Commune: Book Two (Commune Series 2) Read online

  Our battered, janky bus was doing alright, for the most part, until we came to the point where the paved road ended and we were forced to venture onto dirt. The vehicle swayed like an old drunk as it stepped down off the asphalt, making me and a lot of others sit up in our seats. The grade increased even more so I began to baby the hell out of the gas pedal, certain I could feel the tires trying to slip loose and stutter on several occasions. I was on the edge of blowing the horn at Jake and offloading everyone into his truck for the rest of the trip when the ground leveled off, we broke through a narrow, tree lined cleft, and emptied out into the bowl.

  That was a surreal experience for me. I’m not ancient but I am old enough that they were still having the kids read Laura Ingalls Wilder books when I attended elementary school (God knows what they had them reading at the end, if they had them reading at all). Driving into the valley made me think of those stories, especially with the cabin socked back into the tree line. Jake led us directly toward it over the dirt road that ran along the center of the field. As we went, he began to honk the truck horn several times. The cabin appeared to be about a kilometer or so from where we emerged, positioned as it was on the extreme opposite edge of the valley entrance, yet I could tell it would take us a bit of time to get there based on the speed we travelled over the dirt trail. It became rough along the way and I started to worry about the missing tire on the rear axle. It had held up pretty well so far but I had to assume they stacked four wheels up on the rear of the bus for a good reason; I didn’t have any clue how long we could drive like that before we ran into trouble.

  Voices began to filter up to me from the rear of the bus; I heard Barbara’s in particular as she described dreaming of just such a place for her retirement (a dream, I expect, she may have let go of when her husband died of a heart attack years ago; she flirted relentlessly with me but I’m well aware that she never stopped loving him).

  As we pulled up in front of the home, the larger garage came into view, although at the time we didn’t realize it was a garage. Well, we knew it was garage-like, of course, but there could have been anything in there when we first clapped eyes on it. I may have begun to dream about floor to ceiling rows of long life food supplies. Such a hoard would keep us fed for an incredibly long time; maybe even a year or two. We could pull back from the daily grind. Day to day life wouldn’t have to be about digging through heaps of trash trying to find something we could eat. There was no such hoard in there, unfortunately, or at least, not in the capacity I wanted. I didn’t know this at the time, though. As I put the bus in park, set the brake, and killed the engine, that building hid unlimited possibilities. It was like a giant present under the Christmas tree.

  As I was stepping off the bus, I heard Jake ahead of me (who had already exited his vehicle) call out, “It’s okay! I brought them back on my own. Come out.”

  I looked to the entrance of the house expecting his buddies to come out but no such thing occurred. One hundred yards off to the left of the home, a small figure emerged from the trees and began walking our way at a fast march. I could tell she was female right off from the long hair and the way she moved. She didn’t waggle her hips around like a stripper or anything; maybe it was the way her body was shaped or, perhaps, maybe her long hair programmed me to see the movements of a female.

  She wore clothing that would blend in well with the surroundings; not exactly woodland MARPAT but using the same color scheme, each article was a solid color rather than a camo pattern. It looked like the kind of outdoor gear you’d buy from REI if REI was still a thing that existed. A small, angry looking little rifle was strapped to her chest. As she came closer to Jake, I was able to see that it was a bullpup of some sort, though I was unfamiliar with the manufacturer. I hated (and still do hate) bullpups. I tried shooting a buddy’s once at the range; reloading the thing was just slow, uncomfortable, and awkward for me. I had years’ and years’ worth of muscle memory stored up in expecting the trigger group to be aft of the receiver. Reversing their positions was, for me, like trying to teach an old dog quantum physics. Having that one experience with my buddy’s old Bushmaster, I had decided to happily disregard the design ever since.

