Ryan Westfield - Final Panic

He was sweating, even though the air was cool and the windows were down.

His vision was going fuzzy around the periphery.

Rob made a snap decision.

He jerked the wheel, and the Subaru careened to the side of the road, crunching over some gravel that lay on the shoulder.

Rob slammed on the brakes.

The car shuddered to a stop.

He forgot to hit the clutch, and the engine stalled.

There he was, sitting on the side of the road, the nose of the Subaru pointing out towards the trees, its rear bumper hanging into the road.

Without the sound of the engine, silence seemed to ring out. It was an overwhelming silence, one that cut right through him.

The only thing he could hear was his own heart pounding.

Rob threw the door open and bolted out into the road.

He was freaking out.

He hadn’t felt this bad since… he couldn’t remember when.

He stood there in the middle of the road, leaning forward, his hands on his knees, breathing like he’d just run a marathon, cold sweat covering his forehead.

He had to get it together.

People’s lives depended on the decision he was about to make.

If he continued on, he was putting Aly at risk. Not to mention himself. Who knew what dangers lay beyond this stretch of road.

If he turned back, that’d be it for Jessica.

Rob wasn’t cut out for these types of decisions.

What would Jim have done?

Would he have cut their losses and turned around?

No, Jim would have thought of something much cleverer a long time ago. He would have nipped the situation in the bud. Right from the beginning, he would have acted differently.

But that was because he was Jim and not Rob.

Maybe Rob just needed to go with his gut. All this thinking was driving him crazy. He’d never been an intellectual sort of guy. He’d always let his gut and instinct drive him.

And look where it’d gotten him. Too many lost jobs to count. Too many unpaid bills and long-standing legal problems.

Well, he had a clean slate now. He didn’t owe anyone any money. There wasn’t even any money.

Maybe his instincts just hadn’t worked well in the modern world. Maybe the modern pre-EMP world had worked against what came naturally to him.

Maybe in the post-EMP world, his gut instincts would serve him correctly. Maybe humans were wired for life-and-death survival situations. And those prewired instincts simply didn’t work well when it came to credit scores and reliable employment. Maybe all along, Rob had been fighting against impulses that would now serve him well.

Or maybe he was completely wrong. After all, he’d been wrong too many times to count.

His gut was telling him to keep going. To search for Jessica.

Maybe it wasn’t what Jim would do.

But Rob wasn’t Jim.

Rob shook his head like a wet dog, trying to shake away the panic.

He took stock of his surroundings, trying to resettle himself.

He was alone on the road. It was just him and the stalled Subaru and the trees. Nothing for miles.

But that couldn’t have been the case. There must have been someone out there. Somewhere. Probably in hiding.

After all, it wasn’t like this part of the state was that deserted. Sure, there were fewer people here per square mile than there were in the greater Rochester area.

But it wasn’t deserted.

It wasn’t Wyoming.

Rob may not have known a lot. But he knew that much.

So, there must have been someone around.

Maybe there was someone who knew something about some guys on motorcycles.

After all, it hadn’t been that long since the EMP. The chances that some biker guys had moved in from another area, well—that was certainly a possibility, but not as big of a possibility that they were native to the area.

Now that Rob had made his decision to press on, he was a little calmer. And now that he was a little calmer, he realized that his best course of action was to simply find someone from around here, ask them about local bikers, and then track Jessica down that way.

With a clear plan in his head, Rob rushed back to the Subaru.

He was still nervous, his hands and feet not completely under his control, and he stalled the wagon twice more while trying to start it.

But he got the engine started, put it in reverse, and got back on the road.

Now all he had to do was find someone.

He glanced at the gas tank.

Was it an eighth of a tank left? A quarter? It was hard to tell. The level always seemed different, depending on what angle he looked at it.

It didn’t matter much, anyway. All he had to do was get to Jessica. After that, they’d be able to get back with or without the Subaru. They’d figure something out.

Jessica was more important than the vehicle. And not just as a human being. But for her practical value as a member of the group. Rob knew very well that his own odds at survival were far stronger if Jessica was alive and well.

Rob was pretty sure he’d seen a house on the roadside a couple miles back. He’d just sped by it at the time and hadn’t given it a good look. But there was a good chance, he supposed, that someone local was still there.

He got the Subaru turned around and went speeding on down the road, headed towards that house.

It was a simple home, just one story, with a perched roof that covered a small attic. The yard in front was just dirt. There were a couple odds and ends scattered about, like old tires and rusty bicycles.

There wasn’t a car in the driveway, so Rob parked the Subaru there, making sure to lock the doors and pocket the keys.

Maybe no one was there. Maybe whoever lived there had left. Maybe they’d fled, thinking that other areas of the country would offer them solace. Or maybe they were already dead. Or stuck at work, never to return home again.

There were a thousand possibilities.

Rob felt strange, hoping that someone was actually at home. Normally, it would have been better to stay clear of anyone. People meant danger. People could mean death.

As Rob approached the house, he spotted something in the backyard.

If he wasn’t mistaken, it was a pickup truck hidden under a tarp. Someone had piled up leaves and sticks, trying to hide the shape of the vehicle. But from where Rob stood, it was unmistakable.

Rob gulped down the rising panic.

But this was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He needed to talk to someone.

As he approached the front door, Rob reached for his gun.

Somehow, Jim had reached the shore.

He lay there, gasping for air, breathing heavily, flat on his back.

He was freezing cold. His body was shivering almost uncontrollably. The water had been colder than he’d realized.

But there wasn’t any time to rest. He couldn’t let that fake cop get away.

Jim stood up, his wet pants clinging to him heavily.

Again, his hand reflexively went to the Ruger that wasn’t there.

He scanned his surroundings.

It was mostly just trees. A couple scrubby bushes here and there. A patch of sand. Some kind of beach. A couple of pieces of permanently installed exercise equipment. Pull-up bars and parallel bars.

A house stood about a hundred yards away. A regular, nondescript sort of house. Two stories.

No sign of Andy or the boat. Or the stolen gear.

It was hard to think quickly and clearly with his body exhausted, pushed to the very edge. But he concentrated on his breathing, which steadied his thoughts, and gave him some kind of stability.

Andy couldn’t be that far. Right now, he’d be trying to find a vehicle with which to abscond with the gear. He had to continue on land now, where the boat was of no use to him. He must be somewhere close by, near the shore.