Commune: Book One (Commune Series 1)

by Joshua Gayou

  -

  Things went as promised for the next few days and fell into a predictable routine. During the daytime, they all behaved as if nothing had changed. Dwight was still chatty (which now took on the added characteristic of feeling completely scummy; I wanted to wash myself whenever he so much as said “hello”), Richard and Hugo kept to themselves as they were the younger of the four and rather stupid, and James was quiet, sullen, and terrifying. Everyone carried themselves lightly around James, reminding me of Jack trying to sneak by the sleeping Giant. I eventually learned why from Dwight.

  “You just want to go easy and don’t argue when you’re dealing with James,” he told me in a low voice one afternoon. “There used to be five of us.”

  “Why the hell are you sticking with him, then?” I asked, barely able to keep the venom out of my voice. I don’t think I succeeded, actually. Dwight shrank back into himself at the question. Whoever he was from before, it seemed he had enough self-awareness to be ashamed of himself. Not that it stopped him from taking his turn on his nights.

  Presently, he perked up and gestured over to Hugo, who was sitting next to Richard (they were both in folding camping chairs; Dwight and I were sitting at a fold-up picnic table that was set up inside the half-ring of the motorhomes, which were themselves parked nose to tail).

  “Hey, Hugo. Your night to cook, ain’t it? I’m starving from being out all day with Rich. Fucker has enough energy for three of us, always running every damned place.”

  “A brisk walk ain’t the same thing as running, you old bitch,” Rich offered without looking back over his shoulder. He took a drink of warm beer and belched while Dwight chuckled at him.

  Hugo groaned softly and hung his head back. “Ah, man. I’m so fucking sick of canned food I almost don’t want to eat at this point. I definitely don’t want to build up a fire right now. Are there any bags of jerky left? Can’t we just have some of that?”

  “You can’t have just jerky for dinner, you knob,” Rich said. “It’s, like, all unbalanced and shit.”

  “I’d kill for a slice of fresh bread,” Hugo complained.

  “Okay, okay, okay,” Dwight spoke up. “Why don’t we just crack out a couple of the MRE’s Amanda brought with her? That okay with you, Amanda?”

  The look of friendly hope on his face when he asked me that was so out of place that he surprised a, “Are you fucking serious?!” out of me. His smile fell instantly, as though he had just learned that some jerk had eaten the last of his favorite ice cream.

  “That’s a plan, right there,” Hugo said, levering himself up out of his chair. “I swear to Shiva, if I have to eat one more of those cans of vegetable beef, I’m going to shit out my pancreas.”

  “Who the hell is Shiva?” Richard asked.

  “It was that one god from Indiana Jones.” Hugo disappeared for a moment into the rear motorhome and came back out a moment later with three bags under his arms.

  “These things are something like 1,500 calories,” he said. “We probably want to go easy on these, in case we don’t like them, huh?”

  “Good idea,” said Dwight. “I understand you can cook these without a fire so it’s probably best to save them for special occasions, such as if you suspect another night of soup will throw you into colorectal distress.”

  “Without a fire, huh?” Richard said, coming over to the table where Hugo had thrown the brown packages. “How d’you manage that?”

  “Well, there’re instructions on the side. Read ‘em,” said Dwight.

  Hugo picked up a bag and began to read to himself, his lips moving silently. After a few minutes, he said, “Okay, we gotta find a rock or something.”

  “Huh?” Richard grunted. “The fuck does a rock have to do with this?”

  “Well, I guess it doesn’t have to be a rock. We could get something like a rock. It just says ‘rock or something’”.

  “Wait a minute,” Dwight said, reaching out to take the package. “The instructions actually say ‘rock or something’??”

  Hugo handed it over and pointed at a spot on the bag with an I-told-you-so look on his face.

  Dwight stared at the bag where Hugo gestured. “Who the fuck wrote this?! Beavis and Butthead?”

  It was obviously a mistake to say this, as Hugo and Richard instantly started imitating the two characters, grunting and chuckling like a couple of morons.

