“I got the joke.”
“You know, I don’t know why we were so worried about being attacked.”
“We’ve always got to be careful. Never know what’s around the corner.”
“All the passengers would have gone through security. There’d be no guns on the plane.”
“You saw what glass did to the dead guy’s arm.”
“Good point.”
“Don’t underestimate non-projectile weapons,” said Max. “They can do plenty of damage. They can kill. In fact, we better get used to them ourselves. If we live long enough, we’re going to be using them ourselves eventually.”
“You’re talking about running out of ammunition?”
“Exactly.”
“But there’s ammo all over the US. Haven’t you ever read about how many guns, let alone ammo, exist in the US?”
“Sure,” said Max. “But the trick is getting to the ammo. Who knows, travel might become more difficult in the coming months and years. And it’s not like we have the upper hand. There are groups like the militia, the compound, and they’re going to do everything they can to secure weapons. That’s why we’ve got to dig in now, get a strong foothold, while we still can.”
Mandy had a distant look on her face, as if she wasn’t paying attention.
They were back at the truck. Mandy took the map out from the cab and spread it out on the hood.
“I’m not seeing anything,” she said, running her hands through her hair. “I don’t see how we’re going to make it into West Virginia without taking the long way around.”
“What about this road here?” said Max, pointing to a road that ran roughly parallel to the one they were on. At least for this stretch of road. Farther north, closer to the camp, the parallel road took a turn, giving their current road a wide girth.
“There’s no way to get on there, Max. You can see that.”
“Maybe there’s an area where we can cut across.”
“You mean driving through the trees? It’s probably about a mile or so. It’d be tough.”
“We could try. If we could just find a…”
Max stopped talking mid-sentence. The noise of a vehicle was coming down the road.
Max had to think fast.
A few seconds later, a beat up minivan was visible, coming slowly around a bend in the road.
“What are we going to do?” said Mandy, her eyes wide with fear.
“Not everyone’s a killer,” said Max. He knew she was thinking about the recent attack on the camp. Not to mention the countless violent encounters they’d had.
But Max knew it was important not to jump to conclusions. There’d be good people out there, too. Just not as many of them as the bad ones. The most vicious would outnumber anyone else at this point.
“Get behind the door,” said Max. “Back me up with your rifle.”
“Be careful, Max,” said Mandy.
“I’ll be fine,” said Max, handing her his rifle. She was already behind the open truck door.
The rifle wouldn’t do Max any good. He felt that this time he needed to get up close and personal. More of a job for the Glock. If he needed it, that was. Hopefully he wouldn’t.
The other option was that they could both take cover behind the truck, shouting out to the minivan.
And that never seemed to work well.
There wasn’t any chance of them simply escaping. Max wasn’t going to abandon the truck. Not yet. Not unless things got desperate and impossible.
Max had his Glock in hand as he walked purposefully towards the oncoming minivan, which was getting slower the closer it got.
Maybe the minivan would just turn around. After all, it’d be clear to them there was no way through.
The minivan would only continue if they wanted something from Max and Mandy. That could either be simple information. Maybe also to beg for help.
Or it could be something more pernicious.
Maybe they were desperate for food or water. Or medical supplies. Maybe they’d be willing to fight and kill for what they needed. As so many were.
Max took his eyes off the minivan for a second to glance back at Mandy. She had the rifle ready. Good.
Maybe Max was getting reckless. Trying to go save a kid in another state. Walking towards an unknown party in an unknown vehicle, hoping they wouldn’t just shoot him immediately.
Maybe Max was desperate for something, something that he didn’t quite realize. Maybe, despite all of his focus on being practical, on survival, there was part of him that wanted to believe that there were others out there like him and Georgia and Mandy and the others.
Not everyone could be a killer, after all.
If that part of him did exist, it was buried deep within him, and impossibly small.
In that moment, Max was only actually thinking about surviving. If he could talk to these people, maybe they’d give him something. Some scrap of information. He was desperate to know what was going on in the outside world. What were the dangers? What was the current situation?
Max figured that if things were going to get bad, he’d rather be up close and personal. He could probably get off a shot. Sure, he might take one himself.
But Mandy would pull through. She might be able to get away. She’d have a better chance doing it this way, anyway.
The minivan slowed to a stop a few feet in front of Max.
The driver’s side window rolled down.
Max raised his Glock, pointing it straight at the window.
The driver appeared.
There was no gun. Or there didn’t seem to be. Max didn’t lower his Glock.
It was a woman, pale with long black hair, tangled horribly in places. Dirt stained her face. Her clothes appeared partially torn, from what Max could see.
“Anyone else in the car?” said Max.
The woman didn’t say anything for a moment.
Max glanced behind her into the van. A figure was lying down in the back. A man, probably. Wrapped in a blanket. Either asleep or dead or injured.
“You speak Spanish?” said the woman, with a heavy accent.
Max shook his head. “English?” he said.
They didn’t seem like threats. At least not obvious ones anyway.
The woman shook her head. “No English. Only Spanish.”
This was a problem Max hadn’t encountered before.
He looked back towards Mandy. He was pretty sure she spoke some Spanish, having worked in the restaurant business.
“Mandy,” he called out. “I need you over here. It’s safe.”
He knew Mandy would bring her gun anyway. There was no need to tell her that. Even though he’d said it was safe.
Max lowered his Glock, but kept it ready at his side.
“What’s going on?” said Mandy, arriving.
“You speak any Spanish?” said Max. “She doesn’t speak any English. I don’t know what’s going on. They don’t seem to be dangerous. So far, at least.”
“Right,” said Mandy, appraising the situation herself with her eyes, moving them through the interior of the van. “Yeah, I know some Spanish. Learned some at work. I never got to the point where I was really good, though, so I can’t even say I’m rusty.”
“Well go ahead,” said Max.
The van driver seemed more nervous now that Max had been joined by a second person. The rifle Mandy held probably didn’t calm her down either.
Mandy took a deep breath, and looked like she was concentrating hard before speaking.
“Bueno. Que esta pasando contigo?” said Mandy, looking the woman right in the eyes. “Que quieres?”
Max didn’t know what Mandy had said exactly, but he understood the tone. She was being very direct. He knew that much.
“Ah, que alivio que hablas el Español,” said the woman. “Somos de España y estamos aquí de vacaciones. No se que paso, pero ya sabes, todo se cambio muy rápido, y mi marido aquí tiene un brazo muy pero muy dañado.”