Defending Camp

7

“So you’re all good with your brother, then?” said Cynthia, that classic sarcastic bite echoing through every word.

“You already know the answer, so why are you asking?”

“Just wanted to see how angry you were.”

“Just wanted to see how much you could irritate me, you mean. Right?”

“Well you just answered my question with a response like that.”

They were sitting off in a corner of the camp, away from the fire, looking out into the night. John had his rifle across his legs, and Cynthia had hers lying by her side.

John took a long sip of his coffee. The pot farmers had apparently been huge coffee fanatics, because there’d been plenty of it. Initially they had all decided it’d be best to ration it, but the stress and physical demands had instead won out. And everyone basically drank as much coffee as they liked. It made work easier, and it was somehow comforting psychologically to have a hot drink in one’s hand.

John hadn’t even been a big coffee drinker before the EMP. Sure, he’d have a take away cup on the way to work maybe, especially if he’d been hung over. Alcohol had been his thing.

But there wasn’t a drop in sight. The pot farmers hadn’t had any, apparently preferring to indulge in their own product.

It would have been useful to have some around. For pain relief for one thing. Alcohol had been used medicinally throughout history. And for sterilizing blades, should they have to dig a bullet out of yet another person.

And above all else, John felt he could really use a drink right at that moment.

John drained the last of his coffee and set the mug down in the dirt.

“You’ve got to be careful, John,” said Cynthia after some time.

“About what?”

“You can’t let this family stuff, this old history between you and Max, you know, get in between you two again.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. It doesn’t have anything to do with that. I was mad at him for leaving, for making a dumb decision.”

John felt the anger growing in his chest. He was feeling hot, even though the night was cool.

“It sure seemed like it did,” said Cynthia.

“Yeah, well you don’t know what you’re talking about,” snapped John.

He didn’t fully understand why he couldn’t control himself. But he also didn’t understand why Cynthia wasn’t on his side, why she was giving him a hard time.

“I’m going to take a walk,” said John, standing up briskly, shouldering his rifle.

“I’ll come with you.”

“Better if I go alone,” said John. “I just need to think.”

“We’re not supposed to walk around alone at night,” said Cynthia.

“It’s fine. There’s no one here.”

“We don’t know that.”

“I’m fine,” said John. “Trust me.”

He took off without looking back, feeling calmer the farther he found himself from the camp and the bonfire.

Soon enough, he was lost in the trees, out of sight of the bonfire.

He let his thoughts drift here and there, but kept them away from everything to do with Max.

John had spent most of his adult life in the heart of Philadelphia. City streets had been his environment, with all their chaos and hustle. Now, despite the violence and hardships he’d persevered through out here, he found that he preferred a life in nature to his old city life.

He felt himself calming down, his muscles relaxing, the tenseness leaving him, feeling the calmest he had all day.

That wasn’t to say he was glad for the EMP. Far from it.

But if he’d known what he knew now, and the EMP had never happened, he could imagine a calm relaxing life for himself, moving out of the city, settling down in some remote town.

Max would have said there was no point to that. For Max, there was no point in thinking about anything but the practical. About what had to be done.

And John agreed with him. For the most part. His own change in thinking is what had kept him alive, when he’d seen so many others die.

That was what made John so mad about Max’s recent decision. It seemed as if Max was just throwing all that practical thinking away to go on some adventure, just so he felt like he was doing something, accomplishing something.

Then again, now that he thought about it with a slightly calmer head, maybe Max had his reasons. Max was pretty tight-lipped, and didn’t always speak his whole mind, even when pressed.

Up ahead, John saw something. A light in the darkness. Red and orange, glowing. Definitely not the moonlight reflecting off something. No, it was the glow of a fire.

A fire? Must have been a campfire.

John moved into the shadows, getting himself mostly behind a tree. He got his rifle in his hands and his finger against the trigger.

Using the scope of his rifle, John got a better look.

It was definitely a campfire. He saw the flickering flames clearly.

He heard no voices. No noise. Maybe he was too far away still. He saw no one through the scope, no bodies. But there were shadows on the ground. Whoever was there must have been hidden out of view, blocked by the thick strands of pine trees.

How was it possible that there were people camping out so close to John’s own camp? The only answer was that they were people who were just passing through. Otherwise, the two groups would have run into each other earlier. It wasn’t as if everyone back at John’s camp stayed close to the fire at all times. They were often out hunting, fetching water, or patrolling the area.

John knew that he needed to investigate.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to do it alone.

But he didn’t want to head back to camp to get Cynthia or someone else. If he did, it seemed as if the risk of being discovered was greater. It was harder for two people to conceal themselves than one. Harder not to make noise.

Keeping fairly low, ducking partially down, John began to creep forward through the shadows.

Still no noise around the fire.

It wasn’t until John was about fifteen feet away that he could hear the voices. They were talking quietly, barely above a whisper. He had to strain to hear them.

“I just don’t know what we’re going to do.” It was a male voice. Middle aged, probably. And tired sounding.

“We’ve just got to do it. There’s no other way around it.” Another male voice. Hard to tell the age.

