Surviving Chaos

by Ryan Westfield

  James tried to push Max out of his mind. It was possible that he’d never see Max again. And James felt that he would have to step up and fill his place.

  James hiked through the woods for another hour or so before arriving back at camp. Darkness was just setting in, and Mandy had gotten the fire roaring. There was plenty of wood to burn, and since there seemed to be no one around for miles and miles, they didn’t have to worry much about someone spotting them. Of course, the possibility, though, was always on their minds.

  “James!” called out Mandy, looking up to see James as he trudged into camp. He was tired from the journey, and his stomach had never felt emptier.

  Before the EMP, he wouldn’t have thought twice about a walk of that length through the woods. He certainly wouldn’t have been sore. But his body was running on pure adrenaline, rather than calories. His muscles already ached and he knew it would be worse tomorrow when he woke up.

  “Hey,” said James, tossing the bag down into the dirt around the fire, and flopping down on the ground himself.

  “We were getting worried about you.”

  James didn’t say it, but he thought, “and there was good reason to be worried.”

  “How’s Mom doing?”

  Sadie grunted something unintelligible.

  “She’s doing about the same. I think she’s going to recover completely, but it’s going to take a little while.”

  James didn’t say anything. His thoughts had been turning to his mother all day. He was worried about her, and it was frustrating that there was little he could do. It wasn’t like he could take her to a hospital.

  “Did you find anything?” said Sadie.

  James took one look at her, turning his head. She seemed to have calmed down a bit compared to when he’d left camp. But she was still upset. James knew she was relieved to see him, but her bad mood stopped her from expressing her feelings.

  “I got something that’s going to put you in a better mood,” said James.

  “Yeah? I don’t believe you. What’d you find? Another measly squirrel?”

  “Something better.”

  “What?”

  “Check the bag yourself.”

  Sadie couldn’t help herself. She got up quickly and opened the pack.

  “Mushrooms?” she said, pulling out a thick handful. “What good are these?”

  “I know you hate mushrooms,” said James. “But they’re food. I thought you’d be happy about getting something to eat.”

  “Did you identify them, James?”

  James nodded.

  “Let me see them.”

  James reached into his pocket and pulled out one for Mandy, who took it from him.

  “I found them in the guidebook and everything.”

  He looked up at Mandy to see a worried expression on her face.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “It’s not that. It’s just that mushrooms are really tricky. I don’t know anything about them, except that you can easily confuse dangerous mushrooms with edible ones.”

  “It’s fine,” said James, exhausted, lying flat on his back. “I tried them already.”

  “You ate one?”

  “Yeah,” said James. “I found the picture in the guidebook. It was either an edible one or a poisonous one. I tried it to make sure.”

  He hadn’t wanted to tell them this. He just didn’t want to get into it all. But there was no way around it now.

  “You thought you might be eating a poisonous mushroom?” said Sadie, her voice rising, her disdain and disbelief apparent.

  “That was really dangerous, James,” said Mandy.

  “Well, it’s over now. We can eat them. I’m alive, and we’ll have something to eat. The guidebook said they’re nutritious.”

  Mandy looked like she was trying hard not to scold James, trying hard not to act like his mother.

  Not another word was said about it, but the atmosphere had changed, growing even more despondent and depressing.

  James rested while Mandy and Sadie started boiling the mushrooms. If there was one thing they had, it was plenty of water.

  James lay there, wondering if he should go check on his mom. The truth was, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to see her injured, and he had to admit to himself that he had been avoiding visiting her. She’d always been such a strong woman, self-assured, and above all else healthy and vital. To see her confined to the Ford Bronco, unable to move and take care of herself, well, that was quite a downturn.

  The night was dark now, and it was getting colder. James moved himself closer to the fire to stay warm, letting the warmth soothe his aching muscles.

  After the mushrooms finished boiling, Mandy wordlessly served them.

  The truth was that, even after all that physical effort, the mushrooms didn’t look appetizing at all.

  James stared down into the little aluminum camping bowl at the murky brown liquid in which the mushrooms floated. No matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise, he just didn’t want to eat them.

  Sadie, on the other hand, had somehow already finished hers, and she was slurping down the liquid broth. “Wow,” she said. “That’s delicious.”

  “Plenty more where that came from.”

  “Actually we should ration them,” said Mandy. “And your mother needs some. I’ll go take them to her.”

  “I can find more,” said James, even though he wasn’t sure. “I’m sure there are plenty out there in the woods. It’s just a matter of finding them. Have all you want, Sadie.”

  He’d noticed that Sadie had already perked up quite a bit. The food was making her feel better.

  “You eat, Mandy,” said James, standing up. “I’ll take these to my mom and then get another bowl for myself.”

  “Thanks.”

  James nodded at her, but she probably couldn’t even see the gesture in the darkness.

