Pushing On

by Ryan Westfield

“Look at him. He’s clean and well fed.”

  Cynthia nodded, and stood up, ready to take action if needed.

  “Kiki!” came someone’s voice. A deep male voice.

  The man emerged from behind the trees. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a sizeable beard, trimmed. His hair was thick and streaked with gray, short, but wild-looking even so.

  “Don’t move!” shouted Cynthia, pointing her gun right at the man’s chest.

  John did the same, and he kept his eyes on the surrounding area, in case someone else appeared.

  “Whoa, whoa!” said the man. “I’m just looking for my dog. Not looking for any trouble.”

  His voice was deep and pleasant, and it sounded trustworthy. Not that that was anything to go by.

  “Who are you?” shouted Cynthia.

  John and Cynthia had their guns trained on the guy, but he didn’t look scared. The jovial expression didn’t leave his face.

  “Dale Baughner. I know, hard to pronounce. Most just call me The Bastard.”

  “The Bastard? What kind of a name is that?”

  “Just a joke between me and my friends. Of course, I don’t see them much these days.” With that, he gave a deep laugh that came up from his stomach. “Don’t worry, though. It wouldn’t be a very good nickname if I really was a bastard. It’s funny because I’m anything but.”

  “Are you armed?”

  “Armed? Of course I’m armed. Don’t you know what’s happened?”

  “What do you have?”

  “Two pistols on me. And the rifle on my back, if you hadn’t noticed.”

  John had been so overwhelmed that he hadn’t noticed the rifle. He felt like an idiot. He saw it now, a well-worn strap over Dale’s shoulder.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, I was walking Kiki here. Surveying the land, you know. And Kiki must have smelled the rabbit you were roasting there. Normally she’s very well behaved, but hell, I guess when there’s rabbit involved, there’s no telling her what to do. It’s her instincts, you understand?”

  Dale had an interesting, colloquial kind of way of talking. It made John feel like he already had known him for a while. He simply seemed to be the type of person who was always comfortable, no matter who he was talking to. He seemed sure of himself, more than most.

  There wasn’t a trace of fear in his voice. But John know that Dale wasn’t the type to be oblivious to his surroundings. Beneath all that hair, partially hiding near the big beard, Dale’s eyes were sharp. And they moved around, studying the little campsite that he and Cynthia had constructed.

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” said Dale, in his great scratching, booming voice. “What the hell happened to your shoulder there?”

  “Little misunderstanding,” said John. “It couldn’t be helped.”

  “And what are you doing out in these parts?”

  “Long story,” said John.

  “Very long,” said Cynthia.

  “Well,” said Dale. “Tell you what. Why don’t you two follow me and Kiki back to my cabin? It’s nothing fancy, but I’ll feed you some proper food. Believe it or not, there’s better stuff out there than wild rabbit.” He laughed, as if this was the funniest thing anyone had ever said. “Kind of tough unless you cook it the right way. Real gamey. Now I like it fine, but it’s not normal for you city folks.”

  “How can you tell I’m from the city?”

  “It’s written all over you. I can read people just like you read the phonebook. Easy for me, always was. I can tell you’re good people.”

  “How?”

  “Well, for one thing, if you weren’t, you’d have shot me by now. But here I am. Come on, put the guns down and let’s get moving. You look like you could use a good place to rest for a couple days. Nothing permanent, understand? But I’d enjoy the company, to tell you the truth.”

  John glanced over at Cynthia. She raised one of her eyebrows, as if asking a question.

  John gave her a little nod, and she gave him a smile. He could see in her eyes that she wasn’t concerned that Dale would harm them. With some people, you just knew. There wasn’t anything of the slick self-promotion that Drew exuded. People who wanted to trick others always gave themselves away, in some way, shape, or form. No matter how good they were, they’d always slip up, even in the tiniest way.

  John re-holstered his gun, and Cynthia did the same.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” said Dale, walking over and extending a hand to Cynthia and John each.

