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

She made busy in the common room while waiting for the stew to warm, straightening items that did not require it, checking the levels of certain of her kitchen supplies though she knew perfectly well what those levels were. They’d been allowed to keep their knives, so she retrieved hers, tuned it on a steel, and spent several minutes stropping it on an old belt. When she could no longer resist the urge, she pushed out the shutter of her front window to observe the common area.

Many of Clay’s men were about, looking pathetically out of place in their attempts to seem appropriate. Some of them meandered over the grounds along tracks that were already beginning to wear deep into the dirt; others lounged in chairs outside the cluster of tents beyond the Boardwalk (the line of container homes beyond Olivia’s place where Andrew, Isaiah, and Victor used to live; so named because of the wooden walkway they’d built along the front path to keep their feet out of the mud).

The only home along the boardwalk that yet held a tenant was Brian’s. George’s old teardrop camper stood empty, now, too. Samantha now lived alone in the trailer she once shared with Lum.

Edgar’s home stood far away from the compound, cold and dark. Fred would no longer be taking his baskets of food out that way.

None of the men Clay brought along had made a move for any of these newly vacated homes to her surprise. She’d been waiting for that development along with some of the others; awaiting that additional insult they would be made to swallow. It had not come.

The men sat in front of their tents stoking cook fires or walked slowly along the grounds with their rifles or read books or played cards with each other. They all made a big show of not looking at her as she stood framed in the cabin window.

Amanda sighed and closed the shutter, dimming the front room’s interior. She tested the stew and found it painful to the tongue, so she retrieved a priceless Pyrex dish, ladled in several spoonful’s, and pressed down her last plastic lid (the others had dried and cracked to inefficacy). Then she took the bush knife she’d just sharpened into Elizabeth’s bedroom and laid it atop the side table. She placed the blade on top of the sheath with the handle pointed to the bed within easy reach.

“Latch the door when I leave, Mija .”

She heard a subdued mm-hmm from the dark tangle of covers. She went back to the front room, wrapped the dish up in a towel, stepped out into the little dirt yard strewn with pine needles, and waited. Less than ten seconds later she heard the bar drop into place on the inside, followed by the soft tapping of her daughter’s hand.

She rounded the corner of Billy’s cabin and made a straight line for the home shared by Greg and Alish. She felt eyes probing against her body as she walked; their curiosity fluttered over her like the gentle press of poisoned butterfly wings. She set her jaw, straightened her back, and narrowed her eyes, thinking to herself that she would be damned before she’d look back at them; before she let them think they concerned her. She felt the eyes of that great monstrosity in a cowboy hat looking down on her back. He was seated on the cabin porch with the heels of his idiotic boots propped up on the railing as if he imagined himself a starring role in some bullshit Western.

The door opened immediately when she knocked. Greg stood in the entryway smiling gently at her.

“Saw you coming through the window,” he said. Nodding down at the dish in her hands: “You didn’t have to bring that; we have plenty here.”

“I know,” said Amanda. She entered, hugged him briefly, and set the dish down on the small dinner table. Olivia was already there, kneeling before Alish, who sat on the couch. Her deft hands were busy at work winding fresh dressings around Alish’s calves.

“How does it look?” Amanda asked.

Alish nodded to her, the corners of her mouth drawing down in the characteristic proud sneer she saved for trifling concerns. What, you think this is bad? I can tell you all about bad, believe me!

“Looking good so far,” Olivia said. “Clean edges; no swelling or discoloration. It’s good news, honestly. Under normal circumstances, I’d give her a course of antibiotics but given her condition… I’m not willing to screw around with it unless she picks up an infection.”

“Shouldn’t penicillin be okay?” Amanda asked. “I remember I had to take something like that when I was pregnant with Lizzy; strep throat.”

Olivia shrugged. “Should be, sure. But I’m working blind, here. One, I don’t have access to a lab. I can’t do blood work, check her levels… we don’t even have ultrasound. Two, I’m not an OBGYN, okay? I’m a trumped-up medic. So, if I’m gonna screw this up, I’d rather do it on the side of caution, you know? The wounds look good, and I’m gonna clean the hell out of them three times a day just to be sure. If I see anything, I don’t like we’ll get her going on cephalexin.”

“It’s okay, I told you,” Alish insisted. “I’m fine; they’re just very sore.”

“Sore…” Greg snorted. “She needs Wang’s old wheelchair just to get around.”

Alish picked up a wad of old bandaging and threw it at him. He made a clumsy attempt to catch it, but it fluttered to the ground.

Amanda drew in breath, placing her hands on her hips to steady them.

“And… the baby?”

Olivia secured the tail of the last bandage, rotated on her heel to look at Amanda, and made an OK sign.

“Good heartbeat,” she said. “We should be fine.”

Amanda nodded and settled down into a chair. She was silent a moment, having not fully realized the tension she carried. Greg rubbed her shoulder briefly and then sat on the couch next to his woman.

Amanda snorted at the thought, then cleared her throat when the others looked at her. She struggled for a moment to be serious before breaking down into nervous giggles.

“What?” Alish asked.

“I mean, can we just say you guys are married or… what? What do we call you? What do you call each other? Boyfriend seems, like, kind of immature, given everything. Wife? Husband?”

Greg’s lips twitched—the cautious beginnings of a smile. Alish was stern. “We’re not married, though.”

“Well, who’s to say you’re not?” Amanda giggled. “A second ago I just thought of you as ‘ his woman .’ I’m sorry; that’s ridiculous!” She lowered her voice to an ape-like grunt, shoved out her lower lip and furrowed her brow, and said, “ That my woman! Woman have babies! Name babies Ugh and Bonk! ”

“Amanda…” Olivia prodded uncomfortably.

“What?”

Olivia widened her eyes and whispered through lips stretched tight: “ Maybe their still discussing that… ”

“Ah…” Amanda said. She looked at Greg and noticed his face had gone brightly red. She repeated, “Ah.”

“Well!” Olivia barked, slapping her palms on her knees. She stood and said, “I think I’ll just depart this little patch of awkwardness, now, shall I?” She gathered up her bag and made to leave.

“Hang on a second,” Amanda said. The other woman stood by the door waiting.

“I didn’t come by just to check up on everyone. I was going to come see you next, Olivia, so it’s lucky you’re here. I need your help. Everyone’s help, actually.”

“What’s up?” Greg asked, scooting to the edge of the couch.

“I need everyone to convert to Christianity. Especially you, Alish.”

“What!” she asked. She wasn’t angry as much as shocked; the subject of her faith had not once come up in her time with these people.

“I know, I know. Trust me; it’s not a serious thing. I’m not asking you to renounce your faith. Just… if anyone asks, can you say you’re a Christian?”