Fire: The Collapse

by William Esmont

Twenty-Eight

  The next day

  How did I not see this coming? Megan chided herself, exasperated. How did I let things go this far? “Listen, Mike. This is what Cesar wanted,” she said in a controlled tone.

  Directly across from her, Pringle shot her one of his award-winning smiles, the one that said, “You’re wrong and I’m right, and you just don’t know it yet.” She hated that look. Hated it.

  “I beg to differ. That’s what Cesar wanted when he was about to die. But he’s gone, and I believe that as the community grows, we need a different style of leadership, something new, something… stronger.”

  Megan seethed inside. Prick. “Look, Mike. This isn’t the military. It’s just not. That’s not what we—”

  He interrupted, “Bullshit!” His voice dropped an octave. “You and I both know this isn’t working. The people are looking for a strong leader, and you’re not cutting it. Ask anyone.”

  Megan railed internally at the accusation, partly because it pissed her off, but more importantly, because there was a grain of truth to it. Neither she, nor Cesar before her, ruled with an iron fist. It hadn’t been Cesar’s style, and it certainly wasn’t hers, not in a million years.

  Mike shook his fist. “Pay attention, Megan. This is important. People are talking. They want change, and they want it now.” Megan’s mind was spinning. She hadn’t heard any rumors of discontent with her leadership, at least none spoken to her face. Maybe that’s the problem? Maybe people are afraid to come to me?

  There were certainly people who didn’t fit in. Misfits, people who she never would have socialized with before the apocalypse. But still, even they deserved a chance at safety, at survival. Everyone did. She swallowed her anger, running her palms across her lap in an effort to calm herself. “Let’s just assume, for a second, that there’s something to what you’re saying…”

  Pringle leaned forward. Across the room, Alicia studiously flipped through a dog-eared issue of People magazine.

  “If that were the case,” Megan continued, “I would have heard something. I’m out in the community every day, working the fences, collecting food, bringing in new people. Why hasn’t anyone come to me? Tell me that.” She cursed herself for sinking to Pringle’s level, but she had crossed the point of no return.

  “You just can’t—”

  There was a sharp crack from outside. Then another, followed by a sustained burst of AK-47 fire.

  “Shit! What now?” Megan yelped, leaping from her chair. “We’ll finish this later!” She drew her gun and raced for the front door. Pringle was right behind her. The gunfire had stopped by the time they reached the door, as if it had never happened. Megan peered out the window on the left side while Pringle looked out the right.

  “I don’t see anything,” he said.

  “Me either.”

  “On three.” Pringle stepped back from the door and dropped into a firing position, covering the portal as Megan flung it open. Nothing. Pringle scuttled forward and scanned the porch beyond. “Clear!” he announced.

  They leapfrogged into the street, covering each other, searching for the source of the exchange. It was down the street. Jack, the new man, squatted on his haunches beside two corpses, inspecting them. A few feet beyond, a young man, another recent arrival whose name Megan couldn’t recall, sat in the road, cradling his arm. What the hell? Jack got to his feet as they arrived on the scene, a sad, disgusted look on his face.

  “What happened?” Pringle demanded, addressing the man on the ground and ignoring Jack.

  “I—” the man started.

  Jack stepped between them and straightened to his full height, towering over Pringle. “It was an accident. There was no one at the gate.”

  He was talking about the east gate, a large iron security door liberated from a border patrol storage depot and installed on the perimeter fence.

  “Are you bitten?” Megan asked the man, already knowing the answer. She had to hear the words from his mouth. Tears came to the man’s eyes, and he choked up, but nodded. Megan dropped her head to her chest and stared at the ground, seeing nothing and everything at the same time.

  This was the first infection inside the compound in over a month, the first breach under her watch, and not only did it mean the man was as good as dead, but it also gave Pringle ammunition in his argument against her leadership.

  “The gate is secure now,” Jack interjected. “But there’s no sign of the sentry.” It was standard practice to post a rotating sentry on the gate at all times. Everyone in the community took a turn.

  “Who was on today?” Megan asked. She felt as if she was watching someone else ask the question, floating above, observing a nasty tragedy unfold beneath her.

  Pringle thought for a second before answering. Gate security was his domain. “Tony.” Tony had been with the community for about five weeks. A man of few words, Megan didn’t know much about him, but he had always been reliable. “Has anyone seen him today?” she asked.

  They all shook their heads. Great. She couldn’t help feel that this whole thing was rigged. The timing was too much of a coincidence. “Okay,” she said. “We contained it this time.” She met Jack’s eyes and held them. “Thanks for your quick action.”

  He shrugged and holstered his weapon. His eyes revealed nothing, a pair of one-way mirrors on his soul. “What happens to him?” Jack asked quietly, eyes flitting to the sobbing man.

  “He’s infected. There’s nothing we can—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, Pringle drew his weapon, stepped up to the man, and pulled the trigger. The report echoed through the compound and up the canyon beyond.

  Megan screamed. “What the hell was that?”

  Pringle holstered his gun and turned to her. “No more fucking around, Megan. It’s time to get serious about this community, and it starts right here, right now.”

  Megan didn’t know how to respond to this challenge. Pringle’s unilateral action amounted to an execution of an innocent man. Sure, the man had been infected and was as good as dead anyway, but the community had rules. Infected who were mobile had the choice between taking their own lives or having someone else do it for them. Pringle, in his haste, had stripped him of his rights, stolen the last vestiges of the man’s humanity, for his own gain.

  “That’s not how we do things here!”

  Pringle stared back at her. “It is now!”

  Jack took a step back, out of their direct path. It was all Megan could do not to draw her weapon and shoot Pringle. Right here. Right now. But she knew it would do no good. She would lose the trust of the community, would become, in their eyes, no better than him.

  “Guys.” It was Jack. Megan turned to him, her gaze full of fire.

  She exploded. “What?”

  He stepped forward, putting himself between them, and raised his hands in a sign of peace.

  That set Pringle off. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” He took a step forward and shoved Jack in the chest.

  Yeah, Megan thought. Who the fuck? But inside, she was glad for the interruption. It gave her a precious few seconds, seconds she desperately needed, to cool off before she did something rash.

  “You’re right,” Jack said, addressing Pringle. “I’m nobody, just a guy who has a feeling that you guys are about to do something you’ll regret.” He motioned around them with a slight toss of his head. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve got an audience.” It was true. A circle had formed around them; the other members of the community were watching with bated breath.

  Megan took a deep breath and steadied herself. “You’re right. Let’s take this inside.”

  Pringle glanced around and deflated as he realized the stakes. He shook his head. “Not now. I’ve got to get someone on the gate. We’ll talk later.” He glared, his eyes full of murder, then shifted his gaze to Jack. He abruptly spun on his heels and stalked off toward the fence.

  “Thanks,” Megan mouthed to Jack, as Pringle moved out
of earshot. “That was close.”

  Jack held her gaze for a moment, and then moved toward the dead man. “Let’s get these bodies out of here.”

  Twenty-Nine