  John and Cynthia introduced themselves, and Dale in turn introduced them to Kiki, his German Shepherd, who licked their hands and sat obediently.

  “Maybe your new friends will give you some of the rabbit bones. What do you think, Kiki? They seem like nice people, right?”

  “Sure,” muttered John, taking one final bite off his rabbit leg and tossing the bone to Kiki. Kiki caught it mid-air.

  “That a girl, Kiki,” said Dale, laughing uproariously.

  “We really appreciate the offer,” said Cynthia. “About staying at your place. How far away is it, though? John here lost a lot of blood. He was lucky to live. I don’t know if he’ll be able to make it.”

  “About five miles away. But he’ll make it, trust me. You’re a strong one, aren’t you? For a city guy, that is.”

  John didn’t know what to say. He and Cynthia started gathering up their gear and getting ready to head off.

  “I’d better take that pack of yours, though,” said Dale. “You’ve still got your sea legs, so to speak.”

  “Uh, thanks,” said John. He didn’t relish the idea of another man, a stranger nonetheless, having to carry his pack for him, but he was pragmatic enough to realize that he needed the help.

  “Come on,” said Dale. “Let’s get a move on it.”

  It was strange how much John and Cynthia already trusted Dale. But it would have been hard not to.

  “You sure about this?” whispered Cynthia, as they started off, Dale and Kiki plenty of paces ahead of them. “Can we really trust him?”

  “Yeah,” said John. “I’m good at reading people, too, just like him. There’s just something about him.”

  “I get the same feeling,” said Cynthia. “But what if we’re wrong?”

  “Don’t worry, we’re not. The only problem with him is that he talks really loud.”

  “What was that?” said Dale, loudly, turning his head around.

  “Nothing,” said John.

  “There’s one thing you should know about, though,” called out Cynthia.

  “What’s that? You’d better come up here where I can hear you better. Come on, don’t be shy.”

  Cynthia gave John a look that he didn’t know how to interpret before speeding up and joining Dale.

  “There are two men out there. Criminals, really nasty guys. They killed our two friends and stole their gear. They’re armed now. Handguns. And plenty of ammunition. We don’t know if they’re still around here or not.”

  “Don’t worry, little lady,” said Dale. “I’ll keep my eyes out, and Kiki never misses a beat. She can smell trouble a mile away.”

  John had his doubts about whether Kiki the German Shepherd would really be that much of a help, but on the other hand, three against two was better than two against two. And Dale had an air about him like that of the old solitary mountain men—in some way, at least. John had the feeling that Dale knew his away around a gun pretty well.

  John was already feeling weak again. He could probably make the five miles, but it would be tough on him.

  He was short of breath, and he stopped for a moment, taking in deep breaths of the fresh air. He glanced up at the sun, which was high in the sky.

  Fall had come, and John and Cynthia hadn’t even noticed. They weren’t yet into those seriously cold months, but they would be coming soon.

  What would happen if they went west? Where would they go? Would they be able to hack it if they went north, into colder climates? Wh
at about nudging the course a little to the south, to avoid the freezing temperatures of the other states? Wouldn’t more people be headed in the same direction? More people meant more problems. There’d be others like John and Cynthia, looking for the same thing, looking for shelter from the storm, a place to ride out the waves of a crumbling civilization.

  Dale’s cabin sounded like an enticing respite from the violence and pain they’d endured. But it wasn’t the end. If John and Cynthia managed to live, they’d look back at this and realize that Dale’s cabin was only the beginning of a long journey. But from where John stood now, it seemed like the end. It made him feel weak, down to his bones, to think about continuing on and on, without break, relentlessly fighting the tides of humanity that washed over them.

  “You feeling alright?” called Cynthia, turning around. She and Dale had gotten pretty far ahead of him.

  “Come on, buddy,” called out Dale. “We want to get there before next week. You’re not that bad off, come on.”

