Defending Camp

19

“This is just too stressful,” complained Cynthia, her voice rising to a wine.

“You have a better suggestion?” said Georgia, her voice level.

“Yeah, maybe I do,” said Cynthia. “Why are we sitting here and waiting for them to come to us? Why don’t we just head out there and get them all while we can, before they get to us?”

“We’re not talking about just a couple people,” said Georgia.

“And we don’t know where they are,” added John.

They were all sitting around the remains of the campfire, near the van and the tent.

James and Sadie had been fairly quiet, letting the adults talk. Sadie, in particular, looked more scared than usual. She was sitting partially hunched over, her elbows resting on her knees. James was trying to look like he wasn’t bothered, but he kept glancing over his shoulder, and his rifle hadn’t left his hands for hours.

Cynthia stood up.

“Where you going?”

“Nowhere,” said Cynthia.

“You can’t go off on your own,” said John.

Cynthia felt everyone’s eyes on her.

“Like I said, I’m not going anywhere,” said Cynthia. “I’m just heading into the tent for a minute. I need to clear my head.”

Cynthia stepped nimbly around their entire cache of guns and ammunition that lay spread out on the ground, ready for use.

John and Georgia continued talking, discussing their plans, leaning in close together, both seated on the old log someone had dragged next to the campfire.

Cynthia felt like she might explode with the stress of the whole thing, the pressure. It was one thing to be on the run, to be hunted down. It was another to have to sit there and wait.

To Cynthia, it didn’t seem like any of this planning mattered at all. They were facing a completely different enemy than when the men from the compound came. The compound guys had been tightly organized, essentially a small regiment. That meant they were predictable.

Now they were facing a mob. By its very nature, it was completely unpredictable. So anticipating their movements was difficult. Devising some kind of strategy for fighting them off was even more difficult.

It seemed like their best bet was to hide, to avoid being found.

Fortunately, that was a real possibility.

The hunting grounds were large and they were somewhat hidden among the trees.

Then again, if the mob was large enough, and scattered enough, people would come across them sooner or later. It was only a matter of time.

Cynthia heard a noise. Sounded like a cracking twig.

She froze.

She wasn’t far from Georgia and John and the others, but they didn’t seem to have heard it. They kept talking.

“Guys…” said Cynthia, speaking in a low voice.

Their conversation paused.

“I heard something.”

There was movement behind a tree.

Cynthia had her rifle ready. A semi-automatic. Georgia and Max seemed to feel more comfortable using Georgia’s hunting rifles. But now that she and John had gradually gotten more comfortable with firearms, they preferred using something that could fire more rapidly.

Cynthia watched with wide eyes and a pounding heart as a man stepped out from behind the tree.

He barely looked human. His hair and beard were long and in complete disarray. Sure, it wasn’t like Cynthia had exactly kept up her normal hygiene and beauty routine, but she certainly didn’t look completely wild like this man.

He wore no shirt, despite the chill in the air. His pants were nothing but tatters.

There was a wild look in his eyes. More animal like than human.

“What do we do?” whispered Cynthia.

Her first impulse was simply to open fire. She was tired of being a victim, of being attacked at every opportunity. She was tired of giving strangers the benefit of the doubt. Being tortured just a week ago, Cynthia was more on edge than ever before. More ready to squeeze the trigger without asking questions.

But something held her back.

She just wasn’t that sort of person.

No matter how hard she tried.

She couldn’t push herself into a mold that wasn’t her.

The man stood there, looking confused. He stared at them.

Cynthia heard John and Georgia’s footsteps around her. They were standing next to her, their own guns ready.

“Stay back, kids,” Georgia said.

Cynthia glanced back at James and Sadie, making sure they were OK and a safe distance from the men.

Even though he didn’t appear to be armed, there was no telling what he might do, what tricks he might have up his sleeve. And what was more, he might not be the only one there. There was a mob coming, apparently.

“What do you want?” shouted Georgia, her voice commanding.

The man didn’t answer.

Cynthia found her gaze settling on his eyes again. Those wild animal eyes told nothing. Nothing except hatred and anger. The way he stood made him seem like he wasn’t capable of violence. He was rail thin, to the point of being emaciated, and he stood like a limp rag doll, slouched over, his shoulders rolling forward, his spine curved terribly.

But those eyes told a different story. They said that that he was capable of anything, that violence, no matter how extreme, was exactly what he wanted.

This is what had happened, probably, to the majority of humanity. Civilization had fallen and the human animal had risen in its place. This man represented something, something bigger than himself.

Three quick shots rang out.

Cynthia’s ears rang with the sound.

Three bullet holes appeared in the stranger’s chest, red pockets of blood decorating his bare hairy skin.

The stranger seemed to remain standing as Cynthia’s adrenaline kicked up and time seemed to slow down. Then he crumpled to the ground, his arms stuck out at odd angles, an expression of confusion on his face. His eyes remained open, never losing that look.

Cynthia turned to her right, to see John, standing slightly behind her. His gun was raised. He stood still, almost frozen, his finger still on the trigger.

Slowly, he lowered his gun.

Cynthia stared at him. She said nothing, but her expression must have said more than she’d thought.

“You weren’t there in Philly with me,” said John. “You didn’t see what the mob was like. There’s no reasoning with them. If they’re coming this way, we’re going to have to kill them all if we want to stay alive.”

There was a viciousness and callousness in his voice that Cynthia had never heard before, despite everything they’d been through, despite the battles they’d fought together, and the enemies they’d come up against.

Cynthia felt her eyes starting to water.

She didn’t know what she was feeling. She couldn’t identify it. Her emotions seemed to be hidden away, buried by the necessity of survival.

She reached up to her cheek and wiped a single tear away before anyone else could see it.

“There’s someone else!” shouted Georgia.

“They’re coming!” shouted Sadie.

Cynthia turned. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion still.

She saw her friends first before the mob. She saw the determination on John’s face. He looked suddenly much older, the lines on his tanned face merging together as his lips curled. Was it disgust she saw there too, written in those lines, disgust for the mob of humanity that was converging upon them and their camp?

She saw Georgia standing tall despite her injury. Her stance was wide as she shouted commands that Cynthia didn’t seem to hear.

It was as if Cynthia was watching a movie and someone had turned the sound down. Everything felt surreal. A dull roar replaced all the voices. She saw Georgia’s mouth moving, saw that she was shouting, but the words didn’t seem to reach Cynthia’s brain.

Cynthia fumbled with her gun, trying to bring it up into position. But her hands didn’t seem to work properly.

James and Sadie were lying on their stomachs, their rifles propped up over a log.

Finally, Cynthia saw the mob.

Was it twenty men and women? Thirty. She didn’t know. Her brain wasn’t processing things correctly, and she was slowly growing aware of that fact.

Someone was right next to her, shaking her.

“Cynthia!”

John was shouting right into her ear.

“Cynthia!”

The dull roar died away. All of a sudden.

“What?” said Cynthia.

“Snap out of it!” screamed John. His face all twisted up. Anger. Frustration. Intensity.

Everything seemed to speed back up to the right speed.

A mob of armed people, half-clothed and desperate, were converging on the camp.

There wasn’t much time.

What had she just experienced? Was it some kind of stress reaction?

There wasn’t any time to figure it out.

She needed to act.

Quickly.