Ryan Westfield - Pushing On

Max opened his door.

“I’ll go down the left side. Shoot to the right.”

Max would have to rely on the accuracy of Mandy and James. A single stray bullet and he’d take one in the back.

Max sprinted towards Georgia. He ran in a lopsided way. His leg had never properly healed. Pain, and more pain. The adrenaline couldn’t keep it off. But he ran. He held the Glock in front of him, squeezing the trigger indiscriminately until he was out of ammo.

He didn’t pay attention to the gunfire around him. Mandy and James would do everything they could. No point in worrying about it. He’d either get shot or he wouldn’t.

He was ready for anything.

“Georgia!”

She was out, her limbs akimbo on the ground.

Max shook her, trying to keep against the wall as best he could, a slim profile for the shooters.

Georgia didn’t respond. Max felt for a pulse. It was there. Weak, but it was still there. She was still alive. But she wasn’t getting out of there on her own legs.

Max grabbed her and strained as he picked her up. His leg was on fire.

He turned and started back to the Bronco.

He kept to the side as best he could. Bullets whizzed by him. Muzzle flashes up ahead. Mandy and James were doing a hell of a job keeping up the gunfire. So long as one of their bullets didn’t go astray…

Max didn’t think about any of that. He didn’t think about his leg. Or how close to death he was. He thought about the Bronco, getting there. That was it.

Somehow, he made it. Just when he thought he couldn’t take another step with Georgia’s weight applying so much force to his leg.

James had the back door open already and Max set Georgia’s body down roughly on the backseat.

A bullet hit the open door. Better to go in through the back than risk getting into the driver’s seat from the outside.

Max threw himself over Georgia’s body, jamming himself between James, Sadie, and Georgia.

“Get us out of here,” barked Max.

Mandy was already sliding over to the driver’s seat. She had the Bronco in reverse, and sent them speeding backwards with a jolt that threw Max into the seat.

Mandy spun the wheel and threw the Bronco into a sharp turn. Dirt was up around them, dust. Good, it would help obscure them. Better cover.

In a flash, Mandy had it in first. They were hurtling forward, right toward the door Max had flattened on his way in.

“There’s someone in the way!” shouted Mandy.

A man with a gun stood in their path. A shotgun in his hands. Ready to unload.

The Bronco sped towards him.

The man lowered the shotgun.

“Go!” shouted Max. “Go!”

Sadie screamed as Mandy kept her foot on the pedal and flattened the guy. The Bronco bumped over his body, one side of the vehicle going up and down again. A sickening thud underneath the chassis.

But they were out. They were safe, for the moment.

But there was no time to celebrate their victory. Georgia was unconscious, her breathing shallow.

And they were out, speeding away from the compound.

Max had Georgia in his arms, his fingers pressed to her neck.

“She’s still with us. But she’s badly hurt. Get her shirt off. We need to find the wound.”

James had a pocket knife out and started cutting away Georgia’s shirt. A grim look had overtaken his face.

The shirt was colored a deep red with blood. James’s hands, when he took them away, were soaked in blood.

“I don’t see it.”

“Help me get her on her stomach. Sadie, get into the front with Mandy. We need space.”

“Come on, Sadie,” said James, tugging on his sobbing sister, basically pulling and pushing her until she was in the front seat, from which she peered back with anxious terror.

Max and James got Georgia onto her stomach.

“She’s been shot. It missed her spine. Let’s hope it didn’t puncture her lungs.”

Max knew that if Georgia’s lungs had taken the bullet, there’d be no way to save her.

Even if she’d gotten lucky, she’d be lucky to live. The bullet hadn’t exited. It was still lodged inside her.

“That walk really took it out of you, didn’t it?” said Dale boisterously. He seemed to have gotten even more energized the closer he’d gotten to his little cabin.

“I’m… OK…” John managed to say. He threw himself to the ground and tried to catch his breath. But he was still weak, and his breaths were shallow, as if his lungs weren’t getting the air they needed.

“You did good,” said Cynthia, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Can you make it inside?”

John nodded, and held up a finger, indicating he needed some more time to rest.

In front of John sat Dale’s little wooden cabin. It was picturesque, surrounded by tall evergreen trees, nestled perfectly in the woods. A chimney was perched on the roof. Wisps of smoke escaped it.

The scene looked like something out of a fairytale. Who was this man, Dale? He lived like a woodsman alone in the woods, in a log cabin that he surely must have built himself.

“I’ll get the teakettle going,” said Dale. “Don’t worry, honey, he’ll be fine in a jiffy. I’ve seen men lose plenty of blood before. He’ll be fine.”

John didn’t feel like he’d been fine. His body felt so weak he couldn’t even make it the few steps into the cabin, into which Dale now disappeared.

“You’ll be fine,” said Cynthia, her voice soft. “Just hang in there. Don’t die on me and leave me alone with Dale. I have a feeling he likes to talk a lot.”

John gave a weak little laugh. Cynthia had a way of cheering him up in the strangest ways possible.

After a few minutes, John was feeling better. He felt his strength returning, little by little, warming up his muscles that had felt dead just minutes earlier. It was amazing the abuse the human body could take, and what it could come back from.

“It’s nice here,” said John, finally catching his breath enough to speak a little.

“Yeah,” said Cynthia, looking around. “If the EMP hadn’t happened, this is the sort of spot people would pay a lot of money to come and vacation at.”

John chuckled weakly. “I was never one for the great outdoors myself. Preferred New York City. Ritz Carlton, the Met, places like that.”

“You were one of those types. Don’t worry, I’ve already got you all figured out. But you’re a changed man now.”

“I’m learning to enjoy the little things. Like having a bullet just graze me, instead of lodging inside me.”

Cynthia laughed.

“I certainly didn’t take any vacations to New York City, but I wasn’t the type for the outdoors either.”

“What’d you do then?”

“Oh, not much. Watch movies, stay in, stuff like that.”

“Sounds fun.”

“I thought it was, but I didn’t know what I was missing.”

“You’d prefer this life?”

Cynthia laughed. “I’m not saying that. But there is something about this. I feel… more free than I did before the EMP, trapped inside, the television always on. I wasn’t really living.”

“Yeah,” said John. “Nothing to make you feel like you’re really alive than getting shot and attacked all the time.”

“I’m not saying this is better, but you know what I mean.”

“I think so. Come on, I’m ready to go inside.”

“You folks going to join me or what?” shouted Dale, poking his head out the quaint front door.

“We’re on our way,” said Cynthia.

She helped John to his feet, supporting a lot of his weight.

“I can make it on my own,” said John, wincing a little as he started towards the cabin.

It wasn’t a long way. Not by any stretch of the imagination. A mere handful of paces. Too close for Dale to shout. But he had a habit of communicating loudly.