Ryan Westfield - Final Panic

Danny was silent, apparently engrossed in his tea.

The three of them sat there for a few minutes, taking sips of their tea in that post-EMP silence that seemed to ring out around them. It was a weird scene. Strange. Unusual. Unexpected.

At least it wasn’t violent.

Rob had already seen so much violence. Death. Injury. Cruelty.

And he knew that he’d only encounter more of it as the days passed. He knew that there was no going back to the old world that, in retrospect, felt so safe and comforting.

This quaint living room here would have seemed old-fashioned before the EMP. And in the days that would follow, in this new world, it would be beyond quaint. It would be like a museum that showcased the old, comfortable world. The hard reality of survival would dictate entirely new types of decoration. Teacups and saucers would be as out of place as they possibly could be.

Rob figured it was as good a time as ever to bring up his question.

“So,” he said, holding his teacup between his big hands. “The reason I came…”

It was strange, having to remind them that he wasn’t some long-lost nephew who was merely paying them a visit.

“What is it, dear?” said Lonnie.

“Don’t we have any biscuits?” said Danny.

“We’re out, remember?”

“To hell with them anyway.”

“Anyway,” said Rob. “My friend was… Um,” He didn’t know how to ask his question. He had the idea that it might not be a good idea to mention that his friend was kidnapped. Mentioning violence might shatter the little reality that Danny and Lonnie were clinging to. It might provoke some kind of extreme reaction, rendering them unable to answer his question.

So he tried a different tack. “Would either of you happen to know if there are any motorcycle owners around these parts?”

“Motorcycles?” said Lonnie, her voice creaking a little. She sounded sweet, like a doting grandmother, as she searched her memory. “Danny, wasn’t there that big parade a couple years back? There were all these men with their motorcycles. Those old-style bikes, I think.”

“Out of towers,” barked Danny. “But what about the Johnson boy? He was always riding around on those things. Couldn’t get off one of them long enough to get himself a proper job.”

“Oh yes, the Johnson boy. What a shame. He never did make much of his life.”

As Lonnie and Danny recounted the Johnson boy’s various encounters with the law, Rob felt like he was listening to his own story. Sure, the Johnson boy sounded a little more extreme than himself. He’d been arrested plenty more times. Rob had always managed to skirt serious trouble. But who knew? If things had gone just a little bit differently with Rob, he could have easily found himself serving time in the state penitentiary.

And then what would have happened to him now? Rob pondered that for a moment, as Lonnie and Danny continued. Would those prisoners be stuck in their cells, abandoned by the guards, left to starve to death? Surely not. Surely the majority of them were resourceful. And having spent years locked up, they would have learned all the tricks of the trade, so to speak. They’d know how the cells could be opened, if they just had enough time away from the scrutiny of the guards. It seemed like a sure thing that the majority of them would escape. Escape right into a half-destroyed, lawless world where power and violence were the only authority required.

“Sam! That’s his name. Sam Johnson”

“Right on the money, Lonnie.”

“So this Sam Johnson, where does he live?” said Rob.

They didn’t seem to want to know why he was interested. Maybe it was because he’d phrased his question innocently enough.

“Oh, he lived with his dad pretty much all his life. Where was that house again?”

“Up on Baker, I think.”

“No, you know what, I know where it is. It was that ramshackle place, off of Route 22. The one with the long driveway.”

“You know, you’re right. You couldn’t even see the house from the road. But I went there once. I forget what before. Maybe to drop off a bulletin from the city council or something.”

“Route 22,” said Rob. “Is that the one off of…?”

“You just head back about a mile and make a left. And that’s 22 for you.”

Rob nodded his head and took another sip of tea.

Inside, he was getting more anxious by the minute. Thoughts were rushing through his head about what could be happening to Jessica right at this moment. He imagined terrible things, and he tried to push them to the back of his mind.

“His dad died a couple years back, and the house really went to seed after that. Sam never really could keep it together. Never mowed the lawn or anything.”

“And those shutters? Did you see those? The paint was peeling off all over the place.”

“You think he’d still be around there?” said Rob.

“Are you looking for him or something?”

It was the question he’d been waiting for. It couldn’t be avoided any longer.

Rob just nodded.

“Look, I don’t want to get involved in whatever it is you’re up to. Your business is your own business. Maybe it’s an old-fashioned attitude these days, but I’m old, so I’m allowed to think that way.”

“Aw, you’re not that old, Danny.”

Danny laughed hoarsely. “Like I said, I’m not going to get involved. But you seem like a nice kid, so I’ll give you a piece of advice.”

“And what’s that?”

“Just watch out.”

“Watch out?”

“Keep your eyes peeled. Sam’s dangerous. Half the time he got locked up it was for getting into a fight. Sure, sometimes you’ve got to fight. But he’d fight when he didn’t need to.”

Rob nodded. He already knew Sam was dangerous. And his friend. They’d kidnapped Jessica after all.

“Well,” said Rob, thinking he’d gotten all the information he was going to get. “Thanks for the tea. I’d better get going.”

It felt sad, as if he was visiting his grandparents, and he knew it was going to be the last time that he ever saw them.

They said their goodbyes, and Rob stepped back across the door’s threshold.

The door closed behind him.

And as soon as it did, he realized that he was once again in the post-EMP world. People could hide that fact from themselves, but the reality would always be there, waiting for them.

His heart starting to pound in his chest.

The anxiety that he’d pushed aside came rushing back up.

Adrenaline was coursing through his veins.

His thoughts turned completely away from the cute old couple and their tea saucers. And they turned to Jessica. And the fight that he knew he couldn’t avoid.

As he got into the Subaru and cranked the engine, he had the sinking feeling that this might be a fight that he couldn’t win.

He didn’t feel any relief at discovering where Jessica likely was. He didn’t feel relief in knowing that he knew how to get there, or knowing what he had to do.

Instead, he felt dread. And he realized that he’d never really before felt true dread. It was a sinking feeling deep in his guts, as if a pit was opening up, a yawning chasm of darkness stretching out inside of him to nothing at all. A bottomless pit.

It wasn’t obligation that was driving Rob to press on.

It was something else.

Duty.

Responsibility.

It was the responsibility that he’d always been chastised for lacking.

It was rising up.

And it was driving Rob to do the right thing.

He put the Subaru into reverse, jammed the accelerator, and the wagon rocketed backwards down the driveway. He hit the road, spun the wheel vigorously, got it pointed in the direction of Route 22.

And he was off. The wheels spun. The engine whined. The window was down and the air was in his hair. His gun, handed back to him by Danny, was once again within reach.