Pursuit of the Apocalypse by Benjamin Wallace

her kidnapper.
    She took lighter, surer steps and listened to the woods around her. It was dead quiet. Winter had put most of the insects to sleep. The birds had flown south. Very little stirred around her.
    The silence was comforting. The thought of being alone normally terrified her, but now it was reassuring. If all went well, she should be able to walk a hundred miles without hearing a sound. That’s why she jumped when she heard voices.
    They came from nearby.
    It wasn’t him. There were several different voices. None that she recognized.
    Erica stepped behind a tree and listened. There were men and women discussing something. She couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, so she risked moving closer. But, only a few trees closer.
    She stopped behind a pine and listened. The conversation was nothing remarkable. It was a small group of men and women discussing where they should go next. Erica’s heart beat faster. They could help her. Maybe.
    Judging people was more difficult in the apocalypse than it had been before. They could very well be decent people. But decent was never far from desperate, and desperation meant danger. This group of strangers could be a bigger threat than Mr. Christopher. At least he needed her alive as bait.
    She looked about and saw a path that could take her safely around the group. They’d never even know she had been there. Then she took a deep breath and walked straight toward the voices. She needed help and she, herself, was desperate.
    An important part of approaching strangers in the wasteland was not to startle them. An unexpected “hello” at close range could easily be met with the bark of a gun blast. Erica called ahead of her approach. “Hello? Can you help me, please?”
    The group’s conversation stopped and she heard the sound of people shuffling about. There were whispers. Frantic whispers. And then there was silence.
    “Hello?” Erica pleaded. “Please.”
    There was a throng of whispers that finally ended up with someone shouting, “Come out slow.”
    Erica held her bound hands above her head and stepped from behind a tree. She walked slowly to the middle of the group’s clearing, keeping her hands where they could see them.
    The woman and two men had been sitting around a campfire. They now stood with weapons trained on the intruder.
    One of the men spoke. “Who are you?”
    It was all she could do to not burst into tears. But in holding back the flood she spilled a rapid-fire explanation of her predicament. “Please, I’ve been kidnapped. I ... I just escaped.” She held her bound hands forward as proof. “You’ve got to help me.”
    The group didn’t move. They kept their weapons aimed at her.
    “Please,” Erica said. “He’s still out there.”
    The woman lowered her weapon first. “You poor thing.” She leaned her rifle against a log she had been using as a seat and rushed toward Erica.
    “Careful, Jillian,” one of the men cautioned.
    “Oh, stop it, Mike. Can’t you see she’s in trouble?” The woman reached her and helped her across to the fire. She sat Erica down on the log next to the rifle and started working on the ropes. The two men refused to lower their guns.
    “We can’t trust anyone, Jillian,” the other man said.
    “And we can’t stop trusting people completely,” Jillian shot back. “You know as well as I do there are horrible people out there. Now give me a knife. These knots are ridiculous.”
    Mike looked to the second man for his thoughts and received a shrug. He pulled a knife from his belt and handed it to Jillian. The woman took it and began working the ropes.
    “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
    The two men spun around to put their weapons on the new voice. Mr. Christopher stood at the edge of the clearing with his hands up.
    “Don’t move,” Mike said. “Whoever you are.”
    “That’s him,” Erica whispered. “He’s the man that kidnapped me.”
    “She’s dangerous, you know?” Mr.