  “Hey, Beavis. Go find a rock or something. Uh, huh-huh.”

  Dwight was in the process of rolling his eyes heavenward when James’ voice erupted from the back of the leading motorhome loud enough to make the slide windows shake.

  “SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU INBRED, GOAT FUCKING BASTARDS!!!”

  Everyone shut up immediately. I didn’t want to be outside among the idiots any longer so I got up and went to the rear camper to check on Lizzy. She was no fool; I don’t think she knew exactly what was going on but she did understand that we were not with nice people, so she spent most of her time shut up in the rear of the camper keeping to herself.

  “Hey, how you doing, Mija?” I asked as I sat down by her on the bed. She was sitting with her back against the wall, so I scooted on next to her.

  “I want to leave, mom. I don’t want to stay with these people anymore. They’re not right. None of this is right.”

  I had no idea how to explain the situation to her in a way she could understand and that wouldn’t horrify her. She was still just a little girl, yet to have her first period. I wasn’t even close to having the talk with her yet. My stomach churned with nausea as I searched for something to say that would make any sense. Finally, I just told her, “I know. We can’t go yet. Maybe soon but not now.”

  “How soon?”

  “I don’t know. We have to be very careful. Very quiet. Don’t talk about this with any of the others.”

  “I don’t want to talk with them at all,” she muttered.

  “That’s good,” I said. “Only don’t give them any reason to be mad at you, okay? If they ask you a question, you answer, okay?”

  She stared out the window and said nothing. She reached a hand up and wiped at an eye.

  “Elizabeth, look at me. I need you to say okay.”

  “Okay,” she finally said and I put my arms around her.

  The door to the other motorhome slammed open, making us both jump. Through the cracked window, I heard James growling at the other three.

  “Well you fucking idiots have done it. There’s no…” - there was a loud slap, followed immediately by a grunt and the sound of someone falling over chairs - “...chance of me getting back to sleep now. God damned, brainless fucktards, every one...”

  The sound of his footsteps approached the door of our camper. My spine began to coil up on itself and I felt a cold wire wrap around my insides and tighten. The door opened and James lumbered into the kitchenette area.

  “Elizabeth,” he growled. “Go play outside a while.”

  Elizabeth did the exact opposite of that. She dug her hands into my arms and buried her face in my shoulder. I began to panic.

  “You said only at night...” I babbled at him.

  His eyes went wide while his face reddened in anger. “I? I said no such fuckin’ thing.” He came at us both like a charging rhino. I struggled to untangle myself from Lizzy and put myself between them but he reached out with a single hand, wrapped his fingers in my hair, and threw me aside. With the other, he grabbed Elizabeth by the arm and hauled her out of the bed. She was shrieking in terror.

  He began dragging her towards the door. I don’t recall coming to my feet at this point; I only remember being across the camper suddenly and hitting him in the back as hard as I could with fists and elbows. He turned and gave me a single shove, which sent me all the way back through the dining area, past the bathroom, and onto the bed. As I sat back up from being flat on my back, I saw him shove the door open and throw my daughter out into open space bodily by the back of her shorts and the collar of her shirt. Her panicked scream
ing and crying was interrupted by the sound of her little body hitting the ground, after which I heard her groaning and making frantic choking noises. I realized she’d had the wind knocked out of her. James slammed the door shut and locked it.

  I lost all control of myself at that point. I came across the camper at him at full speed, shrieking and cursing, telling him I’d kill him, promising to rip his motherfucking balls off. He reached out, caught me by my throat, and slammed me into the wall. My mouth slammed shut on my tongue and I tasted blood. I lost consciousness for the shortest of moments when the back of my head bounced off the wall. When things cleared up again, I realized he had probably slammed me into the wall two or three more times.

  He didn’t say anything after that - nothing menacing… didn’t ask me if I’d had enough. He waited a few seconds to see if I would do anything else, then nodded. He walked me over to the table, bent me over it, and ripped my pants off of me. I felt him spread me open and he spit between my legs. He took what he wanted. I could still hear Lizzy crying outside.

