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

“What about the people who are supposed to be here already?” Doc asked.

Clay waved a hand at him. “One thing at a time. We’ll dig in first, and then I guess they’re likely to come calling after too long. And, if they don’t, well then I guess we just go out, find them, and introduce ourselves, don’t we?”

“What are they doing now?”

Lum sighed. “Same thing they’s doin’ the last three times you asked, Drew. Just standin’ still outchyander, like a bunch uh danderlions.”

Andrew pulled a deep breath to calm his annoyance. He laid his rifle over the parapet of the Jackson Hole Distributing rooftop and looked through the optic. As before, the line of people out along the 191 over a quarter of a mile away looked only slightly less blurry than they did with his naked eye. The chevron reticle bloomed obnoxiously in the bright daylight, and he covered the fiber optic with his hand to compensate.

Lum saw this from the corner of his eye and muttered, “Told you to run some tape up that…”

“Never mind. Next time we come out here, I’m bringing some binoculars. This is BS.”

“Still ain’t doin’ nuthin’.”

“Can you count them now? Since they’ve stopped moving?”

Lum shifted onto his knee and glassed down the length of the 191, scrolling until the convoy disappeared behind a row of buildings. “Naw, I can’t even see the end of ’er. Gotta be a few hundred, though.”

“They look mean?”

“Wha… hell, I don’t know, Drew! They look decked out. Some uh them old boy’s’re totin’ them some SAWs…” He rotated, dragging the glasses back up the highway. “Hell, some uh them’re wearin’ flak jackets, less I gone silly.”

Andrew set his rifle down and began to move. Lum hissed, “Keep down, Drew. Mayhap they’ll be glassin’ back this-a-way.”

“Yeah, I gotcha.” He crab-walked to the south edge of the roof and looked over the side. Otis and Tom stood some distance below on the ground. He whispered a “Hey!”, feeling like an idiot for doing so; there was no way anyone out on the highway could possibly hear him. They glanced up at him and shrugged a question.

“Sit tight, guys. They still aren’t doing anything.”

“Well, what the hell do we do when they do something?” Tom demanded.

“I guess that’ll depend on what they end up doing. I don’t know, man! Just hang on a while and be patient.”

Tom muttered angrily under his breath. He began another round of patting the pouches on his rig, habitually checking the location of each bit of gear he carried. Otis waved back up at Andrew and called, “Goan, now. Back to it!”

Lum began waving at him to hurry up as he was crawling back. Heart quickening, he held his hands over the gear strapped to his own rig and scooted back over as quickly as his awkward posture would allow.

“What’s up?”

“A group’s breakin’ off now… see? One of ’em looks to be in charge… maybe some kinda lieutenant or such. Has a radio on him—I don’t suppose you see any of this? Naw, thought not. Okay, there they go—he’s roudin’ up some vee-hicles and rollin’ out yander down the road.”

“The others are staying put?”

“Naw looks like not. That one’s saddlin’ back up with the stout-lookin’ cowboy… an’ a few others too, seems. Yeah… think they’s dividin’ up the town.”

Andrew put his back to it all, settled down on his ass, and leaned against the parapet. He looked up at the high mountainside, stacked almost on top of them, and thought about how nice it might be if the whole world north of their little building simply ceased to exist.

“Well, what do you want to do, Sarge?”

“Guess we better take it back to the others.”

Andrew raised his eyebrows. Leaning his head to the right, he looked at Lum, who still looked north with the binoculars, almost motionless.

“You, uh, you don’t want to go talk to them?”

“Naw. Don’t know yet if they’s Jaspers er peckerwoods.”

“Huh.”

“What, Drew?”

“You guys used to just go introduce yourselves when Otter was around.”

“That’s a big damned crew yander, Drew, and no, we didn’t just wander up and say “hi.” Otter always had Zuma and the other MARSOC guys out to watch ’em awhile an’ see what they’s about first.”

“You’re bullshitting!”

Lum squinted through one eye at Andrew but said nothing.

“You’re not. I had no idea…”

“Well, that’s why you’re you and Otter’s Otter. Now, come on. We better git ’n’ go see Jake. Let him figure out what to do; I’d just as soon be in hell with mah back broke as get this’n wrong.”

They scaled down the side ladder, met up with the others, and hiked the third of a mile south to Flat Creek where it joined with Josie’s Ridge. They picked their way through a short patch of open country, keeping bodies low and eyes open, making for Hidden Ranch Lane and all of the large, impressive homes that lined it. They looked out from their elevated position at the mountain foot into the town, though they could not see the highway; couldn’t tell if the long line of strangers reached back that far. Their line of sight was obstructed by the rooftops of homes and tall, green treetops.

“Well? Whatcha think, Lum,” asked Otis.

“Quiet a while… I’m listenin’.” As though in answer, they heard the distant rumble of engines. It sounded impossibly far away, though the men figured there was enough material between them and the source of the noise baffling the soundwaves that their origin could have been anywhere.

“I think,” Lum said carefully, “they got us walled off. Think we have a bit of a hike in store, boys.”

“Son of a bitch,” Tom spat.

“No help for it,” Otis said. “If those boys’re running up that highway, ain’t no way for us to drive out that we don’t get spotted.”

“Will they find the Chevy, do you think?” Andrew asked.

Lum said, “Mayhap. Nuthin’ on there we can’t do without, though, ’cept any hardware. We’re carryin’ it all, right? You boys leave any ammo back at the truck?”

The others shook their heads.

“It’s a five… mile… hike at least!” Tom moaned. He gestured to the heavy rigs they all wore and groaned miserably. “Just to get to the entrance!”

“Longer,” Lum said. “Can’t go down that highway at all. Have to hump over the rough country. Suck it up, Buttercup. Shoulda been hittin’ them weights like Jake said.”

“Can you find your way back through the mountains, Lum?” Andrew asked.

“Not a thang to it.” He stepped off the asphalt, cut a path through a clutch of bushes growing between some homes, and they were all forced to follow or be left behind. “They’re mountains. I’d find mah way in mah sleep.”

They made it back to the Bowl after dark. The oil drum was lit, showing like a beacon out on the edge of the valley floor, afloat in a sea of blackness. They picked their way in carefully, keeping to the rutted trail and stumbling only occasionally; all of them except for Lum, of course. He walked along easily, as though he were out for a leisurely evening stroll, and glanced back over his shoulder every so often to make sure his friends were okay. At the halfway point, he pulled a flashlight from his rig and began shining it toward the fire.

Wordlessly, they all extended their hands out into the open air as soon as they could see the people positioned around the lit drum. They all stood out there on the edge of the firelight’s ring, motionless like druids greeting forest gods. Though he could not make out features, a quick headcount told Lum that not everyone was out there and he saw none of the children at all. He swallowed and tried not to think about how many muzzles must be aimed his way.