Ryan Westfield - Final Chaos

The Subaru slammed into the side of the pickup, jerking to a sudden stop.

Someone cried out in pain.

The engine had stalled.

Jim heard the creek of unoiled hinges as the pickup door opened.

For a second, he caught a glimpse of the pickup’s driver, and then the man was ducking down, out of view behind the pickup. Jim had to assumed he was armed as well.

Jim had to act fast.

“Back me up,” said Jim to Jessica in the back, before throwing open the door of the Subaru, and reaching again for his Ruger.

He heard her door open too, but didn’t glance back at her. He needed his eyes peeled for the driver.

Jim’s mind had a singular focus. He was zeroed in.

This would be a quick fight.

One shot and it was all over.

There was hardly any distance between them. A matter of a few feet.

Jim had his Ruger in both hands. His grip was good. The right technique. He inched forward, listening carefully.

The pickup’s engine was still running.

He was behind the bed of the pickup, about to turn the corner.

He heard nothing. And saw no signs of the driver.

But the man was right there. Waiting. Only a few feet away. Unless he’d gone around the other side.

It’d be a question of technique and reflexes.

Jim had his finger on the trigger. With his thumb, he cocked back the hammer of his Ruger.

Jim wasn’t going to use the sights. He kept his Ruger low. This was going to be a reflex shot to the chest at close range.

He was about to take his first step around the back corner of the truck, when he saw the foot moving.

Jim didn’t let his eyes travel down to the foot. He took a step back and kept his eyes and gun pointed at chest level.

The man appeared there suddenly, moving swiftly, a rifle in his hands.

Jim pulled the trigger. His knees were slightly bent.

One shot rang out.

The man in front of him, mere feet away, gasped as he crumpled to the ground.

The rifle clattered to the pavement.

Jim took a look around before bending down. The Ruger didn’t leave his hand.

There was a growing patch of blood on the man’s chest, staining his dirty shirt.

Jim put his fingers to the man’s neck to feel for a pulse. There was none. He was already dead.

It had been a good shot. Right to the heart, probably.

Jim was surprised at himself. He’d shot two men dead in one day. And they’d been good shots both times.

Surprisingly, he felt nothing. No remorse. Only relief. And satisfaction at his aim.

He’d always figured that if the day came that he had to shoot someone, he wouldn’t be as good of a shot as he was at the range. That was what everyone always said, anyways, that the stress of an intense life or death situation wrecked your aim.

Not so far, though.

He couldn’t get cocky, though.

Jim grabbed the rifle before standing up and moving back over to the Subaru.

“Everyone OK?” he said, remembering the shout of pain he’d heard as they’d crashed.

He glanced in the car. Rob and Aly looked back at him, strange expressions on their faces. Aly looked at him with wide eyes, almost as if she didn’t recognize him.

“You got him?” said Jessica, appearing on the other side of the Subaru. She stood tall and looked confident. She held her Glock in a way that made him think she knew what she was doing.

She looked so different from the terrified, frantic woman that had been pointing her gun at him in terror not so long ago at the police station.

She might yet prove to be a useful member of their little group.

Jim nodded at her.

“Check the truck for supplies,” he said.

Jim’s mind was back in action. Back to planning. Time was still weighing down heavily on them. He glanced down at his watch. Twenty minutes had passed in the blink of an eye.

The damage to the Subaru didn’t look bad. The fender was bashed in on one side, and the headlight and lower fog light were shattered. He didn’t think there’d been enough force in the crash to damage the transmission, but he wanted to check.

“I’m going to make sure it still runs,” he said, “before we load all their gear into our car. Make sure you check the glove compartment.”

Jim hopped back into the Subaru and it started right up. He reversed it, drove a couple feet, and drove forward again.

Everything seemed fine. No strange noises. No grinding sounds. No noticeable resistance.

“I can’t believe you did that, man,” muttered Rob.

“Come on and help me,” said Jim. “Looks like they’ve got some gear in the bed.”

“You’re going to rob them?” said Aly.

“It’s not robbery,” said Jim.

“You killed them and now you’re going to…”

“What would you rather I do? Let them murder us for the car?”

Aly said nothing.

“Now come on and help me.”

Jim threw open the door a little harder than he’d meant to.

He’d gone to so much effort to get to his wife and to keep her safe. And now she was criticizing everything he was doing?

Whatever. He needed to forget it. Aly would catch on soon enough to the seriousness of the situation.

Once what had just happened sunk in, she’d realize.

After all, off in the distance behind them, the burning wreckage of the plane could still be seen. The black clouds of smoke had grown and widened, seeming to take over the entire sky as they reached towards the grey clouds above.

“Some medicine from the glove box,” said Jessica, holding up some small cardboard boxes to show Jim.

“Good, throw it in the Subaru. We’ll go through it all later.”

In the bed of the pickup truck there were some bunched up tarps, some loose dirt, some scattered hand tools, a duffel bag, and a plastic jug of gas.

Jim went for the gas first, and he let out a grunt of disappointment when he lifted it up and felt that it was completely empty.

Should he try to siphon the gas out of the pickup? He could store it in the can for when the Subaru eventually ran out.

No, there wasn’t enough time.

And he didn’t have any sort of tubing. Even if he was able to improvise something, it would take a long time.

Jim grabbed the duffle bag without checking its contents and tossed it to Rob who had finally gotten out of the Subaru. Rob stood there, his legs visibly shaking, his eyes wide with fear.

Jim glanced at his watch.

They had to get moving.

Hopefully there was something that’d be helpful in that duffle bag.

The rifle had been a stroke of luck. He’d been worried about just having a handgun.

“Jessica,” called out Jim. “Can you get the dead guy’s handgun?”

“Already got it,” called out Jessica.

He glanced over at her and once again she looked ready. Poised for anything.

She was the greatest surprise of all. He’d thought she was nothing but a liability, one that he had to take care of out of guilt.

If only his wife and Rob were more like her.

Right now, they and their disbelief were the real liabilities. They were the real threats to their survival.

And, of course, the chaos that was to come.

“Everyone in the car,” shouted Jim.

This rousted Rob from what seemed like a nervous stupor.

But he still didn’t move.

“Rob, come on!”

Jim threw himself into the driver’s seat, started the car, and slammed the door closed.

He was depressing the clutch when Rob finally got into the car, moving slowly and shakily, the duffel bag clutched in both hands.

In the back of the car, Aly was breathing heavily and rapidly. It sounded like she was hyperventilating.

Another one of her panic attacks.

Normally, Jim was always there for her. He’d go to her side and comfort her.