Defending Camp_A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller

  Defending Camp

  A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller - The EMP Book 6

  Ryan Westfield

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  About Ryan Westfield

  Copyright © 2018 by Ryan Westfield

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All characters and events are products of the author’s imagination.

  Stock image for cover provided by Neo Stock.

  1

  MaX

  Max woke up early at the first crack of light. He lay on the cold ground in the tent for a minute before rising. He moved quietly so that he wouldn’t wake up James, who was sound asleep, snoring loudly.

  The first thing he thought about wasn’t the immediate safety of the camp. Things had been calm for a week. No signs of anything about to happen. No strangers stalking them. No footprints where they shouldn’t be.

  His mind went right to that radio call they’d received. Someone needed help. Max had the coordinates.

  But should he do it? Should he go?

  John and Cynthia were on watch, stationed at opposite ends of the camp. They were fairly close to the fire, and they nodded wearily at Max.

  “Why don’t you get some sleep?” said Max to Cynthia as he gathered the supplies for making coffee.

  She nodded without saying anything. Her eyes were bloodshot from staying awake all night. She stood, slightly unsteady on her feet, and gave John a silent kiss on the cheek before disappearing into the van where the women slept.

  They’d spent time patching up the bullet holes in the van and the tent. But, even so, they didn’t offer much protection against the cold.

  Fortunately, since the snowstorm, the weather had turned more mild. That didn’t mean it wasn’t cold at night, or the early morning.

  Max shivered slightly as he placed the small pot of water onto the metal rack that lay over the recessed fire pit. The rack was one of the many things they’d scavenged from the pot farmers’ camp.

  “Put some on for me, will you?” called out John.

  “Already got it.”

  Max decided not to ask about the kiss. That was their business, not his.

  Max’s leg still hurt him, especially on cold mornings like this. He doubted he’d ever fully recover. That was fine with him. It could have been worse.

  Anyway, what could he expect? It wasn’t like he’d had the luxury of hospital care or round the clock nurses. And forget about physical therapy, with trained professionals who’d spent years studying recovery theory.

  Max had been conducting his own physical therapy. He’d made a little step with wood, and he made sure to do step-up exercises every day on his bad leg. So far, it seemed to be helping, even if all it was doing was strengthening the muscles surrounding the injury.

  He’d also added in some basic strength training.

  While the coffee water was still boiling, Max got down on the cold ground into the pushup position. His leg hurt more like this, like it was rebelling against what he was about to do. His fingers dug into the cold black dirt, slightly wet with dew, and he started cranking them out.

  Max was breathing heavy by the thirtieth pushup. He could already feel it in his chest.

  It wasn’t that he was out of shape. It was that his body had been through so much. It was battered and weakened. He needed to rebuild it. His life would depend on it at some point.

  “Don’t you think you should be going easy on those?” said John.

  Max pushed through the burning sensation, knocking out another dozen, before letting himself roll over onto his side, where he lay resting. He looked up, and John’s tired face looked down at him.

  John was thinner than he’d ever been before the EMP. His hair was longer, and he sported a couple days’ growth of beard. Unexpectedly, among the dead pot farmers’ possessions, there’d been a huge collection of disposable razors. These had allowed John and Max to shave for the first time since the EMP. There’d been nothing but water and soap, but that was good enough.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You don’t want to hurt your leg, for one thing.”

  “It’s already hurt. Some pushups aren’t going to make it any worse.”

  “Well what about how it’s going to increase your caloric needs?” It seemed like John, for whatever reason, really wanted to find fault with Max’s workout plan.

  “Good point,” said Max. He’d thought of that, of course. The more he worked out, the hungrier he was. “But we’ve got plenty of food for now.”

  “If you can call it that.”

  “You’re tired of it?”

  “Tired of it? That doesn’t even begin to describe the…” John let his words just sort of trail off. He was, after all, very tired.

  “Why don’t you go wake up James? It’s time for his shift, and you need to get some rest.”

  “I wanted to let him sleep in a little. He’s just a kid.”

  Max wasn’t so sure about that. James had been taking on the same responsibilities as the adults. But there wasn’t anything wrong with letting him catch up some sleep.

  “It’s your call,” said Max.

  With John staring at him, Max got back into position and managed to crank out another batch of pushups.

  “Not bad form,” muttered John.

  “Not bad? I don’t see you doing any.”

  “I’m saving my strength rather than wasting it.”

  “All right, John,” said Max, glancing over at the water. “Just get it off your chest. I know something’s eating at you. Might as well tell me what it is.”

