After the Crash

“I’m starving,” Eric moaned as we took another step toward Boston. We got out of Charleston just before the PCD took down the resistance. We all dispersed in different directions, the goal was to get to one of the rumored resistance havens. St. Louis, Birmingham and Boston were rumored safe. Right now, we were somewhere in Pennsylvania and on our third day without food. We had met a seemingly trustworthy group, agreed to trade and found ourselves in the middle of an ambush. We lost one of our comrades, and we were going to lose another one if Eric kept complaining. “When do you think …”

“I swear to God, private,” I looked back, “you finish that statement and I will see a bullet in your back, then Mac and I won’t have to go on hungry.” He threw his hands up defensively, and we proceeded forward until Mac threw his hand up to stop us. He put his hand to his lips and gestured forward, in the clearing, there were three children. Two young girls and a boy were tossing a ball and laughing; the oldest couldn’t have been more than eleven. It was rare to find children running around alone; this meant there were women nearby. Women were easy to steal from. A twig broke under Eric’s big feet, and the children all stopped and looked back before moving toward their presumed campsite. I motioned for us to follow at a distance and then whispered, “keep your guard up through the clearing.” We started moving. Mac took the lead, then Eric, and I took up the back. I had to make sure no one else saw the children. I turned around when an abrupt noise escaped from Mac’s mouth, and I saw him pulled up a tree by one leg. He had stepped in a trap. Eric dropped his gun, in shock. “Pick up your gun, soldier,” I snapped at him.

He leaned over to pick up his rifle, when two bullets nearly missed him, hitting the rifle and pushing it just out of reach. “Hands up,” a woman moved forward with her gun pointed at us. She had her hair up in a tight ponytail, and her expression was hard. She wore a worn leather jacket and black pants, with combat boots. She looked tough, but not intimidating, so I hit Eric as a reminder to grab his gun. He made a move toward it, and she shouted again, “I said hands up, you’re surrounded.” I looked in both directions, and there was a gun approaching from both sides. I rolled my eyes and put my hands up. “Now toss the gun aside,” she said. I did as she said and then returned my hands to their upward position. “Whit,” she nodded toward the right gun. The right gun was another young woman with bleached hair. She had several inches on the main gun. She wore jeans, combat boots, and a dingy pea coat. Her expression was a lot softer. She approached, threw her gun over her shoulder and took mine and Eric’s, then started toward the main gun. “Zack,” the main gun nodded toward one of the kids, “climb up the tree and grab the other gun and give it to Dale.” Dale must have been the third gun. He looked older than the other guns by at least ten years, with slightly graying hair and a full beard.

“Ky,” the second gun approached the main gun, handing her one of our rifles. The main gun slung her gun over her shoulder and took the new rifle.

“Military grade,” she raised her eyebrow as she pointed the gun at us.

“Ky,” the second gun repeated, “what are we gonna do with them?”

“My instinct is to kill 'em, but I’ll settle," she kept her hard gaze on us and didn’t lower the gun, "we'll just leave 'em for dead."

The third gun yelled, “Ky, they haven’t done anything.”

She laughed, “except hunt your children with military grade weapons.” She approached, “probably PCD, recruiting more child soldiers for their ranks.”

“We’re not PCD, I promise,” I put on a sincere smile.

“Fine,” she continued to move forward, “then we have looters, thought they’d follow the kids to a group of mothers, easy prey to steal from.” She moved another two steps, “probably thought you’d get your kicks in while you were at it,” she stopped, “am I right?”

“I don’t take kindly to those kinds of accusations,” I took a hesitant step toward her.

“Don’t test me,” she held my gun firm, “unless you want a hole in your chest.”

I was sure that if I got close enough, I could take the gun out of her hands, but she had her eyes on me with laser focus. “I swear, we mean no harm,” I said taking a step back, “we're resistance, on our way to Boston, if you’d just come closer, I have papers and identification.”

She raised her eyebrow, “papers, identification, who's to say you didn't steal that off the last sucker you ran into on this road.” She narrowed her eyes, "tell me, do I look like a fool to you?"

“Ky, be civil,” the third gun said.

“Fine,” she took a deep breath and then a step closer, and I let out a cocky grin. One more step and I made a move for her gun, but she had great form. With poise and balance, she kept the gun in her hands and had me on the ground with her foot in my back, and the gun pointed at my head. “That’s why I don’t trust people,” she called back. Then she looked at me, “it’d be in your best interest not to underestimate me ever again.” She pushed me away from her with her boot. She backed away and let me stand.

“I’m sorry,” I put my hands up and then smiled at her, “that was quite impressive.”

The second gun approached, “Ky, we could use some extra help, they could be useful.” The main gun shook her head and kept her gun on us. “They’re clearly ex-military,” she continued, “and we need more guns.” There was a pause before she continued, “you know that we gotta put this sort of thing up to a vote, you can’t make big decisions without the group.”

“We put this up to a vote and you know exactly what the result will be,” she looked at the second gun, “or have you forgotten that your sister and all her little friends get votes, despite how poorly they’re used.”

“Ky,” the third gun chimed in, “she’s right, this is not a dictatorship.”

“Fine,” she lowered her gun and then looked up, “Zack, cut him down. Dale, take up the rear. Whit, walk beside the intruders and hold your gun tight," she looked at me, "this one’s slippery.” She turned forward and then shook her head, “and I want it on record that I said this was a bad idea.” We started walking back into the forest. The children ran ahead of Ky, and she yelled at them, but to no avail.
The woman walking beside me wasn’t holding her rifle tight. I could have easily taken it, but we might have better prospects with a larger group. I looked at her, “hey.” She turned her head, and I raised my eyebrow, “what’s the deal with your leader?”

