Ryan Westfield - Fighting Rough

“What you doing?” said James.

“Oh, just trying to figure out how we can continue to power this thing.”

“The battery won’t last?”

John shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “In fact, the battery for the one I brought is already dead.”

“What about the one from Jake and Rose?”

“They’ve got it rigged up to a car battery,” said John. “It’s got more juice. But not a lot. I’m trying to figure out how to attach it to the car. You know anything about that sort of thing?”

James shook his head. “Not really,” he said.

“That’s the thing with people your age,” said John.

“What do you mean?”

“Before the EMP, everything was just a quick internet search away. You never had to know anything.”

“Same goes for you, too,” said James, feeling himself grow a little defensive. He didn’t yet know John very well. And while he seemed like a good guy, he hadn’t yet earned James’s respect the way Max had.

John laughed. “You’re right,” he said. “I mean, look, I don’t know how to do this either. I got so used to my smartphone, I bet I forgot most of what I ever learned. I guess we’re going to have to get used to it. I don’t think there’s any going back.”

“So you don’t think the US can restart again?”

John shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m as pessimistic as Max is, from the sound of it. But I’m getting there, I guess. What about you?”

“I don’t know,” said James. “From what I’ve seen… the way people are acting… it’d take something pretty… I don’t know… crazy to get everything back in order.”

John nodded. The conversation gradually dwindled down, as John went back to work fiddling with the bits of wiring he was hoping to use to charge the batteries for the radio.

James found himself outside again, staring at the grey sky. The snow was really coming down.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to leave camp, but he hated not having something useful to do.

The firewood was all ready. For when they wanted to make a fire, that is. The guns were as clean as they could. Everything was in order.

But what about the pot farmers camp? They’d taken the tent and some other food. But James was convinced that there must still be something there that could be useful to them. After all, those men hadn’t seemed like the most organized. Surely they would have been the types to leave valuables around in odd places.

James glanced to his left and then his right. For the moment, everyone was occupied.

James slipped away from camp, heading towards the old pot farm.

His shoes made prints in the snow as he walked swiftly, leaning in against the cold wind. The heavy snow soon made the camp invisible when he glanced back at it. Good, no one would notice that he was gone.

“Ithink I could have gotten him with a cleaner shot,” said Mandy.

“It was a good shot,” said Max. “It did the job.”

“Yeah, but I think… you know, I just want to make sure I’ve still got it, that I can do what I need to do.”

She hadn’t stopped talking about killing the man since it’d happened ten minutes ago. She seemed to be trying to convince herself that she wasn’t going to be weak, that she was able to kill when it was necessary.

Finally, Max had to put a stop to it.

“Listen, Mandy,” he said. “I know you were dealing with some shit. But talking about it isn’t going to change it. You either do what you need to do or you don’t. And you did it. It was a good shot, and that’s that.”

Mandy fell silent.

“The snow’s falling heavier now,” said Max. “I don’t know how long we have before the snow covers up these tracks completely. Come on, let’s pick up the pace.”

“But what happens when we find him?” said Mandy.

“We’re trying to take this one alive,” said Max. “If it’s at all possible.”

“And if not?”

“Same as the last one,” said Max, running his thumb across his neck. “If he’s from the compound, or the militia, we can’t let him leave alive.”

“I’m worried he’s just at the end of these footprints, waiting, ready to shoot us.”

“That’s probably exactly what he’s doing,” said Max. “If he has any sense at all. I think this one is smarter than the last one. The visibility is so low now that I think we have the upper hand.”

“Let’s hope so,” said Mandy.

The wind had picked up, and it was hard to see in front of them. The snow blew furiously, the wind changing direction sporadically.

They were walking across a field. If it hadn’t been for the snow, they would have been easy targets.

They were coming up to the end of the field, where the tree line started again.

“If it was me,” said Max. “I’d be waiting right up there in those trees.”

“So what do we do?”

“Stop here. We’re right past the range of his rifle. Here’s what we’ll do. You stay here. Keep your eyes on the woods. I’ll go around from the side and cut him off. If he’s there, I’ll take him by surprise.”

“And if he’s not?”

“Then we’ve got to keep following him.”

“We might freeze to death, Max. We can’t follow him for hours and hours.”

“We’ll have to,” said Max. “We can’t let him leave.”

“He doesn’t even know where the camp is, remember?”

“As far as we know, and that doesn’t mean much. I screwed up giving John a meeting place over the radio. I’m not going to let that mistake get us all killed.”

“What were you going to do, though? You had to give John somewhere to meet you.”

“There’s no time to discuss that now. And we’ll worry about tracking this guy later. My bet is that he’s there in the woods, waiting for us.”

“Are you sure about this, Max?”

Max shook his head. “No, but it’s the best plan. For now. And remember, don’t shoot him dead unless you really need to.”

“Unless I really need to.”

“Unless he’s about to kill one of us, try to keep him alive. Remember, we need information.”

“I don’t think I’m that good of a shot, Max.”

“It’s not that hard. Remember, stay calm. You’ll be more accurate.”

“Easier said than done.”

With a nod of his head, Max set off through the snow, leaving Mandy behind. He turned his head to see her getting behind a tree. Her rifle soon became the only thing visible, protruding out from the trunk.

A minute later, he couldn’t see her at all. The falling snow was in the way.

Max’s boots made huge deep prints in the snow. He cut a big half-circle of a path, taking the long way around so that he could come up from the east.

His hands were so cold they were stiff, so he slung his gun back over his shoulder, and stuck them in his pockets. He needed them warm for when he needed the rifle.

Max could see his breath in the air. He walked quickly, but not enough to make him actually feel warm. Just fast enough to keep him from freezing. He hoped Mandy would stay warm enough to fight effectively.

If it came to that, that is. Max was hoping he’d be able to sneak up on the guy from behind, avoiding any kind of firefight.

Of course, he knew very well that things were never as easy as he’d hope. Plans never went the right way. The smart thing to do was expect changes and adapt on the fly. Easier said than done.

Max had crossed the field, and he entered the heavily wooded area. The presence of the trees somewhat protected him against the falling snow. But there was still plenty of snow on the ground, on the trees, and in the air.

In another time, this would have been an idyllic scene. There was a certain type of quiet in the air that only comes from a fresh snowfall.