“Wren,” Reuben said, calling from the doorway. “Let’s go.”
Once inside and the preparations completed, Reuben set the fuse detonators in the middle of the room, so either of them could reach should they need to enact their final blow. Wren looked over the device carefully, the wires protruding from the detonator like weeds in grass. “Once we use the explosives, that’s it?”
“If we time it right, we can use it to wipe most of them out,” Reuben answered, pushing aside some of the glass from the day before when they were attacked by the small scout team. “The blasts will cause a lot of confusion. And we have the high ground, so we shouldn’t need to use them until after we’ve already killed a few.” He handed Wren a cluster of magazines and gave her a quick rundown of which worked in the three rifles she had laid out. “They all work the same way I showed you with the one in practice. The rifle on the far left is slightly heavier than the rest, but they’ll all have the same kickback when you squeeze the trigger.”
Wren nodded and chose to start with the one she’d used training with Reuben. The steady tremor in her hands subsided once she felt the familiarity of the weapon. The cabin grew quiet as they waited and waited. And waited. After a while, the adrenaline subsided, and she felt her eyes grow tired. The sleepless night on the ground had caught up with her, and she felt fatigue take hold. “What’d you do before all this? Before you moved here?”
Reuben stayed quiet for a moment, and for a second she didn’t think he’d answer, but a few grumbles later he finally spit it out. “My brother and I owned a hunting lodge. He kept the books, and I found the game.”
“Sounds right up your alley.” She turned to see if Reuben was listening, but his gaze remained out the window, looking into the forest. “What brought you out here?”
“Another story for another day,” Reuben answered.
“I may not get another day.” Wren shifted on the floor, positioning herself where she could see Reuben but still keep an eye on the forest. “You mentioned you had a family before.” Her mind drifted to the picture in her pocket, the one he’d left behind.
Reuben remained quiet for a while, and Wren didn’t think he’d speak. “I’ve lived in this cabin for twelve years, eight months, twenty-two days, fourteen hours, and seventeen minutes.”
“So why’d you move out here?”
“You already know the answer to that.”
A stab of guilt ran through her as she remembered the verbal lashing before he left, and her expression softened. “I find it difficult to believe someone like you would just up and leave your family without any reason.”
“I didn’t leave my family. They died.” Reuben spit the words out robotically.
Wren remained quiet for a moment, searching for the right words. “I’m sorry for your loss. Were they—”
“It was Labor Day weekend. My great-uncle left me a cabin on Lake Michigan when he passed twenty years ago. My wife and kids loved it, but with the girls getting older, I wasn’t sure how much longer that would last, so I took them every chance I got. I remember we left later in the day than we usually did when we drove up there. My wife was tired from working her shift at the hospital. She was a nurse and pulled a lot of overnighters. She slept in the backseat of our van, and the girls took the middle row. We were playing some kind of game; I Spy, I think. My youngest wanted to ride up front and sit with me to get a better view of the road.” Reuben paused, and the whites of his eyes grew red and glistened. “The woman that hit us was drunk. Didn’t slow down coming out of her turn. Didn’t even look. Savannah was thrown from the car through the front windshield. She died on impact. My oldest, Rebecca, made it to the hospital with a broken back and a busted blood vessel in her brain. She died in surgery. My wife held on the longest. Two weeks in the ICU before her body finally gave out. I can’t even remember what the last words I said to her were.” He shook his head. “It was probably something stupid. Something about bills or work. I know we had an argument the day before about something like that. And that’s how she left me.” A tear rolled down the corner of his left eye and into the thicket of his beard. “That’s how they all left me. I didn’t get to say good-bye. To any of them.”
Wren remained quiet for a long moment before she gathered the courage to speak. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that’s like. If I lost my kids…” She wondered if she would slip into the same madness that cast Reuben into solitude if she discovered her children dead. “I’m so sorry, Reuben.”