  Without looking at us, she walked directly up to Jake, positioned herself with her back to the rest of us, and leaned in close to talk to him. Sensing some trouble in paradise, I held out a hand to my group, who were just stepping into the open, to signal that they should stay back and give the two some space to chat. On a scale of Spring Break Florida to Mogadishu, I’d have to rate our welcome somewhere around Detroit. They stood like this for a few minutes, heads close together, probably arguing over our very presence. I began to think about loading everyone back on and leaving as I watched them.

  In the end, before I could look back at the group and signal that they shouldn’t get too attached to the area, I saw Jake nod towards us with his eyebrows while the woman was in the middle of saying something; which I could tell only because I could see the back of her head shaking from the motions of her jaw moving. She turned to look over her right shoulder, showing an attractive profile in rich, brown skin and features that might have been either Mexican or Native American. It’s usually really hard for me to tell, actually; I grew up classifying people by color (black, white, brown, red) before all the various groups started marching every time an apparent dinosaur like me stuttered. I don’t know what the hell happened. Towards the end, I started feeling like I wanted to carry around an application form that people would have to fill out before I could talk to them – one of the entries would have said, “Please list those labels that you’re okay with and any others that are likely to trigger you into a frothing rage.” I have mixed feelings about the world ending, honestly. On one hand, I don’t miss the fact that one wrong word taken out of context on social media could potentially destroy your private and professional life. For a guy like me (your average jarhead, in other words), that could be every other word!

  On the other hand, given enough alcohol I’d suck start a she-male for a donut, so badly do I miss those little sugared morsels of fried bread.

  Where the hell was I?

  Right: the woman was looking back in our direction, first with an expression that suggested that someone somewhere was getting an ass-chewing, followed by a complete softening of said expression. I didn’t realize what had happened until I saw the angle of her gaze; she was looking low rather than high. I followed her gaze to see Maria standing very close to her father, Oscar, and looking all around the area with wide, intent eyes.

  That’s right, kid, I thought. You just keep being disgustingly cute. Win me a dinner.

  I glanced back at the woman and had to work hard to keep a grin from spreading on my face. She was crumpling. I could literally see her folding under the awesome power of Maria’s cuteness. Oh, Jesus, come on, lady. Just give in. Where’s Sarah McLachlan when you need her? I would have superglued a fly to the kid’s face if I thought it would have helped. I would have settled for Sally Struthers.

  The woman turned her head away from view again and said more to Jake, who nodded. She dipped her head, shook it slightly, and shrugged.

  Oh, shit yeah, Maria! Oo-freaking-rah!

  She turned and approached us along with Jake, now with a smile on her face, which continued to look fierce regardless of its softening. Jake said, “Everyone, this is Amanda. Amanda, this is everyone…many of whose names I have yet to learn.”

  She nodded and waved to us. Now that she was close, it struck me that she was tiny. The top of her head wouldn’t have even brushed my chin. Even compared to Jake, who was a few inches shorter than me, she was still shy about a half a foot. I looked down at the rifle that hung comfortably across her chest and also noticed a side arm strapped to her thigh. She looked like she was used to going around like that.

  Amanda smiled and said, “Well, we can learn everyone’s names over dinner, can’t we? Why don’t you put the truck away and I’ll go dig out some tables?”


  “You folks relax a bit,” Jake advised. “We’ll have you fed shortly.”

  Dinner turned out to be a certified feast, although it didn’t follow any coherent theme. “Ghetto potluck” was how Oscar described it. Our hosts pulled out some folding picnic tables to lay out a spread but there weren’t anywhere near enough chairs for everyone to have a seat, so we all stood with the exception of George and Barbara, who took chairs on the home’s front porch.

  The food itself filled a wide variety of canned tastes. White rice was used as a filling base for the whole meal; a large tray was put out in the center with spoons and paper plates. Around this were various smaller plates and trays filled with all manner of things like baked beans, whole potatoes, green beans, corn, and meats. There was even a small bowl of fruit off to the side for anyone who wanted it. All of this stuff came out of a can; I mean, when I say “meats”, I’m talking about stuff like Spam and Potted Meat. Much of it was stuff I would have turned my nose up at back in the day. Today, I and the rest of the whole group annihilated every bite.

