Commune: Book Two (Commune Series 2)

by Joshua Gayou

  “You okay, Gibs?”

  Jake stood in the entryway of the garage, silhouetted by the light outside, made unmistakable by his stillness, his long, shaggy hair, and the meat around his shoulders, which seemed larger since the time we first met, if that was even possible.

  “We ran into some people,” I said in answer.

  “I know. I spoke with Amanda.”

  “How’s she doing?” I asked.

  “She’s coping. She’s with her daughter right now, either reminding herself what she fights for or that she’s still human. She’s been through some horrible things but I believe this is the first time she’s killed someone that may not have had it coming.”

  I scoffed. “Her reaction was the right one.”

  “Well. You and I know that, anyway,” he said.

  We stood quietly a while, not moving. I waited to be called out on what I was doing, a can of food in each hand, but Jake said nothing further. His silhouette remained planted in the center of the half-opened roll up door, ape arms just hanging there. Not wanting to burn up a bunch of daylight waffling around, I said, “I’m gonna take some food back to those people…the ones at the bank.” My voice sounded defensive even to me and I hated the momentary weakness. I knew I was doing the right thing.

  I also knew what the food situation was. I squared it personally by understanding that I was just going to have to collect more than anyone else the next time I was out; more than I had ever collected before. I’d stay out well past dark if I had to, if that’s what it took to make up the debt. I prepared to explain this to Jake; squared my own shoulders (higher off the ground than Jake’s but nowhere near as wide or dense) to argue it out.

  “I’ll get a bag to carry those,” said Jake. “Grab a couple of gallons of water and a first-aid kit as well. We can take the Dodge.”

  Edgar, George, and Barbara came along to intercept us on the way out to the truck. Well, they came to intercept Jake; I just happened to be out there with him at the time. We’d packed the food into a canvas bag and I suppose I may have hoped that it would be concealed enough that none of them noticed but things rarely work out just the way you’d like. I guess the outline of the cans in the bag was pretty obvious.

  “Fellas,” George said. “Where you off to?”

  “What’s with the cans?” Edgar asked.

  Before I could say anything, Jake said, “Care package. Some new friends out in Jackson could use a little help, I think.”

  “New friends?” asked George. “They coming around our way?”

  “I don’t think so,” Jake said. “They’re more of the independent type.”

  “You’re…taking them some of our food?” asked Edgar.

  I answered before Jake could this time. “Yeah, I’m taking them some of our food. They’re in bad shape and could use a hand. Is that a problem?”

  “I, uh…well…” Edgar sputtered, running a hand through his hair and looking at the ground.

  “It just seems a little off, hon,” Barbara said helpfully. “Everyone’s been busting their humps for weeks building that supply up, including you as well, of course. How are we going to make any headway if we give it all away?”

  “I know Barbara, I get it,” I said, taking an easier tone with her. “But it’s not enough to make or break us. And you didn’t see these people. You weren’t there.”

  “It makes a person wonder why he should go out and get any more,” mumbled Edgar.

  “Easy,” George said. “Gibs is a Marine Veteran. He tends to look out for people. We know this about him. We’ve all benefited from this attitude many times over, lest any of us forget. It’s a little disingenuous to start complaining when the very attitude that makes him such an asset in our group gets directed at some strangers in need.”

  “Yes, George, that’s all well and good but the fact remains,” Edgar interrupted. He turned his attention back to me and said, “First off, thank you for your service-“

  “Don’t…you…even…try to start in with that line,” I said.

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked, genuinely confused.

  “That ‘thank you for your service’ bullshit. It’s what a Vet usually hears right before he’s told that he’s basically wrong and irrelevant. If someone’s gonna tell me I’m full of shit, I want to hear it outright. I don’t want to be buttered up. You know how many times I heard that line right before someone told me in the same breath that I was full of shit and didn’t know what the hell I was talking about? I’ll give you a hint: it’s like a big, old, sloppy blowjob in your basic, garden variety porn. It’s foreplay, Edgar, and you’ve just told me that you like it rough.”

  Everyone stopped trying to say things for a bit after that, not that I could blame them. Being fair, it’s probably hard to continue making your point when someone tells you to spit their dick out. Jake decided to step in, once again, to save everyone.

  “Was there something I could help you folks with? I can’t imagine you ran out to grab me over a couple of cans of food.”

  Appearing relieved, Barbara almost jumped to provide an answer. She had warmed to Jake considerably during our time there, having decided, apparently, that he was not in fact the Boogey Man. “It’s about the kids, Jake. We’re not doing enough for them here.”

  “Oh?” asked Jake, showing genuine concern.

  “They’re kept safe and fed but what about their education? They’re more or less left to their own devices all day while everyone bustles around doing their thing, and all. If we don’t take an active role in their development, well…”

  “They’re going to grow up to be a bunch of morons,” I concluded for her.

  “Okay, um…well, I wasn’t going to use the word ‘morons’ but essentially, yes Gibs. Pretty much.”

  “We’re not suggesting they be taught Shakespeare or Calculus,” George said, “but there are basic skills from the old world that we need to hold onto and reinforce for everyone’s survival, as you know.”

