A trail of footprints was all that followed Wren back to the cabin. She glanced at the bodies that still lay lifeless near the trees. Shadows hovered around the corpses, and she looked up to the vultures circling overhead. Nature pitied nothing, and life always moved on. But she wasn’t ready to do the same. Once at the cabin, she rummaged through what the hermit left behind and found a few cans of food, a knife, and a compass that no longer worked. Aside from the furniture, the cabin was empty.
A few shelves lined the cupboard that Reuben had stored the rifles in, and she removed the longer pieces. The first shelf she pulled out dislodged a piece of paper that drifted to the floor. Wren knelt down and picked it up. It was a picture. The faded colors and thick layer of dust told its age. When she brushed the dust off, a woman and two young girls were revealed. All three of them were crouched low, looking at something, unaware that the picture was even being taken. Wren looked out the broken window in the direction that Reuben had disappeared, but she couldn’t see him anymore. She set the photo down on the windowsill then returned to her search for supplies.
Wren knew that Edric would keep the camp well guarded, but she also knew he’d kill anyone who wasn’t loyal, which meant his numbers would dwindle. And unless he’d managed to recruit more people into the camp while she’d been gone, the patrols around the camp would be sporadic. Even still, she knew she’d need a weapon, and since Reuben took all of his guns, she’d need to fashion her own.
Wren took the long planks from the cabinet and used the knife to sharpen the ends. The bandages around her fingers fumbled the plank awkwardly, but she kept them on since her fingers were still healing. The shavings from the wood collected at her feet as she sat on the steps of the cabin, sharpening the ends of the boards into spikes. She looked up periodically, making sure she was alone. She kept the supplies close at hand in case she needed to run, though she still wasn’t sure which direction she should flee.
With the sun nearing its highest crest in the sky, signaling midday, and the pile of shavings nearly up to her ankles, Wren picked up the crude spear she’d fashioned and grabbed the cluster of nails she pried from the furniture inside. The metal was rusty, and most of their points had dulled over time, but she knew she wouldn’t need much force to puncture the neck or eyes.
Wren took one last inventory, spreading the supplies on the steps. Aside from the clothes on her back, all she had was the spear, six nails, four cans of cooked meat, a spool of gauze, and the sheet on the bed that Reuben left behind. The food would hold her over until she made it to camp, and the spear would offer her some form of protection if anyone or anything moved too close, but then what?
Her parents’ house in Indiana was still an option, but it was almost two hundred miles away, which wasn’t a distance she thought the girls could walk. Once they were on the road they’d need food, water, and shelter, all of which were in short supply, save for the camp. She could steal a car once she made it back to the community, but that only complicated the escape.
“Dammit!” Wren slammed her fist into the cabin’s front steps, running her fingers through her hair, remembering the antibiotics that Zack and Doug still needed for their wounds. The only way around the problem she faced was to retake the community, but she’d need more firepower than the feeble stick at her side to accomplish that. And that was if she could ever even find the camp. Every tree looked the same, and she had no idea how far away from the community she’d strayed.
Maybe I should have gone with Reuben. Maybe he’s right. The realization unsettled her mind just as much as her stomach. No. I can’t give up. I won’t abandon them.
Wren combed through the cabin one last time and found she’d overlooked another can of food that had rolled beneath the bed along with a half-used box of shotgun shells. If anything, she could use them to barter later on down the road. She eyed the picture she’d left on the windowsill, unsure of taking it with her. She knew Reuben had seen it, and he’d left it behind on purpose. In the end, she tucked it in with the rest of the gear and bundled everything save for the spear and her knife into the sheet from the bed and picked a direction from the cabin.
When she took that first step into the unknown, she wasn’t sure if she’d live or die, or even find the camp. But she knew that if she didn’t attempt to retrieve her family, it would haunt her for the rest of her life. There wouldn’t be a night where she didn’t see their faces, and there wouldn’t be a single moment she didn’t spend tormenting herself. The choice was as clear as the skies above her. Get to her family, or die trying.
The first few miles were easy enough, but as the sun sank lower into the sky, Wren felt the fatigue of the rocky terrain. Her mouth grew dry even though the temperature had cooled as the sun faded. She needed to find water. Every few minutes she stopped, remaining still in hopes of hearing the rush of a stream or river, but only gusts of wind greeted her ears.
By nightfall her lips were chapped, and she stopped to rest under the large cavern of a tree that remained partially uprooted. She kicked a few rocks inside to make sure it wasn’t already occupied, and once it was determined the coast was clear, she crawled inside. She sprawled her exhausted body against the dirt, which was cool from the tree’s daylong shade. Her stomach grumbled and she clutched it tenderly. But despite the fatigue and hunger, her thirst rose above all else. She knew the canned meats would have liquid inside them, but she resisted the urge to open them, in fear of running out of food. She’d already eaten that day, and while she knew her body wouldn’t object to the calories, there was no telling how long her hike would last.