  We learned that Amanda had a daughter, Elizabeth, who had come out to greet us after the tables had been set out but while the food was still being heated up on a few propane grills running in overtime (all told, it had taken around an hour to get the food out, mainly because that was how long it took to get all the rice cooked). Lizzy (as both her mother and Jake called her) fell in almost instantly with Maria and even Rose, who I would have thought was getting a little out of the younger girls’ age range. Rose would have been fourteen during this time, as I think I mentioned already; she was at that in-between state where she wasn’t a little girl anymore but also wasn’t quite ready to be grown up as well. Greg and Alan looked on from the sidelines, most likely pondering both a lack of any males as well as any females in their age range. Like the rest of the men still possessing a pulse, they would have to content themselves for the time being by staring after Rebecca like lost pups.

  “I’m sorry about the seating situation,” Jake said, having finished a small plate of food. “We’ve never had so many people here before. Folding chairs were never a priority.”

  “Don’t mention it, Jake,” Fred called from a little down the line. “Most of us were sick of sitting, anyway, spending all day on that damned bus. It’s good to stretch the legs out a bit.”

  Jake nodded and was silent for a time. I looked at him standing at the head of the table, there, next to Amanda, almost but not quite touching elbows; just on the edge of contact with each other. I wondered at their relationship.

  “How long have you three been living out here?” I asked.

  “Either three or four months, now, I guess,” Jake said.

  “Four,” Amanda confirmed.

  “Four, then.”

  “So then you guys found this place? That was lucky,” I said as I looked around the valley. It was buried back deep into the mountains. I couldn’t imagine anyone happening by on accident. It looked to be prime real estate, well protected on all sides by high mountain walls with a single, narrow point of access.

  “Well, we had a friend who brought us here,” Amanda said. “He owned the place. We lost him not too long ago. Shootout.”

  “I’m sorry for that,” I said. “We lost some people too.”

  “I think everyone must have, by now,” Rebecca added, looking pointedly in my direction.

  I suppressed an eye roll and nodded at her. Alright, already. I get it.

  I was deciding how to respond to her statement, or at least trying to decide if I should respond to it, when Edgar chose that moment to start speaking. I winced inwardly, trying like hell to keep it from showing on my face. I caught Wang’s eye, who only shrugged; it seemed he and I were both taken by surprise.

  “I was hoping you all might indulge me a moment,” he said. “It’s no secret that we were in poor shape when you found us. We had eaten our last morsel of food, which was admittedly not a full meal at that (you must understand that we were all feeling the pangs of hunger well before our encounter in Jackson) and consumed our last drop of water. We had been chased from the streets of Denver by a band of deplorable, blood thirsty savages, losing some of our own, as already noted, but also gaining new friends in the process.” He waved a hand expansively to Alish and the Page brothers. “What I’m trying to say is that we have learned to expect only famine and savagery out on this hard road. For this kindness you have shown to us, our people are in your debt.”

  Edgar raised his water bottle and looked around expectantly at all of us. I became concerned that he was about to start reciting poetry or something soon, so I hoisted mine as well and said, “Erm, yeah, hear, hear…”

  There were a few belated chimes of agreement from around the table. For Jake’s part, he looked as though he was put off balance by the whole display; he had his head down through the delivery, only looking up at the end when Edgar finished speaking. The expression on his face was unreadable. If he was confused or uncomfortable, I sure couldn’t blame him. While blessedly short, Edgar’s speech had killed any further conversation (any natural conversation, anyway) and drew everyone’s attention to a major, nagging question: now that we had been fed, what came next? Honestly, the exchange made me feel like a bit of a moron. I was certain there was a list of subtexts that had gone right over my head, mostly because I was unsettled by the outcome and couldn’t put my finger on why. My gut was telling me that something clumsy and ill-handled had transpired, only I couldn’t tell who was fully to blame or if we all held a piece of it. I decided to classify the matter as above my paygrade and opted instead to spoon another wad of rice into my mouth.