A hysterical chuckle erupted from his lips, and he wiped the few tears that had run down his cheeks and hidden in his beard. “You know what the kicker is? The woman walked away with a couple of scratches. That was it. Fucking scratches. She was leaving a bar and heading to some party when she hit us.” He buried his eyes in the palm of his hand. “A fucking party.” His shoulders sagged and then shook violently as sobs escaped him.
Wren reached into her pocket and pulled out the folded picture she found earlier. She extended it to Reuben, who eyed it with the same red eyes he had telling the story. “It’s important to hang on to the memories that made us who we are.”
Reuben stretched out his hand and gently took the paper from Wren. He looked at it for a long time, neither crying nor smiling, then when he was done he folded the paper up and tucked it into the front pocket of his jacket. A while passed before he spoke, and when he did, he acted like nothing had happened. “If things turn south quickly, you’ll want to head east.” Reuben pointed to her left through the window and into a thicket of trees. “That’s where your camp is. You might be able to make it there before these goons catch you. If you do, then keep quiet. Don’t go in guns blazing. You’ll die before you even get to see your kids’ faces.”
“We’re not going to run.” Wren’s voice had an edge to it as she scanned the trees. “The only way my children live is if I get them out from under Edric’s thumb, and I can’t do that without your help.” She turned back to him. “So don’t go running off and trying something stupid.”
The cabin and the woods were quiet, and the only signals of the passage of time were the moving shadows cast by the sun. Wren watched them grow along the forest floor, shifting and waning as the sun descended. Wren rested her cheek against the rifle’s cool metal, watching a squirrel climb a tree. He ascended gracefully and quickly. But the squirrel, along with the rest of the forest, was suddenly interrupted by the mechanical thunder of gunfire.
25
Puffs of sawdust sprayed from the logged walls. Dust covered Wren’s head and shoulders as she fumbled her fingers nervously for another magazine. The bullets cracking against the cabin roared like cicadas in the summer, a never-ending background noise that refused to quiet. She felt the vibrations of each bullet through the thick slabs of oak. The magazine clicked into place and she jumped from behind her cover. The crosshairs of the scope scanned the horizon, searching for her next target.
“I count twelve on my side!” Gunfire burst between Reuben’s words. He squeezed off the rounds methodically, his feet surrounded by a field of empty shells. “How many do you have?”
“Three so far!” She spied an arm sticking out from behind the thick trunk of a tree, but her bullet only splintered the bark as the body shrank back behind its cover. Shit. A series of return fire forced her back under the window, and despite the number of gunfights she’d found herself in over the past month, she still flinched with every bullet fired.
“They probably have more on the sides where we can’t see,” Reuben said. “Make sure you keep an eye on your peripherals. We don’t need any surprises right now.”
They’d barricaded the door with enough furniture and nailed enough planks across it to give a rhino trouble breaking inside. Wren swiveled to the far corners of her window, looking down the side of the cabin for anyone crouching close, but so far the space was clear. She looked back to the center of the floor, where the explosives’ detonators rested, now covered in sawdust from the rain of lead ham
mering the cabin. Empty shells rolled along the floor. The barrage of lead was relentless in every direction, and Wren felt the overwhelming finality of their situation. They were outnumbered and outgunned.
Wren leapt from the cover of the window, thrusting her rifle through the open gap. She stiffened her back and widened her stance. Bullets missed her by only inches, but she stood her ground, finding the shooter to her left, crouched low in the brush. She exhaled and lined the crosshairs over the center of his skull and squeezed. Through the tunneled vision of the scope, she watched the man’s head fling backward and then collapse in the dirt, his body lifeless. But the moment of triumph was short lived as another series of bullets ricocheted off the wall to her right. She quickly redirected her aim and found him sprinting toward her, pistol in hand and firing wildly.
