by Jack Hunt
Down below the dead shuffled around, we’d stopped taking potshots at their heads a long time ago. The one thing that had become scarce in the community were bullets. I had always imagined it would have been food but we had managed to grow crops and raid factories in the area for canned food.
Ethan was sure they’d be able to manufacture their own bullets soon, though that discussion had been over three months ago. Since then no one had brought it up. Instead, we were all instructed to use bullets sparingly.
We must have sat on that building for the better part of two hours before the truck finally showed up. Wren waved them over to where we could jump down onto the top. I caught sight of Jess in the cab. She glanced up but never smiled. She was all cozied up to Rowan. Well, that’s what I imagined. I don’t know what pissed me off so much. Probably the way it had ended. For the past three months I hadn’t felt myself bothered by it as much. Out of sight, out of mind had worked to some extent. Though there were nights before I drifted off to sleep that I thought about her. What was she up to? Was she in his arms? Then I would tell myself to get over it, and I would forget about her for a few more days. As the days turned into weeks it started to become easier. Wren played a big part in helping me to forget. She had a wicked sense of humor and a body to die for, but she wasn’t Jess. I couldn’t pin my finger on what it was about Jess that I was hung up on, neither could I get her out of my head for long. For a short while I had managed to block the thought of him and her together until today.
I jumped down onto the roof. The metal slapped as we hit the surface. I banged on the top and it pulled away without us even getting inside. Leaning back against the metal we looked up at the billowing clouds that cut into a deep blue sky. Each one blurred into the next.
We hadn’t made it but a few blocks down the road when the truck came to an abrupt halt. We shifted across the slick metal, nearly going over the edge. For a second I thought Rowan was being a dick, you know, slamming the brake in the hope that we would go flying off the top. But as I rolled over and looked ahead of us, I could see why.
In the middle of the road was an armed group of eight men. Each of them had his entire head and face covered in a shemagh. It was a thin green cotton square that was often worn by military or Afghans in the desert. All I could see were their eyes, and pale skin. They wore desert style military outfits and all of them were packing what looked like Heckler & Koch HK416’s.
“Shut off your engine,” one of them shouted.
I banged on the roof and peered over the edge. Rowan already had his window open, he just wasn’t listening to them.
“Do as they say.”
He killed the engine.
“What are you transporting?”
“Clothes, medical supplies,” I replied.
My eyes drifted over them.
“Step out of the vehicle and toss your weapons down.”
One by one Jess, Izzy and Rowan got out. There were three other trucks somewhere in the area. I was tempted to radio for help but by the way their fingers were brushing up against their triggers I had a sense that they would shoot first and ask questions after.
“There’s more than enough here.”
The man didn’t respond, he gestured for two of them to go around and take a look while the others kept their weapons fixed on us.
“Toss down your weapons,” he repeated.
“Can’t do that,” Rowan replied.
“You want to die today?” he shot back.
As much as I didn’t want to place my weapon down, none of us were prepared for this. Beyond the walls, timing was everything. If you caught a person off-guard, you had the upper hand, weapons or not. These guys were ready to fire, we weren’t.
I was the first to lay mine down and kick it away. Rowan glanced back at me, giving me a look that made it clear he disagreed with my choice. Then again, we hadn’t seen eye to eye from the day we first met, so I couldn’t tell if it was just his usual scowl. One by one the others followed suit.
That was one thing about the world now. Threats were never empty. People didn’t have anything to lose. Desperation would make you do all manner of things. They looked the way we did before we arrived. Clothes dirtied by hard living. Eyes empty of sympathy. Fingers ready to pull triggers. All of this had changed behind the walls. While the access points were heavily guarded around the clock, life within the walls could make a person turn soft. We were comfortable with clean water and food. We had alternative energy using solar panels, battery power and whatever fuel could be siphoned from vehicles and stations.
“You can come back with us if you want,” Izzy said. “We are part of a community that is working towards rebuilding.”
One of them let out a mocking laugh.
“There is no rebuilding, only tearing down and taking,” another said.
While two of their men went around and checked the back of the truck, I had placed my finger down on the radio button so that everything could be heard by the other teams who hopefully weren’t far from us. There was no telling what these men had in mind. Asking to drop weapons wasn’t an indication that they were going to kill us. Most of them needed the bullets. It was something we did along the way. It wasn’t personal. Just survival.
The man who had been doing all the speaking leaned across to another. His eyes drifted from Izzy to Jess, then Wren.
“Where are you from?” Rowan asked. Again the men didn’t seem to want to exchange.
The two men who had checked out the back of the truck came around, their assault rifles aimed at us. “It’s packed.”
“Listen,” I said. “We have more than enough back at the community for you, and anyone else. I’m gathering there are more of you?” He still didn’t respond. “Why don’t you come back with us?”