  Up at the head of the table, Amanda leaned in close to Jake and whispered something into his ear. His face betrayed no expression as she spoke to him; the expression on her face indicated that she was having trouble in choosing between speaking to him and biting a chunk out of his face. Without waiting for a response, she departed towards the house, mounted the short flight of steps to the porch, and disappeared behind the front door.

  Jake looked up at the rest of us and said, “Would you all please excuse me for a moment? Please, there’s plenty of food to go around; you must eat and enjoy the evening.”

  With a nod, he turned and followed after Amanda.

  I sighed and spooned up another bite. Wang came over to my side and quietly asked, “What do you think all that was about?”

  Through a mouthful, I asked, “You ever bring home a stray animal as a kid?”

  “Kind of,” he said. “I caught a bullfrog once and wanted to keep it in an aquarium. My mom was pissed.”

  “Well,” I shrugged, digging around on my paper plate, “I think Jake’s being told to take us back to the swamp and leave us there.”

  9 – Mouths to Feed

  Amanda

  “So, I’m wondering, Jake. Was this our place or just your place?”

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked. For all of the things in him that I admired, his deadpan calm really used to drive me crazy. I could never tell if he was playing it safe, hiding his own emotions (in the last few months of living together, I had learned that emotions were certainly a thing that he possessed in his own strange, hidden way), or if he just really was as clueless as he sometimes seemed. It didn’t help at all that he always became more relaxed in response to me getting more worked up. It’s hard to explain but, sometimes, I would have been a lot happier with him shouting back.

  “You heard what I said,” I shot at him.

  He took a moment before responding: “This is our home, of course.”

  “I see. Do you think you might have checked with me before you came home with an actual busload of strangers?”

  “Ah. Well, it would have been hard to consult with you at the time; I was out there alone and had to make a snap decision.”

  “No,” I scoffed. “No, you really didn’t. It never occurred to you to just have them wait out there while you came back to talk to me?”r />
  He was quiet for much longer this time as he considered. “Honestly, it didn’t. I don’t know why.” He looked confused. Uncertain.

  “I do,” I responded. “Jake, Lizzy and I both owe you a lot. You’ve done things for us - well, we’ve all done things for each other – that go beyond friends. We’re all family in a lot of ways. But you can be really, really inconsiderate sometimes, you know that?”

  A pained expression settled onto his face, which sucked some of the fire out of me. It was hard for me to stay angry at him when he was like that. I had stopped being afraid of Jake some time ago, either because we just became familiar with each other’s behaviors and moods or because I simply understood that he would never do anything to hurt us. It was probably some combination of those things. Dealing with him could still be exhausting sometimes, though. Most times, it’s hard to know what you’re dealing with when you interact with Jake. Is he hard as nails and feels things only a little, or does he feel everything but put all of his energy into hiding it? I still haven’t decided what the answer to that question is for sure. When he got that expression on his face, though, I sometimes wondered if he was a little of what my mom used to call “touched”…what my generation would later describe as being “on the spectrum”.

  It was nearly impossible for me to stay angry at times like this; it became more like kicking a puppy than having an argument. Maybe I was still just too used to Eddie. He and I used to get into some terrific arguments. We never took them too far or anything, but he and I both grew up with thick skin, so we could always unload. We could just get things off our chest and out into the open without having to worry about hurt feelings. It was really great how we worked together…and I have to admit the make-up sex was pretty awesome too.

  My relationship with Jake was a complete opposite; it was either smooth sailing or eggshells for me. I could just never be sure if I was hurting him and doing real damage to both him and our friendship or if it was all just rolling off him. It could be very tiring.