Fighting Rough

by Ryan Westfield

  “That’s part of it. But think about this… where did all our food come from when we were living in the suburbs?”

  “Well, you shot a lot of deer.”

  Georgia chuckled again. “Yes, but that’s not all we ate. In fact, I bet it didn’t make up more than 10% of our calories. Where’d the rest come from?”

  “The grocery store.”

  “Yeah, but where’d it come from before that?”

  Sadie shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know.”

  “It came from all over. On trucks, right? You’ve seen them behind the store, unloading.”

  Sadie nodded her head.

  “Food came from all over. Damn, it’s weird to talk about this in the past tense. Anyway, they’d ship food to us from all over the world. And the whole country was run like that. Think about it, Sadie, it could have come from ten minutes away, if the infrastructure had been set up like that.”

  “But where would people have grown it? It’s not like there are any farms around or anything. None that I’ve seen.”

  “Well, you remember out by Valley Forge? That whole area used to be farmland. Gradually, the farmers sold it off to developers. That’s where all those houses came from. Just a way for someone to get really rich. Not that I blame them, necessarily. They were just looking out for their own families. Maybe I would have done the same thing, but it didn’t work out too well for us.”

  “But Mom,” said Sadie. “How would that have helped us? We had to get out. We had to leave. Max said we would have been killed if we’d stayed.”

  “You’re probably right, Sadie,” said Georgia, sighing. “I guess there’s not much point in philosophizing about it anyway. It’s all a moot point now.”

  “I hope Max and Mandy are OK,” said Sadie, shivering slightly as she stared out at the snow-covered landscape. “At least it’s a little warmer now, I guess.”

  “They’ll be fine,” said Georgia. “They know how to take care of themselves. John and Cynthia, too. They did well last night.”

  “I don’t think they could have done it without you, though.”

  Georgia laughed. “I’m not doing much good now.”

  “That’s crazy, Mom. You’re the best shot of any of them, and you’re walking a lot better now.”

  “You know me, Sadie. It’s hard for me to sit back and let others do things for me. Remember our house? I mean, when did I ever hire a plumber or a painter?”

  “You wouldn’t even hire an electrician! You almost got electrocuted.”

  Georgia laughed. “Yeah, that probably would have been better done by a professional.”

  “And James convinced you to hire a plumber once, when he’d clogged up the toilet really badly. You finally caved in, and then you made the poor guy’s life impossible. You wouldn’t let him work.”

  “I did too!”

  “By standing behind him and telling him he was doing it all wrong?”

  “Well, he was! He didn’t know what he was doing.”

  “Then why didn’t you do it?”

  “Maybe you have a point, Sadie,” said Georgia, a grin on her face. “Wow, it feels good to laugh. It’s been a while. Too long.”

  “I guess that’s what I was trying to explain earlier,” said Sadie. “Everything’s been so, I don’t know, serious. Intense. There isn’t any time to live, really. I mean, I can do without my cell phone.”

  “James would argue differently.”

  “I’m getting used to it! I’ve hardly even looked at in the last week.”

  “You’re not still hoping it’ll turn back on?”

  “I know it won’t. It’s just a habit, I guess, looking it. It used to be a sort of comforting thing. And I never even realized it until it didn’t work anymore. But what I was saying is I can live without all the comforts we had. You know what I mean, like food in the fridge, a bed to sleep in, stuff like that. But it’s the other stuff, like feeling like we’re constantly in danger. Like we could die at any moment. Or like I could lose you or James.”

  “That’s not going to happen, Sadie,” said Georgia, putting her arm around her daughter.

  “I hope not.”

  28

  Marshal

  The thrill of his last kill was still with him. It was so much better doing it himself than simply watching and listening to men dying. Completely different. No comparison.

  Killing that dog hadn’t done it for him. He’d killed so many animals that it was merely a matter of routine. There wasn’t that thrill. That spark.

  He knew he wouldn’t be able to wait long. The plan had been to wait patiently. To bide his time. To pick them off one by one.

  Sure, he was still going to do that. He’d be careful. But he needed another one. Another kill. Just one more, then he’d hide again and wait. Well, maybe two more. Depended on how things went. He’d have to wait and see. If the opportunity was there, he wouldn’t pass it up.

  This time was going to be different. He was working on a plan. He’d do it at his leisure this time, with no fear of interruptions. The woods were big, and there were a lot of places to hide. A lot of places to do what he needed to do.

  Marshal wasn’t that far from the camp. After killing that woman, he’d taken a path that ran around the camp in a large half-circle. His plan was to get to the other side. After that, he didn’t know. He needed more to his plan. He needed to think. He needed to speed up a little.

  Marshal had been taking amphetamines the entire journey, ever since leaving the militia boundaries. He’d been doling them out to himself, one by one, about every four hours or so. They were time release tablets, white and plain looking. A protective coating around the outside of the tablet slowed the tablet’s breakdown in the stomach, roughing the rate at which the drug entered his system.

  But Marshal needed something more. He sat down behind a tree, propped his gun up, and took out the orange plastic prescription bottle. Opening the safety cap, Marshal shook out two pills. He needed a good kick.

