Ryan Westfield - Defending Camp

“I’d better get out, actually,” said Max, realizing that he’d have to stick his left arm out the window to get a good shot at the guy. If it came to that, he didn’t want to rely on his left arm.

“Maybe we should just leave,” said Mandy. “Turn on the truck and leave.”

“If he’s got bad intentions,” said Max, “we’re not going to be able to outrun him.”

“Good point. But be careful, Max.”

Max gave her a slight nod.

He opened the car door and stepped out, leaving the door open.

He heard another car door opening and glanced over at Mandy, seeing her standing there, rifle in her hands, behind the truck.

She gave him a small smile.

“Howdy!” called out the stranger, who was getting closer.

Max had his Glock raised, pointed right at the man’s chest. It was the easiest shot to make. Greatest body mass. Biggest target.

“What do you want?” called out Max.

The stranger didn’t have a gun out. But he was walking with a stride that might indicate he was packing. Probably a holster on his belt, obscured by his long untucked shirt.

He was dressed like a cowboy, boots and jeans. Not the kind of person who worked, but the kind of rich guy who wanted to look a certain way. His jeans weren’t any old jeans. They looked like those high-end types, the ones that cost a couple hundred dollars a pair.

The strangest thing about his clothes was that they weren’t dirty or torn. He looked like he belonged walking around LA or some fancy neighborhood of New York City. Before the EMP, of course.

How could someone look like this after the EMP, when the rest of them, Max and Mandy included, were basically filthy? Max’s clothes had countless tears and rips.

The stranger stopped about ten feet from Max. Wide stance. Hands on his hips. Confident pose. He looked straight at Max before speaking, sizing him up.

“Just the normal things,” he said, laughing as he spoke. “I’m just like anyone else.”

“I’m going to need a straight answer,” said Max. “Considering the circumstances, that is.”

The stranger’s gaze drifted over to Mandy. In comparison to the way women typically looked before the EMP, Mandy looked wild. She had no makeup, and her hair hadn’t been properly washed since the EMP. To Max, she’d never looked more beautiful. Her hair had become voluminous and untamed, and the moonlight illuminated one side of her face, accentuating the angles of her face.

“I’m not looking to harm anybody,” said the stranger. “If that’s what you’re wondering. You can put the gun away.”

“It’s a precaution,” said Max. “And it’s staying here.”

Max kept the gun trained on the stranger.

“Fair enough. You can’t be too cautious in times like these.”

“What do you want?” said Max.

He was getting tired already of the way the conversation was going. This cowboy didn’t seem like a straight talker. But he obviously wanted something.

If Max had been a different sort of person, he would have shot him then and there.

But despite all he’d been through, all the treacherous people he’d had to fight, he wasn’t that sort of person. And he didn’t want to become one. Even in a lawless land, a man had to act a certain way, have a certain moral code, so to speak. Otherwise he was just as bad as any of them.

“I’m just out driving, thought I’d see what was up with the truck parked on the side of the highway there. I haven’t seen many vehicles on this road. Not since…”

“Not since what?” snapped Mandy. Evidently she was getting tired of the conversation too, and the way the cowboy was acting.

“Well, if you don’t know, you don’t know.”

“Who are you?” said Max.

“Well,” said the cowboy. “I was hoping to acquire your abandoned truck there, but as I can see it’s not in the least bit abandoned, I’ll be heading on my way then. Good day to you all.”

The cowboy briefly touched the brim of his hat, turned on his heel, and walked back to his sports car with long strides.

Max didn’t lower his Glock until the tail lights glowed again and the cowboy gunned the engine, speeding off into the night, burning rubber.

“That was weird,” said Mandy. “Really weird. What the hell was that all about?”

“No idea,” said Max.

“None of that made any sense.”

“No,” said Max. “No it didn’t. Come on, let’s get going.”

Max looked behind him down the dark road before climbing back into the cab. There was no one there. No lights. No nothing. The night was silent.

Max cranked the engine, his mind turning over a thousand times a minute, trying to figure out what that encounter had meant and what might come of it. There was one thing he knew for sure, and that was that the cowboy hadn’t been the least bit honest with them. He’d wanted something or he wouldn’t have stopped.

“The scary thing about all that,” said Mandy, “was that that the guy didn’t seem the least bit afraid. Did you notice that? He had two guns pointed at him and he didn’t seem to care. He acted like we weren’t a threat at all.”

“Yeah,” said Max. “I noticed.”

He let the clutch out slowly until he reached the catch point. The truck began to inch forward into the night.

The sun was rising. Everyone was already up, sitting around the embers of the campfire from the night before.

They’d had their coffee and eaten their venison.

Sadie sat a little off to the side, looking worried. She was running her hands through her hair continuously, a habit that she’d had in school when she’d been stressed. The teachers had actually been concerned about it, and had talked to Georgia about it during the parent teacher conferences. They’d wanted to send her to a psychologist, someone who specialized in child psychology. Georgia had dismissed the entire idea, resolving the problem by laying it out straight to Sadie. If Sadie didn’t want to have to spend her time talking to some shrink, Georgia had said, she’d better cut it out with that hair business. “Do it on your own time if you have to,” Georgia had said. “But don’t do it in school.”

“You OK, Sadie?” said Georgia, looking over at her daughter.

“Yeah, Mom,” said Sadie, not taking her hands out of her hair.

“You didn’t eat enough. Get your hands out of your hair and get your brother to give you another piece.”

“I don’t want any more. I’m not hungry.”

“Tough luck. You need fuel to fight. And it sounds like we’re going to have to fight. You may be my daughter, but you’re also my soldier.”

Sadie shot her a worried look. “They’re really coming?”

“We’ve got to plan for the worst.”

Everyone knew the situation. Everyone knew what John had reported, that some type of wild horde was coming their way.

Georgia stood up so that she could easily address John, Cynthia, James, and Sadie.

Looking down at them, they didn’t look anything like soldiers. Sure, they had weapons, and they knew how to use them. But they were tired and weary and they looked nervous.

“We’ve been through a lot,” said Georgia. “I know we’re all feeling like we can’t face yet another challenge, another invasion.”

“Yeah,” said Cynthia. “That about sums it up. I thought this place was supposed to be secure. Didn’t Max choose it because it was out of the way from everything? Well, seems like he did a hell of a job.”

“Save your sarcasm for later, Cynthia,” said Georgia, bearing down on her with her eyes. “We did the best we could. Max did the best he could. Who knows what it’d be like if we’d chosen somewhere else. It could be a lot, lot worse.”