Defending Camp_A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller

by Ryan Westfield

  Sarge took his handgun and put the barrel into Art’s mouth.

  This was it.

  Finally.

  “I know you want me to kill you,” growled Sarge. “But you’re not going to be so lucky today. I know you’re a traitor, and you’re a no-good son of a bitch, but you’ve got one more job on this planet before you bite the dust.”

  Sarge’s lips were twisted up in a nasty grin. He took the gun from Art’s mouth and re-holstered it.

  “I’m going to untie you,” said Sarge. “And I know you’ll be smart enough not to try anything.”

  Sarge dug into a pocket and took out a large folding knife. He flicked it open with one hand. The blade glinted momentarily in the dim light of the candle.

  Sarge got behind Art and cut the cords with deft single slices.

  Art didn’t have the strength to even hold himself in the sitting position on the chair. Without the cords, he slumped forward onto the ground, unable to even stop himself from falling. His limbs felt like they were filled with lead.

  Art lay there on the floor, gazing at Sarge’s boot, unable to lift himself up.

  22

  MANDY

  “Drive!” shouted Max.

  “Where?”

  The bus in front of them blocked the road.

  “Around the bus!” shouted Max.

  His head was turned as he watched the black SUVs behind them.

  “What are they doing?” Mandy’s voice was full of anxiety. Her body felt shaky. Her right hand fumbled as she tried to get the gear shift into first.

  “Don’t worry about them. Just drive!”

  She finally got it into first. Her coordination seemed to be gone. She was panicking too much. Her hands and feet felt like ice ran through them.

  Mandy let the clutch out jerkily and jammed down on the accelerator. The pickup lurched forward. The engine revved, the tachometer shooting up into the red.

  “Shift!” shouted Max.

  She got the clutch in, got it into first. She let the clutch out suddenly, unable to control it. Too much was happening.

  Gunshots rang out behind them.

  “Just drive!” shouted Max. “Don’t turn around.”

  Mandy was driving the pickup right towards the public bus, which was zooming up towards them.

  “Around it! To the right!”

  It didn’t look like they could make it over the ground around the bus. It was all mud, pitted with deep trenches that had been formed by the spinning tires of stuck trucks and cars.

  And there wasn’t much space. A large boulder sat not far from the front end of the bus. Hopefully it would be enough space there for the pickup to squeeze through.

  Mandy jerked the wheel to the right, sending the pickup over the rough ground.

  The engine whined and the truck bounced viciously through the mud.

  The side of the truck scraped violently against the front of the bus. Mandy had misadjusted slightly, by mere inches.

  Max urged her on.

  The gas pedal was on the floor, and Mandy shifted again. They were out from the narrow pass between the bus and the boulder.

  She jerked the wheel.

  They were back on the road.

  Nothing ahead of them. The road was clear as far as she could see.

  “Are they following us? Did they get through?”

  Mandy was starting to calm down slightly.

  “Yes,” was all Max said.

  “What do I do?”

  “Drive,” said Max. “Fast.”

  Mandy was already in fifth, foot to the floor. She gripped the steering wheel as tightly as she could, her neck craned forward to see the road. At any moment, some type of obstruction could appear. There were things scattered all along the side of the road. What if there was something else big, something that she wouldn’t be able to avoid without sending the truck into a spin?

  “What are we going to do?” said Mandy. “We can’t outrun them forever.”

  “We’ll manage,” said Max.

  “How can you seem so calm?”

  “I’m not calm,” said Max.

  “Well you sure sound calm,” snapped Mandy. “What do they even want?”

  “No idea,” said Max, peering out the back.

  “Sometimes the world just doesn’t make any sense,” said Mandy.

  Max said nothing. Hopefully he was thinking of a plan.

  Mandy checked the rearview mirror continuously, but she was careful not to keep her eyes off the road for very long. She didn’t want to miss anything.

  The two black SUVs drove behind them at a distance of about fifty feet. They drove side by side, taking up both lanes. Mandy couldn’t see the drivers or the passengers. The windshields were slightly tinted, showing nothing but darkness and the glint of the sun.

  What kind of group, after an EMP, was organized enough to have two matching SUVs, both with tinted windows?

  It didn’t make sense. Especially considering that the rest of the world was a wasteland, full of abandoned cars and trash blowing in the wind.

  “Who do you think they are?” said Mandy, glancing over at Max. “Someone like the militia back near Philly?”

  He was holding his rifle. There was a look of intensity on his face, and in his eyes, that didn’t match how calm his voice sounded.

  “Maybe,” said Max. “But it doesn’t matter much.”

  They must have been driving about ninety miles per hour, but Mandy couldn’t tell because the speedometer was broken.

  The pickup truck was old, and it was going as fast as Mandy could push it.

  The sun was high in the sky and bright. There were a few clouds here and there, but not many. Mostly just little wisps of white against an immense backdrop of blue.

  The truck wasn’t insulated well against sound. The sound of the tires on the road had become a roar. The shocks were old. They felt every little bump, which sent the pickup ratting all over.

  “They could catch up if they wanted to,” said Mandy. “This rusty bucket of bolts isn’t going to outrun them.”

