Commune: Book Two (Commune Series 2) Page 13

  “Take this, the M9, and come give me a hand, please,” I said.

  He jumped up from his seat and said, “You got it, boss.”

  I walked back to the front of the bus where Davidson stood with Wang and paused while Oscar situated himself. I looked at Davidson and said, “You hold onto that rifle,” while pointing at the HK pinned behind the driver’s seat. To Wang, I said, “Grab the binos and spot for us. Look for movement.” He nodded and pulled the binoculars from the dashboard. Oscar approached from behind and slapped me on the shoulder (my left one, thankfully) to let me know he was ready.

  I looked back to everyone else, who were all wide-eyed and white-knuckled in their seats, and said, “Just sit tight a bit. We’re going to step out a while. See what’s what.”

  Without waiting for a response, I stepped off the platform into the street. Oscar waited in the doorway, giving me time to look the area over before following and I made a mental note to give him a gold star or something for his caution. I walked a few paces away from the bus while looking in all directions, hardly daring to breathe; just looking and listening for any possible thing out there. I think I must have spent two or three minutes doing that. Aside from the sound of wind and the occasional bird call, the silence was a physical barrier.

  I decided that if anything was going to happen, it would have happened by now, so I nodded to Oscar and gestured over to the closest car.

  “Do you want to grab a gas can?” he asked.

  “Not yet. Let’s just see if we can get anything out of it.”

  He spent the next few minutes snaking a tube down into the tank while I continued to scan the area. I saw Wang inside the bus nearly spinning in place as he scanned rooftops and alley entrances.

  “Dry,” said Oscar.

  I grimaced and said, “Next one over, then.”

  He moved up the line, popped the gas cap on the next car, and began to feed in hose while I adjusted position to stay close by. I happened to see Wang staring at us instead of watching the area and waved at him with my left hand. Recognition flashed in his eyes as they locked onto mine; I stabbed two fingers towards my eyes and then swung my hand around over my head in a few exaggerated circles. Wang jumped in place as though he had been startled and resumed monitoring the area.

  “This one’s dry, too,” Oscar said, coming to stand next to me.

  I sighed, “Yeah, okay, shit. Let’s try some across the street.” He nodded and trotted over to the closest truck to get busy.

  He completed three more vehicles, all of which had flagged antennas, all of which were bone dry. He wasn’t waiting for me to command him on to the next one now; he was gamely moving from vehicle to vehicle to see what could be had. I stepped out around the side of the bus and looked back down the street from the direction we had come, setting eyes on a sea of little, flagged antennas. I looked back up the road in the opposite direction and was met with the same situation. I thought there might be an antenna or two that was bare far off in the distance and pulled the M4 up to get a visual assist from the optic.

  “Hey, we okay?” Davidson called from the doorway of the bus behind me.

  “Yeah, it’s good. I’m just going blind in my old age.”

  It was true; off in the distance I could just make out some car antennas that had no sign of any duct tape along their length. I was just getting ready to call Oscar back to the bus when an unfamiliar, flat voice spoke off to my left.

  “These have all been tapped. You’ll need to head a little further up.”

  I swung hard in the direction of the voice, heart instantly jack hammering in my chest and finger hooking fast around the trigger of the rifle. I slammed into a cheek weld so hard that a bruise actually developed on my face later that day.

  Without giving it a great deal of thought, I was already shouting, “Hands! Show me your goddamned hands, motherfucker!” It was only after I shouted this that I realized he already did have both of his hands held up in front of him, palms out in my direction.

  He was leaning against the corner of a building as though he had just come from the alleyway behind it, and yet what he said to me suggested he had been watching us at least a little while. He was dressed lightly, probably owing to the warm season (we were either in July or August during this time but I can’t remember for sure anymore); he was wearing some jeans, a heavy set of hiking boots, and a plain, white T-shirt. He had a full beard that was just beginning to look wooly and a thick head of long, straight hair that was held out of his eyes by a red bandanna tied 1980’s-style above his ears and eyebrows. He appeared to be in good physical shape, with noticeable muscular definition visible through his shirt at the shoulders and neck. He stood there, maybe thirty feet away from me, as calm as you please with his hands held out like he wanted to play Patty Cake.

