Fighting Rough

6

James moved slowly through the pot farmers campsite. There wasn’t really much there. They’d already taken almost everything back to their own camp.

But James was convinced there had to be something of value there. Some forgotten tool. Or maybe another gun.

A box of spare ammunition would be great. It wasn’t like they had an endless supply. And James was already worried about the bullets lasting through the winter. In a post-EMP world, there was no mass manufacturing. No more bullets were being produced. And the ones that were left, well, they were being used up. Probably at a rapid rate.

Bullets were commodities now. But it wasn’t like they could go easy on their supply. If a threat presented itself, a bullet was usually the answer. The option to not shoot, not “waste” a bullet, simply didn’t exist.

Not in the world they lived in now.

James wasn’t the only one worried. Max and Georgia had had a serious discussion about setting up traps for deer. If they could spare the bullets used for hunting, it would get them a lot farther. The problem was that getting a deer snare to actually work was a lot harder than it sounded.

James suddenly realized that he should have gone to check the deer snares he and Max had set up yesterday.

For some reason, it hadn’t been on his mind.

Maybe he’d just been too intent to sneak off on his own. And to make some unique discovery that would impress the others.

After all, how cool would it have been if he’d found something at the camp they’d overlooked? Something incredibly useful.

But he felt stupid now. He felt like he’d been thinking of just himself, and not of the others.

After all, getting a deer snare to work would be of greater use to them all. Killing a deer without a bullet? That was just what they needed.

Feeling foolish, James decided then and there to turn back.

He was on the other side of the snow-covered pot field, and decided to go around the camp, rather than heading back through it.

Visibility was low. The snow was getting high. James didn’t have boots, just the high-top sneakers he’d worn to school. Snow was getting into them now, and his feet were freezing.

Max had lectured them on the dangers of frostbite. James could almost hear Max’s voice now, telling him that he’d already made one mistake today. The important thing, Max would have said, is not to make another.

James decided to head straight back to camp, rather than going out to check on the snare.

James could hardly see anything. He hoped he was heading in the right direction. He knew it’d be easy to get turned around in this snow. He wondered briefly whether this would count as a blizzard or not.

As far as James was concerned, it was a blizzard. And what was a “blizzard,” after all, but a technical classification that the television weather people slapped onto a storm.

A snowstorm was a snowstorm. It was either mild, bad, or severe. What you called it didn’t really matter.

Up ahead, in the wall of white snow, something suddenly appeared.

James stopped dead in his tracks.

It was a person. Standing there in the snow.

James could just see the person’s outline. And the outline of some type of rifle.

Was it a friend or enemy?

James didn’t have a rifle with him, and he suddenly felt naked without one. But he had the handgun that had originally come from the gate guards at the compound. It had a full magazine in it. Eight cartridges. But he didn’t have a spare mag with him.

James cursed himself again.

Should he wave? Shout something? Or simply retreat?

He couldn’t simply open fire. After all, it could have been Max or Mandy.

If he got closer, he’d be just as visible to the unknown person as they were to him.

Suddenly, the figure saw him. It turned towards James and shouted something. James couldn’t make out the words over the wind. But he heard the voice. And it wasn’t a voice he recognized. The sound was completely foreign, completely different.

He was sure that it wasn’t one of his friends or family.

Positive.

James acted without thinking.

He already had his handgun out and ready.

The man kept shouting. He lowered his gun, pointing it towards James.

Another figure suddenly appeared.

The shouting, the new person—it was all chaotic. It was all happening so fast.

It would have been easy to freak out. To lose his cool. His brain was running fast and wildly.

But James didn’t let it get to him. He resistant the urge to lose control. Nothing would interfere with his aim more than letting it all get to him.

He took careful aim with his handgun.

He squeezed the trigger twice.

The first man fell.

The second aimed his gun.

More shouting. James didn’t hear the words. It was just noise.

James’s ears were ringing from the gunshots. Everything was even more muffled than before.

The wind was stronger. A powerful gust hit James in the back, almost knocking him over.

James didn’t think. He just acted.

He dashed off, sprinting away from the men.

James heard the gunshots behind him. But he didn’t stop. He didn’t pause.

He ran as fast as he could. The wind was behind him now, seeming to urge him on, faster and faster.

For all James knew, there were more than just two men. If he didn’t get away from them, he was as good as dead. He was outgunned and he knew it. He’d gotten a better look at the rifle. It wasn’t a mere hunting rifle. No, it was something semi-automatic for sure.

James clutched the handgun tightly as he ran. If he let it fall, it’d be lost forever in the high snow.

It was hard running. His footing never felt stable. Any moment he might make a misstep, since he couldn’t see the ground.

It happened. His sneaker hit something hard. Maybe a root. He didn’t know. It didn’t matter.

James fell hard, falling forward. His face hit the snow, which cushioned his fall.

There was shouting behind him. That meant there was more than one man. Probably. It sounded like someone was shouting orders, by the tone of the voice.

James couldn’t lie there. Or he’d be dead.

He found the ground beneath the snow, and pushed against it. Hard, so as to turn himself over.

James was on his back. There wasn’t time to get up. Not yet.

Rapidly, he brushed his hand across his face, getting the snow off his eyes.

The first thing he saw was two figures approaching.

A gust of wind blew in, sending a torrent of icy snow into the air, briefly obscuring the figures.