  Jake was nodding, looking off into the distance rather than anyone in particular. “This is a good point. I can’t believe how much math I’ve had to employ just in figuring out how much farmland we’ll need to support everyone going forward…”

  “We have some preliminary plans for this,” said George. “I was a high school history teacher, once upon a time, and it turns out our friend Alish taught sixth grade.”

  “Really?” I said, impressed. “I didn’t know that about her.”

  “We don’t know much about her at all,” Edgar said. “She keeps to herself for the most part. I don’t even know her last name.”

  “It’s ‘Rouhani’,” said Barbara.

  Edgar stared at her, surprise painted across his face.

  “All you have to do is ask, Edgar,” Barbara chided.

  I started shifting from foot to foot, anxious to be on my way. “Okay, okay, we have a history teacher and a sixth grade teacher, which basically means a person who can teach everything at an introductory level. You guys have anyone else?”

  “Well, I was an accountant,” Edgar said, “so I can cover most math as long as it doesn’t get too advanced. I haven’t touched Trigonometry in years, though, and anything higher than that, like Calculus or Physics, is a deal breaker.”

  “We were thinking Jeff, too,” Barbara supplied.

  “Jeff worked at one of those self-serve ceramics joints, didn’t he?” I asked confused. “What does that have to do with teaching kids, outside of showing them how to clean a paintbrush?”

  “I was thinking he could sort of apprentice with the others, like Greg and Alan have been doing with Oscar,” said Barbara. “I think he’s struggling to find a place here. Monica and Fred have both mentioned that he looks just all kinds of shaky and uncomfortable when they go out into Jackson.”

  “I’ll second that,” I said. “He holds a rifle like it’s a snake. I’m not sure he’s cut out for that kind of activity. He’s not coming up to speed and there’s the real poss
ibility that he’s more of a danger than a help out there.”

  Barbara nodded, “I think it’s why he spends so much time with the kids; watching them while the rest of us are out working and suchlike. He’s looking for some way to be useful and I don’t believe he has many real world skills that we need. I think that bugs him quite a bit. Plus, he seems to be good with them.”

  “Well, I can appreciate that,” Jake said. “At least he’s actively trying.” He glanced at me and twitched an eyebrow in just such a way that I knew he was about to end the conversation; he was letting me know that he knew I was impatient to get going and he was about to handle it.

  Sometimes people describe knowing each other so well after years of working or living together that they complete each other’s sentences, express a complex idea with a wink and a smile, and so forth, which is a roundabout way to describe what Jake had just done. Back in the day, I could hold entire conversations with my sergeants with nothing more than simple hand gestures and a few facial twitches. Low bandwidth, high resolution.

  The catch is that you typically don’t get up to this level of communication until you know someone for a significant amount of time because it’s all based on knowing that specific person; all their little idio-whatevers, expressions, and moods. That is, unless you’re Jake, apparently. Then you can just start doing that shit after a few weeks of hanging out. I don’t know how the hell he managed it, honestly, but he always had a way of reading people.

  “We need to be on our way,” said Jake “but this dovetails pretty nicely with some things I’ve been wanting to bring up with the group. Let’s get together, either tonight or tomorrow night. Does that work for everyone?”

  They all glanced around at each other and nodded.

  “Great. We can probably have this knocked out pretty fast, along with some other things. Ready, Gibs?”

  I had thrown the food and water into the backseat of the truck and was elevated halfway into the driver’s seat. “Yeah, man. Let’s hit it.”

  He waved at the others and hopped into the passenger seat beside me. “Why don’t you drive,” he advised sarcastically as he checked the safety on his AK and then laid it into the foot-well next to his leg.

  It took me a little longer to find my way back out to the bank than it would have taken Amanda, mostly because our first trip out there hadn’t been a direct route; we’d spent most of the morning meandering around like idiots looking for a construction site. Jake eventually directed me along the right series of roads, pointing out various landmarks as we went, that got us further north towards the center of Jackson. Once we got into that general vicinity, and once I found Amanda’s little backyard passage, I was golden and made directly for Wells Fargo.

  The only thing that had changed about the place since I’d been there earlier that day was the position of the sun in the sky and the direction of the shadows along the ground. I asked Jake to grab the food and water, which he did without comment, and approached the building lobby.

  Sighing, I called into the blackness, “Uh, hey, everyone. I know I said I’d just leave you alone and all but I’ve brought you guys some food and water. I’ve got a first-aid kit here, too. I’m gonna bring it all in right now. Please…just, please don’t try anything, okay? I’m just bringing some food. Okay?”

  I stood there outside the main door, waiting. I must have waited thirty seconds with Jake standing patiently behind me, hoping for some kind of response.

  I jerked my head forward to let Jake know I was proceeding into the building. I clicked on my weapon light, throwing the interior into sharp relief, and made a straight line for the cafeteria. It was empty. There was no sign at all that anything had happened there outside of a bloodstain on the floor.

