“With the door broken like that? There’ll definitely be more. We need to get out of here as soon as possible.”
“I don’t get it,” said Dan. “This guy,” gesturing to the dead body, “heard her screaming, and still came in. He knew there were people in here. He wasn’t even armed.”
“They’re desperate,” said Rob. “Like the rest of us. But some are more desperate than the rest. This door is just going to be an invitation for those who can’t even break down a door. Come on, you’ve got to help me with her.”
“Did you get her name?” said Dan as he followed Rob, who toted his gun at his side, back into the kitchen.
“Her name? No. The pain pills kicked in and she’s pretty loopy. You’re going to have to help me get her out of here.”
In the kitchen, the woman wasn’t looking good. Most of the color had drained from her face. Her eyes were only partially open and her arm was covered in blood. But Rob had managed to bandage the wound in an almost professional-looking way. It looked clean, and the blood was only on the rest of the arm, not to mention the bottom of her shirt.
“She’s going to be fine,” said Rob. “But we’re going to have to carry her out of here.”
Dan didn’t say it, but he was worried that he wouldn’t be able to support her weight for very long, considering his small size. Even with Rob’s help, Dan didn’t know how far he could support her.
“Where are we going to go, though?”
“Anywhere that has an intact door,” said Rob.
“Like next door?”
Rob, moving over to the window, pushed back the old curtains and peered out at the neighbor home, which couldn’t have been more than twenty feet away.
“That’ll have to work,” he said.
Rob was quickly gathering up his things, shoving everything back into his bag. The only things that he took time with were his medical instruments, making sure that he wiped them down completely before replacing them in his little kit. “Never know when you’re going to need these again,” he remarked. “Better to take the time now, even though it doesn’t appear that we have much of it. I don’t think there’s anything in this house worth taking. It’s been hit before. So we’d better just move on out right now.”
Together, Rob and Dan lifted the woman to her feet. She was groggy and could barely stand on her own. She groaned in pain whenever she accidentally put weight on her feet.
The three of them managed somehow to fit sideways in a line through the back door, back out the way that Dan had come in not that long ago.
Would the soldiers be looking for him? The thought crossed his mind as they stepped down the steps and outside once more, leaving the meager shelter of the house. He’d been convinced that they wouldn’t be able to find him. But who knew?
It seemed like everyone was converging on him. It seemed as if he had no time left, as if everything was happening at exactly the worst possible time.
9
Janet was sprinting through the back yards.
She heard the gunshots before she saw the soldiers.
There were two figures, just outlines in the semi-darkness of the bright moonlight. They’d taken shelter behind the corner of a house up ahead.
She threw herself down onto the hard, cold ground. The gunfire continued, ringing out loudly.
She had no cover. There was nothing nearby that she could get to quickly enough.
Her only option was to return fire as quickly as she could, hoping that they didn’t hit her in the process.
Fortunately, despite being in a militia, most of the members were bad shots. Some of them hadn’t touched a gun before the EMP. Others, like the previously-incarcerated prisoners, had handled guns plenty of times before, but they’d never really developed any kind of proficiency with them.
They were the people who sometimes held handguns sideways, like they did in the movies, and really could barely aim. They’d brandished guns at bank tellers and shop clerks, occasionally shooting them. They weren’t the types of people who went to the target range or practiced gun safety.
Janet squeezed the trigger. The shotgun kicked.
The figures were fully behind the house, taking cover, not knowing when the next blast would come. Good. That was the opportunity she needed.
She was up in a flash, sprinting, her arms pumping at her sides, her feet pounding into the grass. She got herself right up against the siding of the back of the house.
It would give her the benefit of surprise. They’d be looking for her where she’d been, in the middle of the yard.
There was a window about a foot away, leading right into the house.
More gunfire. One of the figures was leaning around the edge of the house.
Janet took careful aim, exhaling as she did, and pulled the trigger.
She felt the kick and her ears rang.
The figure up ahead looked like he’d been hit. Maybe partially. Or maybe not at all. He wasn’t dead, since he’d gotten himself out of view again.
Janet took the butt of the shotgun and smashed it into the window. The glass broke, shattering, fragments falling into the house.
There wasn’t time to worry about getting cut by the glass.
Janet lifted up her leg and stuck it through. A piece of glass cut her pants and dug into her. She ignored it, thrusting her whole body through. She had to squeeze in and position the shotgun just right.
The glass cut her face. Another piece cut her scalp. The blood was hot and poured down her face. But it wasn’t serious.
What was serious was getting shot. Dying. She could deal with a little blood. A little glass.
She fell onto the floor. Hard.
She got up as quickly as she could. She knew they’d discover where she went.
There wasn’t much time. She needed to get out of the house, making use of her small, brief advantage.
Her eyes briefly scanned the kitchen as she reloaded the shotgun.
It had once been a normal, if not quaint, kitchen, the type you’d find in almost any suburban home. The counters and cabinets weren’t of the latest style. They were the ones you would have found in a home magazine a decade ago. But they still worked. Or had worked, served their purpose, before the EMP.
Janet didn’t know what had happened here. But something had. The tables and chairs were overturned. The cupboards and drawers were all thrown open. Empty plastic bags of food littered the floor.
Blood stained one of the walls, and there was a trail of blood leading out of the room, as if a bleeding person, or a recently dead person, had been dragged from the room forcibly.
The room stank of old, rotten food, or stale, dead air.
Maybe Janet herself had come here once, on a raiding party. She didn’t remember. There’d been so many of them.
She was already out of the kitchen and into the hallway. It was dark, almost-pitch black. There weren’t windows in the hallway, and not much light came through the windows anyway.
But she kept going forward, towards the front of the house. She didn’t need to see. She knew where she had to go.
She didn’t have much time. The soldiers would follow her through the broken glass. They’d be inside any moment. Or, if they were smart, they’d cut around to the front of the house.
Should she go back out the back? Should she wait, looking out the window, to see if they tried to come for her through the back? She could shoot them. She’d have the advantage, being inside the house.
No. She needed to press on. Get out of the house as quickly as possible. More soldiers might be coming.
She couldn’t get stuck in this house. She wouldn’t be able to fight her way out.
Suddenly, something slammed into the door. Loudly.