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

Jake rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He seemed to keep his mouth open all the time; was a mouth-breather, apparently. Judging from the broad flatness of his nose, Warren thought he might not be able to breathe through his nasal passages at all. It was interesting information. Such a man might have a very difficult time doing anything if his mouth was completely occluded.

“I’d prefer not to waste your time, Commander. Please explain your intentions toward us. Precisely.”

The fact that Jake insisted on referring to him by his rank rather than his name or even his more familiar nickname was not lost on Warren. The man was nothing if not direct. Having dealt with both warriors and bureaucrats alike his entire career, he decided he could respect that.

“Mister…?”

“Martin.”

He nodded. “There are survivors up here, Mr. Martin. You’re a small amount, but you are, in fact, survivors. You’re the largest pocket we’ve heard of or encountered all at once in a good while now. We’ve seen marauders out there as well, it’s true but, well… There’s a distinct difference between marauders and survivors in my mind. One group just needs to be suppressed. Put down. The other most likely holds onto those ideals and beliefs we want to see preserved. In their case, they need to be protected.”

“Your aim is protection, then.”

“My aim is consolidation.”

Jake glanced down at his hands and thought a moment. The fingers flexed slowly, not quite forming fists. He attempted to clarify. “Consolidation. Does this mean you’re seeking to move in… or to move us out?”

“That’s undetermined as yet, but we’ll most likely be moving out of this area before long. There are very likely other pockets of survivors out there—the fact that you exist here in Wyoming is only an illustration of that likelihood, Mr. Martin. I believe we’ll stage here and scout for rumor of others throughout the state. In time, we can move along to another territory.”

“I see,” he said, still looking down at his hands. “May I offer you a drink?”

“No.”

“Huh,” Jake grunted. Warren watched him very closely, beginning to feel comfortable with the man’s mannerisms, minuscule though they were. He believed he was becoming better able to read him as they spoke, building up a mental lexicon of ticks and responses. It helped him to feel at ease.

Jake looked up, locking eyes with him. “We won’t be going anywhere.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Jake sighed gently, eyes motionless and unblinking. “I must ask you to understand: this place is our home. We’ve toiled and bled over it. Killed over it. Some of us have died for it. We’ve staked our hopes and the best of our intentions on this valley.”

Warren shook his head. “And I must ask you to understand: the remaining survivors; these small pockets of people dispersed throughout the landscape? People like you are all that’s left of this country. You’re the only thing left that remembers this country. America isn’t a place, Mr. Martin, it’s a people. An ideal. Your people, yourself, those people who travel with me under my protection… you’re all a precious… no. Priceless. You’re a priceless resource, now, sir. If this country has any hope at all of surviving—and it must survive, or we can all look forward to another round of the dark ages—every one of you must be gathered up into an established safe zone where we can focus on truly rebuilding. You must see that.”

Jake cocked his head to the side. The expression on his face didn’t change, or at least it didn’t change in any way that Warren could discern, but he thought the man’s face held some trace of compassion… or understanding. That perception was what caused him to recoil when Jake said, “I’m sorry, Commander, but the United States of America has already slipped away. It died some time ago.”

“That… needn’t be true, Mr. Martin.”

“Ah, you mean so long as we choose to believe? Yes, well, I’m sure we’re all well versed in the belief game. Here’s what I believe: I believe we’re just coming out of winter—one of the longest and most monumentally bitter winters I’ve ever personally experienced—and we have a short window of time to get our first round of crops planted. This is intensely critical because even though we’ve managed to begin taking in a good supply of meat with our hunting, we’re still dangerously dependent on food from the old world to provide us with a balanced diet. We need to get that vegetation planted, you see, or we’ll start exhibiting dietary deficiencies if we don’t just begin to starve entirely.

“I believe throwing in with your people is a losing bet, as well. So far, your plan seems to be to move from place to place looking for more people to collect. I suppose we could paint it more complexly than that, but this is really all you’re doing, isn’t it? Get enough leftover people together, all piled into one place, and then just wait, I imagine. I guess maybe if you pack them all in tight enough, a certain critical mass will be reached and a session of Congress will spontaneously be called.”

Warren shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Jake continued on serenely. “I’m sure I’m oversimplifying, but this is basically what you’ve expressed, unless there’s some holdout of functional infrastructure to which you’re privy but have not yet shared. Which there isn’t, of course.” He leaned forward in his chair and said, “I want to make it very clear to you that I admire and appreciate what you’re trying to do. I truly hope that I’m wrong about this; that your goals will be realized. Sadly, we won’t be part of it. We’re too busy surviving to chase after such a thing. Maybe a decade from now, but for the present, we’re nowhere near established enough that the pursuit of this ideal makes any kind of sense at all.”

“Mr. Martin…”

“You have a giant column of trucks running on diesel, Commander. What are your plans for searching out more people when you burn the last drop? You have some two hundred now, don’t you? What will you do when you have three hundred? Four hundred? You’re traveling from place to place. How are you keeping fed? MREs and scavenged supplies?”

Warren didn’t answer.

“Yes. Us too, you see. It’s a losing game, Commander Warren. You can’t feed a collection of that size over time without ramping up some form of agriculture. You cannot hunt and gather enough on the move to keep them fed. Your plan, sir, is insufficient.”

Warren looked down at his lap, noted that his fists were clenched, and forced them to relax. A war raged inside of him; an outright bloody battle between his resolve for the mission and the nagging suspicion that the man before him might be correct. Hadn’t their diesel reserves been drained dangerously low on the long trek to Wyoming? And hadn’t they all seen how rapidly the food supply diminished as soon as they were no longer supplementing with scavenging? He glanced up, meeting the man’s gaze again.

Jake sat quietly, considering him. His head was back slightly now, elevated as though he was looking down his nose. “Your people may stay in the area as our guests, so long as you adhere to our rules. You may resupply from the city and abide for as long as you need until such time as you deem it necessary to move on.”

Warren smiled despite himself, a little surprised by the man’s gall. “Setting conditions, Jake? I feel as though you’ve misread the situation.”

“Oh no, I haven’t misread it at all. I’m aware that you and your men are fully capable of doing whatever you like. You easily outnumber us two to one, counting your staff only, and I’m well aware that one of your people are most likely worth any three of mine, despite Mr. Gibson’s best efforts to augment our abilities. You can absolutely roll in here, take control, and force us to do whatever you desire.”