  “Here they are,” he said. “Please don’t shoot me.” He was spooky-calm - Hannibal Lecter calm - which only served to ratchet my unease up through the roof.

  I heard footsteps run up from behind me but resisted the urge to turn; if whoever was coming hadn’t been friendly, Oscar would have called out to me. Davidson came into my field of view on my left with his rifle (my rifle, goddamn it!) aimed at the new guy. “Covered,” he declared.

  I glanced back over my shoulder at the bus. “Hey, where the fuck were you, Wang?”

  “I’m sorry!” he called back. “I don’t know what happened; guy just came out of nowhere!”

  “I said ‘keep your eyes open’, Wang! It’s not that goddamned difficult! It’s not as though I asked you to eat some apples and shit a fruit salad, is it?”

  Not waiting for a response, I looked back at the stranger. He hadn’t moved an inch. I took a few heavy breaths to get my heart back under control. “Okay, let’s have you turn around, on your kne…” I was going to finish with telling him to go down to his knees and put his hands on his head but it was unnecessary; he was already down in the desired position before I was halfway through the sentence, like he was perfectly happy to do so. His whole demeanor was that of a person in complete control of the situation; a guy who had all the cards in the deck, plus a few extras from a few other decks. Just looking at him made me uncomfortable as hell.

  “Oscar,” I said, “Get your pistol out and go stand to the rear of the bus. Keep an eye out.”

  “Got it,” he said without hesitating and ran off in that direction.

  “Davidson, swing closer to the building and keep a clear line of fire on this guy. I’m going to approach and restrain him.”

  Davidson vectored along my ten o’clock to stand against the building wall across the street, keeping his muzzle on New Guy as he went.

  “You hear that?” I called out. “I’m coming over there to restrain you. Just be cool and you won’t be hurt, understand? Don’t be stupid, guy.”

  “Yes, of course. I won’t resist.”

  Motherfucker but this guy was freaking me out. A part of me (a part of younger me) kept looking him over trying to spot the bomb vest but he didn’t have a stitch of clothing on him that could conceal anything. His jeans fit him well; I would have seen the bulge of a weapon along the length of his legs and there was nothing. His shirt was a little tight across his back and looked nearly see-through. He was either covered by a buddy at range or he really was out here alone and unarmed.

  I pulled some flex cuffs from a side pouch on my rig and approached. As I came closer, I noticed the motion of his breathing through his shirt; even and regular. It was looking more and more like this wasn’t an act. He was truly relaxed.

  “Lay down on your belly. Hands behind your back.”

  He did, lowering himself gently to the sidewalk and turning his head to the right to rest his cheek on the ground. Seeing him in profile, I noted that his nose had the mashed-in, reverse stair-step appearance of a fighter. Whatever else he’d been through in life, it looked like someone had gone to work on his schnoz with a pipe wrench.

  “Davidson, choke up on him. I don’t
want you to miss if you have to shoot.”

  “Yep, roger,” he called, and hustled up to get close. He nearly got the barrel into physical contact with the guy’s head.

  “Not that close, man. A little room to breathe, please.”

  “Sorry…” he said, pulling back. I was going to have to talk to him about keeping his weapon out of other peoples’ reach when the opportunity presented itself.

  “Okay,” I said. “Here it comes. Don’t be stupid.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Suppressing about ten different reflexive retorts, I knelt down to place my knee into the small of his back. I let go of my rifle just long enough to pull the loops over his wrists and yank both ends tight. I returned to my feet and got the rifle on him. I realized I was breathing heavy again; he was incredibly unsettling.

