Ryan Westfield - Fighting Rough

The crack of a rifle sounded through the frigid air.

Johnson let out a scream, falling to the ground.

Josh couldn’t tell if Johnson was dead or not. But he knew he couldn’t do anything for him. If he ran out there, he’d be shot, too.

Another crack.

Johnson was returning fire. He wasn’t dead. Not yet. He’d crawled on his belly behind a fallen tree trunk.

Johnson was firing at irregular intervals. For now, it seemed like the enemies weren’t returning fire.

This was Josh’s chance.

He didn’t want to die.

Not like this. Not here.

If he stayed to fight, it meant relying on his own abilities. And Johnson’s. And frankly, he didn’t put much trust in either.

No, he wouldn’t fight. He’d do the cowardly thing. The smart thing.

He’d save his own life.

Holding his rifle in one hand, Josh dashed out from behind the tree, running away from Johnson and the enemies. His legs were so cold, he worried he wouldn’t be able to actually run very fast. But he warmed up as he ran.

With each breath he took, and each step, he expected to feel the bullet that would kill him.

But nothing happened. No bullet found him.

He ran and he ran, until he couldn’t run anymore.

He ran until he couldn’t hear the gunshots.

He’d left it all behind.

He didn’t know if Johnson had survived. Probably not, though. He was kind of a moron, always making mistakes with simple chores back at the compound. They were only friends out of desperation and nothing more. Lack of better company, to put it nicely.

The snow was falling fast and heavy. His boots made tracks in the snow.

What should he do now?

Exhausted, he sat down in the snow, not caring if he got snow on the seat of his pants.

Should he return to the compound?

Probably.

Probably Johnson was dead, and wouldn’t be able to tell anyone that Josh had fled, rather than fought.

But Josh still hadn’t found Max’s camp. He couldn’t return to the compound empty-handed, without any information.

Though the thought of trudging on, and probably getting killed for it, didn’t seem appealing in any sense.

He didn’t want to get shot just to find out where Max’s camp was. What was the point of it all? Josh didn’t see any personal benefit to it. It just seemed like they’d be helping the militia and Josh would get nothing in return. He’d still be eating the same food day in and day out, not to mention freezing his ass off every night and day.

What if he just made up the information? Told them a spot on the map that seemed likely. That would work until they sent the attack party out. Then again, maybe they’d just think Max and his group had moved on, rather than blaming Josh for lying. But, no, that wouldn’t work because there wouldn’t be any signs of a campground. When the attack party eventually came back to the compound, disappointed, they’d know who to blame.

And they’d probably kill him.

There wasn’t any good way out.

But at least he wasn’t going to die right then and there, like Johnson probably had, riddled with bullets.

The woods were large, and he felt safe there in the snow.

He gazed out at the calm, peaceful woods. Before the EMP, this would have been an idyllic scene worthy of vacation photos and internet posts. But now…

Well, it still seemed peaceful. The snow had a way of making everything seem quieter. There wasn’t a single animal sound.

Josh’s gaze moved steadily around his surroundings. He was trying to enjoy it, trying to find some brief period of calm before he had to figure how what his next move was.

And that was when he noticed the footprints.

His footprints. They were as clear as day in the snow. His eyes followed the trail, which led back to the scene of the shootout.

Shit.

They’d find him.

If they wanted him, all they had to do was follow the trail. And it would lead them straight back to Josh.

He could keep running, maybe try to conceal his footprints somehow. But it seemed like it’d be a losing battle. By the time he got a pine branch and started brushing, they’d already be there. If they were after him, that is. And they certainly would be.

If it had been Max, he had every reason to try to protect the secrecy of his location. Maybe he realized he’d made a blunder on the radio. Or maybe he didn’t. Either way, he must have known that he was less likely to attract trouble if no one knew he was there.

It was a tough choice to make. Especially for a coward.

Josh had no problems admitting he was a coward. Not to himself, at least.

But that self-admission did make it hard to decide to stay and fight. Something about it seemed contradictory.

Josh found a place where he thought he might remain somewhat concealed. His white parka definitely was an advantage. The compound had the advantage of owning some specialty gear. That was what planning did for you. Not many other groups or individuals would have had such foresight.

Josh positioned his rifle so he’d have a clear shot, straight down the path of his footprints.

Then he waited, shivering in the cold, his finger on the trigger, and snow falling around him.

“You get enough to eat, Mom?” said James.

“Thanks, James, I’m fine,” said Georgia.

She was looking a lot better. Some color had returned to her face, and she’d started walking around the camp. It might still be a while, though, before she was out hunting again. And she was itching to do it. But the walks had quelled some of her frustration.

“You warm enough?”

“I’m fine, James. Don’t worry about me.”

“You sure?”

“Of course. Now go do something useful with yourself.”

Georgia continued walking, unaided, along her small path that circled the camp. Neither the snow or the freezing temperatures were going to deter her.

James looked out at the snow-covered trees and wondered about Max and Mandy.

But, as Max would have said, there was no point in worrying about something he couldn’t change. The thing to do was keep going. And the meaning of that was always situationally-dependent.

In this moment, it meant defending and readying the camp.

John and Sadie were on watch. They were positioned at opposite ends of the camp, waiting and watching in the cold.

James had the brotherly instinct to go check on Sadie, but at the last moment, he thought better of it. After all, he knew she’d be fine. She was bundled up plenty, and more likely she’d just talk his ear off complaining about being bored and about being cold.

Most of the work that the camp needed had already been done over the last week. Together, they’d taken the tent from the pot farmers and brought it over to Jake and Rose’s van. With one person always on watch, the van and the tent together provided enough sleeping space for everyone. Not that either structure did much against the cold.

James had argued that they should just move the van now that they had gasoline. But Max had pointed out that the fields of marijuana weren’t something they wanted to live very close to. He’d said it be better if they could move farther away, but that it’d be too inconvenient. The fields, Max had said, could draw unwanted attention. It was, after all, a resource that some might potentially be after.

The fire was still out, so as not to draw more attention. There was enough food for now, and James knew he couldn’t go hunting anyway. Not with someone potentially being out there.

It bothered James to have no immediate project. Nothing to help with.

Max’s brother was inside the tent, fiddling with the radio that he’d brought. Now they had two radios. And no one to communicate with.