Ryan Westfield - Surviving Chaos

She pulled his hand away.

“Don’t make any noise,” whispered John, as quietly as he possibly could. “Someone’s here. Get your gun.”

He heard Cynthia fumbling for her gun.

“Got it,” she whispered.

They had no flashlights. No way to see through the darkness for whoever it was.

The only thing they could do was watch for where the flashlight went. It would give whoever it was away.

So long as they kept using the flashlight.

All it took was turning off the flashlight, and they’d be just as invisible as John and Cynthia in the darkness.

Kiki was growling louder.

“Kiki, quiet. Keep quiet, Kiki.”

John was worried her growl would be perfectly audible in the deadly silent woods.

There were heavy footsteps on the ground. Close by. The flashlight beam was getting closer. About fifty feet away. Just one flashlight. But it sounded like there were two men.

But she just growled louder.

Dale woke suddenly with a start.

“What the hell’s going on?” said Dale’s rough just-woken-up voice. He made a hell of a racket as he tried to stand up, tripping over his sleeping bag, from the sound of it.

“Get flat on the ground,” hissed John. “There are people here.”

John was on his stomach, pressing himself into the dirt.

“You hear me, Dale? Someone’s here.”

“I heard you, and I’m already on the ground.” Dale spoke loudly, in full volume.

Whoever was out there, they knew now precisely where Dale, John, and Cynthia were.

John looked for the flashlight beam, but it had shut off. Either that was a good sign or a really bad one. John was gong to go with it being really bad.

Kiki growled and John heard her rushing off somewhere.

“Get ‘em, Kiki,” shouted Dale, laughing deeply.

“Take this seriously, Dale,” hissed John.

“Kiki will take care of us.”

Kiki had her sense of smell, not to mention better night vision. But she didn’t have a gun. She was just a dog.

A gun went off nearby. Someone shouted. Kiki growled furiously. It sounded like she’d attacked someone.

The flashlight beam appeared again. It was close by. Maybe twenty feet. The beam illuminated a tall, muscular man. Kiki had seized his upper thigh with her teeth. And she wasn’t letting go. Pain contorted the man’s face. He was trying to push Kiki off without any luck.

The flashlight’s white light made the scene look impossibly eerie, like something from a horror movie. Not that anyone was watching horror movies anymore.

John took aim. But not at the man that Kiki had seized. Instead, he aimed his gun at what seemed to be the source of the flashlight’s beam.

But he didn’t shoot yet. He didn’t want to risk killing someone innocent. They hadn’t actually been attacked yet.

A gunshot rang out. Someone had fired at them. John actually felt the dirt spraying up at him from where the bullet had struck the ground.

Another shot rang out.

A bullet struck the man Kiki had seized. Right in the skull. Blood, illuminated by the pale white light, rushed out. He fell to the ground.

John squeezed his trigger, trying to hit whoever had the flashlight, whoever had fired at them. He felt the recoil, and looked on expectantly. But nothing happened. The flashlight didn’t fall. He’d missed.

The flashlight switched off. But it’d been a conscious decision. Whoever was out there was still alive.

“What do we do?” whispered Cynthia. There was fear in her voice.

“Keep quiet,” whispered John. “They can’t shoot us if they don’t know where we are.”

It was a tough game to play. Neither party could see the other. Unless the flashlight was switched on. They couldn’t just fire wildly into the darkness, not unless they wanted to waste all their precious ammo.

Surely, their attacker would switch the flashlight on to try to find them and shoot them. But once they did, they became a target themselves.

John kept his eyes scanning the darkness, ready for the moment the flashlight switched back on.

There were no footsteps. There was no noise. Just his own heavy breathing.

Kiki wasn’t making any noise.

Where had Kiki gone?

If only they’d had a flashlight. Their own had died a few days earlier.

The way things were now, they were completely stuck, unable to make the moves that could save their lives. They couldn’t flee into the darkness, not without getting their stuff.

“Enough waiting,” muttered Dale. “I’m going in.”

“Dale, you’re crazy, stay where you are,” hissed John.

“Dale!” hissed Cynthia. “Don’t do something stupid.”

“They’ll be sorry they messed with The Bastard!” said Dale, his voice full volume. He laughed as he spoke, his classic deep chuckle rumbling around and through each syllable.

Dale rose up, making a hell of a racket. John heard him rushing forward, his boots heavy on the ground.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Dale didn’t answer. Apparently he was determined to simply rush into the darkness and charge their attacker.

John and Cynthia had been impressed with Dale’s know-how since they’d met him. But they’d also noticed a certain streak in him, a strain of intense compulsiveness. He laughed at everything and seemed to fear nothing, thinking he was almost invincible.

The flashlight beam reappeared. The beam was short. Dale was close to the source.

It shone directly on Dale. He was running full tilt towards the source of the flashlight. His arms were swinging fast at his sides. His face was bent down. His legs were pumping. His thick, heavy body was moving fast.

There wasn’t enough time for anyone to do anything. Dale ran straight into the flashlight holder. With a tremendous thud, the two of them collided with the ground.

The flashlight had fallen to the ground. “Stay there,” said John to Cynthia, running towards the flashlight.

John tripped on a root as he ran. He fell forward, hitting the ground hard.

But the flashlight was right there, within arm’s reach. He grabbed it and shone it right on Dale, who was wrestling with a big, muscular man.

John aimed his gun, but it was impossible to get a clean shot. The two of them were rolling around on the ground, struggling for control of a single handgun that they both held onto.

“Shoot him!” cried out Cynthia.

But he couldn’t. For a second, John thought he had a clean shot. The next, Dale and the man had moved again. The gun was on the side away from John. He couldn’t see who had the upper hand.

The gun they were struggling for suddenly went off. The gunshot had been loud. John’s ears rang.

The struggle had ended. But both bodies were still. Who’d been shot? Both of them?

“Dale?”

Suddenly, the two of them moved. Dale’s face rolled into view. A hole had been blasted into his forehead, a horrifying bloody cavity illuminated in the cold artificial light of the flashlight’s beam.

Dale’s killer moved quickly, aiming the gun right at John.

John was too fast for him. He squeezed the trigger of his own gun, pumping two rounds into the guy, who fell still.

There was no point in checking Dale’s pulse. He was gone.

Cynthia was suddenly at John’s side, holding him tight, pressing her body into his. She was sobbing.

A sound of something rushing towards them… different from heavy boots.

John spun around and threw light on it. It was Kiki, running right towards Dale. She got down near Dale, bending her front legs to do so, whining and licking Dale’s face.

Off in the distance, two flashlight beams poked at the trees.

“Come on,” said Dale. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“I can’t believe he’s dead.” Cynthia was still sobbing. Dale’s death seemed to have hit her hard. Maybe it was just too many deaths. Too many lost friends.