  Swallowing the pills wasn’t going to do it for him.

  From his pocket, Marshal took out a small gift card, the type of card that had always been floating around the prison. It no longer had any value on it, not that that mattered now, but at one point it had. They’d been a sort of unofficial currency in the prison, the way packs of cigarettes often were.

  It was a little strange taking the card out and looking at it. The name of the store was plastered in bright colors across the front of the hard, rigid plastic. The name meant nothing now. And it never would again.

  Marshal liked the card because of its stiffness. So often the gift cards he’d seen were that filmy type of plastic. Not any good for snorting.

  Resting the card on his knee, Marshal place the tablets carefully on top. Using the butt of his survival knife, Marshal crushed and ground the pills into a fine off-white powder.

  Leaning down, his nose near his knee, Marshal pressed his index finger against the outside of his nose, blocking off one nostril. With the other, he inhaled deeply, the powder burning his nose all the way up his sinuses. He enjoyed the harsh, burning feeling.

  The effect was almost instantaneous. He was already starting to feel it as he switched nostrils and inhaled again, sharply and deeply.

  The effect was one not just of energy. But of power, raw and cold. He felt physically capable of almost anything, with a cold adrenaline-like energy rushing through his body. His mind was sharper and swifter than usual.

  He felt cold and calculating, just the way he liked it.

  Finished with his powder, Marshal was renewed. Not just refreshed, but stronger than before.

  Marshal stood up, breathing in deeply, tucking the gift card carefully back into his pocket.

  When he grabbed his gun, he knew the sound.

  Footsteps coming from the direction of the camp.

  Marshal waited, listening carefully. He heard no voices. Just one person slogging through the snow.

  Marshal could bar
ely believe his luck. It was like someone was being delivered to him. A new victim, a new set of thrills and pleasure.

  Marshal already knew the plan.

  It was simple. Easy. And foolproof.

  Nothing could go wrong.

  A single, narrow trail led through the trees. It was almost a completely certainty that whoever it was would come down this trail. Marshal didn’t have to do any guesswork.

  Marshal got into position, rushing over to a tree near the trail. It was a large pine tree, with long drooping branches that would give him the complete cover and secrecy he needed.

  Now he waited. Like a spider, lying in wait. The only difference between himself and the spider was that he himself was the trap. Just him and his gun. And his cunning.

  The spider killed for food. Marshal was fulfilling a similarly crucial need. To kill. To cause pain.

  The footsteps were louder. They were the only sound in the area. Nothing else for miles around. No animals sounds. No chirping or squeaking. No distractions.

  Marshal had to resist peeking at his prey. He was going to do this completely blind. That was the only way there’d be no risk.

  He waited until the footsteps had reached him.

  Marshal counted to himself slowly.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  Marshal knew from experience this was the perfect distance.

  He stepped out from under and behind the pine tree.

  His gun was aimed perfectly before he spoke.

  “Don’t move a muscle. Stay right where you are. Or I kill you right here and now. A bullet right in the back of the head. Not a bad way to die, but not what I’d recommend, personally.”

  Marshal stood behind the man. His eyes traveled up and down the man. He was wearing one of the parkas recovered from the compound men. He carried one of their guns, too. He didn’t wear a pack. He was fairly tall. His hair was overgrown and greasy, just like everyone’s now.

  “What do you want?”

  “You’re doing good so far,” said Marshal. “I was worried I was going to have to shoot you.”

  Marshal always seemed to know what to say to convince people to do what he wanted. Sometimes he couldn’t help but marvel at his own abilities. The words just seemed to tumble out of his mouth.

  If the man decided to fight, Marshal would have no choice but to shoot him, injuring him and possibly killing him. That would take most of the fun away. Marshal wanted this one to be special. He wanted to take his time, starting with the most mild pain and slowly working his way up over the course of a day until finally he’d kill him.

  The man was breathing heavily. Marshal saw his arm starting to move ever so slightly, just barely twitching. If Marshal didn’t say just the right thing, the guy was going to go for his gun.

  “Look,” said Marshal, using his most sympathetic tones. “I don’t want to do this. You’ve got to understand me. But I’m desperate. I don’t have any food, and I’m exhausted and hungry, basically at the end of my rope.”

  The man said nothing.

  Marshal knew he had to appear sympathetic in order to get this man to drop his weapons. Marshal was too careful to approach him now to try to tie him up. Marshal would probably end up being attacked.

  The man was on the brink of trying to attack Marshal, probably knowing full well he was going to get shot. But all Marshal had to do was convince him he wouldn’t hurt him. He had to make the decision easy.

  “What’s your name?” said Marshal.

  “John,” said the man after a long pause.

  “Look, John,” said Marshal. “Trust me, I’m not this kind of person. I was an accountant before the blackout, before everything went to shit. Imagine that, just a little office worker who was good at keeping his head down during lay-offs, suddenly out on his own, starving in the wilderness.”

  John didn’t say anything.

  “I was doing OK, but now I’m literally about to die from hunger. And I’ve got a kid to look after. If it was just me, hell, I’d just let myself starve to death. You get what I’m saying, right?”

