The streets were clean, the houses and yards all as well maintained as could be expected under the circumstances. Mayor Darby and the City Council and the other leaders had all done an excellent job organizing things so everyone had enough water for drinking and sanitation, and had places to dispose of their trash where it wouldn't present a problem.
They were even keeping the sewage system working, which was vital for hygiene.
Beyond that, with people desperate simply for necessities and not many willing to part with what they could spare for money (which might not even be worth anything anymore with the economy collapsed), the town had come together to create a bustling open marketplace. Somewhere people could swap what they had for what they needed.
And as for those who had nothing to trade and faced starvation or more mundane sickness, most people who had resources to spare had contributed them to the town's stockpile; that, combined with what Nick and the scavengers had brought for the town, ensured that nobody was going hungry.
In fact, in some ways things might even be better here than they'd been before Zolos swept the country. Gen had never seen such a sense of community, with people out talking and working together, children laughing, and public parks and other similar spaces full of people gathered to prepare group meals, trade, and socialize.
The people of Stanberry had embraced Gen and Billy with open arms since they'd fled the Norsons' house for the safety of town, and most of these people felt more like family than friends.
Which was why it saddened her to hear Nick and their friends in the quarantine camp, even Ellie and Hal, talk about the town. They weren't here and couldn't see the wonderful things these good people had accomplished, couldn't appreciate that they just wanted to be left alone to try to get through this, but were still willing to do everything they could to help out the refugees in the quarantine camp.
From the outside, all they saw was the paranoia and isolationism.
That was why Gen was so disappointed that Darby hadn't let Ellie's group come into town; if her friends could just see the warmth and cooperation within the barricades, they'd understand what a wonderful place Stanberry was. How vital it was to protect these good people from monsters like Jay.
Of course, not everyone in Stanberry was sweetness and sunshine; actually, a big part of the reason the people in the camp might not like them was walking down the street towards Gen right at that moment.
“Back from that sideshow at the quarantine camp?” Darrel called as he came within earshot, and Gen bit back a groan as he changed directions to head their way.
“That “sideshow” was a very sweet and romantic ceremony for two of our friends,” Winn replied, showing her characteristic patience.
“I'm sure it was,” the leader of the town's patrols said. “Feldman, or I guess Westmont now, is just the prime example of a sweet blushing bride.” His sneer abruptly turned to a scowl. “You know, I should make all you idiots who left the barricades to attend the festivities go through another quarantine period. I would, too, if my cousin hadn't graced the wedding with his presence . . . the Mayor hardly has the time to be twiddling his thumbs at home.”
Gen bit back a scowl at the man's unkind words. She'd noticed Darrel referenced his relationship to Darby more and more these days; maybe he realized people were getting sick of his BS and was leaning harder on his one claim to authority.
She wasn't the only one irritated. “If that's all you have to say, I suppose that means this is just a social call, so good day,” Bruce said stiffly, starting to walk around him.
“Not completely a social call.” Darrel jerked his head towards Gen, making her jump. “Did you forget you're on the roster for a sentry shift on the southern barricades in ten minutes? With you out wasting time I thought you wouldn't show, so I was about to find someone else to replace you.”
“I'll be there,” she said, some stiffness in her own tone.
She'd never considered herself very aggressive or confrontational, just the opposite really. But with Jay threatening her town, including her and her son, she'd realized there was something she'd be willing to fight for.
At first her only weapon during sentry shifts had been binoculars, so she could call in a warning if she spotted trouble coming. But with Nick's shootout with Jay and then the bald maniac burning down the outlying houses and threatening to do even worse, she'd found herself joining the town's firearms training sessions every evening, learning to shoot the big hunting .30-06 she'd started borrowing from Bruce for her shifts.
She hated the thought of shooting someone, and honestly the big gun was so unwieldy and had such frightening recoil that even with some practice she had her doubts about whether she actually could.
But if the Wensbrook maniacs thought they were going to sneak into Stanberry again and burn down the house Billy was sleeping in, or try anything else to hurt her and her son and their friends, she was determined to be ready to stop them.
Although she hoped Nick was able to keep them far away. And that he'd stay safe in the process; part of the reason she'd asked to be put on the southern barricade was so that she could see the quarantine camp and catch the occasional glimpse of him.
Maybe it was a bit pathetic to admit, but at the moment even that was a highlight of her day; she and her boyfriend had even exchanged waves a few times.
Darrel nodded curtly and walked off. As he disappeared down the street Winn patted Gen on the shoulder. “Go ahead and head to the barricades. We'll go get your gear and bring it to you, and of course watch Billy during your shift.”
“Thanks,” Gen said, briefly hugging the older woman. Then she turned around and hurried back to the barricade, climbing up onto the walkway and nodding to the people on shift she passed as she made her way to her post.
It was empty, the previous sentry already gone. Darrel wouldn't be happy about that; he'd probably yell at both her and the sentry who'd abandoned his post before being relieved. Assuming either of them told him.
She settled down, squinting south into the distance in search of any potential threats. It felt pointless without her binoculars, even though she had decent eyesight, but an unmagnified view was better than nothing.
