Grant’s face was right up against Max’s, as if Grant wanted to see Max die in an up close and personal way.
Max stared right back, right into Grant’s eyes. Beads of sweat formed on Grant’s forehead and dripped down onto Max’s face.
Grant stank, a horrible stench that went right into Max’s nostrils. The smell of an animal, the smell of rot and the smell of the death that would come soon enough.
A noise behind Grant. Like a twig snapping.
Without releasing his hold on Max’s neck, Grant turned his head partway around.
But it wasn’t enough.
Max saw it. Up close and personal. He saw the huge hard stick swinging right towards Grant’s face. He saw Grant try to avoid it. He saw Grant try to duck.
Max saw the stick smack into Grant’s face.
Max felt the strong hands release. It happened suddenly.
Max gasped for air, suddenly able to breathe.
Grant’s eyes rolled back. A funny look came over Grant’s face as he started to slide down to the side. Grant slid right off Max.
As Grant’s body slid away, it revealed the man who’d been standing behind Grant. The man who’d swung the stick. The man who’d saved Max’s life.
It was Wilson. The same man who’d thrown Max in the stockade earlier.
Wilson looked tall there in the darkness. Tall and thin. A strange sort of strength about him. A grim expression on his face.
Wilson extended a long arm down, his hand reaching towards Max.
Max was sputtering, still gasping. But he knew he didn’t have time to waste. Or options. He grabbed Wilson’s hand.
Wilson pulled Max to his feet.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” said Wilson. He spoke quickly. Urgently.
“No shit,” Max managed to say, despite coughing, his neck killing him.
Wilson’s hand disappeared for a moment, dipping down into an unseen holster. Reappeared with a handgun.
Max nodded at Grant, who lay unconscious in the dirt in the darkness. The gesture was asking a question. The question was: why don’t you shoot Grant?
There were footsteps off in the darkness. Probably the penitentiary guard coming running.
There wasn’t much time.
Wilson pointed off into the darkness, in a direction away from the stockade.
Max realized he’d have to verbalize the question. Better to make it a statement. “Shoot him. Kill Grant.”
It was painful to speak. Painful to get the words out.
Wilson gazed down at Grant. There was some kind of internal debate happening inside his head.
Max could hazard a guess. Grant was Wilson’s superior. But Wilson was having trouble with some new revelations about Grant. Not to mention being attacked by him.
Max knew Grant needed to die. Right then and there. Or else Grant would come back to haunt them.
If Grant lived, they weren’t going to get very far. They weren’t going to live for very long. Not with Grant alive and an entire militia camp at his orders.
The footsteps were thudding. Nearby. Very close.
Max wasn’t armed. So he reached down, fumbling around Grant’s unconscious body, looking for the holster.
Found it. His hand grasped Grant’s handgun. Got it out of the holster.
Max raised it. Couldn’t see the manufacturer in the darkness. But he could feel the weight of the gun. Felt for the safety. Found it.
“I’ll do it myself,” said Max.
Max pointed the gun at Grant’s unconscious body.
“Don’t,” said Wilson, pointing his gun at Max.
“We’ve got to. He’ll come after us.”
“You shoot him,” said Wilson. “You die. If you don’t, you have a chance of living.”
Max couldn’t argue. The terms were clear. And Wilson’s face showed no signs that he wasn’t completely serious.
The footsteps were louder. The guard was near. Very near.
Max caught a glimpse of the guard in the darkness, raising a long gun.
Max reacted quickly, pointing his handgun over Wilson’s shoulder, at the guard.
Max pulled the trigger. Twice. In quick succession, before Wilson could react.
Max saw the surprise on Wilson’s face. He heard the shots. Then realized that he wasn’t dead or shot.
Wilson turned his head, saw the dead guard.
“Come on,” said Max. “I assume they’ll send more. Not killing Grant is a mistake, and you know that better than I do.”
“It is what it is,” said Wilson, who took off at a run, heading in the opposite direction of the stockade.
Max took one last look at Grant’s unconscious body and took off running after Wilson.
Max knew it was a mistake not to kill Grant. A huge mistake.
But at least he was alive.
His leg was hurting worse than usual. He could taste blood. His whole body hurt. As he ran, another tooth came loose, and Max spat it out without a second thought.
They were running side by side now, heading into the darkness.
Behind them, alarms sounded. Mechanical alarms. All sorts of non-electronic sounds were coming at them. Pots and pans banging. Gongs. Whistles. Shouts and yells. People hollering.
“They’re not going to give us much of a head start,” said Wilson.
Max didn’t bother wasting his breath. After being beaten by Grant, it was hard enough to keep up with Wilson.
Wilson’s decisions didn’t make sense to Max. Why was he doing this? Why was he risking his life? Had he gone off his rocker? Had he been so offended that his boss had attacked him that he’d simply lost his cool and decided to go on the run?
14
“We’ve got to take a break, Georgia,” said John.
“Not yet. Just a little bit farther.”
They’d been walking at a swift pace all night. Georgia had refused to stop even to take a drink of water or eat a snack to keep her going. Instead, she’d made them consume their food and water as they walked, never resting, not even for a moment.
John simply didn’t know what to say to Georgia. He didn’t know how to comfort her. He knew that Georgia wouldn’t stand for it, anyway. She wouldn’t like hearing false words of comfort.
After all, there was no reason that John could come up with to be optimistic about the situation.
Finding Sadie was a long shot. They were headed to the shopping area. But why did they think Sadie might be there? No reason, really. Except that some bad people had been hanging out there. And they might end up there again. They might have taken Sadie there.
But it really didn’t make any sense.
Then again, there weren’t any other options. There wasn’t anything to go on.
That’s what happened these days when someone disappeared. There were cell phones. No way to track them. No police force to call to get on the case. No detectives to track anyone down. No private eyes. Nobody to help.
Just a distraught, angry mother, and her friend, stomping along down the road in the middle of the night.
Hopefully they didn’t come across anyone that wanted a fight. Because, those that were still alive these days knew something about surviving. They either knew how to stay out of the way or they knew how to fight. And win.
And winning meant killing.
The farther they got from the EMP, the more dangerous the individuals remaining were. It was Darwin’s theory at work. To the extreme.
Georgia was panting from exertion. So was John.
“I can’t keep this up,” said John. “’Member what Max is always telling us? And you too, for that matter.”
“What?” snapped Georgia.
“That we’re not going to be any good in a fight if we’re completely exhausted. Pushing ourselves too far doesn’t do us any good. Or Sadie. What if we find her, and can’t rescue her because we’ve simply walked too far?”