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

We pushed through into an adjoining rear storage area that qualified as little more than a closet, all five of us stacking up on top of each other in the cramped space.

“This leads outside,” Alish said.

“Okay, let me stick my head out first,” I replied, and nudged through to the front of the line. I heard Jessica moan as I jostled past her and experienced a moment of simultaneous relief and panic; relief that she could still vocalize and panic that she was fast running out of time.

At the door, I pulled my rifle up tight and, without looking at Alish, said, “Pull that open.” As her hand closed around the knob, I killed the weapon light. A brilliant, white point of illumination appeared floating out in space; immediately stretched into a needle-thin line spanning from floor to ceiling. Even after the brightness of the weapon light, I felt as though the image of that crack must be burning into my retina. I had just enough time to squint before the line widened and distorted, dimming from pure white to the muted drab of a back alley. The doorway framed the rear end of another small business building of some sort; there was trash built up outside on the ground, and I could make out the side of a dumpster from my position. I pushed forward to stick my head out.

The alley was clear in either direction, though I could hear shouts of pursuit now amplified due to the fact that I was no longer enclosed in a building. It sounded like whoever was after us were coming down on our heads, but I pulled a deep breath to calm myself. I knew and was counting on the fact that cities, with all of their hard, flat surfaces of different shapes and sizes pointing in multiple directions, did strange things to soundwaves. The people chasing after us could be right around the corner or a couple of blocks over. I stepped out into the alley and positioned myself across from the door, trying to be ready to shoot in either direction with a minimum of delay.

“Okay, let’s go,” I whispered. “Head to my left and keep to the alley. Wait for me to get in front of you before crossing the street and remember: if we can hear them they can hear us. No talking above a whisper.”

Alish nodded and came out first, followed by the two boys (or young men, I guess; they looked an awful lot to me like some joker had glued baby heads onto teenage bodies), and I crowded in behind them. I divided my attention between looking back behind us and monitoring Jessica’s leg to see if we were leaving a blood trail. So far, it appeared that my field dressing was doing its job; there was plenty of blood on her leg from before, which was drying up already, but nothing new was flowing down her leg or making a trail that could be followed. On the other hand, her whole thigh was now a vivid purple color and was noticeably swollen in size compared to the other. Thoughts of what that meant came before I could stop them and I shook my head angrily, trying to dispel them like they were some obnoxious swarm of gnats. This technique is equally effective for both thoughts and gnats, by the way; it is completely inadequate.

Before I expected it, I felt myself bump into the heels of Jessica and her bearers. I realized we must be at a cross street and tried to remember how deep into this area we had gotten from 38 thand the Blake Street overpass, finding (with some measure of disgust at myself) that I could not. Because we were in an alleyway rather than an actual street, there were no signs within view to tell me where we were or how far we had to go. I rushed past everyone to the mouth of the alley to look up and down the street. It was empty; however our pursuers had also gone quiet, so it was even harder to place them on the mental map I had going in my head.

“Wait for my signal,” I said, and then ran across the street to the alley on the opposing side. Once there, I turned back to face my little group of people and looked along the cross street, focusing primarily on the southeast direction; this had me looking back at Walnut as it ran parallel to our alleyway. There was no movement or other evidence of pursuit, so I beckoned at the others to follow. As they came, I braced my left shoulder up against a building corner and kept my eyes glued on Walnut. I could see my new friends coming out of my peripheral vision and was pleased to note that the boys, though young in appearance, were able to make some good speed even though they were lugging a nearly unresponsive casualty between them. Adrenaline or not, they were stronger than they looked.

I waited for them to pass me and then fell in behind them. As I turned to follow, I heard the sound of breaking glass and the sharp, multi-crack of small arms fire. It sounded like they were crawling right up into my colon.

I called up ahead of me while still trying to maintain some kind of a whisper (I guess you’d call it a stage whisper at that point), saying: “Hang a left up here as soon as you see a clear path to the next street over!” I couldn’t be sure where our pursuers were, but if they were in the little office where we had packed Jessica’s leg, it was a good bet they’d be spilling out into our alley very soon. I wanted them to have to guess which direction we were going rather than just be able to see us and start chasing. Alish and the boys were able to make the turn almost as soon as I finished speaking and we found ourselves trotting north east up Blake shortly after.

We soon approached a cross street, and I squinted to see the name printed out on the street sign: 31 st. I groaned internally, realizing that made it about seven blocks to where I wanted to be, give or take. I put my head down and reminded myself that I didn’t have to hump the distance while carrying Jessica; she wasn’t a fatty by any means at all, but she was curvy and carried some good muscle besides. I had already been panting by the time I set her down earlier, and I hadn’t carried her a great distance at all. If I had needed to make the trip to the bus without help, I’m pretty sure we would have been boned.

Not wanting to deal mentally with the total distance we needed to travel, I employed a little trick that just about every Marine or soldier figures out at some point; I broke the trip down into smaller sections and focused only on completing the next little part that was directly in front of me. We talk about mental resilience or resolve all the time, but sometimes, the job is just too goddamned big to deal with; you just figure there’s no way in hell you’re getting it done. Running five more miles after you’ve just run ten might be mentally crushing, but there’s a good chance you can always run another hundred yards. If a hundred yards gets too tough to handle, you can always run another fifty feet. In the end, no matter how far you’ve gone, you can always find the strength to take one more step. You think to yourself: Five miles? Fuck you, I might as well just lie down and die. There’s no way I’m getting five more miles out of these legs.

But in the time it takes you to think that, you’ve taken ten more steps. It’s all about chaining a series of little steps together in a sequence, one after the other, in a consistent direction; chipping away at the task until it’s achieved. Amass a large pile of tiny victories. You can always take just one more step.

As we hugged the wall of buildings on our right, I turned to look behind us and saw nothing. No pursuers, no doors suddenly opening, no heads suddenly poking out. I heard nothing but our footfalls and our labored breathing. I faced forward and asked, “How we doing up there?”

Neither of the boys answered, but the one on the right (I think it was Greg) gave me a sharp nod of the head. The knuckles of both the boys’ hands were white where they were wrapped around Jessica’s wrists. For her part, Jessica was limp; her head lolled around uselessly, and her feet dragged behind her. I would have to rotate one of them out very soon. We passed another street, and I looked up at the sign as we went by: 34 th.