Ryan Westfield - Getting Home

“I don’t want to worry everyone else. It’s just going to bring morale down and decrease their ability to fight.”

“They’re adults,” said Max. “They can take the news. I don’t think it’s a good idea to mislead anyone.”

“They’re not all adults,” said John. “Two of them are kids.”

Max shrugged. “They fight like adults. They have to survive just like everyone else.”

“It’s still different.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree.”

“So I’m thinking that…”

“You think we should run, right?” said Max, eyeing his brother’s shifting eyes. Their eyes were what made them look the most similar. Max hadn’t seen himself in a mirror in months, but he saw a part of himself in his brother’s eyes.

John nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I know it’s bad out there, but… I just don’t see how we’re going to get through this. Sooner or later we’re going to have dozens of armed people invading again. And we’re tired. We’re not as well-fed or rested as we should be.”

“We have the venison.”

“But they could starve us out essentially. With the mob so close, it’s going to be harder and harder to go out hunting. What if it takes weeks for them to attack? We’ll just get weaker and weaker.”

Max said nothing. He was deep in thought.

“Georgia’s stronger than before, but she’s not her old self. And no offense, but you and Mandy aren’t looking so great yourselves.”

“We’re fine,” said Max.

“So what do you think? You were out there. Down south. You think we should move on?”

“In what?” said Max. “The van?”

John nodded.

“We can’t do it,” said Max. “Even if we got the van running, our odds are going to be worse out there. Things haven’t settled down. I don’t know if they’re getting worse or staying the same. It doesn’t really matter. But we need to be out of whatever’s going on.”

“I thought everyone was dying off. The population numbers are going down.”

Max nodded. “Yeah, but there’s evidence of something else going on… people getting more organized.”

“Like the militia, or what?”

“Something like that,” said Max. He told John about a couple of the encounters he and Mandy had while out on the road. He told him about the people who’d been drugged up in the highway rest stop. He told him about the cowboy who hadn’t seemed scared whatsoever.

“I don’t see how that means anything,” said John. “Those are just minor encounters. It’s not like an army or anything.”

“You’re not looking at it the right way. Those people being kept there,” said Max. “It points to a group with a high level of organization. It points to a group that has the basics already covered, to the point where they can expend the energy and manpower going off to do whatever the hell it was they were doing.”

“What in the world are you two chatting about?” called out Cynthia.

They both turned to look. Cynthia was striding over to them.

“You’re probably sharing secret venison recipes, I bet.”

John gave a little laugh.

Max remained stone-faced.

“My brother thinks we should get the hell out of here,” said Max.

Cynthia’s face fell.

“I thought you said we could make it,” she said, glaring at John. “What? You keep your real thoughts to yourself and your brother? You don’t want to tell the rest of us?”

“He thinks he’s protecting you.”

“Protecting us from what? How many times have our lives already been on the line?”

“I was just trying to…” said John.

But Cynthia didn’t let him continue. “I can’t believe it,” she said, cutting him off.

“Don’t take it the wrong way.”

“I’ll take it anyway I want to.”

A gunshot rang out.

The three of them jumped into action.

Max reached for his Glock in its holster. He had it out in a flash. His rifle was back by the campfire.

“Everyone into position,” shouted Georgia.

“Anyone hit?” shouted Cynthia.

John and Cynthia threw themselves behind nearby trees to give themselves places to shoot from, places where they’d have more shelter.

Those around the campfire were scattering. Max’s eyes found Mandy. She was rushing off.

Max didn’t jump for cover. Instead, he threw himself to the ground.

His eyes were scanning, looking for where the shot had come from.

It didn’t seem like anyone had been hit.

Georgia finally had the man in her scope. She pulled the trigger.

The gun kicked.

A clean shot right to the heart.

Was that it?

Or were there more coming?

Max, Glock in hand, was dashing off into the woods, in the direction that the man had come from.

“Max!” John called out. “What are you doing?”

But Max didn’t say anything. He didn’t even turn around and look. He just dashed off, his gait a little lopsided from his injured leg.

It was a good thing he’d been shown where the ditch was.

Georgia was glad they’d gotten it finished. It now encircled the camp completely, and it was filled with sticks they’d carved into vicious points.

But would the ditch be enough?

Georgia didn’t think so. It was shallow. And how many would fall in there before the rest realized what was up? It depended upon how “aware” the individual mob members were.

Georgia didn’t think it’d be that effective.

But it’d be something.

“Everyone stay in position,” called out Georgia.

She glanced back at Sadie and James, who were safely behind her, having taken cover behind some trees. They’d discussed what to do in this scenario.

Everyone was where they were supposed to be.

Except for Max.

Georgia hoped he knew what he was doing.

Normally he was cautious. Normally he did the right thing, acting and thinking strategically.

It wasn’t like him to run off like that. Unless there was a good reason. A very good reason.

Georgia knew that the big attack was coming. But she didn’t know when.

In her gut, it seemed like it couldn’t be now. Not yet. Another week maybe, and the mob would be more restless, hungrier, more desperate.

Max was completely out of view.

But apparently not out of earshot.

Three popping sounds erupted. Sounded like Max’s Glock.

Footsteps on the ground.

It was Max, running back. He leaped easily over the camouflaged ditch, ran straight to Georgia, and threw himself down next to her.

There was sweat on his face and his eyes were wide.

Georgia looked into his eyes, expecting to get reassurance. So often he was calm when the rest of them weren’t.

But what she saw shocked her and made her heart start thumping.

His eyes were wild with fear. He looked frantic, like he was barely keeping it together.

“What is it?”

“They’re coming.”

Georgia waited.

They’d known that was a possibility. They’d known it would happen eventually.

There must have been something more.

“There’s more of them than we thought,” said Max.

“How many?”

“Maybe fifty.”

“Fifty!”

Georgia felt her heart sink. She felt her gut tensing and tightening, as if it was bound together by iron.

Fifty! There was no way they could survive that.

“We can’t beat fifty of them,” said Georgia. “There’s no way.” She was talking fast and anxiously. And that was rare for her. “We’ve got to get out of here. Get the hell out of here.”

“I think it’s too late for that.”

Georgia aimed her rifle towards the other side of the camp, using her scope to see far off into the distance.