Ryan Westfield - Surviving Chaos

“Five hours? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, and that’s going at a pretty steady pace.”

Mandy glanced back at Georgia, who was still asleep, and then at Max.

Max knew what she was thinking. Was Georgia going to be able to make it?

Max let the Bronco coast as long as it could, then he steered it over to the side of the road.

“Damnit,” said Mandy. “I can’t believe this happened.”

“Come on,” said Max. “Let’s get moving, everyone. There’s no time to waste. No time to dwell on what happened.”

Max got out into the cool, dark night. There was a sliver of moon appearing in the sky, making it a little easer to see than when he’d been hiking on his own through the woods.

Max didn’t bother thinking about whether they’d had bad luck or not. As far as Max was concerned, there wasn’t any such thing as good or bad luck. There was just reality. Cold hard facts.

They were out of gas. They had to walk.

It was as simple as that.

Everyone was piling out of the car, grabbing the gear.

Sadie and Mandy were helping a very sleepy Georgia stand up.

“Let her rest in the car,” said Max. “I’ll make a crutch quickly. We’ll see if that does it for you, Georgia. If not, we’ll make a stretcher for you.”

“I don’t need a stretcher,” said Georgia. “There’s no way I’m going to have you carry me for hours.”

“We’ll do what we have to do,” said Max.

Max walked off the road, and a little ways into the woods.

He shivered slightly in the cold air. He looked up at the moon for a quick moment before looking around for a sapling that they could cut down to use as a crutch for Georgia.

There wasn’t one in the immediate area, so Max walked a little farther into the woods.

He had moved far enough now that the voices of his friends were gone. There was nothing but silence around him.

Silence.

Then a voice, soft and raspy. Delicate and quiet. But firm and frightening.

“Hands in the air,” said the voice.

Max didn’t raise his hands. He turned and looked.

It was the stranger. The woman who, just minutes ago, had been seated in the Bronco. She should have been tied up.

But she’d gotten out.

And somehow she’d gotten one of the guns.

“What do you want?”

“Hands in the air. Or I shoot.”

“Kiki, come on,” said John, slapping his thigh.

Kiki sprang forward, running after them.

They were all running through the woods. Tom was leading the way, holding his shotgun in front of him.

“You think we can trust him?” said Cynthia, panting.

“I hope so.”

John was pretty sure. Not 100%.

But you couldn’t get 100%. Not now. Not since the EMP.

John couldn’t keep up with them. He could barely run with the two packs. By the time he got to where they were heading, Tom and Cynthia and Kiki were already there.

“This is your hideout?” said John, completely out of breath, panting heavily. He was already covered in sweat, which didn’t feel good in the cool air. It also meant he’d be soon dehydrated. He hadn’t been drinking much water. Neither he nor Cynthia had been.

Tom nodded. He gestured to a little lean-to he’d apparently built. It hadn’t been built well, which made sense, considering Tom’s inexperience.

“Look,” said Tom, pointing through the trees. “We can see the park ranger building from here.”

“How do you know they’ll go there, though?”

“That’s where they think I am. That’s where they go every time.”

“Stay there, Kiki,” said Cynthia. “I hope she doesn’t wander off. Or run at them.”

“She’s well trained,” said John. “Dale knew what he was doing, apparently.”

The three of them got into the lean-to, flat on their stomachs. They pushed their packs into the corners.

“We’ll be hidden in here,” said Tom.

John had his doubts. It wasn’t like the lean-to was camouflaged. Then again, he hadn’t been able to see it until he got up close to it. And anyway, it wasn’t like they had any better options.

“You see anyone yet?”

“No, but I know they’re coming. Quiet. I can hear them.”

They all fell quiet, and waited. John felt his heart racing in his chest.

He had his rifle in front of him, his cheek pressed against it.

Four figures emerged from the trees. They all carried weapons. A shotgun, a rifle, two with handguns. They wore civilian clothes, and each had a small backpack.

“You think they’re from the compound?” whispered Cynthia.

“Definitely.”

John glanced over at Tom. His face had gone red. He was breathing hard, obviously full of rage and anger.

The men were cautiously approaching the building, walking slowly in a single file line.

“I’m going to get them,” muttered Tom, his voice intense. He was barely comprehensible. “I’m going to get them all.”

Tom moved to get up.

But John grabbed him and pulled him back down to the ground roughly.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I told you,” snapped Tom. “I’m going to kill them all.”

“Look,” said John, still holding onto Tom. “I barely know you, but I don’t want to see you shot to bits. You charge them, you’re going to die. You think you can take on all four of them?”

“I’ve got the shotgun.”

“Yeah? So? They’ve got guns too.”

“This shoots more,” grunted Tom.

“What are you talking about?”

John was still holding Tom down, but Tom wasn’t moving to get back up.

“Multiple shots,” muttered Tom. His eyes had a crazed look to them. “I’ll shoot them all at once. They won’t have a chance.”

“Have you ever even fired that thing before?” said Cynthia.

“No, but I know all about it.”

“Have you ever even shot a gun before?” said John.

Tom shook his head.

Cynthia let out a little laugh of disbelief. “Stay here with us. Trust me, the shotgun doesn’t work how you think it does.”

“What are they doing now?”

“They’re going inside,” whispered John.

“Now’s my chance,” said Tom, trying to stand up again.

John pulled harder, and Cynthia grabbed him too, throwing him back down to the ground.

“Look,” said John. “Frankly it’d be in our best interest to let you rush them. We could get away. They’re after us, too, you know.”

“But we’re not those kind of people,” said Cynthia. “At least, I think we’re not. Right, John?”

“We’re not letting him do it,” said John. “Come on, Tom. You’re talking suicide here. And over what? They harassed you a little? Trust me, far worse has been done to many. Cynthia’s the one in real danger here. They’re after women. You’d get off with just dying. What awaits her is far worse.”

“Maybe we can attack them together then,” said Tom.

“Keep your voice lower,” said John. “Come on. We don’t have much time. It doesn’t take that long to figure out you’re not inside the building.”

“Maybe they’re waiting for me.”

“Maybe. But who knows what’s going to happen.”

Suddenly, Tom shot up. He did it forcefully, breaking free from their grasp.

“Tom!” hissed John.

But Tom was already out of the little shelter, moving like a wild animal.

Cynthia and John looked at each other. They had the same thought, apparent in both their glances. Did they risk their own lives to rush out and stop Tom from doing something incredibly stupid, even to the point of tackling him if necessary?

Cynthia looked away. She started to get up, moving quickly.

“We’ve got to get him,” she said.