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

He waited for Ned to grasp the cup, saluted him, and then drank from his own, whether he was joined or not. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, having soaked his mustache, and gestured out at the procession before them. “Well, Friend Ned, thusly before you proceeds my discontent band of lost fucking wanderers, as advertised, huh? What say you to this, my grand spef-fucking spectacle?”

“It… it frightens me.”

“Frightens you? Wha-Jesus Christ, Ned, this is your crew, now. ’S no need to be frightened with such as us.”

“I… I guess so…”

Clay swallowed, coughed, and said, “Nope. Fuck you, Ned, but you don’t get to let it hang like that. Out with it, now.”

Ned sighed and looked down at his drink. “I… I haven’t been around people. For a while. The groups I’ve seen haven’t been nice. Town seems to be full of them.”

Clay looked at Ned closely. “Full of ’em? How full we talking, Ned?”

“Well… why do you think I had those mines out? Some of them knew about this place up here, I suppose. I’m not certain how… how many of them actually lived here, but I guess some of them would know. They, uh, they came up here sometimes. Little clusters of people, never more than five…”

“Go on.”

“Don’t… Don’t want to…”

Clay sat up and leaned over the arm of his chair. “Christ. You lit ’em up, didn’t you?”

In the darkness, the passing headlights betrayed the sharp jerk of a nod.

“And the two of mine you vaporized today… they were just two more in a long line. You’re a tougher bastard than I gave you credit for, Ned.”

He continued to watch the man, who only persisted in looking down at his hands.

“How you been sleeping these days?”

Ned shrugged.

“Uh. Look, don’t let me corrupt your fucking virtue or anything, but just drink that down. The mornings can be a bitch, sure, but at least you get a full night’s sleep that way.”

Ned sniffed tentatively at his drink, spasmed softly, took a drink, and was then overcome with violent, wracking coughs. He leaned forward, wheezing.

Clay leaned toward the man and gave him a few stout slaps on the back. Settling back in his chair, he said, “No worries, young man, all part of the experience; it’s all part of the show. ’Spect you pulled down the wrong pipe. You just shake that shit off and go again. It gets easier; you’ll see.”

Ned took his time recovering, wiping at his eyes several times over, while Clay kept a close watch on him so he could reach out and save the cup of scotch if it became necessary. Nobody was distilling the stuff anymore, after all. In time, he seemed to come back under his own control, and Clay relaxed again. The largest of the trucks had finished coming in, now. The line was down to cars, motorcycles, and whatever was left of Ronny’s security down at the tail.

“How many are out in the town, would you say?”

Ned thought about it a minute. “I-I wouldn’t want to guess. It was enough that the groups coming up here were growing. The first of them that ca-came around was only one man. Then sometimes two. Last… Last time it was five.”

“And you’ve seen people out in town, huh?”

“There’s-There’s a group that gets around on bikes.”

Clay nodded. “Yeah, those work pretty well when the road’s all fuckered up with cars.”

“I’ve watched them. They seem to come through every couple of months and you-you can hear them tearing through the streets all the time. After a while, they all start their eng-engines at once… like it’s a party… and they go screaming up the 25. Then they’re go-gone for a while, and it’s nice and quiet, except for the-the occasional shooting.”

“They come back later, though, huh?”

Ned nodded sadly. “They always come back, Clay.”

Clay glanced at him. “Yeah…”

They drank together, and Ned only twinged a little this time.

“Where are you sleeping? I didn’t see a tent out anywhere.”

“Oh, I have a little place in the World War II Museum. It’s pretty cozy…”

“You’re happy there? Don’t want me to set you up with something nicer?”

“Oh, no thanks. I’m fine…”

“Uh.” Clay drained the last of his drink, then realized he hadn’t even seen to his own situation yet. The last of the headlights passed by the gate. In them, he saw a familiar outline strolling his way.

“Is that my sweetheart out there?”

“Yeah, that’s me, Old Boy,” Corina said, her voice coming out to them all disembodied in the night.

“Ned, I wanna introduce you to Corina. Corina, Ned. She’s a player in our little group; you’ll see.”

Ned stood abruptly to shake her hand. She took it, glancing at Clay in mild confusion; she couldn’t remember the last time a man stood to greet her. As she was reconciling herself with the unfamiliar experience, Ned gestured to his chair and offered it up for her use. She began to protest, but he insisted, declaring he’d seen more than enough for the day and wished to go find his bed. He made his shaky goodnights to them and skittered off towards the white row of large, garage-like buildings.

“And that’s how a gentleman does it, hon.”

“You fucking wound me, my lady. Also, I probably would’ve gone ass over bonnet trying to stand up for you; I think I’ve had too much again.”

“Got any more?”

“Sorry, not of this. We killed this one.” He held the bottle upside down to demonstrate before flinging it out into the blackness on a whim. It thudded against the dirt in a hollow ring and skittered across for what sounded like several feet.

Corina settled into her chair, pulling her jacket in tight, and said, “Well, here we are again.”

Clay squinted at her, wondering if this was some sort of preamble. It wasn’t. She only sat there next to him in companionable silence. His good luck charm.

“This’ll work out well for a while,” he said. “That Ned guy is a good find. I don’t have the energy to explain it, but you’ll see. I guess good things’ll start happening here…” He let out a long, tired sigh.

Corina looked at him carefully, at the cast of his eyes and the slack in his jaw, and knew he hadn’t lied. He’d overdone it again tonight, trying to drink his way to somewhere peaceful.

“Found a place to bunk yet?” she asked.

“’S that a fucking proposition?”

She smiled. “Could be. If you can keep your fucking mouth shut, it could be.”

“Madam… I never kiss and tell.”

Corina laughed. She stood, took his hand in hers, and helped him up into a standing position, moving quickly to pull his arm over her shoulders to keep him steady. If he went down, she wasn’t sure she could get him up again without help, and she didn’t like the others seeing him in such a state. She walked him carefully out to her tent, which she had erected immediately after parking (even in the dark of night she could set the thing up in only a few minutes, now, having had so much practice). She drew the flap and ushered him in, looking around carefully to see if anyone was watching. If there was anyone, she couldn’t see them. She climbed in behind him, zipped the flap shut, and then flipped on her Maglite. He sat close by her bedroll in profile, with his chin dangerously close to resting on his chest.

“You’ll take those boots off before I have you in my bed,” she warned.

He nodded and began to pull at them ponderously, grunting slightly as the action of leaning over compressed his gut into the tops of his thighs. There was a bit of groaning before the first one finally released his foot abruptly, as though it had lost a tug of war.

She unzipped her bag all the way down to the bottom and began to remove her shoes as well. She had the first one unlaced when he spoke.