Ryan Westfield - Pushing On

Max didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his face towards her and looked her right in the eyes.

His eyes were bloodshot as hers probably were, from too many nights without sleep, from too many days without food. Viciously dark circles hung under each eye. The injuries on his face, rather than looking better, were now looking worse than ever. He’d been drenched in sweat and blood, a thin film of grime building up over the bruises, never getting washed off.

But in his eyes… there was something. Something powerful. It wasn’t hope. No, it wasn’t anything like that. But in his eyes Mandy saw Max’s drive. She saw his will to live. To continue.

And that was all Mandy needed. That was her answer.

Max hadn’t lost it.

And, as Mandy now realized, neither had she.

They’d make it, whether or not Georgia made it.

“We’re going to have to make camp here,” said Max. “Did you figure out where we are yet?”

Mandy shook her head. “We might have crossed into West Virginia. I don’t know. But we went west, as far as I can tell. Unless I took some crazy switchbacks and didn’t realize it.”

“You did good with the driving.”

Mandy nodded. She wasn’t so sure she’d done a good job, but at least she’d done it.

“We need to get the Bronco off of the road, out of view, in case anyone comes by.”

“We’re going to camp with the Bronco? Why don’t we just leave it and hike to a new spot, away from it?”

“We need to keep Georgia in there, I think,” said Max. “I don’t think we should move her. It’s getting cold at night, and it’s going to be better shelter than anything we’ll be able to build.”

“How are we going to get it into the woods, though?”

Max surveyed the surrounding area briefly. “Push it, I guess. We can push it over some of the saplings. I’ll try to find a path without any big trees in the way, wide enough for the Bronco.”

“If you say so.”

Mandy knew now that Max’s instincts were… well, they weren’t always right. But they were worth following. No one, after all, could be right all the time. Not since the EMP. There were too many unknowns.

“Check on Georgia, will you?” said Max, starting to walk off in search of a path for the Bronco.

“Max,” said Mandy.

She reached out and grabbed his torn coat sleeve.

“What is it?”

Mandy held on to Max. She didn’t want to let him go, even though he’d be back momentarily.

But she didn’t know what to say. She wanted to tell him how she felt about him, but she couldn’t get the words out.

“Nothing,” she said.

“You OK?”

“I guess.”

Max nodded, turned, and headed off. In their current situation, “I guess” was about as good as it was going to get.

Mandy stood there for a moment watching Max’s back. He walked with a slight limp now. Obviously the leg was still painful. But it was amazing he was walking at all.

The air had a bite to it, and Mandy put her hands into the pockets of her coat, only to find that they’d torn, just like the rest of the coat. A strange memory came flooding back to her. It was just a fragment, really. A fragment of a poem she’d had to memorize back in high school for French class. She couldn’t remember the French, but the English translation she remembered went something like, “I put my hands in my torn pockets. My overcoat, too, was becoming ideal.”

The author was Rimbaud, some French poet who she couldn’t remember anything about.

For Mandy, the poet had been trying to say that he’d like the adventure of life, the turmoil and the insults, the hardships and the lean times.

It was pure romanticism.

Mandy had liked the poem. She’d even had a brief phase as a teenager of wearing torn jeans, mostly because of that poem, and partly because it looked cool and was stylish at the time.

But now that times really were lean, the romanticism meant nothing to her.

No, she didn’t long for the times before the EMP. But that wasn’t because she wouldn’t have preferred them. It was simply because that world was gone. Probably never to return. There wasn’t any point in thinking about it.

Mandy, along with the others, had been transformed. Transformed into a person she never would have recognized before the EMP.

Mandy didn’t have time to stay lost in daydreams. There were things to be done.

“How’s she doing?” said Mandy, opening the back door to the Bronco.

Georgia lay there, on her stomach. Max had stopped the bleeding by suturing the wound. He’d done it somewhat crudely. After all, he wasn’t a doctor. But it had worked.

“Better,” said James. He sounded tired and worried. But he was keeping it together. “But she’s still got a fever.”

Mandy nodded.

Georgia wasn’t unconscious, but she wasn’t speaking either.

“The antibiotics will work,” said Mandy. “You need some rest, James. Let me take care of your mom for now.”

James shook his head.

She could see in his eyes that there wasn’t any way to convince him otherwise.

Through the rear windshield, which had at least one bullet hole, Mandy saw Max reappearing.

“How’s she doing?”

“The same, I think.”

“Let’s hope those antibiotics work.”

They spoke in hushed tones, so that James couldn’t hear them from inside the Bronco.

“I found a place we can push it.”

“It’s going to be hard, pushing it over that terrain. You think we can do it?”

“We have to.”

“We better do it now, before we lose any more energy.”

“We need to clear some saplings first. Some are too big for the car.”

“But we don’t have an ax.”

“I think we can take them with the knives. Come on, I need your help. You have your Mora?”

“Always do.” Mandy patted the plastic-sheathed knife on her belt. It had been a literal life-saver at least once. And probably would be again.

Mandy ducked her head back into the Bronco to tell James and Sadie what was going on. “Keep on the lookout,” said Mandy. “I know you want to keep your eyes on your mom, but you also need to be ready for someone coming. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen, though.”

James gave a stiff nod. Sadie was still mostly unresponsive in the front seat, overcome with stress and worry.

Mandy set off to follow Max, who was already walking back to where he’d found the place to forge a trail. It was about 200 feet from the Bronco.

When Mandy caught up with him, he was already at work, using his pocket knife to splice into the saplings. Mandy watched how he moved the knife up and down, rocking it, and then bent the sapling until it snapped.

Mandy tried to do the same with her own knife, but it was hard at first.

“There’s a trick to it,” said Max, observing her. “Only make one cut. You just want to rock it. Don’t try to saw it.”

“OK, I think I got it.”

Max nodded, as she snapped her first sapling.

“Max,” said Mandy. “We haven’t talked about Chad.”

Max was silent for a moment. “What’s there to talk about?”

“I don’t know… He was your friend, from way back.”

Max nodded.

“And, I don’t know. If you wanted to talk to me about it, that’d be fine. I’m here for you.”

“Thanks, but words aren’t going to bring him back. He’s dead, and that’s it.”

Mandy didn’t say anything. Max was already back at work.

Max had found the perfect spot. Along most of the road, there were thick trees that they couldn’t cut down, but right here, where they stood, there was just enough space for the Bronco to fit. Why there were saplings, Mandy didn’t know. She didn’t have time to think about it, since it was hard work. There wasn’t much in the way of bushes, but there were plenty of rocks, which, along with the uneven ground, made the work harder than it would have been. And it would make pushing the Bronco even harder.