Ryan Westfield - Staying Alive

“Mom,” said James, piping up. “It’s OK. Nothing happened. And Max actually put himself on the line… He stood up. He would have been the one to get shot. Not me.”

Georgia didn’t say anything more. But no one else spoke, and the atmosphere in the van was tense for the next hour or so until the sun started to come up.

Max was busy doing mental calculations around their gas usage. The minivan wasn’t running as efficiently as it should have, and they’d need more gas soon. Maybe they could make it another eight hours of solid driving, and maybe they couldn’t.

And there was no guarantee that when they eventually got low again on gas that there’d be another situation that allowed them to refuel.

No one in the car was asleep, and various foods from the Millers were passed around. They all agreed to save the beef jerky as much as possible, since they’d need protein along the way. But it was hard to do, since they all found it the most appetizing thing to eat. Maybe their bodies were giving them signals through their cravings, telling them that they needed more protein.

The best thing to do would be to keep their eyes peeled for another car to siphon gas from. They could fill up the water sack and carry the gas with them in the van. That way, they’d have more of a choice in when they decided to put their necks on the line again, rather than waiting for the gas to run out.

Max knew it wouldn’t be a popular idea. He knew Georgia wouldn’t like it. But it made the most sense, and he was going to speak his mind no matter how it was taken.

“Listen,” said Max, breaking the silence that seemed to echo through the minivan. “We’re going to need more gas soon enough… and…” He explained his thinking.

Of course, Georgia objected.

“I don’t see why it’s any less risky to get the gas sooner rather than later,” said Georgia.

“It lets us choose the situation,” said Max. “It gives us more of a strategic advantage.”

“It didn’t do us much good before.”

She was still mad. But that was OK with Max. He understood.

“I think Max is right,” said James.

“He’s got a good point,” said Mandy. “It’s going to be dangerous either way. We might as well have some advantage.”

“I don’t see what difference it makes,” said Chad. “I don’t see any other cars anyway. We haven’t driven past a house in miles.”

“We passed one a ways back,” said Mandy. “You were just asleep.”

Just then, a car appeared in front of them, coming around a blind curve. Its headlights were on, despite the rising sun.

“Shit,” muttered Georgia. “Let’s hope this goes well.”

“Just keep driving,” said Max.

Georgia had to slow down because of the curve. They couldn’t have been going more than twenty-five miles an hour. The other car wasn’t going quickly either. It was an older SUV, and as it got closer Max recognized it as a Ford Bronco.

“What do you think I should do?” said Georgia.

“Hopefully they’ll just drive right on by,” said Mandy. “That’s what the others did.”

The two vehicles passed one another, going slowly.

Max turned to look.

Inside, there were two men wearing light jackets. Their heads were almost shaved. One of them had a tattoo running up his neck. It reminded Max of the convicts who’d attacked him in the woods heading to the farmhouse.

The men stared right into the minivan. There was cruelty in their faces.

“Are they going to kill us?” said Sadie weakly.

No one answered.

The moment had only lasted for an instant. The minivan was past them now.

“Let’s just hope they don’t turn around,” said Max. He turned around himself, to get a better look. Everyone else turned too, craning their heads.

Just before the minivan was about to disappear around the bend in the road, the Ford Bronco’s brake lights went on, a bright red in the early morning light.

The last thing Max saw before they rounded the corner was the Bronco slowing down to a complete stop.

“Shit,” muttered Max. “I think they’re turning around.”

“What can we do about it?” said Chad.

“Not much,” said Max. “There don’t seem to be a lot of turn offs on this road. And I doubt we can park somewhere and hide…”

“Drive faster, Mom,” said Sadie.

“It’s not going to do any good,” said Max. “We’ll have to face them sooner or later. But we have the advantage. We outnumber them. Now where are those semi-automatics?”

Max was moving around as best he could with his injured leg, squeezing between people’s legs. He was looking for the two semi automatic guns that they’d taken from the men who’d attacked the farmhouse.

“Where are they?” said Max. “Help me look, everyone.”

Georgia was driving fast.

So far, the Ford Bronco hadn’t appeared around the bend.

On one hand, two guys against everyone in the minivan wouldn’t be much of a fight. On the other hand, they might have some tricks up their sleeves that Max and the others weren’t expecting. And Max knew well that they themselves weren’t experienced fighters. They’d seen the devastation only a few men could cause back at the farmhouse.

Max and Georgia were good shots. James was getting there. But the rest? Who knew. They had the instincts to protect themselves, but they didn’t yet have the ability to use a firearm consistently under pressure. One shot might hit its target, and the next might be a mile off. And there was no telling what order that might happen in.

Everyone but Georgia was scrambling around, looking for the guns.

“How could we have lost them?” said Max. “This doesn’t make sense.”

The semi-automatics would give them a huge advantage. Hunting rifles weren’t ideal for a serious confrontation.

“We had them at the Millers’,” said Max. “Right?”

“Yeah,” said Chad. “We brought them with us. I remember, because it was hard as shit carrying all those guns. But you didn’t want us to leave any of them in the van.”

“Uh,” said Sadie, her voice quiet. “I think we might have left them at the Millers’. I remember seeing one on the way out… I thought it was their own gun at the time.”

No one said anything.

The bend in the road was well in the distance now. But Max could still see well enough to spot the Ford Bronco when it came slowly around the corner. Max felt his blood turning cold as the adrenaline shot through him. They were going to have to fight, and only with their rifles and Max’s handgun. Who knew what the men in the Bronco had at their disposal.

“Shit,” muttered Max. “They’re after us.”

“Maybe they just realized they took a wrong turn or something,” said Chad. “It’s probably hella hard finding your way around these parts.”

“Shut up, Chad,” said Mandy. “Unless you have something useful to say.”

“What?” said Chad. “I’m just trying to be positive.”

“They’re after us,” said Mandy. “Why else would they turn around?”

Max didn’t say anything. Instead, he found the binoculars from the men who’d attacked the farmhouse. He strung them around his neck as he moved to the very back of the van.

With the binoculars, Max could see their faces. They had that same vicious look he’d seen when they’d passed. Other than that, he couldn’t see anything else that gave them any more information than what they already had. There were no guns visible. No other weapons either.

The Ford Bronco continued to follow them at a great distance. Without the binoculars, they looked far, far away, almost too far to see, unless you knew what to look for.

Everyone was talking all at once. Arguing, trying to speak above one another. The appearance of the Bronco had sent pulses racing and emotions changing. Chad and Mandy were in the middle of a heated argument. James and Sadie had their own argument, but they occasionally interjected between Chad and Mandy.