Joshua Gayou - Commune - The Complete Series - A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Box Set (Books 1-4)

“Hah, way to perpetuate the stereotype, fella,” I said while trying to keep from coughing on my cracker.

Oscar smiled but said, “Hey, bite me, alright? I love it; the white guy who lived off steak and potatoes wants to tell me I’m a stereotype. You doing that on purpose or are you just, like, clueless?”

I shrugged and nodded. “Fair point.”

“What I was talking about,” Oscar continued, “were the tacos my wife used to make. She’d bust ’em out once a month at least. She made everything up fresh that day; the salsa, guacamole, beans, rice, steak… all that. Man, no one made guacamole like my old lady. And then, right before she put it all out on the table, she’d fry the tortillas in oil on the stove. Her tacos were unbeatable. Every time was the best time, man, no lie.”

“What was your wife like?” Amanda asked. “I think this is the first time I’ve heard you talk about her.”

Oscar was quiet for a time, not looking at either of us, before he said, “It’s still hard to talk about her, you know? Like, I can talk about things she did, but it’s hard to describe her. Who she was. Do you get what I mean? Maybe I’m full of shit…” he trailed off.

“No,” I shot out, surprising them both. “You’re not full of shit. I think I can speak for Amanda and say we both understand.”

Amanda nodded, shifting her gaze from me back to Oscar.

Oscar went quiet again, flipping a cracker between his fingers like it was an edible poker chip. Finally, he heaved a deep sigh and said, “She stayed with me when she had every right—every reason—to ditch my stupid ass and find something better. And she gave me Maria. Everything good about my little girl is because of her mother; I’m too hard and fuckin’ stupid to be responsible for any of that. She… I…” He cleared his throat hard, the sound halfway between a scream and a growl. “…can’t even say her name without…”

Just like that, Oscar was hunched over and shaking silently, trying to hold in the sobs that I’m sure he was ashamed of, a long life of growing up hard having conditioned him to believe he was embarrassing himself; behaving womanly . He had the heel of his right hand jammed over his mouth, with the fingers of his left hand wrapped around the wrist in a vice grip, and his arm muscles bulged as he fought to stop up his mouth with the palm.

Amanda positioned herself closer to him, wrapped her arms around him while resting her chin on his shoulder, and began to rock him slowly while he struggled to master himself. As I shifted to get up from my seat, she and I both nodded at each other wordlessly, and I walked a respectful distance away to stand guard, ready to tell anyone who might approach to fuck off.

I stood that way a few minutes with my back to them, looking out over the valley. The two scavenging crews were still up at the table enjoying their lunch, it seemed, and I wondered idly how much time I had left before I had to wrap my hands around that hateful shovel. Presently, I could hear Amanda and Oscar talking to each other, though their voices were low and guarded. I didn’t move; they’d call me when they were ready. I looked down at the patch of ground I was standing on and toed a clump of grass with my boot.

A shout erupted from across the field, yanking my attention back up towards the cabin to see a snarl of flailing limbs and a bunch of people skipping around in circles by the picnic table. The sight was so unexpected that it took me several seconds to process what was actually happening. At first, I thought Wang was choking on some food or something, that the surrounding people were freaking out over it, and that Fred was trying to help clear his airway. Pulling a mental double-take, I soon realized what was really going on: Fred had Wang in a bully choke while in the process of fending off Monica and Davidson, who were trying to pull him away, and he looked as though he was about to knock Wang’s whole fucking head off.

A fraction of a second before this all clicked into place, Davidson’s panicked voice tore through the valley: “GIIIBS!”

Fred must have outweighed Wang by a good hundred to a hundred and thirty pounds; if he got a hand free enough to take a swing and connect, it would probably be a world-ender. Without waiting to see what Amanda or Oscar were up to, I dug into the ground with both feet like a track runner and launched myself in Fred’s direction, not knowing if I could get there in time but pushing with everything I had despite the uncertainty.

I was about three-quarters of the way there when Fred jerked hard to the side. I don’t know if he swung with his fist or elbow, or even if he swung at all, but the result was that Davidson fell off of him and ran into Alan. Both of them went sprawling into the dirt from the impact, and I understood that neither of them would be getting back into the fight in time to provide any further hindrance.

As I closed the distance, I realized that Fred was shouting into Wang’s face, who only struggled in the larger man’s grip with his teeth bared in a grimace and the whites of his eyes exposed, resembling a terrified horse rearing back from a snake. I’m unable to recall the details of what Fred said exactly but the gist of what I caught during the few remaining steps it took to close the gap told me everything I needed to know about what was happening. In essence, what Fred yelled was, “What you got to say now?”

So, Wang had been running his mouth again, apparently. Briefly, I contemplated just letting Fred clock the dumb bastard. No sane man wants to step in front of an enraged bull, after all.

I couldn’t do that, of course, and instead reached out to wrap both of my arms around Fred’s elbow, which was already drawn back to full cock and ready to fire out. I’m sure I yelled a few choice phrases and suggestions into Fred’s ear as well, but I’ll be damned if I can remember what I said anymore. I was so jacked on adrenaline at the time that the details of that exact moment all run together. I can recall that I half expected Fred to drop Wang and redirect at me, which is a big part of what I was trying to do by unloading every insult I could think of at him. Instead of giving me what I hoped for, Fred drew the arm I was trying to hold back across his chest, which pulled me up off my feet, and then drove his elbow back into my chest, which rocketed me through the air square onto my back several feet away. The wind was driven from my lungs completely, leaving me to groan and writhe around on the deck while trying to will every muscle in my torso to unclench. All I could think of was trying to get back onto my feet—or at least to my knees so I could wrap my arms around Fred’s legs for a takedown. I kept telling myself, “Get moving! Breathe later!” and my whole damned nervous system responded with, “Hey, fuck you, guy!”

The best I had managed was to roll onto my right side so I resigned myself to the reality that Wang was about to get bulldozed and that I’d better start refreshing myself on the battlefield medicine for a caved-in face. Fred’s blow never landed, though. Jake appeared from out of nowhere (I’m sure he heard all the screaming from inside the house and must have come clomping down the stairs of the front porch right around when I was getting my ass handed to me), positioned himself between Fred and Wang, and swung his arm up between them in a vicious arc, his forearm slamming into Fred’s outstretched wrist. Fred’s grip on Wang’s collar was broken utterly, and Jake used the opportunity to shove Wang back behind him, who collided into the food table and nearly knocked the whole thing over.

Now Fred was distracted, alright, and redirected his anger on Jake almost without missing a beat. For his part, Jake was backing away, both hands out in a let’s-be-friends gesture, and saying all the calming things you’re supposed to say in such a situation (assuming you keep company with angry drunks and have experience in dealing with this kind of bullshit).