Final Chaos: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (Surviving Book 1)

by Ryan Westfield

  It’d have to be a clean shot.

  But she didn’t think she had the skill to pull off a headshot.

  The chest was easier. Less risky.

  She had it all lined up.

  The safety was off.

  She pulled the trigger.

  The shot rang out.

  Carpenter fell.

  His wife screamed, a wail so painful that Jessica thought for a moment that somehow the bullet had hit both of them.

  But Mrs. Carpenter was still very much alive.

  And it was then that it hit Jessica. She’d just killed not just a husband and father, but two brothers, two sons. She’d almost decimated an entire family.

  And it was a family that, before the EMP, while they might not have been the most engaging or polite, they’d been something. They’d been taxpayers, workers, maybe students. They’d been something. A family unit. Humans.

  She didn’t let it get to her.

  As far as she was concerned, the Carpenters had transformed beyond all that. And it was a choice that they themselves had made.

  She felt no remorse. It wouldn’t have made sense.

  This was about survival.

  A bullet slammed into the tree trunk behind which Jessica was standing.

  Mrs. Carpenter wasn’t giving up without a fight.

  She was committed to going down with her husband. To die trying to take out someone else with her. Two if she could, probably.

  It was senseless.

  But it wasn’t meaningless.

  Jessica was about to pop out from the other side of the tree trunk to get off another shot when she felt a whoosh of air.

  She heard the gunshot a split second later.

  Shards of wood exploded out from the tree trunk above her. The bullet had missed her by inches.

  More importantly, the bullet had come from the other direction.

  It wasn’t just Mrs. Carpenter who was left.

  There was another.

  Jessica couldn’t hide behind the tree trunk, or she’d be in a perfect position for Mrs. Carpenter to shoot her.

  So she started sprinting, heading right towards where the bullet had come from.

  She ran in a zigzag pattern. She used the trees as cover.

  Another gunshot sounded. Then another.

  She was getting closer. She drew her Glock and pointed it forward as she ran.

  She had him. She pulled the trigger as she ran. Once, twice. A third time and he was done, lying on his back, not a single spot of blood visible on his clothes.

  He was dead.

  Another gunshot rang out. The sound of a rifle.

  Jessica spun around, hoping against hope to see Rob still standing, and to see Mrs. Carpenter dead behind the tree.

  29

  Aly

  Aly woke up feeling better than she had in days.

  For the first time, the world didn’t seem to be a swirl of confusion. She didn’t feel overheated, and she wasn’t sweating.

  “You’re awake,” said Jim, putting his hand gently on her outstretched arm. He was seated in a chair next to the bed.

  “What happened?” said Aly.

  “You’re going to pull through. That’s what happened.”

  “I remember getting shot.”

  “The wound got infected.”

  “She’s awake!” came Rob’s voice from outside the room.

  A moment later, he’d thundered into the room. He stood there, his huge frame taking up the entire doorway.

  “Was it that bad?” said Aly. “I can’t remember much. I just remember being really hot… everything was confusing. I didn’t know what was going on. I must have been having nightmares. I remember hearing gunshots. Lots of them.”

  “That was all real,” said Jim. “When I was gone, the Carpenters came back.”

  “They did? That was all real?”

  “Very much so. But they’re not a problem anymore.”

  “You mean they’re…”

  “Dead, yes.”

  “And where were you?” said Aly. “It was just Rob and Jessica here with me?”

  “He went to Dewittville to get you the antibiotics you needed,” said Rob. “Risked his life, too. Pretty dangerous situation, from what he’s said.”

  Aly looked at her husband with a sense of admiration and pride. But Jim merely shrugged his shoulders and said, “I got through it.”

  “So what do we do now? What’s going on in Rochester and elsewhere?”

  “We don’t have a lot of information,” said Jim. “But if Dewittville is any indication, things aren’t going well for the people in Rochester.”

  “They’re dying off,” said Rob. “At least that’s what Jim says.”