  The man lay there a moment and then tugged his hands in opposite directions a couple of times, saying, “Feels about right. Can I get up, now?”

  I couldn’t think of any reason why not so I said, “I’ll help you up but then you gotta sit on the curb.”

  “Understood.”

  Frustration got the better of me and I asked, “You do this often, buddy?”

  He thought it over and said, “Not really, no. You?”

  “I don’t make it a habit,” I responded through clenched teeth.

  “Oh. Well, you’re doing fine.” He raised an elbow up into the air to give me something to grab while helping him up.

  I sighed and lifted him off the pavement, walked him over to the curb, and stood back as he squatted down easily. He arranged his legs out in front of him crossed at the ankles Indian-style and sat easily (I’d almost say happily) with his eyes forward, held on nothing in particular. From my left, I saw Davidson shrug and shake his head, wearing an expression suggesting he was amazed more than anything. I looked back at New Guy, who again had not moved after he settled into place, like a toy robot that turned off between periods of activity.

  “Well?” I prompted.

  “Yes?”

  “Well, what are you doing, damn it?”

  “I’m…waiting for you to question me?”

  Before I could answer, Davidson said, “Man, the more you pull that Jedi Mind Trick shit, the closer you’re getting to just being shot.”

  I looked over at Davidson and shook my head while frowning. We had the guy restrained; there was no need to start making threats. I wanted information not a pissing contest.

  “I assure you, I’m not pulling any…Jedi shit. I’m answering all questions as truthfully as I can.”

  “Let’s start with names, huh?” I suggested. “I’m Gibson but just call me Gibs. My friend, here, is Tom.”

  “I’m glad to meet you, Gibs and Tom. Call me Jake.”

  I had begun to calm down as we talked. There was no sign of anyone else out there (there had been no sign of Jake before he showed up either, of course, but never mind) and the man in front of us was tied up. I let my rifle hang at rest and said, “I got this, Davidson. Keep an eye out, would you? Wang seems to need all the help he can get.”

  “I’m sorry!” Wang shouted from the bus.

  Davidson stepped back and rotated away to watch up the street.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s start with what you’re doing out here.”

  “Same thing as you, I think. I was out scavenging.”

  “Did you have anything to do with these cars?”

  “If you mean marking and moving them, yes.”

  I stood for a minute looking at him, trying to determine if he was shitting me. “You mean you did all of these on your own?” There were well over a few hundred.

  “No, I did have some help sometimes.”

  Here we go. “There’s people out here with you?”

  “No, not right now. I do live with two other people but they’re back at home. Scavenging is mostly a solo activity.”

  “Where’s home?” I asked.

  “Back down the road the way you came in. I can show you if you like.”

  I don’t know if I felt confusion or discomfort at what he said; everything about the way he was behaving indicated that he was setting some kind of trap or that he held his own personal safety in complete disregard…or both. Either possibility made him dangerous as hell.

  “You’re just gonna lead the guy with the gun back to your house, huh?”

  He looked down at my gun pointedly and then returned my gaze. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Alright, goddamn it, you can just cut out all of that cute shit before I grow a hard-on with your name on it. What the hell’s going on here? Straight answer.”

  Jake sighed and began to explain in the same tone you’d use to explain to a kid why the sky is blue: “Honestly, the only thing that’s going on is that you people looked like you could use a hand. I’m here to offer my help if you want it.”

  “Yeah? What makes you think we need any help?”

  “You’re limping along in a bus that looks like it was salvaged from a monster truck show, for one thing. You’re missing a rear tire, half the windows are busted out, and the whole left side has an I-just-rammed-someone-off-the-road appearance. For another, it looked like you were trying to find fuel. You’ll need to go a little further up the road if that’s true.”

  “Okay, but why would you just step out to talk to us?” I asked. “We’re all armed. You don’t even appear to have a Swiss Army knife.”

