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

Amanda, who had done this plenty of times before in her youth, fared slightly better, landing punishing shots to the head, neck, shoulders, and breasts. Even so, Rebecca had the triple advantage of height, reach, and weight, and at least two of her blows drove the smaller woman entirely to her knees. This was due more to the fact that both women yanked each other around by the hair constantly—defeating balance entirely—than it was to her ability to drive a devastating punch, and Amanda was always immediately back on her feet each time.

Eventually, Amanda discovered that there was constant, high-pitched screaming that ran almost continuously as she fought; she realized it was Elizabeth. She grunted, resolving to end the whole fucking thing, and planted her feet to deliver a volley of headshots; as many as it took to make the bitch stop moving. She drew her arm back, suffering three rapid strikes to the back of her head in the process (which only served to enrage her more), but an arm encircled her stomach before she could throw, hauling her totally off her feet. Rebecca’s hand was still caught up in her hair, which caused her head to torque violently over on her neck, and she heard Gibs howl, “Let her go! Let her go, goddamnit!”

Amanda’s hair was released, and her scalp began to tingle angrily, feeling as though hot liquid poured down the side of her head. She twisted and writhed like a snake but was no match at all for Gibs’s superior strength; he hoisted her up into a fireman’s carry like she was a small child. His shoulder began to drive into her pelvis by turns as he stomped through the snow.

There were lights now, darting through the trees and over the ground. Amanda heard several voices calling out, while Rebecca’s enraged shouts followed from behind, spitting curses and promises of more to come. Amanda tried to look back in the other woman’s direction, but from her inverted position, she could only see the small of Gibs’s back. If she tried to arch her back up to look out behind him, he only lifted her legs by the ankles until she overbalanced and began to sag alarmingly toward the ground and the plodding heels of his boots.

Gibs’s voice called out again, saying, “Oscar, take Lizzy back to your place; keep her there until I come get her. Davidson? Davidson! ”

“Yeah!”

“Drag that psycho-tarded girlfriend of yours back into whatever the fuck Walmart bathroom she crawled out of and shove a bag of ice up her ass!”

Not waiting for any sort of affirmation to his order, Gibs continued to stomp off through the trees, grumbling every curse he knew before inventing wholly new ones on the spot, while Amanda kicked, twisted, and grunted uselessly against him.

She had ceased struggling by the time Gibs gained the cabin’s porch steps, opting instead to appeal to his sense of reason through a nearly endless stream of chatter.

“Okay, I’m fine now Gibs, you can put me down. Gibs? Gibs! Put me down, I said, I can walk! Gibs? Seriously, Gibs, what the fuck!”

He tromped up the stairs wearing a long-suffering expression on his tired face, nodding silently to himself at each verbal escalation. When he had her butt lined up with one of the Adirondack chairs, he flipped her down into it like a sack of rocks, shocking a grunt from her. He half-bowed, spread his hands to either side and said, “Your wish is-gah!“

She’d come up from the chair with the intention of standing and, since Gibs didn’t really know what she intended, he forced her back down into a sitting position with a shove. He stood there a moment watching her, waiting to see what would come next. When she made no move, he tried again: “Your wi—”

Up she came again, this time moving rapidly while attempting to slip by him on his right. He took her by the shoulders, shoved her back into the chair (hard enough this time to force a puff of breath from her lungs), pinned her down with his body weight, and grunted, “Knock it off, goddamn it!”

It was probably the worst possible time for him to do this. The door to the cabin swung open at this very instant, and Jake stepped out, wearing only a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. He turned to face them both as he eased the door shut. With wide and unblinking eyes, he said, “Explain.”

“Ask your damned pit bull…” muttered Gibs. He continued to hold her in place.

Before Gibs realized what was happening, Jake advanced on him smoothly, took one elbow in a careful yet firm grip, and lifted. It wasn’t painful at all, but the steady, unwavering motion felt more to Gibs like being forced along by a hydraulic piston than anything else, and he knew the hand could probably clamp down on the nerve at his elbow with crippling force. Gibs experienced a terrific flash of anger at this. He wasn’t a fan of people laying hands on him as a rule but what Jake did now was clearly a demonstration of dominance meant to drive home a very specific point.

“I’m asking you,” Jake said gently.

Gibs jerked his arm from the other man’s grasp violently, growling, “—put your fucking hands on me…” Jake let his hand drop back to his side, inquisitive expression unchanged.

The calmness of the man infuriated Gibs even further. He took a step closer to look down at him from his superior height ( let him deal with some of this dominance horseshit , he thought) and spit through clenched teeth, “Her and Rebecca disturbed my beauty sleep with a great, big, fuck-all bitch fight right outside my window!”

Jake’s head swiveled down to look at Amanda, who would not meet his gaze. Addressing the top of her head, he asked, “Amanda?”

She said nothing. Jake glanced at Gibs briefly, face unreadable, and then crouched at the woman’s side. Gently, like a father to a baby, he cupped her cheek in his hand and helped her to look into his eyes. Looking at her from his position, Gibs saw that there was a cut under her eye, most likely a scratch, and her upper lip was beginning to swell. As he watched, Jake’s right thumb began to stroke her cheek in short little swipes, just barely applying any pressure to the skin. The familiarity made Gibs uneasy for some reason, as though he was spying on his mother passionately kissing a stranger, and he looked away.

He looked out at the Connex homes, one of which contained Elizabeth while the other, he knew, contained Rebecca. As he regarded them, he heard Amanda’s voice from behind his back, slightly distorted by her fattening lip.

“I woke up in the middle of the night and happened to check on Lizzy. She wasn’t there. I found some tracks outside, so I followed them and found her and Rebecca north of Gibs’s place. Lizzy was holding Rebecca’s rifle when I got there; I think she was showing my daughter how to use it.”

Gibs closed his eyes and sighed.

“She didn’t have any right to do that,” Amanda spat. “That’s my little girl she’s messing with…”

“Where is Lizzy now?” asked Jake.

“Over at Oscar’s,” said Gibs. “I sent her there.”

“Huh,” Jake grunted. “I’ll head over and get her—”

“I’ll get her,” Gibs interrupted. He was descending the steps of the porch before they could stop him; by way of explanation, he called back, “I have a few things to say to those two.”

From behind, Jake called out, “Hey, Gibs, I’m sorry about…”

Gibs irritably threw his hand out behind his back as though swatting at some annoyance—perhaps a horsefly or a political protestor handing out pamphlets. He made a straight path toward Oscar’s front door, giving zero shits for Jake’s apology.

The knock at Oscar’s door came just as he’d managed to calm Elizabeth down. The girl had been frantic when he pulled her inside his home, shaking and crying hysterically. Oscar guessed she must not have ever seen her mother in a fist fight before and felt bad for her. He remembered the first time he saw his father get into a slugging match. It had been over a parking space; neither of the men had been willing to back down, and, if Oscar was being honest with himself, his father had probably been a little drunk. The police were called out, and both his father and the man he’d been fighting were hauled off to jail, leaving him behind with his mother, crying and screaming; demanding to have his Papi back. He’d been around six years old at the time.