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

“Yeah. Our problem right now is we’re out of gas. We’ve been hopping from car to car as we go. It was easier with just Ben and me, but now we gotta make sure we have enough automobile to move four people plus all the supplies we need.”

“You haven’t worked out refueling, then?” Billy asked.

“I tried siphoning with a plastic hose I’d found but it didn’t work out.”

“Yeah, it’s the anti-roll stuff they build into the tanks,” Billy said and looked across Jake to me. “You know if there’s anything like an auto parts store around here, Amanda?”

Before I could answer, Otis said, “We just passed an Auto Zone on the way in today. It’s not far from here; just down the 6.”

“Oh, there you go,” Billy said. “You folks staying here tonight?”

“I reckon yes,” said Otis. “Anyway, haven’t found a way to get us moving again.”

“Okay,” Billy said and looked back over at us. “We done traveling for the day?”

“We can be,” said Jake.

Billy looked back to Otis. “Let’s you and I head out early tomorrow. I’ll help you get your gas situation sorted out.”

Otis nodded, clearly pleased. “That sounds like a plan, Billy. Thank you.”

“Finally get that damned jack stand,” Billy said and struck his knee lightly. I cough-snickered into my hand.

“So aside from that, sounds like ammo for water?” asked Jake. “What’s that rifle there?””

“Thirty-aught six.”

“Hell,” said Billy. “We’re not carrying any of that.”

Otis nodded his head. He looked disappointed but also had the expression of one who was expecting the news. “I’ve had a hell of a time keeping this rifle loaded. It’s not even mine—a good friend who didn’t make it through had it. Had a whole collection of hunting rifles and revolvers in all manner of odd calibers. He even had a Smith and Wesson 500. Can you imagine trying to find bullets for that?” He shook his head and sighed. “I have twelve rounds left for this, and then we need to get serious about trading up.”

Jake leaned over to Billy and whispered to him. They conferred for a few moments, gesturing back and forth. Finally, Billy shrugged and gestured over to me. Jake leaned in close to me, and I heaved over in his direction to put my head close to his.

“Water’s going to be a big deal soon. We’re talking about giving them the Bushmaster and a box of .223. Thoughts?”

“What, you’re going to trade him for his rifle?”

“No, even trade for the water.”

I wrinkled my nose at him. “Seems like a lot to avoid scavenging for water. You know we’ll be able to find some. Plus, we’re going to spend some time getting them refueled tomorrow, apparently,” I whispered, looking across at Billy.

“Amanda,” he said, pulling my eyes back to his. “You know what happens if they run into the wrong people. We have the AK, your Tavor, the shotgun, the two AR’s, and the pistols. Even giving him the Bushmaster we still have the extra AR.” He didn’t bother mentioning the bullets. After Barnes, the rear of the Jeep was sitting nearly six inches low from all the extra weight we were dragging. “There’re more guns in this world now than there are good people, or any kind of people, really. We’ll find more.”

I nodded, knowing he was right. Jake put his hand out, and I dropped the keys into it.

“Just a moment, please,” Jake said and got up.

“What’s up, folks?” asked Otis, as Jake went to the rear of the Jeep.

“What the hell’s going on? What the fuck’s he doing??” asked an alarmed Robert, really speaking now for the first time. His face was flushed and angry. He was coming out of his chair, moving in front of his sister.

“Hey, calm down,” Billy said.

“Boy, sit down ,” commanded Otis with the sound of someone now fully out of patience. Robert slammed back into his chair in a fury, not even bothering to conceal the mask of rage on his face. “You got to think, Robert! If these people wanted us dead, Amanda here could have drawn a line right across our bellies with whatever the hell that nasty lookin’ thing is, ain’t that right Amanda?”

I swallowed and nodded. I had been halfway to doing exactly that. I hoped it wasn’t too obvious and pulled my hand away from the trigger while trying to avoid drawing any attention to it. I failed miserably.

Jake came walking back from the Jeep with a black rifle hanging from his right hand, index finger threaded through the front sight. From his left hand dangled a plastic ammunition case.

He came back to his chair and sat down. Billy said, “Thirty-aught six isn’t exactly ultra-rare, but it’s going to be harder to find than .223 or 5.56. It’s probably just best if you trade up right now.”

Jake pulled the handle back on the rifle to check the chamber and passed the rifle across to Otis, who accepted it with his mouth hanging open.

From the side, Billy said: “This here is a Bushmaster XM-15 MOE. It will fire both .223 and 5.56, which were probably the two most popular rounds in this country right before everything went under. It is a very nice rifle, and I’m going to insist that you treat it like a lady.” Billy said this last part with the most serious of expressions. We knew he was joking, but Otis only coughed and said, “Yes, sir.”

Jake picked up the plastic case and handed it across to Otis with both hands. Realizing that it must be heavy, Otis laid the rifle across his lap and received the offering with two hands.

“That’s over four hundred rounds of .223 and two magazines,” said Jake. “When we get you fueled up tomorrow, you folks are going to take a side trip.”

“A side trip?” repeated a numb Otis.

“’Bout twenty miles south of here down the 15 is a building on the East side of the freeway standing by itself out in the middle of nowhere. It’ll have “Barnes” across the front in big, red letters. They were an ammunition manufacturer. We came from that way, and there was more in that place than we could reasonably carry on our own. There’s plenty still there. You’ll find more .223, 5.56, and even some more .30-06 for that hunting rifle.”

Otis sat dumbstruck for several seconds. He tried to speak once or twice, but the only sound that came was a slight grunt. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Uh… how much water do you think you need?” I was surprised to detect a quaver in his voice.

“Dude,” Ben said before any of us could reply, “I’m saying give it all to them.”

We burst out laughing uncontrollably, the kind of roaring, rib-cracking laughter that only comes on the tail of some tense, psychological trauma. The punchline doesn’t even need to be that funny in these situations—on some level your body realizes it needs that release desperately and seizes control whether you want it or not. I laughed until my stomach muscles hurt and I was gasping for breath. I saw Otis wipe tears from his eyes more than once and even Robert and timid Samantha were smiling despite themselves. The only one of us not laughing and in control was Jake, of course, but his face carried perhaps the most unfiltered smile I’d ever seen from him. I’m almost positive his eyes were moist as well.

When we all came back under control, Otis put his hand on Ben’s shoulder and said, “Let’s get them three flats of the water, son.” Ben jumped up and ran to the back of the minivan, pulling up the hatch. I heard him grunt and he backed away with a massive flat of bottled water. He carried it over to our truck where Billy was already waiting with the gate down.

“There’s thirty-six of those to a package,” Otis said. “Even if you have no water at all, that should get all of you to any point in Wyoming you want to be with some left over.”