Joshua Gayou - Commune - Book One

“I’d kill for a slice of fresh bread,” Hugo complained.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Dwight spoke up. “Why don’t we just crack out a couple of the MREs Amanda brought with her? That okay with you, Amanda?”

The look of friendly hope on his face when he asked me that was so out of place that he surprised a, “Are you fucking serious‽” out of me. His smile fell instantly, as though he had just learned that some jerk had eaten the last of his favorite ice cream.

“That’s a plan, right there,” Hugo said, levering himself up out of his chair. “I swear to Shiva, if I have to eat one more of those cans of vegetable beef, I’m going to shit out my pancreas.”

“Who the hell is Shiva?” Richard asked.

“It was that one god from Indiana Jones.” Hugo disappeared for a moment into the rear motorhome and came back out a moment later with three bags under his arms.

“These things are something like fifteen thousand calories,” he said. “We probably want to go easy on these, in case we don’t like them, huh?”

“Good idea,” said Dwight. “I understand you can cook these without a fire, so it’s probably best to save them for special occasions, such as if you suspect another night of soup will throw you into colorectal distress.”

“Without a fire, huh?” Richard said, coming over to the table where Hugo had thrown the brown packages. “How d’you manage that?”

“Well, there’re instructions on the side. Read ’em,” said Dwight.

Hugo picked up a bag and began to read to himself, his lips moving silently. After a few minutes, he said, “Okay, we gotta find a rock or something.”

“Huh?” Richard grunted. “The fuck does a rock have to do with this?”

“Well, I guess it doesn’t have to be a rock. We could get something like a rock. It just says ‘rock or something’”.

“Wait a minute,” Dwight said, reaching out to take the package. “The instructions actually say ‘rock or something’??”

Hugo handed it over and pointed at a spot on the bag with an I-told-you-so look on his face.

Dwight stared at the bag where Hugo gestured. “Who the fuck wrote this‽ Beavis and Butthead?”

It was obviously a mistake to say this, as Hugo and Richard instantly started imitating the two characters, grunting and chuckling like a couple of morons.

“Hey, Beavis. Go find a rock or something. Uh, huh-huh.”

Dwight was in the process of rolling his eyes heavenward when James’ voice erupted from the back of the leading motorhome loud enough to make the slide windows shake.

“Shut the fuck up you inbred, goat-fucking bastards!”

Everyone shut up immediately. I didn’t want to be outside among the idiots any longer, so I got up and went to the rear camper to check on Lizzy. She was no fool; I don’t think she knew exactly what was going on, but she did understand that we were not with nice people, so she spent most of her time shut up in the rear of the camper keeping to herself.

“Hey, how you doing, Mija?” I asked as I sat down by her on the bed. She was sitting with her back against the wall, so I scooted on next to her.

“I want to leave, mom. I don’t want to stay with these people anymore. They’re not right. None of this is right.”

I had no idea how to explain the situation to her in a way she could understand, and that wouldn’t horrify her. She was still just a little girl, yet to have her first period. I wasn’t even close to having the talk with her yet. My stomach churned with nausea as I searched for something to say that would make any sense. Finally, I just told her, “I know. We can’t go yet. Maybe soon but not now.”

“How soon?”

“I don’t know. We have to be very careful. Very quiet. Don’t talk about this with any of the others.”

“I don’t want to talk with them at all,” she muttered.

“That’s good,” I said. “Only don’t give them any reason to be mad at you, okay? If they ask you a question, you answer, okay?”

She stared out the window and said nothing. She reached a hand up and wiped at an eye.

“Elizabeth, look at me. I need you to say okay.”

“Okay,” she finally said, and I put my arms around her.

The door to the other motorhome slammed open, making us both jump. Through the cracked window, I heard James growling at the other three.

“Well, you fucking idiots have done it. There’s no…”—There was a loud slap, followed immediately by a grunt and the sound of someone falling over chairs—“…chance of me getting back to sleep now. God damned, brainless fucktards, every one…”

The sound of his footsteps approached the door of our camper. My spine began to coil up on itself, and I felt a cold wire wrap around my insides and tighten. The door opened, and James lumbered into the kitchenette area.

“Elizabeth,” he growled. “Go play outside a while.”

Elizabeth did the exact opposite of that. She dug her hands into my arms and buried her face in my shoulder. I began to panic.

“You said only at night…” I babbled at him.

His eyes went wide while his face reddened in anger. “I? I said no such fuckin’ thing.” He came at us both like a charging rhino. I struggled to untangle myself from Lizzy and put myself between them, but he reached out with a single hand, wrapped his fingers in my hair, and threw me aside. With the other, he grabbed Elizabeth by the arm and hauled her out of the bed. She was shrieking in terror.

He began dragging her toward the door. I don’t recall coming to my feet at this point; I only remember being across the camper suddenly and hitting him in the back as hard as I could with fists and elbows. He turned and gave me a single shove, which sent me all the way back through the dining area, past the bathroom, and onto the bed. As I sat back up from being flat on my back, I saw him shove the door open and throw my daughter out into open space bodily by the back of her shorts and the collar of her shirt. Her panicked screaming and crying was interrupted by the sound of her little body hitting the ground, after which I heard her groaning and making frantic choking noises. I realized she’d had the wind knocked out of her. James slammed the door shut and locked it.

I lost all control of myself at that point. I came across the camper at him at full speed, shrieking and cursing, telling him I’d kill him, promising to rip his motherfucking balls off. He reached out, caught me by my throat, and slammed me into the wall. My mouth slammed shut on my tongue, and I tasted blood. I lost consciousness for the shortest of moments when the back of my head bounced off the wall. When things cleared up again, I realized he had probably slammed me into the wall two or three more times.

He didn’t say anything after that—nothing menacing… didn’t ask me if I’d had enough. He waited a few seconds to see if I would do anything else, then nodded. He walked me over to the table, bent me over it, and ripped my pants off of me. I felt him spread me open and he spit between my legs. He took what he wanted. I could still hear Lizzy crying outside.

Jake and Billy arrived on the following day in the midafternoon. James and Dwight had left to go scavenging in town, leaving Hugo and Richard to keep an eye on things. During this time, one of them would usually sit up on top of one of the motorhomes in a folding chair with a rifle (my rifle, I noted) while the other kept to the ground. They weren’t exactly vigilant. I’m sure someone could have snuck up on them without too much effort. I don’t think Jake figured out for sure what was going on until after he arrived, though, so he wasn’t really trying to sneak up on anything.

I was in the camper with Lizzy, trying to come up with a way to kill four men at once without any weapons and without endangering my daughter when I heard voices outside, as well as Richard’s coming from above my head periodically. With the camper windows all closed, it sounded like listening to people talk while being underwater. I could tell that English was being used, but it was all muffled and distorted; just beyond any comprehension.