Joshua Gayou - Commune - Book One

As we sat, Otis pulled his rifle off one of the chair seats—an old-fashioned looking, wooden, bolt-action weapon with a large telescopic scope—and placed it butt down in the dirt against the backrest. He looped the sling over the back of the chair and then held onto it as he sat down to ensure the weight of the rifle wouldn’t pull it over. Ben sat down next to him on his left side, to his right were Robert followed by Samantha while on our end from right to left was Billy, Jake, myself, and Lizzy.

We all sat for a moment, silently awkward. I can’t say for sure, but I think it may have been the first time any of us had been in such a situation. We’ve certainly been in plenty like it since that day. Finally, looking for a way to break the ice, I said, “Otis, is that a Southern accent I hear?” A Southern man always loves to talk about home, in my experience.

“Well, yes it is,” he said, smiling. I was momentarily hypnotized by how a face so dark could appear so full of light by smiling. “We were living in New Mexico when Ben was born, but I’m originally from Atlanta.”

No one brought up the absence of the mother, a fact which was entirely conspicuous for its lack of mention. Otis picked up on this, apparently, and said, “Oh, we didn’t lose his mother recently. That was some time ago.”

Our side of the lineup breathed in unison, and now Ben smiled as well, as though he wanted to put us at ease.

“You’re a good ways out from New Mexico,” Billy said. “Do you, uh, mind if I ask where you’re headed?”

“Sure,” Otis nodded, making the word sound like “shoo-wuh,” “we’re making our way to Oregon. My folks passed on years ago, but Ben’s mother still had some family up that way. We’re going to see if we can find them. We picked up our friends here along the way. They, uh, they weren’t so lucky with their people.” I saw Robert’s hand clench into a fist as Otis said this; there was a lot of anger there. “How ‘bout yourselves?”

Billy cleared his throat and shifted. Jake answered without hesitation: “We’re on our way to Wyoming. There’s some land up there. Fresh start, maybe.”

“Fine. That sounds fine,” said Otis.

“So,” said Jake, “you flagged us down at great potential risk to yourselves. What can we do for you?”

“Well, like I told you, we’re looking to trade supplies. Ammo is what we need the most, but we can talk over anything, really. Water is what we’re doing well on right now—we came across several flats of it a few days ago.”

“More water is always a good thing,” Jake said.

“Yeah. Our problem right now is we’re out of gas. We’ve been hopping from car to car as we go. It was easier with just Ben and me, but now we gotta make sure we have enough automobile to move four people plus all the supplies we need.”

“You haven’t worked out refueling, then?” Billy asked.

“I tried siphoning with a plastic hose I’d found but it didn’t work out.”

“Yeah, it’s the anti-roll stuff they build into the tanks,” Billy said and looked across Jake to me. “You know if there’s anything like an auto parts store around here, Amanda?”

Before I could answer, Otis said, “We just passed an Auto Zone on the way in today. It’s not far from here; just down the 6.”

“Oh, there you go,” Billy said. “You folks staying here tonight?”

“I reckon yes,” said Otis. “Anyway, haven’t found a way to get us moving again.”

“Okay,” Billy said and looked back over at us. “We done traveling for the day?”

“We can be,” said Jake.

Billy looked back to Otis. “Let’s you and I head out early tomorrow. I’ll help you get your gas situation sorted out.”

Otis nodded, clearly pleased. “That sounds like a plan, Billy. Thank you.”

“Finally get that damned jack stand,” Billy said and struck his knee lightly. I cough-snickered into my hand.

“So aside from that, sounds like ammo for water?” asked Jake. “What’s that rifle there?””

“Thirty-aught six.”

“Hell,” said Billy. “We’re not carrying any of that.”

Otis nodded his head. He looked disappointed but also had the expression of one who was expecting the news. “I’ve had a hell of a time keeping this rifle loaded. It’s not even mine—a good friend who didn’t make it through had it. Had a whole collection of hunting rifles and revolvers in all manner of odd calibers. He even had a Smith and Wesson 500. Can you imagine trying to find bullets for that?” He shook his head and sighed. “I have twelve rounds left for this, and then we need to get serious about trading up.”

Jake leaned over to Billy and whispered to him. They conferred for a few moments, gesturing back and forth. Finally, Billy shrugged and gestured over to me. Jake leaned in close to me, and I heaved over in his direction to put my head close to his.

“Water’s going to be a big deal soon. We’re talking about giving them the Bushmaster and a box of .223. Thoughts?”

“What, you’re going to trade him for his rifle?”

“No, even trade for the water.”

I wrinkled my nose at him. “Seems like a lot to avoid scavenging for water. You know we’ll be able to find some. Plus, we’re going to spend some time getting them refueled tomorrow, apparently,” I whispered, looking across at Billy.

“Amanda,” he said, pulling my eyes back to his. “You know what happens if they run into the wrong people. We have the AK, your Tavor, the shotgun, the two AR’s, and the pistols. Even giving him the Bushmaster we still have the extra AR.” He didn’t bother mentioning the bullets. After Barnes, the rear of the Jeep was sitting nearly six inches low from all the extra weight we were dragging. “There’re more guns in this world now than there are good people, or any kind of people, really. We’ll find more.”

I nodded, knowing he was right. Jake put his hand out, and I dropped the keys into it.

“Just a moment, please,” Jake said and got up.

“What’s up, folks?” asked Otis, as Jake went to the rear of the Jeep.

“What the hell’s going on? What the fuck’s he doing??” asked an alarmed Robert, really speaking now for the first time. His face was flushed and angry. He was coming out of his chair, moving in front of his sister.

“Hey, calm down,” Billy said.

“Boy, sit down ,” commanded Otis with the sound of someone now fully out of patience. Robert slammed back into his chair in a fury, not even bothering to conceal the mask of rage on his face. “You got to think, Robert! If these people wanted us dead, Amanda here could have drawn a line right across our bellies with whatever the hell that nasty lookin’ thing is, ain’t that right Amanda?”

I swallowed and nodded. I had been halfway to doing exactly that. I hoped it wasn’t too obvious and pulled my hand away from the trigger while trying to avoid drawing any attention to it. I failed miserably.

Jake came walking back from the Jeep with a black rifle hanging from his right hand, index finger threaded through the front sight. From his left hand dangled a plastic ammunition case.

He came back to his chair and sat down. Billy said, “Thirty-aught six isn’t exactly ultra-rare, but it’s going to be harder to find than .223 or 5.56. It’s probably just best if you trade up right now.”

Jake pulled the handle back on the rifle to check the chamber and passed the rifle across to Otis, who accepted it with his mouth hanging open.

From the side, Billy said: “This here is a Bushmaster XM-15 MOE. It will fire both .223 and 5.56, which were probably the two most popular rounds in this country right before everything went under. It is a very nice rifle, and I’m going to insist that you treat it like a lady.” Billy said this last part with the most serious of expressions. We knew he was joking, but Otis only coughed and said, “Yes, sir.”