Staying Alive: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (The EMP Book 2)

by Ryan Westfield

  “We can’t leave Mom and Max.”

  “It’s going to be OK, Sadie. Everything’s going to be fine,” said James.

  The minivan had just rounded the corner. The Bronco wasn’t in sight.

  “Now!” shouted Max.

  Georgia slammed on the brakes. The van jolted to an unpleasantly harsh stop.

  “Go!” shouted Max.

  James got the door open and was moving everyone out. He had to tug Sadie to get her out.

  “Take care of them,” said Max, speaking to no one in particular. They were all responsible for each other.

  They all had their rifles in their hands. They had some food with them. Just a little bit. It’d have to be enough. They had water. They’d make it. Max knew it.

  Georgia already had her foot on the gas. They were moving. Fast. Max slammed the sliding door closed.

  It was just Georgia and Max now. It was all up to them.

  James, Sadie, and Chad had already disappeared into the trees, out of view. Mandy was partially visible. Max looked at her through the rear window of the minivan. He couldn’t tell, but it seemed as if she was looking at him. Then she disappeared.

  Good, thought Max. They were out of sight.

  They were barreling down a straightaway. Behind them, the Ford Bronco appeared.

  “They’re back,” said Max. “Everyone got away safely.”

  “So what’s the plan?” said Georgia, from the driver’s seat.

  “We’re going to have to wing it.”

  “You know you don’t have to do this, right, Max?”

  “I know,” said Max.

  He was watching the Bronco through his binoculars. The plan seemed to have worked. They hadn’t spotted the minivan stopping.

  “We’d better lead them a little farther down,” said Max. “Give Mandy and everyone a chance to get a move on it.”

  He noticed that he’d said Mandy’s name and no one else’s. But there wasn’t time to wonder about what that meant.

  Georgia drove fast along the tree-lined rural road.

  Max was busy getting himself ready. He checked to make sure he had his knife and his flashlight. He tightened the laces on his boots. He checked his Glock and his rifle.

  “You have any family, Max?” said Georgia.

  It seemed like a strange question, considering the situation. But she must have been thinking about James and Sadie, and what would happen to them if something happened to her.

  “A brother,” said Max. “Estranged, though, I guess you could say.”

  Georgia didn’t say anything.

  An idea suddenly came to Max. His mind was racing with possibilities, but only one seemed like it would work well.

  He was going to have to get underhanded. He was going to have to fight dirty if he wanted to survive. That was OK. This wasn’t the time for honor or principles. This was the time for staying alive, at whatever cost.

  “These guys are in it for the fun,” said Max. “I’m going to give them what they want. Pull the van over.”

  “Pull over? Are you sure?”

  “Yeah,” said Max. “I’m going to challenge them to a fight. Man to man. Hand to hand.”

  “Why would they do that? They could just shoot us. It’d be easier.”

  “I’ll tell them that if they win and kill me, you’ll tell them where the girls are. Plus, they’re going to like this. If I read them right, they’re in it for the chase, for the adventures. They’re sickos. This’ll be right up their alley. Killing a man in hand to hand combat isn’t something most relish. It’s despicable. But these guys, I can see it in his eyes, this is what he’s been waiting for. He won’t pass up a chance like this.”

  Georgia slowed the van down, eventually stopping.

  In the pack taken from the farmhouse attackers, Max took a Ka-Bar combat knife and its sheath. It was a thin sheath, and Max was able to stuff it into the laces of his boot. He made sure his pant leg covered the boot, making the knife invisible.

  “We’re going to play dirty,” said Max. “I want you to be ready with your rifle. Don’t hesitate to shoot if the moment’s right.”

  “I can’t get them both,” said Georgia. “I’ll be able to take one out, and the other one will kill you.”

  “Wait until the moment’s right then,” said Max. “And don’t let them see the rifle.”

  Max slid open the minivan door.

  “Max,” said Georgia.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  Max gave her a stiff nod and stepped out onto the road.

  The wind had picked up, ruffling his hair and his shirt. His hair had grown longer than he normally let it. There hadn’t been time since the EMP to worry about keeping up appearances. The stubble on his face was thick.

  Max had his Glock in its holster. He didn’t reach for it. He raised his hands in the air and began limping towards the Ford Bronco, which was slowing to a stop some hundred meters behind the minivan.

  The men sat in the Bronco for just a moment, before the passenger got out.

  He looked bigger, somehow, than he had before. Beefy and strong, like he’d spent his whole life eating and working out, trying to get as big as possible. He must have been eating pretty well since the EMP.

  Max, on the other hand, had lost weight since the EMP, as everyone in his group had. But he was still strong, a wiry sort of natural strength that came from somewhere inside him.

  Max kept his hands in the air, even though the other man had his shotgun with him as before.

  “What’s all this?” shouted the man.

  Max kept walking towards him, closing the distance. He saw the man looking towards the van.

  “Where are the others?”

  “They’re gone,” said Max.

  The man kept peering at the van.

  “There’s still one there. This is your plan or something?” The man spoke with a gruff voice, full of sickness and cruelty. “You thought you could let them escape and fight us yourself?”

