Suddenly, the sound of footsteps thundering through the snow hit Max’s ears.
He turned to look, his Glock still ready.
“It’s Sadie!”
Sadie was running top speed towards them, her fairly short arms and legs pumping with incredible speed.
“They’re coming!”
“Shit,” muttered John.
“Two groups?” said Mandy.
Georgia said nothing. There was only grim determination on her face.
Max hadn’t been expecting that the enemy would split up like that. He’d been expecting only one single scout to come rushing back.
Despite the surprise, there was nothing to do but act.
And fast.
“Mandy,” said Max, pointing to the area where Cynthia lay in hiding, waiting and watching.
The possibility of three groups was unlikely. And if they had splintered into three groups, it didn’t matter. The strategy at this point was going to be the same.
They were coming from the north and the east.
Max’s plan had been to have everyone at camp sneak away, hiding within the trees in locations where they’d be able to attack the enemy. The unexpected locations would be their advantage, along with the thick cover of the trees. The enemy would come in, expecting an easy battle, expecting to simply pepper the camp with bullets, slaughtering everyone there.
Max was playing the guerrilla warfare game. He’d scouted the area, and already shown everyone where they were to hide. They’d be spread out, and the enemy would hopefully be clustered together.
But the enemy had thrown a wrench in Max’s plans.
He’d had no provisions for a situation like this, with two approaching enemy groups.
There wasn’t time to curse himself. He’d have to improvise.
Mandy was already rushing off to Cynthia.
Max glanced at Georgia, Sadie, John, and James. They were watching him expectedly, thinking he had the answer.
Hopefully he did.
Should they flee?
There weren’t many of them. They could dash off into the woods. Maybe they could escape. Maybe they could make it.
John, seeming to read Max’s thoughts, spoke up. “We should flee,” he said. “We don’t have a chance.”
Hearing it spoken out loud helped Max make up his mind. “No,” he said. “This camp is ours. We’re defending it.”
Without their supplies, without their food, they’d be as good as dead in a few days’ time if they fled.
“They won’t let us live,” said Max. “They’ll hunt us down. We’ll be half-frozen, and they’ll kill us easily if we leave.”
Mandy and Cynthia arrived, panting with exertion.
There wasn’t much time.
“Mandy, you and James are coming with me. Georgia, you’ve got John, Cynthia, and Sadie. I’ll hit the old territory. Georgia, get into position over in that direction to take on the eastbound group.” Max pointed to a part of the forest where Georgia would have a good shot at the group coming from the east. “Cynthia and John, carry Georgia if she can’t make it. OK, let’s move! There’s not much time.”
There was no more time for talking. The atmosphere was tense, but not frantic. Everyone was in action. Everyone was on the move.
Max glanced behind him. Georgia was limping behind John, Cynthia, and Sadie. A moment later, John and Cynthia stopped, and got on either side of Georgia.
Max turned his head. The others, unfortunately, were on their own for now. He couldn’t worry about them, or about Georgia’s injury.
They didn’t have much time to get to their positions.
The clock was ticking.
17
As Ricky had gotten closer to the camp, he’d quickly chickened out and completely abandoned his plans to take on everyone by himself. He’d retreated back into the woods, wondering what to do.
That was when he’d come across one of them. He was tall and fairly young, completely out of breath, and apparently completely unarmed. There was a wild look on his face and in his eyes. Ricky didn’t know what to make of him. The only thing Ricky knew was that this was the opportunity he’d been looking for, the opportunity that would save him.
All Ricky needed was information.
But the man wasn’t talking.
“Who are you?” repeated Ricky.
The man stared back at him with his wild eyes. Ricky couldn’t look too long at those eyes. There was something about them that unnerved him.
“Speak!” shouted Ricky.
He was losing his patience. He didn’t have all night, after all. He’d been gone a long time. He needed to get back to Anton with the information.
The man opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” shouted Ricky. “You want something to make you talk? Well, I’ll give you something.”
Ricky had his pistol out and in his hand. He took reckless aim, and squeezed the trigger. The gun’s recoil was satisfying. As was the sound. He’d been lucky enough to get a high caliber pistol. He liked the seriousness of the weapon, the way it made an impact.
The bullet struck the man in the knee. He screamed in pain, clutched his knee, tried to maintain his balance on one leg, and then fell down into the snow.
Ricky walked slowly over to him, his rifle slung across his back, his pistol pointed at the man’s head.
“You’ve got to know that you’re going to leave this world soon enough, buddy. You might as well make it easier on yourself. I’ve got five more bullets right here loaded, and plenty more in my pocket.”
“Don’t…” muttered the man, wincing from the pain.
“Don’t what? Come on,” said Ricky. “Don’t hate me. This is nothing personal. I’m probably in a worse situation than you. I’ve got an asshole boss who’s been breathing down my neck. That’s bad enough, but you know how it is since the EMP. Now it’s life and death, even if it’s just a bad boss. Same shit as before, only magnified.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Pity you’re wasting your dying breath with words like that,” said Ricky.
Ricky stood over the man, one leg on either side of his body. Ricky pointed his revolver straight down at the man’s head.
Standing there, having shot the man in the knee, Ricky knew that he had the power of life and death in his hands. And if made him feel good. He felt powerful. When he’d been with the other men from the compound, he’d felt weak. At any moment, an order from Anton could see him executed. Or worse.
Now it was Ricky who was in charge.
Practical thoughts soon flew out the window. Ricky momentarily forgot what he was trying to do. He didn’t remember that he was trying to get information that would keep him alive, keep Anton from murdering him out of frustration.
The sense of power over this man had completely overwhelmed him.
“We’re all in this shit world together now,” said Ricky. “Although this new world isn’t exactly a team sport, if you know what I mean. It’s every man for himself. And sooner or later, it’s all going to get us. The grim reaper, the big man with the scythe, whatever you want to call him.”
Ricky was getting carried away with himself, ranting like there was no tomorrow. He recognized somewhat that he was losing control, but he let himself continue. It was fun, after all, to be in power, to wield life and death, to speak with authority.
“OK,” said Ricky. “I’m going to give you something else to think about. And after that, we’ll see how much you want to tell me. I have a feeling that you’re not as tough and silent as you’d like to think you are.”
Ricky aimed the pistol at the man’s shoulder. He squeezed the trigger.
The man screamed, his face contorting in agony.
Ricky had always thought that the knee was one of the most painful places to get shot, but the shoulder seemed to really do it this time. Ricky briefly wondered why. Did the man have an old injury? Was the whole “shot in the knee” myth just that, a myth? Or was it simply that two injuries hurt more than one alone?