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

“You can cinch that back up,” he said.

“Hey, you’re okay,” I said. “We’re good.”

“Yeah,” he grunted. He went back to the truck to peek at Lizzy and make sure she was alright. He opened the door and started talking quietly to her.

“Here we go,” Billy said as he came back. He was holding out what looked like the world’s oldest and most comfortable flannel by the shoulders for me to slide into. “That looks pretty good,” he said as he circled around me. “Just let that rifle dangle on the sling. Yeah, perfect.” He pulled out four magazines and jammed them into the pouches on my hip.

“Okay, reach back there and grab one of those.”

I did as he asked, noting how hard I had to pull to get it loose. They wouldn’t come bouncing out if I had to run, at least.

“Okay, shoulder the rifle… good. When you reload, you’re going to continue holding the grip with your right hand just like you are now. You’ll insert the magazine with your left hand like so…” He guided my hand into position and showed me what it felt like to set the magazine home. “Good. Now you’ll use your left hand to charge the weapon by pulling that operating lever there on the side.”

I reached up and did so.

“Okay, good deal,” he said, “but now you’re set to pop. You need to be aware of what’s happening with your muzzle at all times, okay? Wherever you have that thing pointed, what’s on the other end will have a really bad day. Pointing down at the ground isn’t enough. If I’m standing in front of you and the rifle goes off, the ricochet from the ground will still bounce into me and kill me, got it? Always point in a safe direction.”

“Got it.”

“In fact,” he continued, appraising me, “you just stay in front of me when we’re out on foot, got it? I want to watch you a bit before I let you get behind me.”

“That’s probably the right idea,” I agreed. I didn’t want to shoot him in the back any more than he wanted to get shot in the back.

“The safety operates just like the one on your M16… you do know how that works, right?”

“I do,” I told him and showed him with my thumb.

“Well, that’s at least one-up you have on Jake,” he mumbled. “Okay, moving on—you eject your magazine with your index finger; just press this button on the side of the guard. Go ahead and do it now.”

I did, and the magazine dropped all the way out of the gun and bounced in the dirt.

“That’s how you do it,” he said. “Don’t reach up to grab it when it comes out. Don’t bend over to pick it up if you’re in a firefight. Just let it fall out on the ground, slap another one in there, and press this little button back here under the stock with your left thumb, understand? We can always come back and collect magazines after any fighting is over.”

“Wait,” I interrupted, “so I pull the lever when I put a magazine in, or I press this button back here?”

Billy nodded. “I get you. It depends on the position of the bolt when you put the magazine in. He rolled the gun over while I held it so I could look at its side. “See that window there? You see how you can’t really look inside there?”

I nodded.

“Okay, watch…” he said and pulled the charging handle back. When he did, a bullet dropped out onto the ground. “See how it’s open now? If you’ve shot the gun dry, that little window will be wedged open. This thing here,” he indicated a hunk of metal deep inside the opening, “is basically the bolt, which blocks another bullet’s entry to the chamber when it’s closed. If the bolt is closed when you load in a new magazine, the top of that magazine slams into it and there’s no way for a bullet to get chambered, so you have to pull that handle to open the bolt and get a bullet into the pipe.”

It started to make sense. “I see. So if the bolt is open when I’ve finished a magazine, I don’t have to open it again.”

“That’s right,” Billy said. He put the dropped bullet back into the magazine and stuck the magazine back in my gun. “Okay, run it.”

“Huh?”

“Point at some spot out in the distance and shoot that mag empty.”

“Aren’t you worried about attracting attention?” I asked.

“Not as worried as I am about getting jumped with a partner who has never fired her weapon. Honestly, we’re pushing the bounds of sensibility as it is. You’d be spending several hours getting comfortable with that thing if this was a perfect world. Now go ahead. Run it.”

I pulled the handle and aimed. I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

“Safety…”

“Yep, sorry,” I said. I flipped the safety lever down, aimed, and pulled the trigger. I want to say that the gun didn’t fire so much as it sneezed; a short little jerk up against my shoulder. From the looks of it and the thickness of its stock, I was expecting it to slam into me, but that wasn’t the case at all. A light, refined little jerk was all it gave me. The sound, on the other hand…

“That’s really loud,” I said, massaging my ear.

“I know, we’ll see if we can find you ear plugs somewhere,” Billy agreed. “As for the kick, it was the first one of its kind I had encountered when I shot it too. 5.56 isn’t exactly a hard kicking round, to begin with, but I was amazed at how manageable it is with this gun. It’s why I’m giving it to you: small, easy to lug, easy to fire—it all makes up for how awkward it is to load. Okay, go ahead and keep shooting and when you do, I want you to focus on squeezing the trigger down until it starts to resist your finger and then take the shot.”

I did as he advised and shot the magazine empty. As soon as I was finished, Billy was beginning to tell me what I should do next. Instead of waiting for him, I released the magazine, yanked another one off my hip, slapped it in place, and reached back to hit the release button. It all felt relatively smooth until I had to find that button; I searched around for it a little with my thumb before I got it.

“Not bad, Little Sis,” he said. “Now put the safety on that thing before you end up shooting my favorite Indian,” he said as he bent over to get the dropped magazine. While he was down there, he pulled another full magazine out of the duffel and handed it up to me. I stuck it into my hip pouch.

“What else is in that bag?” I asked, squatting next to him.

“A few extra goodies, just in case,” Billy said and spread it open for me. It was loaded full of gear—I could see at least three rifles, several magazines of various size and shape running around loose, and what appeared to be enough boxes of shotgun rounds to choke an elephant.

“Wow,” I whispered. “You’re carrying an arsenal around.”

“This is just a small piece of it,” he said. “There’s more in the van. I told you, we did really well in Vegas.”

“What, did you guys raid a police station?”

“Naw, those were the first places to get picked over. There was a low-key shipping warehouse that I knew of out there; I used to buy a lot of goodies from the company online and noticed that the stuff was always coming to me from Vegas. When the world went to hell, I started looking for supplies in the obvious places like your Walmarts, outdoor stores, and the like. Those places were all picked clean because everyone knew that stuff was there. I figured very few people would know about a nondescript shipping warehouse. Turns out I was right.” He smiled, eyes twinkling.

“I’m going to get geared up,” Billy said. “Go grab yourself a backpack; throw some food and some waters in it.”

I walked over to the truck, experimenting with the rifle as I went. I noticed that I could just let it hang from the sling, which was fairly comfortable, but the barrel still bounced off my legs as I walked. I grabbed the grip with my right hand to steady it and point the barrel off at an angle to my left, and the problem went away. I suddenly understood why the soldiers I had seen in the footage from the Middle East all seemed to have the exact same stance and posture with their rifles. I feel silly saying this (I never went through one-tenth the training that those people did, not even now with the benefit of Gibs’s drills) but I felt a connection to them at that moment. It occurred to me that this new world was something to which people like me would quickly have to adapt or die. For those men and women who had done tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, this would just be like any other day. If they had survived the plague, I imagined they would be doing just fine right now.