The night grew cool, chillier than Wren had expected. It was a restless sleep, shivering underneath the cover of the thick roots that twisted and turned overhead. She wondered what had caused the massive trunk to fall. Age, weather, storm, it didn’t matter, because when the night sky thundered rain, she was glad for its protection. And as the first beads of water pelted the ground beyond the small cavern, Wren realized what caused the tree to topple. The foundation grew weak.
Some of the traits that make a good architect include studying topography. The earth beneath the building is just as important as the material that’s used to construct it. The architect that ignores the natural environment that surrounds their structure will not last long.
It was a subject that many of her peers in school had ignored, though in all most of her peers didn’t put in a fifth of the effort she did. Wren was surrounded by students who already had a job waiting for them the moment they graduated, regardless of their schoolwork. It didn’t matter how hard they studied or what grades they received so long as they passed. And once that sheet of parchment was handed to them, they’d run to their daddy’s office, hang the diploma on their new corner office, and be given a team of those less fortunate enough to not have a father with his own firm.
For ten months Wren searched, but there wasn’t a single firm in Chicago that was hiring. When she tried looking beyond the limits of her own city, she was met with obstacle after obstacle of trying to relocate her family. The one firm that offered her a position was stationed in Los Angeles, but it was only a low paying intership, and they wouldn’t provide any relocation funds for uprooting her family and traveling across the country.
After another month of nothing, she tried talking to Doug about the position in L.A., but he brushed it off. He was born in Chicago, his job was in Chicago, and the kids’ schools were in Chicago. He wasn’t going to budge. But in the end it didn’t matter. When she tried calling them back, the position had been filled, so the matter was settled.
Wren’s first year out of school was one of the hardest years of her life. It was harder than balancing work, school, and the kids, it was harder than her childhood, and it was harder than finding out about Doug’s affair. But she knew the alternative if she failed.
The deferment period on her loans had ended, credit card companies were calling, the bank was calling, they were behind on their mortgage, the power bi
ll, the water bill, and it wasn’t uncommon for them to go a few days without any heat or AC in the house. With a diploma and zero job offers, Wren had to face the fact that the dream she chased in school was never going to be real. She returned to her old job at the telemarketing firm and thought she’d live out the rest of her life in that dimly lit office, packed like sardines in a can with eighty other people, selling products to clients who didn’t want them.
But in that darkest hour, a ray of hope broke through the clouded distress. After an exceptionally difficult day, she came home to a message on their answering machine, which had been restored the day before along with their power and water after paying two months’ worth of backlogged bills.
One of the first firms she interviewed with nearly a year before had reached out to her with an opening at one of their smaller locations. She went in for the interview the next day, took the job offer on the spot, quit the telemarketing firm immediately, and never looked back.
It was one of the proudest moments she’d ever had in her life. She was beaming when she came home that day and had picked up a pizza for the kids for dinner and hired a sitter so she and Doug could go and celebrate. But when she told Doug the news, his reaction lacked the excitement she thought he’d have. He wasn’t angry or upset, just… shocked. He looked at her as though she had been replaced by someone he didn’t know. And what was supposed to be a night of celebration turned into their first of many fights. That’s where I lost him.
Doug never handled being the secondary breadwinner well, nor did he take kindly to the fact that it was Wren whose name was on the mortgage to the new house, or the paperwork for the cars, or the kids’ schools. All she wanted to do was bring him up with her, take them both to a place they’d always talked about. But it was apparent that in those conversations they had during their first years of marriage, it was supposed to be Doug who provided them the funds for a better life. Except he didn’t. He never even tried. And when Wren grew too tired of waiting, he became resentful.
With her mind lost in memories, Wren almost didn’t feel the sudden burst of warmth from the first rays of light. She crawled out from under the tree, the collapsing behemoth clinging as tightly as it could to the earth. Foundations. She’d always believed that hers was the same as Doug’s, but it wasn’t. She rose on granite, while he sank in sand.
“Rough night?”
Wren jumped, thrusting the spear in the direction of the voice, but lowered it when she saw Reuben, his big body blocking the sunrise. “What are you doing here?”
The massive pack on his back shrugged in the same motion as his shoulders, and he looked beyond her to the small cove where she’d slept. “Must have been cold in there without any insulation. You didn’t sleep at all, did you?”
“Sleep’s a luxury I don’t get anymore.” She took a step forward. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
Reuben looked down to his feet then paced back and forth in the same rut. “My second location was looted. Someone stumbled across it and took everything. It’s compromised. All that I have left now is the cabin.” He looked back into the direction Wren came. “If you’re trying to find the camp, you’re heading the wrong way.” He pointed. “That’s where you’ll want to go.”
“That would have been helpful before you left.” She started walking, unsure of why he’d chosen to find her again.
“I have a proposal for you!” Reuben shouted. Wren stopped and turned. A brief surge of hope rose amid the hopelessness of her own fears and limitations. He took a few steps forward. “But first I need something from you.”
