Райан Уэстфилд - Finding Shelter

Wilson didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he could see that there was truth in Max’s words.

Wilson felt something change in his body. It was his emotions. It was the tension that had been there, that had been holding his captive.

The tension was starting to melt away.

It seemed as if Max had provided him with the answer he’d needed. It was the way out that he hadn’t been able to see before.

“If I’m already willing to die,” said Wilson, his voice sounding strong and confident. He couldn’t remember the last time his voice had sounded like this. “Then there’s no reason to fear dying at the hands of those who follow us.”

“Exactly,” said Max. “Couldn’t have said it any better myself.”

Max released his grip on Wilson, and Wilson found himself standing up all by himself. Supporting his own weight. Standing on his own two feet. All the clichés applied.

He felt like a man.

It was a strange, sudden twist. A sudden change in outlook.

Suddenly, a plan started developing in Wilson’s mind.

“OK,” he said. “Here’s what we’ve got to do…”

“What we’ve got to do is run,” said Max. “They’re going to be closing in. We didn’t have much of a head start. Come on, I’m glad you’re feeling better. But we’ve got to go.”

“Run like rats in the night?” said Wilson.

“Exactly,” said Max. “When the time comes, we’ll fight. But for now, we run.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” said Wilson.

“You do?”

Wilson nodded. “I know how they work,” he said. “I know what they’re thinking. And, more importantly, I know what Grant is thinking.”

“Then spit it out,” said Max.

Max’s posture said that he was ready to listen. That he was ready to change his plans.

The pressure was all on Wilson now.

But it felt good.

It felt good to be relied on. It felt good to want to fight.

Wilson was going take down Grant, even if it was the last thing he did.

He hadn’t done it when he’d had the chance, and now he was going to make the chance. Create opportunity.

It had been a long, long night.

Mandy hadn’t seemed to be getting better. In fact, it had seemed that with each howl, she was getting worse.

The pain had become intense. All sorts of pain. Seemingly diverse sources. Cramping. Sharp, shooting pain. Diffuse pain that seemed to be everywhere at once.

It was morning now. The sun was coming up.

Dan and James had been up all night on watch. They were serious about it. Serious about keeping everyone safe. Serious about defense and about duty. They’d learned well from Max.

Max had said that it’d been more important to impart an attitude on the kids rather than any specific skill. Of course, they’d been taught plenty of skills.

But if they knew that they could learn, if they understood what it actually meant to be able to learn, they’d be able to pick up the skill themselves when the time came.

“How’s she doing?” said Dan, poking his head into the structure.

There was weariness on his face. Big dark bags under his eyes. But there was also determination in those very same eyes. Determination etched all over his face.

“She’s OK. Thanks for the water. No word from Georgia or anyone else?”

Dan just shook his head, and ducked his head back outside.

It wasn’t strange to see a kid acting like that. Not now.

He was as much of an adult as the rest of them. In a way.

In a way, he and James and Sadie had adapted better to the post-EMP world than the “adults” had. They’d known the pre-EMP world, but not for nearly as long as the others.

Cynthia, on the other hand, by comparison, had decades of the pre-EMP easy industrialized life. That was what she was used to.

In fact, it seemed as if Cynthia had had a harder time than the others adapting.

Sure, she knew about the chores she needed to do. She had learned them all. She had learned to shoot a gun. She had learned to fight. She had learned about knives and axes and about making fire. She’d learned about hunting and about foraging food.

But while the others always seemed to think about their plans for the future, about survival tactics, Cynthia’s mind seemed to instead drift towards memories of her past life. Memories of life with her husband in their quiet little house. Memories of TV shows and good meals paired with good wines. Memories of nights out with friends at trendy bars, memories of walking down the dark streets of Philadelphia, swaying from happiness and drink, arm in arm with her husband.

Those days were all gone.

The others, sure, seemed to remember them. They seemed to suffer some brief momentary pangs of memory.

But with Cynthia it was different. She could tell it was stronger.

That was the way she was. She was more sensitive. She always had been.

She’d buried it all deep down. The others had no idea that she felt like this. They thought she was a no-nonsense woman. Practical. Didn’t dwell in the past. Thought only of practicality and the future.

But that wasn’t reality.

She was too sensitive for her own good. Back when the hordes had come, when Cynthia with the others had had to slaughter unending numbers of them, she had cried the nights away, weeping silently so that John wouldn’t hear anything.

She still thought of those days. She still thought of the faces of the men and women that she’d killed. They were faces with the crazed eyes, with the wide pupils, with the gaunt intense lines of emaciation.

And now, just when everything seemed to be settling down, problems had started up again.

It was almost too much for Cynthia to deal with.

She hadn’t wanted Max to leave. She hadn’t wanted him to go off on his own. She didn’t like the idea of him leaving Mandy here.

Sure, in a way it was a horrible thing for him to do. And in another way, it was noble. He’d do anything for a better world for his kid, even if it meant that he might never meet that very same kid.

The promise of a newborn in the camp had seemed… Well, it had buoyed Cynthia’s spirits a little. It had made it seem like things would once again be possible, as if things wouldn’t remain static and stuck forever.

Maybe they wouldn’t have to live in hiding forever. Maybe eventually they’d burst forth back into the world.

The child had meant hope. It had been a symbol.

And now? That was all in jeopardy.

Cynthia had combed through the midwifery book by candlelight.

There were many things that could have been wrong with the pregnancy and the baby.

And Cynthia didn’t have the power to do anything about them. Not one of them.

She had no training as a midwife, and the book didn’t go into enough detail. It wasn’t that sort of book.

And, anyway, when it came to serious pregnancy complications, the book pretty much just advised that the midwife take the pregnant woman to the hospital as soon as possible.

What good was that to Mandy and Cynthia? None.

So there was really nothing to do but try to help with the pain. Be there for her. Hold her hand.

Those kinds of things. Useless, really.

Cynthia preferred things that worked. Things like penicillin, which could arrest an infection before it got serious. The results were clear-cut.

She needed something like that now. But she knew that it wasn’t going to happen.

Mandy’s noises of pain had gotten so bad that Cynthia had figured that at best, Mandy was going to lose the baby.

At worst, they were going to lose both Mandy and the baby.

And Cynthia was going to have to watch it all happen.

Cynthia didn’t know if she could bear to do it.