Ryan Westfield - Final Chaos

Jim grabbed the shifter, depressed the clutch, and got the Subaru into neutral. He didn’t want to kill the engine, but if he could coast by the Carpenter’s house, there was less of a chance they’d hear him.

If they saw him, they might try to shoot him as he passed. Or, worse, they might try to attack the lake house now, knowing that he was away.

The blinds in the squalid little house were drawn and there was no one out. No sign of anyone, really, except for the beat up pickup in the driveway.

When Jim was well past the Carpenter’s house, the Subaru was slowing down, and he put it back in second and slowly accelerated, keeping the engine noise to a minimum.

His plan was to take the back roads north to Dewittville, which was a small town of only a few thousand. He had maps with him, as well as a small backpack with enough food to sustain him for a few days.

But he didn’t expect to be eating much.

The plan was to get to the pharmacy, grab the antibiotics and head back. As quickly as possible. And with as little human interaction as possible.

People were going to be getting desperate. Every new interaction would have a possibility for violence. For confrontation. For injury. And death.

The biggest problem that he foresaw was that the pharmacy would likely be already raided. And antibiotics were going to be a prime target for everyone.

Sure, many people would go for the opiates. For the anti-anxiety meds. But the ones who understood the true risks at play in a situation like this would go for the antibiotics. They’d stockpile them.

And that meant that if Jim had to get to them, he’d be up against people who knew what they were doing, who were most likely armed.

He didn’t know how it would play out.

But the one thing he did already know was that he’d stop at nothing to keep his wife from dying from an infected gunshot wound. Especially one that was his fault.

Jim kept a close eye on the gas gauge as he drove. It was getting down into the danger zone, and he expected the emergency gas light to come on at any moment.

But he knew that he had about three gallons left once that warning light came on. And that was a lot of miles, so long as he drove carefully. The important thing for gas economy was to not drive faster than 55 MPH, and accelerate and brake slowly.

When possible, on the long sloping down hills, Jim put the Subaru into neutral and killed the engine.

There weren’t any other cars on the road.

He’d expected to see a few. Maybe some stopped. Maybe some moving.

But there were none.

Rather than being reassuring, it was eerie, giving him a sense of dread that sunk deep into his bones. He couldn’t shake it no matter how hard he tried.

Occasionally, when the trees allowed for it, Jim could glimpse thick plumes of black some on the horizon. He didn’t know where they came from. But he knew what they meant.

Chaos.

Jim wondered what would happen to the lake house if the Carpenters attacked while he was gone.

Would Jessica and Rob be able to handle it on their own?

They’d be, after all, severely outnumbered.

There wasn’t anything he could do about it. Not now while he was away. He’d done his best training Rob in firearms. In accuracy. Reloading. Everything he knew.

Hopefully it’d be enough.

Jim glanced at his map. He was getting close to Dewittville. He was expecting to come up to an intersection at any moment. He’d take a right, and it’d be a five minute drive into the center of town.

The road took a long, sloping curve around to the right.

The intersection was up ahead. Finally visible.

But there was more.

A large windowless van was parked laterally across the street, about a hundred feet before the road broke into the turn offs.

Jim slowed down, keeping his eyes peeled, looking for any sign of human activity.

The van was from the 1980s, one of the large ones used by plumbers and other workmen. Probably one of the one ton versions.

If Jim drove partially off the road, there’d be just enough room to squeeze around the van.

But maybe that was what someone out there was hoping for. After all, there must have been a reason the van was parked like that.

Someone could easily be hiding in the woods or the interior of the van, waiting to spring out and shoot at Jim’s tires.

Or worse, shoot him through the window.

Jim’s mind was working rapidly.

The way he saw it, he didn’t have any other options.

He had to go for it.

And if he was going to do it, he was going to do it fast. This wasn’t the time for caution. The faster he got through there, the safer he’d be. Sure, he’d risk an accident, but that the least of his worries right now.

Still no sign from the van. Or from the woods.

Jim downshifted quickly.

He floored the accelerator.

The Subaru leapt forward.

Jim drove straight towards the van, swerving only at the very last moment.

The right tires hit the bumpy ground. The Subaru rocked forcibly across the bumps and ruts.

The van on the left side moved by in a rapid blur.

Jim was going too fast.

There was a tree in his path straight ahead. If he continued, he’d wrap the right side of the engine around the tree.

Jim jerked the wheel to the left as hard as he could. The Subaru turned sharply.

There was a flash of movement off to the left.

Jim didn’t have time to look. He was struggling to get the Subaru back on the road.

He didn’t dare take his foot off the accelerator, in case whoever was there got their way.

A loud bang rang out.

The window behind Jim let out a loud crack.

The Subaru swerved onto the road. Yanking the wheel, Jim got it into a straight line.

In the rearview mirror, a woman stood in the middle of the road, directly behind him. She had long, tangled hair that hung past her shoulders. A rifle was in her hands, pointed directly at the Subaru.

Jim ducked down just in time.

Another loud bang and another crack. The bullet had struck the rear windshield.

Jim popped his head back up just in time to take the turn to the right.

A few tense seconds later, he was around the corner and speeding down a calm, empty road.

The van and the woman were behind him, and he was unharmed.

There wasn’t time to examine damage to the Subaru. Besides, a few semi-shattered windows didn’t matter.

His heart was pounding and there was sweat on his forehead.

He didn’t have to know who that woman was to know what she meant.

She meant that the societal situation had progressed to chaos. She was a rogue, robbing people on the road. Highway robbery was, in a very real sense, an ancient tradition that happened in places where the rule of the law had fallen to the wayside, where the natural ruthless nature of the human had room to freely raise its head and spew forth the violence and chaos that were required to take what it wanted, what it needed for its survival.

Jim was approaching the town.

Up ahead, there was a gas station to the right. And a supermarket to the left.

Farther down, there was a large hardware store.

The parking lots were all full. Probably from the shoppers that’d been there when the EMP had struck.

Jim slowed down as he approached a traffic light. The intersection here connected his road with a large, four lane road that ran through the center of the small town.

There were cars everywhere on the road, many of them when their doors and trunks open. They’d been abandoned, just left there.

There wasn’t another person in sight.

But Jim knew that didn’t mean much. Especially after his last encounter.

He’d barely survived. And that made him nervous. He didn’t like the idea of traps. Traps were situations where he didn’t stand a chance, where the odds were already stacked against him.