Killing was required of him.
But it didn’t make it any easier. Especially not when his enemy lay wounded, unconscious, on the ground in front of him.
Andy was completely helpless.
But Jim knew he had no choice. He had to do it.
He examined the gun, his exhausted and blurry mind finally registering on the fact that it wasn’t loaded.
Well, he hadn’t found any rounds on Andy’s person. They must have fallen to the ground.
A quick scan of the ground didn’t turn anything up.
Jim pocketed the weapon, and again considered his options.
He had the paddle, his hands, his feet, and his knife.
The knife seemed like the most humane method. Slit the throat. Be done with it. Quick and swift. Not as painful or as horrible as bashing Andy’s skull in further.
Maybe it was the exhaustion, but Jim had to reflect for a moment before he did the deed.
He had the knife ready in his hand.
But it seemed like such a horrible thing to do. It seemed as if circumstances had forced them all to behave like savage animals. Like people who’d lost all civility.
And in a way, that was all true.
It was every man for himself when you really got down to it.
Jim had no choice. He had to be both the judge and executioner.
Andy had crossed the line. And he’d do it again. Those were the choices he’d made, and now he’d face the consequences.
As Jim knelt down, putting his knees onto Andy’s chest, Andy seemed to almost regain consciousness.
Andy’s eye flitted open, and, for a moment, they locked right onto Jim’s.
Jim said nothing.
He ran the knife swiftly across Andy’s neck, one hand gripping the top of his head firmly.
Blood gushed out.
Andy let out a gurgling noise, and blood bubbled out of his mouth.
Jim stood up.
The fight was over. The adrenaline was already starting to fade, and his weakness and exhaustion were returning to the forefront of his consciousness.
He didn’t feel good about what he’d done. He didn’t feel good about winning the fight.
Surviving didn’t always feel victorious. It just felt like continuing to press on. Like grim determination.
Jim knew what he had to do. He had to get the supplies back to the house, check on Aly.
It was a big job. A tiring job. And he knew that it’d be best to work quickly. After all, gunshots had been fired.
It was hard to guess, given the variety of terrain, how far the sound of the shots had traveled. Jim knew from experience that sound could be unpredictable.
What kind of person would the sound of gunshots attract? Someone who wanted to swoop in and pick through the scraps, that’s who. Scavengers, people who were desperate and reduced to being nothing better than carrion birds.
Jim was under no illusions that he could fight off anyone else. His body felt like it was on the verge of complete collapse. He wanted nothing more than to sit down and eat the candy bars.
But he didn’t have that luxury.
Instead, he seized the improvised sled loaded down with gear, and dragged it back to the boat, which he began to survey.
“Shit,” muttered Jim, as he saw that the boat’s hull had been pierced by a round.
It was no longer seaworthy.
There was no patching up a hole like that.
He’d need a new way to get the gear back home.
Dragging that sled back around the shoreline would take hours, if not days. And he didn’t even think he’d be able to actually do it, not in his current physical state.
Jim tore the wrapper off one of the candy bars as he thought, taking almost half of it in a single bite.
The sugar quickly started to make him feel better, starting to lift his mind out of the fog, making him feel just a little bit clearer, a little more resilient.
He took a step back from the damaged boat and the laden-down sled, surveying them once again.
His only real option was to hide the gear and come back later for it with a boat. He’d hide it and then start the long walk back around the lake.
There might be boats on the shore. But it’d be easier to simply return with the Subaru, load it up, and then drive back home.
He was mad at himself for not having thought of the solution earlier. It seemed so simple.
Jim bit off another hunk of chocolate and set to work. It’d be tough dragging that sled far enough away, but he could do it.
19
Jessica had initially gotten interested in firearms because she’d been assaulted. She’d vowed that she’d never let it happen to herself again. She wanted to be strong. Able to defend herself. Even dangerous.
And now, she was in the situation that was her worst fear.
She didn’t know what they wanted from her.
So far, they just seemed to be enjoying her struggle. It was entertainment to them. Nothing more. They didn’t see her as a human being with thoughts and concerns of her own. Or, if they did, it only added to their amusement.
When she’d broken free from the cords that had bound her, they’d pointed the gun at her, approached her, and backhanded her hard across the face.
They’d kneed her in the stomach, and she’d doubled over in pain. The next thing she knew, she was tied up again with the very same cords that she had just managed to undo.
She was trying to look at the upside of all of this. Not because she was some sort of sunny-side up Pollyanna person. But because she was practical.
If there was a way out of this, she needed to know it. And she wouldn’t find it by sulking and thinking about how unlucky she was or how unfair the situation was. No, that wouldn’t do her any good.
Her captors were nearby. She’d had a hard time seeing them, since she was lying again on the ground, immobilized, and her field of sight was limited.
But she’d seen them breaking out dirty little plastic bags filled with powders. She’d come to the unmistakable conclusion that they were drug addicts, getting ready for their next fix.
Good. That was one advantage she already had over them.
She’d heard them chuckling, out of view, chatting in low voices, presumably about how they were going to torture her just for kicks.
Or who knew. Maybe they were planning on selling her off. It wouldn’t surprise her. That kind of stuff had happened with regularity before the EMP. And after? It was a wide-open market for anyone who wanted to get interested. Sure, the old networks and lines of communication might suffer. But that sort of criminal behavior would always find a way. If it was possible to profit off the intense suffering of another human being, there’d always be some dark soul ready to take up the yoke and get to work at the dirty business ahead.
When her captors stopped talking and laughing, she assumed that they were nodding off, fully overtaken by the drugs they’d consumed.
So, she set to work.
Methodically and carefully and quickly.
She used the same methods she’d used previously.
It was faster this time. Maybe five minutes all told.
Soon, she was standing there, free once again of the cords that had bound her.
She was still in the clearing in the woods. She turned to look at her captors.
They were pathetic. Worthless lumps of nothing.
One had his eyes closed. The other, his eyes were open, but it was as if he saw nothing at all, just staring straight up at the gray sky and the tops of the trees.
Jessica waited while her legs regained feeling again. The pins and needles feeling was strong. As she waited for it to pass, her eyes scanned the ground.
She spotted a large stick.
Her legs were ready.
She strode forward, picking up the stick as she walked.