Ryan Westfield - Getting Out

It would do, though. It would at least get her and her family and most of their gear near the hunting cabin. They would have to walk the rest of the way. With this small compact car, she’d be able to take much more gear to the cabin than if they went the whole way on foot. In Georgia’s mind, more gear meant a higher chance of surviving.

Georgia crept forward, practically holding her breath. She used the movements that she’d learned in the woods, the ones that didn’t scare animals. She moved steadily, making little noise.

She figured the best thing to do was just see if the car had a spare key there, or if by some strange stroke of luck, the key was still in the ignition.

Georgia kept one eye on the house at all times. She was crouched down next to the car, the rifle held in one hand. Her other hand felt underneath the wheel wells. She moved around to each wheel, and tried the bumpers.

No luck.

She tried the doors to the car, but they were locked. She broke her gaze from the house for a moment to examine the car, putting a hand above her eyes to shield her view from the glare. It didn’t look like a key was in there. Who left their keys in the car, anyway?

Georgia considered her options again. She didn’t have any idea how to hotwire cars. Although this car was older, and maybe she could jam a screwdriver into the ignition or something. Foolishly, she didn’t have a screwdriver with her, or even a multitool. But anyway, that might take some time, and the owner of the car, if he or she was home, was bound to come out.

The best thing to do, Georgia realized, was simply confront the problem head on. She wanted to steal this car? Then she needed to simply head into the house, point her gun at the owner, and take the keys from them under threat of violence.

Georgia didn’t like it one bit. But she was doing it for her family.

What were the chances that the owner of the home had a gun? Maybe 50%, thought Georgia, considering it was a more rural area.

Georgia was going to take her chances.

If something happened to her, if she was shot, then James and Sadie still had the map. They would be able to reach the cabin, and continue their life from there on out. Or so Georgia hoped. She hoped with all her heart that they were OK right now.

She’d never been a very sentimental person, but that didn’t mean she didn’t care about her kids. And she was realizing now that she cared for them more deeply than she’d thought possible.

Georgia walked to the back of the house slowly. Still no sign of anyone living in it.

There was a big panel of windows on the back. Georgia walked slowly towards them and peered through. She just saw a darkened kitchen.

Georgia wasn’t going to try to break in again. Not if someone was home. She knocked loudly on the backdoor, hammering her fist against the glass. The area was so quiet, with all the machines off, no air conditioner blowing, no fans, that there was no way someone wouldn’t hear her if they were home.

Georgia slung the rifle back over her shoulder and grabbed the handgun. She stood off to the side, pressing her body against the siding of the house. No one would be able to see her.

After a couple minutes, nothing had happened. No one came to the door.

Someone might be in there. Someone might be waiting with a gun drawn, ready to shoot her if she tried to enter.

But she was going to take the risk.

She was going to have to break the window.

Well, she might as well try the door first.

To her complete and utter surprise, the door was open.

It could be a trap.

But she had to go in.

She slid the door open, and then held her gun forward, walking behind it. She turned the corner carefully, leading the way with the gun.

“Anyone here?” she called out loudly.

She figured it was better to announce her presence. If someone was waiting for her in hiding, they already knew she was here.

She paused in the kitchen and waited. She crouched down and steadied the gun with her other hand. She pointed it at the entrance to what must have been the main downstairs hallway. She’d closed the door behind her, so that if someone was outside, they would have to open the door to shoot her. The glass was thick, and a bullet might not go through it. At the very least, it was some form of protection.

After a long time, Georgia had heard nothing in the house. There wasn’t a single sign that someone was here.

That didn’t mean someone wasn’t waiting, knife drawn, or gun pointed.

But she had to take her chances.

She found herself holding her breath as she moved through the house, gun drawn, finger inside the trigger guard.

She found the keys in a little porcelain bowl on a table by the front door.

She considered searching the house for other goods, but realized that she was already going to be downsizing when she got back to the truck.

Georgia felt a thrill, a complete rush of relief, as she went back outside and unlocked the car.

It started up fine, the little engine purring quietly. There was practically nothing in the car, and it was immaculately clean.

Georgia didn’t have time to ponder her good luck. She backed out of the driveway, and started driving back the way she came.

The car was automatic, so there wasn’t any point in putting it in neutral. She let out a whoop as she let it coast down the hill, heading back towards the pickup and, more importantly, James and Sadie.

As she was rolling down the hill, something appeared in her peripheral vision. There were three people walking along the side of the road.

Their jaws dropped as they saw Georgia driving along in the car. She saw the recognition on their faces, and knew instantly it was their car.

It wasn’t a family. They were three middle aged women. They couldn’t have been much older than Georgia herself. They looked tired and weary, and their faces fell in despair as they realized that their car was gone, and that Georgia was taking it from them.

They weren’t armed.

Instead of shooting, they started waving their hands wildly, as if Georgia had done the deed somehow by mistake. As if she would realize her error, stop the car, and give it back to them.

Mandy stood frozen as the door opened. A man entered, and Max immediately sprang towards him. Max grabbed the man by the waist and pushed with all his weight.

The two of them crashed into the wall. The man grunted, and Max cried out in pain as the man did something to his arm.

Mandy couldn’t see what had happened. The two were a flurry of bodies.

The next thing she knew, it was all over too fast. Max was bashing his elbow repeatedly into the man’s stomach.

The man fell down, gasping for breath.

Max was holding his wrist in a funny way, as if it was injured. He looked down at the man.

The man started to move.

“Don’t move,” said Max.

The man moved anyway, lunging out towards Max.

Max kicked him in the stomach.

“Stay down,” he muttered.

The man twitched. Max gave him another swift kick.

“Max!” cried out Mandy.

“What do you want me to do?” said Max. “Bake him a birthday cake?”

Mandy saw that he had a point. After all, the man had kidnapped them and imprisoned them in this room. He didn’t deserve any special treatment.

Max wasn’t being cruel about it. Once the man had stopped moving, Max had stopped too. He wasn’t attacking him out of cruelty or enjoyment. It was survival, pure and simple.

“What are we going to do?” said Mandy.

“Got any ideas?” said Max. “Because I’m all out of them.”

“How’s your wrist?”

“Fine,” said Max.