Defending Camp

6

The military-style trucks had come through earlier that day, rumbling down the street. There’d been a few types of trucks. Regular pickups, painted green, with turret guns on the back, manned by men in no uniforms. There’d been troop carriers. And there’d been some kind of armored truck that Dan wasn’t familiar with. It looked more like an armored car than anything else.

At first, Dan had felt a surge of hopefulness surging through his chest. He’d thought that the government had finally pulled through, that the military was there to take control.

But something had held him back. Maybe it was just his innate cautiousness. He didn’t know, but whatever it was, he owed his life to that instinct.

So instead, he’d watched from the window.

Across the street, the front door had swung open widely. Dan was surprised. He hadn’t even known there was anyone left on the block. He’d thought they’d all fled.

It was Mr. Davies, a retired math teacher. Dan recognized his bald head right away.

Mr. Davies had run out, waving his arms at the passing vehicles.

Mere seconds later, gunfire rang out, and Davies lay on the ground, riddled with bullet holes.

Whoever the men in those trucks were, they weren’t the military. They were something else altogether. Some group that had gotten hold of official vehicles.

Dan’s heart had started pounding. He’d ducked down below the windowsill, where the kitchen knife still lay. His hands had been clenched in fists, whitening at the knuckles.

And that was where he’d stayed until all the vehicles had passed.

Night had now fallen and the street once again seemed calm. But the calmness was only an illusion. Dan knew that Mr. Davie’s body lay there. He couldn’t get it off his mind.

He was back in his grandfather’s room now, kitchen knife in hand, staring down at his grandfather’s face. Moonlight came in through the window.

Dan had wanted to bury his grandfather. But now things seemed more urgent. He couldn’t stay there, alone in the house. Something would happen. He was sure of it. He’d already had to scare off one intruder. And the next time someone came around, looking for food or water, they probably wouldn’t be so skittish.

Dan had nothing but that knife to protect himself with.

Dan left the room, taking the knife with him. He wanted to try the radio, even though it was a little earlier than he normally talked to Max.

He was more skittish and scared than he had been, and opening the garage to let the generator breathe just seemed like a bad idea. Like he was opening himself up to known danger.

But he did it anyway.

He got down on one knee by the generator, putting the knife on the concrete garage floor. He pulled hard on the start cord.

Nothing happened.

Shit. He needed the generator to work. It was the only way to use the radio. And he needed the radio.

He couldn’t make it by himself. He didn’t have the slightest idea what to do. His only hope was Max, that deep distant voice cutting through the static.

Dan pulled and pulled on the cord. But nothing.

Nothing at all.

He was trying not to lose his cool. But the death of his grandfather and the murder of his neighbor were weighing heavily on his mind.

Dan sat down dejected on the concrete next to the generator.

OK, he thought to himself. One more try. Maybe he could still get it to start. Just another moment’s rest. He’d already exhausted himself by yanking on that cord over and over again.

As he was catching his breath, he realized that, given enough time, it was possible he could fix the generator. He’d fixed it once, after all. He could do it again.

A noise outside the garage startled him.

It was subtle. Quiet. But it was something.

Dan kept his eyes on the darkness outside the open garage door, his hand fumbling around blindingly for the knife.

His fingers found the blade first instead of the handle, giving him a cut. But he got the knife by the handle, ignoring the blood. He held the knife close to his chest. Ready. Ready to strike with it.

His body was exhausted from too many sleepless nights. His heart was pounding away as best it could. His body felt empty. The adrenaline had taken his strength, and there wasn’t much left to give.

But he’d fight if he needed to.

“Who’s there?” called out Dan.

No answer.

Should he go to the door? Try to close it? It meant getting close to the yawning opening.

The candle near him was still burning. Dan knocked it over with his sneaker, and it went out.

Only the moonlight came in now, casting its light only over a portion of the garage. Dan was left in the dark.

There was no more noise outside.

Maybe he’d imagined it. He was jumpy, after all.

Dan started inching his way towards the garage door. The hand his knife was in was shaky. His other hand was stretched out, ready to grab the cord and slam the garage door down closed.

Movement. A sound.

Something rushing at him.

It was an adult man. But everything was a flash. Nothing but a blur.

He collided with Dan, knocking him down to the hard ground. Dan managed to keep his head from hitting the floor. He landed hard on his shoulder.

The guy was on top of him, pushing Dan onto his back. His hands went to Dan’s neck. He squeezed, hard.

The man’s hair was long and unkempt. His face was filthy. He looked like he’d been living in the wild for years. Or like one of those people who managed to survive adrift in the ocean on a small raft. His beard was long. His face was deeply tanned.