  “First, you’re not all armed. You have two rifles and some sort of pistol between a large group of people. But aside from that, you folks are safe.”

  “Safe?” I asked, shocked, despite my position. “Just how the fuck can you tell we’re safe?”

  “You have women and children with you and they’re not under duress. You don’t go armed all the time; when you guys are just riding along in the bus no one is carrying a weapon. From what I could see, you even keep your weapons stacked in a pile in the back. You’re driving around with a busload of free, unrestricted people.”

  “How…how long have you been watching us?”

  “Oh, for quite a while. Another thing: you’re taking great pains to protect them all. You were the first person off the bus. You made it a point to scan the area first before bringing anyone else off; putting yourself at risk first. The weak and infirm (children mostly but I thought I saw some elderly, too) are kept on the bus in relative safety. You’re protecting weak people who don’t appear to be capable of doing very much to contribute to your own survival. You’re for your people, not for yourself. You folks are safe.”

  I was dumbstruck. The man had eyes on us at least since we approached Jackson, with enough visibility to determine age ranges and capabilities. He knew our armament. He could have easily picked us off from a distance if he possessed the skills and had been so inclined. I broke into a cold sweat as I realized how close we could have come to another Denver.

  I brushed a hand across my forehead and asked, “And why are you going to help us, man?”

  “Because I’m for my people, too, Gibs. Things are ugly but they can become a lot uglier if we allow it. Sometimes, chances are worthy.”

  I stood a while looking down at him. For his part, Jake’s gaze had dropped down to center again, the computer going back into standby. I realized he didn’t make me feel uneasy anymore. Now, he just made me feel tired.

  “He kinda has a point, Top,” said Davidson from behind me.

  “Damn it, don’t call me that,” I said irritably. “I never went past Staff Sergeant.”

  Jake was looking back up at me. “Keep my hands tied, if you like.”

  I scratched my chin and considered him. Finally, I called out: “Oscar!”

  “Yeah?” he responded, his voice made distant by his position behind the bus.

  “Stand down. I don’t think the dickhead’s dangerous. He’s just a regular dickhead.” Jake smiled for the first time when I said that; it was slight but it was there.

  “Come on,” I
said to Jake while looping a hand into his arm to help him up. I removed my multi-tool from its pouch and used the cutters to sever the nylon straps at his wrists. His arms fell down to his sides as I walked around to his front to face him. His hands hung unmoving; overall, he was very still.

  “Okay,” I prompted. “Make with the helping.”

  “Sure,” he said, turned left, and immediately started walking up the street in the direction our bus had been travelling.

  “Hey!” I barked. “Where’re you going?”

  “To get my truck,” he called back. “You need some gas, right? Come on, you’ll see.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, I followed after him while muttering, “Fucked up as a left handed football bat…” Davidson honked in laughter.

  8 - Amway

  Gibs

  Jake led me a few blocks north and then a couple of blocks west. I stayed behind him the entire time with the M4 aimed at his back. He didn’t seem to care; he just walked at an even pace, arms swinging lightly. I almost expected him to start whistling or try to make small talk or something. He did none of that; just walked happily along. As we rounded a final corner, we came upon a blue Ford pickup so high off the ground that the hood was level with my shoulder line. It was facing towards me and, as I moved further out to my right to pass around the front, I saw a long trailer behind it loaded down with a few plastic fifty-five gallon drums.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered. “Are those all filled with fuel?”

  “Not completely but I’ve had a good run today. It’s pretty easy to get a line of cars going once they’ve been pushed out of the street.”

  I looked in his direction and saw him regarding me calmly. “Any diesel?”

  He nodded. “Yes, a couple of those drums have a duct tape ‘X’ on the lid. They have diesel.”

  I stood for a moment while chewing my lip, trying to decide how to play this. After a few moments of indecision, I realized I didn’t have the first clue. A lack of food and sleep had made me dumber than a box of rocks.