  “There’s no need to sugar coat it for me,” said Aly.

  “I was just trying… you just woke up after all.”

  “You think I’m delicate?”

  “I didn’t say that,” said Jim.

  Aly couldn’t help herself. She laughed, laughed at Jim’s serious expression.

  He obviously cared for her. She could see that more clearly now than she had in a long, long time. Maybe their relationship wasn’t as doomed as she’d thought it had been when they’d separated and she’d moved in with her mother.

  “So what’s the plan?” said Aly. “Lay it on me. I’ll feel better if I know what’s going on.”

  “We’ve started to catch fish from the lake,” said Jim. “Now that the Carpenters are gone, we’ve got a little more freedom. We don’t have to worry about security quite as much.”

  “You haven’t had any other visitors?” said Aly.

  “I saw someone walking down the road, but that was it,” said Jim.

  “And the Carpenter’s house? I hope you got what was there.”

  “It was pretty filthy,” said Jim.

  “Absolutely disgusting,” said Rob.

  “And they didn’t have much food. But we got some useful things. They’re in the living room, already categorized.”

  “So you think we’re going to be OK here?”

  “Well, until more people start leaving the cities. There isn’t going to be avoiding them. But we’ve got some plans for that.”

  “Hopefully that doesn’t happen for a while,” said Aly. “I feel better, but not like I’m ready to fight anyone yet.”

  “There’s no telling how long it’ll be,” said Jim.

  “Jim keeps saying it’s ‘a question of when, not if,’” said Rob.

  Suddenly, Aly realized that no one had mentioned Jessica. She started to feel anxious. Was it possible they were saving the worst news for last?

  “And Jessica?” said Aly, her voice sounding low and timid.

  “She’s on watch,” said Jim.

  “Somebody’s got to do it,” said Rob. “Don’t worry. She’s got a thermos of coffee. We found plenty of coffee at the Carpenter’s house. So no more rationing the coffee.”

  “We’ll see about that,” said Jim. “As far as we know, that might be the last coffee we come across.”

  “Come on, Jim,” said Rob. “What are we going to do without coffee?”

  “I didn’t know you were such a coffee fanatic?”

  “You didn’t know that? We’ve only been drinking coffee together for… how many years?”

  “You two sound just like you used to,” said Aly, letting out a weak little laugh. The laugh made her bullet wound hurt. But it wasn’t too bad.

  Suddenly, Aly heard the front door being thrown open. There were heavy, fast footsteps on the floor.

  Jim stood up and drew his revolver.

  “It’s Jessica,” said Rob, his head and gun around the corner of the doorway.

  Jessica appeared, out of breath and sweating. “We’ve got company,” she said.

  “Who?” said Rob.

  “How many?” said Jim.

  “Just one.”

  “One?”

  “He says he knows you,” said Jessica, looking right at Aly. />
  “Me?” said Aly, confused.

  “He says he’s your uncle.”

  Aly let out a long sigh. She didn’t know what to think. On one hand, she was glad her uncle wasn’t dead. On the other, he’d done nothing but cause problems for the family his entire life. And that was before the EMP. What kind of trouble would he cause now?

  “Should I let him in?” said Jessica.

  Jim nodded, but Aly noticed that he didn’t put his revolver away.

  Jessica disappeared and returned a few moments later, followed by a man that Aly almost didn’t recognize.

  Jessica stepped to the side and Aly got a full view of her uncle.

  He didn’t speak.

  He just looked at her.

  And she looked at him, speechless.

  It looked like he was back from the dead.

  His hair and beard were incredibly long and filthy. His clothes were nothing more than rags. He was emaciated, almost nothing but skin and bones.

  His face was filthy, and she could smell the stench of alcohol on him from across the room.

  “Where the hell is everything?” he suddenly barked, his voice sounding like he hadn’t used it in months. “My vodka? What the hell have you done to my house? And who’s this guy?”

  His return was going to be difficult to deal with, to say the least.

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  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