Joshua Gayou - Commune - Book One

Jake and I both swung back around toward him with our rifles leveled. We both lifted the muzzles high when we saw it was him. He had the wild-eyed look of a prospector too long in the hills away from humanity who had stumbled across a massive gold strike. He walked directly up to us and said in a very low voice, “Let’s start moving the food and water back over to the truck.” I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw his eye twitching. “We hit the god damned jackpot!”

We made Spanish Fork just after four in the afternoon. This was the next in a series of planned refueling stops that Billy had mapped out on our route to Jackson, Wyoming. Our vehicles had become an integral part of our survival so the intent was to not push things. We would stop for top-offs whenever our tanks were at half empty or less, assuming the area looked hopeful (meaning there were enough cars to tap with good visibility in the surrounding area). Spanish Fork was a town dense with housing along with the businesses to support that housing; there were vehicles aplenty for us to exploit.

We exited the freeway at Main Street and only had to proceed south for a block or two before we started passing vehicles stopped in the middle of the road. Rather than getting in too deep, we opted to stop there just in sight of the freeway and begin what I was already thinking of as our topping-off operation. I had engaged in this activity once before with Billy when we first picked up the Jeep, but I didn’t see the particulars at the time; my job at that point had been to stand as a look-out for Billy while he worked under the cars.

“Come on,” Billy said as he hefted the jack from the truck bed, “Jake can keep a look out for us this time. You can watch me and learn how to do this. It’s really easy.”

Hearing this, Jake positioned himself between the truck and the Jeep just between their front bumpers, his AK-47 held at the ready. He started scanning back and forth over the horizon like some kind of automated sentinel. Billy positioned the jack toward the rear wheel of our first target (a grey sedan), showing me how to find a strong jack point as he did. He lifted the end of the car up just high enough that he could wriggle under on his back. I lowered down onto the ground and lay on my side to see what he was doing.

“Okay, just stay out there and watch what I do. At some point, I’ll find a jack stand, and this process will actually be safe…” His hand reached out, snagged the lip of one of his drip pans, and swung it back up over his head in an arc like he was making a one-winged snow angel. He pulled out a mallet and punch to go to work on the tank.

The first drip pan was nearly filled when the flow of gas began to die out. Billy tsked to himself and said, “Eh, maybe the next one has more.”

“Guys,” Jake called from his position as Billy wiggled out from under the car. “Company.”

Billy and I locked eyes. I could see the gears turning in his head; an ambush with two-thirds of the adults in such a vulnerable position was bad news. “How many?” he asked without moving.

“I only see the one right now. He’s keeping his distance.”

“Let’s get out there and see,” Billy said to me and started to scoot back out from the car. From my position, all I had to do was roll to my back and sit up. I was walking back toward the Jeep while Billy was still in the process of achieving an upright position, looking over Jake’s shoulder as I opened the door, told Lizzy to stay down, and pulled out my rifle. There was indeed a single person a quarter of a mile distant—far enough away that I could see only basic details. He stood unmoving, watching us.

“How long has he been there?” I asked as I came to stand beside Jake.

“Not sure. I called out to you as soon as I noticed him.”

“He’s just been standing there watching?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So, what do we do?”

“Not…sure.”

I looked at Jake and saw that this was true. His expression was focused; the unconscious look he assumed whenever in the process of solving a puzzle. He looked out over the distance between us and the stranger, unblinking.

“We have a choice, here,” Billy said from behind us. “We can pack up and move on or approach. Either option comes with its risks.”

“Leaving has risks?” I asked.

“Yes,” Jake answered. “Right now, we can see him. If we leave, we’ll lose sight of him, but he’ll probably be able to keep an eye on us. Means he can follow us. In fact…” he trailed off as he started looking out in all other directions, “there could be friends of his closing in right now while he stands there distracting us.”

“Look!” Billy said.

The stranger put one hand above his head and began to wave at us in large, sweeping arcs. He then lifted what was clearly a rifle over his head and held it aloft for several seconds, giving us all plenty of time to see it. Finally, he let the barrel drop toward the ground where it swung back and forth (there must have been a two-point sling on it), holding it out away from himself in that position, pointing down at the ground. He turned his back on us and began walking due north back toward the 15. He continued to hold the rifle out away from himself in the same fashion as he walked away.

“What the hell…” Billy muttered.

“I think we’re being invited to a meeting,” I said.

“Yeah,” Jake said, nodding slowly. “I believe you’re right, Amanda.”

“Sure, a meeting. Or luring us into a damned trap ,” grated Billy.

“I’ll go,” Jake said. “I want to see.”

“This ain’t firewood, Jake,” said Billy, making no sense at all to me. “We know there’s something out there this time. The smart bet is to just move on.”

Jake sighed, a sound that was so worn and exhausted that I almost felt by way of premonition the person he would eventually become. I have read about hindsight bias and know how it works, but I would almost swear to you that I saw into his future in that moment; saw the weight he would one day place voluntarily on his own shoulders. It made me feel tired to think of it.

“Billy,” he said with the sound of someone repeating an old argument, “I’m not going to live in a world where the first instinct is always ‘shoot them in the face.’ If they prove out to be bad people, then fine.”

“That’ll get you killed,” Billy answered.

“That’s fine, too,” Jake said. “It’s why I’ll go alone and see.” He handed his rifle over to me. “There is no sensible reason we all have to turn into a bunch of pirates. We managed to function as a society before all this. The only thing that keeps us from continuing to do so is our decision to stop.”

With that, he began to walk in the direction of the stranger.

“Yeah, well I just hope the rest of the population got the damned memo!” Billy called from behind him. He watched Jake walk away, clearly indecisive about what he should be doing. He finally scoffed and said, “Shit. C’mon, Little Sis. Let’s go after him. You follow behind in the Jeep. I’ll get this gas into a can and catch you up. Won’t take long.”

The stranger led us all off Main Street in a northeast direction along a narrow patch of dirt that ran just along the freeway interchange connecting the 15 to the 6. Billy and I had to drive up over the curb on the right and navigate through a small, landscaped patch of earth past the sidewalk. Beyond this was a narrow corridor walled in by the freeway on the left and a row of trees acting as a windbreak on the right. The corridor was narrow enough that we had to drive single file behind Jake; the branches of the trees would reach out occasionally and scrape along our door panels. I remember worrying about the Jeep’s paint job like a moron.