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

“The concept of a precious life is a fragile thing,” Jake said quietly; so quiet in fact, that we had to strain to hear him. I felt as though he was talking to himself now instead of to us. “Everyone has to agree for that to work, but it takes only one person to decide that life will be cheap. One person to make that decision for everyone else and there’s nothing that can be done to stop it. Because once you cheapen one person’s life, you cheapen all life. When your friend sees you kill a man easily, without hesitation or remorse, your friend knows how easily that malice can be redirected. It becomes so, so easy for everyone to assume a reality of kill or be killed. Kill first… just in case.”

He was quiet a long time then, standing before us, unnaturally still, as we all struggled to return his gaze. Finally, when I felt as though someone must speak if only to break the silence, Jake relented and said, “One person makes the decision for all. Who among us will accept that responsibility?”

Jake turned away and, wearing only his flannel, jeans, and boots, walked alone out of the valley.

Unwilling to take my eyes off the road ahead of us, I asked, “What are they doing now?”

“Same thing, Gibs. Just hanging back there,” Greg said.

“Well, are they closer since the last time I asked?”

“Uh, it’s really hard to say for sure but… I think so?”

I grunted. “Close enough to shoot?”

The rear window rolled down, and I heard the sound of rushing wind agitated by a large obstruction. Unable to help myself, I glanced over my shoulder and saw that the kid was hanging his head out the window to look back behind us. A few seconds later, he retreated back into the cab and rolled his window back up.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “It’s still hard to count individual vehicles; the bikers look like dots.”

I looked down and the instrument panel. I had the speed pinned at ninety, but the fuel economy had plummeted to a depressing seven. I ground my teeth while wracking my brain for ideas. I could push the truck a little faster, but that shield in back wasn’t doing us any favors. Besides, the Ford’s engine was built for towing power not winning drag races. I couldn’t tell what kinds of vehicles were pursuing us outside of being able to say “trucks, cars, and bikes” in a general sense, but I knew that it didn’t take a rare motorcycle to ride circles around us; any average crotch rocket would be able to blow our doors off.

I gnawed my lip and thought furiously, breathing deep to keep my shit together. Can’t outrun them and, if we try, we probably burn through all of our fuel long before we get home. Can’t stop and fight them, though; too damn many.

“Wang, get that map open. Show me where we are.”

He complied, filling the whole passenger side of the cab with fold-out paper that just seemed to keep coming. He pulled the right side up the window to keep the edge out of my area. “We should be coming up on Mesquite next in… uh, looks like twenty-five or thirty miles.”

I did some quick math in my head, determining that thirty miles would take about twenty minutes at our current rate.

“Can you tell how far it is from Mesquite to that mountain pass we hit in Arizona?”

Wang cursed and began winding the map back up, not even bothering to try to fold it neatly. I realized he’d have to pull out the Thomas Guide to get a map of Arizona; we only had detailed state maps of Nevada and Utah. Then, even when he did get the Thomas Guide out, it was only going to show him roads, not terrain.

“Relax,” I said, waving him off. “Doesn’t matter.”

Twenty minutes or so to Mesquite then call it maybe another twenty or so to that little mountain pass for shits and giggles. I glanced into my side mirror to look at the blot of people gaining on us; outliers to either side of their column traveled along the soft shoulder, kicking up one hell of a dust cloud.

I began to tally our assets: semi-armored vehicle, enough firepower to supply a small-time warlord, and enough diesel to swim in. It occurred to me suddenly that our pursuers would be running out of gas a lot sooner than we would. Even if we ran our tank down to empty, we could refuel without stopping. We just had to pop the cap and activate the built-in electrical pump. Of course, someone would have to be out there in the truck bed to do it…

I glanced around the cab at the others. “Gear on. Everyone. Helmets too; let’s go.”

They all responded instantly, shrugging into their new vests and strapping the black ballistic helmets down over their heads. I began to ease off the gas slowly as they did so.

“What’s the plan?” Davidson asked. “Why are we slowing down?”

“We need enough fuel to get home,” I said, “and we’re simply not outrunning these guys. We’ll have to slow down and beat them back when and if they get too close to us. They’re gonna run out of fuel before we do, but the trick is I gotta have you guys out there to run the reserve line to the truck’s tank when we get low. And, I need to get you guys out there now, while those assholes are still out of range.”

As I spoke, the other three all became very businesslike and started grabbing their rifles.

“Not you, Greg,” I said over my shoulder. “You think you can drive this rig?”

In the rearview mirror, I saw an irate pair of seventeen-year-old eyes flash back at me. Greg said, “Hey, fuck that, dude. I am not sitting up here while the rest of you guys get shot at.”

“Greg? Hey, Greg !” I shouted, but it was too late. Before I could even respond, he’d slung his rifle, shoved open his door, and stepped out onto the side runner. As I sat there screaming at him, he reached up behind the cab to grab the armor plating that Fred had installed and swung himself up into the truck bed, graceful as a gymnast, slamming his door shut behind him.

“Mother fucking shit head!” I yelled out, slamming the dashboard with my fist. “Diso-fucking-bedient little brat!”

“You raise them up to be good little children but, at some point, they always find a way to piss you off in the end…” Wang said.

“Goddamnit, Wang… not helping .”

“Sorry.”

I took a few breaths to bring my blood pressure back down, and then grabbed one of the two team radios we’d brought along with us and handed it back to Davidson.

“Get out there with him and cover up behind that armor wall on the trailer. You guys each take a side. If any of those assholes on our tail comes up alongside of us, light them the fuck up; they’ll be trying to shoot our tires out. Keep at it until they drop back behind us. Don’t shoot at anyone directly behind us; I want them to think that’s a safe area back there. Now, what’d I say?”

“Only shoot the assholes coming up on our side!” Davidson rattled off.

“Outstanding. And don’t be shy about rocking that 40 Mike-Mike. That worked out well for us in Colorado. If they’re on motorcycles, aim for the seat. If they’re in a car or a truck, try to put the grenade into or just under the grill; you could take out the radiator or a piece of the engine and disable the vehicle. A disabled vehicle is just as good as a kill.”

“Understood!” shouted Davidson over the roar of the wind; he’d shoved his door open as soon as I’d finished speaking. It slammed shut shortly after, and the truck cab was thrown back into relative silence.

I looked back down at the gauges. Sixty miles per hour and twelve miles per gallon. I flexed my hands on the wheel and tried to keep calm; the hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I could almost feel our pursuit crawling right up my ass.