Ryan Westfield - Pushing On

“Sure,” said Georgia. “I know he’ll be just as safe with you as with me, Max.”

Max nodded. “Well, let’s not waste any more time. I’ll lead the way. You follow, Georgia. If there’s a hiccup, we’ll just have to improvise.”

“Iknow you’re out there,” shouted someone. The man sounded middle-aged. But that was just a guess.

John didn’t dare to even whisper. He just hoped that the others would have enough sense to stay still, and not say anything. And that Cynthia would keep her gun ready.

Footsteps through the woods. Heavy ones.

The man would be there soon enough. He was crashing through the woods, breaking small branches as he moved.

John glanced at Cynthia. She looked scared. But she looked ready. She was holding her gun with both hands. Maybe she didn’t have the right technique. Not that John knew what the right way to hold a handgun was. She was pointing it forward. He supposed that was the most important thing.

Nothing could be perfect. Not the way things were, not since the EMP had hit and society had collapsed.

“I saw your setup at the farmhouse,” shouted the man. “Come on out. I’m a friend. My name’s Miller. I was just at the farmhouse, looking for the bastards who attacked my family. Come on out. My name’s Miller. I don’t know who you are.”

John still didn’t move. He suspected the worst. He suspected a trick.

If the man came into view, John was ready to shoot. He was ready to kill.

Something about the whole situation felt different than when he’d run across John and Sara such a short time ago. They hadn’t had that threatening vibe around them.

But this man who he couldn’t see—he spoke like he was mad. Like he was angry, enraged. And he’d moved harshly through the woods, as if he was looking or a fight.

“I don’t know if you know Max,” said the man who called himself Miller. “He was at the farmhouse before you.”

Max? Did this guy know John’s brother?

“Whoever you are,” said Miller, speaking loudly. “I know you’re not the men who killed my wife and son. I saw that you buried the bodies. I saw your journals. You’re normal people, like me. Well, as normal as we can be.”

“You know Max?” said John, speaking for the first time.

“Yeah,” said Miller. “Who are you? Show yourself to me.”

John might have been acting stupidly. But curiosity got the better of him. He wanted to know more about what had happened to his brother.

John stood up.

“What are you doing?” hissed Cynthia.

“Dude,” whispered Derek. “Don’t go.”

John ignored them and walked forward, through the thick trees.

Moments later, he saw the man named Miller.

John was almost surprised that Miller didn’t simply shoot him, that it wasn’t a trick.

But Miller made no move for the gun in its holster on his belt.

“I’m John.”

“Miller,” said Miller.

Miller was wearing clothes that had been torn in places. There was blood all over his shirt, dark and dried. It didn’t seem to be his blood. He stood tall and strong, like he hadn’t been injured.

Everything in the way he stood screamed: anger.

“Max is my brother,” said John.

Miller’s face lightened a little. Not much, though. There was too much anger there.

“As I told your brother,” said Miller. “I knew your grandfather. Good man. Good family.”

“What happened to Max?”

“He left. They were coming. I stayed to fight and defend my property and my family. Dumbest damn thing I’ve ever done.”

“You lost your wife and son?”

Miller couldn’t even get the words to come out. He just nodded. There was pain in his eyes. Deep pain that would never go away.

Miller didn’t seem like a threat. At least not to John and the party.

“Come on, everyone,” called out John. “You can come out. He’s not going to hurt us.”

Slowly, Cynthia, Derek, and Sara emerged through the trees.

Miller nodded at all of them.

“We need to exchange some information,” said Miller. His face was deadly serious. “I need to know about the men who attacked us. I need my revenge.”

John nodded. He felt bad about what he was going to say next, but he knew he had to say it. The whole world had gone to shit, and this wasn’t the time for altruism, even if the man had lost his family. “That’s fine. But I’m going to need something in return. We’re barely surviving as it is.”

Miller studied him. “Fine,” he said. “Whatever you need.”

“Let’s head back to the farmhouse,” said John. “We can talk there.”

“Good,” said Miller. “You have a vehicle?”

John shook his head.

“Come in mine, then.”

The others seemed a little hesitant, but they seemed to trust John’s instincts. They all followed Miller back to his SUV and got in.

“You know where it is then?” said John.

Miller nodded. He was already driving fast down the rural road.

To say that Miller wasn’t in the mood for small talk would have been an understatement.

But what could you expect from a man who’d just lost his wife and kid?

John didn’t know what to say. But maybe it was better that way. He knew there was nothing he could say to make it better. The fact was that things wouldn’t get better. This was the new reality. The new world.

Miller pulled into the driveway, driving fast, dirt and gravel from the driveway spraying up. He stopped hard right at the front of the farmhouse.

They got out wordlessly. Miller didn’t wait for them. He walked right up to the front door and walked inside.

“Maybe I can find us something to eat,” said Cynthia.

John nodded at her, and she started going through the piles of food stores, passing things around to everyone.

Food usually brightened everyone’s spirits. But not in this case.

There was going to be no quenching Miller’s rage. No calming him down. Anyone could have seen it just in the way he sat, all hunched up, tense. And from his face.

John watched as Miller ate one of the energy bars Cynthia had timidly handed him. He wasn’t doing it for enjoyment. It was purely fuel for him. Fuel for his quest to find those who’d done it.

“So what do you know?” said Miller. “Tell me everything.”

“We…” started John. He realized that he didn’t know any more than Miller did. He’d already told him about the bodies in the farmhouse. “Truth is, Miller, I don’t really know much. We just met Derek and Susan… sorry, I mean Sara here. They were telling us about what’s happened in the suburbs. A sort of rogue militia has taken over.” John looked over to Derek and Sara, hoping they’d start to fill in the gaps.

“Yeah,” said Derek. “I could go on and on, but the gist of it is that we had to get out.”

“Tell me more,” said Miller, his eyes narrowing.

Derek told him everything he’d just told John. Sara chimed in here and there, but Derek did most of the talking.

When he was finally done, Miller didn’t say anything.

“You think it was the same guys?” said John, looking at Miller.

Miller gave a stiff nod. “Definitely.”

“But what about all those bodies we found here in the farmhouse?”

Miller shook his head. “These guys were professionals. They knew how to fight, most of them anyway. The others were just cruel and savage. They were taking orders. Doesn’t sound like the group here. After all, they just ended up killing each other.”

“How can you be sure, though?” said Cynthia.

John knew her well enough now to know that she thought she could convince Miller that there wasn’t a fight to fight anymore. She thought that somehow she could save him if she “fixed” him psychologically. But John knew that there wasn’t a fix. He could see it in Miller’s eyes. Miller would go down fighting. John had never been more sure of anything in his life.