  John felt with the palm of his hand the reassuring weight of his handgun, and started off again.

  28

  Max

  It had taken Max a long time to hotwire the Bronco. For some reason, Mandy had needed the keys to the Honda that he’d been driving. Maybe she’d gone to get something out of it. Max couldn’t remember. Georgia had the keys to the Bronco.

  The Bronco and the Honda were parked close to the compound. The concrete walls were close, and there’d been murmurs of sounds coming out of the compound.

  He’d known the Bronco would be easier to hotwire. It was far older than the Honda, and hopefully less sophisticated.

  Max had broken the window of the Bronco with a small rock. He’d held his breath, hoping that the noise wouldn’t be enough to alert anyone to his presence. No one had come running out of the compound. Max would have been ready if they had. He wouldn’t have hesitated to use deadly force again. Not with what was at stake.

  Like most people, Max had never hotwired anything in his life. He understood the basic theory. The way he saw it, he’d open the area beneath the steering wheel, and connect wires until something happened.

  It had worked, but it had taken Max a long time.

  He’d heard the first gunshot, and he’d known that his friends needed help. Desperately. But there wasn’t anything he could do but keep his head down and keep connecting wires together until something happened.

  He’d heard the second gunshot, and then another.

  He hoped that it wasn’t already too late.

  Max was sweating as he finally got the Bronco to start. The engine roared to life, chugging along obediently.

  More gunshots. Loud in the cold, dark night.

  Max didn’t hesitate. He jammed the Bronco into first and drove in a small circle, giving himself some space to get up to speed.

  He hit second gear.

  Now third.

  He was going about 40MPH. He didn’t look at the dashboard, though. His eyes were fixed on the wooden door. On the other side, there’d be the guardhouse. Men with guns, ready to shoot him.

  Max didn’t know what awaited him on the other side of that wood.

  But he knew he had to drive through it.

  He might get shot instantly. His act might not accomplish anything.

  He would have preferred a subtler method for getting his friends out. But the gunshots he’d heard told him there wasn’t much time left. If there was any time left at all.

  He had to take the chance.

  The Bronco hit the wood with a jolt, crashing right through it.

  Some of the wood splintered. Mostly the whole door got flattened by the Bronco.

  Max didn’t have time to analyze exactly what had happened. He kept his foot on the accelerator, pressing down as hard as he could.

  The door had slowed him down, but he drove into the compound fast.

  Gunshots, loud, unmistakable even over the deep roar of the Bronco’s engine.

  Max’s eyes darted around the compound, looking for the source of the gunshots, looking for his friends.

  He saw them. Some of them at least. Maybe the rest were out of view. They were huddled inside the little guard station.

  Max slammed on the brakes. The Bronco came to such an abrupt halt that Max slammed into the steering wheel, awakening old injuries and bruises. Pain flared through his body. After all, he’d never had the chance to heal properly.

  Mandy’s head appeared above some wood of the guard structure, a handgun held straight, releasing rounds.

  It seemed like bullets were coming from all directions. But they were sporadic. Hard to tell where they were coming from. The enemies were far away. For now. As far as they could be in a confined compound.

  Bullets hit the Bronco. One hit the window, going right through it, lodging itself somewhere in the Bronco’s faded upholstery. A spiderweb of shattered glass stayed miraculously in place on the windshield.

  Then Max saw it.

  Georgia. Down a corridor between two concrete buildings. Halfway hidden in the dark.

  She was running. But not very well. She was hurt. And hurt bad.

  Men were behind her, shooting.

  Another bullet went through the Bronco’s windshield.

  Max ignored it.

  Max threw open the door of the Bronco and jumped out. His leg flared with pain as he hit the ground.

  He’d stopped the Bronco close enough to the guard structure that the door provided some cover for Mandy and the others.

  “Is everyone here?”

  “Everyone except Georgia,” shouted Mandy.

  “Get in! And get down! Return fire when it’s safe.”