  “Something like that,” said Max.

  “We can still have fun with that one in the van,” said the man. “She’ll do just fine, and then we’ll find the others. Don’t worry. We know these woods like the backs of our hands.”

  “I’ve got a proposition for you,” said Max.

  “Yeah?” said the man, spitting a glob of tobacco onto the ground.

  Max had never been a smoker or dipper, but he’d tried dip once in high school. He remembered the pleasant buzz, the rush of energy. It could be useful for a situation like this, but Max knew that he didn’t need it. The adrenaline was enough for him. He felt like he could handle anything.

  “Hand to hand combat,” said Max. “One on one. We fight like men. To the death. If you win, my partner there will tell you where the girls are.”

  The man studied Max in silence. He started laughing, that same laugh as before.

  The wind blew in gusts. Dead leaves from the year before danced across the two lanes of blacktop.

  “Sounds like fun,” said the man.

  Max almost breathed a sigh of relief. He’d accepted the deal. The plan had worked. So far.

  The hardest part was yet to come.

  “If you pull any tricks,” said the man. “My partner’s got a high powered rifle with a scope. You don’t want to mess with him.”

  Max knew that even if he won, the man’s partner wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. Max knew that these men had no honor. And that was why he wasn’t going to play by the rules either. He just hoped Georgia was faster than the other one.

  The man walked back to the Ford, keeping himself facing Max the whole time. He had a few words with his partner in the Bronco.

  “It’s a deal,” he shouted.

  He lay his shotgun on the hood of the Bronco.

  “Leave that Glock, though.”

  Max removed the Glock from its holster and set it down on the road.

  “You armed?” said Max.

 
; “Of course.”

  The man took a Glock of his own from a holster. And he took a revolver out too. He set both down.

  The other man in the Bronco stepped out. He held a high-powered rifle in his hands. He pointed it at the van.

  A shot rang out, intensely loud.

  Max hadn’t been hit. He looked back at the van. One of the tires had been shot out.

  Another shot. Another tire had been hit, completely deflated.

  The back of the minivan sunk towards the ground, both its rear tires punctured. Georgia wouldn’t get far in the van like that.

  The men both grinned and laughed.

  “That’s so your partner doesn’t try to escape when I finish you off.”

  Georgia would have no way to escape. Max would have to kill them. And Georgia would have to shoot the other. There wasn’t any other way out.

  He and Max approached each other.

  Max knew that it was a good bet that a guy who carried two large handguns had other sorts of weapons on him. But he didn’t ask. He had his own knife on him, and he wasn’t going to set those down. He was expecting trickery from the man, a knife pulled on him when he was least expecting it. Max knew he’d have to act first.

  The man spat on the ground again, while looking Max directly in the eyes.

  They were close now. Only ten feet from each other.

  The man’s face was full of small scars. A large scar ran down his neck. He’d been in fights before, bad ones.

  He was at least a full head taller than Max.

  No words were spoken.

  They stared into each other’s eyes. The man didn’t blink.

  Suddenly, he let out a yell, an animal-like growl, and charged Max. His head was low, his body lurching forward.

  Max stepped to the side, but not fast enough. His injured leg slowed him down.

  The man collided with Max, knocking him to the ground.

  Max’s lungs were deflated. He struggled to breathe.

  The man rolled on top of him. He was heavy, his weight pressing down on Max. He raised his arm and swung down, expertly shifting the weight of his torso to add more power to the punch. His fist was hard and it connected with the side of Max’s face.

  Max felt dizzy. The pain seared through him.

  Another punch, this one in his stomach. Though not as hard.

  Max finally got in one of his own, sending his fist smashing into the man’s face.

  The man got up and stood over Max, laughing.

  “Nice one,” he said. “I was worried for a second this was going to be too easy. I want to have some fun.”

  Good, thought Max. Let his opponent not take it too seriously. Let him think it’s a game. Let him have his fun. Until the moment is right and he dies.

  Max wanted as many chances as he could get. He didn’t care that the man was giving him a breather, just to toy with him more. It’d be better for Max in the end.

  “You fight OK,” said the man. “But you don’t stand a chance against me. Come on, get up.”

  Max struggled to his feet. His leg was killing him.

  They both put their hands up, and began slowly circling each other. Each was looking for the chance to get a punch in.

  The man came at Max with a right hook, fast and powerful.

  Max managed to dodge it, even with his leg, stepping to the side.

  He came back at his opponent with a left hook, even though he was right handed. It caught the man in the side, and he lost his breath for a moment before straightening back up.

  “Good one,” he said. “But you’ve got to hit me harder than that.”

  The continued circling each other, punching and dodging. The wind was blowing and time was passing.

  Max took another punch, this one to the face. Blood streamed out from his nose. It might have been broken. Not that it mattered.

  He’d gotten the man in the stomach with an uppercut, but the man was strong, and he didn’t seem winded at all.

  “I’m getting tired of this,” said the man, spitting. “You’re stronger than I thought. But not as fun.”

  Max said nothing. He kept his thoughts to himself.

