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

There wasn’t a great deal left to say after this. It seemed as though they’d talked the issue around in circles for quite a while; would continue to do so if given half a chance, without any hope of coming to a logical conclusion.

Gibs finally huffed a heavy breath and drained the rest of his glass in a sharp jerk. “Fuck it. Every available choice seems to be equally shitty. It’s like being asked to choose between getting infected with Bolivian Crotch Rot for the rest of your life or choking down a blue waffle.”

Confused, Amanda cocked her head at an angle and asked, “A blue waf—”

“Never mind. The point is that it sucks either way. So, I’m abstaining, okay? You folks chew it over, figure out what you want to do, and let me know. I’ll just embrace whatever variety of suck you decide on. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go grab some rack.”

“I think that’s good advice all around,” Jake said. “Let’s give ourselves a night to sleep on it. Tomorrow would be the earliest that we’re likely to take action anyway. This problem will keep a while.”

The gathered assembly placed their glasses on the table, some of them taking a moment to drain the last of the contents before doing so, and began to let themselves out of the house. Jake caught Amanda’s gaze as she rose from her chair; she settled back down and waited for the others to leave. After a bit of chatter and good-nights, they were alone; sitting in their opposing chairs on either side of the fireplace.

“What is it, Jake?”

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She hesitated. “I can’t stop thinking about Billy.”

“Yes.” He fell silent.

“The problem is that we just don’t know who they are. I also have to think back to how things went with Warren. We spent a lot of time agonizing over them too, right? And they turned out great.”

“Yes,” he repeated. He thought carefully a moment, breathing through parted lips, and said, “If I had to guess—and trust me, I hate to do so—I’d have to say that a larger group of people would lean toward them being a better sort, don’t you think?”

“Why?” Amanda asked.

“Well… I guess because if they weren’t, they wouldn’t have held together long enough to grow that large, would they? That’s quite a lot of people out there if Lum’s estimate is to be believed, and there’s no reason to doubt him. That’s a great deal of cooperation, isn’t it? Cooperation suggests civility.”

“Maybe…”

“Well?”

“Remember what happened to Otis up in Oregon? Raul sounded like he had a cooperative group as well.”

“Huh, that is true,” Jake nodded. He stood and began to arrange the glasses onto the service tray. “But were they really so bad?”

“What!”

“No, Amanda, give it some real consideration. Think about what happened, as Otis told it. Did they really sound that horrible? Think of it from that group’s perspective.”

“But Robert—”

“—Attacked one of them first. While they were all collectively under fire.”

She shifted angrily in her chair, hands drifting along to pick thoughtlessly at the hem of her shirt. “I don’t think I like where this is going…”

“Of course not. I don’t either. The point is: aside from a handful of people that you and I have encountered—those people that were legitimately evil—isn’t the concept of good and bad subjective? Do you think that Warren would have hesitated for a minute to… remove me from the equation … if I’d looked like endangering his goals? If I hadn’t found some way for us to benefit each other?”

He was squatting in front of her now. She wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there; one minute he was clearing away the clutter and the next, he was just there. His hands rested on her kneecaps and his back—ramrod straight—placed his eyes on a level with her own. She tamped down a wave of exhaustion fueled by her own uncertain fears and leaned forward, resting her forehead on his shoulder. A moment later she felt his forehead rest against hers.

“You know what you’re going to do, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Will you tell me?”

“Tomorrow I’ll ask Gibs to fuel the Hummers, get a handful of people together, and head into town to meet with and assess these new arrivals. It’ll be a risk, of course, but a measured one. If things deteriorate, they should be able to get out of there in a hurry, especially under cover of the M2 turret guns.”

“And if they’re chased?”

“There are measures in place to make pursuers regret such a decision.”

She nodded against the bend of his neck and sighed. Her breath caused his shirt to flutter.

“Should we keep Gibs up here? In case fighting is called for back home?”

“No. He has to go down to meet them.”

“Why?”

His hand crept up, found the ridge of her spinal column, and began to stroke down the length of her back, traversing over and over. It was soothing; made her want to curl up and go to sleep.

“Gibs exudes absolute competence, wouldn’t you say? He’s respected. Our people follow his directions without hesitation or questions. I don’t think the man even knows how to back down from a fight.”

“You’re… using Gibs to send a message?”

Jake smiled. She couldn’t see him do so, of course, but she felt it. She felt the hair of his cheek as it brushed the ridge of her ear; saw his neck tighten from the corner of her eye. His hand continued to stroke; slowly, gently.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Gibs parked the Humvee at a distance that he judged to be one hundred yards from the High School Road intersection leading into Jackson. He stopped the vehicle in the center of the pitted highway, the tires just encroaching on the edge of the broken yellow boundaries. He killed the engine, grabbed his rifle, and climbed out into the morning sunlight.

There was a barricade up ahead, stretching from traffic light to traffic light, composed of cars that had either been towed or pushed into place. Looking along the hillside to the right, Gibs thought he saw some gaps in the line of wreckage and nodded. He would have done the same thing, probably.

“Well, they all seem plenty excited, anyways,” Lum said. He was up in the turret, ass settled against the rim, glassing up the road. The Browning M2 extended in the same direction as the binoculars; barrel down as if it slept despite a nice, fat box of .50 cal red tips depending from its side.

“Number?” asked Gibs.

“Baker’s dozen or so. Seem to be puttin’ up an almighty fuss…”

“Yeah.” Gibs looked south down the highway, along the way they’d come. The other Humvee was back there, removed from their position by another three or four hundred yards. He could just make out a dark lump laid over the roof of the old tan workhorse. That would be Wang up there, settled down on his belly and watching the whole shebang through a fourteen power scope. He glanced briefly at the sun and grunted, satisfied that it was high enough in the sky to eliminate any heat shimmer through the optic. He chamber-checked his rifle, adjusted his helmet’s chin strap, and leaned up against the truck to wait.

“Reckon we ought to wave?” Lum asked.

“Nah, fuck ’em. They’ll figure it out eventually. We have time.”

Ten minutes was about the time the folks up at the barricade seemed to need; after that their patience apparently expired and a group of five came walking out to meet them. They all seemed to be armed with some sort of rifle, though Gibs couldn’t make out specific details at that distance. There seemed to be plenty of Armalite coming his way; that or some variant thereof.