One of the major points that had been argued in the weekly meetings was how to determine who to bring back and who potentially was a threat. It was a tough decision. We knew that anyone we encountered in the city was a threat until cleared — meaning they would have to spend a few weeks in a section of Paradise under observation.
As odd as it might sound, it was smart. Ethan wasn’t going to bring in anyone without first vetting them. Anyone who had an agenda would usually screw up within the first two weeks. Of course none of the ones who were brought in were told how long they would spend in section A. This ensured that people didn’t just hold out for an extended period of time and then go nuts.
Very little information was shared with them in this period of time.
“Step away from the truck.”
We backed up. “Not you, or you, or you,” the man said to the women. “You can get in the back along with the rest of the merchandise.”
“Merchandise?” Izzy stammered. My eyebrows shot up.
Oh, he had just stepped on a land mine with that remark.
“Take the truck, and the women.”
Both Rowan and I stepped in front of them but it wasn’t necessary. The three could handle themselves.
“If you think we are going with you, think again,” Jess said.
“Get in the damn truck,” the guy stammered. “And you two, move.” He fired a round at our feet. “I won’t ask again.”
“It’s all right. We’ll go with them.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to be necessary,” a familiar voice said from above. I smiled as I glanced up. Cutting into the sun a dark silhouette stood aiming an assault rifle at the men. I cupped a hand over my eyes to block the glare.
It was Elijah. Standing beside him was Baja, and three others. On the opposite building were four more from the camp along with Ben.
“What the fuck is this? A Sinbad convention?” Baja asked.
Both Rowan and I stepped forward and picked up our weapons.
“Hey sweet cheeks. Is that you down there?” Baja shouted to Izzy while covering his eyes with a hand.
She flipped him the bird, and gave a smile. In a strange way the two of them had begun to warm up to
each other. I would have never imagined it in a million years but over the past few months, Izzy and Baja had been seen together. Of course she completely denied that she was seeing him, but rumor had it they were caught screwing up a storm down by the beach.
I smirked before heading back to the truck. I cast a glance over my shoulder just in time to see Rowan taking out his aggression.
“Funny how the tables turn, eh?” Rowan said before smashing the butt of his gun into the face of the one who’d asked him if he wanted to die.
CHAPTER 2
SECTION A WAS LOCATED in Shinnecock Hills, a hamlet that was part of Suffolk County. It was the first immediate area that people came into once they came through the access points. Heavily guarded and with twenty-four seven security, it was to be the temporary home for the eight men who we’d met in our travels.
While some vehemently disagreed with bringing back those who showed any sign of aggression, Ethan and the other six leaders believed that people were a product of their environment. Beyond the walls, hostility was to be expected. It didn’t mean they couldn’t join the community, it just meant they would be given the chance to prove they could function and fit in. For some reason, two weeks seemed to be the magic number. They had tuned the process to a fine art. Those who returned were quarantined, interviewed about what their intentions were, where they came from and whether they would like to stay if given the opportunity. Those who didn’t were returned to the city on the next run. Few turned down the invitation of a warm bed, food and shower. In that time the homes they used were bugged and monitored. Those who returned to the city never saw anything beyond the gates of Shinnecock Hills.
As the trucks bumped their way in past the gate, I recalled the conversation I’d had with Ethan, several months back.
“But what happens if their goal is to infiltrate?”
He seemed confident that the process that they had set up was foolproof.
“We have a 100% rate of success to date.”
“But that doesn’t mean you won’t have those who will pass all your questions, interviews and surveillance. Take us for instance. How did you know you could trust us?”
“We didn’t. And we didn’t have section A in place back then. Call it a gut instinct. We took a gamble.”
The doors to the truck swung open and I hopped out. Several military personnel led the eight into a building. By now their faces were visible. By all accounts they looked no different than us. Except their skin was extremely pale. Like they hadn’t been exposed to sun in months or they had used some form of white powder on their faces. The one who had done all the talking had burn marks up around his neck, and a deep red birthmark that covered one side of his face.
“Johnny.”
The man glanced back at the sound of Baja calling my name. He sneered as they were led into a trailer. There was something about him that felt off. It wasn’t just the way they handled themselves back in the city. Hell, we were no different when it came to survival. Every run beyond the gate held a degree of risk. The risk of dying at the hands of the infected, the risk of being held captive by rogue survival groups, but it was one we were willing to take. No one was forced to go out, it was strictly volunteer-based. It seemed to work. It even gave me a sense of hope to see people lay aside their differences. Before the mess that we now found ourselves in, society seemed divided by religion, skin color, race and anything else they could find to divide themselves. Now it rallied together to work towards one goal — survival. Commonalities brought us together, differences took a backseat. It was the way the world was meant to be. To think that it had taken an apocalypse to make us realize that was absurd.
“So I’m holding a bit of a shindig over at my pad this evening. Wondered if you and Wren would be interested?”
“Yeah, sure, that sounds good.”
“Seven o’clock?”