She pointed toward the front, and I nodded. She laughed. “I don’t think she'd much approve of the title leader,” she said. I held my expression, waiting for more. She shrugged, “she’s got control issues, trust issues, and probably a few more issues. She’s been served a raw deal, and she’s angry at the world, but we all owe our lives and the lives of our children to her,” she smiled, “probably three times over.” She looked forward, admiration in her eyes, “when it comes down to it, she’s an incredible person.” She looked back, “and my best friend.”

“Children,” I was shocked because she looked young.

“My daughter,” she nodded, “I had her before the crash, and we were in PCD custody when Ky found us.”

“She got you out,” I questioned that.

She laughed, “yeah, she got us out." I couldn't believe that. We walked a while longer before she turned her gaze back to me, "my names Whitney, by the way." She looked forward, then back at me. "Trust me," she smiled, "you can't take anything Ky says or does too personally, especially while you're new. But I promise she’ll come around, as long as you’re useful, and you don't try to cross her.”

I nodded, “I’m Ren.” She smiled and then I continued, “I suppose the first step is winning over the rest of your party for the vote.”

“Trust me, Ren,” she sighed, “the odds are definitely in your favor.” I raised my eyebrow, and she continued, “let’s just say we’ve got a number of young single women, who will be taken by the prospect of three strong, single,” she stopped herself, “of course I suppose I'm just assuming you’re all single.” I nodded, and she continued, “then yeah, three strong, single, young men will create quite a fuss.”

“Ky,” a fourth gun approached from a clearing. He was shorter than Dale, but younger, looked closer in age to Ky and Whitney. “Who are these guys?” It was a good place to set up camp, up against a cliff with enough covering. They had a small fire going and the smell of food, after days of nothing, was intoxicating. There were a lot of women and children, barely any men in sight, in fact the only men I saw were the third and fourth gun.

“Dale and Whitney insisted that we bring home wolves,” Ky pushed a gun toward him and plowed forward, “get them some food. After dinner, we’ll hear arguments and put it to a vote.”

The fourth gun looked at us, “right this way.” We sat down on a few log benches and then he sighed, “I’ll let Sarah know we have guests and she’ll be right out with a couple of plates. We don’t have a lot of meat, right now. Ky's gonna go fill up on supplies tomorrow. In the meantime, though, we’ve got rice and corn to spare.”

I looked around at everything, almost astonished. Somehow this party had maintained a spark of the old world. There were children; I counted five. There were women dressed femininely, in skirts and dresses, and even a young mother with an infant on her side. Things I hadn't seen outside PCD facilities since before the crash. “Shit,” Eric said looking around, “bunch of dollies ripe for the picking, can’t believe they ain’t found trouble on the road.”

I leaned in, “E, we can’t even afford to think about trouble, they might mistake those thoughts for intentions, and we don’t need to give them any reason to kick us out. So, you keep it in your pants, at least until they start to trust us.”

He gave me an unamused look, but anything he was about to say was postponed when one of the young women came over with two plates of food. “Hello, my name’s Val,” she smiled. I could tell that she was wearing makeup, a detail that struck me for its novelty. She continued, “wherever did Ky find you? Are you married, taken, if so, how attached are you?”

“Val, have a little decorum,” another woman came over with more plates. “I’m Sarah," she smiled, "and I have to apologize for Val. The girl’s got two kids, no husband, and you three are the first men we’ve seen for a while,” she shrugged, “well, the first men who haven’t tried to kill us.”

“Y'all must draw a lot of attention,” Mac smiled. The woman was very pretty, with long blonde hair, doe eyes, a flowy blue, long-sleeved dress that could not be functional during these times.

She offered a sincere smile and then continued, “honestly, things have been pretty good since we joined up with this party. I mean, hit a slight speed bump when I got pregnant." She let out a slight laugh, shaking her head, "Ky was not happy, but she’s still kept us safe.”

I raised my eyebrow, “she’s kept you safe? I'm afraid I don't understand. You're talking about the little one with the perpetual scowl?”

She laughed, “Ky and Dale are the only two we’ve got who know how to handle a gun, and Dale’s got a family, he can’t afford to be the leader Ky is, though I doubt she'd even give herself such a title.” I was still unconvinced, and she continued, “she's more than she seems, the girl’s ruthless, but she'd give her life for anyone here.”

“If anyone could actually take her life,” Val rolled her eyes, and I raised my eyebrow, “the girl’s bionic, she doesn’t sleep, and I’ve hardly seen her eat. If she could die, she’d kill herself before anyone else got the chance.”

“I don’t think she likes us much,” Mac shook his head, “Ren, here, tried to disarm her.” He laughed, “failed miserably and that's quite a testament to her. I’ve met very few men, who could knock Ren off his feet.”

“At least I wasn’t up a tree,” I looked at him, and he put his hands up defensively. Then I turned back to Sarah, “you said she and Dale are the only two who can handle a gun, what about the tall one, Whitney, or the other guy.”

She shrugged, “they’re the only other people that Ky trusts to hold a gun, but Sam’s useless with a gun. Whitney gets lucky hunting, but she wouldn’t shoot at a human, she doesn’t have it in her.” She got up, “if the three of you can even hold a gun properly, there is no way you could possibly lose the vote.”