To her surprise, though, she did spot something worth reporting: a pickup truck coming into view along the south road, well beyond the quarantine camp. Probably just outside the survivor patrol route, within easy shooting range, although so far she didn't hear any gunfire.
Gen reached for her radio, then remembered it was with the rest of the gear Winn was bringing her. She turned to the nearest sentry and raised her voice. “You see that truck?”
The man curtly pointed at the radio he held to his mouth, an unspoken reply that he was already calling it in.
She turned back to squint at the truck, just in time to hear the distant roar of its engine as it began peeling out down the road towards Stanberry.
“Oh shoot,” she breathed, wishing today hadn't been the day she'd been late for her shift and left her gun behind.
Served her right for letting her guard down, just because Jay hadn't tried anything for days. As if she actually believed that psycho would go away.
Chapter Seven
Wedding Gift
Nick stood on a hill southwest of town, where he had a good vantage of the surrounding area. Including the truck roaring closer to Stanberry's barricade by the second.
His radio crackled. “So that's Jay's plan?” Darrel said with a mocking laugh. “After all this time waiting to see what he'd do next, he's going back to the first thing he tried that didn't even work back then? He must be completely out of ideas . . . a speeding truck's not going to do jack to our reinforced roadblock. He could throw them at us all day and it wouldn't matter.”
It did look like a desperation move, but something about it struck Nick as wrong.
He lifted his binoculars to give the speeding vehicle a closer look, and his worry turned to alarm as he realized the truck's bed wasn't emp
ty. It held what looked like a pile of . . . was that bags of gardening soil? Fertilizer? And some sort of makeshift tangle of wires attached to trash bags on top-
He lifted his radio to his mouth, screaming through it. “Get away from the roadblock, it's a bomb!”
It was almost too late, the truck less than ten seconds away from colliding. Nick watched in horror as men on the barricade threw themselves away from the barrier across the road, the radio erupting in shouted warnings.
Gen! Her post was a hundred yards farther east from the roadblock, and she might not even be there right now, so soon after the wedding. But what if she was? The thought of something happening to her, with him unable to even come close to help her, sent a surge of frantic worry through him.
He felt sick to his stomach as he watched the truck close the remaining distance to the roadblock.
It struck the reinforced barrier with a deafening crash, followed almost immediately by an explosion that shook the ground and slapped him with a concussive blast of air, even from hundreds of yards away.
Shouts turned to screams as Nick lowered the arm he'd protectively raised in front of his face, rising from the crouch he'd fallen into to view the devastation.
There was a huge, ragged hole in the roadblock, flaming debris lying everywhere, the entire scene all but obscured by smoke. Nick couldn't see any bodies, but the commotion on the radio was replaced by voices screaming for medical aid for the wounded.
Then a new voice rose over even those. “Another one's coming from the north!”
“And the west!” a second voice shouted, followed by two more voices yelling almost on top of each other warning about a vehicle coming from the southwest and two from the northeast.
“Shoot out their tires!” Darrel screamed. “Just on one side . . . try to get them to veer off the road and crash!”
Nick wasn't sure if the sentries in Stanberry succeeded, all he knew was that several seconds later more explosions rocked him back on his heels, several in quick succession. Followed by more screams and calls for medical aid.
“Stay sharp,” Darby called tersely through the confusion on the radio. “Jay might follow this up with an attack.”
As if mentioning him was an invitation, Jay's voice cut in over the radio, temporarily silencing the confusion. His message was unexpectedly brief.
“I hear you guys are celebrating a wedding, Stanberry. What's a wedding without some fireworks?”
Nick clenched his fist around his radio, then slammed it onto its clip on his belt and continued on to join up with his patrol to the west of town.
They needed to be ready in case that psycho tried anything else.
✽✽✽
Gen had a feeling she should be at her post keeping watch in case of another attack, but the screams from the south roadblock had drawn her towards them; she wanted to help those poor people, even if it was just helping shift rubble or hold hands until people trained in first aid could help them.
She staggered along the walkway, ears still ringing from the deafening blast. A man she passed shouted something at her, but she didn't catch it among the rest of the noise and confusion. There were fires up ahead, flickering fitfully through the smoke. She could also hear screams from other places in town, cries of pain and calls for help, from what she was sure must be other trucks that had hit the barricade.
She really regretted not having her radio right now.
A figure stumbled out of the smoke on the ground below the barricade, following it with one arm pressing the collar of her shirt up over her mouth. It was Mrs. Gerson, who'd been part of the group who'd gone to attend Ellie's wedding; she must've hung back by the gate talking to someone and been caught in the blast.
Gen hopped down from the barricade and rushed forward to lend the older woman her shoulder; blood streaked the left side of Mrs. Gerson's face from a small cut above her ear, but otherwise she seemed unhurt. Mostly dazed.
“It's all right,” Gen murmured, patting her friend's hand. “Let's get you away from the barricade, get that cut cleaned up and bandaged.”
