Ryan Westfield - Surviving Chaos

He turned to see Cynthia standing there, satisfaction on her face.

“Looks like you needed me after all.”

John didn’t answer. He moved over to where Tom was on the table.

“You might not want to see this,” he said to Cynthia, who was still standing in the doorway.

But she came in anyway. When she saw Tom, she let out a scream, and covered her face with her hands.

Tom was no longer screaming. Instead, he was making indistinct noises of pain.

His face was no longer the face he’d had. His nose had been removed, cut cleanly off with a sharp knife. He was missing an ear. Missing a finger, too. It looked like they’d been slowly dismembering him at random, for their own sick amusement.

Humanity was capable of viciousness and sickness. But John already knew that. He’d seen plenty of it since the EMP. In Philadelphia and outside of it.

Tom lay there, tied tightly against the table, moving slightly against the rope that bound him, obviously in pure agony.

“Is he going to live?” said Cynthia, her voice cracking.

Tom’s shirt had been cut open. And so had large sections of his body. His abdomen had been sliced open, torn into. Some of his organs were hanging out partially. There was massive blood loss. It was a miracle that he was still alive.

But there was no saving him.

He’d be dead soon enough.

Or maybe not soon enough.

Tom’s eyes were barely open, but he looked at John and John saw the recognition there. Recognition, along with a pleading look.

“Why aren’t you doing anything?” said Cynthia, her voice shrill.

“There’s nothing to do for him,” said John. “Except put him out of his misery.”

“You’re not talking about…?”

John nodded.

Then he looked at Tom. Right in the eye.

“Sorry, Tom,” said John.

He raised his handgun, pressing it right against Tom’s temple.

It’d be quick. Painless. He’d feel nothing more. And that was what he wanted. It was in his eyes, and all over his face.

“Thanks,” said Tom, his voice barely above a whisper.

John pulled the trigger. He gritted his teeth instinctively, but he didn’t close his eyes. He saw it all.

Cynthia let out a scream, and then she burst into tears, a wailing come from her. It wasn’t just Tom’s death. No, it was more than that. It was the simple and constant horror that they’d faced, and would continue to face, day in and day out. Humanity was tearing itself apart, and they had front row seats to the horrible spectacle.

Tom moved no more. No more screams. No more pain.

“Come on,” said John, putting his arm around Cynthia. “We’ll check these guys for equipment, and then we’ve got to get the hell out of here.”

John was trying his best to act practically. To do what needed to be done.

But…

Something had changed inside him. He didn’t know what it was.

But he knew the cause. It was seeing Tom like that, all cut up. Mutilated for no reason at all except amusement.

John tried to shake it off, but it was still there. And it wouldn’t be easy to escape. It was a darkness growing inside him.

He could deal with it. He’d dealt with more than this.

But what if it was just the seed? What if it was something that would grow and grow, and never stop growing?

That was crazy, he told himself. After all, he didn’t even have the words to describe what he felt.

“You doing OK, James?” said Max, turning his head around to the side.

“I’m fine,” said James.

But he wasn’t. His breathing was ragged, and he was having a hard time holding onto the stretcher on which his mother lay.

She’d somehow fallen asleep. Mandy had said it was probably a reaction to the pain. It was easier, sometimes, for the body to shut itself off like that. Plus, her body was undertaking the massive reconstruction project of healing up her wounds. It needed time and rest to heal.

But it was hard to see his mother like that. It was hard to not have her there, protecting him and his sister.

James had thought he’d gotten it together himself. He thought he could look out for himself and his family, but was he really that strong?

He could barely carry the stretcher, and they’d only been walking two hours.

His hands felt raw. The wood was rough, from where they’d stripped the bark in places in preparation for the stretcher’s construction. His palms hurt, his arms were fatigued, and his back ached like crazy. He’d never felt pain in his back before. It was a completely new sensation. And not a good one.

Max, somehow, seemed to be doing fine. James didn’t understand it. He was a young man, and he should have been able to go and go and go.

But it was clear Max was going to outpace him.

More than a few times, James had stumbled. More than a few times, he’d almost dropped his end of the stretcher.

It was all he could do to carry the stretcher. He didn’t have the energy or concentration to look around, to keep his eyes open for animals or strangers.

Max seemed to know what was going on.

“Let’s take a break,” said Max. He called out to Mandy, who’d been walking ahead. She stopped.

“What’s going on?” said Sadie. “Did you see something?”

“No. We’re just going to do a shift rotation here.”

“I’m fine,” said James, protesting, even though he knew he wasn’t.

“James,” said Max, giving him one of those classic Max looks. “I know you want to keep pushing yourself. You only want the best for your family. But you’re only going to be a danger to everyone if you don’t admit when you’re tired.”

James felt guilty.

Max was right. Obviously.

“Sorry,” said James.

“Mandy,” said Max. “You take the back.”

“What’s going on?” said James’s mom groggily, waking up.

“Nothing, Mom,” said James. “Everything’s fine. We’re just about to get going again.”

James found himself wringing his hands out, trying to get the sore feeling out of his palms. He put his hands on his lower back and stretched backwards, but it didn’t help the pain.

“Sorry, Mandy,” said James, as Mandy gripped the bare wood of the stretcher with her delicate hands.

“We’re not at our best,” said Mandy. “None of us are. Remember that. We’ve got to keep in mind we’ve barely eaten. We haven’t slept enough. If we’re going to keep surviving, we’ve got to recognize when we’re tired.”

That made James feel a little better.

“Now do us all a favor,” said Max. “And take Mandy’s place up ahead. Keep your eyes open.”

James nodded, and, after some instructions from Mandy about the direction they were headed in, he set off.

It was strange, walking in front of everyone. Everyone walked without speaking, and James felt like he was alone in the woods. He had to occasionally look behind him, checking to make sure they were still there.

They walked and walked, for what felt like forever. The sun had risen long ago, and they walked through the morning. They took some breaks here and there, and ate the few mushrooms that they had left. James offered to take Max’s place on the stretcher, but he shook his head, and kept telling James that they’d switch at the next break.

James knew Max was tired. Even exhausted. But he also knew he could push himself farther than James could. Who knew why. It was probably more mental than physical.

James’s thoughts turned around and around in his head as he walked. Before the EMP, he’d thought of the woods as a place where his mind would become calm. It’d always been a refuge for his mother, who he suspected really had needed those hunting trips, to get away from it all.