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

Pap pulled down with his entire body as though he purposed to ring a giant church bell, driving the man spine-first into the broken asphalt where his arms and legs splayed out in the manner of a headshot animal’s twitching limbs. Breath escaped body in a coughing expulsion, and the man lay motionless, wide eyes astonished, while a deep, mournful groan began to grind forth from his throat in slow tapers. Pap went down to his knee next to the man, twisted a fist up in his shirt collar, and pulled his head and shoulders off the pavement. His other hand was balled into a knobby hammer, cocked into the air, ready to be loosed downward like a cluster bomb. As Cuate looked on, he saw a thin streamer of blood trailing from the back of the man’s skull to the ground, blown out in a long and graceful arc by the passing wind. Thinning down in the center to the density of spiders’ silk, the runner snapped and fluttered out into space like the confetti of some ancient parade, splattering droplets along the blacktop. The man made no effort to defend himself whatsoever.

“Right… reckon we’s quits, then,” Pap panted. He lowered the man to the ground and lumbered gracelessly to his feet. He pushed his knuckles into the small of his back, groaned, and stretched. When he opened his eyes again, they fell on Cuate, and then he saw the thing the boy held in his hands.

“H’what’cha doin’ with that piece, son?”

Cuate said nothing. With his left hand, he pulled the holster from his hip pocket and carefully lowered the pistol back into its keeping. He fastened the snap loop, lay it down on the pavement, and returned to Manny’s. When he pulled open the door, the cluster of people pressed up against the shop windows pulled away, allowing space for him to enter. He passed them all by, climbed up into the barber chair, and looked at Manny. Manny met the boy’s gaze for a matter of seconds before looking away again, looking out into the street and the man who still lay supine in the center.

“Well, let’s git a move-on, Manny,” Pap said from the doorway. He was busy threading the Model Twenty-Nine back over his belt. “Best not keep Cuate waitin’.”

They walked together along the quiet streets not long after, cutting a path back to Pap’s place, while he silently worked out in his plodding way what should be done with the kid while he made his daily rounds. There were a number of things to get done and items to check up on; he couldn’t very well drag the kid around the whole time. The poor squirt would be plumb tuckered before lunch.

They were waylaid by one of Clay’s runners in transit, the man waving in wide overhead arcs as he trotted up. He didn’t even wait for Pap to question him or stop to take a breath; he just barked, “Clay wants to see you up at the resort!” as he ran by.

“What’s up?” Pap called to the man’s retreating back.

“Just get up there and see him! You’ll find him at the bar!”

Pap looked down at the boy and scratched his chin thoughtfully.

“Think you could wait for me back home a bit?”

Cuate’s eyes widened and he somehow shrank physically, as though shadows crept in from the ground and washed up over him. He shook his head.

“Don’t want me to leave you alone?”

He shook his head again.

“Hell…” he sighed. “Fine. Keep up with me, then.”

He made off for the resort in giant, ground devouring strides. Cuate trotted alongside, beating out three steps for every one of Pap’s but keeping pace easily. He didn’t open his mouth to breathe as they went; just puffed passively through his nostrils like he could keep the pace up all day long. Pap grunted and lumbered on, cheeks quivering slightly each time a boot heel hit pavement.

The resort was so close to his home that you couldn’t even truthfully say it was out of their way to go there. There was a bit of an uphill climb and a quick U-turn, and then they were there, practically on top of the joint. It was a pretty building of old log-and-timber beam construction, a long, covered entryway, and a big rock chimney around the back overlooking a once-handsome swimming pool—handsome once but now drained to a kind of stinking sludge down at the bottom. Pap didn’t slow down to admire the view, just barreled up the walkway, through the doors, past the front desk, and plunged into the restaurant and bar. The dining area stood cavernous and empty, exposed beams of the vaulted ceiling rib-like as they slanted high overhead. All of the chairs and tables had been dragged from the room long ago, leaving noticeable scratches along the dark wood flooring by the bar, and in some places the edges of the carpet in the sun room had been pulled back from the tack strip and sliced into paneled segments, no doubt used as bedding toward the end. Throughout the room, the only things that still remained intact were the chandelier and other light fixtures depending from the eaves, the stools around the bar, and a couple of couches that had been bizarrely hauled out to the center of the main dining area. There was a blackened, chewed up spot between them as though a fire had once been built right on the surface of the wooden floor.

Pap found Clay and Johnny at the bar; Johnny sitting on the outside while Clay sat on the inside in mockery of a traditional publican. As he approached, Pap pointed at one of the couches and said, “Catch a seat, son. Might be a-hwhile.”

He sidled up to the bar next to Johnny, rested a boot on the foot rail, and leaned in on his elbow.

“Well, I come. Hwhat gives?”

Instead of answering, Clay leaned over into whispering distance from Pap and then listed to the right so he could see over his shoulder. He pointed at the kid with his eyebrows and muttered, “Well, what the fuck, Pap?”

“He’s, uh… he’s stayin’ hwith me.”

“You’re picking up strays now?”

“Reckon so. Name’s Cuate.”

Clay listed back to look Pap directly in the eyes. He searched him out a while and, seeing his resolve, said, “Jesus Christ…”

“Any parents?” Johnny asked.

“Don’t think so. Reckon we musta picked ’im up ’tween here and Colorado. I asked around on him and those as seen him don’t recall when they noticed ’im first.”

“Damn,” said Johnny, looking at the back of the boy’s head, just barely visible over the sofa back.

Pap looked back at Clay and said, “You’ll probly be hearin’ ’bout this. I caught the Elings boy an’ a few others givin’ ’im the bi’ness, so I whupped ’em a bit. Then his pa come out to see me today an’ I whupped him too.”

Clay settled back onto the rest of his own stool and said, “Tremendous. Did he at least attack you first?”

“Yip.”

“Any witnesses to back that up?”

“Yip.”

“Uh. I wouldn’t worry about it, then. You didn’t kill him, did you?”

“Naw. Jus’ winded ’im a bit. More like a love tap.”

Clay nodded and looked out along the runner. Eyebrows coming down to rest over the forlorn drapery of his eyes, he nodded to a bottle and asked, “Will you drink?”

“She’s a touch early fer that, ain’t she?”

“Fuck her, whosoever she happens to be,” Clay enunciated. He poured a bit into a glass and then proceeded to warm it with a hand. He sat quietly, staring down into its brown, swirling depths.

Pap glanced at Johnny, then asked, “Hwhy’re we up here?”

“Wait a while,” Clay rumbled. “This’ll be a full meeting. Let’s have everyone here so we only have to tell it once, huh?”

They waited another half-hour in silence, random clicks and clinks of Clay’s glass occasionally echoing through the room. Cuate lay over on the couch and closed his eyes before long.