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

“You’re taking too big of a bite,” Victor said. “Don’t swing it so damned hard; driving it all the way in won’t get it done any faster. I think you’ve figured that out by now, anyway.”

“You know the proper way?” Jake asked.

“Oh, sure. I worked on a curb and gutter crew, once upon a time.”

Jake held the pickaxe out to him and asked, “Would you be willing to show me? I’d appreciate the hell out of it.”

Victor took the pickaxe and rested it on the ground against his knee. He used the hem of his sweater to rub the sweat from the haft and then removed his jacket, which he handed over to Jake. He lifted the tool, gripping the handle towards the bottom with his left hand and at the middle with his right, such that both hands were spaced about a foot and a half apart. He bent his knees, glanced at Jake, and said, “It’s more of a marathon than a sprint, okay? If you only had to dig one hole, what you’re doing isn’t so bad. But if you have to dig a bunch of holes, you need to save your strength so you can go all day. So…”

He began to dig away at the soil, taking fast, controlled bites out of the earth. The pick itself only dug into the ground by about five inches or so, but he was able to quickly churn the ground into a little pit of broken dirt clods and rocks. The pick itself never came any higher than his shoulders, but soon the entire staked-off area had become a natural bucket of sifted material.

“Your friend over there has it down,” Victor grunted as he worked. “I’m guessing you guys had a bit of a disagreement or something; he seemed a little pissed when you walked away from him.”

“Yes,” Jake admitted sadly. “We get along just fine, normally, though we don’t always work together very well.”

“Grab that shovel?” Victor asked, gesturing at one standing against the wheelbarrow.

“Of course,” Jake said, and trotted over to retrieve it. As he went, he noticed that the people from Warren’s group were leaned forward in their direction, watching them closely. Their collective gaze was intent, and any laughter that might have once lingered was by now extinguished. Warren noticed this as well; he watched his people closely rather than what Jake, Victor, or Oscar did.

When Jake returned with the shovel, Victor asked him to clear out the loose soil. He did so, making a small pile to the side of the hole. Without waiting, Victor returned to churning up the base, chipping away at it in the same, small, dragging swipes as before. The head of the pickaxe ducked quickly, resembling a pecking bird far more than a digging tool. Within a short period of time, Victor straightened up and asked Jake to shovel out the excess again.

They repeated the process two more times before a third man approached. He stood watching them a moment, slightly removed. He ran a hand through blonde hair before saying, “How goes it, Victor?”

Victor glanced up from his work at the pick; he hadn’t noticed that someone had come out to join them. “Hey, Andrew.”

“Could you guys use a hand?”

Victor glanced at Jake, who nodded and smiled. “There’s another shovel over by that wheelbarrow. My friend Oscar could use a hand, I’m sure.”

Andrew glanced back at the collection of tools before offering a lazy grin. “You got it,” he said and went to retrieve that shovel. He joined Oscar shortly after and the two men fell into working together rather easily. A few moments later, Oscar caught Jake’s attention, shook his head slightly and mouthed, “ What the fuck? ”

Jake only smiled and shrugged back at him.

Oscar shook his head and giggled to himself quietly. “Fucking Jedi and shit,” he muttered happily.

“What’s that?” Andrew asked between grunts.

“Nothin’ homie. You’re good.”

More people came out to help as the day wore on; at first only a couple but then later a large handful. They got so many volunteers that Oscar had to stop actively working in favor of directing activity, falling easily back into his old foreman role. He sent two of them, a man and woman, off to retrieve the scrap lumber forms he’d made as well as the metal post anchors and when they returned, he showed them how to set one into the first hole and brace it off with stakes and two-by-fours.

As they began to work their way up the line, he retrieved another two people and began showing them how to set up a carpenter’s level, first anchoring it to the tripod and then adjusting the screws until the vial bubble read center. He then sent one of them over to the first form in the series of holes with a long stick and showed the man who remained by his side how to shoot a grade, first adjusting the level and then asking him to look through the scope and note the mark on the stick held by the other man.

When he was sure they understood how to transfer that elevation from form to form (marking the height off on a concrete stake driven into the ground next to each hole), he pointed out two more people and got them started on mixing concrete in the wheelbarrow. Before long, they had a crew of eight people working the field at once, not counting Oscar or Jake, and Oscar troubled to learn all of their names so he wouldn’t be forced to refer to them as “you” and “you .” They worked hard for him, and he found their names were easily remembered.

It is a natural condition of human psychology that people follow. It’s so simple and common that most of us don’t even like to admit that this is a behavior to which we’re predisposed, though we might show evidence of this condition every day in our unconscious behavior. In the old world, people might have lined up at the closed door of a vacant bathroom to wait miserably, as the minutes ticked away, for a nonexistent occupant to exit. All it would have taken was for one brave soul to step away from the herd and try the door handle. Of course, when the door opened freely, the rest of the people in line would have laughed at their own foolishness, though they all stood there obediently a moment before, never thinking to question their own actions.

People think on this kind of follower behavior and disdain it as something unfavorable, mostly because the situations in which this behavior betrays them are embarrassing, and thus stick with them uncomfortably in memory. They rarely stop to consider why such a behavior might have emerged in the first place. They don’t spend a great deal of time regarding those instances in which such sheepish behavior might be beneficial.

Were a movie theater to catch fire in the middle of a feature film, it would be the rare (and arguably idiotic) individual that resolved to maintain his seat, scoffing at the mob for their pathetic need to assimilate, to fit in, as they fled the growing flames. Such a trailblazer would have theoretically recused himself from the gene pool. It’s a problem that solves itself, really.

Warren thought about these things as he saw more and more people take up tools and work the field, many of them obviously having never held such tools in their life. They all took instruction eagerly and set to, awkwardly at first, and then with growing confidence. He thought about the nature of sheep and their propensity to follow; how that herd mentality kept them alive in a natural world. The statistical advantage of it all.

He watched a once-idle people now move with purpose and noted many of them jumping with an energy he didn’t recognize. As he watched, he realized they moved with urgency. They moved like Marines and Soldiers. He glanced at his own men and women; saw that they no longer looked on in amusement. They nodded appreciatively as the civvies bent their backs to the land. They muttered in support of the action and showed respect.

All at once, Warren saw the mission of these proto-farmers clearly and understood their response to it. Warren took in what Jake had intended him to see. His eyes widened unconsciously.