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

“Okay, fine then,” Gibs said calmly. “See Amanda? Still handled. Just had to improvise a bit.”

“Except none of us know where to find the damned—”

“So we’ll figure it out. Davidson’ll take a few of us out at night.”

“Assuming we aren’t under guard,” Edgar muttered.

Gibs ground his teeth. “Well, if we’re under guard then it won’t matter if the rifles are all up the same tree or if they’ve been jammed up a moose’s ass, will it?”

“Quiet down, you guys,” Amanda cut in. “They’re nearly here. Get ready to smile and wave.”

Several of them drew in sharp breaths, lifted chins, and put on open, welcoming faces. Obscured behind Oscar’s bulk, the fingers of Gibs’s right hand twitched rapidly.

The trucks came to a stop nearly fifty feet away from the survivors of the Jackson Commune. They parked abreast of each other, doors opening almost simultaneously, and people began to climb out from every crack and corner. Drivers and passengers stepped down from cabs while more people began to emerge from the rear of the two trucks on the right. There was a very noticeable division between military and non-military folk, and Amanda allowed herself to experience some measure of hope. Making a rapid count of them, she saw there were, in fact, fifteen people dressed in civilian attire.

Quietly, oh so quietly, she whispered, “Wang, do you see any Soldiers dressed in street clothes?”

He took his time in answering. After a few moments, he said only, “Don’t think so.”

“Crazy S.O.B. pulled it off?” whispered a bewildered George.

“Calm down,” Gibs hissed. “Don’t make any assumptions.”

The civilians looked around themselves curiously, necks craning as they rotated in full circles to take in the mountains enclosing the valley. Many began to spot the cabin as they turned. Their eyes widened, and they began to point at various buildings, whispering excitedly to each other.

One of them, a baby-faced kid who nonetheless wore a good two weeks’ worth of beard, looked at their gathered collection of people. His eyes widened in recognition, and he strolled casually over, smiling.

“Jesus…” Gibs growled under his breath.

“It’s okay,” said Wang. He called to the kid as he approached. “Hey, Brian. I was wondering if you’d make it up here.”

Brian thrust his hand out and said, “You had to know there was no chance I’d miss it; not after the stories.” Wang took his hand easily and shook.

“Friend of yours, Sug?” asked Monica.

“Yeah,” Wang grinned. “Guys, this is Brian Chambers. We kind of hit it off in the Fields. He’s not much of a card player, but he knows more Star Wars trivia than any one person has a right to.”

Brian offered up a general wave before his gaze locked on Monica.

“You’re… Monica? Right?”

She nodded, a little confused. He offered his hand out to her, and she took it.

“It’s really good to meet you.” He leaned in closer to her and said, “Wang wouldn’t shut up about you, honestly…”

She smiled despite herself, despite the collection of armed men and women who approached from behind and gently nudged Wang in the rib with a playful elbow. “So what’d he say, then?”

Brian smiled. “I’ll let him explain that later.”

“And you can hang out by the outhouse, dick,” said Wang.

Warren strolled up behind the slowly gathering crowd of civilians. His staff followed in his wake, including familiar faces like Lum, Dawkins, and Kilmer. Gibs noticed more people as he continued to look. Over to the side were Ortega and Jessop; he expected to see the rest of the Short Bus Brigade any time as soon as they stopped shifting around so much. Immediately to Warren’s right was the one they all called Montezuma or just “Zuma”; a hard looking, wiry, brown-skinned Marine with a razor line mustache in perfect accord with the Corps’ Grooming Standard.

To the left of Warren was Jake. Gibs searched his friend over closely, trying to pinpoint any signs of mistreatment or distress. He saw nothing obvious, but then again, trying to discern the man’s state of mind based on appearance was like trying to read the future from the smattering of tea leaves at the bottom of an unlit well. Gibs bit his lip in frustration, wishing they’d dreamed up some kind of hand signal while knowing such a thing would be ridiculously obvious.

Warren advanced through the crowd directly up the center of the mass, splitting the civilians out to either side like a wedge, and stopped a few feet away from the locals. He stood there for a moment, gaze playing out over everyone’s faces, hesitating on some and glossing right over others.

Gibs eventually lost a battle with his patience and said, “Warren, welcome back. Again.”

“How’s it going Jake?” asked Amanda tentatively.

In answer, the man nodded, glanced briefly at Warren, and said, “We’d better get that kitchen fired up. We have a lot of mouths here to feed.”

Gibs hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until that moment. It escaped him in a rush as he felt his bowels uncoil in gratitude. The way they’d planned it, the whole thing could have gone one of two ways, assuming Jake was upright and communicative when they returned. He could have either given them the all-clear or a whole bunch of shit would have impacted a whole bunch of different fans in general. All around him, his friends shifted their positions, some of them laughing shakily. Warren’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally, and Gibs wondered if the man had just somehow sensed what had transpired.

Jake left his position with Warren’s group and traversed the hundred-mile gap over to his own. He turned to address them all, saying, “It’s early yet, but you folks will want to get your camp set up. Stake out the space that seems best to you, avoiding any obviously roped off areas. Once you’ve had a chance to settle in, we’ll see about some supper.”

Warren nodded. His expression was guarded; cautious. He said, “That’s appreciated, Jake, thank you.” He glanced at some of his people, and they rushed off to begin unloading the third five-ton.

Jake turned on the spot and began walking towards the cabin. Gibs and Amanda rushed to follow behind him. Some of the others made to follow as well, such as Davidson, Monica, and Fred, but Gibs only shook his head at them and patted the air with his hand; a “not just yet” gesture. They nodded and hung back.

Trailing behind Jake, Amanda hissed, “So what happened out there?”

“Come on inside the cabin, and I’ll tell you.”

“Fine,” grunted Gibs. “What comes after?”

“Well, we feed them, like I said…”

“I mean after that? What’s the next stage of the plan?”

“Not sure,” said Jake thoughtfully. “I was rather hoping some opportunity would jump out at me but… I’m kind of drawing a blank at the moment.”

“Well that’s just out-fucking-standing!” groaned Gibs.

“It’s better than it could have been,” said Jake. He opened the door of the cabin and held it for the other two. As they passed into the home, he muttered, “You managed to get those rifles stashed?”

He shut the door and followed them down the hallway.

Amanda said, “Yeah, well enough.”

Jake nodded. “Good. Leave them where they’re at a while. Just in case we fail to come up with anything.”

That evening’s supper was the largest that any of the valley inhabitants had yet organized and remained so for some time after. Cooking a meal for some fifty-one people had been no small task in the old world, where things like supermarkets, fresh produce, and ample refrigeration had been available. Now living in a world of hunting, subsistence, and whatever leftovers could be had, the task was elevated to that of an ordeal. Every one of the people who lived there down to the children pitched in to see it accomplished.