“Where is it?” screamed the man. His face was inches from Dan’s. His voice was hoarse.

His hands tightened around Dan’s throat.

Dan let out a small sound. He was trying to speak. But he couldn’t. Not while being strangled.

His vision was starting to go black around the edges.

He still had the knife in his hand.

“Tell me where it is, or I’ll kill you. I really will. Don’t think I won’t.” The man spoke fast in that hoarse voice of his. He sounded crazy to Dan.

Bringing the knife around into a reverse grip, Dan swung his arm up hard. He was only able to move it at the elbow. The man’s knee was on his bicep.

The knife point pierced the man’s side. Dan drove it in.

The man screamed. Dan pushed as hard as he could.

The man wasn’t yet dead.

Dan was acting on instinct. He pulled the knife out from the flesh, and drove it back in. Again and again, until the man was dead.

Dan struggled to get out from under the adult’s weight. But he got him off him, panting from the exertion. His throat hurt tremendously.

Dan didn’t wait to catch his breath or to look at the body. He rushed to the garage door, grabbed the rope, and slammed the door down, throwing the locking mechanism immediately afterward.

Now Dan was alone in the pitch-black garage. The door had no windows to let in any light.

On his hands and knees, he managed to find the candle he knocked over. He lit it with a match from his pocket.

Holding the candle carefully, Dan used its flickering light to examine the man he’d just killed.

Dan was trying hard to keep his thinking straight. He knew he couldn’t dwell on the fact that he’d just killed for the first time. He couldn’t think about the life that was taken.

No, instead he had to think about practical things. And about the fact that he almost just lost his own life.

The knife was still in his shaking hand, covered now in blood. Dan bent down and wiped the blade on the dead man’s filthy shirt.

Dan started going through the man’s pockets. He found nothing. Nothing more than a piece of lint.

How had this man survived since the EMP? He had nothing with him. No tools. No food. No water.

The only answer was that the dead man had his gear elsewhere. Maybe he’d been a neighbor, for all Dan knew. But that didn’t quite make sense. He wouldn’t have looked like he’d been living outdoors if that were the case.

So the radio wasn’t operational, his grandfather was dead, and the food at the house wouldn’t last forever. Max was supposedly coming to get him and his grandfather. But was that realistic? Could Dan really put his hope in a faceless voice on the radio?

Even if he could, would Max really make it there? Who knew what was laying outside Dan’s small neighborhood. He’d just seen military trucks drive by. How would Max manage a convoy like that? He’d have to take the roads just like anyone else.

Dan gazed down at the dead man.

The attack had made no sense. What had he been after? Why had he been so crazed to even let Dan respond?

A gunshot rang out. A popping noise in the distance.

Dan froze where he was.

Another pop. Then another. Three in total.

Dan’s guess was that it was a handgun being fired.

The garage was technically part of the basement. The front yard of the house was higher than the backyard because the house had been built in a small hill.

Leaving the body on the garage floor, Dan dashed through the door that led to the basement. The candle blew out from his speed. He dashed up the basement stairs blindly, arriving in the kitchen.

Another pop from outside.

Another shot had been fired.

Dan dashed to the front door. There was a small circular window facing the street. It was slightly higher than Dan.

Standing on the baseboard heater, he could see out the window.

Out there on the street, in the bright moonlight, five figures were walking slowly down the street. They were tall, and each carried a weapon. A baseball bat. A shotgun. A handgun. A crowbar. And another handgun.

They were right in front of his house.

“Shit,” muttered Dan, ducking his head down. It was unlikely he’d be seen, since there weren’t any lights inside the house. But he didn’t want to risk it.

As he shifted his body, the thin metal grill came off the heater. It made a loud sound, and Dan lost his balance as it came loose. He fell onto his back, making a thud.

Shit.

Could they have heard that?

It had sounded incredibly loud to Dan. But would the sound have traveled beyond the confined so the house? Normally, no. But the night was quieter than normal. No machines ran for miles and miles. Silence hung in the air like it never had before the EMP.

He lay there on his back, his hand still gripping the kitchen knife tightly, not moving, trying not to even breathe.

He listened as hard as he could. But if they’d heard him, and were approaching the house, he might not hear them walking across the front lawn’s grass.

Something was going on. Something bad. And he didn’t understand it. But those trucks, the attacker, and now these guys. Things were in motion, whatever they were.

Dan knew he needed to get out of there. Provided he survived this moment, that was, and the men kept on walking down the street.

Slowly and as silently as he could, Dan moved, getting himself into a crouching position. He didn’t dare try to peek out the window again, but he put his ear against the front door and listened.

Nothing.

No sounds.

But that didn’t mean he was safe.