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

He crept forward into the lobby, still trembling but coming further under control as he progressed, slowly becoming used to the situation, quivering weak-legged in the aftermath of the adrenaline dump. His nervous system unloaded a squirt of light-headed euphoria, and he giggled nervously, beginning for the first time that evening to believe that he might actually be lucky; that he’d survived the hurricane.

He passed down the hallway toward the manager’s office to see if anyone else survived. As he walked, the darkness at the end of the short hall crowded forth in his direction, reaching for him. Mitch was not a superstitious man by any stretch of the imagination but, for the rest of his life, he would swear to anyone who’d listen that he felt a no-shit hunger at the end of that hallway; a hunger not for Mitch’s life or anything as simple and clumsy as the blood in his veins—but a hunger for him to come see. There was a dark secret buried down deep at the end of the hall, and the hall itself was some twisted form of exhibitionist; it wanted him to come see and be shamed by what he saw, and bathe naked in his shame like a hog wallowing luxuriously in its own shit. He felt all of these things, he would claim (and maybe he even told the truth); but still, he went. He went to the end of the hall, holding his breath by the time he reached the door.

He pushed it open and saw what that supposed presence in the hall wanted him to see, and was violently sick on the cheap, shitty carpet that had been trod down bare in the center, and he collapsed against the wall on the far end, panting. He’d caught a flash of what had been done to the leg and his mind, failing to comprehend what it actually saw, had told him that the leg had been fully severed at the knee, though it seemed that it was in some way still attached. He’d seen white gleaming brightly from the red center of the man’s neck; realized later when the scene was hidden behind the door that the flash of white had been bone.

Mitch lurched to his feet and ran. He ran down the hallway, out the front door of the lobby, and up the street in the sheeting rain. He ran as fast as he could as far as he could.

All the way to Danielle’s house.

Danielle was jolted out of sleep from the sound of rapid-fire, frantic slapping at the front door of the home she shared with Elton. It came repeatedly and constantly, such that she first fumbled with her flashlight before sweeping it around the bedroom perimeter in search of whatever was causing the racket. The hammering continued, and she eventually realized that the origin was not in her bedroom. Elton stirred next to her and grumbled incoherently.

She closed her eyes and listened carefully in the darkness, almost sure that it wasn’t just banging that she heard. It sounded to her as though there was some shouting as well. A few moments later Elton finally sat up, rubbing at his face with one hand while he reached into the side table with the other. When he drew it back, it held a pistol.

“Elton…” she warned.

“Nothin’, Babe. Just gonna see. See whoever in hell it is has cause to come hammering on our door at this hour…”

He yanked on a pair of pants and padded from the room shirtless. Sighing, Danielle reached a hand under the bed and retrieved her Mini-14. She stood from the bed in her underwear and a tank top, not caring to pull anything else on, checked the chamber of the rifle with her flashlight, and followed after Elton.

As she moved down the hall to the entryway, she realized that there was definitely some amount of yelling mixed in with the pounding, though muffled. Even so, she was still unable to discern what was said; Elton was already shouting back at the closed door.

“Alright, Goddamn it! Alright already!” He yanked it open with his free hand, pistol pointed down at the feet of whoever might be out there. Danielle shined the light out the doorway over Elton’s shoulder and saw Mitch, who panted nervously as though he’d just run a marathon. His face was pale and haggard, like the circumstances of his own death had been revealed to him, and they’d turned out to be quite horrible.

“Jesus, Mitch, what is it?” she gasped.

“D-Danielle… we got some shit! I need you! We need you out there!”

Elton stuffed his pistol into the hip pocket of his pants and grabbed the man by a shoulder. “Get in here, Mitch; you look like you swam over! Danielle, we got some towels in the back, or…?”

“We haven’t got time for any damned towels!” Mitch spluttered as he was pulled into the house. “I’m telling you guys, we’ve got some big damned problems.”

“Slow down, Mitch, just slow down. Elton, can you get a kettle going, please?”

Mitch’s body arched back in a spasm of fury; he jerked his arms free and shouted, “GODDAMNIT, LISTEN TO ME! Riley’s dead! The whole goddamned theater’s been shot up!”

Elton and Danielle froze in place, staring at him. Recovering from his shock just a hair faster, Elton asked, “Who the hell would wanna shoot up the theater?”

“What did he do, Mitch?” Danielle said, voice hollow. “Riley did something, didn’t he? They made a move…”

Elton spun to look at her, eyebrows hoisted up high enough that they might come popping off his head at any moment. “You know something about this?”

She stared back at him, mouth working silently, and tried to speak. No sound emerged, save for the wet click of her tongue working around inside. She couldn’t think straight enough to form the simplest sentence; the writhing ball of worms that had taken up residence in her stomach for so long had suddenly flared to life, and she thought she might either be sick or faint any moment.

What the hell do I say? What the hell could I possibly say that he’ll understand?

He shook his head at her silently, face a tapestry of expressions she couldn’t begin to decode, all except for the pure, unfiltered dismay that formed its foundational basis. He looked back at Mitch and asked, “What happened? Fast!”

In response, he shook his head, spread his hands, and said, “Look, I don’t really know for sure, okay? I know those guys were up to something big, though. Ronny, Riley, David… they all got real secretive the last few days; giving out all kinds of funny orders without any explanations. Ordering groups of us here and there, always talking about beefing security; guard duty—so forth. The one thing that was clear, though—the thing they made goddamn sure on, was that we keep our mouths shut.”

“Why?” Elton demanded in a nervous voice.

“Not sure, man. Some of the guys higher up knew more than I did. They didn’t tell me a whole lot of anything, you know?” As he spoke, Elton noticed that Mitch made a very big thing out of not looking anywhere near Danielle. His eyes kept drawing over in her direction, but then at the last moment he would look away, or his eyes would skip high to the ceiling and travel right over her.

Elton looked where it seemed that Mitch could not and asked, “What were they up to, Danielle?”

There was real suspicion in his voice, and she hated it more than she’d hated any other experience in her life; hated herself more than she would have thought possible. Her eyes welled up and spilled over, and she hated that too.

“Elton… you gotta understand… Things have gotten out of control. I didn’t want… I couldn’t…”

“Stop,” he said, holding up a hand. “We’ll skip over the part where Ronny told you to get close to me so you could keep an eye on things—”

“W-What!”

“Please, girl. It was so damned obvious, I’d have to be dripping in stupid juice not to catch it.”