  -

  Jake and Billy arrived on the following day in the midafternoon. James and Dwight had left to go scavenging in town, leaving Hugo and Richard to keep an eye on things. During this time, one of them would usually sit up on top of one of the motorhomes in a folding chair with a rifle (my rifle, I noted) while the other kept to the ground. They weren’t exactly vigilant. I’m sure someone could have snuck up on them without too much effort. I don’t think Jake figured out for sure what was going on until after he arrived, though, so he wasn’t really trying to sneak up on anything.

  I was in the camper with Lizzy, trying to come up with a way to kill four men at once without any weapons and without endangering my daughter when I heard voices outside, as well as Richard’s coming from above my head periodically. With the camper windows all closed, it sounded like listening to people talk while being under water. I could tell that English was being used but it was all muffled and distorted; just beyond any comprehension.

  I got up from my spot on the couch (Lizzy was to my right at the table, coloring) and moved over to the window just above the little sink. I cracked the blinds to look outside.

  Hugo was to my left and had his back to me. He was talking to someone about ten feet in front of him, who was facing me. It was Jake, obviously, but I didn’t know that at the time. All I knew then was that there was suddenly a fifth man that I’d have to deal with.

  Jake was thinner in those days, well...we were all thinner. I was never overweight at any point but I did have a healthy little sheen of mom fat left over from when I gave birth. Then the apocalypse happened. The day to day grind of survival, of always having to scrounge our food or go hungry - that burned whatever fat we might have had right off. Before everything fell apart, I knew all these moms who spent tons of money on all kinds of stuff to get the perfect body. They were doing yoga, Crossfit, Pilates, P90-whatever…

  I’ll tell you what: you ever want to see your ab muscles in the mirror? Try a little Apocalypse. Does wonders.

  So, here’s this fifth guy who doesn’t look particularly impressive. He’s not really tall, not fat but also not rail thin – but still much thinner than he is now. He also had hair back then - brown, a little too long. It was almost a Beatle haircut. I’m sure it looked well-tended back in the day but a lack of barbers or pressing need to maintain it made him look like he was fresh out of the ‘70s. Don’t tell him I said that…

  He was wearing jeans, some sort of thick and clunky hiking boots, and what was some kind of long sleeved over shirt buttoned all the way up to his neck, despite the day’s growing heat. His hands were empty. Hugo held a rifle pointed not at the newcomer but just at the ground between them. They appeared to just be talking.

  I cracked open the kitchen window and their voices suddenly clarified.

  “...look like you have much to trade,” Hugo was just finishing.

  “Well, I don’t have it with me, obviously. I don’t know what kind of people you are. I have my stuff stashed a ways off. I can tell you what I have. If any of it interests you, maybe you have some stuff that interests me, see?”

  “Yeah, okay. Makes sense, I guess. So what do you have?”

  “Have bullets...” offered the new guy.

  “Hey, no shit? How much?”

  “Enough to feed that rifle of yours. I’m light on food and water and could use whatever you’ll spare.”

  This deflated Hugo visibly. “Oh, yeah. I don’t think I can give you any of that...not without the others here to say if it’s cool.”

  “I understand.”

  “Is there anything else you want?” Richard asked from overhead. “We got other stuff.”

  “Honestly, not really. Food or water are really the only things I could use more of.”

  “Fuck,” Hugo mumbled, looking down. Presently, his head snapped up. “Hey, I got something, maybe.” He walked to the left out of site. Almost as soon as he disappeared, his knock came on the motorhome door. “Hey, Amanda. Come out here a second.”

  I had seen this coming. When it came to commodities, I had a resource that none of the other men could provide, assuming a condition of general heterosexuality. I took a deep breath and tried to figure out what I’d do if this new guy preferred children. I was going to kill him if he even so much as looked at Lizzy, or at least do my best to kill him. I was banking on the hope that the others wanted to keep me alive more than the newcomer and that they would save me if things went very bad. Pussy’s pussy, as they say.

