Ryan Westfield - Getting Home

Max had already turned around, his eyes scanning the big wide open space before them. But there was nothing but the empty tables and chairs, the stinking trash cans, and the large fake potted plants.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” said Max. “No signs of anyone living here. That’s why I wanted to check the bathrooms first.”

Mandy nodded, not wanting to admit that she hadn’t known why Max was checking the bathrooms.

“So what are we going to do? Get going?”

“The food’s right there,” said Max. “All we need is a bag of beef jerky or some chips, a couple sodas, and it should be enough to get us back to the farm, so long as we’re careful with it.”

“But how are we going to open the gate?”

“I’m going to shoot it,” said Max.

“Shoot it? I thought that was just something people did in movies.”

“Supposedly it works,” said Max. “I’ve never tried it, but I saw it on one of those real-or-fake TV shows once. Someone was watching it at work in the breakroom.”

Max hardly ever talked about his pre-EMP life, let alone work, and she was surprised to even hear him mention it.

“You’d better stand back,” said Max.

Mandy got herself a good distance from the lock, as did Max himself. He took careful aim, and with a single shot, shot right through the lock.

The gunshot rang out through the entire interior. Mandy’s ears were ringing.

“We’re in luck,” said Max, yanking on the grate and pulling it up and out of the floor.

Mandy’s stomach was already rumbling, excited about the possibility of beef jerky, soda, and candy. But before Max even had the gate all the way up, Mandy spotted something off at the far end of the room.

It was a man, tall and lean, standing there. His hair was long and a wild-looking beard covered his face, seeming to meld seamlessly with his hair. His clothes were filthy. They were all black. Standard black work pants. His shirt had a collar and some logo printed above the breast pocket. It was an employee’s shirt, a uniform.

The man held no weapon. He just stood there, with a blank look on his face, and a blank look in his eyes.

It was a new day, but John had been up all night. He’d volunteered for the night shift. Cynthia had stayed up along with him, but they’d been at opposite ends of the camp, and had only reconvened once in a while to chat briefly about the situation.

Now the light was rising and Georgia had just woken up. Her children were still sleeping.

“Nothing last night?” said Georgia, already at work, poking and prodding the fire, trying to get it going again for the morning coffee.

“Nope,” said John. “No sign of whoever it was who stole all our food.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Georgia. “If they’re the kind of people who act like that, like thieves in the night, I doubt they’re ready for any kind of confrontation. They’re probably more scared of us than we are of them.”

“I don’t know,” said John. “Maybe they just saw it as an opportunity. You know, get what they needed with the least risk involved. And if that’s the case, what happens when they get more desperate?”

“More desperate than they are now? How long as it been since the EMP?”

“You’re saying that they’re already as desperate as they can be, I guess,” said John. “But I don’t think so. It’s hard to gauge how low a man can sink when things get bad.”

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t be careful,” said Georgia. “We’ve got to be alert and vigilant. But there’s also work to be done. We’ve got to get to it. We’ve got to work on our own survival. Our long-term plans. If we sit around waiting for them, and they never show, we’ll be in a terrible position in a month.”

John nodded. What she was saying made a lot of sense. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I’m off to go hunt. Before the deer go to sleep. I’ll try again this evening.”

“Are you serious?” said Cynthia, who had just walked up. “You’re going to go out alone?”

Georgia nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

“What if something happens? What if you run across them?”

“It’s happened before,” said Georgia. “And it worked out fine in the end.”

“But you’re still recovering, Georgia. You’ve got to remember that you’re not as strong as you were before.”

Georgia gave a little laugh. “Don’t worry about me, Cynthia. I’ll be fine. And anyway, the more people I take with me, the more likely it is it’ll just spook the deer. We’ve got to eat. Unless you have any other suggestions on how we’re going to eat?”

“What about the squirrel and rabbit traps?”

“Nothing’s turned up in them. And we need calories. Deer are bigger. That’s the simple truth. Now while I’m gone, I need everyone to be working on the perimeter ditches.”

“The perimeter ditches?” said John. This was the first mention he’d heard of them.

“Yeah,” said Georgia, who was working on getting the pot balanced just the right way above the flame. “I must have thought of it while I was sleeping. Let’s see what you think.”

“Right,” said John, nodding for her to go ahead. “And make sure you make enough coffee. I’m going to need a few cups.”

“We don’t have an unlimited supply of it,” said Georgia.

“Trust me, I’m going to need it today if I’m going to be digging ditches after just a couple hours of sleep.”

“Fair enough,” said Georgia. “So here’s the idea. We dig ditches all around the camp. Far enough away that we won’t step in them ourselves. But close enough so that we won’t have an impossible project of digging endlessly.”

“Ditches?” said Cynthia. “But how’s that going to help us? If I were attacking the camp, I’d just step over the ditches.”

“We cover them up,” said Georgia. “It’s simple, really. All we have to do is make a grid out of some sticks. Brittle, thin sticks that’ll break easily under any weight at all. But they’ll be enough to cover with dead leaves.”

“You think that’ll work?” said John.

“If we camouflage it well enough,” said Georgia. “Yeah, I think it will. We just need the ditches wide and deep enough that they’re a serious problem when you fall into one.”

“So it’s basically like a long, extended animal trap,” said John. “We could put sharp sticks in there, just like with the other traps.”

“Yeah,” said Georgia. “First we’ll start with the ditches and see how that goes. My only worry is that one of us may fall into it accidentally.”

“It’d probably be me,” said Cynthia. “I’m usually the first one that that sort of thing happens to.”

“Maybe we’d better hold off on the sharpened sticks for now, then, yeah,” said John. “Well, after coffee I’ll get to it. It’s probably best to let James and Sadie sleep a little longer. They’re pretty exhausted after yesterday.”

“Nonsense,” said Georgia. “They need to get moving. Sadie! James! Time to get up!”

“You really go too easy on them,” said Cynthia, unable to hold back her sarcasm any longer.

Georgia just ignored her.

The coffee was ready and she poured herself a cup.

“Serve yourselves,” she said. “I’m going to take off. Make sure James and Sadie don’t sleep any longer.”

“Will do,” said John, reaching for the coffee.

He watched as Georgia downed her steaming black coffee in two long gulps. She got her rifle from where it leaned against the van, and she was off without even looking back.

“I hope she’s OK,” said John, as Georgia disappeared through the trees.