Fight or Flight by Sean Patten

Author:Sean Patten [Patten, Sean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Post-Apocalyptic | EMP | Survival
Published: 2019-10-03T16:00:00+00:00

12 Ed

Between the rumbling of the car as we drove along and the pain in my head, it felt like someone had driven a railroad spike through my forehead. For a second I didn’t want to open my eyes.

But then I remembered where I was, and what was going on.

For the most part.

“Hey!” spoke Amy, her voice excited. “Look!”

“Oh, shit,” I heard Ramirez answer. “Is he up?”

“He’s moving, thank God,” she said. “Ed, can you hear me?”

“Ugh…” I groaned, rolling over on my side like I was in the grips of a particularly shitty hangover.

“Ed!” spoke Amy, her voice now low and sharp. “Say something!”

Whatever had happened to my noggin was no joke. It was like someone had drilled a hole in my temple, stuck their finger inside, and just sloshed things around until my brain was good and soupy. In those first few moments I could barely think a coherent thought, let alone speak one.

“Shit,” said Ramirez. “He looks bad.”

“Oh, no,” said Amy. “No-no-no.”

They were starting to get worried, which made me realize that I didn’t have the luxury of rolling around on the ground in pain. I had to get up and at it.

And as if whoever was driving the car felt the same way, we hit a bump and my head slammed against the ground. Another fresh wave of pain blasted through my body.

“Fuck!” I shouted. “Who’s driving this goddamn thing?”

“Shh!” spoke Amy. “Quiet!”

“Open your eyes if you can, bud,” said Ramirez. “We need to know you’re okay.”

“Hardly,” I said, rolling over in the direction of the two of them talking.

I heard Amy let out a sigh of relief as I opened my eyes. But relief was hardly the emotion going through me. My vision was blurry, and each bump of the drive made things worse.

“Take it easy, big man,” said Ramirez. “You took a hell of a hit back there.”

Second by second my vision cleared up. When the film on my eyes finally went away I was at last able to get a sense of what was going on, and where I was.

Exactly as I’d expected, the three of us were in the back of a van. And not a nice van—more like one of those big, shitty ones that parents would warn their kids to stay away from. The interior was rusted, the fabric of the small seats against the wall worn and cracked. But the car ran, and that was all that mattered. Ramirez and Amy were seated across from me, their hands behind their backs—likely bound up.

With a major amount of effort, I was able to heave my body up and sit back against the wall opposite them. And that’s when I realized that my hands were tied, too.

“They figured it was too much trouble to tie you up against the wall,” said Ramirez, apparently realizing what I’d noticed. “Just zip-tied you and tossed you in like a sack of beans.”

“Who did?” I asked. “How long I been out?”

“Shit,” Ramirez murmured. “They really did a number on you.

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