Райан Уэстфилд - Finding Shelter

Sadie felt like she had connected with Lilly. At least somewhat.

It was time to go for it.

“Lilly,” said Sadie. “If you don’t want to come with me, that’s fine. You and your mom are going to be all right. You’ve survived this long… But I need to get back to my family…. My mom’s going to be worried about me… She’s probably giving my brother hell for letting me get away…”

Sadie paused.

Lilly said nothing.

But Sadie could tell that Lilly was thinking. Thinking hard.

“Why don’t you just untie me, Lilly? If the situation were reversed, I’d do the same for you… I really would… There’s not much time… While your mom’s busy, just cut the rope and I’ll slip away. You won’t have to tell her anything… You can just pretend you don’t know anything, and your mom will just think I managed to get away on my own…”

Still no answer.

Just that strange choking sound.

“Come on, Lilly,” said Sadie. “There’s nothing to worry about. If you’re going to do it, you’ve got to do it soon. I don’t know when your mom’s going to come back.”

What Sadie didn’t want to say was that she didn’t know how much longer Lilly’s father would stay alive. He might have already died, and Lilly’s mother might be coming back soon.

And there was no telling what she’d do.

Sadie knew that people confronted death in various ways. And she knew that it was entirely possible that Terry’s death would greatly upset Olivia.

It was very possible that Olivia would channel her sadness and hopelessness into rage.

And it was very possible that she would direct that rage at the person responsible for Terry’s death.

If Sadie didn’t escape soon, she might soon find Olivia standing over her in a rage.

Ready to kill her.

Sadie needed to get out of there.

“You’d better leave me,” grunted John. “Or I might just shoot you myself. If that’s not an impetus for you to leave, I don’t know what is.”

“I don’t believe you. Not for a second,” muttered Georgia.

It wasn’t as if she was putting a lot of thought into what John was saying. She knew he wasn’t going to shoot her.

The five men were a much bigger threat.

They hadn’t shown themselves yet.

But she knew they were there.

Unless they had retreated.

If, after a couple hours, they didn’t attack, then maybe it’d be safe to try to head back to camp.

Georgia already knew what she’d do. She already had a plan. She’d make a rudimentary sled and throw John on it. She’d drag him back to camp. Then she’d head off again, looking for her daughter, provided she hadn’t somehow returned to camp on her own.

Despite the intensity of her own situation, Georgia’s mind was still fixed on Sadie. She was still thinking about her. She couldn’t get her out of her mind.

That’s just the way it was. That’s how it was being a parent.

Georgia was starting to think that if Sadie was going to get out of whatever situation she was in, she was going to have to do it herself.

Georgia might not get out of her own troubles alive.

Hopefully Georgia had taught her daughter enough.

She’d certainly tried her best. She’d hardly ever done anything at camp without explaining to her children why she was doing it. She knew that, somehow, sooner or later, she’d no longer be around to teach them anything.

And they’d be on their own.

Maybe that day would be sooner rather than later.

Georgia had never thought she’d get to old age and die in her sleep. Well, she’d thought that before the EMP. And after everything had collapsed? No, not since then.

She’d figured she’d die fighting. Sure, there’d been times when she’d thought they’d all starve to death. Or worse.

But now it was pretty clear.

She’d go down fighting.

It wouldn’t have bothered her, the fact of dying, had it not been for her kids.

Of course, she wasn’t going to go down easy. The way she saw it, the more of these guys she took out, the easier it’d be on those who did survive. The easier it’d be on the good guys. On her kids. On Max. Should their paths ever cross.

Of course, maybe they wouldn’t attack. After all, Georgia and John were no threat to them. They could just get back in their truck and continue on their way.

What did Georgia and John care about them? Let them do whatever the hell they wanted. They had some purpose with that truck, but it didn’t interest Georgia.

Not one bit.

Georgia heard the gunshot before she saw anyone.

It was a tremendous crack that echoed through the area.

Georgia’s ears rang.

Shards of wood exploded outward from a tree nearby. The bullet had missed. Struck the tree instead.

Georgia spotted the man a split second later.

She pushed her eye against her scope. Dialed it in.

She had him.

Right in the chest. No point going for anything fancy.

She needed this man down. Right away. Didn’t matter so much if he died right away or not. She needed him incapacitated.

There was an old theory of war that said it was better to injure the enemy rather than kill them. That way, the other side spent more time and resources tending to their wounded than they did on fighting.

Of course, for that theory to be applicable, the enemy had to be civilized enough to care about their own wounded.

Georgia had a feeling that that sort of thinking had gone the way of the dodo since the EMP.

And she doubted that these five men cared whether or not one of their own went down. She didn’t know why, but the way they moved, the way they acted, made her think that they were some type of mercenaries. Separate individuals connected only by the promise of some kind of payment.

Georgia took a shallow breath. Held it.

Her finger pulled on the trigger.

Her gun kicked.

The man fell.

“Spot me,” hissed Georgia, to John.

“Got you,” grunted John. The pain was evident in his voice.

She knew that John knew what she meant. She needed him to keep an eye out for anyone approaching. And for anything she would have missed with her eye glued to the scope.

This would save time. And time, in a fight like this, could mean their lives.

Georgia stayed as still as she could. She remembered seeing firefights in movies in which the characters would move around, twisting their bodies and doing all kinds of absurd movements as they dodged bullets.

Georgia knew that you couldn’t dodge bullets, no matter how badly you wanted to.

The way she was going to have the best chance of surviving was by shooting the enemy as fast as she could.

They were showing themselves now, emerging from out of sight.

She didn’t bother counting them. She needed to kill them, not count them.

She had another one in her sights.

She ignored the bullets burring themselves into the dirt around her. She ignored the bits of dirt and the small rocks that rained against her legs. She ignored the sounds of the guns cracking as they fired.

She ignored the shouts of the men that she couldn’t hear.

She only listened for John’s voice.

And she didn’t hear it.

She had to trust him. She had to trust that he’d alert her to someone approaching up close.

If she didn’t trust him, she’d lost time. Valuable time. Making her more likely to die.

Georgia pulled the trigger.

Her gun kicked.

The man didn’t fall. Blood appeared on his arm. His mouth opened in a scream.

She’d missed. Not completely. But she hadn’t made him fall.

But maybe she’d disabled him.

She doubted he’d be able to shoot her.