Wren aimed and squeezed the trigger, this time barely feeling the recoil of the gunshot. And just as her shoulder had numbed from the repeated gunfire, so had her reaction to the deaths by her own hand. A coldness accompanied the sensation, and she moved on quickly, looking for her next target, but suddenly realized through the high-pitched whine in her ears that the gunfire had ended. She turned around, and even Reuben had quit shooting. “What’s going on?” She ducked back behind the wall, one eye on Reuben while the other scanned the forest.
“They pulled back,” Reuben answered, though the tone in his voice was just as skeptical as the grimace on his face. “There’s no way we scared them off this quickly.” He raised his rifle back up to the opened window, his finger on the trigger, and scanned the horizon with the fluidness of water.
“Hello!” A voice boomed through the trees and the cabin walls. It was loud, but Wren recognized the smooth calm in the brief introduction, and she knew it was the man she saw hidden behind the flames. The leader of the gang in town. “I think we can agree there has been enough bloodshed today.”
“The only blood shed has been from your men!” Reuben said. “And if you don’t turn back around and leave us be, there will be more of it before the sun sets.”
The man’s voice echoed in all directions. Wren looked out her window, though the view offered nothing but trees. She slunk back from her position and crawled along the wall to see if Reuben’s window offered a better vantage point, but he waved her away.
“I’m hoping it won’t come to that,” the leader said. “But it will if we must. I know what you want, my friend. You want to be left alone. You want the quiet of the forest that you’ve lived in for so long. You came here to find peace, and we’ve disrupted that tranquility. I only come for the woman. Give her to us now, and we’ll leave you to return to that endeavor.”
Wren watched Reuben’s face, looking for any sign that he’d betray her. He’d done more than anyone else would have in his position. She wouldn’t blame him for calling it quits. He owed her nothing.
“So she can be made a slave?” Reuben asked, shouting back. “The only deal is you leave, or you die.”
Wren searched the forest, looking for any movement, but only came across the fallen men she’d already killed. If he’s trying to bargain, then he thinks there’s a chance he could lose. Or at least lose more than he wants. The thought hardened her resolve.
“That’s disappointing.” The leader’s voice seemed to travel from every direction. “Perhaps there’s something you’d be willing to trade for her? Something you need? Or want? If it’s companionship, I can bring you a new girl, something more akin to your personal tastes. I’m sure it gets cold at night. Nothing wrong with a little warmth in your bed.”
Reuben’s gunshot was his only reply, silencing the man’s voice. Quiet filled the forest air, and Wren drew in a breath, the steady ringing in her ears from the gunfire yet to subside. And just when she thought the fight had ended, a storm of gunfire blew through the trees and collided with the cabin like a never-ending hurricane of hail.
The walls opposite the open windows turned into Swiss cheese as the bullets chipped away at the barricade and interior. She looked up from the floor and saw Reuben ducked low by the window, his eyes glued to the detonators in the middle of the room, the film of sawdust growing thicker with every bullet that eroded their sanctuary.
Wren crawled forward but froze when she saw him shake his head then mouth, Wait. He slid on his stomach toward the back wall and pushed off the floor just high enough to see through the window at his angled position then quickly ducked back down. He screamed something at her, but Wren couldn’t decipher the words through the gunfire. He repeated it a few times, but it was just noise.
Wren used the wall closest to her vantage point to prop herself up once the lead storm had softened. She poked her head around the edge, hoping to find a cluster of easy targets for her to bring down, but was offered no such luck. Her jerky movements were too fast to catch anything, and she was forced to inch her nose close to the window’s pane to get a better look.
Gun smoke had left a hazy fog that circled the cabin and the surrounding forest. Wren peered through the mist-like clouds, squinting to home in on any movement. Gunshots fired to her left, and she swung the rifle in that direction, holding back her shot and waiting for a clear view of the target she watched sprint through the grey smog.
The enemy fired at will, but his sprint hindered his aim, and he missed wide left and right. Wren’s eyes grew dry and tired, but she kept steady. The target fell between her crosshairs, and she watched the bullet slice through the man’s chest as though it were a freight train. A burst of red cut through the gray haze, and before the body hit the ground, Wren had another target in sight.