  “Maybe,” said John, speaking slowly.

  “I know there’s a camp out here with plenty of food. I need some of that food. For my kid. I don’t want to hurt anyone. And I can’t risk going to that camp. I know how people are now. I know what this blackout has done to humanity. Everyone’s an animal now. Not me, though. I mean, I will if I have to. I’ll act like that for my kid.”

  John didn’t say anything.

  “We’re all in this together,” said Marshal. “I don’t want to hurt you. I really don’t. It’s the last thing I want to do.”

  “Then why are you doing this?”

  “Look, I’m just going to take you hostage. You’ll be my bargaining chip with your friends at the camp. They’ll give me the food I need, and I’ll return you. No one gets hurt. It’s easy. Then I’ll move on out of here and everything will be fine.”

  “They won’t hurt you,” said John. “At the camp, I mean. I know them. If you really have a kid…”

  “Of course I do!”

  “We’d never hurt a kid,” said John. “And new people are always joining the group. If you’re a good person, they’ll help you out, or even take you in.”

  “I heard gunshots last night,” said Marshal. “I don’t trust people like that. I don’t think you’re who you say you are.”

  “We were attacked,” said John. “You’d have done the exact same thing. Our lives were on the line. But if you come in peace, it’d be completely different. And the way to start that is to put down your gun and let me turn around.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen,” said Marshal. “So put your guns down, or I’ll be forced to shoot you.”

  “How are you going to use me as a bargaining chip if you shoot me?”

  “Like I said, I don’t want to shoot you. But I will. I’m a desperate man.”

  John breathed out heavily, and slowly placed his gun on the ground.

  “Now the handgun,” said Marshal. “And no tricks either.”

  John removed his handgun from its holster and placed it on the ground.

  “And the knife,” said Marshal.

  John took two knives out, one folding and one fixed blade, and placed them next to the guns.

  “Now take five long, slow steps forward.”

  John did as Marshal asked.

  Marshal was starting to feel it. He was close to his goal. So close.

  Marshal had already taken the rope he’d brought along out of his pack, having slung it around his shoulder.

  He pulled at it now, took out his knife, and cut off a length of it that he used to bind John’s wrists tightly together. Marshal wasn’t taking any chances. He pulled as hard as he could, doubling and then tripling the knot. Marshal did it from the front, wanting to savor the budding expression of hopelessness on John’s face.

  “Can you still feel your hands?”

  “Yeah,” said John.

  “Good,” said Marshal. “I want you to feel everything.”

  “Feel everything?”

  “You’ll see,” said Marshal.

  Marshal started to bend down, ready to bind John’s legs together. But as he did so, John made his move, swinging his bound arms together, like a pendulum that came right at Marshal’s head.

  Marshal was too fast for him. He ducked easily, then threw himself forwards, knocking John to the ground.

  Their bodies fell together into the snow. John brought both arms up, his hands in fist, slamming them into Marshal’s stomach.

  Marshal grunted in pain.

  Then he grinned.

  It just made it all the more thrilling.

  Marshal brought his right fist up high, slamming it down into John’s face. It hit him in the nose. He probably broke it. Blood gushed down John’s face.

  Marshal had his handgun out, and jammed it with one hand into John’s mouth, forcing his
lips open. With his other hand, he gripped John’s neck tightly, applying just the right amount of pressure.

  “Now you’re going to cooperate,” said Marshal. “And I don’t need to give you my reasons.”

  John’s eyes were wild looking. The fight hadn’t left him. Not yet.

  The amphetamines were still in full effect. Marshal almost had to struggle against them, against the violent exuberant energy that coursed through him. He had to hold back. He couldn’t simply kill John here and now. He needed to be patient, to wait. That was the only way he could get the full effect, the full joy of the experience.

  John was troublesome. He’d fight. He wouldn’t let himself go easily. Now he seemed to understand that Marshal hadn’t been telling the truth. Maybe he’d guessed it all along. But it didn’t matter since he’d allowed himself to at least partially believe it, relaxing enough for Marshal to make his move.

  Marshal couldn’t figure out how to tie up John without risking his own life. John was clearly ready to fight. He’d been hoping to drag John away fully conscious. That way John could appreciate what was going to happen to himself. He’d be aware of every moment, of every moment of pain that was fast approaching. Marshal would explain it to him all on the trip as he dragged John’s fully-bound body through the snow like a sled.

  But he’d have to compromise. At least this compromise wasn’t as bad as the last one Marshal had killed.

  And he could still have some fun, even in the little things, the tricks he loved to play.

  “OK,” said Marshal. “I guess you’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll untie you.”

  John’s eyes flickered with confusion.

  “Look,” said Marshal. “I’m not going to shoot you. I’ll even untie you. Just don’t hurt me.”

  Marshal removed the handgun from John’s mouth.

  Marshal could see it in John’s eyes. John was about to attack. He was just waiting for the right moment.

  Marshal brought the pistol up high.

  John lunged up and forward, shoving himself against Marshal.

  Flipping the gun in his hand, Marshal brought the butt of it down hard against the side of John’s skull. Hard enough to knock him out. Not hard enough to kill him.