by Jones, K. J.
Peter’s voice responded, “What is your location? Over.”
She relayed what cross streets and the store itself.
“We’re on our way. Stay clear of them. Over.”
A moment past until they heard the sports cars race up the street. Expensive vehicles swarmed the street. Doors opened. The guys aimed at the white flag.
“Come out,” Matt ordered.
“We come in peace, brother.”
“Let’s just see about that.”
He rose up, hands up. Another man with him. Both men African American. They stood at vastly different heights.
“Y’all kill on sight,” the taller of the two said. “We couldn’t approach at your territory.”
The guys surrounded them and took their weapons, which they laid on the car hood along with their radios.
“Trade what?”
“I’m Jerome,” said the taller man. “This is Mackey. And the sniper on the rooftop aiming at y’all is Vi.”
Brandon looked up. “Confirmed.”
“You didn’t think we’d come here with our dicks in our hands, did ya? With no backup to keep us unharmed.”
“Fair enough,” said Matt. “Those ladies aiming at you will shoot you dead if your sniper fires.”
“Then we have an understanding. What’re y’all’s names?”
They introduced and shook hands.
“You’re central North Charleston?” Peter asked to confirm.
“Yeah,” said Jerome. “We’re flanked by asshole tribes. Got the assholes at the hospital complex and white supremacists at the Cooper Riverside at the docks. But you got trash across the bay from y’all.”
“Where?” Ben asked. He knew, but there was no harm in asking.
“At the old military ships. They the ones you keep shooting.”
“How do you know that?”
“We snagged one and tortured him to get the intel we needed. Y’all new here. You don’t know the terrain like we do, all the tribes do. You got a disadvantage.”
Peter asked, “Why aren’t you seizing on that disadvantage?”
“We’re outnumbered by all them motherfuckers. Allies would be to our benefit. You got people of color, so you ain’t racists. You’re acting sane, so you ain’t like them assholes over at the hospitals. You are the best bet for an alliance. Go up further north.” Jerome shook his head. “It crazy up there. The more surviving folks, the worse shit is. They still get zombies attacking, too.”
“Are they still active where you are, the zoms?” Peter asked.
“Not so much anymore. But we do get some who are wearing fatigues and shit. They’re Marines. Freshly zombified. Reckon they’re coming from Parris Island. Something happened there. But ain’t got too much river access with all them assholes to go and check. Y’all know?”
“We do,” said Ben. “We’re from it.”
“Dang!” said Mackey. “Y’all Marines?”
“Me and him are. These men are former US Army Seventy-fifth Regiment Rangers.”
Jerome and Mackey smiled big.
“Y’all the real deal,” said Mackey.
Jerome put a hand up for Mackey to calm. “Do you have any medical people?”
“We do,” Ben responded.
“What you need for a visit from your medical? A trade. We’ll give stuff for some service.”
“What do you need medical for?” asked Matt.
“Heavily pregnant women. One is my sister. She had a C-section before. She says she can’t do no natural birth.”
“She’s correct. C-section weakens the uterine wall.”
“What y’all need in trade?”
“Bullets,” said Ben.
“Knew y’all were gonna say that,” Mackey said.
“You got it,” said Jerome. “I know you got no gun shops down here.”
Mackey tisked and glared at him. “Bullets, man? Really?”
Jerome rose the hand for silence. “We all gotta trust each other. My sister’s not dying.”
“What’s the condition of the other pregnant women?” Matt asked.
“Nothing I can understand. They going crazy over not having anyone to help ‘em. We lost all our older, experienced women who could help ‘em. We’re left with men, teenage girls, and young women who ain’t mothers.”
Matt looked for feedback from Ben and Peter.
Peter said, “Our medical personnel has to be asked if they’re willing to go. It has to be voluntary.”
Matt said, “Are they in labor now?”
“No,” Jerome answered. “But it’s soon.”
“Meet back here tomorrow at noon,” said Peter.
“Thank you.” Jerome presented his hand.
7.
A meeting called in the dining room. They briefed everyone.
“A Caesarian section?” Dr. Jenkins didn’t look comfortable.
“I know how to do one, in theory,” said Matt.
