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

“We’d better find somewhere else to store that resupply,” Jake observed.

“Noted.”

They looked back out to the valley entrance. After a few moments of silence, Jake said, “So… thoughts?”

“I have a few,” said Gibs. “The first thing that comes to mind is a fougasse.”

“Excellent. What’s a fougasse?”

Smiling, Gibs turned his back to the valley to lean his ass against the porch railing. He lifted his mug, which was nearly empty anyway, up to shoulder level between himself and Jake, and said, “Picture a really big mortar—like the size of a trash barrel or even bigger—but buried underground…”

He tilted the mug at a forty-five-degree angle and then placed a flat left hand over the top of the rim.

“My hand is the ground, see? We dig a big-ass hole, like this, maybe give it a concrete base to help shape the charge, and then fill it with some explosive followed by a bunch of shrapnel.”

“Shrapnel, huh? Where do you get the shrapnel? We have to make it?”

“Don’t over-complicate it,” Gibs said, lowering the mug. “They started using these in the sixteenth century. They’d fill the hole with several hundred pounds of black powder and a few tons of stone. This is not advanced warfare.”

“Huh,” Jake muttered thoughtfully. He’d turned again to look out at the valley exit, or rather glimpsing of it what he could through the new greenhouses.

“I could start working something up with Oscar?” Gibs suggested.

“Fine, but keep it quiet.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about these, Jake. They’ll be perfectly safe. We’ll use some of the C4 that Warren left us; you’ll have to use a battery to set it off.”

“That’s not what I’m thinking about. You should know that Edgar approached Warren at one point.”

“He… did what?”

“Before things were settled between us. Warren told me later on. Edgar went to him and offered to help him take control here. I don’t know any more than that; Warren didn’t offer any specifics. I think he was afraid I’d retaliate against Edgar.”

“Retaliate…” Gibs whispered absently.

“At any rate, you can imagine why I’d like to keep it quiet, yes? Loose lips and such.”

Straining to maintain control, Gibs managed to say, “Yeah…” His voice shook noticeably.

“Good, then. I’ll leave you to it.”

The cabin door shut quietly behind Gibs, but he would have missed it even if it had been slammed. His eyes bored into the side of the RV several yards distant. Jaw clenching spasmodically, a black cloud roiled in his mind.

Edgar Muller sat quietly at the dinette table of the RV he shared with Fred Moses, reading an old dog-eared paperback. He’d become something of a homebody of late, preferring to while away his idle hours within that little walled-in universe of plywood, aluminum, and Formica as opposed to being outside with the others. He told himself this behavior had everything to do with valuing his privacy, not even bothering to consider that he might still be stinging from having extended such a reasonable proposal to that pompous ass of a Commander, receiving only a rebuke for his efforts.

Certainly not. He was an educated man of reason, after all, and such things did not affect him. If people didn’t want to listen to him, didn’t care to heed his warnings, well… that was their choice, wasn’t it? Just as it was his choice to sit back and watch as people flailed around, attempting to make sound decisions, and failing miserably.

He needn’t lift a finger to help at all, really. He could simply retire from the business of trying to-

A rapid series of heavy thuds shook the RV’s door in its frame.

“Good lord,” Edgar breathed, putting his book down. It sounded like whoever it was on the other side wanted to punch a hole through it.

Another barrage fell upon the door as he slid from the dinette seat.

“Just a minute!” Edgar called.

The door opened on Gibs, now quite a bit shorter for being outside of the camper on the ground—Edgar enjoyed the sensation of looking down at him. There was a screen door between them; Gibs grasped it and slowly pulled it open.

“Gibs! This is a bit of a surp—”

“Is Fred here?”

“Err… Fred?”

“Is he here?”

“Uh, well no, I think he’s over—”

He was interrupted by Gibs climbing the steps into the RV. He stepped deliberately into Edgar’s space, eyes locked on the former accountant’s. Confused, Edgar only stood there and watched the man come, quite unclear on what was happening. Just before his nose made contact with Edgar’s sternum, Gibs extended his hand and shoved.

Edgar squawked absurdly as he fell back onto the love-seat, head bouncing sharply off the window behind him. A study in indignancy, he raised an index finger; opened his mouth to protest.

Before he could speak the first word, Gibs whispered, “Edgar, it’s costing me a lot of goddamned energy to refrain from dragging you out of this box and kicking your ass across the whole fucking mountain range. I’d suggest you take a moment to consider that before duly securing your cock holster.”

“Do what-!”

“Shut… your… cunt… mouth.”

The Marine was bent over at the waist, close enough that Edgar could smell the mixed odors of coffee and whiskey on his breath. He pulled away until his back was nearly one with the seat cushion, clicking his teeth together painfully.

Straightening back up, Gibs stated, “I know you went to Warren.”

There were few sensations in life that Edgar detested as much as the sickening, gut-souring experience of true panic; the tingling wave originating at the crown of the head, cascading down the skull, face, chest, and shoulders, finally ending at the pit of the stomach as the body dumped adrenaline into the bloodstream. The constriction of heart and lungs. The watery tumult of slackening bowels. His mind began to race, stuttering over fragments of possible responses, finding none appropriate as he considered the fact that he did not yet understand the full extent of Gibs’s knowledge; what could safely be said. He locked up like a frightened rabbit, blinking rapidly and mouth fully agape.

“You offered him an ‘in’; a way to take over, didn’t you? What were you going to do? Leave the doors unlocked? Leave the light on for him?”

Edgar’s eyes flicked down to see Gibs’s hands, clenching and unclenching at his sides, shaking raggedly with yellow-white knuckles. He said, “I just wanted to avoi—”

Gibs’s right fist came up against the side of Edgar’s jaw, not striking it but pressing into it harshly, as though he wanted nothing more in the world than to knock it from his face and was held back by some invisible force. Trembling, the knuckles wedged harder into his jawline, forcing his head over at an angle. Gibs spat through clenched teeth, “Shut yer fuckin’ mouth! I swear to god shut yer fuckin’ mouth I’ll break yer fuckin’ neck!” Gibs yanked his fist away; allowing Edgar’s head to yaw painfully back into place. He rubbed frightfully at the ache it left behind.

“I don’t know what your game was—don’t know if you were looking to set yourself up nice, though who the fuck knows how you could have it any nicer around here. I don’t give a shit. You never, ever rat-fuck your people. You and I have had our issues, but I never would have thought you’d pull that shit, you… fucking … birth defect .”

Bending over again, Gibs placed his fists to either side of Edgar, knuckles braced on the couch’s backrest, and pushed his forehead into Edgar’s, bulldozing him backward until his skull contacted the back window, hard bone plowing into the bridge of the man’s nose. To his horror, Edgar heard a slow, repetitive growl issuing deep from within Gibs’s throat and realized it was the sound of the man breathing. The pressure against his nose transitioned from uncomfortable to outright painful, and he began to anticipate the glass at the back of his head splintering; slicing open his scalp. He began to grunt uncontrollably, then whimpered as he heard the sound he was making with his own mouth—the sound of a small pig rutting in muddy shit.