Ryan Westfield - Defending Camp

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 wouldnt wake up James, who was sound asleep, snoring loudly.

The first thing he thought about wasnt 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 shouldnt be.

His mind went right to that radio call theyd 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 dont 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.

Theyd spent time patching up the bullet holes in the van and the tent. But, even so, they didnt offer much protection against the cold.

Fortunately, since the snowstorm, the weather had turned more mild. That didnt mean it wasnt 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 theyd 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.

Maxs leg still hurt him, especially on cold mornings like this. He doubted hed ever fully recover. That was fine with him. It could have been worse.

Anyway, what could he expect? It wasnt like hed had the luxury of hospital care or round the clock nurses. And forget about physical therapy, with trained professionals whod spent years studying recovery theory.

Max had been conducting his own physical therapy. Hed 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.

Hed 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 wasnt 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.

Dont 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 Johns tired face looked down at him.

John was thinner than hed 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, thered been a huge collection of disposable razors. These had allowed John and Max to shave for the first time since the EMP. Thered been nothing but water and soap, but that was good enough.

What makes you say that?

You dont want to hurt your leg, for one thing.

Its already hurt. Some pushups arent going to make it any worse.

Well what about how its going to increase your caloric needs? It seemed like John, for whatever reason, really wanted to find fault with Maxs workout plan.

Good point, said Max. Hed thought of that, of course. The more he worked out, the hungrier he was. But weve got plenty of food for now.

If you can call it that.

Youre tired of it?

Tired of it? That doesnt even begin to describe the John let his words just sort of trail off. He was, after all, very tired.

Why dont you go wake up James? Its time for his shift, and you need to get some rest.

I wanted to let him sleep in a little. Hes just a kid.

Max wasnt so sure about that. James had been taking on the same responsibilities as the adults. But there wasnt anything wrong with letting him catch up some sleep.

Its 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 dont see you doing any.

Im 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 somethings eating at you. Might as well tell me what it is.

The coffee water still hadnt 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.

Dont start getting on my case about the wood, said Max. Theres plenty of it. Were in the middle of a forest. Now tell me whats 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. Hed 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. Hed use the pot itself as a mug. He didnt 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 theyd 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 theyd had two weeks of relative calm, life had begun to take on a different flavor. Now that they werent 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 hed gotten them all safely to the farmhouse, hed thought that soon enough hed have crops and defenses set up. Or at least concrete plans for them. Life had thrown a number of wrenches their way, and it hadnt worked out anything like that. Theyd 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 werent going to survive in the long run if they didnt 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 youre not supposed to drink the grounds too, right?

Whatever, said John. Im starting to like it.

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

Now spit it out, said Max. Im starting to lose patience with you. Whats bothering you?

John shifted his weary gaze from the ground to Max. Youre thinking of going, arent you?

Max didnt speak for a moment.

The truth was that he didnt know himself. Up until that moment, that is. No one had asked him. He hadnt had to give an answer before now. And now he found that his mind was already made up.