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

“Now what’d I say?”

“What, just now?”

“Yeah. What are you doing?”

“I’m… uh, I’m running off to get Ronny.”

“Quietly, Marshall! Quietly, remember? Don’t tell anyone!”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, man,” Marshall said. “Yes, quietly, you got it.”

“And run straight back,” Riley smiled.

Marshall nodded and stood waiting.

Riley watched him a moment and then leaned forward, spreading his hands as he did so. “But quickly, also, hey?”

Marshall jerked. “Shit! Sorry, yeah, here I go!”

He ran toward the door. As he opened it, Riley remembered a critical detail at the last minute and called out, “Oh, Marshall?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell Ronny to bring his Questionnaire!”

Marshall did a brief double-take before running off into the night.

Riley remained in the lobby a few moments more, bobbing his head to a tune only he could hear. He walked over to the podium standing at the lobby entrance and adjusted it so that its center was perfectly aligned with the ticket booth. Then he poked his head through the front door and hissed at the remaining guard.

The man stood away from his lean against the wall and said, “Need something, Riley?”

“Did Marshall say anything about where he was going?”

“Uh, no, he just ran off. I thought you’d told him to, uh… did you want me to go grab him?”

“Oh, no! No, no, it’s fine! Shh!”

He pulled back into the lobby and shut the door.

He stood rooted to the spot a moment, breathing deeply, and counted to thirty, shaking his hands out as he did so, followed soon after by his head. His cheeks buzzed numbly in the absence of their smile; they felt slackened, hanging off his face like dried-out rubber. He went through the necessary exercises to remind himself that this was okay, this was just what other people considered to be normal, and began his walk back to the office. When he arrived at the door, he peeked in through the window and saw Edgar sitting in a chair, one leg crossed over the other, and looking colossally bored. Riley pulled back, smoothed his hair down over his shoulders, and entered the office.

“So!” he happily chimed as he entered. “Edgar, is it? Is that a Mr. Edgar, like a surname, or…?”

“No, it’s, uh, Muller, actually.”

“Mr. Muller! Wonderful!” he nodded as he eased into the chair behind the manager’s desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out a notebook and pen. He flipped to a blank page and began to scribble along the surface, whispering, “Mis… ter… Mullerrrr…” as he did.

He glanced up and nodded. “Okay! Let’s begin, then, shall we?”

Edgar shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Leaning forward, he turned one cheek tentatively to Riley and asked, “Uh… begin? I was, um… well, that is I was waiting to—”

“Yes, yes, it’s all very simple, isn’t it? I’m just trying to get a sense of your hopes here. What it is (right?) what it is that you seek? What you seek in seeking us out?”

“Well, I did explain this in summary to Danielle, uh… Mister?”

Riley’s eyes widened before falling back into a deadened stare, right cheek twitching like the ticking of an old wind-up clock. “Hall,” he enunciated.

“Mr. Hall, thank you. Yes, as I said to Danielle, the idea was to broker an agreement between our two peoples for trade. Establish some lines of communication? I really do believe we can have an incredibly beneficial relationship.”

“Oh, certain truth!” Riley nodded. He stood and reached out to shake Edgar’s hand. Edgar seemed shocked by the gesture, looking at the offered hand like a kind of electrified party prank, before taking it in his own. Riley nodded again and started to shake it, grasping it in his other hand warmly. “If the rest of your folk are as upstanding and forthright as you, I can only imagine the blossoming of a gorgeous friendship, hey?”

Edgar smiled at this and began to shake back enthusiastically, doing everything he could to convey his goodwill and positive wishes through the kinetic chain they’d built together.

Riley withdrew his hand after a few more moments of this and resumed his seat. “So, Mr. Muller, what can our people offer you?” He sat poised at attention, pen hovering over the notebook. The tip trembled slightly, though Edgar failed to notice. He was drawn in by Riley’s eyes, which were wide and too bright. Seeming to sense this scrutiny, Riley lowered his eyelids and touched the sharp tip of his tongue to his upper lip.

“Well, specifically, I’d have to say that we’re fairly impressed with the modifications your people have made to keep your gasoline engines running—”

“Modifications,” Riley interrupted in a flat voice.

Edgar jerked back in his chair as though his nose had been flicked. “Uh, yes. Um… running them off wood?”

The arm holding the pen collapsed, bouncing off the notepad and swinging down to dangle over the floor at his side. Riley’s eyes widened again and he said, “Shame! Your people have been watching us, haven’t they? Shame! How terribly naughty of you! Shame! Shame and infamy!” He laughed delightedly.

Edgar cleared his throat in obvious discomfort. “Yes, as to that, I must apologize. It’s an unfortunate necessity, but you see we felt as though we must in order to gauge whether you were a safe group.”

“Oh-ho-ho, no!” Riley continued to laugh, “Not at all, I love it! It’s wonderful! And what did you find?”

“Find?”

“When you were spending all this time gauging how safe we were, what were your findings?”

“Oh, I see. Well, I’m here talking to you now, aren’t I?”

“Ah, Hah-hah-hahahha! Indeed you are, sir! Just won-hoo-hoo-hoo! Just wonderful! I love all of this!” He stood again from the chair, took Edgar’s hand, and gave it another round of shaking as though language were a means of conveyance inadequate to the task of expressing his feelings for the man, that such truths were transferable only through the means of physical human contact. Edgar laughed along with him and they shook.

Riley sat down again, sighing happily. He wiped at his eyes with the heels of both hands and said, “You like to laugh. I can tell (yeah?) I can tell this about you. I don’t think I can express what a relief that is to me; there’s far too many people without a sense of humor, hey?”

Edgar, who had rarely ever in his life been numbered among the sub-population of humanity gifted with such a quality, giggled nervously and shrugged, hoping he wouldn’t say something incredibly obtuse and so ruin this man’s impression of him. Things were going so incredibly well.

“Okay, okay,” Riley sighed, massaging his cheeks with his fingertips, “what might your people have that we could use, Mister Negotiator, Sir?”

“Ah, yes. Well, I think I’d like to wait for your top man to get here, is that alright? It makes it easier to explain if I only have to do it once.”

Riley waved his hands frantically, blowing a raspberry at the very idea, “Pfffbttt, say no more, Edgar, say no more! He should be here any minute. We’ll while away the time and keep each other company (right?) while we wait. Tell me: d’you like movies?”

“Movies?”

Riley scoffed and pointed at the office door. “Do please look at where we are, good sir!”

They both laughed again and spent the next several minutes discussing the last movies they’d ever seen. They discussed those films that had been enjoyable as well as those that had been abject disappointments and agreed that one of the true benefits of the apocalypse had been that they would as a people no longer be subject to the endless train of sequels, adaptations, and gritty reboots.

Ronny arrived not long after their discussion began to wane. He stepped into the office without knocking, carrying a backpack at his shoulder. Rather than acknowledge either man or introduce himself, he dropped the backpack to the floor, where it clanked loudly, and said, “The first thing I want to know is where your people are hiding.”