Ryan Westfield - Pushing On

John took the energy bar from Cynthia. He struggled for a moment with the foil packaging.

“Here, give to me.”

“It’s pathetic. I can’t even open it.”

It felt like he had no strength in his hands.

“Here, let me do it.”

Cynthia took the packet from him and opened it easily.

“Thanks.”

Cynthia nodded.

John ate the bar slowly. It didn’t taste good. He’d eaten too many of them. But even so, he began to feel a little better.

“We’ve got to get going,” said John. “Who knows where those criminals are now.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“What are you talking about? I’m fine.”

“You can’t even open a foil packet.”

John tried to stand up, to demonstrate his strength. But as he rose, the world seemed to swim before him. He felt incredibly weak, like he might topple over.

Cynthia was at his side in an instant, supporting him, keeping him from falling.

“Easy does it,” she said, as she helped him back to the ground.

“Pathetic,” muttered John.

“It’s fine,” said Cynthia. “We’ll stay here until you’ve gotten your strength back.”

“Shouldn’t take more than a day.”

“We’ll stay here as long as we need to.”

They fell silent for a moment, as they each considered what would happen if those criminals came back for them.

“Maybe they’re long gone,” said Cynthia, as if they’d been discussing it rather than thinking silently themselves.

“Who knows.”

“If I was one of them, I’d take that gear and get the hell out of here.”

“They don’t know how to use half that stuff. Remember how long it took us to figure everything out? And Derek and Sara showed us how to use a lot of the gear. Like that weird little water filter.”

“I don’t know where we’d be without that thing.”

He was referring to a small water filter that Derek had shown them on one of the first days they were walking. It was a small, compact device that could be used as a straw, to sip from a body of water directly. Or it could be used as a filter on top of a normal water bottle, as you tilted the bottle to drink from it.

“So what does that mean?”

“That’ll they’ll probably come back.”

“What do they have to gain from confronting us?”

“Maybe nothing. But they might think there’s some reason. Don’t underestimate stupidity.”

“It’s crazy about Derek and Sara… Isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but…”

“But what?”

“I wish they’d listened to us.”

“You’re going to blame them? They’re dead.”

“I’m not blaming them. I just… it’s hard to feel bad for them. They refused to take the dangers seriously.”

“I guess you’re right, but it sounds pretty harsh.”

John shrugged.

“Then again, you did everything you could to try to save them.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have. We wouldn’t be in this mess. We should have just run away.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Cynthia had tears in her eyes as she leaned in close. John smelled her breath, and he felt the warmth of her face as her cheek brushed against his. Their lips met, and they shared a brief kiss.

“What was that for?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to go see if there’s any water nearby.”

“Be careful.”

Cynthia patted the gun at her hip gently. “Don’t worry. You’ve got yours?”

John nodded.

He watched Cynthia disappearing between the trees, water bottles dangling off of her pack.

For a few minutes, John was lost in thought. His thoughts, to his surprise, turned towards his pre-EMP life for the first time in a long time. Back then, he realized now, he had been a completely different person. It hadn’t been that long, but he knew that the old John simply didn’t exist anymore. He had been completely changed, becoming something that he never would have dreamed of.

John was proud of who he’d become. He’d learned along the way, and he’d been resourceful when it had counted. He’d become a person who was willing to do what needed to be done, and to learn new skills when necessary. He and Cynthia had stuck out the firearm thing, and somehow managed to teach themselves to be reasonable shooters, even conscious of gun safety.

When he thought of who he’d been before, he felt more embarrassed and ashamed than anything else. It hadn’t been any way to live his life. He’d been screwing people over, one-upping everyone he could. And it had all been perfectly legal. He’d been chasing after nothing but status. He’d wanted to get ahead, to beat everyone he could. But it’d been nothing more than a race to absolutely nothing. Those numbers in the bank account meant nothing now. It had all come crashing down, and the social order had been completely upturned. John thought of his well-off acquaintances in Center City. No doubt they were long dead, having suffered horrible fates in their fancy downtown apartments.

Only those who’d been prepared, or those who were willing to do what was necessary—those were people who’d survive. Including, of course, a fair amount of luck.

Maybe the EMP had forced John to become the sort of person that he could have become, if he hadn’t taken a different path since childhood. When he and his brother Max had been kids, they’d been so similar people couldn’t even tell them apart. They’d done everything together, and then John had started to get ambitious, and sort of gone his own way. Maybe John had “regressed” in a way, but in a good way. Whatever. It was too complicated to think about. All he knew for certain was that he was becoming more like Max. And that was a good thing.

Something bustled in the bushes off to John’s left.

He didn’t even think about it—he reached for his gun and moved himself into a more favorable shooting position.

He was ready for anything. Mentally, at least. His body still needed to recuperate.

He no longer felt that terror that he’d felt when first escaping the city. He knew how to act. He knew that if there was someone out there now, he’d be able to fight to defend himself. He’d do the best he could, and there wasn’t any more that he could do. No point in worrying about it.

That didn’t mean his blood didn’t turn cold and his heart didn’t start beating fast. It just meant he knew how to deal with those symptoms.

He took a deep breath and steadied his gun.

Another rustling in the bushes.

He saw them moving.

“Cynthia?” he called out.

No answer.

John waited. If it was someone, they knew he was there.

Suddenly, movement. The branches moved.

A rabbit jumped out from the bush. It seemed to see John, and it paused, frozen on the ground.

John breathed out a sigh of relief. It was just a rabbit. Just a cute little rabbit, rather than an orange-suited, gun-wielding, vicious criminal.

But it was more than just a cute little rabbit. It was large, quite plump. Pretty juicy looking, especially when John hadn’t had a proper meal in who knew how long.

John aimed at the rabbit and squeezed the trigger.

The bullet hit the rabbit in the hindquarters, which was a shame, since that was where a lot of the good meat would be.

The rabbit lay motionless.

John re-holstered his gun, and struggled to his feet to examine the rabbit. With the promise of fresh meat to cook and eat, John somehow found the strength to stand.

He hobbled over weakly to the rabbit and bent down to examine it.

“Are you OK?” came Cynthia’s voice, worried, as she crashed loudly into the little clearing.

“I’m fine,” said John.

“I heard a gunshot… I thought the worst.”

“Don’t worry any longer. I just got us dinner.”