm. They’d serve well, much better than what they had. Max was still wearing the coat he’d worn all along, one that couldn’t have been much protection against the frigid temperatures.
John himself could barely feel his hands. He needed to get back to the fire, back to camp. But Max insisted on retracing his steps, finding his rifle and the spare magazines that had fallen out of his jacket. Max’s hands were so cold that he could barely load the magazine. But there was nothing but determination on his face, and John at that point knew better than to suggest doing it later.
It didn’t take long to walk back. Max insisted on taking up the rear, refusing all help, despite his limp appearing worse than it had in a while.
“You’re alive!” cried out Cynthia, rushing towards him. She threw herself against him, almost knocking him down, hugging him.
“Easy there,” said John, laughing.
Georgia was there, along with her daughter, Sadie. They were both working on getting the fire restarted. Georgia was looking exhausted, which wasn’t surprising, considering her injury. She was sitting there on a patch of clear earth, where the fire that had burned earlier had melted away the snow. Sadie was on her knees, following her mother’s instructions, trying to get the fire back.
Bullets had ripped through the van and the tent. T
hey hadn’t provided much warmth before, and they certainly wouldn’t now.
“All right,” said Max, raising his voice so everyone could hear him easily. “We’ve won the battle. But we’ve got to be vigilant. We don’t know what’s going to happen next.”
“Come on, Max,” said John. “Why don’t you sit down? You deserve a break.”
Max ignored him, except to say, “John, you and Cynthia are on official watch. I want you there, and there.” He pointed to opposite ends of the camp. “Everyone else, keep your eyes peeled. Consider yourselves on unofficial watch.”
“Max,” said John, approaching his brother. “Don’t you think you need to rest? You almost died back there, and you’re not looking good.”
Max shook his head. “Any sign of Rose or Jake?” he said, speaking loudly to everyone, and ignoring John again.
Everyone shook their heads. No one had seen Rose or Jake since they’d run from the camp. No sign of them.
John was starting to get annoyed with his brother. He was acting like they were still in a critical situation, even when everything was obviously over. The enemies had been defeated. Killed. If there’d been someone else out there, they would have fought. The enemies had acted like soldiers in an army. Why would some of them hold back while their comrades got killed? It didn’t make sense.
And John was getting annoyed at the way Max kept ignoring him, acting like what he was saying didn’t matter. Max was acting like he knew everything, like he knew exactly what to do.
But Max hadn’t done it all by himself. Maybe he was the unofficial leader, but they’d all worked together as a team just now. And if it hadn’t been for John’s shot, Max would be dead right now. He thought he deserved something, some recognition.
“I’m going,” said Max, suddenly.
“What?”
“I’m going to look for them,” said Max.
“Come on, that’s crazy. You can’t leave now.”
Max stared at John. There was something intense about his eyes. Something that made John feel a little uneasy.
“It’s dangerous,” said John.
“You said yourself there’s no one out there,” said Max, his voice deadpan.
“Yeah,” sputtered John, looking for a rationale to back up what he was saying. “But… I mean, it is possible…”
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