Fighting Rough

2

The snow was falling heavily now, and Josh shivered in the cold. He had on a large white parka, as well as a heavy Russian-style hat, and good, heavy boots. He was even wearing a merino wool sweater. It should have been enough to keep him warm. But he hadn’t eaten enough. His metabolism had slowed down, and his body wasn’t generating much heat.

They’d seen him. There were two of them. A man and a woman. Both were armed. He hadn’t gotten a look at their faces. Was it Max? Someone else?

Josh had his back flat against the tree trunk. The trunk was cold, and seemed to sap more heat from his body.

Surely they had at least one rifle trained on his position.

If he moved away from the tree, he’d be shot.

Josh clutched his own rifle, holding it tightly with his stiff hands. One piece of important gear he was missing were gloves thin enough that he could operate a gun.

Josh tried to keep his mind on the task at hand. But there was nothing to do. The only way to stay alive was not to move. And not to make any noise.

His mind started to wander as he remembered the events that had led up to him being out there, alone in the snowy woods, possibly about to die.

Josh was one of the few at the compound who hadn’t had an interest in disaster preparedness before the EMP. But his best friend had always been talking about it, and, at the time, Josh had been unemployed. He’d joined mostly because he’d needed something to do with his time. He’d never seriously thought that an event like the EMP would happen.

Now Dan was dead. Along with Kara. And a handful of others. And that didn’t even include the ones Max and his gang had killed.

The atmosphere in the compound had changed drastically. And rapidly. They’d been a fairly amiable group of guys at first.

Now, there was a thread of viciousness that ran through them all. They wanted revenge. They wanted someone to pay for their dead. They’d all lost friends, people they’d lived with and worked with.

The founding members of the compound had, with the exception of Josh, generally believed that they were planning the rest of their lives. Before the EMP, the compound had been a sort of fantasy that they fully expected to actually play out. But it had been more of a fantasy. It had been escapism in its best form. It’d been a way to get through the dull day jobs, and the monotony and drudgery of office life, of dead end jobs with low pay. They’d known they were different, that they were prepared.

That spirit had lived on past the EMP. Sure, the reality had been different than a lot of them had imagined. It’d been harsher, for one thing. The comforts of civilized life were no longer an option, no longer just a drive away. There was no going back.

But now, the dream had been shattered. The attack by Max’s group, along with Kara’s death, had splintered the dream into mere fragments. Sure, Kara herself had been changing the overall attitude. But Max had changed everything.

They’d all been willing to defend themselves, to use violence if necessary. But it had been thought of and talked about as a last resort.

Now, they were bloodthirsty.

When the scout from some militia had showed up, he’d been accepted with open arms. If he’d arrived a couple weeks ago, he would have been met with nothing but skepticism.

Instead, they all seemed eager to join forces with a militia, a group that ruled with force and violence and nothing else. It was the opposite of the principles of shared worked on which the compound had been founded.

Josh, and Josh alone, had remained skeptical. He’d stood in the shadows, in the corners, listening and not talking much.

To Josh, the militia obviously didn’t have the compound’s best interest at heart. They wanted to use them for their own ends.

And what did the militia want?

They wanted more power. They wanted new allies. As well as to expand into new territories.

The chaos and violence of anarchy was bad enough. Was a vicious military-ruled government really any better? Josh didn’t think so.

The militia was looking for certain pieces of technology. Things that still worked. Things that could be used in their conquests.

They wanted more radios, for one thing.

Josh had been there when the compound members had been showing Devon, the militia scout, their own radio. He’d been impressed that it still worked, and had wanted a demonstration.

That’s when they’d overheard the discussion between the two brothers, Max and John. It’d been one week ago to the day. Max had foolishly given away his position, so that his brother could come join him.

That had been everything they’d needed to know. Almost.

Max hadn’t given his exact position. More like a set of directions on how to find him. He’d been somewhat vague, perhaps knowing that it was possible others were listening.

If so, then he’d been clever. He’d given his brother a meeting place that wasn’t exactly the location of their camp.

The compound almost knew where Max was, and that he had one radio. And that his brother was coming with yet another.

It was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

Josh hadn’t wanted to go. He’d stayed in the corner, not speaking, hoping they’d forget about him.

But Johnson had volunteered himself, and then Josh along with them. They were to act as the scouting party.

The mission? Find Max’s exact location, leave unnoticed, and report back. In the meantime, the compound had other matters to attend to.

Josh looked up.

Johnson was walking towards him in his big white parka and his snowcap. Apparently he was unaware that there were two others here. He hadn’t seen them yet.

