Ryan Westfield - Final Panic

She didn’t care what direction she was headed.

She just needed to get away.

She had no gun. The man, however, was armed. She had no way of knowing what state he’d been in now, whether he’d able to shoot or not.

She wasn’t going to take any risks.

The sounds of the woods became almost silent as she ran, her own sounds taking over. All she heard was the sound of her own ragged breath, and her feet pounding on the dirt.

She ran through the trees, zigzagging in case there was a gun trained on her.

She didn’t look back. Instead, she put all her effort into simply getting away as fast as possible. Getting as far away as possible.

Up ahead, there was a house.

She hadn’t been expecting it. She’d thought she was in the middle of the woods, at some campground.

But it quickly became apparent that she’d merely been in a large backyard.

The trees ended and she entered the backyard, which was mostly clear, except for some things scattered around, like a motorcycle exhaust system, and an ancient, rotting sedan.

The house had been nice once, but it had gone to seed years ago. Some windows were broken, and many decorative shutters had fallen away and never been replaced. There had once been a nice porch on the rear of the house, jutting out from what seemed to be the kitchen, but it was falling away now, crumbling into a mess of rotting, wet wood.

Jessica finally turned around.

The man was pursuing her. Running through the trees. Holding a gun. He didn’t seem to be in a stupor.

She caught just a glimpse of his expression. Nothing but rage. Rage and revenge.

Jessica kept running, her feet slapping hard on the ground, and, soon, the driveway that ran down the side of the house.

There was no point in trying to seek shelter inside the house. She’d merely trap herself. She’d be like a caged animal.

Unless she could find something to defend herself with.

What were the chances of that? Unless she found a firearm, she’d be stuck with a kitchen knife at best. Or a baseball bat.

And her pursuer had a firearm.

No. It’d be better to keep running. Get into the street. Cut across to some other house. Disappear into the woods, zigzagging once again through the trees.

Her odds weren’t good. She knew that.

It seemed like the man was gaining on her. He was fast for a junkie. Maybe his muscles were as numb as his mind, incapable of feeling pain. Maybe it was just the idea of vengeance that motivated him, pushing him on and on.

The driveway was long and tree-lined.

Jessica chose the busted-up pavement, rather than weaving through the trees. It was surer footing, even though it meant she’d be an easier target. She didn’t think he was close enough yet to get a good shot at her.

Once she hit the street, she knew she’d really be at risk. She’d be out in the open, whereas the driveway did curve a little.

Suddenly, she heard the noise of an engine whining. It sounded familiar. And loud, intensely high-pitched, as if something was going wrong.

The vehicle represented a new threat.

But she couldn’t turn around.

She couldn’t stop.

So she kept running.

She was about halfway down the driveway. Rounding a curve, she could see the road up ahead.

A car appeared, taking her by surprise by turning, bumping into the driveway.

It was speeding right towards her. Its engine was whining.

Light glinted off the windshield. She couldn’t see who drove it.

There was hardly any time to act. The car was really bolting down the driveway at a terrific speed.

Not wanting to stop running, she veered off to the right. She hoped that she could use one of the trees as a barrier. If the driver wanted to run her over, it’d be more difficult with a tree in between them.

Before she could even get to the side of the driveway, the car had almost reached her.

Jessica suddenly recognized it. It was Jim’s Subaru.

The Subaru wagon slammed to a sudden stop. The driver door swung open.

Jessica felt her heart swelling, hope appearing for the first time. Jim had come to rescue her. Jim, always capable and cool-headed. He was the guy who always seemed to know what to do, no matter what the situation.

But Jim didn’t step out.

Rob did.

Jessica’s heart dropped.

But at least he had a gun.

“Get in!” he screamed at her, waving his hand violently.

Jessica was over at the passenger door in a flash.

She grabbed the handle and pulled. But the door didn’t open.

“It’s locked!” she screamed.

The man who pursued her had disappeared from view. But she knew that he was out there. She knew in her bones that he wasn’t going to give up easily.

Jim would have had the door already unlocked.

“Shit,” muttered Rob, throwing himself back into the driver’s seat, and fumbling with the controls on the door.

After a few frantic tries, where she and Rob couldn’t coordinate, the door opened and Jessica threw herself into the passenger’s seat.

“Get us the hell out of here,” she shouted. There wasn’t time to ask how he’d found her, why he was here, or what his plan was.

Not that his plans would have mattered. The only thing that was clear was that they needed to leave. Quickly.

Rob was fumbling with the gearshift, jamming his feet against the pedals.

He stalled the Subaru once, the gears and engine making a rough sound as the car jumped and stopped abruptly.

Then he stalled it again.

“He’s coming!” said Jessica, pointing through the windshield.

Sure enough, he was coming.

On his motorcycle.

Apparently, he wasn’t affected by the drugs. At least not enough to prevent him from riding his bike.

Somehow, the man held a shotgun, the barrel against his chest, facing the sky.

He was speeding right towards them.

Rob tried again. This time, it worked, and the Subaru rocketed backwards down the driveway, the engine whining.

Aly was in a lot of pain. She was feeling stronger, but the pain was getting worse. It was strange. Like some sort of paradox.

She was also getting hungry. She was just lying there in bed, with her stomach rumbling. Sure, she’d been hungry basically since the EMP. But this was a new type of hunger. A serious hunger.

Maybe it was a good sign. Maybe it was a sign that she was starting to heal. After all, the body needed energy in order to rebuild itself. That’s what her mother had always said.

She’d tried to avoid thinking about her mother. Dead in her house. Just lying there. No chance of burying her. It was horrible. Tremendously horrible.

Aly shuddered.

She needed to think about something else.

The only other thing she could think about was food.

“Jordan!” she called out. “You think you could bring me something to eat?”

It wasn’t a good situation. Just her and Jordan alone in the house. And she wasn’t in much of a position to defend herself if something should have happened.

But so far things had been quiet.

Sure, she was worried about the others. Especially her husband. But that was the world they lived in now. There were no calm, peaceful commutes to work, or trips to the pharmacy, where you knew your loved ones were statistically extremely likely to return home safe and sound.

It was a new world.

And Aly figured she’d better get used to it.

There was no answer from Jordan.

In fact, she hadn’t heard from him in quite a while. Hours, at the very least.

She tried once more, yelling his name as loudly as she could.

She waited, hoping to hear his footsteps, his uneasy gait as he came ambling towards her room.