7

MILLER

Miller was barreling down the dirt road in his SUV. He must have been going at least 80 MPH.

There was a turn up ahead. A tough curve, even at slower speeds.

He didn’t slow down. He was too intent on getting there, on exacting his revenge, that he could barely wait. He could barely contain himself. He was going to make his life worth something. He was going to do what he had to do.

He took the turn too hard. Too fast.

The SUV skidded to the side. Miller lost control. The rear tires lost traction, sliding sideways, the rear of the vehicle veering across the asphalt.

“Shit,” shouted Miller as he pulled on the wheel hard, trying to regain control.

Frantic images flashed through his mind, images of his immediate future. He saw himself lying on the side of the road, bleeding from his injuries. He no longer cared about himself or his well being. Certainly not his health.

As far as he was concerned, his life was no more.

But his purpose. His goal.

If he couldn’t do it, if he couldn’t kill this man Kor. If he couldn’t make them pay, then it was all for nothing.

At the last moment, Miller regained control of the SUV. He didn’t look behind him. He didn’t know how close he’d come to slamming into a tree. He didn’t want to know. All he wanted to do was continue forward. Complete his mission. Kill Kor. And whoever else he could.

Miller forced himself to slow down as he headed south. He knew that it was better to go slow and steady. For now.

He glanced over at the passenger seat. Normally, his wife would have sat there. In her place, there was no one. But there were guns. A couple handguns, and an AR-15.

There was no way they’d let Miller near the leader while carrying an AR-15. And they’d surely pat him down for handguns, knives, and explosives. For any weapons whatsoever.

Miller would have to think carefully about his plan. That was going to be tough. Right now he was so full of rage that he just wanted to rush in, guns blazing.

If he wanted to achieve his goal, he’d have to slow down and plot carefully. He’d have to use every fiber of his intelligence, marshaling all his cunning.

Maybe he could meet Kor, the leader, take careful note of the location, and then sneak back later to exact his revenge. No, that wouldn’t work. They’d probably blindfold Miller. If they had any sense at all. And unfortunately it sounded like they did.

Maybe Miller could booby-trap himself with a hidden explosive, and then detonate himself, destroying everything around him.

Miller wasn’t keen on that idea. It stank of cowardice. Sure, it was self-sacrificing, and he was fine with that. He didn’t expect to live through what he’d go through. But he wanted to be aware of every moment of it. An explosion would kill him first. He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing the leader die in front of him, at his own hand.

The sky was full of gray clouds. Some of the trees were starting to lose their leaves. It was happening early this year. Some had already lost their leaves. Early bloomers, Miller’s family had always called them. They’d never known the technical name.

Miller’s thoughts turned towards his family.

He’d been proud of his son. He’d been becoming quite a good shot with a rifle. And he was learning all the things one needed to know to run a self-sufficient homestead. He’d been scared, like everyone else, but for a boy of such a young age, he’d done a remarkable job of continuing on, of doing what had to be done. He’d even been a source of comfort for Miller’s wife, who’d had the most trouble out of all of them adjusting to the post-EMP world.

No matter how hard he tried, Miller couldn’t shake the image of his wife and son lying dead on the ground. They’d taken multiple bullets each. They’d been killed instantly, most likely. There hadn’t been anything to do for them. No amount of first aid, no matter how expertly applied, would have done anything for them. Their eyes had simply stared straight ahead, blank and lifeless.

Miller and his family had fought hard. Max and his group had just left the house. The drawbridge had been up, and Miller and his wife and son had shot at the enemies from their home windows. They’d stayed out of view as much as they could.

Miller himself had taken the most risks. He’d exposed his body the most, trying to get off as many good shots as he could. He’d killed many of them. But not enough.

It wasn’t fair that he was still alive. He should have been the one to die. His son had had many years of life ahead of him.

Miller’s face felt hot and red. He doubted the anger would ever leave him.

And that was the way he wanted it.

Up ahead, the road transitioned from dirt to pavement.

The tires rolled smoothly over the pavement. There was no longer the noise of the SUV moving over the dirt road. No noise from the bumps, from the potholes.

Miller didn’t like the quiet. Not now. He wanted things to be noisy. It helped him with his thoughts.

At any moment, Miller might run into a group. Most likely a militia group.

The ones that he’d fought were likely long gone. Miller had killed half of them anyway.

He didn’t yet have a plan, and he needed more time to think.

It was a mental battle. He wanted to simply rush ahead into the fray, ready to die in the fight. But he knew he needed a plan.

It was tough, but Miller slowed the SUV down and pulled over to the side of the road. He sat there with the vehicle running.

He wouldn’t have said that it felt like his world was crashing down around him. Because it already had.

Everything about his existence felt different. Everything he looked at seemed darker. More intense.

He was a different man than he had been.

Gazing through the windshield, he was in a fog.

Up ahead, there was a flash of metal down the road. Something glinted in the dull light from the clouded sky.

It was a pickup truck, barreling down the road at top speed. It was headed straight towards Miller.

As it got closer, he saw that there were men in the bed of the pickup. Three or four of them. It was hard to tell.

Despite Miller thinking he’d been ready, he did nothing. He just sat there as the pickup sped towards him.

The pickup sped past Miller’s SUV. For a moment, it seemed like they’d just drive right on past.

Miller cursed himself for letting an opportunity like that fly by.

There was no doubt in his mind that they were part of the same organization that had attacked his home. He’d let an opportunity for revenge slip by.

Even if it wasn’t the leader, Kor, it was something.

Miller slammed his fist into the dash so hard that he left a dent. Pain flared in his hand.

Miller’s eye followed the pickup in his rearview mirror.

The driver suddenly slammed on the brakes, sending the pickup into a fishtailing skid.

The pickup was maybe 200 feet behind Miller. The men in the bed jumped down onto the road. They all held guns. Assault rifles. One had a shotgun. Probably automatic.

One wore full military fatigues and a combat helmet. But he didn’t walk like the military guys did. He was probably some lowlife from prison who’d stolen the uniform.

There were three of them. No, four.

Miller’s mind was having trouble taking it all in.

Miller reached for the gun in his holster. He did it automatically.

The rage inside him was telling him to fight. To kill as many as he could.

But his brain was telling him that this was his chance. He shouldn’t fight them. He should convince them to take him to Kor, their leader. Only then could Miller find his true purpose, his revenge.

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