  The coffee water still hadn’t boiled. Max prodded at the fire, took a small dry log from the woodpile, and added it to the fire.

  John just glared at Max without speaking.

  “Don’t start getting on my case about the wood,” said Max. “There’s plenty of it. We’re in the middle of a forest. Now tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “Not until the coffee,” said John.

  “Fine,” said Max.

  He did one more set of pushups. By the time he was done, the water had finally boiled. He made the coffee carefully. He’d been making it cowboy-style recently, just putting the ground beans directly into the hot water, waiting, of course, about thirty seconds after the boil for the water to cool slightly.

  Max poured a cup for John. He’d use the pot itself as a mug. He didn’t mind, and it was one less dirty dish. Not that they were overly cautious about washing dishes. There were more important things to do. More important things to focus their energies and attention on.

 
; Washing dishes was one of those chores that seemed like they’d be the first to go in a situation like this, simply sliding to the wayside to make room for more crucial activities.

  But washing dishes was important. It might just be the thing that stood between them and sickness and disease.

  Now that they’d had two weeks of relative calm, life had begun to take on a different flavor. Now that they weren’t stalked by a violent sociopath, or fighting off a small army of well-armed men, there was time to wash the dishes, wash the clothes, bathe, and start to think about the future.

  Long-term survival, Max knew, was a completely different game. When he’d gotten them all safely to the farmhouse, he’d thought that soon enough he’d have crops and defenses set up. Or at least concrete plans for them. Life had thrown a number of wrenches their way, and it hadn’t worked out anything like that. They’d been on the run ever since, barely escaping with their lives intact.

  Had things really calmed down? Max knew it was too much to hope for. But at the same time, they weren’t going to survive in the long run if they didn’t start making the right steps while they had this peace, however long it was going to last for.

  “You done with your coffee yet?”

  John took one final long drag then placed his mug down on the dirt. He made a face.

  “You know you’re not supposed to drink the grounds too, right?”

  “Whatever,” said John. “I’m starting to like it.”

  If Max had been in a better mood, he would have laughed.

  “Now spit it out,” said Max. “I’m starting to lose patience with you. What’s bothering you?”

  John shifted his weary gaze from the ground to Max. “You’re thinking of going, aren’t you?”

  Max didn’t speak for a moment.

  The truth was that he didn’t know himself. Up until that moment, that is. No one had asked him. He hadn’t had to give an answer before now. And now he found that his mind was already made up.

  He nodded.

  “It’s crazy,” said John. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

  Max shrugged. “I’ve been fine so far.”

  “Don’t feed me that line.”

  “What line?”

  “I just know what you’re about to say.”

  “And how do you know that? You’re psychic now or something?”

  “I’m your brother. We may not have spoken much…”

  “Or at all.”

  “The point is,” said John, “that I know you, and I know what you’re thinking, whether you believe me or not. I know how your mind works. You haven’t changed at all since you were a kid.”

  Max sighed. “And what has the master psychologist figured out? What is it that I’m thinking?”

  “You’re going down real deep into this whole fatalist savior thing,” said John. “You want to go save them. You think you can do it all. Only you don’t. You’re too smart to really think you can do it all. So with each scrape you get through…”

  “Scrape?” Max raised an eyebrow.

  John ignored him and continued. “You think you’re closer to the end. You understand probability. You know that…”

  “I’m going to cut you off right there,” said Max. “There’s stuff to do. Just get to the point. I don’t have all day.”

  John exhaled dramatically. “You can’t go, Max,” he said.

  “I’m going,” said Max.

  “Everyone’s got problems and you can’t solve them all. Especially now. The whole thing’s gone to shit. Everyone’s in some dire, desperate situation. It’s insane to think that…”

  “We’re not talking about anyone,” said Max. “We’re talking about a kid.”

  “Who you don’t even know!”

  “I got the call,” said Max. “I know where to go. I know what to do. I’ve got a responsibility.”

  “Like hell you do.”

  “I’m not asking anyone else to risk anything,” said Max. “Which is why I’m going alone.”

  “So you’re letting the rest of us fend for ourselves?”

  “Things have calmed down,” said Max. “Unfortunately, people have started to die off. It’s been long enough since the EMP that insanity is starting to die down. The population rose exponentially, and it’s falling equally as fast. The farther we get from the event…”

  “You have no way of knowing that. It’s all just theory.”

  Max shrugged. “Everyone’s theory now. No one really knows what’s happening.”

  “Well if you’re going, I’m going with you.”