  “They’re staying back,” said Max. “But they’re still following us.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” said Mandy.

  “How long does this road go for?”

  “What?”

  “Does it end? Does it go for miles?”

  “I don’t know,” said Mandy, her voice getting frantic. “I can’t even remember what road we’re on. Check the maps.”

  Mandy was normally so good with maps, but she was panicked, and it seemed that she couldn’t call the memories back like she usually could.

  She could hear Max unfolding the map, the sound of the crinkling paper somehow coming through despite the roar of the pickup.

  The road was curving around the right. A wide, long curve.

  The road took them right into the path of the sun. There weren’t any clouds in front of it.

  Mandy squinted against the light, reaching up and flipping the sun visor down.

  “Watch out!”

  Mandy saw it too late. It was something big, right in the middle of the road that she was barreling down. It was about the size of a large television, one of those older boxy ones. If they hit it, that’d be it. It’d ruin the truck.

  Mandy pulled hard on the wheel.

  Too hard.

  The pickup went careening off to the right. They were headed right off the road, where there now was a slight dip before it met the ground.

  She tried to correct it. But it was too late.

  She saw the front of the pickup dipping down as it went off the road.

  That was the last thing she clearly remembered.

  After that, it became a blur. Her head flopped like a doll’s, her neck swinging.

  Somehow, the pickup flipped over. Mandy’s world spun wildly as the pickup tipped.

  The side of the truck slammed into the ground.

  The terrible loudness of the event suddenly faded into nothing but si
lence. There was some sound off somewhere, but it seemed too distant too matter.

  Mandy was still alive. That was the first thing she noticed.

  The next thing was that she was facing the wrong way. The truck was on its side, and so was she. The world was all cock-eyed.

  She was above Max, hanging in place by her seatbelt.

  Max was in his seat, below her, close to the ground.

  He wasn’t moving.

  “Max!”

  There was a long pause.

  Then Max moved, lifting his head. There was blood on it, in his hair.

  “You OK?” said Mandy.

  “Yeah,” said Max. “They’re coming. We’ve got to get out of here. Undo your seatbelt.”

  “But I’ll fall,” said Mandy.

  “Does your door work?”

  Somehow, Mandy’s left arm had been injured. She felt the pain now as she moved it. But she got a grip on the door handle and pulled it.

  Nothing.

  She pushed it, despite the pain in her arm, pushing and pulling at the same time.

  Still nothing.

  “It’s stuck,” she said, her voice full of anxiety. She felt frantic. Her heart was pounding.

  “It’s OK,” said Max, his voice calm. “Roll down the window. Quick.”

  Mandy rolled it down as quickly as she could.

  “Try your seatbelt.”

  “I’ll fall onto you.”

  “It’s OK,” said Max. “Do it.”

  Mandy found the seatbelt button and pressed down hard.

  Nothing.

  “It’s stuck.”

  Mandy felt the tears forming in her eyes. She didn’t want them to be there. She didn’t want to cry. She wanted to stand tall and go out fighting. But she couldn’t help how she was reacting.

  “We don’t have much time,” said Max. She could tell he was keeping his voice calm just for her. “Can you reach your knife? You’re going to need to cut yourself free. You’re going to fall on me. But you can climb up through the window. We need to hurry.”

  Mandy glanced back through the tilted rear window. The black SUVs were there, but so far the doors were closed and no one seemed to have gotten out.

  “I’m going to cut my belt first,” said Max. “That way there’s no risk of you falling on the blade.”

  Mandy had her hand on the handle of her Mora knife. She removed it from its sheath and held it tightly, waiting.

  “OK,” said Max. “Got it. My knife’s away. Cut it.”

  Mandy sliced through the belt. It was more difficult than she’d thought it’d be. A serrated knife probably would have worked better.

  She tried to hold onto the steering wheel, but she fell, right onto Max.

  “OK,” said Max, his eyes on the black SUVs. “I don’t know how much time we have. This part is tricky. I’d get out before you, but we’re not going to be able to manage that. You’ve got to go first. I’m going to cover you.”

  “How?”

  “I’m going to break the window and start shooting.”

  Mandy started climbing. She used the dashboard, the stick, and the steering wheel to hold on to, eventually grabbing hold of the open window.

  As she climbed, Max hammered away at the back window with something. Mandy heard a couple cracks as the glass started to break.

  “You got it?” said Mandy, holding herself up there, but not yet going through the window.

  “Almost,” said Max.

  “Why aren’t they getting out yet?” said Mandy.

  “No idea.”

  There wasn’t time to worry about that. The more mistakes the enemy made, whoever they were, the better it was for Mandy and Max. Their chances of survival had already increased drastically because of that error. But they still weren’t high.

  It was strange, almost insane, that Mandy was thinking of her odds of survival. Almost on a daily basis, too.

  Another noise, and Max said, “I’ve got it. I’ll open fire on the count of three.”

  Max counted it off. “Three…two…one…”

  Max opened fire.

  “Go!” he shouted. “Get out there and get to cover!”

