Ryan Westfield - Final Panic

It hadn’t been long since the EMP. But it’d been long enough for society to start to unravel. Violence was everywhere. Those who’d survived were in hiding, trying their best to seek out whatever meager existence they could.

Jim, Aly, Jessica, and Rob had taken shelter in Aly’s uncle’s lake house, a couple of hours from Rochester. They’d only barely survived an attack by a neighboring family. Aly had been shot, and when the infection had gotten bad, Jim had ventured outside the relatively calm area of the lake to get the antibiotics she’d needed.

Jim had just barely made it back. And his wife, Aly, had just barely recovered from her infected wound.

It wasn’t like there were any hospitals or doctors they could get to. If the penicillin hadn’t worked, there wouldn’t have been much more they could do.

Shortly after Aly had woken up, her uncle Jordan had reappeared.

It was his lake house that they’d taken shelter in. And, frankly, Jim had been glad to see that Jordan had been gone when they’d arrived.

The brother of Aly’s mother, Jordan was the black sheep of the family. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t earned his reputation. He’d been an alcoholic for years, if not decades, and he’d spit in the face of every opportunity he’d been given. He’d been arrested for minor and major infractions more times than one could count.

How Jordan had even supported himself had always been a mystery to Jim.

Right when the Carpenters had been defeated, when Aly was recovering, when it seemed like the lake house was enjoying a period of relative calm, Jordan had shown up, looking like he’d been through hell.

Jordan was emaciated, looking like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. His hair was longer than Jim remembered, and filthy. He wore a patch beard on his dirty face, and his unpleasant stench filled up the room.

“What the hell did you do to my house?” said Jordan, his lips twisting up viciously.

“Let’s take a step outside,” said Jim, gripping Jordan’s upper arm firmly. “Just you and me. We’ll discuss this. Aly’s weak. She’s still recovering.”

Jordan gave him a stiff nod. Maybe he realized he didn’t have much choice in the matter.

Jim caught Aly’s concerned look as he led Jordan out of the room.

When they were finally outside, out of earshot of everyone else, Jim said, “Where have you been, Jordan? We thought you were dead.”

“Is that why you’ve taken over my house? And thrown everything out?”

Jim just stared at Jordan for a moment, studying his face. There were scratches on his cheek, and what looked like the remnants of a black eye. Had he been in a fight? What had he been doing since he’d disappeared?

“We threw out the trash,” said Jim. “You didn’t exactly keep a clean house. There were empty bottles everywhere, and fast food wrappers. We practically couldn’t move. It was disgusting.”

“You’re not answering my question. What the hell are you all doing here?”

“What everyone else is doing, trying to survive.”

“Trying to survive? Don’t give me that line. That’s what I’ve been doing all my life.”

Something wasn’t adding up. The conversation was strange. But then again, it nearly always was with Jordan.

“We had nowhere else to go. Rochester was becoming dangerous. Fast. We didn’t think you’d mind your niece and husband staying with you, considering the circumstances.”

“You could have called first. Set something up. Isn’t that the way things are normally done? Even these days.”

Suddenly, it was if a light dawned on Jim.

“Don’t you know about the EMP?” said Jim.

“The what?”

“The electromagnetic pulse. It knocked out all electronics. Everything’s down. Society’s falling. And fast. You don’t know, do you? Where have you been?”

Jordan stared at him with a blank expression on his face. “I’ve been getting sober.”

Jim looked Jordan up and down. “You don’t look sober.”

Jordan held out his hand, flat, with the palm down. “Look. It’s not shaking. And I haven’t had a drink in three months.”

“Where were you? You don’t look like you’ve been in rehab.”

“Rehab? That doesn’t work. None of that stuff works for me. I did it my own way. Living rough in the woods.”

“You’re telling me you’ve been living rough in the woods by yourself while trying to kick drinking? For several months? And you’re just coming back to society now, and have no idea what an EMP is or what’s happened?”

Jim wasn’t exactly buying it. It was too far-fetched. But then again, Jordan really didn’t seem to know what was going on.

But did Jordan ever really know what was going on? He was an exceptionally odd guy and always had been.

“Hey there!”

Jim spun his head and reached for his revolver.

Someone was shouting at them, from somewhere down by the road.

Jim and Jordan were standing only partially out of view from the road, next to a large pine tree.

“Get down,” hissed Jim, as he crouched down.

“Get down? What the hell are you talking about?”

Jim’s eyes scanned the area, looking for who had shouted.

“Hey! I see you two over there. Come on, I’m not going to bite.”

Jim finally located the source of the voice. The man was standing on the other side of the road. He was far away, but Jim could make out his clothes.

He wore a police uniform. Pants, shirt, and everything. He even had one of those wide-brimmed hats that highway patrolmen sometimes wore.

Jim’s mind immediately jumped to the cops that he’d been forced to run away from. And to the memory of breaking Aly out of a jail cell in Pittsford.

“What the hell are you doing down there?” said Jordan loudly. “Stand up like a man. You’re scared of a cop? I thought you were on the up-and-up. And what’s all this about society falling apart?”

“I’ll have to explain it to you later,” hissed Jim.

The cop didn’t stop waving, and now he was walking towards them. He took long strides, closing in on them fast.

Jim stayed in the crouching position, with both legs bent. He held his revolver steady and pointed right at the oncoming cop.

The story Jordan had told Jim wasn’t entirely true. Well, “not entirely” might even be a stretch.

The part about being away for a long time was true enough. But Jim had already known that.

The rest, well, that was more or less a complete fabrication.

Jordan had actually sobered up quite a bit. But that had purely been by accident.

He’d been having trouble making ends meet for years now. He’d lost one job after the other. And the ones that he had managed to keep, where the boss would tolerate his drinking, well, he had always ended up realizing that he didn’t like working that much. The pay was too low for the effort, he thought.

So, when a job had come along that paid a lot more for a lot less effort, Jordan had jumped at the chance.

He’d left his home at the lake and traveled northeast, up near the Canadian border, where he’d worked growing and harvesting marijuana for some guys he’d met through the local bar.

They’d worked out in the boonies, far away from any stores, and they didn’t like to travel into town much since they were trying to keep a low profile.

Jordan didn’t know quite how he’d gotten more or less sober. Maybe it’d been the work, being outside, less access to alcohol, or the increased availability of pot.