  Max stared at him. He hadn’t seen John this angry in years.

  “Why the sudden change of heart? First you say I can’t go, and now you say you’re coming? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I know you’re too stubborn to change your mind. The more I argue with you, the more you’ll want to go.”

  “I’d like to think I’m a little more rational than that.”

  Max had been keeping a cool head so far. He’d found that he could keep calm in some of the most intense and violent situations. But there was nothing like family to bring out the stronger emotions.

  He felt the anger rising in him. He tried to suppress it, but it was there, starting to burn a hole in his chest.

  They were both standing now, face to face. John stepped closer, his nose almost touching Max’s.

  “Someone’s got to make sure you don’t get yourself killed,” said John. His voice was full of anger, but barely above a whisper.

  “I’m going alone,” said Max. “You need to stay here. They need you.”

  “They need you, Max. You’re the only reason everyone’s alive.”

  Max had heard that before. He hated hearing it. He knew it wasn’t true.

  The only way he could get John not to come was to insult him, to tell him he wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t true, but Max was going to say it anyway.

  “You’re too much of a risk to take along,” said Max. “You don’t know what the hell you’re doing. You’ll just get yourself killed.”

  John had had enough. It was all over his face. He said nothing.

  Instead, he threw the first punch. It caught Max in on the cheek. Hard enough for his vision to go blurry for a second.

  Max’s calm was gone. There was nothing but anger, unsolved family issues, his judgment clouded further by the blow.

  Max threw himself forward, his body colliding with John. They both went down into the dirt, only a few feet from the fire.

  “You bastard,” said John through gritted teeth.

  Max was on top of him and John was trying his best to get out from underneath him. It was the same sort of scuffle they used to get into when they were both in high school.

  “Max! John! What the hell are you doing?”

  It was Mandy’s voice.

  Neither one of them looked up.

  Then came Georgia’s voice.

  “That’s enough!” She spoke in a commanding, forceful way. It was enough to get them to stop, both of them looking towards her.

  Georgia was doing a lot better. She stood there, fists on her hips, looking tall and strong. Not someone you wanted to trifle with.

  2

  DAN

  Dan hadn’t slept all night. His eyes were blurred from lack of sleep and his body felt completely on edge. He was full of adrenaline. Full of that speedy sick feeling that never seemed to leave him.

  He looked out the second story window onto the abandoned suburban street below. There was nothing. No movement.

  The sun was rising slowly over the houses and overgrown lawns. His grandfather would be waking up right about now, as he always had ever since he’d been a young man, growing up on a farm. It was time to go check on him.

  Dan picked the large kitchen knife up from where he’d rested it on the window sill, and walked wearily through the halls. They were lined with pictures of his family. His grandmother was there, countless neatly framed pictures that
showed her progressing in age from a young woman to the grey-haired woman that Dan had grown up with.

  She’d died two years ago, a devastating blow to his grandfather, who had never really recovered. His own health problems had seemed to snowball after that. His type two diabetes, once kept carefully in check through diet, had turned into an uncontrollable monster. There was no stopping it.

  Especially not now.

  The insulin had run out. There was no way to get more of it.

  Dan’s grandfather’s days were numbered. And they both knew it.

  Conspicuously absent from the wall of photos were pictures of Dan’s own parents. They’d had Dan young, and from what he had gathered over the years, it had probably been unexpected. They weren’t the types of people who made good parents. Or parents at all, for that matter. They’d split, leaving their own parents to raise Dan.

  Dan didn’t even remember what they looked like.

  He was a tough kid. He’d had to be. He’d endured countless taunts and jokes at his expense. That was just how he’d grown up. He’d been born small and grown up to be the shortest kid in his class by far.

  A big part of his attitude had come from his grandfather, who’d not only always been there for him, but had told him that the only way he was going to get through life happy was if he took what he wanted from it, rather than waiting for someone to come around, feel sorry for him, and hand him things on a silver platter.

  Dan had taken the advice to heart. While he’d never been the most brilliant student, he’d worked hard, always did everything on time. He’d gotten a job at the local hardware store, where he was the most dedicated employee by far. His coworkers were mostly in their late twenties, who, to quote his grandfather, “didn’t have a work ethic worth a damn.”

  Dan had outshined them all.

  He was only fourteen, going on fifteen. His birthday was in a few days. Not that there was any cause to celebrate. Not with the way things had turned out.

  The power had gone out. Everyone had gone insane.

  Dan and his grandfather had ridden out the worst of it. Or so it seemed.