  James started off towards the Bronco, which was a little ways a way, carrying the bowl of the soup that he didn’t want to eat. He turned his head back to look at his sister and Mandy sitting around the fire. It almost looked like a normal campsite, from before the EMP. But things had changed. James had changed. He’d never be the same again.

  12

  Max

  Max didn’t know exactly how he’d done it, but he’d found his way back to the road he’d come in on.

  He’d gone through more backyards, winding his way through the town’s lesser-traveled areas. He’d passed some kind of old barn, and what had looked like an ancient and now-defunct granary. He’d found himself on the other side of the graveyard he’d seen when he’d come in.

  The road was right on the other side of the graveyard, but Max knew he’d have to stay deeper in the woods alongside the road. He needed to reduce his chances of getting discovered. He didn’t know if they were still after him. But it was likely. After all, he’d killed those three young men. The mob would want blood and revenge.

  Max walked through the graveyard, heading towards the woods. The ground was bumpy and uneven. He had to weave his way through the headstones, since they weren’t exactly in orderly rows.

  Max tried to turn his attention away from the young men he’d killed. But his mind kept going back there. They’d been how old? Twenty-one, maybe older? It was hard to say.

  There wasn’t anything else he could have done.

  But that didn’t mean it should have happened.

  And what was it all for? For a few gallons of gasoline. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  Max knew he’d do it again, if he needed to. If he could have done it over, he would have done the same exact thing.

  And he wasn’t doing it for himself. He was doing it for the others. For Mandy, Georgia, James, and Sadie.

  They’d started out as complete strangers. Except for Chad.

  But they’d become like a family. Maybe even closer. Before the EMP, Max had noticed that families had been becoming more fragmented. There were a thousand reasons for why
it happened, and Max hadn’t spent much time speculating on them. He just knew what he’d seen.

  Max hadn’t had a family of his own. But his new friends had become his family. He’d do anything for them. And he knew the feeling was mutual.

  Max was feeling weak again by the time he got to the edge of the cemetery. He didn’t dare sit down to rest, knowing that people could appear at any moment. It seemed as if the cars from the area, the ones left, at least, were not working. But that was just a guess. It wasn’t enough to go on. A car might drive down the road at any moment, the driver spotting Max just heading into the woods.

  He had to keep moving. He unwrapped his third Mounds bar and took a small bite. He tried to make it last, but it wasn’t any use. In a couple seconds, he’d devoured the whole thing.

  Soon, he was feeling a little better.

  But he knew that it wouldn’t last for long.

  And he had a long way to go. A long way to go without any food.

  But he could make it. Max knew that the human body was capable of extraordinary feats. As long as the person kept the right mental state. The mental aspect of things was, in Max’s opinion, what got to most people.

  Before the EMP, Max had read plenty of stories of survivors, people who had survived when others hadn’t. Obviously having the right gear and being prepared was the number one thing that had helped people. But an often overlooked aspect of survival was the mental game. Sometimes those who had the same physical supplies as others ended up surviving, provided they could keep their head straight.

  Max knew he could keep his head straight. He had a clear goal in mind, something to make him push himself, something to keep him going. He needed to get back to his friends with the gas. They needed him.

  But what good would such a small amount of gas do? They could go what, twenty to forty miles on it? Max wasn’t sure how much gas it really was. He also wasn’t sure what kind of gas mileage the Bronco would get. But he knew it wouldn’t be good. It was an old vehicle, long past the point when it was getting the gas mileage stated by the manufacturer. And Max was sure it had never been good in the first place. It was a heavy vehicle, built more like a truck than a car, unlike some of those newer SUVs.

  Max kept his eyes peeled for signs of anyone. More importantly, he listened for sounds. But there was nothing.

  It seemed like no one was coming for him.

  “Seemed” was the important part. It didn’t really mean anything.

  Max knew that even when he felt perfectly safe, when everything seemed to be going just right, a threat could be lurking around the next corner. Or even closer.

  Before the EMP, Max had often heard his colleagues say things like, “but I feel perfectly safe in my neighborhood.” Max had normally bit his tongue, but he knew well enough that that feeling didn’t mean anything at all. He’d read the crime reports, and he knew that perception was often completely different from reality.

  Max let his mind wander as he walked. That didn’t mean that he let his attention drift from being vigilant. Instead, it was a strategy. A survival strategy. He kept his thoughts from turning to dark places, to the tragedy at hand. Instead, he focused on planning and plotting the next moves, of devising new types of animal traps, of trying to figure out ways to get more ammunition.

  The stolen ammunition was a real blow to not only their security but their hunting ability as well. Without ammunition, the rifles were almost useless, and while it wasn’t completely impossible, hunting with handguns would be extremely difficult. And they couldn’t afford to waste the ammunition they had on shots they were likely to miss.

  Max had gotten a few miles away by the time it was too dark to keep walking. He retreated farther back into the woods, away from the road, before looking for a spot where he’d spend the night.

  He couldn’t walk at night in the woods. He had his flashlight, but the battery had long since died.

