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

Looking at Otis, I saw several things. I saw a good, loving father; a man of warmth, compassion, and good humor. I also saw a man who had yet to make the same evolutionary leaps that I had. He was close, I knew, but there were still lines for him to cross. I realized I had been silently assessing them all from the moment we met. Otis and Robert both were larger and physically stronger than me. Even so, I had little doubt in my mind that I could kill them if the need arose—perhaps not both at the same time; size and strength count for a lot. I knew, however, what my chances were if we went one on one: better than theirs. The fact that I thought about such things unconsciously also did not worry me. It occurred to me that the strange woman I had once been would not be missed.

Presently, I continued my explanation to Otis. “Continue on the 15 north from here, and then take highway 145 toward Cedar Fort just north of the lake. Stay on that road a few miles, and you’ll see the tents spread all across the countryside. There were many soldiers there when I left, National Guard and the like. They had weapons, supplies. There’s probably still MRE crates and medicine out there, ammunition too.”

“Thank you,” Otis said again. He counted off on two fingers, “Barnes and Cedar Fort. We’ll look into that.”

“And keep an eye on your fuel level,” said Billy. “Don’t let it get too far below half a tank before you start looking to top off. You never know when you’re going to run into a big stretch with no viable vehicles to plunder. It used to be easy to judge with Google Maps and such; Thomas Guides don’t offer the same detail.”

Otis nodded to indicate he understood. We all hugged and said goodbye one last time, quietly grateful to each other, I think, that we had all taken a chance. We drove across several lanes of highway to find our way back onto the 15 headed north. Otis drove up the overpass that spanned the freeway in order to pick up the southbound side. I could see Elizabeth in the rearview mirror watching them as they drove away. She stayed that way, watching after them until they were lost from sight.

It took one full day of driving and one last refueling stop to get us to Jackson, Wyoming. It was very clear by this time that Billy was no longer interested in spending any further unnecessary time out on the road. He kept us moving forward like a man possessed, slowing down for only one rest break and advising us to eat on the road.

The drive took longer than it would have once upon a time for all the obvious reasons: we had to take less traveled roads to avoid traffic pile-ups, weaving back and forth between Wyoming and Utah as we advanced North. In some cases we left the road entirely, rolling slowly over unpaved ground for miles at a time to get around the worst snarls. The road became a mountain pass as we hit the National Forest on the way to Jackson, slowing us down even more as we made our way uphill, downhill, and through various switchbacks. The road was treacherous in places as we drove along Snake River, following it for several miles until I began to think it would never end. We carved our way through the center of an immense valley with vast, tree-covered mountains walling us in on either side. For a girl who had grown up in the Utah deserts (or anyone for that matter, I suppose), the view was stunning, and I had to remind myself more than once to concentrate on the road.

I started seeing signs for Jackson as the sun was just beginning its descent in the sky and I estimated three or four hours of daylight left to us. Billy led us off the main road before we encountered the town itself and led us off on a smaller two-lane highway that seemed to cut a line straight toward the mountains a few miles distant. As we came closer, I saw that the road actually swung out to the left and then turned back to the right to weave into a natural valley at the foot of the mountain range, which was all but obscured from view when it was approached at an angle perpendicular to the range itself. We continued on, passing through the entry and driving into the narrow pass before us. On the other side of the pass, mountain walls densely covered in fir trees climbed to either side of us. The distance across the pass was anywhere from fifty yards to half a mile, depending on your position when you measured. It was impossible to tell for how long it ran; it folded back on itself several times, so that forward viewing distance was occluded by overlapping ridgelines.

Not long after our entry, I sensed an upward grade in the road; the engine started working a bit harder, running at a higher RPM. It couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to stay in its current gear or shift up and I played around with the gas pedal, attempting to force a decision out of the transmission.

Billy turned off on a dirt road about another three miles into the valley, which took us into deeper forested area and advanced our grade of climb a bit more. This leveled off not long after. Without warning, the trees opened up into a wide glen. Directly across from us at great distance, I could just barely make out two buildings peeking out at us from the tree line; the mountain itself appeared to jut straight up into the sky immediately behind them. The entire glen was ringed by trees; a sprawling encircled landscape that looked as though it might have been a lake once upon a time but had naturally run dry long ago. The dirt road ran us right through the center of the clearing and took us directly to the buildings.

One of these buildings turned out to be a large and rustic log home; the kind that had been built to look like an old world settler design and yet could not disguise the fact that it had taken some serious money to produce. The two-level building belied a complex floor plan, with portions of it pushing out in all directions suggesting rooms of all shapes and sizes. Shuttered windows were visible throughout the home.

The second building was situated to the rear of the home on the right and was as unlike the home as it could have been. It was large, half again as high as the house. I couldn’t see how far back it went as we drove up because it was partially buried in and obscured by the surrounding trees, but I learned later that it was three times the length of the log home. Billy called it a “Butler Building.” It was a prefabricated construction that he used as a general garage and main storage area.

We parked out in front of the house’s main entryway. The area was unpaved dirt. Exiting his truck, Billy walked to the center of the dirt patch in front of his house where he looked down at an old and untended fire pit surrounded by a rocking chair, three folding chairs, and a log. He stared at it all, hands on his hips, as though he was waiting for the scene to explain itself. He looked up at his house and then began turning his head slowly about the area, scanning the tree line.

From the passenger seat, Jake said, “Elizabeth, stay here. Lock the doors when we get out.” He lifted the Tavor out of his footwell and handed it over to me. I took it, and he lifted out his AK-47 for himself.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Nothing yet,” he said. “I want you locked up and safe in case something starts.”

We exited the Jeep (I heard the doors lock behind us immediately) and walked over to join Billy.

“I’m guessing you didn’t leave all this here the last time you were out this way,” Jake stated.

“Nope,” Billy said. “Think I’ve had some unannounced company.”

Jake sighed. “Well, get your shotgun. We’d better clear the house. Amanda, get your vest on. Keep an eye on things out here, please.”

I went to the back door of the Jeep and opened it to retrieve the vest. I pulled out the second one and threw it to Jake. “Are you sure Billy shouldn’t take this one?”