I nodded. Baja jumped into a jeep, cranked up the tunes and zipped away nearly plowing down four people in the process. They raised their fists to him, he tossed them the bird. I let out a laugh. What a guy.
I turned to see where Wren had disappeared to when I caught sight of Rowan and Jess across the way. Rowan was running his hands through her hair and then they began sucking each other’s faces like they were trying to extract blood. As they pulled apart, Jess noticed me looking their way.
I scoffed and shook my head. Like I give a shit.
Though we had drifted apart, it seemed right. Everything we had shared before felt almost like a distant memory. We were younger, naïve and unaffected by loss. How quickly we were forced into growing up.
I diverted my gaze away from her. Sometimes, usually late at night I would chew over the decision I’d made to place her on that chopper back in Salt Lake City. Was it meant to happen? Life on the road made small relationship issues seem trivial. You were always so focused on gathering the bare essentials and protecting what you had that there was no time to dwell on what your partner wasn’t giving you in a relationship, or how someone had wronged you.
It was funny how a safe zone could bring to the surface what had already been bubbling underneath.
I felt a pair of hands wrap around my eyes. I was pretty damn sure they weren’t Wren’s as they felt too callused. “Elijah.”
“Oh come on, how did you know?”
“I was about to say it’s the fragrant body wash that you use — Old Spice. But then I remembered you opt for the more manly stuff like Oil of Olay.”
He punched my arm.
“How’s it going, bud?”
“Good.”
I turned to see both him and Ben staring back. “Ben.”
Ben gave me one of his manly back pats. “Is it strange that we haven’t seen each other in over two months?
“Well, I was hoping to never see you two again but…”
The corner of my lip curled up.
“So did he invite you?” I asked, stating the obvious.
“Of course.” He paused. “Who else is going to bring the beer?”
I shook my head. “Why doesn’t he just go down and get some more?”
“You know him. Why bother when others can bring it?”
The strange but wonderful part about the whole apocalypse was that beer was still readily available through some of the local beer breweries on Long Island. There were eleven of them in total dotted around the island. One right in Southampton. Of course, none of the machines were working but there were still stacks of beer in warehouses, along with hops and barley that could be used for making more. In a world that had gone to shit, it was definitely that one thing that made the hard days bearable.
Those days now seemed few and far between. It had almost become unusual. With more joining the community each week, there were more people to rotate in shifts, go on runs and carry some of the weight. While Paradise was split into seven districts, we all had learned to co-exist together under the leadership of the seven. Weekly meetings were held in each district, while every three months we would come together to discuss the larger issues facing Paradise as a whole.
Some of those meetings had become quite heated. It was probably around then I began to notice that maybe having districts wasn’t a good idea. It created an us-versus-them mentality. It was something that existed before the apocalypse. Whether it was religion against religion, country against country or politician against politician. Humanity always seemed to end up in the same place of seeing someone else’s view as a threat.
If that had been the cause of so many wars in the past, was it possible that it could happen again and divide us as a community?
If this was to work, we had to work together and up until now that was happening.
Those with military background continued to serve in the same facet that they had before. They provided security at the main access points, as well as in and around the shores. There were four police officers whose entire job was to ensure disputes were handled. There were three doctors and several nurses. No matt
er what trade a person had, others still were required to assist as and when needed. Those who had no skills in medical were taught it, those who had never fired a weapon before were taken through training. In many ways life continued as it had before. We each tried to carve out an existence that went beyond surviving.
A long road was ahead of us, but the future looked promising. With every run into the city, the number of Z’s seemed to get a little less. So far there had been no talks about expanding beyond the two access points but I was certain if we continued to grow at the rate we were, it wouldn’t be long until that happened. Though right now what we had in our corner of New York was working.
For how long? — that was to be determined.
I just didn’t realize that things would change so soon.
CHAPTER 3
BAJA’S DECISION on what house he would take came down to one thing — marijuana. I kid not. The guy searched home after home in Southampton and surrounding areas until he found a modern beach house that must have once been owned by a marijuana grower. An entire room in the basement had been converted into a grow op. Lamps, foil, the whole nine yards.
The guy was as a happy as a clam.
As Wren and I rolled up in one of the many abandoned vehicles dotted around the island, we could already see it was going to be one hell of a party. From the outside, we could see everyone bouncing around inside to the music. The house was made from limestone and hardwood. A 12,000-square-foot home pressed up against the beach in the south end of the Hamptons. You could say he had stepped up in the world. It had more windows than walls. The door was already wide open and people were spilling out in various stages of intoxication.
It might seem odd that folks would have let their guard down in an apocalypse, but we had spent so many months without anything happening, that the chances of being overrun now seemed laughable.
Ethan and the rest of the seven were right. Paradise had started to become the beginnings of humanity rebuilding. Protection at the access points and roaming patrols made everyone feel safe. The distance from the city, and the surrounding coast, only added to that sense of security. How many other safe zones had managed to provide that?