  Even if he’d had a flashlight, it would have made him visible, a walking target in the woods.

  And it was too dark to walk without a light. It was the dark of the moon, or near that point, and the sky was cloudy anyway.

  With the last light that remained, Max found a rock and began digging a shallow hole in the ground. He didn’t dig deep, just a few inches. His thought process was that it would give him some protection against the cold.

  He’d have dug deeper, but he knew he needed to conserve his energy. It was a game of energy against time at this point. A game of entropy. Every passing minute that Max went without food, he’d lose energy. Every step he took from here on out, he’d lose energy.

  But he could do it.

  Max chose his sleeping spot by guessing which way the wind was coming, by holding up a dead leaf and observing it carefully in the dying light.

  The wind had seemed to be coming from the east, so Max had made sure to dig his shallow hold on the western side of a large tree. It would give him some shelter from the wind.

  Once the sun had set completely, there wasn’t much to do. Max already knew he was going to save his remaining candy bars for the days to come. There was nothing to eat, and he drank only a little water.

  He lay there, in the hole, knowing that the cold would keep him awake most of the night. He was already used to sleeping on the ground, that in itself wasn’t a problem. But there was no way around the cold. As the night continued, the cold seemed to dig into his bones, and when he finally had drifted off to sleep, he’d only find himself awake again ten minutes later.

  Morning came, and Max slowly got up. His whole body was stiff. He unwrapped a candy bar, ate it, and washed it down with a few swigs of water.

  Another long day was ahead. Hopefully the fatigue and hunger were the only problems he’d have to deal with.

  Max didn’t think it was likely he’d run into anyone. But if he did, he’d face them just as he’d faced the others before them.

  The day dragged on and on. Each step had become a challenge. His body simply needed more sustenance. There wasn’t a trace of protein in those candy bars, and Max knew that his body at this point was in a catabolic state, breaking down its own muscle tissues to provide him with the glucose and protein he needed.

  Max hiked for three more days, through the cold air of the woods. He came across no one, but he didn’t let his guard down. He kept his mind active with planning, as well as memory games.

  Before the EMP, Max had read an interesting book written by a man who’d been a prisoner of war in World War II. Max had found the book in the break room at work, and while at first he’d just idly flipped through the pages, as the days had gone on, he’d found himself reading more and more.

  To torture the man, his captors had buried him up to his neck. They’d left him like that for days and then weeks, feeding him water and bread.

  Physically, it was torture. But the mental aspect of it was far worse.

  As a survival technique, the POW had began trying to replay movies in his head. At first, he couldn’t remember more than a single scene. But the more he thought about it, and the more he’d wracked his brains, the more he remembered. Within days, he could remember the entire movie.

  The movie trick had kept him distracted, and kept him alive. It had kept him from completely losing his sanity.

  Max did something of the sort now, trying to remember old books and movies.

  Max walked for four days. The last two, he had nothing to eat. The candy was long gone. He had trouble keeping track of how many days he’d been walking, and for some time, he believed he’d somehow missed the camp and gone right past it.

  But then, on the fourth day, around mid-afternoon, Max suddenly saw the marker he’d left for himself on his return.

  He breathed a sigh of relief, found the path where they’d pushed the Bronco, and walked, exhausted, towards the camp.

  About thirty feet away from camp, Max knew something was wrong.

  The Bronco was still there, sitting just as it had been when Max had le
ft.

  There was a fire burning in the fire pit. It looked like more wood had been added recently. It was burning steadily and brightly.

  Everything looked normal. Just as it should.

  Except for the fact that no one was there.

  But there were no signs of a fight.

  Max’s hand went to his Glock. He pulled it out and held it in front of him. His hands were shaking with fatigue and hunger as he tried to steady the gun.

  Max’s thoughts went to Georgia. She must be in the Bronco. From where he stood, he couldn’t see whether she was in there or not. If she was lying down, as she probably was, she wasn’t visible through the windows.

  Max paused, listening. But there was no sound.

  He didn’t want to call out to see if Georgia was there. If something had happened, if someone had attacked them, alerting the attacker to his presence was the last thing Max wanted to do.

  Max knew he was in no state for another fight. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t go down trying. It was what he had to do.

  13

  John

  “We’re walking in circles,” said Cynthia.

  “How can you tell?”

  “We’ve been by this tree three times.”

  “What tree?”

  “The one right in front of your face. Look at it.”

  Cynthia smacked the huge tree with her fist, to prove her point. Cynthia could be very sarcastic during the best times, and when things were stressful, she could be even more acerbic.

  “I see it,” said John. “But I don’t think we’ve been past it before.”

  “What? Are you blind or something?”

  “Obviously I’m not blind.”

  “Then why can’t you see it? You really didn’t see it before?”

  John sighed and sat down on the ground, still wearing both packs. He’d been walking with Dale’s pack on his front, and his own on his back.

  Kiki, who’d been walking ahead of them, came back to see what was going on. She came up to John and started licking his hands.