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

“No luck, huh Mr. Brown?”

“Nope. We’re gonna pack it up here pretty soon and move closer to the city; set up a staging area. I’m going to head out into the city looking for more stuff. We’re good on fuel for now, but food and water are a big problem. I want you to come with me. I’ll give you the rifle to carry.”

“Oh, sweet! Can I get the grenade belt too?”

“No, you can’t get the… what is it with everyone? I’m not handing you guys a grenade launcher. It’s too dangerous if you fuck it up. I’m giving you my M4.”

“Oh. Well, okay, I guess.”

“‘Okay, I guess.’ Well, I’m so very grateful to have your consideration, good sir.”

“No, it’s cool, man,” Kyle said. “I get it. You can count on me, Gibs. I won’t fuck this up.”

There was real sincerity in his voice, and it put me at ease.

“Your father taught you one of the major laws of firearm safety: muzzle awareness. Never put the muzzle on anything you’re not ready to kill.”

“Right on. What’re the other laws?”

I held up my hand to start counting off fingers: “The gun is always loaded (therefore always clear any gun you pick up), muzzle awareness—as I already said—know what’s behind your target, and trigger discipline.”

“Trigger discipline?” he repeated.

“Trigger discipline,” I answered. “There’s no reason for you to have your finger on the trigger until it’s time to shoot. You just lay your finger along the receiver, otherwise.”

“Oh, okay. Got it. Always loaded, muzzle awareness, know what’s behind the target, and trigger discipline,” Kyle repeated to himself quietly.

He was a good kid.

The excursion out into the field wasn’t a total waste of time, but it also wasn’t the major payday I was hoping for. A few people who had been out looking managed to find the odd mre and Jessica even found a filled water bladder insert from a camelback but, by and large, what they encountered most was either trampled, burned, ripped open, or compromised in some way. As we spent more time on the site, I became convinced that whatever military presence that had been here had actively packed up to leave; either to consolidate forces elsewhere, travel to some agreed upon rally point, or just displace to a more defensible position. Whatever had actually happened, it was obvious they had combed through the area and packed up every useful item they could find.

The C130 was likewise a bust. I didn’t have a great deal of hope as we approached, so I just put the bus in park and left it running. The airplane’s cargo door was down (another bad sign), so I just ran up the platform, made a quick circuit around the interior, and poked my head into the flight deck. As suspected, the only thing the cavernous plane had to offer was a lot of empty space.

One of our ladies (I can’t remember if it was Rebecca or Barbara anymore) asked if it made sense to try and get some fuel out of the aircraft. I thought about that suggestion a moment and realized that, yeah, that was a damned good point. Those old turboprop engines basically just ran on kerosene, which would burn fine in that bus’s diesel engine. I ran over to the plane and started slapping all the fuel tanks, which were suspended under the wings, but they sadly all rang empty. Whoever it was that had lit out of there, it seemed as though they’d pulled everything off that plane but the skin.

We got back on the 470 and continued North around the perimeter of Denver, our plan being to take Washington Street due south, then push down into the city from the top. The idea was that we would penetrate in as far as we could without having to shove a bunch of cars out of the way and, when we could go no further, a small team would continue on foot towards the heart of the city.

The primary goal of this team was reconnaissance; confirm the existence or lack of other survivors, identify likely scavenging targets, and report back within a set timeframe (in this case we decided two hours was reasonable). On the chance that the team found something really good (defined here as a cache of provisions in one spot capable of sustaining the whole group for a substantial period), the search was to be called off, and they were to rtb (return to base) immediately.

Well, we were able to hold to this plan until we got to Washington Street before we had to abandon the whole damned thing. On our map, Washington just looked like any other street. Sure, it ran from the outskirts all the way into the heart of Denver, but I had kind of hoped that it would be a little open given how close it was to the 25 freeway; I figured people would have just skipped it altogether. Fat chance. Washington was a nice, thick artery running through the city with a total of four lanes and a wide, open median running down the center. Up by the 470, it was completely snarled with vehicles packed in bumper to bumper. We ended up driving around like a bunch of tourists before finding a way in through Quebec Street, and only then because we were able to come in on the soft shoulder. So from there, we were able to reach Riverdale, which got us to 104 th, which got us back to Washington Street, only now it was deep enough into the city that we were past the pileup and could travel on the street. Once we were back on track, I resisted the urge to look at the fuel gauge, preferring to remain ignorant about how much diesel we had spent wandering around like a bunch of dickheads.

We pushed far enough south that the residential area gave way to actual city (or, at least what passes for city in Denver—a lot of it was wide open, it must have been a very lovely town at some point), which was what I was looking for. I didn’t know how likely we were to find food or water within a place of business like a store, but I was banking on the hope that there were going to be outposts and distribution points in the heart of the city, set up either by fema or the military. I knew there was a better than average chance of these being picked over (anyone living in the city would have known exactly where they were), but it was a start. If we came up dry, we could just go back the way we came and take our time going house to house. This final option was a matter of last resort for me; I was still hoping we could hit it big somewhere.

When I decided we had gone far enough, I pulled over and executed something like an eight-point turn to get that goddamned bus reversed in the other direction (I wanted it going back the way we came mostly because I didn’t want to hassle with it later). I parked it, opened the door, shut off the engine, and walked down the aisle to have a chat with the group.

“I’d like to accomplish a few different things at once with this,” I said. “Yeah, we need to get food, but I also need to get you guys familiar with moving in teams, comfortable with carrying weapons, and everything that entails. The only way to do that is practice, and there’s no time like the present. We have three rifles and two pistols. I’m leaving a rifle and two pistols here at the bus; I’ll take two rifles and Kyle out with me.”

I saw Kyle straighten up at this; Jessica also perked up. She waved at me and said, “I’d like to come too, if that’s okay. We’ll get up to speed a lot faster if you take two people out at a time… and also, I really don’t want to just sit around on this bus.”

As I considered this, more people started offering opinions. Suddenly everyone had a reason why they should be coming along as well, and before I knew it, we were looking a lot more like a squad than a team. I had to get control of this quickly.

“Alright, alright, knock it off. We’re not all going at once. I’m sorry; I know sitting around on the bus sucks, but this is how it’s gonna go until we have a better handle on the area. Jessica, you have a point. Since you were the first person to speak up, grab the Sig; you’ll come with us.