  “Elizabeth,” I whispered, “go into the bathroom and lock the door. Don’t make any sound.” She whimpered but got up from the table and did as I asked.

  My hands were shaking as I stepped out the door.

  “Eh??” Hugo said, returning to his position as I came out. The newcomer was very still now. He wasn’t resting his weight on one leg as he had been when I first saw him. He was poised. He looked very alert. I shuddered; he reminded me of some predator you see on nature shows just before it jumps out of the bushes to kill some poor, unsuspecting creature.

  “Here’s something you don’t have, I’ll bet,” Hugo proudly stated.

  “Hugo,” Richard said from behind and above us all, “I’m really not sure this is…”

  “Chill, man. This is what’s called ‘taking initiative’. I’m problem solving, here, dude.”

  “What is this?” Stranger asked. His voice was flat and his face was unreadable, doing the best Terminator impression I’d ever seen.

  “How much are those bullets worth to you, friend? How about some alone time with Amanda, here?”

  The newcomer stared at me. I can’t remember for how long but it felt uncomfortably long. His gaze did not rove over me. He stared straight into my face. Right into my eyes.

  “Would that be alright with you, Amanda?” he asked.

  I was surprised and didn’t know how to answer. “No” was the obvious choice but I was terrified of making anyone mad at this point. I didn’t want to say “yes” because, well, I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I physically could not bring myself to ask to be raped. Finally, I said the only thing I could think of.

  “Please…”

  The newcomer nodded. He raised his right hand up next to his head; made a peace sign with his index and middle fingers.

  “‘Two’? Two what, man?” Hugo asked.

  At the instant Hugo spoke I heard a gunshot from far away and the sound of Richard grunting and falling down from behind me. The gunshot and Richard’s grunt occurred simultaneously.

  The newcomer had snaked his hand behind himself by this time. Hugo growled, “Buttfucker…” and pulled his rifle up. It had only been pointed at the ground so he had it centered on the stranger’s chest well before the stranger had whatever it was he was going for at the ready.

  Hugo’s rifle sputtered three or four times (I swear to God, it literally made a “pew, pew” sound – Billy later told me it was a .22 rimfire). I couldn�
�t tell if he hit the stranger or not; I thought I saw his shirt jump but I couldn’t tell.

  The stranger seemed to care about this not at all. He completed his draw and he suddenly had a pistol in his hand pointed right at Hugo. He fired once, hitting Hugo in the head, but I heard two gunshots. I realized that whoever was shooting from far away must have put another round into Richard. Richard did not make any noise on either shot.

  The new guy was up close to me by now. I hadn’t seen him coming. It was like he just appeared next to me.

  “Are there only the four of them?” he asked.

  I was speechless, unable to think of anything to say. I just nodded.

  He pointed out in the direction that the lead camper was facing and said, “There’s a friend out in that direction about 300 yards or so.” He waved wildly over his head with both arms and then pointed in that direction again, indicating with his eyes that I should look. Way out in the distance, I could just make out the shape of a man waving back at us with one hand.

  “You need to run out there to meet him.”

  At this moment, I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know if we were being saved or if there was just someone stronger and even more evil assuming ownership of Lizzy and me. The only thing I did know was that I couldn’t let myself be separated from her. “My daughter! Please!” I said, gesturing at the motorhome.

  The change these words brought was subtle and immediate. The expression on his face (or his face’s state of expressionlessness, rather) never changed but his back stiffened noticeably. “Get her. Can she run?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then get her and hurry. The others will have heard.”

  This got me moving. I ripped open the door and tore down the length of the vehicle to the bathroom and slapped on the door with both hands.

  “Elizabeth!” I said, frantic. “Come out of there, right now!”

  The door unlocked and swung out, revealing a shaking, tear soaked little girl. I grabbed her hand and began to tug.

  “What’s happening?” she asked as she came along.