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

A single foot appeared below the door, followed by the slender posts of two crutches. The Hispanic man who stood by the door nodded and, though he didn’t reach out to offer assistance, it was clear he was prepared to offer an arm if it was needed. Warren stood behind the man and waited patiently.

When Wang came out from around the door, at once both ungainly and graceful in his swinging, mechanical gait, there were a few hisses and gasps from the people gathered there. They had all known what happened to him, of course; Amanda had explained the details of his injuries as soon as they’d returned earlier that day. It was a shock, nonetheless; a jarring shock, seeing how much he’d changed. He stilted over to meet them, uncharacteristically muscular shoulders rolling as they accepted his weight, and Gibs, physically unable to keep from smiling, said, “Oh, Jesus, Wang. You went native? Who talked you into the high-and-tight?”

He smiled sheepishly and said, “Well, it turns out that it’s really, really important that my hair doesn’t fall into my eyes anymore. You’d be surprised how important it is for me to see where I’m sticking these things, you know?”

Monica pushed through the crowd of people, passing by Jake without a second glance. She stood before Wang, hands clenching into fists at her sides, while a war played out over her face. Her lips were parted so that she could bring in more air—she felt short of breath and a little light-headed—and her cheeks twitched under her heartbroken eyes, almost spasmodically. She looked down at the length of his body, now sadly reduced, and tears spilled over her eyelids. Looking back up into his eyes, she whimpered, “Look what they did to you…” Her voice cracked.

He pursed his lips and said, “I guess I’ve been gone longer than three days, and… well, I only brought back about half of my skinny behind…”

He trailed off before looking at the earth between them. He could think of nothing else to say, so he only muttered, “I’m sorry…”

She took his face in her hands and said, “You have nothing to be sorry for.” She said this forcefully, and then just as forcefully, she kissed him full on the lips.

They were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps; the clearing of a gravel-packed throat. Monica pulled back from Wang and glanced at this new man.

“You brought him back?”

Warren nodded. “Partially, ma’am. My surgical team patched him up as well as they could, and Specialist Lee rehabbed him a bit. But I really must confess, your man Wang has been an asset to us.” He looked from her to the others and said, “That’s no exaggeration. Mr. Zhao’s been first-rate, all the way.”

Monica nodded. “Sounds about right. Either way, you folks brought him back up here to us. You know you’re gonna let me cook you some dinner. Bring that mister Lee up here as well; I got a hot meal with his name on it.”

“That’s, uh, miss Lee, actually,” Wang said.

She looked at Wang a moment and said, “Huh. Well, him or her, let her know she’s got a place set at the table.”

“That’s much appreciated, ma’am. I’ll be sure to let her know,” said Warren.

She stepped to Wang’s side and nodded slightly in the direction of Jake and his group. Glancing at Warren almost furtively, he moved to join them, teetering slightly on the slushy ground as he rotated to look back at his now former companions. The Hispanic man who had held open the door for him approached with his rifle. He quickly checked the chamber before presenting the weapon to Wang.

“Thanks, Montezuma. For everything.”

Montez nodded. “Any time, brother. Believe that.” They knocked fists before the Marine returned to his position behind Warren. As this was happening, a third man emerged from the rear of the Humvee; another one that Gibs recognized while failing to recall his name.

As he stood there scouring his memory for a handle, he heard Fred’s whispered voice from somewhere behind him: “So… you and Monica now, huh?”

There was the sound of a heavy slap followed immediately by Fred’s indignant “Hey!” before Gibs turned his head and spat, “Knock that shit off.” The peanut gallery fell silent.

Warren looked them all over, eyes darting quickly over the entirety of each person before he finally settled on Jake. He nodded—a fast, curt dip of the head—and said, “You’ll be the man in charge, then.”

“Something like.”

He nodded again and extended his hand. “I’m Commander Otto Warren, United States Navy. I’ve heard some things about you, Jake. It’s a pleasure.”

Jake took the man’s hand in his, squeezing firmly while shaking only minimally. “You have me at a disadvantage, it seems.”

“Well, advantages and disadvantages are things for adversaries to consider. I’d like to think we’re not moving in that direction.”

Jake cocked his head and regarded the Seal quietly a moment, drawing his silence out just far enough that it was almost uncomfortable before he responded. “I’d like to think that same thing. The pleasure is mine, Commander.”

“Let’s go with Otter or Warren if you don’t mind.”

“I can do that,” Jake said, taking his hand back. “I understand you have no small number of people traveling with you. Am I right in assuming you’ve left Arizona for good?”

“That’s correct. The majority are encamped at the entrance to the mountain pass, but I’ve instructed them to set up on a temporary basis. I’d like to begin by touring your camp, collecting an inventory of your current resources and capabilities, and go over the terrain and disposition of the surrounding area.”

Several people tensed at this and Gibs noticed Wang shift nervously in place, as though he wanted desperately to pull Jake aside. Gibs shifted his gaze to Amanda, who as it happened was looking back at him, jaw clenched and eyes smoldering. He glanced at her hands, noted they were nowhere near her pistol, and let out a sigh.

Jake had not moved at all in response to Warren’s declaration, choosing instead only to regard the other man quietly, lips cracked open slightly and eyes distant, as though he looked through rather than at him. After a few seconds, Jake drew in a sharp breath and said, “Otis, will you see that Warren’s men are fed?”

“Uh, yeah, you got it, Jake.”

“Thank you.” He took a step closer to Warren, turned, and gestured back toward the cabin. “Commander, will you please meet with me back at the house? There are likely several things we should discuss.”

Warren’s face clouded over for a fraction of a second, so rapidly that Gibs failed to detect whatever emotion his lapse had betrayed. It was gone so fast he believed almost that he’d imagined it, though he knew this was not the case. Warren’s face went stony as he pulled his shoulders back, further straightening an already impossibly straight back, and in one of the most formally proper voices Gibs could recall hearing in his comparatively long run of service, he said, “Absolutely, sir. Please lead the way.”

Two men sat across from each other in the library of a deceased third. Each regarded the other silently, as though the willingness to remain speechless was a form of contest in itself. One of them, the Seal, wondered if he was only exercising due caution; he was almost certain he was not being stubborn, but then he also knew enough about himself to admit that an attitude of stubbornness was a distinct possibility. The man Jake was difficult to read, as difficult as any Pashtunwali elder. Though he held his face impassive, Warren sagged inwardly, feeling weary at the whole situation. He’d hypothesized that such leaders would emerge over time, though perhaps not as soon as this. He resented the need to make allowances for such things.