  Mandy’s heart was pounding, her vision a tunnel. She climbed up through the pickup window, handgun in hand, rifle on her back. She didn’t know what was coming. She might take a bullet in the next seconds. This might be her last moment alive.

  But she had to go.

  There was no other option.

  23

  DAN

  Dan had lost his grandfather, his home, his job, his old co-worker. And now he’d lost his knife and his pack. He had nothing and he felt that he was no one.

  Before the EMP, if he’d been out in public and lost, he would have stopped an adult, probably a policeman, and explained the situation. He would have given his name and address, and the telephone number of his grandparents.

  But now, there was no one to turn to.

  Dan didn’t know who the men were who had cuffed him and shot Joey. But he knew for certain that they weren’t good guys.

  But why hadn’t they just shot Dan?

  What were they going to do with him?

  He was still cuffed, his hands tightly bound with some kind of plastic cord. Probably zip ties.

  He was riding in the back of a pickup truck with an open bed. He was seated cross-legged on the dirty metal bed. He hadn’t noticed the pickup on Dwight Street, but it must have been there all along.

  A soldier rode in the bed with Dan.

  There was one other prisoner here, a woman in her early thirties with long, dirty hair. She wore tight jeans that were torn.

  Her hands and ankles were bound together with rope. Why hadn’t they used the same zip ties they’d used on Dan? Maybe someone else had captured her.

  Dan was trying not to panic. He wasn’t dead like Joey. That was a good thing. If he could make some sense out of the situation, maybe he could figure out a way to escape.

  His will to survive hadn’t been crushed. He knew he could still make it.

  All he had to do was get out of the pickup.

  They were driving about forty miles per hour. They’d long-since turned off Dwight Street, following the military-type truck that rumbled along.

  They’d left the area that Dan knew well, and he no longer recognized the streets. But he could tell that they were leaving the spread-out part of the fairly well-to-do suburbs that Dan had grown up in. And they were entering a more urban area, where the buildings were closer together and hadn’t been kept up quiet as well as the suburban homes Dan was used to.

  The area was mainly residential, with a mix of small convenience stores spread throughout.

  Dan was still in pain. But he was doing his best to ignore it. He kept his breathing even in an attempt to keep his head clear enough from the pain that he’d be able to find and opportunity to escape.

  They’d stopped once on Dwight Street, and the soldiers had sprayed bullets into a couple shops where they’d spotted someone.

  The guard in the bed of the pickup had jumped down to join the other soldiers.

  Dan had been in pain so much that he hadn’t been able to try to use the opportunity to his advantage.

  He wasn’t going to let that happen again.

  “Where are you taking me?” said Dan. He’d tried once before. He figured he’d give it another try.

  The guard didn’t answer. He didn’t even turn to look at Dan.

  But Dan knew that he was in the guard’s peripheral vision.

  One false move, and Dan had no doubts that he’d be pumped full of bullets.

  The truck was an old one, and the ride was bumpy. The guard didn’t seem to be paying much attention to them at all, instead choosing to gaze off into the sky with a somewhat blank expression on his face.

  Along the way, as they got further from the area that Dan knew well, he noticed that the woman prisoner was sneaking glances at him.

  At first, Dan didn’t think anything
of it. Each time that he’d catch her eye, she’d look away.

  But then he noticed that she seemed to be trying to tell him something with her eyes, all while not letting the guard catch onto what she was doing.

  Before she’d look at him, she’d look pointedly down at a particular spot of the truck bed.

  Dan looked down, where she’d been looking, and saw that there was a piece of the truck bed, that for whatever reason, was rough and unfinished. It was right near Dan, behind him, and the metal looked sharp enough to possibly cut through his zip ties.

  He didn’t look back at the woman. He didn’t want to give the plan away by alerting the guard that something was up.

  All Dan needed to do was get his hands to that spot and try to rub them against the sharp metal long enough, hoping that he could break through them.

  But how could he do that without the guard noticing?

  Maybe if they stopped again, he’d have a chance.

  And then what?

  Even if he could get free, he couldn’t leave the woman there. It wasn’t right. Especially if she was handing him the key to his escape.

  It’d be risky.

  Very risky.

  But he had to try it.

  He’d been convinced that they’d shoot him if he tried to escape. But maybe that wasn’t right. After all, he’d stabbed one of their men, and they still hadn’t murdered him. Maybe they wanted him alive for some strange reason.

  Or maybe he was just trying to convince himself that it was a good idea to try to escape.

  Well, he might die. But it’d surely be better than wherever they were taking him.

  He had to try.

  Ten minutes later, Dan had his chance.

  The military truck ahead rumbled to stop, sitting idle with the engine still on. The pickup that Dan rode in slowed to a stop, too. A soldier got down from the truck and came around back to the pickup bed.

  The soldier had two cans of beer with him. He handed one to Dan’s guard, and cracked open his own.

  “Thanks,” said Dan’s guard, cracking his own open and taking a long, deep drink.

  “Any trouble from them?” said the soldier.

  “Nope.”

  “Good.”

  “So we’re going to get our reward right away, or is it the same garbage as last time, where we have to wait a week and then we get half of it?”