Ryan Westfield - Pushing On

A single female voice rang out above the male voices. It was Kara. “Don’t let them escape!” shouted Kara. There was an edge to her voice, a viciousness.

Georgia turned to look, just barely seeing Sadie’s back as she followed her brother.

Georgia knelt down, turning back to the direction the mob was coming from. She checked the pistol first.

It was a six shooter, unknown make. Seemed good enough, though. High caliber bullets. Good stopping power, probably good accuracy. Hopefully, at least. But still, it wasn’t the sort of gun Georgia would have chosen if she’d had the option.

But she didn’t.

The shouts were closer.

Georgia got as close to the concrete wall as she could.

A small guy rounded the corner. He was the first, but he wouldn’t be the last.

“They’re heading towards the gate!”

He saw Georgia too late. He pointed his gun.

Georgia took aim, squeezed the trigger.

The kickback felt good in her hands. It felt like she was doing something, taking some action.

The roar of the gun was deafening. Nothing she wasn’t used to, though. Not at this point.

Her shot hit him in the head. His body crumpled to the ground.

One more, thought Georgia. Maybe two.

She’d make a last stand if she had to. If it meant Sadie and James getting out alive.

But they’d need her help. They had no weapons. It’d be better if she could join them.

And she didn’t want to die.

Two rounded the corner.

Georgia squeezed the trigger. She aimed. Squeezed the trigger again.

Two down in quick succession. A pile of bodies. Georgia didn’t even look.

Three bullets used. Two more left.

Georgia made her move. It was time.

She sprang up and dashed down toward the gate, where her children and Mandy had headed.

She didn’t look back. She ran with all her might, her legs churning under her, just like she’d done when running track in high school. She’d been one of the fastest. But that was years ago.

She heard the bullets. They hit the concrete, sending shards into her face.

She heard the footsteps behind her. Dozens of them. Heavy boots.

She heard the shouting.

Up ahead, she saw her children and Mandy dashing towards the guardhouse.

There were two guards, emerging now from the little guardhouse.

They held handguns, pointing them at Mandy and James and Sadie.

There’d be no way to get past them, not with the wooden gate blocking the exit. It was shut, and padlocked, as Kara had explained was the custom at night.

Georgia didn’t have time to think.

There wasn’t time to reach them. She’d have to make the shot from here.

And it meant getting shot herself. Most likely.

Georgia stopped in her tracks, raised her gun. She took a moment to take careful aim. It was too long, putting her in danger. After all, they were chasing her down from behind. She shouldn’t have stopped like that. But it was what she had to do.

It was almost too far to take the shot. But Georgia was good. She could do it.

The gun kicked, and she saw the guard fall.

The other guard looked up, but it was too late for him.

Georgia aimed at him, squeezed the trigger, and he fell.

It’d been a hard shot, but she’d done it. Her kids had a chance of escaping now.

Georgia felt the bullet hit her back. Pain roared through her. But she didn’t fall. She staggered forward. Her gun fell from her hand, making a heavy thud on the ground.

“Mom!” cried out Sadie, turning around, staring down the corridor between the barracks.

“You feeling better?”

John nodded. His mouth was full of roasted rabbit. He didn’t care about opening his mouth when he spoke, but he did care about losing an opportunity to continue eating the rabbit. Time with his mouth open meant time spent talking rather than chewing. He wanted to get it all inside him, as much of the rabbit as he could.

“I can’t believe how well this turned out,” said Cynthia. “Here, have the rest of mine.”

John shook his head. He couldn’t take her food. Food was life now.

“Seriously, take it. You’re not looking that much better.”

John accepted the legs she handed him. There was a bit of fur on one of them still. It’d been harder to get it off then they’d thought. They’d done quite a number on the rabbit, definitely butchering it in a completely incorrect way. But, whatever, it had worked, and it was cooked and they could eat it. That was the important thing.

A bit of fur didn’t bother him. He just picked it off when he could. Or he’d pick it out of his teeth later. It didn’t matter.

“You need it, trust me. You look terrible.”

“I get the point,” said John, finally speaking.

“So you can talk. The rumors are true.”

John nodded vigorously instead of laughing.

“Did you hear that?”

“What?”

John used the opportunity of his open mouth to take another huge bite of rabbit leg, tearing the meat right off the bone with his teeth. He’d never even eaten rabbit before now. Not once. It wasn’t like it was often on the menu at the places he’d frequented before the EMP.

“You don’t hear it?”

John shook his head. But he put his rabbit meat down carefully on the ground. He looked around, but he didn’t see anything.

A split second later, something came running into their little camp.

It was a huge furry dog, a German Shepherd, tan and black, with pointed ears.

John pulled out his gun.

“What are you doing?” cried Cynthia. “You can’t shoot it.”

John had never been an animal lover, but on the same token he wasn’t going to relish shooting a dog. But if it was a danger to them, he wouldn’t hesitate.

The dog didn’t seem interested in attacking them. Instead, it went straight for John’s rabbit meat.

“No!” shouted John, swatting at the dog’s face and pulling the meat back up into his arms.

The dog sat down, obediently, as if it had been given a command. It looked up at John with pleading eyes, patiently waiting.

Cynthia started laughing. “It just wants a little rabbit. Can you blame it? It must have smelled it.”

John didn’t laugh. Instead, he cast his gaze around into the surrounding trees.

“Someone’s here,” he whispered.

Cynthia’s hand went to her own gun.

“How do you know?”

“This dog is trained. It’s someone’s dog.”

“Maybe he’s on his own. His owner might have died.”

“Look at him. He’s clean and well fed.”

Cynthia nodded, and stood up, ready to take action if needed.

“Kiki!” came someone’s voice. A deep male voice.

The man emerged from behind the trees. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a sizeable beard, trimmed. His hair was thick and streaked with gray, short, but wild-looking even so.

“Don’t move!” shouted Cynthia, pointing her gun right at the man’s chest.

John did the same, and he kept his eyes on the surrounding area, in case someone else appeared.

“Whoa, whoa!” said the man. “I’m just looking for my dog. Not looking for any trouble.”

His voice was deep and pleasant, and it sounded trustworthy. Not that that was anything to go by.

“Who are you?” shouted Cynthia.

John and Cynthia had their guns trained on the guy, but he didn’t look scared. The jovial expression didn’t leave his face.

“Dale Baughner. I know, hard to pronounce. Most just call me The Bastard.”

“The Bastard? What kind of a name is that?”

“Just a joke between me and my friends. Of course, I don’t see them much these days.” With that, he gave a deep laugh that came up from his stomach. “Don’t worry, though. It wouldn’t be a very good nickname if I really was a bastard. It’s funny because I’m anything but.”