24
The march back to the cabin seemed infinitely quicker than when she left. They returned before sunset, which afforded them more time to prepare. Reuben set his pack on the ground at the cabin’s front steps. “They know where we are, and they already know the layout of the land.” He pulled item after item from his pack, and Wren wondered how he managed to carry all of the gear in the first place. “What they don’t know are the resources we have. They know we have rifles, but they don’t know how much ammunition.” He stacked box after box of bullets on the table until the sack was completely empty and their bounty lay in front of them. “From what I’ve seen in town, the group is only thirty large. We should have enough bullets to kill them, so long as we choose our shots wisely.”
“You’re sure they’ll come back?” Wren asked, opening one of the ammunition boxes. She picked up one of the empty magazines and started loading.
“They will.”
“When I escaped, I saw a few of them speaking with a man. I think it was their leader. I didn’t get to see his face, but from what I heard, he sounded… different.” Her mind flashed to the voice hidden behind the fire.
“Different isn’t how I’d describe him. I saw him once. It was years ago, before all of this. I was tracking a deer, followed it for nearly four miles before I lost it. He was standing in the middle of the forest, dressed from head to toe in a suit. I’d never seen anything more out of place in my life. It was a few moments before he spotted me, and when he did, he just smiled.” Reuben shook his head. “I’ve seen some things that have sent shivers down my back, things I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, but when he looked at me, I felt my blood run cold.”
Wren nodded. She’d experienced the same sensation when she heard him speaking to the gang. His words glided through the air with a sweet, poignant stench. She could understand how he’d pulled together so many people: he was a wordsmith.
Every spare magazine was loaded, and once they were stacked and distributed evenly between the two of them, Reuben pushed his way out the door and gestured for Wren to follow, a rifle in his hand. He stopped just before the clearing where his cabin stood and extended the gun to her. “You can’t shoot worth a damn.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Wren replied, falling in line behind him.
Reuben set up a few targets, ranging from rocks and old cans to leaves on branches. Each target offered a different shape and was positioned to provide a specific difficulty in aim. Wren raised the tip of the rifle and lowered her head to the scope. She lined the black crosshairs over the old soup can, but the weapon grew heavy in her hands. By the time she squeezed the trigger, her arms were shaking so badly that the bullet skipped wide right. She let loose a defeated sigh, and the barrel of the rifle fell to her feet.
“You’re not giving the weapon enough support,” Reuben said, lifting the rifle back up and tucking it firmly between her shoulder and arm. “You’re letting your arms do all of the work. Let your shoulder stabilize it for you, and never bring your head down to the scope, always raise the sight to your eye. Widen your stance and try again.”
Wren adjusted her body and rifle to the correct positions. She lined the crosshairs over the rock and placed her finger on the trigger. She fired, and the bullet nicked the left side of the target.
“Better, but your trigger action is jerky. Squeeze,” Reuben said, flexing his hand into a fist. “Don’t pull. You want to keep your motions fluid so your aim stays true. Now, do it again.”
Wren brought the sight to her eye once more. The rifle felt sturdier in her grip, and when she squeezed the trigger, the rock fell from its perch.
“Good,” Reuben said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Now, let’s see if you can hit a moving target.” Reuben put Wren through every scenario he could think of. And after the tenth rock Reuben thrust into the sky, she finally shot a moving target. With her confidence in the weapon improved, Reuben moved on to self-defense techniques. It wasn’t flashy, but it was effective. “You want to aim for the soft spots,” Reuben said. “Eyes, neck, and groin. Gouge, squeeze, and twist anything in those areas and then run. You won’t be able to overpower these guys, no matter what I try and show you, so keep it simple. If you can, shoot them once they’re incapacitated.”
Wren practiced a few times, gently, on Reuben as he put her in different holds and she did her best to squirm away. It
was easier than she thought, and it didn’t take long for her to feel comfortable with the maneuvers. When finished, Reuben brought her inside. “They’ll have more numbers than we can deal with, so we have to make them play by our rules. If we can make them come to us, then we’ll have a good shot.”
“A good shot at what?”
Reuben removed a stack of brick-like explosives and set them on the table along with wires and placed them neatly together. “We’ll only get one shot at using these. This is our last stand.”
Wren reached for one of the bricks. It was small but heavy, the metal around the claymore thick. Reuben emptied the remaining portions of his pack and started arming them on the perimeter’s outskirts. Wren watched him carefully, forcing Reuben to go through the process six more times even after she was sure she understood the steps.
They engirded the entire cabin with wires, hiding them under rocks and next to trees, and covered them with clumps of dirt and leaves. Once it was finished, there were enough explosives to blow apart anyone that came close twenty times over. Reuben clapped the dirt from his hands and motioned toward the cabin. “C’mon, let’s get back inside.”
Wren lingered outside a moment, her eyes scanning the forest, wondering when they’d arrive and how many there would be. She never really saw the full scope of their numbers when they held her captive, but however many there were didn’t matter. They had a plan. They had weapons. And she wasn’t going to let them take her again. That gang was the only thing standing between her and saving her family, and she wasn’t going to let them stop her.
Survive the Day Boxset: EMP Survival in a Powerless World Page 43