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

“That actually makes all of the sense,” Wang agreed.

“Okay, well, we’re out here now,” I said. “We might as well make the full effort and have a look. You all know what mres look like, right?”

I received several nods and verbal confirmations; everyone had become very familiar with the little brown bags over the last year.

“Okay, keep your eyes open for other stuff as well; don’t get tunnel vision. If you do get lucky and find mres, inspect the packaging. Don’t take anything that’s sweating or has been punctured. You don’t want to take in any food that’s been compromised. Also remember to keep your eyes open for water, ammunition, or anything else that looks useful.”

I looked to my right and left to see who was out there with me, trying to decide who to send out and who to keep back by the bus. This quickly became a frustrating exercise, compounded by the fact that people were looking at me and beginning to fidget.

The main problem was that I wanted to be in two places at once. I trusted Davidson with a rifle the most because I had spent the most time discussing fire team tactics with him in our downtime (he ate that kind of thing up; always had another question to ask on the subject). That being said, this trust didn’t go terribly far. I wasn’t sure what Davidson actually had or hadn’t done in his life. I knew he had plenty of range time, but the guy didn’t have any experience moving through a dynamic situation within a small team of people, not even to play paintball. As far as I was concerned, his ability with a rifle in relation to the rest of our group was comparable to a cat that had learned how to bury its shit in the litter box among siblings that just left their little care packages exposed on top of the sand to air out. I knew I could trust him not to flag anyone in a calm, relaxed situation because I had spent so much time chewing on his ass the first time I saw him do it; he had learned and corrected. I had no idea what I could expect if he was thrown into a firefight, but I had a good idea—he needed training and practice, which required time we hadn’t yet discovered.

Consequently, it should have been me pushing out into the field with everyone to keep a close watch on their asses. I’m not Rambo or anything, but I have actually been in firefights and know what to expect (honestly, they even got boring sometimes). Proximity and repetition are critical training tools. I would be able to keep my head screwed on, maintain good situational awareness, and not shoot my buddies.

On the other hand, I needed someone back here on overwatch to keep an eye out while everyone was digging through the field with their heads in the garbage. Again, the only person I knew I could rely on to carry out this role was me. Marines qualify at five hundred yards (we were the only branch to do so), and I’ve personally made groupings good enough for center mass at a thousand yards out on the range with a friend’s American Predator. I’d been out of the Corps for twelve years by then, but I kept my rifle skills current and even picked up a few tricks that they don’t teach you in the Marines. While I had never been a sniper (I was a rifleman before promoting to Staff Sergeant), I knew I could make the longer than average shots. As far as everyone else was concerned in that regard, I again had no freaking clue and no time to find out.

So, how can I be in two places at once? The simple answer was: I can’t. goddamnit.

In the end, I decided that sending Davidson out into the field was the lesser of two evils.

“Okay, Barbara, George, Kyle, and the kids stay here. Everyone else heads out among the tents to look for food, water, ammo, or medical supplies. Davidson, take the rifle; you’re not looking for anything on the ground. Keep your head on a swivel and watch everyone’s back.”

“What are you going to be doing?” Edgar asked.

I suppressed my annoyance at the question. I had already decided at that point that anything coming out of Edgar’s mouth was borne on the worst possible intentions. Because of this, I knew I had to pay extra attention to anything he said. I couldn’t allow a good idea to slip by because I didn’t like the source; doing so could mean someone’s life. I had to pay extra attention to Edgar, the prick, to keep from developing a blind spot.

“I’m going to the bus roof to watch you guys from as much elevation as I can get.” I looked at everyone else and continued. “Everyone get a good look at that first DRASH tent out in front,” I said while pointing.

“DRASH…?” Jessica asked from my right.

“Sorry: Deployable Rapid Assembly Shelter. It’s the larger, longer tent down in front where I’m pointing.”

“Okay, I get it,” Jessica said.

“I make that a distance of about four hundred yards or at least close enough to four hundred that it doesn’t matter. Nobody pass that tent.”

“Why not?” asked Fred. “Food might be just on the other side.”

“Because it will severely impact my ability to shoot anything that jumps out at you.”

“Oh,” Fred muttered. “Right on.”

“Also,” I continued, “try not to put anything between you and me; try to maintain a line of sight back to this bus at all times. If you can see me, I can see you. That’s a good thing. Everyone clear?”

I got several nods and comments in the affirmative. “Good, let’s get moving then. Davidson, come here.”

Davidson had just stepped off the bus carrying the M4 (my M4, not the boomstick with the M203, thank God—I didn’t want to have that argument again). I put my head close into his and whispered: “You make goddamned sure you know where your muzzle is every fucking second, do you get me? If you fuck up and shoot any of our people, you will not be forgiven. Clear?”

The color drained from his face, and he nodded. “Yeah, man. Crystal.” He was taking it seriously. That was the best I could hope for.

I nodded and slapped him on the shoulder. “Get out there, then. Protect your people.”

Kyle was waiting to piss in my ear as soon as Davidson was off with the others.

“I’m not a kid, dude. I could be going out there with the others.”

“Negative,” I said, walking past him to the bus. “I need you up top so you can spot for me.” I retrieved my MR556, a couple of spare mags, some binoculars, and stepped back off to see him standing outside waiting for me.

“Oh,” he said.

“Come on, follow me.”

I walked up to the nose of the bus, which stuck out from the cab like you see on a Peterbilt truck. There were two side view mirrors on each side of the bus for a total of four; one was bolted high up on the roof above the accordion door, and the other was supported by a frame attached to the front of the fender over the headlight. I grabbed the frame of the mirror over the headlight with my right hand and with my left I grabbed the strap that was holding down the engine cowling. From this position, I put my foot on top of the front tire and boosted myself up to stand on the bus’s hood. After that, it was easy to climb up onto the roof. I turned back to regard Kyle, who was still on the ground looking up at me.

“You coming?” I asked. I turned back to put eyes on our people moving out among the rubble. From below, I heard Kyle say, “Hey, you guys just hang out in the bus, okay?” He was talking to the children; Maria and Rose. That was good. The kids weren’t just someone else’s problem as far as he was concerned.

I could feel the bus rock minutely under my feet as Kyle grunted and heaved himself up to the roof. He came over to stand by me and look out at the field.

“Do you think they’ll find anything out there?” he asked.

I sighed. “I don’t know. Whatever hasn’t been burned out looks pretty mangled. I can’t see a field kitchen in there anywhere, but those might just have been positioned in the camp so far back that I can’t see them from here. The big thing is that I don’t see a lot of vehicles. It’s like whatever military were here packed up and left at some point.”