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

He did so, and there were a few low whistles from the curious onlookers that held themselves apart from the conversation out of respect.

The case contained a long, black rifle; something much longer than the more standard rifles the rest of them carried. Monica, who had been trained on several different variants, noted the existence of a turn bolt operating lever in place of the usual forward assist. The barrel was beefier than she was used to seeing; stuck out a great deal more. A fat suppressor sat just below the weapon, cradled in the case’s sponge padding. Rather than the tiny optics she’d become accustomed to in her time on the commune, this rifle had a giant scope that measured a full third of the rifle’s total length.

“This is an XM2010,” said Hughes. “It’s the US Army’s sniper rifle. It’s chambered in .300 Winchester Magnum—we’ll leave you plenty of ammo for it, though I think Gibs stated that you have a bit of it here as well—with an effective range of twelve-hundred meters. And, you know, with a little practice I’d bet you could push that out a touch more.”

Wang stared at the rifle, mouth open, grasping for a response. He looked up at the men surrounding him.

“Holy shit,” Montez laughed. “You actually shocked Tripod speechless. You better mark that down on the calendar, man, that’s some kind of special achievement!”

Wang laughed along with them, looking a little shaken, and said, “Otter’s cool with this?”

Hughes nodded. “Of course. I cleared it with him first. He said it was the right thing to do.”

Wang looked back down at the rifle. He laid his hands on it gently, feeling the ridges of the handguard before he found the bipod. He flipped it down, pulled open the bolt, and laid the weapon across the table. As he removed the caps from the scope, Hughes said, “The cheek rest and butt are adjustable—you turn those knobs on the stock, see?”

Wang glanced at the points indicated by the sergeant, nodded, and then eased his eye toward the glass. He found the image quickly, but it was so blurry that he couldn’t even begin to guess what he was looking at. Instinctively, his left hand found a ring on the barrel of the scope by touch alone; he turned it slowly, and the quality of the image changed. He turned it more until the image resolved and, when it finally locked into focus, he was amazed to see that he could count individual pine needles on the tree branches out along the valley wall.

He looked at the others standing around him and said, “I don’t know what to say…”

Montez sat down next to him at the table and leaned in close to speak, close enough that Monica had to strain her ears to listen. “You don’t need to say nuthin’, Tripod. You’re one of us, right? You been one of us since you threw down with our crew. You’re family. That makes your people our family too.”

He glanced significantly at Monica and Rose.

“So you take that rifle, you take care of it, get familiar with it, and you use it to protect your family, rah?”

Wang nodded and whispered, “Thank you.” He looked up at the others standing around him and repeated, “Thank you.”

Montez reached out with his arm, hooked Wang around the back of the neck, and gave him a soft head-butt. As their heads touched, he hissed, “Kill!” before releasing him. He stood abruptly, cleared his throat loudly, and slapped Wang a few times on the shoulder before departing. He sniffed and cleared his throat again as he walked off. The others followed after belatedly, shaking hands and knocking fists with Wang as they passed.

Jake, Amanda, and Gibs stood on the porch shoulder to shoulder, each holding a mug. They watched Montez as he walked straight for Lum, who stood next to Samantha, holding her hand as though he braced for an oncoming storm.

“How do you think it plays out?” Amanda asked.

“Lum is staying,” Jake said. “He already spoke with me about it; asked permission actually, though I told him asking was absurd.”

“Young love,” Gibs laughed.

“Indeed,” said Jake. “As only young love can be.”

“None of the others mentioned staying? Dawkins? Tarlow?” asked Amanda.

Shaking his head, Jake said, “No, they never even approached me. I guess Lum even had some explaining to do with them; they weren’t happy about it.”

“They’re friends,” Gibs said. “More importantly, they’ve humped through the same shit. They’ll understand.”

They went silent as they saw Montez and Lum first shake hands and then yank each other into a crushing, back-slapping hug.

The three of them lifted their mugs absentmindedly and drank.

They were still on the porch when the last truck exited the valley sometime later. Gibs sat upon the railing, cleaning under his fingernails with a pocket knife, while Jake sat in one of the Adirondack chairs examining the bottom of his cup. Amanda stood at the top of the steps leaning against the beam supporting the awning. She retracted her hand, which she’d been using to wave only a moment before, and hooked a thumb through her belt loop.

She watched the remainder of the people milling about the valley, all of whom looked a little lost. The people who had lived there the longest—people like Oscar, George, Tom, Monica, and so on—began to drift back to their homes, often times staying together in two’s or three’s, not yet ready to be alone. Their new neighbors remained, looking after the valley exit like small children left at daycare for the first time in their lives; waiting anxiously for their mothers or fathers to retrieve them. Amanda could easily sympathize. The only life they’d known for the last year or so had been with the people who just left them behind. They had all been living rough in a bunch of tents struggling day to day, sure, but they had done it together. Those familiar faces would have been a comfort through difficult times. Those familiar faces that were now leaving.

She mused that it must be a unique kind of torture for them; knowing their friends were gone while understanding that they were all still so close by—the camp by the mountain entrance still had to be taken down. Warren and his people had estimated another two hours of work ahead of them before they could really be off down the road. How many of their new friends were thinking about that very fact right now? She imagined all of them must be. Would any of them have second thoughts and back out at the last minute; demand to be taken back down to the camp?

She figured it must be a possibility. If it came to that, she would drive them back personally, no questions asked. Amanda knew a thing or two about being homesick for people rather than some place.

In time, the newcomers began to break off and seek their own homes, their brand new shiny residences; either container home or camper. There was that, at least—they had some solid, insulated walls around them now, a place of permanence and comfort. That had to go for something.

As the common ground divested itself of people, Jake finally spoke up.

“What is it, exactly, that Andrew wishes to keep an eye on, do you think?”

“How’s that?” asked Gibs. Amanda already knew what he was talking about. She sighed uneasily.

“When we all had that meeting to finalize the headcount. Those staying behind with us? Andrew began to say that he wanted to keep an eye on something but then stopped himself.”