Ryan Westfield - Final Chaos

But that was reality.

And reality wasn’t fair.

There wasn’t such a thing as a fair fight.

Jim took the turn, heading onto the main road, heading down to the right where the largest cluster of shops seemed to be.

He had to weave through the stopped cars, sometimes driving slowly as he squeezed through tight spaces. Fortunately, the Subaru was a narrow vehicle.

It hadn’t even been two weeks since the EMP.

The way Jim saw it, it would take much longer for the majority of the population to die off.

If there was no violence, which was highly unlikely, people could survive for three weeks without any food at all. And there were bound to be scraps of food here and there to eat. So the real timeframe of starvation die off in this situation was much longer.

Jim doubted the city water here would be running, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t less than ideal water to drink. There’d be water in toilets, in the pipes, in water heaters, in ponds, and plenty of other places. People might get sick, but they’d be alive, for the most part.

The violence had likely already started, but who knew how far it had gone. Countless factors could determine what the violence would play out like, and it would probably be different for every town, city, and geographical area.

So Jim was heading into a town where people were closing in on the point of starvation. They were likely sick and starving and willing to do just about anything to get themselves and their families out of that situation.

They were desperate and dangerous.

Jim felt his Ruger with his hand, just to make sure it was there. It was reassuring. But only to a certain extent.

Jim saw no one as he weaved through the stopped cars. He drove past various shops and a few small houses that had been turned into apartment buildings.

Everywhere he looked, the shades were drawn and the doors were closed. Everywhere he looked, of course, there was no power.

Jim’s eyes scanned the shops for anything that looked like a pharmacy. Grocery stores often had pharmacies inside. But Jim figured grocery stores would be raided even before pharmacies.

To the left, he spotted one. A small pharmacy, probably family owned.

The pharmacy looked strangely normal, as if it was any other day, except for the absence of lights. A couple cars were in the parking lot.

Jim swung the wheel around and pulled the Subaru into the parking lot.

He killed the engine, pocketed the keys, and got out.

Grabbing his backpack from the rear, he unzipped it and checked the contents.

Everything was there. A hammer. A crow bar. Bolt cutters. A pair of thick work gloves. All taken from Aly’s mother’s basement.

Hopefully breaking in would be as simple as breaking a window.

It wasn’t like he had to worry about alarm systems.

Jim glanced up and down the street. He saw no one.

But he didn’t expect it to stay that way. For all he knew, there were people waiting and in hiding. Ready to pounce. Ready to take from him what he had.

Jim strode swiftly across the parking lot, heading towards the rear of the store.

The front windows of the pharmacy were shattered. Piece of glass were completely missing in places.

Jim figured it was safer to go in the back. He wanted to stay out of view as much as possible.

In the back, the pavement of the parking lot was cracked and weeds grew. There weren’t any cars there. Just an old, rusted dumpster that was overflowing with trash. It reminded him of the area behind his little computer shop.

For all Jim knew, people had ransacked the shop, stealing cell phones and expensive electrical equipment, not knowing that it was all worthless now.

There was a back door to the pharmacy. Instead of a thick, steel door, it was a regular wooden door with a pane of glass.

Small town, thought Jim.

He couldn’t have gotten away with a door like that in Rochester.

With the hammer, Jim gave the glass a single, hard, whack.

The glass shattered.

Not wanting to injure himself, Jim got a glove on his hand, reaching inside. It wasn’t hard to find the deadbolt.

A couple seconds later, the door was wide open.

The darkness of the interior yawned in front of him.

Jim’s flashlight was still working, and he flicked it on, and took a single, cautious step inside.

But not before taking his revolver from its holster and getting his finger on the trigger.

As far as he was concerned, it was time to shoot first and ask questions later.

Rob was beyond tired. Beyond exhausted. He felt almost like he was living in a dream. He’d never pushed his body this hard.

He’d never walked this much. Or stayed awake this long for so many days on end. He’d never eaten so few calories in his entire life.

But he kept going.

And that was new to him.

He’d always found a reason to quit everything. Or, if he didn’t quit, he’d give up in some way or another.

He’d been fired from too many jobs to count. And while he always acted like he didn’t know why, he always did. After a couple weeks, he’d lose interest in the job and start slacking off. He’d show up late, leave early, just about everything he could to ensure he’d get canned.

Of course, it might have been happening unconsciously. Or at least part of it.

The jobs had seemed meaningless. He’d always sold tires or hotdogs or even insurance. And in the back of his mind, he’d known that none of it really mattered.

If he hadn’t sold the goods, someone else would be happy to step in and fill his shoes.

But now, things were real.

People relied on him.

Jim relied on him. Jessica relied on him. And Aly too, probably more than any of the rest.

If Rob failed, the other three might not make it.

What Rob did mattered.

He had a purpose.

And that was why he’d pushed himself harder than ever.

There’d been moments, sure, where he’d almost caved. There’d been moments where he’d found himself alone in the kitchen with all the food. He could have easily snuck a few hundred extra calories.

But he’d somehow stopped himself. He hadn’t given in. Just thinking about them all starving in a few weeks was enough to stop him.

He’d continued to work on his firearms training after the Carpenters had shown up.

When they came again, he wouldn’t feel like he couldn’t shoot. He’d remember everything that he’d been taught and put it into practice. He could almost see Mr. Carpenter lying on the ground already, a bullet in his chest.

He wasn’t someone who liked to hurt people. But that cheap shot, the way they’d shot Ally when driving away, well that was too much. It made his blood boil.

Rob was standing outside the lake house, watching the end of the driveway intently.

It had only been a few hours since Jim had left.

The door behind him opened, and Jessica stepped out.

“How’s Aly doing?”

“Same as before. Doesn’t look good.”

“I hope Jim gets back soon.”

“Me too. I hope he gets back. Period.”

“He will.”

“How do you know?”

“I know him. I’ve seen him once he puts his mind to something.”

“Let’s hope that’s true.”

“What are we going to do about the shifts?”

“With just two of us, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll rest when we can. A couple hours here or there. Should be enough to keep us going until Jim gets back.”

“You look like you’re going to pass out right now.”

“I’ll be fine. You should get some rest, though.”

“I’m fine, too.”

Rob grunted. “Why don’t you make us some coffee, at least, if we’re both too stubborn to take a break.”