Ryan Westfield - Final Panic

Jordan cast his eyes down to the floor. He looked ashamed. Good. Maybe he was finally getting it. Maybe he was finally understanding.

“Get me a gun,” he said.

A few seconds later, there was a gun in his hands.

“You know how to use it?” said Rob.

“More or less. Point it and pull the trigger.”

“That’ll have to do for now.”

The engines outside continued to rumble. The motorcycles must have been parked a little ways down the driveway, judging just from the sound.

“Come on,” said Rob. “There’s no time to lose.”

His thoughts turned to Jessica.

He was already at the door, with Jordan at his heels, when Aly called out something after them.

But he didn’t hear it, and there was no time to waste, so he threw the door open and rushed outside.

Rob knew he was going in hot. He knew he was just rushing in. He knew that maybe he should have tried to be subtle, try to observe them first, see what he was dealing with.

But his mind was on Jessica.

She was out there.

Somewhere.

He hadn’t heard any gunshots yet. That was good.

When his feet hit the gravel driveway, he saw what was going on.

Way down towards the road, there were three motorcycles. Big ones. Black and chrome, with high handlebars and big exhaust pipes. Old-school styling all around.

But his attention didn’t settle on the motorcycles themselves.

There were three riders. As expected.

One was on his bike.

The other two, big hairy men who wore black leather vests with patches, were a little ways off the driveway.

There was someone with them.

Someone moving.

Someone struggling.

Jessica.

It was Jessica.

He saw her hair seemingly hanging in the wind, in complete disorder. It had come loose from whatever she normally did with it.

It all seemed to be happening in slow motion.

Rob was running towards them, but he was too slow.

Jordan was somewhere behind him.

The only thing Rob could hear was his own heavy breathing and the thud of his feet on the ground. His breathing was so heavy it had become like a dull roar that seemed to drown out the rest of the world. It was as if everything else was silent. As if he was watching a movie.

One of the big hairy motorcycle men was swinging something.

His arm was moving in a high arc. Something was in his hand.

Jessica’s head snapped to the side as the object in his hand collided with her. Her hair swung around.

The two men grabbed her. She was kicking her legs wildly.

Rob was never going to make it. He was too far away. And he was too big. He couldn’t run that fast.

But he was going to try.

He was still too far away to get off a good shot. If he tried, he’d probably hit Jessica instead of the men.

He wasn’t going to let them kill Jessica.

One of the men produced a handgun. But he didn’t seem to be paying attention to Rob and Jordan. He swung the handgun at Jessica. It struck her in the head. Her body fell limp. She stopped kicking.

Now, the man turned towards Rob.

He leveled the gun at Rob, his arm straight. It looked like he knew what he was doing.

Rob threw himself to the ground as the sound of the gunshot cut through the roar of his own breathing.

Gravel dust kicked up as his body slammed belly-down on the driveway. He got his arms stretched out in front of him, his gun in both hands, ready to return fire.

The bullet missed him.

Another shot rang out.

There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t see because of the dust. The best he could do was hope that he didn’t get hit.

He felt useless. Hopeless. But the adrenaline and the intensity of the situation kept him going. Kept his heart pumping.

But by the time the dust had settled, Rob still wasn’t hit, but the men were back on the motorcycles.

Somehow, they’d gotten Jessica’s limp body onto one of the bikes. He didn’t know how they were holding her on there. Maybe they’d strapped her down, right behind the rider where a second passenger might ride.

Jessica’s head hung limply to the side, her hair hanging down loose, almost dragging on the gravel.

The motorcycle engines were rumbling and roaring and revving, spitting noise into the air.

The motorcycles were moving, the fat tires starting to roll.

Rob got himself up as fast as he could. He had his gun trained on them. But he couldn’t take the shot. His finger was on the trigger. He was itching to pull it. But he knew it’d be the worst thing he could do. There was no way to ensure that he didn’t shoot Jessica in the process.

So he watched hopelessly as the motorcycles pulled out of the driveway.

Someone rushed past him from behind. It was Jordan, who he’d completely forgotten about.

Jordan stopped a few paces in front of Rob. He spread his legs out wide, taking a stance. He held his gun in front of him.

Jordan was going to try to save the day. He was going to try to take the shot.

But there was no way he was going to make it.

Rob had to stop him.

This wasn’t the time for words.

Rob rushed forward, and he did what he was good at.

He collided with Jordan, tackling him to the ground.

They fell together, Rob’s heavy body pushing Jordan’s body towards the ground rapidly.

The dust came up again.

The air was knocked from Rob’s lungs.

His body hurt all over.

“Jordan?” he said, as he pushed himself up and off of Jordan’s body.

“What the hell did you do that for?” snarled Jordan, still on the ground.

“You were going to miss. You were going to hit Jessica. That’s why I didn’t shoot.”

Jordan just snarled at him.

Shit.

What was Rob going to do?

The motorcycles were long gone. He could just barely hear their rumbling engines down the road.

“What are we going to do?” said Rob, his mood sinking. He reached down and gave Jordan a hand to help him up off the ground.

“What are we going to do? Are you dense or something?”

“What?”

Jordan held his arm out, his finger outstretched and pointing to the Subaru.

Rob spun around quickly, facing the Subaru wagon that he’d forgotten about.

There wasn’t any time to feel like an idiot.

“You’re staying here,” he shouted at Jordan, as he started running towards the house. He needed to get the keys, which hopefully were still hanging on a peg in the kitchen.

Jordan shouted something back, but Rob didn’t hear him.

“What happened?” said Aly frantically, as Rob threw open the door and raced through the house.

The keys were on the peg, hanging there just as he’d expected.

Rob grabbed them and raced back through the house, past Aly, without answering her.

He was already losing time. Every second he wasted, Jessica was being taken farther and farther away.

And it wasn’t like there’d be any way to track her once she was gone.

There were no police to call. There was no one to investigate.

Before the EMP, if someone was kidnapped, the proper government agencies got involved. They’d send out a network of advertisements, announcements, notifications, and surveillance. The toll gates on the highway captured license plates, and CCTV camera recorded faces and car makes and models. Credit and debit cards were tracked. It was hard for anyone to get away with anything.

But that was now all ancient history.

All those systems were gone.

The motorcycle guys could take her as far as their tanks of gas lasted. And as far as Rob knew, motorcycles got much better gas mileage than cars. Or station wagons for that matter.

The motorcycles could simply outdrive the Subaru in terms of distance.

And on top of them, if you added up all the different turns and corners, the possible routes were almost limitless.