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

Now, as he listened to Ronny’s story about such things as the brave sacrifice of the group, Clay wondered how well those rules had been upheld. He considered the fact that he really had no way to know for sure what was going on out there, regardless of how much he liked to think of himself as a “connected lead.” It had been so easy to just shut up and accept those critical supplies as they began to roll in, despite their source. Looking at Ronny as he told his story and, more specifically, noting the fact that none of his remaining Parasites would make eye contact with anyone in the room as he spoke, Clay began to wonder if he had not sold his soul.

“So,” Clay supplied, “not wanting your losses to be for naught, you gamely gave up a total of sixty fucking people. I can’t wait to hear what the payoff was. Did we get some of those armored cars, at least? They sound nifty.”

Ronny lowered his head, perhaps to hide the ugly flush that crept up his face, and said, “No. We lost them in Arizona.”

“You… lost them?”

“There’s a narrow mountain pass along the 15, just before it runs over into Utah. They held us off until we got in there. It wasn’t just man-to-man shooting either; they had some sort of anti-tank gun or something. They kept shooting our engines out. We tried to come at them from different angles, but every time we choked up on them, they’d open up with machine guns, grenades, and that damned .50 cal. So, we backed off a bit to let things calm down again, and then we ended up in that pass. It was narrow as hell, so we couldn’t try to pull out in front anymore. They eventually stopped and waved a white flag at us—”

“Oh Jesus, Ronny, you took the bait?” asked a forlorn Clay.

He nodded angrily. “We were all pissed by then. We wanted some payback. They waited for us to get close, and then they lit us up hard. I’m the only one from the pass that survived; these that are here with me now were what I could find of the folks who’d had their engines shot.”

Clay sat quietly a while, thinking about their story, and Ronny wisely held his tongue along with everyone else. Finally, he looked at one of the other survivors standing behind Ronny’s couch. “You. What’s your name?”

“Riley.”

“Okay, is all of this how you remember it, Riley? Anything being left out?”

“Hey, what the hell is—” Ronny began.

“Shut the fuck up, Ronny,” Clay’s voice snapped, silencing him instantly. “Riley?”

Riley put his hands in his pockets, looked off to the right, and nodded. “Sure, pretty much.”

Clay’s eyes widened as he tilted his head in the caricature of a concerned doctor or priest. Softly, he said, “ Pretty much , Riley? Was it that fucking way or not?”

“That way,” he declared more confidently. “I’m sure. It’s how he said.”

From the corner of his eye, Clay saw Ronny’s shoulders slump ever so slightly and, while he wasn’t exactly sure what the fuck was going on, he did know to a certainty that he wasn’t getting the full story.

“You said they had radios,” Clay prompted, still pinning Riley with a wide-eyed, piercing stare.

“That’s right,” Ronny nodded. “I found out because my one kept fucking up the whole time. I had to keep restarting it and reselect my team channel every time I did so. On one of those times, I picked up their traffic.”

“And did you try to talk to them?”

“Hell no! I didn’t want them to know I could hear them. I listened in. And this is the best part: I know where they were going!”

Clay looked at the others in the room; Johnny had a distasteful wince, appearing as though he had just eaten something rotten, and Pap looked utterly confused. Clay sympathized. “And what on God’s green earth is good about that, Ronny?”

“This doesn’t have to be a loss!” Ronny declared, striking the padded armrest of the couch. “They were heading to a city called Jackson. Now, I know, there’s probably more than a few places with that name, but what we know for sure is that they were traveling up the 15 to get there and it was on the other side of Utah; I heard that specifically. The guy on the radio, Gibs was his name, said my crew was gonna run out of gas before we got across Utah. I just need to see a map and—”

“Let me pose you a question, Ronny,” Clay interrupted. “After a hardened group of sixteen men burdened under an embarrassment of weaponized riches kicks your crews’ sixty-seven asses across the great fucking state of Nevada, and parts of Arizona besides, what process of delusion is it that inspires you to then pursue said group of killer cocksuckers in search of revenge? Into their home fucking territory? You must pardon me my fucking incredulity!”

Ronny’s face had gone bone white while sweat broke out across his forehead during Clay’s outburst. His hand began to shake, either from anger or tension; none of the others in the room could say for sure. Pap had seen both Ronny and the Boss get down to business before and understood them both to be capable in a violent arena; as far as he could tell, the only real distinction between the two men was that Clay needed a reason to get down, whereas Ronny only needed an excuse. He couldn’t be sure which way it would go here since he couldn’t read Ronny so well, but the Boss was as mad as Pap had ever seen him, with his lips pulled back from his teeth in a rumbling snarl as he bit off his words. He rested a hand over the wooden grip of the wheelgun riding his hip.

“Wouldn’t be like that,” Ronny whispered. “Those people are hoarders, Clay. No telling what they have back home but I’ll bet we could make a good start there. They had enough firepower to outfit an army. Said they had a farm started up there, and cattle too. I heard ’em!”

“Forget it, Ronny. Did I not say this would happen?” Clay looked around at the others. “Do you remember? I said it, didn’t I? You were gonna get fucking greedy and bite off more than you could chew at some point, and look where we’re at right now. I should have my fucking head examined for agreeing to the whole thing in the first place. I knew it was a bad call…” He was out of his chair, now, and pacing up the middle of the room, seeming to walk to random places as he ranted, but coming closer to Ronny’s location all the same, slowly and inexorably. “I knew it. I fucking knew it, Ronny. And what did I do? Like a gutless fucking dumbass? Well? Hey, are you listening to me?”

He was bent over in front of the other man, his straining, snarling face just a few inches away from Ronny’s, which was pulled back in discomfort.

“No bright ideas, huh? No flashes of insight? Not even a fucking simple suggestion or a flip of the fucking coin?” He panted for a bit and stood up. In a calmer, more reserved tone, he said, “I went along to get along, Ronny, and shame on me for doing so. I should have made us find another way. We should have made us find another way, whatever the cost.”

He looked out the lobby window at all of the people moving along about their day; some of them milling around outside waiting to hear about what happened to Ronny’s people out on the road. He wondered what any of them would say about the situation. He felt incredibly, achingly tired.

“I beat the shit out of your little toady, this morning; did anyone tell you that yet, Ronny?” He looked over his right shoulder at the man, who now wore a look of utter shock and confusion. “Beau. I probably shouldn’t have done that either; probably should have found another way but, honest to Christ, I’m losing my capacity to be creative anymore. Anyway, I did it, and there it is. If there’s anything you want to say or do about that, this would be the fucking time. Pap won’t stop you.”