Ryan Westfield - Getting Home

There were people. Various states of dress and undress. Torn and tattered clothing. Some wore no clothing at all. Just what they were used to, just what the mob looked like.

Some of them were rail-thin. Some were more muscular. Most had long tangled hair.

Some were covered in blisters and cuts that oozed. Some were covered in scrapes. Some were covered in bandages.

Some carried weapons. Many of them guns.

There were at least a dozen coming from down the road that Max and Mandy had only recently arrived on, the road that they’d left days ago on in the pickup.

“Maybe we can fight our way out that way,” said Georgia. “Maybe we can…”

Max shook his head. “We’ve got to stay and stand our ground,” he said. “There’s no telling how many more there are in that direction. I don’t like the situation either, but…”

Georgia said nothing for a couple seconds.

“I know you’re right, but I don’t want to admit it. You’ve got a weird ability of always being right about these things.”

“Everyone!” shouted Max. “We’ve got fifty or more people coming.”

“Fifty!” cried out Cynthia.

“Grab as many guns as you can. Rifles, handguns. Whatever. Get your knives. As much ammunition as you can carry. Now’s the chance to get them. There isn’t going to be another one.”

“Mom?” cried out Sadie. “What’s going to happen?”

Everyone was shouting out from their hiding places. It was a strange way to have a conversation.

“I don’t know, Sadie,” said Georgia. “Just do what Max says.”

No one was moving. The news of fifty people had sent them into panic. Fear. Shock.

Max stood up.

“Come on, everyone,” he shouted. “Get those weapons! Now! We’re not going to have another chance.”

Max was a flurry of action himself. He was at the van, grabbing the guns and distributing them.

Georgia got up, went over to Sadie, took her by the hand and led her to Max and the van.

“Two rifles, Sadie,” said Georgia. “At the very least.”

“Mom, I’m scared.”

‘”There’s no time for that now, Sadie,” said Georgia.

She was scared herself.

And it pained her to be telling her daughter to take more than one rifle. Sure, they’d been in bad situations before. But this was different.

This might very well be the end. She might see her daughter and son shot. She might get shot herself, or get bludgeoned to death with some blunt instrument right in front of her children.

It was too much. It was all too much.

But she had to press on. She had to fight.

Because there were no other options.

“How the hell could there possibly be fifty of them?” said Cynthia, her voice cutting through the clatter of guns and gear.

“Maybe it’s the last of a group fleeing the cities,” said John. “Who knows.”

He was checking his handgun, two rifles slung already over his shoulder. His pockets were weighed down with ammunition. He’d taken another knife from somewhere.

“I just can’t believe it,” said Cynthia.

“We’ve got to believe it,” said Max. “Because it’s the only reality that we have.”

“Maybe this’ll be it,” said Mandy. “Maybe this will be the final fight.”

“You mean we’re going to die?” said Cynthia. “Is that what you mean by final fight?”

“No. I mean that maybe if we can just get through this, once things finally calm down…”

“That’s what we’re always hoping for and it never happens.”

“Enough chatting,” said Max, his voice cutting through, sounding harsh. But he was right. There was too much to do.

“You three,” said Georgia. “We’re taking the north side.” She’d pointed to John and Cynthia. She couldn’t bear the thought of having her children at her side. If they were out of sight, she knew she could fight better without worrying about them. In a way, it was almost worse not having her eyes on them. But she couldn’t deal with the distraction.

“We can’t hold off fifty with just us.”

“We’ll see how it goes,” said Max. “It’s not like we have a lot of room to work with anyway. We’re going to have to play this one by ear. There’s no outsmarting a mob. No outmaneuvering them. Just fighting.”

“You sure this is the way?” said Rob as the car trundled down an unpaved road through a thickly wooded area.

“Nope,” said Dan. “I’m not.”

“But this is your best guess, right?”

“Exactly.”

They’d driven for a day straight, somehow avoiding any trouble on the road. The old car had threatened to give up the ghost more than once, but somehow it had kept going. Rob had had to drive slower after a while, because the engine had started making loud noises at any speed above sixty. Some kind of strange whirring noise, as if a belt was about to fly completely off.

They’d found a plastic gas can in the trunk, which they’d used to partially refill the tank.

They drove for another half hour without seeing anything.

“The sign said it was the hunting grounds, or whatever it’s called,” said Olivia. “This must be the place.”

“Let’s just hope there’s someone still here,” said Rob. “And that they’re friendly. You trust this guy? What was his name, again?”

“Max,” said Dan. “Yeah, I mean as much as you can trust someone you’ve met over the radio.”

“I don’t see what the point would be of luring someone so far down to a camp in the middle of the woods,” said Olivia. “I mean, what would be the point?”

“Stranger things have happened,” said Rob. “But we’re ready for whatever happens.” He patted his handgun’s holster. “I’d just rather that it didn’t go down like that.”

“I mean before the EMP, sure, I’d be suspicious of going to meet some guy in the woods that you met on the radio,” said Olivia. “But now…”

“Basically, if you were a serial killer or something now, there’d be plenty of targets all over,” said Rob. “No need to lure anyone. Is that what you’re saying?”

“I guess so. But that’s not very positive.”

“Who said anything about being positive?”

“Look!” said Dan, pointing out the window. He was sitting in the front seat now.

Up ahead, there were a couple people in the middle of the dirt road. Their clothes were tattered and one of them was so thin that Dan couldn’t believe she was still standing on her own two feet.

They staggered more than they walked, shuffling forward aimlessly.

“Now’s the time to make a joke about zombie movies,” said Rob.

Neither Olivia or Dan responded.

“Really? Nothing? That’s the best I’ve got tonight. Tough crowd.”

“Since when did you start treating this all like a standup comedy routine?”

“It happens sometimes when I get really tired. I didn’t see either of you offering to drive.”

“What are we going to do?” said Dan.

“You think there’s any chance that’s your friend Max? Because if it is, I don’t think he’s going to be much help to us.”

“No,” said Dan. “There’s no way.”

But inside, he wasn’t sure. Max had sounded so intelligent and competent over the radio. For the first time, a new possibility hit him. The possibility that Max and his friends were alive, that Dan had found them, but that they themselves were in terrible shape, just barely hanging on, and about to starve to death.

“Well,” said Rob. “I’ve got one idea. These people don’t look like much of a threat. But get ready for a fight, even so.”

Dan already had his handgun in hand.

Rob honked the horn. It was an ancient horn, but it still worked.