  “You haven’t said a damn word,” said the man. “You’re too good or something? Is that it? Taking the high road? I’ll show you the high road.”

  The man reached into his pocket and drew forth a folding knife. It was an automatic, and a second later, with the push of a button, a vicious looking double-edged dagger blade shot forth from the handle.

  The man charged Max, holding the knife, ready to stab.

  Max dodged the blade, but he couldn’t dodge the man’s bulk.

  The man collided with Max and they both fell to the ground.

  Max was on his back, looking up into the man’s gruesome, scarred face. Max’s body was pinned down, under the man’s massive weight.

  Before the man could stab him, Max seized the man’s knife hand with both of his own. He twisted, pulling down, hard. But he still didn’t let go of the knife.

  Max let go with one hand and swung with a close fist at the knife. Part of his fist landed on the knife blade, cutting Max’s hand. But he’d hit the handle too, and the knife went flying, clattering on the pavement.

  Max bent his leg, bringing his boot closer to his hand. He was reaching for the knife in his boot. This was his chance.

  “Don’t think I don’t know about the knife in your boot,” snarled the man. His hand slammed down on Max’s hand, pinning his wrist against the pavement. “Oldest trick in the book.”

  Max’s other hand was free. And bleeding.

  He dug into his pocket, his fingers closing around his folding knife. His thumb found the hole. He opened the blade in his pocket.

  “I’ll just beat you to death,” spat the man. His eyes were glowing with rage. “This is for trying to stab me… a damn dirty trick…”

  His fist collided with Max’s face.

  Max saw stars. His vision went blurry.

  Max saw the fist rising again, ready to strike. One more blow and Max knew he’d be unconscious.

  Max drew the knife from his pocket with his left hand. He brought it up fast, drawing it across the man’s throat, slicing diagonally.

  A line of blood appeared on his throat.

  Everything seemed to pause. Blood started gushing, flowing freely from the long cut.

  A garbled, messy scream, muted.

  The man was gasping for breath. It sounded like he was underwater. Blood-filled coughs.

  Max felt the hot blood splatter onto his own face.

  Thirty seconds later, the man was dead. His heavy weight collapsed fully onto Max. Max pushed, but he couldn’t get out from underneath the corpse.

  Max could barely see.

  He could only think of one thing… Georgia.

  Two shots rang out. Like a syncopated rhythm. One after the other. Rapid and loud.

  Georgia had shot her rifle. The other man had shot his.

  Who had lived? Had either of them?

  34

  John

  It had been many days since John and Cynthia had left Valley Forge Park. They’d walked north during the dark nights and slept during the days. The journey was exhausting, and they were hungry and often incredibly thirsty. They had to ration the energy bars, since it was the only food they had. They’d gone through phases of being completely sickened by the flavor of the bars to enjoying them again, and then the cycle repeated itself. In the end, they didn’t have a choice. They were the only things available to eat.

  It had been tempting, when they’d reached dawn, to simply abandon the watch system, letting both of them sleep at the same time. In the end, though, keeping watch had saved their lives at least once. Cynthia had been awake when a group of men and women had come through the forest. John and Cynthia never learned who they were or what, if anything, they were looking for, because Cynthia had shaken John awake and they’d rushed off silently through the woods.

  John and Cyn
thia had stayed away from the road as much as they could. They walked in a single file line, Cynthia staying about fifteen feet behind John. They didn’t get a chance to talk much that way, which was OK, since there wasn’t much to talk about. At the end of a long night of walking, they were both too tired to chitchat. And it didn’t feel appropriate, anyway, with society crumbling all around them. They’d settled into a comfortable, strange little routine.

  John was left with his own thoughts most of the time. But he found that he didn’t have many of them. After everything he’d been through, and with the exhaustion, his mind seemed to want to rest. His dreams, though, were filled with chaos and violence. The images haunted him for the first few hours of waking. Then, he was able to shake them off and let his mind be free of everything, nothing but a blank slate. In many ways, the terrain seemed to calm him on its own. He remembered hearing that people actually became more relaxed when out in nature, compared to living in cities. Maybe something like that was happening to him. He didn’t know, and he didn’t think much about it.

  John had lost track of how many days they’d been walking for. Maybe close to a month. He didn’t know. He hoped that they were close to the farmhouse by now. He hoped that they were headed in the right direction. They were going completely off the North Star. But just going north obviously wasn’t going to be good enough. They could have easily passed by the farmhouse by a few miles and they never would have known.

  It was getting close to morning. The light was starting to come up. Earlier in their journey, they’d been careful to never walk when there was any light. But now that they hadn’t run into a single soul in many, many miles, they had gotten a little more relaxed. John was also interested in making good time, and the more minutes they spent walking each day, the closer he figured they’d be to the farmhouse.

  There was something up ahead. Something metallic between the trees. John couldn’t make out what it was, but he saw the early morning light flashing off of whatever it was.

  He stopped in his tracks, and waited for Cynthia to catch up to him.

  “Do you see that?” he said. He wasn’t going to rule out the possibility that he was suffering hallucinations from exhaustion and hunger.

  “Yeah,” said Cynthia. “I see it.”