Ryan Westfield - Pushing On

It took them a good twenty minutes to get the path clear enough that the Bronco would be able to travel over the ground.

“Come on,” said Max. “We might as well get this over with. It’s going to be a hell of a job pushing it down here.”

“You think it’s far enough?”

Max nodded. “Yeah, we’ll be mostly out of view. We can set up camp there.”

“And then what? We’re not going to be able to travel without gas.” It was obvious, but Mandy felt she needed to say it anyway. She wanted to get Max’s take on what would happen.

“We can’t all hike out. Not with Georgia like this.”

That was obvious, too.

“So we’re going to just stay here?”

“For a while. Until Georgia’s better. If she makes it, that is. Come on, time to push the Bronco.”

Mandy’s muscles were already weak and tired. She didn’t feel like she had the strength to walk back to the Bronco, let alone push it, with Georgia and the gear inside it, across uneven terrain.

John woke up early in the morning. Sunlight came through the small windows of Dale’s cabin.

He was a little stiff, but not too bad. He felt stronger than he had yesterday. A lot stronger. He was regaining his strength.

It had been a long time since John had felt so rested. He’d spent the night in the chair, something that months ago he would have thought sounded far too uncomfortable. But it was better than the uneven ground out in the woods. It was better than sleeping on rocks, or not sleeping at all.

He’d only woken up twice that night. Normally, when he and Cynthia had slept outside, he’d never go a full night without waking up a dozen times, his heart pounding, fearing that some attack was looming immediately, close and deadly.

But it had only been Kiki, barking loudly and deeply, that had woken him up. Each time, she’d settled down soon enough, lying back down on the wooden floorboards of the cabin.

They hadn’t kept a watch, which had felt strange and dangerous to John and Cynthia. But Dale had assured them there was nothing to worry about, that Kiki was a better watchman than any human under the sun. They’d been so tired, and John so weak, that they didn’t have it in them to protest.

John looked around. Dale and Kiki were gone, probably on a walk around the property.

Cynthia snored lightly nearby, curled up in her wooden chair. She looked cute like that, almost beautiful. Her hair had come undone from her braid, and it hung messily around her, the sunlight hitting it just right.

John got up silently, so as not to wake Cynthia. He had to urinate, and, looking around, there didn’t seem to be any kind of bathroom facilities. Not that he would have expected any in a cabin like this. But he hadn’t seen an outhouse either.

That was fine with John. He’d do what he’d done since the EMP, and go in the great outdoors.

John patted his gun on his hip before opening the door as quietly as he could. He took one last look at Cynthia to make sure he hadn’t woken her up before stepping outside.

The air had a chilly bite to it. The sun was still low in the sky and hadn’t yet started to warm everything up.

John cast his eyes around. Everything looked peaceful and calm. The trees swayed slightly in an early morning breeze.

John found his way along a narrow path that wound its way through the trees. He stepped off the path, so as not to leave urine on the path itself, unzipped his pants, and breathed a sigh of relief.

He’d had a lot of tea last night, and the stream continued and continued, seemingly relentlessly.

There was a sound off to his right. A twig cracking, or something similar.

John turned his head sharply, but he saw nothing.

Must have just been an animal. A squirrel or rabbit.

Nothing but quiet, now.

John must have imagined it. He was still jumpy, though, and on guard, considering that he knew for a fact there were two criminals out there with firearms. Sure, they may have headed off in some other direction. That was what he was hoping for.

John finally finished, and his early morning cold fingers found the zipper with some difficulty.

As he was zipping up, a tremendous bang rang out in the forest.

It was a gunshot. It came from over where he’d heard the twig snapping.

The bullet smashed into a tree a mere foot from his head. Wood splinters exploded outward from the tree. John felt some of them hit his shirt.

John threw himself to the ground. Quickly and instinctively. His hand reached for his gun.

It felt good in his hand. Cold and firm.

On his belly, he thrust the gun in front of him, holding it with both hands. His eyes darted back and forth, trying to find the attacker.

A flash of movement up ahead. An orange jumpsuit. Unmistakable. So it was the criminals. Or one of them, at least.

John knew that if there was one there, there’d be another one nearby. Shit. He might get attacked from behind. He’d never know it until it was too late.

It was good John and Cynthia had been practicing so much with the firearms. He certainly was still no expert, but he was a lot better. Everything about the gun felt natural to John now, and he felt confident he could hit the guy, provided he could just get a clear shot.

The orange jumpsuit was hidden behind a tree. But the guy would have to move. He couldn’t stay there forever.

John kept his eyes on the tree the jumpsuit had disappeared behind. If he took his eyes off to check for another attacker, he’d risk losing his chance of getting a shot off.

So he kept his ears peeled, listening as close as he could for sounds coming from any direction.

A flash of the orange jumpsuit up ahead.

John was ready.

He squeezed the trigger.

The other guy didn’t stand a chance. He didn’t even have time to get off a shot.

He collapsed to the ground. John’s round hit him square in the chest.

Somewhere, off in the forest, a dog barked. It had to be Kiki.

John spun around.

The other convict was there, his hand gripping a pistol, rising up to point the gun at John. It seemed to happen in slow motion.

Before John could throw himself onto the ground, a crack rang out. Another shot had been fired.

The convict fell, his heavy body hitting the ground with a soft thud. Blood poured from his head.

Dale stood off in the distance, partially obscured by a tree. He held a rifle, the scope pushed to his eye. He lowered the rifle.

“Not a bad shot, eh?” called out Dale. “There were only two of them, right?”

“Just two, yeah.”

Dale was striding over.

Kiki got to John before Dale did. She came up and started licking his hand.

“Good girl, good girl,” said John.

“You feeling all right?” said Dale, clapping John on the back.

“Better than yesterday, that’s for sure.”

“How’s that arm doing?”

“Feels fine. I’ll get Cynthia to take another look at it today. Thanks, by the way. You’ve saved my life. Maybe twice now.”

“Don’t think anything of it,” said Dale. “It wasn’t a hard shot. Come on, let’s go see if we can tune into that broadcast.”

John felt excitement bubbling up in his chest. The convicts had made him briefly forget about it, and the excitement he’d felt last night about the possibility of hearing someone’s voice piping through a radio.

“What about the bodies?”

“I’ll take care of them later,” said Dale. “Come on.”

John turned to follow Dale towards the cabin.

“Everyone all right?” called out an unseen Cynthia.

“We’re fine,” yelled Dale happily. “Just took care of some scumbags. We each got one. Not bad for an early morning session.”