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

Why do you always look like you’re concentrating so hard? Clay thought. What’s playing through that empty fucking head of yours that screws your face up so?

“Pretty up here, right?” Ronny said. He almost laughed, and Clay nearly felt the bottom drop out of his guts. He felt as though someone was being conned and he didn’t know why. He thought he might be able to feel his blood pressure spiking.

“So, now what, Ronny?”

The man drew up short. He shoved a palm over lank hair and asked, “What now what?”

Spreading his hands, Clay said, “This place has all the answers, right? All the fucking farming and so forth? Okay, where do we go now?”

Ronny’s eyes widened in disbelief. “We… need to find…”

“Need to find? Well yes, I should say so.” He rotated slowly, looking out over the surrounding area; the ruined park; gas stations wound up in caution tape as though they’d been the victim of some giant spider; signs everywhere that said “No Gas”, “No Food or Water”, “No Shelter”, and “No Help”. “So… where do we go to find it?”

“Well, I don’t know—”

“You don’t know! Well, sweet Jesus Christ…” Clay strode over the pavement, closing the distance between them. “You mean to tell me you don’t actually know? That all you really had was the name of a fucking city? A city that’s starting to look to me more like a fucking squirt of a little town the more I look at it? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Ronny sighed and set his jaw. An old rage began to turn circles just behind his eyes, and this put Clay at ease. It was a condition he was familiar with; a behavior he knew how to handle. “Sure, if you’re gonna stick words in my mouth.”

Leaning in close to whisper, Clay said, “Fucking pray that’s the only thing I stick in your mouth, Ronny. Perhaps you wanna hold off your little celebration dance until you actually deliver, huh?”

Also whispering, Ronny said, “Well, then why the fuck are we over here measuring dicks?” He bugged his eyes over Clay’s shoulder. “I see that map over there. Suppose we start out by dividing up our new city… or town or whatever the fuck you choose to call it? We’ll get settled in, I’ll get some searches rolling, and with a little time I guess I’ll save everybody’s ass yet again.”

The hooded lids of Clay’s eyes widened in a flare of annoyance, red-rimmed with a fine tracery of veins. “Careful, little cocksucker. Right now is a good time to be just oh so careful.”

He turned to the side to let Ronny pass. As he walked by, Clay’s eyes followed, intent and unblinking, like he was starving and a steaming porterhouse steak wheeled along on a trolley just out of reach. They followed Ronny’s back all the way to the table.

Everyone stood around the table quietly, uncomfortably, until Johnny finally said, “Clay?”

“Yeah!” he erupted, as though jerked from sleep. He closed the distance in a few brisk strides, beginning to speak before he even made it over.

“We’re gonna break this place into upper and lower Jackson, okay?”

“Upper ’n’ lower?” Pap grunted.

“Yeah,” Clay said. Pointing at each end of the city on the map, he emphasized, “Upper and lower. What?”

“It’s more like east and west, honestly,” said Elton.

“We’re sure this is the whole thing?” Johnny asked, scratching behind his ear. “What about that little burg we passed through before we got here, right after we hit Wilson Canyon? That could be considered ‘lower,’ right?”

“Kind of far, no?” Doc asked. “Shouldn’t we keep everything in a relative walking distance?”

“Oh, that’s three miles at best, you can’t walk that, Doc?”

“Fucking upper and fucking lower Jackson!” Clay barked, causing the rest of them to jump. He waited a few moments to ensure they truly had clammed up before attempting to move on. “Now… we’re going to position so th—honestly, what the fuck is it with you people, huh? Jesus Christ, it’s always a fucking discussion, isn’t it? Every little thing a hard-won debate. Whether east Jackson or west Jackson, up or down or this one wants to take issue with the other. Important shit to figure out and you assholes want to go round and round over the color of the fucking curtains. Can you focus? Huh? For Christ’s sweet sake? Before I fucking die?”

“Sorry, Baws…”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Okay, okay,” Johnny said. “Upper and lower, we got it. Let’s… let’s please…?” He indicated the map, suddenly uncomfortable under Clay’s irate gaze.

“Upper and fucking lower fucking Jackson,” he enunciated. “We’ll spread out such that we have equal coverage over both halves, so we’re talking roughly two hundred people in each area—yes, I know, Johnny, goddamn it, that we’re not at four hundred people anymore. We’ll take a head count and figure that out later.

“Now, I’m going to encamp up here at Snow King Resort with a few folks. Ronny, I want you to send the majority of your people to lower Jackson and set some guard points where we came in down by High School road (Jesus Christ, thoughtful bunch of people they were, huh?) and also up at the cross of Boyles Hill and the 221. Stick a few people up at the mouth of Teton Pass too, okay? Elton, you’ll take your people and have a few encamp up at the north point of the 191 where it enters upper Jackson. Put a few up at… what the fuck does that say there… National Elk Refuge, isn’t it? Jesus. Yeah, and then, uh, Cache Creek as well.”

He leaned back and swept the map a few times with his eyes. “Yeah, that should do it. Covers all the main entry points, huh? What do you think, O.B.?”

“Sure, it’ll cover casual travel. Anyone familiar with these parts’ll always find a way in, though.”

“Fine, but I’m counting on folks like you to find those holes and plug ’em.”

O.B. smiled—a relaxed, lazy expression—and said, “It’ll take some time. Local knowledge always takes time.”

“Okay, fair enough. Let’s start that shit sooner than later, huh?”

“So it sounds like I’m taking the lower end,” Ronny said. “I’ll round ’em all up and start heading out.”

“Not so fast,” Clay said. “Your people setup where I said, yeah. You’re staying here in Upper.”

“I’m what?”

“You start to rely on certain people Ronny. When you do, it’s a good idea to keep ’em close, huh?”

“Well, how the hell am I going to run my crew, then?”

“You have the radios.”

“You’re serious.”

“Like a fucking heart attack.”

Placing his hands on his hips, Ronny looked up into the sky and exhaled an exasperated laugh. Still looking up at the clouds, he said, “Fine. You’re the ‘ baws ,’ I guess. Come on, Riley, let’s go round everyone up.”

The two men broke off and began to walk slowly back down the 191, Ronny barking orders into his radio. When they were out of earshot, Clay said, “Elton, break off about twenty of your heavy hitters and go find a place to live in Lower Jackson, huh? Attentive guys with good 20/20 vision. Send the rest of your crew out as you see fit.”

Elton nodded and strolled away, Danielle in tow.

“Pap, your people will be divided between both Upper and Lower Jackson, okay? I want them reinforcing all entry points. Keep the machine guns on the trucks, so they’re good and mobile. The diesel trucks, now, not the woodies. They need to be able to roll immediately, not have to sit around waiting for the firebox to come up to temperature, huh?”

“10-4, Baws.” The Texan lumbered off to get his people moving.

Rubbing his palms together, Clay nodded to himself. “Alright. Alright. We’ll get some shit happening here, start taking in supplies from the surrounding area… and we’ll be in business.”