  Max was in the guard structure. He grabbed Sadie from the ground and carried her into the Bronco. She was sobbing.

  He practically threw her in.

  “Keep her on the floor in the back!” he shouted at Mandy.

  Mandy nodded.

  “James!”

  James was next, moving on his own into the Bronco.

  The enemies were staying back, out of sight, hidden in the dark shadows of the cold concrete buildings. They were clever. The worst kind of enemy.

  Max was crouched behind the open door. He surveyed the group in the car. Mandy, Sadie, and James were all there.

  “Where’s Chad?”

  “Dead.”

  Max felt like he’d received a blow in the stomach. But he said nothing.

  “Get my mom!” sobbed Sadie, completely uncontrolled wailing issuing forth from her shaking body.

  Georgia was close. Not close enough, though.

  Max needed a plan. But he didn’t have time to come up with one.

  Max threw himself into the Bronco’s driver seat.

  Max gunned the engine, threw it into first, foot depressing the gas pedal, releasing the clutch with a jerk, and the Bronco rocketed forward towards Georgia.

  Georgia was in the shadows. She’d gotten behind a piece of the concrete structure that jutted out, shielding her momentarily from the gunshots of the people behind her in the corridor. She was returning fire, keeping them at bay.

  Max drove the Bronco fast towards the entrance to the corridor. Georgia was maybe ten feet down inside it.

  Georgia couldn’t make the rest of the way herself. Not without some cover fire. If she stopped returning fire herself, they’d have a clear shot at her as she ran the rest of the way.

  Max slammed on the brakes, the Bronco skidding to a stop, kicking up the dry dirt from the compound ground.

  Max had his Glock out the window, returning fire. His finger felt good on the trigger, squeezing. He felt a thrill rush through him. He felt alive, energized. All his pain lay in the background, dormant, forgotten. Adrenaline was his king, his motivator.

  “If we return fire, she’ll be able to make it.”

  Mandy took the cue. She used their one other gun to fire out the window, towards the men at the other end of the corridor. So did James.

&nbs
p; Georgia turned briefly in the darkness.

  “She sees us. She’ll make a run for it.”

  “Come on, Mom,” muttered James, from the back.

  Max saw some movement off to his side. Almost too late. But not quite.

  It was a guy aiming a rifle at them. He’d snuck up from somewhere.

  Max’s arm moved fast. He released a string of bullets. One of them hit the guy. He went down.

  More would come. They were all over the place. Not just down the corridor. They didn’t have much time. They needed to get out of there.

  Max turned back to Georgia.

  Her face was in the darkness. He couldn’t see her expression.

  But he saw her keel over, falling hard to the ground. The gun dropped from her hand.

  Sadie screamed.

  James made a noise of pain.

  Max didn’t think about it. He just acted.

  Georgia wasn’t getting out of there herself.

  “I’m going in. Cover me, or we’ll never get out of there.”

  “Max! You can’t go.” Frantic worry dripped over Mandy’s words.

  “There’s no time.”

  Max opened his door.

  “I’ll go down the left side. Shoot to the right.”

  Max would have to rely on the accuracy of Mandy and James. A single stray bullet and he’d take one in the back.

  Max sprinted towards Georgia. He ran in a lopsided way. His leg had never properly healed. Pain, and more pain. The adrenaline couldn’t keep it off. But he ran. He held the Glock in front of him, squeezing the trigger indiscriminately until he was out of ammo.

  He didn’t pay attention to the gunfire around him. Mandy and James would do everything they could. No point in worrying about it. He’d either get shot or he wouldn’t.

  He was ready for anything.

  “Georgia!”

  She was out, her limbs akimbo on the ground.

  Max shook her, trying to keep against the wall as best he could, a slim profile for the shooters.

  Georgia didn’t respond. Max felt for a pulse. It was there. Weak, but it was still there. She was still alive. But she wasn’t getting out of there on her own legs.

  Max grabbed her and strained as he picked her up. His leg was on fire.