Ryan Westfield - Surviving Chaos

But that life he’d had… those “hardships” seemed like nothing now.

Now he was worrying that his mom might die from a gunshot wound to the back. He was worried that he and his sister might starve to death. Or suffer some worse fate should someone come across them in the woods.

“You still with us, James?”

“Huh? Yeah, just thinking.”

“Don’t do too much of that. There’s no point in worrying. Here, I’ll watch this little soup of ours, and you and Sadie can go look for some berries. I see you got the book out.”

“I think Sadie’s right, there aren’t any berries.”

“Maybe not. But it doesn’t hurt to look.”

“We’re just going to use up all our energy looking for those stupid berries,” said Sadie, her voice high and whiny. I’ve already read that stupid book. Do you know how many calories are in a berry? Not enough to go looking for them, that’s how many.”

Mandy kept her voice calm and level. “There are other things to eat besides berries. Why don’t you have another look at the book, James?”

“I’ve got to finish this soup.”

“I’ll take over,” said Mandy. “Why don’t you take a look at the mushroom section?”

James took the book, and Mandy took his spot by the fire.

“Sadie, you get up and help me with this. I think it needs a little more water.”

“It’s practically all water already.”

“Just do it, or else you’re not helping anyone lying there.”

Sadie, to James’s surprise, obeyed. She got up and sullenly went over to help Mandy, peering into the soup to see if it really needed more water.

Sadie looked up to Mandy, and maybe Mandy was the only one who could pull her out of this emotional pit she’d sunk into.

“I’ll go look for some mushrooms, then,” said James, as Sadie went to get some more water.

Mandy nodded at him. “I don’t need to tell you to take your gun.”

“No,” said James. “No, you don’t.”

The guns, though, were a problem. It’d been easier when they’d had all the rifles they could need, and all the ammo to go along with them.

But the ammo had all been stolen. They were down to two handguns, and not much ammo. The rule was that one gun had to be at camp at all times, and if someone was out on their own, they needed the other gun.

James walked off, leaving Mandy and Sadie behind. He got to a place where he couldn’t hear their voices. He sat down, his back against a tree, and breathed a sigh of relief. The stress was getting to him. Part of that stress was just being at the camp. Sadie wasn’t helping, but it would be stressful even if she’d been more cooperative.

James opened the small book on edible plants. He found the mushroom section, and started reading, making sure to move his eyes around his surroundings once in a while. It wouldn’t be good to get lost in a book, not when at any moment the unexpected could happen.

According to the book, there might be some edible mushrooms around, given the time of year and location. But the only problem was that they looked very similar to the infamous death cap mushroom, a pale white mushroom that almost always caused death, unless the proper antidote was given.

They had no antidotes with them.

Would it be worth it, as an amateur mushroom hunter, to try to add a few more calories to their diet, at the risk of death?

James didn’t know. But his stomach was telling him that it was certainly worth it.

They were hunting Max like an animal.

The pain in his leg was intense. He wanted to scream. But he made no sound.

He’d sprinted away from the man he’d knocked down. The revolver was in his hand.

The crowd was somewhere close. They cried out for his blood, his flesh.

Max didn’t think about what would happen if they caught him.

The noise from the crowd seemed to be on all sides. There wasn’t an easy way out.

Max made it into another backyard, and crouched underneath a large dead rose bush. He was breathing heavily with exertion.

He needed time to figure out his next move. But there was no time.

The only thing he had going for him was that he knew with certainty that violent force was appropriate. He’d have no qualms about shooting those who wanted to hang him just so they could consume his flesh.

How many yards were there to go before he was back by the road he’d come in on? He’d been trying to keep track, but somewhere in the chaos he’d lost it. Five? Six? Hopefully not as many as ten.

Max felt his blood sugar crashing. The adrenaline was coursing through him, drawing out the last of his glycogen reserves. It wasn’t the time to stop for a snack, but in this moment it was necessary. He seized one of the Mounds bars, tore off the wrapper, and shoved it into his mouth, chewing as quickly as possible.

Moments later, he felt his blood sugar stabilizing, his energy returning slightly.

Max got up. The leg roared with pain.

There wasn’t a fence between these two yards. Max kept low, crouching down. This put more pressure on his bad leg.

There was a car in the driveway. But there hadn’t been one before. Had Max gone the wrong way, down some different street? He’d thought there weren’t many streets here. But it was possible he’d gotten turned around.

Should he go to the car? Try to get it to start?

No. It was too risky. The noise of the crowd was too close. There wouldn’t be enough time to break into the car. And if it didn’t start, then that would be it for Max.

Up ahead, there was no end in sight to the rows of houses. In the farthest yard he could see, figures appeared. Ten of them. Maybe a dozen. They were headed in Max’s direction.

Shit.

There was no way out.

The only thing to do was hide. It gave him a chance. Not a good one. But it was something.

Max’s eyes scanned the area rapidly.

There was a shed, but it’d be useless to hide in. It’d be the first place to look.

Could he hide in the car? Or the house?

Max had to think fast.

He ran across the yard, towards the house. Not too far to go.

But they saw him. He heard them yelling. “There he is!” They cheered with frenzied anticipation, their cheer becoming a loud dull roar. Left unrestrained, this was what humanity had come to.

If he went into the house, there’d be no way out. He’d be a dead man.

Max ran to the house’s backdoor. He didn’t stop running. He threw himself against it, letting his shoulder hit the wood. Hard. The door cracked. Max drew himself back, and gave it another blow.

It wasn’t yet open. Max gave the door a tremendous kick, making contact with the sole of his boot.

The door was open. Max left it like that.

He wanted the mob to think he was in the house.

A mob was so dangerous in part because it worked almost as a single organism. The thoughts of the individuals were almost gone. But Max could use that to his advantage. An individual might think that there was the possibility that Max hadn’t entered the house. But a mob wouldn’t.

At least that was what Max hoped.

There was no way to know for sure.

Max rushed back to the car, and got himself underneath it just as he heard the mob arriving.

“He’s in the house!” someone shouted.

Max was breathing heavily. He tried to slow his breathing, to make no noise. Likely no one could hear him anyway. The mob was noisy, their boots practically slamming into the ground.

Max had lost weight, but it was still incredibly snug underneath the car. The exhaust manifold was pressed into his shoulder.

Max waited. It sounded like everyone was in the house.

He had his head turned to the side, but he couldn’t see much at all.