“So what’s the plan?” said Aly. “Lay it on me. I’ll feel better if I know what’s going on.”
“We’ve started to catch fish from the lake,” said Jim. “Now that the Carpenters are gone, we’ve got a little more freedom. We don’t have to worry about security quite as much.”
“You haven’t had any other visitors?” said Aly.
“I saw someone walking down the road, but that was it,” said Jim.
“And the Carpenter’s house? I hope you got what was there.”
“It was pretty filthy,” said Jim.
“Absolutely disgusting,” said Rob.
“And they didn’t have much food. But we got some useful things. They’re in the living room, already categorized.”
“So you think we’re going to be OK here?”
“Well, until more people start leaving the cities. There isn’t going to be avoiding them. But we’ve got some plans for that.”
“Hopefully that doesn’t happen for a while,” said Aly. “I feel better, but not like I’m ready to fight anyone yet.”
“There’s no telling how long it’ll be,” said Jim.
“Jim keeps saying it’s ‘a question of when, not if,’” said Rob.
Suddenly, Aly realized that no one had mentioned Jessica. She started to feel anxious. Was it possible they were saving the worst news for last?
“And Jessica?” said Aly, her voice sounding low and timid.
“She’s on watch,” said Jim.
“Somebody’s got to do it,” said Rob. “Don’t worry. She’s got a thermos of coffee. We found plenty of coffee at the Carpenter’s house. So no more rationing the coffee.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Jim. “As far as we know, that might be the last coffee we come across.”
“Come on, Jim,” said Rob. “What are we going to do without coffee?”
“I didn’t know you were such a coffee fanatic?”
“You didn’t know that? We’ve only been drinking coffee together for… how many years?”
“You two sound just like you used to,” said Aly, letting out a weak little laugh. The laugh made her bullet wound hurt. But it wasn’t too bad.
Suddenly, Aly heard the front door being thrown open. There were heavy, fast footsteps on the floor.
Jim stood up and drew his revolver.
“It’s Jessica,” said Rob, his head and gun around the corner of the doorway.
Jessica appeared, out of breath and sweating. “We’ve got company,” she said.
“Who?” said Rob.
“How many?” said Jim.
“Just one.”
“One?”
“He says he knows you,” said Jessica, looking right at Aly.
“Me?” said Aly, confused.
“He says he’s your uncle.”
Aly let out a long sigh. She didn’t know what to think. On one hand, she was glad her uncle wasn’t dead. On the other, he’d done nothing but cause problems for the family his entire life. And that was before the EMP. What kind of trouble would he cause now?
“Should I let him in?” said Jessica.
Jim nodded, but Aly noticed that he didn’t put his revolver away.
Jessica disappeared and returned a few moments later, followed by a man that Aly almost didn’t recognize.
Jessica stepped to the side and Aly got a full view of her uncle.
He didn’t speak.
He just looked at her.
And she looked at him, speechless.
It looked like he was back from the dead.
His hair and beard were incredibly long and filthy. His clothes were nothing more than rags. He was emaciated, almost nothing but skin and bones.
His face was filthy, and she could smell the stench of alcohol on him from across the room.
“Where the hell is everything?” he suddenly barked, his voice sounding like he hadn’t used it in months. “My vodka? What the hell have you done to my house? And who’s this guy?”
His return was going to be difficult to deal with, to say the least.
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About Ryan Westfield
Ryan Westfield is an author of post-apocalyptic survival thrillers. He’s always had an interest in “being prepared,” and spends time wondering what that really means. When he’s not writing and reading, he enjoys being outdoors.
Contact Ryan at ryan@ryanwestfield.com
Copyright
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.