Josh waved his hand furiously at Johnson.

Johnson paused, looking confused.

He wasn’t known for being the brightest. He wore a confused expression on his face as he looked at Josh’s waving hand.

The crack of a rifle sounded through the frigid air.

Johnson let out a scream, falling to the ground.

Josh couldn’t tell if Johnson was dead or not. But he knew he couldn’t do anything for him. If he ran out there, he’d be shot, too.

Another crack.

Johnson was returning fire. He wasn’t dead. Not yet. He’d crawled on his belly behind a fallen tree trunk.

Johnson was firing at irregular intervals. For now, it seemed like the enemies weren’t returning fire.

This was Josh’s chance.

He didn’t want to die.

Not like this. Not here.

If he stayed to fight, it meant relying on his own abilities. And Johnson’s. And frankly, he didn’t put much trust in either.

No, he wouldn’t fight. He’d do the cowardly thing. The smart thing.

He’d save his own life.

Holding his rifle in one hand, Josh dashed out from behind the tree, running away from Johnson and the enemies. His legs were so cold, he worried he wouldn’t be able to actually run very fast. But he warmed up as he ran.

With each breath he took, and each step, he expected to feel the bullet that would kill him.

But nothing happened. No bullet found him.

He ran and he ran, until he couldn’t run anymore.

He ran until he couldn’t hear the gunshots.

He’d left it all behind.

He didn’t know if Johnson had survived. Probably not, though. He was kind of a moron, always making mistakes with simple chores back at the compound. They were only friends out of desperation and nothing more. Lack of better company, to put it nicely.

The snow was falling fast and heavy. His boots made tracks in the snow.

What should he do now?

Exhausted, he sat down in the snow, not caring if he got snow on the seat of his pants.

Should he return to the compound?

Probably.

Probably Johnson was dead, and wouldn’t be able to tell anyone that Josh had fled, rather than fought.

But Josh still hadn’t found Max’s camp. He couldn’t return to the compound empty-handed, without any information.

Though the thought of trudging on, and probably getting killed for it, didn’t seem appealing in any sense.

He didn’t want to get shot just to find out where Max’s camp was. What was the point of it all? Josh didn’t see any personal benefit to it. It just seemed like they’d be helping the militia and Josh would get nothing in return. He’d still be eating the same food day in and day out, not to mention freezing his ass off every night and day.

What if he just made up the information? Told them a spot on the map that seemed likely. That would work until they sent the attack party out. Then again, maybe they’d just think Max and his group had moved on, rather than blaming Josh for lying. But, no, that wouldn’t work because there wouldn’t be any signs of a campground. When the attack party eventually came back to the compound, disappointed, they’d know who to blame.

And they’d probably kill him.

There wasn’t any good way out.

But at least he wasn’t going to die right then and there, like Johnson probably had, riddled with bullets.

The woods were large, and he felt safe there in the snow.

He gazed out at the calm, peaceful woods. Before the EMP, this would have been an idyllic scene worthy of vacation photos and internet posts. But now…

Well, it still seemed peaceful. The snow had a way of making everything seem quieter. There wasn’t a single animal sound.

Josh’s gaze moved steadily around his surroundings. He was trying to enjoy it, trying to find some brief period of calm before he had to figure how what his next move was.

And that was when he noticed the footprints.

His footprints. They were as clear as day in the snow. His eyes followed the trail, which led back to the scene of the shootout.

Shit.

They’d find him.

If they wanted him, all they had to do was follow the trail. And it would lead them straight back to Josh.

He could keep running, maybe try to conceal his footprints somehow. But it seemed like it’d be a losing battle. By the time he got a pine branch and started brushing, they’d already be there. If they were after him, that is. And they certainly would be.

If it had been Max, he had every reason to try to protect the secrecy of his location. Maybe he realized he’d made a blunder on the radio. Or maybe he didn’t. Either way, he must have known that he was less likely to attract trouble if no one knew he was there.

It was a tough choice to make. Especially for a coward.

Josh had no problems admitting he was a coward. Not to himself, at least.

But that self-admission did make it hard to decide to stay and fight. Something about it seemed contradictory.

Josh found a place where he thought he might remain somewhat concealed. His white parka definitely was an advantage. The compound had the advantage of owning some specialty gear. That was what planning did for you. Not many other groups or individuals would have had such foresight.

Josh positioned his rifle so he’d have a clear shot, straight down the path of his footprints.

Then he waited, shivering in the cold, his finger on the trigger, and snow falling around him.