Ryan Westfield - Surviving Chaos

They’d been on the move for ten minutes, and they hadn’t seen anyone, or heard anything. Suddenly, a thought popped into his head.

“Cynthia,” said John, speaking quietly, knowing that his voice had the potential to travel far in the woods. “You brought the radio, right?”

“The radio?” said Cynthia, sniffling.

He turned to her, stopping in his tracks. She was wiping away some tears.

“The radio,” said John impatiently. “Dale’s radio. Remember?”

Cynthia nodded. “I remember. I left it behind.”

“You did what?”

“I left it there. I was about to ask you, but you said we had to get a move on it. It was so heavy. And big. You said we had to leave things behind.”

For the first time, John felt angry at Cynthia.

He knew it wasn’t her fault. In fact, the radio wasn’t crucial to their immediate survival.

But it might be essential for surviving in the long term.

Maybe John wasn’t admitting it to himself, but the radio represented something more than just survival.

The radio was the only link he had with his brother Max. The radio was the only way to find him.

Of course, it was a long shot. Impossibly long. As far as John knew, Max didn’t have a radio. He’d used the radio at the compound, and there was no reason to think he had one of his own.

Even if he did, the odds were very low that they’d somehow find each other on at the same time.

But were they really that low?

All it’d take was the two of them spending a few hours at night at the same time, surfing the channels looking for someone to contact.

They’d gone years essentially estranged. But that was before the EMP. That was when family hadn’t mattered as much as it mattered now.

John needed some connection. Not to his past. But to his future. And to someone with his own blood.

Cynthia seemed to know he was angry. “I’m sorry, John. I thought I was making the right decision.”

John nodded. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “But we need that radio. I’m going back.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Maybe,” said John, his gaze shifting to the direction from which they’d come, where the unknown awaited them.

“I thought we were trying to get out of here as fast as possible. Kiki’s disappearance doesn’t bode well for us.”

“No,” said John. “No, it doesn’t. But we need that radio.”

“Just keep in mind,” said Cynthia, “that if you go back, I’m going back with you.”

John paused for a moment. Maybe it was the wrong decision, but he said, “Come on, we’re heading back.”

They turned around, and walked in swift silence.

Walking quickly felt good. For now. It kept the chill at bay. But soon enough, with those packs, they’d be exhausted once again.

A sound came at them. A high-pitched whirring. Unmistakably an engine.

It was still somewhat distant.

“What’s that?” said Cynthia, stopped dead in her tracks. Her head scanned the woods around them. Her finger was on the trigger of her gun.

“I don’t know.”

“Sounds like an engine. Is it a car?”

“It’s too high-pitched.”

John didn’t have any idea what it was. There’d been so much to deal with already today, his brain didn’t seem to be working properly. It was a normal effect of being overwhelmed. There was only so much the brain could process.

“A motorcycle?” said Cynthia.

Then it hit John. She was right. Partially.

“A dirt bike,” said John. “Quiet, we’ve got to listen.”

They fell silent. The sound was only getting louder. Only getting closer.

In the silence of the woods, John found that there were actually two or more sounds that were blending together. It was hard to distinguish between them, but he was fairly sure there was more than one dirt bike.

The sound was only getting louder.

“We’ve got to hide,” said John, tugging Cynthia’s arm, pulling her towards a denser cluster of trees.

The small creek hadn’t been that far away from the “campsite,” the place where James had shot the deer.

Mandy hadn’t wanted to admit it, but she’d been feeling incredibly weak from hunger. In fact, once she’d gotten to the creek, she had to give serious thought to whether or not she could carry the water back to the camp.

She’d carried Georgia, so she could carry some water. Just a little bit farther. She’d be able to do it.

That was what she was telling herself, at least.

Her mind was fuzzy, a little muddled. She knew it was the effect produced by extreme hunger, malnutrition, and intense exertion. She was prone to making mistakes.

And she’d just realized hers, on the way back to camp with the water.

They already had water.

Plenty of water.

Mandy felt like an idiot.

Worse than that, she felt defeated. Realizing her mistake had instantly sapped her will to continue. It’d slashed that drive that had kept her alive through the weeks since the EMP.

She sat down, slumping against a tree, letting the water jugs fall to the ground beside her.

That was when she heard the noise. The unmistakable sound of a car engine. Loud and rumbly. Probably some kind of truck.

She wasn’t yet far from the creek. She could still see it.

There weren’t many leaves on the trees. She could see through their skeletonized forms.

She saw the truck mere seconds after she heard it.

She barely had time to scramble behind the tree, getting onto the opposite side of the trunk so that she wouldn’t be visible.

Mandy didn’t dare peek around the trunk. But she listened, as carefully as she could.

The engine shut off. One door opened, and slammed closed. Then another.

So there were two people.

But she didn’t yet know if they were friends or foes.

Based on past experience, Mandy was going to go with foes. She’d wondered, often, as she’d walked, how it was that so many of the people they’d encountered had harbored dark intentions. Why so many of them had wanted to hurt her and the others. And why so many of them had been merely looking out for themselves, able to do whatever it took, hurting whoever they had to.

The answer was simple. People were desperate. The instinct for survival was strong. Incredibly strong. And when that instinct was in full force, social concepts like morality went right out the window.

Mandy was holding her handgun tightly. She had her finger on the trigger. She held it pointed to the sky, ready to aim it. Ready to fire.

If she had to.

Hopefully they just wouldn’t see her. After all, she was completely hidden behind the tree trunk.

Hopefully, the thing she had to worry most about was that there were others in this area. Max and Mandy, when they’d talked about it, had hoped that the area wasn’t heavily populated. And here was direct evidence to the contrary.

“Hey, give me a hand, would you?”

It was a male voice. Gruff. Probably middle-aged. He sounded like he was a smoker.

“Get ‘em yourself.”

This voice was even gruffer. Sounded older, too.

Mandy couldn’t quite get a make on them. A voice could tell a lot about a person. But these voices were hard to pin down.

Maybe they were hunters. They sounded like they might be outdoor types.

But there was something off.

Mandy listened as they undid the back of their pickup. Presumably they were heading to the creek just like she was, looking for water.

Mandy tried to keep her breathing quiet, even though it was unlikely they’d be able to hear her.

She should be fine. She had to repeat it to herself. She was so close to them. She was essentially invisible. If they were just getting water, there’d be no reason to walk over to the other side of the creek, where Mandy was.