  I exited and went another door down the hallway into the tiny cubicle area, only to find it cleared out as well. There had been some blankets, sleeping bags, and a small pile of supplies on the floor the last time I’d been there. Now, there was nothing.

  Being unable to think of anything useful to say, I instead landed on the obvious. “They’re gone.”

  “It was a possibility,” Jake said from behind me. “I’m sorry, Gibs.”

  “Fuck,” I said. “Fuck.”

  Jake nudged past me and set the water and bag of supplies down in the middle of the room. “We’ll leave this here,” he said. “There’s always the chance that they come back. If we see them again-“

  “Yeah, right,” I scoffed.

  “If we see them again,” he pressed on, “we can do more. That’s about the best we have right now.”

  I shook my head, looking at the meager offering in the center of the floor; things that would go to waste just sitting there. Also, things that I couldn’t bring myself to collect and take back to the truck. Not wanting to be an ungrateful asshole, I said, “Hey, Jake. Thanks. Thanks for coming out here with me. You could have done different. Just…thanks for not arguing with me.”

  He nodded. “Don’t worry about it. There are things we all have to do to get to sleep at night. Things we have to do in order to live with ourselves. I understand.”

  He made to pass by me but stopped just before he did. Standing next to me but facing the opposite direction, he raised a fist and bumped it lightly against my shoulder without looking at me. He exited the building, and I followed him.

  21 – The Smoke Pit

  Amanda

  I moved a bishop across the board, not paying a lot of attention to where it ended up. Sitting in a low-slung wooden chair on the cabin porch, I cupped my chin and looked out across the field in the valley. From somewhere off to my right, Lizzy said, “Are you okay, Mom?”

  “Hmm?” I asked.

  “I asked if you’re okay.”

  “Why?”

  She gestured to the side of the chess board on the little wooden table between us where a small army of my captured pieces stood huddled together. In comparison, only one of her pawns stood in my own little prison camp. “You’re making some pretty bad moves.”

  “Oh, you always beat me at Chess, Mija.”

  “But not this bad,” Lizzy said, and captured the bishop.

  “Crap,” I muttered, and moved a knight to try and fill in the hole.

  “You can’t do that, Mom.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Because knights don’t move that way. They move two-by-one or one-by-two. They can’t move two-by-two.”

  I sighed and examined the board. Based on her instruction, it turned out that I couldn’t legally move my knight anywhere near the vicinity of where I intended due to my other pieces getting in the way. I reached out to move it back to where I originally had it only to realize that I no longer remembered where it was.

  “Mija, I’m sorry, can we do this another time? My head’s just not in it.”

  “Okay,” she said, clearly disappointed. “I can ask if Jake wants to play when he gets back.”

  “You could ask one of the other kids to play,” I suggested. “You could teach them if they don’t know.”

  “I tried. None of them like it.”

  I tsked and nodded. “That is a problem.”

  “Did something bad happen when you went out with Gibs and Wang?” asked Lizzy.

  I looked at her, small in her chair with her dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her face had thinned out; lost some of its baby fat. She was too young to be losing baby fat. She had always been a smart child but she had matured quickly in the previous months. Her perception had become more adult, more penetrating. I decided it was best to be up front with her. If I fibbed, she would know.

  “I got in a fight,” I hedged.

  “Did you kill them?”

  I sighed. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Good.”

  I jerked and looked at her, shocked. “What?”

  “Good,” she repeated. “You wouldn’t have done it unless you had to. They must have deserved it.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that
or even how to approach it so I stayed silent.

  “I wish I could kill someone,” she said quietly.

  “What?” I sat up and turned in my chair so I could look straight at her. “What did you say?”

  She hesitated, clearly trying to decide if she wanted to admit to what she said, when something inside of her seemed to harden. Defiantly, she said, “I wish I could kill someone.”

  “Baby,” I whispered. “Why…why would you want that?”

  “Because it’s what we do now. It’s what we have to do. It makes us stro-“

  She was interrupted by my hand shooting out towards her face. I honestly don’t know what I intended; if I was going to slap her or not. The action was almost out of instinct. My hand was definitely on a path to slap her but what she had begun to say had made my arm weak and shaky. I only knew I had to stop her from saying it; that she wasn’t going to be able to take any of it back. Rather than hitting her, my fingertips only fluttered across her lips, interrupting her long enough for me to say, “Mija, no. Don’t say that. You don’t know what you’re saying. Killing someone is horrible. You don’t ever want to do it. It isn’t a good thing.”

  A wall went up and locked into place between us. I could see it in her eyes as the passion that had been there just before muted, then died. No, that’s not right. It hadn’t died. It was masked but not hidden. There were many things she had learned from Jake but the ability to hide all emotion wasn’t one of them. Her look was sly and calculating.

  “Okay, mom. I understand,” she said. Her eyes said: This is a thing I need to keep to myself, something I need to hide from the world.

  I grabbed her arm and pulled her out of her chair into my lap; wrapped my arms around her and buried her head under my chin. I rocked her like I did when she was a baby while I frantically tried to decide what I should do. I had never anticipated having a problem anything like this as a mother. Elizabeth was eight years old at the time.