Ryan Westfield - Pushing On

“What are you boys doing out here?” said Miller, playing innocent. “I thought the military wasn’t… you know… wasn’t exactly operational since the EMP.”

No answer.

“I was having a problem, maybe you guys could help me out.”

Still no answer.

The orange-bearded man was peering past Miller into the SUV, eyeing the guns. He was looking for supplies, looking for gear.

Maybe he was looking for a Faraday-shielded shortwave radio.

But who carried one of those around?

The trick was just to casually slip it into the conversation.

“What have you got there? The firearms.”

“Oh, those? Just some of my old hunting gear. You know, you’ve got to be prepared when you’re out here.”

“Out of the car.” The words came out of him cold and calculated. No sympathy in them.

“Hey,” said Miller. “That’s fine. But come on, don’t take my guns from me. How the hell am I going to survive out here? There are some nasty types around, you know.”

“Not my problem. Out of the car.”

“You got it, bud,” said Miller.

Miller got out of the car, keeping his hands where the militia guys could see them.

Inside, Miller was raging. He wanted to tear out all their throats. Maybe eat their hearts. Some of that crazy movie shit. Exacting his revenge and all that.

But outside, he remained calm. He couldn’t give himself away.

Fake it, he kept telling himself. Fake it until the revenge. It’ll be sweeter than all this bullshit.

Miller stood off to the side. One of the others, a guy with a shotgun and a particularly grungy look, stood by him. He jammed the butt of his shotgun into Miller’s stomach for no good reason whatsoever.

Miller bent over in pain.

He wanted to elbow the idiot in the face, take the shotgun, and blast through the guts of them all.

But he kept calm.

“That hurt, buddy,” he said, keeping that idiotic smile on his face.

Keep it there, no matter what, he told himself over and over.

The other three militia men were all over the SUV, rooting through the guns and the gear. They were talking to themselves over their findings.

And they had good reason to be. After all, Miller had some good stuff with him.

He didn’t give a shit about his stuff.

There was a time when Miller had polished his guns, kept them looking pretty. A time when he’d kept his knives razor sharp. A time when gear had meant so much to him.

Now they were just objects. Cold and utilitarian.

They were nothing compared to his wife and son, mutilated by bullets and buried by none other than Miller himself, right there on the property they’d lived their entire lives on.

The three weren’t paying any attention to Miller.

“What do we do with him?” said Miller’s guard, shoving the shotgun muzzle further against Miller’s flesh.

“Kill him,” said the orange-bearded man. He said it casually, not even looking at Miller.

“Sorry, buddy,” said the guy with the shotgun, looking Miller in the eyes for the first time.

But there wasn’t any apology in his eyes. He wasn’t bothered by killing. He wasn’t some guy caught up in having to follow orders he didn’t agree with. He simply didn’t give a shit.

“You know,” said Miller, loudly. “If you like all that gear, I’ve got something really good stuff you all might be interested in. But you won’t find it in that SUV.”

“Oh yeah?” came the sarcastic reply. “And that wouldn’t have anything to do with your imminent death?”

Miller shrugged. “Hey, I’m living on the edge. I’m going to die at some point. Might as well be now or later. Doesn’t matter so much to me.”

“Then why even try to stall us with the mention of some secret you’ve supposedly got somewhere?”

“Makes it all more fun,” said Miller, flashing a big grin. “I learn something new every day. If I live another day, maybe I’ll learn something new. Or more importantly, have some fun.”

“What have you got?”

“Oh,” said Miller. “Just one of those radios.”

That got their attention.

They finally turned to look at him.

The leader, the one with the beard, walked over to Miller. He stood close to him. Miller could smell his heavy, rotten, hot breath. He felt it on his neck as the leader’s eyes bored into him.

Miller kept the grin there. Might have been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.

But he did it.

“What kind of radio?”

“Oh,” said Miller, speaking slowly, to draw it out. “One of those shortwave radios. Good for communicating long distances, you know.”

“A shortwave radio?”

“Yup,” said Miller. “Why? I doubt you guys would be interested in something like that.”

“Well,” said the leader, pushing his pasty white face incredibly close to Miller’s. “It wouldn’t work anyway. The EMP was strong enough, at least around here, to wipe out almost all electronics.”

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” said Miller.

The guy’s teeth were horrible. They were all rotten. Maybe that was where the smell was coming from.

“You’ve got five seconds to say what you’re going to say, so spit it out.”

“Five seconds before what?”

“Before I kill you.”

He took a pistol from a holster at his side, and pressed the cold muzzle against Miller’s temple.

But he wasn’t going to shoot. His boss wanted a shortwave radio too badly.

This was good. And Miller knew it. He had some power over them. And he now knew that the rumors were true. Those two hikers hadn’t been lying, and they’d had the correct information. These militia guys would do nearly anything for a radio.

“I’ve been preparing for something like an EMP for a long time,” said Miller. “I shielded the shortwave radio with a Faraday cage. Rudimentary and homemade. But it does the trick.”

Miller knew that these guys probably didn’t actually know what a Faraday cage was or how it worked. But he could tell by their expressions that they’d heard the word before. They knew enough to know that they needed a radio with a “Faraday cage.”

Now it was just a matter of making that information work for him. Miller hadn’t quite figured that part out of it. If only he’d had more time before he’d run into these guys.

“Here’s the deal,” said the leader. “You’re going to take us to this supposed radio of yours. If you don’t, we’re going to kill you. Only first, we’re going to torture you. You’re going to tell us where it is. Trust me.”

“You know,” said Miller. “I was thinking that this radio might come in handy. Pretty useful for communicating with other groups across the country. Pretty useful for consolidating power, if you catch my drift.”

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about, but you don’t know shit.”

“I know your boss really wants this radio,” said Miller. “And he’s going to be upset if you screw it up. That couldn’t be good for you. The best thing you could do is take me directly to your boss. I’ll tell him the location of the radio.”

The leader laughed, throwing his head back and letting out a disgusting cackle. It really showed off his bad teeth.

“There’s no chance in that. Like I said, you’re going to take us to the radio right now.”

“I’m only dealing with the boss,” said Miller.

The punch came fast. The leader’s hard fist caught Miller in the temple.

Miller reeled with the blow. He saw stars. But he took it as best he could.

“Make it easy on yourself, and you might just live.”

“The boss,” said Miller. “Or you’re not getting it.”

Another blow. This one connected with his jaw. Pain flared through his face. Miller reeled again, almost falling.