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

Standing calmly next to him, elevated at the same height, was Jacob Martin.

Brian was uncertain what to think of him. He’d certainly heard enough about Jake from his talks with Wang, had heard him described at various levels of detail. The man had apparently taken to shaving his head since Wang had seen him last (Jake always had long, shaggy brown hair in the stories told to Brian) and his beard seemed a touch thicker than he’d imagined. Slightly jarring to him was the fact that Jake did not appear to be the spooky machine Wang had made him out to be. He looked, more or less, like any man might have looked, standing up there next to Warren’s indomitable presence, though perhaps a little worse for wear—the man’s face showed clear signs of trauma long past even from the distance at which Brian stood. His face held a passive expression, he hardly moved, and his stance might have even seemed a touch awkward, given how he just let his hands hang at his side. Most guys would have found something to do with their hands, whether that was to put them in their pockets or on their hips, or even folded up in their arms—especially in that cold morning air.

Not Jake, though, apparently. He just stood there in his thick, bulky jacket, not bothering to move or even look around at the crowd, and expelled slow puffs of breath into the air.

There was a dull murmur working through the people around him, the ignorant, time-filling yammering of people who didn’t quite know what was going on and so contented themselves with telling each other stories about what it all could be and might mean .

Warren ignored the gossip, seeming instead to look out past the crowd for any stragglers coming late to the fold. He nodded to himself, apparently satisfied that he had enough of the group together, and raised his hands into the air. Shushing sounds began to intermix with the babbling din until the din itself was soon overtaken, and then defeated.

Warren lowered his hands and said, “I’ve asked everyone out here so that I can provide you with a status update as to the situation.” The words ground their way out of his throat, almost crunching like a heavy-jawed man chewing through ice cubes. “You’ve all been incredibly patient so far, and I’ll admit that a lot of this has been somewhat of an exercise in waiting. Well, I can’t promise you the waiting is over just yet, but we may be— may , I say—approaching something like a plan of action.”

“And what might that be?” shouted a voice from the crowd.

Warren glanced at Jake, a baleful expression on his face. Without looking away from him, Warren answered, “We’re in talks right now to work out the details.” He looked back at the crowd and said, “What I’ll share right now is that a small contingent of our group has been invited up into the valley to discuss the matter further. This man, a Mister Jacob Martin, has requested fifteen military personnel and fifteen civilians to accompany him back to the compound. This discussion could stretch out for a few days—we don’t intend to disband until we’ve come to some sort of agreement…?” Warren looked a question at Jake when he said this last part; the other man wobbled his head from side to side and quietly said, “Fair enough.”

Addressing the crowd again, Warren said, “…So the point is that whoever comes should bring your camping gear and whatever personal supplies you maintain. And, as to those civilians that come along, please understand that these discussions can and will result in outcomes that will impact us all. To that end, I leave it up to you folks to select fifteen of your people to come along, but please make it a point to choose those people whose integrity and judgment you trust. These people will be making decisions for the rest of you, clear?”

He looked over the collection of bewildered, dumbstruck faces. He opened his mouth to speak, and Brian was positive he would ask, “Does anyone have any questions?” He did not. What he said was, “You all have one hour to make your selections. After that we’re Oscar-Mike.”

He glanced at Jake again, nodded curtly, and then dropped from their platform. He started pointing at several of his people, growling out orders in his clipped, precise tone. Soldier and Marine alike scattered like grapeshot, moving double-time between the tents. Almost immediately, many of those tents began to collapse under all the hurried attention.

The collection of people left standing in the middle of the street likewise began to bustle. The chatter elevated to an almighty roar as they all began to talk at once, several people demanding to be included in the diplomatic group while others pushed out their hands, shook their heads and adamantly voiced their hell-no’s loud enough for everyone to hear. Brian craned his head to see around the waiving arms and shaking heads, searching for one face in particular. Several moments later, he found him; he needn’t have struggled so much—all he had to do was look for the thickest press of people. He waded into the crowd, cutting a path towards the man he saw.

“Andrew!” Brian called out. “Hey, Andrew!”

A flash of blonde hair wavering about in the press of people, followed by a set of familiar eyes peaking up over a head. “Brian? Yeah! Hey, come on this way!”

Andrew reached a hand out, physically nudging some people out of the way, and edged past. He met Brian in the press and asked, “What’s up?”

“Whatever you guys decide, I’m coming, okay?”

Andrew hesitated a moment, then said, “There could be something ugly waiting for us up there, you realize that, right?”

Brian shrugged. “Screw it! At least I’ll be doing something. Just agree, okay? Whoever else is going, I’m in.”

Andrew nodded. “Yeah… okay. Fine. I’ll make sure there’s a spot for you. Now let me get back to this; some of these people are close to shitting their pants in stereo…”

Three 5-tons emerged into the valley just before noon that day. They transported a General Purpose Medium (GPM) tent, a few General Purpose Small (GPS) tents, weaponry and ammunition, radio gear, spare diesel, food and water rations, and thirty-one souls. They trundled lazily across the scummed-over top layer of muck, wheels sometimes driven to spinning by the high-torque engines, flinging showers of the stuff off to the sides.

A collection of people ventured out from their homes to await the trucks’ arrival. None of them were armed, per their prior agreement. The welcoming committee was small at first, consisting of Amanda, Gibs, and George. As the trucks advanced at their ponderous, frame-rocking speed, more of them came out to stand with the others. Greg, Alish, Barbara, Fred, Oscar. Tom and Rebecca came tumbling belatedly from their home, running laboriously over earth that became hard and soft by turns. Before long, they all stood out there in a line—even the children. Twenty people stood shoulder to shoulder before the cabin, some of them holding hands, waiting.

“Remember,” Amanda said, “follow Jake’s lead. A lot of things can be misinterpreted, and it’s really important we get this right. Just wait for him.”

“Amanda…” Tom whispered.

“Yeah?”

“I, uh, I couldn’t get that rifle bundle up the tree we talked about—”

“Jesus, Tom!”

“I’m sorry, it was too damned heavy! It kept snapping the branches.”

Amanda groaned.

“Well, where’d you put them, Davidson?” Gibs asked.

“Broke ’em down into smaller bundles. I spread them out among a few different trees over a wider area. Stashed some up around Hob’s Rock, too.”