“The gate just blew up!” Mrs. Gerson gasped, leaning heavily on her. “Out of nowhere . . . people on the walkway just started screaming, and then the next thing I knew I was on the ground and the world was spinning.”
Gen listened worriedly; it might be more than just a small cut, then. She should probably get her friend to a doctor.
They'd only gone a few blocks when a shout from up ahead made Gen lift her head, breathing out in relief. It was Bruce, lugging her gear and hurrying down the street towards them.
She quickly explained what had happened, although he had a radio and likely had a good idea himself. Even so he listened patiently as he supported Mrs. Gerson on her other side.
“Here,” he said, handing Gen his gun and her binoculars and radio. “I'll make sure she gets to the doctor, and keep an eye on Winn and Billy. You should get back to the wall . . . probably to the northeast . . . there were actually two trucks in that attack, and Darrel thinks that's where Jay's going to attack, if anywhere.”
Sure enough, his radio was full of chatter as the leader of their defenses called everyone who was off duty to gather, frantically passing out assignments on where they should go. He seemed panicked, unfocused, and she heard him give a few leaders of the same patrol groups multiple assignments.
Gen wanted to protest that Bruce would be more useful on the barricades than her, but in truth she wanted him to be there guarding Billy in case Jay somehow managed to get past the barricades. Besides, she was the one on duty at the moment; he'd just come off back-to-back shifts and had to be exhausted.
So she nodded and bolted off towards the northeast area of town, huffing and puffing before she'd gone more than a few blocks. She was in way better shape than she'd been in before the Zolos pandemic started, or to be honest since her teens, but even so she was carrying a heavy gun and ammo and other gear. And she'd already done a lot of running in the last ten minutes.
Finally, though, she reached the street running along the eastern barricade, coming into view of a small crowd forming up ahead.
The smoke had cleared enough for her to get a good view of the destruction the trucks had caused firsthand, and it shocked her. Entire sections of the barricades had been blown apart, blackened and smoking holes, still smoldering in a few places, with debris scattered for a hundred feet in every direction.
Gen stared at the devastation in dismay. The barricades had always felt a little makeshift, made of sturdy furniture, abandoned vehicles, bits of sheet metal and plywood and other building supplies, along with sandbags and earth berms in some places. Stanberry's volunteers had been reinforcing them this entire time, strengthening them and improving the walkways and sentry points, and she'd honestly thought that a bunch of nutjobs with guns would have no way of getting through to threaten her and her loved ones.
She hadn't expected them to get their hands on bombs.
Out in the street, a safe distance from the damage, a few doctors, nurses, and orderlies had set up an impromptu triage center, where twenty or so people were being treated. Most of the injuries seemed minor, bumps and scrapes and maybe concussions or ear damage, but there were also a few people who seemed in critical condition, motionless and bloody with medical personnel working frantically around them.
Answering Darrel's call, dozens of armed men and women were gathering on the barricades to either side of the holes, ready to fend off any further attacks. With a start Gen hurried to join them, climbing up onto the walkway and lifting her binoculars to search the surrounding area.
“Can you believe this?” the man next to her muttered, barely audible over the ringing in her ears.
It took her a few dazed seconds for her to realize he was talking to her, and she shook her head. “Where did he get the bombs?”
He shrugged. “Statton says he saw what looked like a homemade fertilizer bomb in the bed of the south truck.”
G
en hadn't heard Nick on the radio since Bruce had brought it to her, but she was relieved to hear he was okay and seemed to be on top of things, as usual. The idea that he was out there keeping her safe eased a knot between her shoulder blades she hadn't realized was there.
“How do a bunch of normal people from a small town know how to make stuff like that, anyway?” she asked.
The volunteer fighter snorted. “If anyone would, it's that wacko Jay.”
True enough.
Behind them she heard Darby shouting over a megaphone, urging onlookers who'd gathered to back off, both for their own safety and to give the doctors and Darrel's fighters room to do what they needed to do. Since the area outside the walls seemed empty of threats, and anyway there were plenty of people with binoculars or scopes keeping an eye out, Gen turned to look down at the street.
The crowd that had been there when she'd first arrived had grown by almost a hundred people, most milling around in distress and anger, demanding news and reassurances that they were still safe in spite of the attack. The Mayor stood in front of them, patting the air with one hand while he did his best to calm them down with his bullhorn.
He looked relieved when Darrel appeared to back him up, a handful of his fighters at his back. Although that relief was short-lived as the crowd's ire turned on the leader of their defenses.
“About time you showed up!” a barrel-chested older man at the front of the crowd shouted. “What, were you off strutting around lording it over us when you should've been defending us?”
Darrel flushed and snatched the megaphone from his cousin. “Hey come on, Lenny. I average four hours of sleep a night because I'm working nonstop protecting this town.”
“Really?” Lenny demanded, stepping out of the crowd to confront the other man nose-to-nose. “Because for someone who works so hard, you sure disappeared the moment the trucks with freaking bombs showed up and we actually needed you. I can't be the only one who was waiting for you to chime in and actually tell us what we should be doing during this disaster.”
Isolation | Book 4 | Holding On Page 11