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

“Go on,” he urged. “These are good people. They’ll hear you out.”

She looked across the table at Jake, who waited patiently for her to speak. His lips were cracked slightly so he could breathe and his chest expanded visibly as he did so, as though the weight of his body made a chore of the activity. His eyebrows were peaked together in concern, furrowing wrinkles like valleys across his forehead. She thought he might be hiding the saddest eyes she’d never see somewhere behind that imperative gaze.

Clearing her throat, Patricia said, “There are fifteen children traveling with us—”

Jake’s eyes flicked to Gibs briefly before centering back to her. It was fast but just enough to stop her short for the briefest moment.

“—and… five of them are orphans. I’ve, uh, I’ve taken them into my care…”

She trailed off, searching internally for the best phrasing. Out of a desire to alleviate her struggle, Amanda leaned forward to catch her eye and said, “Your wish is that these children be allowed to stay here?”

“Well, them as well as me. I… I can’t walk away from them now. I was hoping that the other families with children could stay too, actually, but… well, it sounds like that won’t work. But these orphans… with me that’s only six people. That’s not a deal breaker, right?”

Jake cocked his head, looking away from her to some distant, undefined point. Patricia stiffened in her chair at this and warned, “I’m not dragging them one more mile across this country.”

Without looking back, he asked, “Are they able to work?”

“Are… what?”

“Physically. Can they work?”

“Jesus Christ, Jake—” Gibs muttered.

“What kind of work?” Patricia asked quickly.

Now Jake returned his gaze to meet hers. The compassion was gone, she noted. Looking closely at him, Amanda could see the gears beginning to turn.

“Nothing crazy, of course, but we all pitch in here. Rose is our eldest—she’ll be fifteen very soon, now—and she’s begun to range out on her own with the bow, bringing down small game. The younger kids do similar, but they’re not allowed out alone and are not given weapons; they set snares, you see. Ben pitches in a lot with the washing. He’s growing into a particularly strong young man, and you’d be surprised what doing laundry the old-fashioned way demands of your arms… or maybe you wouldn’t.”

He added this last bit thoughtfully as he appraised her shoulders.

“And then, no matter the age, if they can speak and comprehend then they must attend school.”

“You hold school sessions here?” Patricia asked, a little amazed.

“Nobody told you this?”

“No, I only arrived yesterday. Most everyone back at the camp has only been talking about the food and the greenhouses. A lot of them are really excited.”

“Ah, I suppose that makes sense,” Jake nodded. “Well, yes we do. Nothing terribly formal but we are making an effort to preserve the most important skills; reading, writing, math, critical thinking, problem-solving, and so forth…”

“What about history?” Warren grunted. Gibs shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I’m sorry?” asked Jake.

“History. American history? World history?”

Jake cleared his throat. “Well… I don’t really monitor the curriculum in detail, but… yes, I’m sure the subject of history is covered insofar as it’s relevant to our survival. George and Alish are our credentialed teachers, here. You’re welcome to interview them.”

Patricia nodded absently, seemingly lost in her own thoughts, while the others sat quietly and waited. Finally, she said, “The youngest of them is either four or five, I’d guess. I can’t tell for sure because he doesn’t talk… or he refuses to. I don’t know, maybe he’s mute. The oldest of them is thirteen and—”

“They can stay,” Amanda interrupted. Attention whipped in her direction though she appeared not to notice or care. Stiff-backed, she looked straight at Patricia, her expression strained. “You and the five orphans. You stay. We’ll make it work.”

Patricia’s eyes welled up as she nodded. Her nose reddened, almost before their eyes, before the tears spilled down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

Amanda nodded and looked at Jake, the hint of a challenge in her arched eyebrow, but he only smiled at her softly and said, “That makes fourteen slots to fill, then.”

“I’d like to stay,” Andrew said.

Warren scratched at his brick of a chin, wincing. “Are you sure?”

Andrew nodded. “They don’t need me, Otter, they have you. Hell, they trust you now as much as they do me. Half the time all they ever ask me is ‘well, what does Otter say?’”

“We’ll still miss you,” said Warren. “Having you around to help made the job considerably easier. Man, we’ve been traveling together since before it all fell.”

“I know. But I want to stick here. I want to see it through, you know? Keep an eye… Well, I’d like to see it through.”

“I think it’s agreeable for all of us, isn’t it?” asked Jake, looking around at his people, who all nodded easily. “Yes, you’ve been a valued member from the start, what with your ability to organize and put your people at ease. Let’s do this: would you put a list of names together for the people who’d like to stay? You probably don’t want to speak for anyone here and… well, you may have a round of arguing to work through with your own people.”

Andrew bugged his eyes slightly and nodded. “I can think of a few already. You want me to bring this list back to you?”

“Please. We’ll want to meet each person on the list to get to know them. My people will be holding votes internally and will reserve final say on the matter.”

“Agreed,” rumbled Warren. He shook hands with Jake, Amanda, and Gibs before ushering his people from the cabin.

Commander Otto Warren and the remainder of his people left the commune a little over a week later. The residents of the valley had made their best effort for arguing in favor of a going-away feast in gratitude for all he and his people had done, though Warren declined with regrets. He simply wasn’t willing to enjoy such a thing if all of the people traveling with him couldn’t eat at the table, and there were far too many of his people for the little community of survivors to support. Ultimately, Jake had offered a few bottles of good, high-end liquor to be enjoyed by those present in a toast. All things considered, the compromise was enthusiastically accepted.

Many stood around chatting during this event, some in little pockets off to the side while others spoke openly in large, hearty conversations that simply could not be ignored. People flitted in and out of these sub-gatherings, drawn from pocket to pocket, anxious to be taking in as much of it as they could—as though each interaction was intensely precious. There was an acute melancholia in the air, in their eyes; hands grasped arms and held overlong; smiles lingered. Bright smiles worn like armor against breaking hearts.

Demands had been made on the days running up to the departure. Several people down in the camp knew the time was coming, of course, and clamored for an invite up to the valley on the last day. Ever concerned for propriety, Warren had dictated an additional thirty would be allowed and directed his people to select additional headcount as they saw fit. Lots were drawn over the period of an hour, and those people lucky enough to win were piled into one of the great trucks along with a few Soldiers to make the long, winding climb up into the heart of the mountain.

They rushed from the truck like excited children when they arrived, eyes wide in amazement at the good work of the inhabitants; the three sprawling greenhouses, new container homes, the additional campers hauled up and positioned by the Marines. For some folk, it was the first time they’d ever set eyes on the valley and, though they knew they would miss their friends who stayed behind, were glad for the obvious safety those remaining people would enjoy.