The gunman hid behind a cluster of thick, low-lying branches. She caught him in the arm, and though wounded, he managed to scramble back behind a tree before Wren could finish the job. She followed the blood trail and fired off three more rounds, but he was too well hidden. Heavy gunfire from her left forced her from the window and back behind the cover of the wall.
Reuben was still at his post, relentless in his assault. His screams intermixed with his gunshots, though Wren couldn’t tell which was louder. The cloth along his left shoulder was ripped, and she saw the damp trace of blood shimmer off the light through the window. She wasn’t sure if he’d been shot or if it was a ricochet, but the wound didn’t hinder his offensive.
Wren rejoined the fight, nearly catching her own wound in the process. The smoke had worsened, and so had the number of targets. They had sprouted from nowhere, and what had been two or three had transformed into at least a dozen.
All of them hovered close to the bottom of the small hill that gave the cabin its high ground. The uphill climb was free from cover for at least twenty yards and would offer Wren an easy shot for anyone who ventured within its range. But the gang continued to fire from the safety of the tree line. She shot anything that moved, keeping the bandits from advancing, but suddenly stopped. They’re waiting for something.
Wren pulled her weapon back, but it was too late. The rifle jerked forward and pulled left, jarring her elbows and shoulder. Hands gripped the weapon’s barrel, and she squeezed the trigger, which shook loose her assailant’s hold. She fell backward, pulling the gun with her. Her vision blacked upon impact but returned in time to see the face and pistol that peered down at her, and instinct kicked in.
Even though she could barely see, her numbed and clumsy fingers found the rifle’s trigger and squeezed. The bullet connected with his chest, but still he aimed his shaking arm. She fired again, the second shot opening a hole through his shoulder, which caused him to drop the pistol. Blood dripped from his mouth. He tried to speak, but all that came out were wheezed gasps. He kept his eyes on her the entire time as he slipped away, until there was nothing staring back at her except finality.
Reuben shouted, catching Wren’s attention, but in the frenzied gunfire, she couldn’t hear. She shook her head, trying to make sense of the motion of his lips. A brief lapse in gunshots finally allowed his voice to break through. “Shove him out of the window!”<
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Wren leapt to her feet and shouldered the body off of the windowpane. Three bullets pierced the dead flesh before the opening was finally clear, and she quickly turned from the window before she shared the same fate. Blood covered her hands, the fluid warm and slick against her fingers. The rifle slipped from her grip when she picked it up, but the second effort steadied the weapon. Keep pushing.
Wren pivoted on her toes, dropping herself to one knee in the process, and used the windowpane to support the rifle. All that protruded from the opening now was the top of her head. The crouched position made it harder to shoot, but it also made her harder to hit.
The gang’s shots grew more frantic as she picked off her targets under the cover of trees, rocks, bushes, and branches. Most of the shots only wounded them, but a few were killed. And while they sat there bleeding, struggling to keep themselves alive, it provided one less bullet meant to kill her. “They’ve stopped at the clearing!” Wren said, shouting over to Reuben, who shoved a cluster of empty shells away from his foot. She looked down to the stack of magazines on the floor, growing scarcer with every bullet she fired.
“Mine too!” Reuben’s voice and rifle thundered together, as if they were one and the same. He dropped the empty magazine and reloaded a new one effortlessly in the same motion. “They don’t have anything bigger than their guns, or they would have used it by now.” He looked her in the eyes. “We’re gonna make it.”
And for the first time since she was thrust into this world, Wren believed it. She had to believe it. The alternative wasn’t an option. She chose her shots more carefully now, only shooting when the enemy grew bold enough to venture from their cover. The sharp edge of their assault had been filed down and dulled, the wind sucked from their sails. It was a waiting game now, to see who would grow more impatient first and make the wrong move.
Survive the Day Boxset: EMP Survival in a Powerless World Page 44