“But the thing about is that it’s tough.”

“Of course it’s tough, but it’s what’s necessary.”

“I know. Don’t you know that I know that?”

“Yeah, but you’re acting like you don’t want to do it.”

“It’s not a question of wanting or not wanting.”

The conversation continued like that. They were talking in serious tones, as if whatever it was they were discussing was of the utmost importance. That didn’t surprise John. Almost everything now, after the EMP, was a life and death matter.

John couldn’t make heads or tails of their conversation. The two men never mentioned anything specific, and they gave no other clues as to what it was they were discussing.

John didn’t know what to do.

The memories of being captured and almost tortured to death were fresh in John’s memory. He’d been tricked into a vulnerable position that time. He wasn’t going to let it happen again.

But he hadn’t gone trigger happy. He hadn’t lost it. He wasn’t going to simply shoot strangers on sight, without first finding out if they were a threat or not. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he’d gotten to that point.

John didn’t want to head back to camp to get backup. He didn’t want to miss anything in their conversation that might reveal their intentions.

Wanting to get a look at the strangers, John decided to move around to the other side. He’d still be in the shadows, and he’d hopefully be able to finally see them. He needed to know whether they were armed. And if so, with what.

A twig snapped under John’s boot. The sound seemed loud in the silent woods.

He froze, hoping they hadn’t heard him. He held his breath.

“You hear that?”

“It’s nothing. Get back to what you were saying.”

John let out a quiet sigh of relief, and continued.

Suddenly, there was a flurry of movement off to John’s right, away from the campfire.

Something was coming at him. Something big. Coming fast.

John spun around too slowly. Not enough time to get off a shot.

His attacker was of medium height with a barrel chest. Big and powerful.

The man’s hands were on John’s rifle before John could use it.

The two of them locked eyes. Four hands were on the rifle, which ran parallel between them.

John was strong, but not strong enough.

With a final grunt, the man got enough control of the rifle to pull the butt towards himself, getting the muzzle end to swing around, heading right for John.

The rifle collided with John’s skull hard enough to knock him down.

Pain flashed through John.

He reached for his handgun. His hand gripped the handle, but his attacker was fast, who kicked with precision, his shoe knocking the gun from John’s hand.

It was happening so fast, there wasn’t much time to think it all through. But John knew something didn’t make sense. What had happened to the men around the campfire? Was his attacker one of them? It didn’t seem possible. He hadn’t heard a break in their conversation. And yet, he was close enough now that they must have heard the commotion.

A hard kick to his stomach sent more pain rushing through him.

John had to act. If he lay there, taking the beating, he’d wind up dead.

But his attacker didn’t seem to want him dead. He hadn’t tried for the guns. No, he wanted this to be personal. Physical. Man to man. As if he had a vendetta.

John was ready for the next kick. Ignoring his own pain, he acted fast.

As the leg came towards his head, John shot out his arms, seizing the man’s ankle. He gripped hard, holding on tight, and pulled towards himself with all his strength. The man let out a grunt of surprise and fell backwards. He hit the ground hard, his back slamming into the earth.

John reached for his gun. But he couldn’t find it. He was just wasting time.

By the time John struggled to his feet, fighting against the pain, his attacker was on his feet too.

Where were the men who’d been around the campfire? This man with the intense eyes opposite John couldn’t have been one of them.

“I told you I’d come after you. You think you can get away with what you did?”

John didn’t know what he was talking about. He was sure he’d never seen the man before in his life. He wasn’t going to waste his energy answering him.

The man was keeping his distance. For now.

John knew he wasn’t a match for this man physically, who was simply too powerful. Each of his kicks had felt like sledgehammers.

What were his options?

John kept his ground. He didn’t have much of a chance of running away. And he wasn’t going to leave his gun there.

With his boot, John tried to feel for his gun. He didn’t want to take his eyes off his opponent even for a second. If he did, he knew that was when the attack would come.

John’s boot knocked against the gun. He felt the hardness, and he heard the gun go scuttling across the ground.

His attacker looked down at the ground. John seized the opportunity, locating the gun first with his eyes, and then reaching down for it.

The man was rushing at him, closing the distance between them fast.

John was bringing the gun up as fast as he could, trying his finger inside the trigger guard.

A punch was coming at him, the man’s arm swinging wide, his whole body going with the momentum.

The safety was on. John fumbled for it.

He got it, but not in time.

The punch collided with the side of John’s head.

It sent him reeling. He stepped backwards, trying to stay on his feet. But it was too much, and he fell to his side. His shoulder hit the ground hard.

John had kept the gun up, his arm extended. He took aim, squeezed the trigger twice in quick succession.

He hit the man in the chest with both shots. He crumpled to the ground, breathing heavily.

John lay there on the ground, his vision blurry, feeling dizzy, feeling the full brunt of the pain. He kept his gun up, finger on the trigger.

Two men appeared, stepping cautiously into view. They must have been the men who’d been sitting around the fire. They didn’t appear to be armed.

John aimed the gun at the one who was closest to him.

“Don’t take another step,” growled John.

“We didn’t…”

“Shut up and tell me who you are,” said John.