Phebe said, “If ancient Romans could do it, it can’t be that hard. That’s where the name came from. Julius Caesar was born by the first C-section.”
Angela said, “Sounds like the others need a midwife. They lost all of their older women?”
“That’s what they said,” Peter responded.
“Ain’t this ironic,” said Chris. “All this shooting and hooting and hollering, and it’s birthing babies that threatening lives.”
“Back to how things used to be,” said Angela.
“It would be worse if we didn’t have antibiotics,” added Matt. “We would really plummet back to the olden days of pre-penicillin.”
“Thank our blessings. Praise Jesus.” Angela raised her hand to praise.
“Amen,” said Matt.
“Okay,” said Peter. “Before the tent revival begins, do we have a decision on what we’re doing? This sounds like it requires our people to go into their territory. How do we know we can get our people back?”
“You think they’re bad men?” asked Angela.
“I think we’re in the apocalypse and everyone is splitting into back-in-the-day tribalism.”
“Can the women be moved?” Phebe asked. “Like to the neutral area we were in?”
“Won’t know until we examine them,” said Matt.
“And then,” stated Peter, “your ass is already in their territory.”
“Wait,” declared Phebe. “An exchange of people. That’s what they used to do. Like aristocrats in the medieval, they’d trade sons to seal alliances or peace agreements.”
“So, all we need is Jerome’s son for …” Peter looked around. “Tyler.”
“Hey,” Tyler protested.
“You’re as close to a son as I got.”
“But you’re not the leader anymore, are you?”
“I don’t see a small fry with Mazy and Ben, do you?”
“I am not a small fry. I’m one of your best fighters.”
“You are.” Peter ruffled Tyler’s dirty blond hair. “My former Smurf.” He gave him a quick sideways hug squeeze.
“The trade,” said Matt, “would be us anyway. The medical people. You’re out Tyler.”
“But we need three of their people then,” said Mazy.
“Three?” Jenkins asked.
“You, me, and Ange as a midwife,” said Matt.
“I’ll go.” Angela nodded.
The doctor didn’t look so sure. “If you can do the surgery, why am I going then?”
Matt said, “I’d think you would want to help and save lives.”
“I’ll go,” said Mazy.
“You’re one of the leadership,” said Peter. “I’ll go.”
“They are obviously more comfortable with people of color.”
“Ask Chris. I look like an Arab.”
“Not with those eyes. And without the beard. You are a white man.”
“I’ll go,” said Emily. “I can help with the medical.”
“Jewish is not people of color, sweetheart. What is it with you people an
d thinking just because Hitler wouldn’t get a hard-on for y’all makes you something other than white to black people?”
Peter and Emily shrugged.
“I don’t know,” said Peter. “Nobody else likes us.” A smirk.
“Just trying to help,” said Emily.
“I’m assuming I am needed on rooftops for this,” said Ben. “I’ll need you, Phebe, to cover more territory.”
She nodded.
Chris said, “If shit goes wrong, we gonna just send in the Pheebs with a machete.”
“She’ll kill everyone.” Peter chuckled.
“We’ll call that Plan B,” said Mazy.
“Nuh,” said Peter. “It should be me. They will disarm everyone if they have any brains.”
“What shape are you in?”
“I’m good. I can handle it. I’ll have Matt to back me up.”
“Are you two gonna fight while there?”
“Not with each other. We’re always better when we have a common enemy.”
Matt chuckled. “That’s true.”
Chapter Three
1.
Ben watched Vi through his scope. She waved at him, as she watched him through her scope from a rooftop across the street.
He waved back.
But neither lowered their rifles.
The first thing exchanged on street level were the radio channels the two tribes used. This allowed them to talk to, and listen in on, each other.
Though Matt, Peter, and Angela were patted down, the weapons were not taken off of them, only noted on what they had and where.
“Why?” Peter asked.
Jerome answered, “You could be killed by an attack from another tribe if you aren’t able to fight for yourselves. Your snipers gonna follow?”
“Yeah.”
Three people from the central North Charleston tribe would go back to the Star Gate House. One was a man taller than Chris. He introduced himself as Dre. He made Jerome look like a midget. His demeanor and way of speaking, what little he said during introductions, was more like a guy who worked in an office.
“You got people left back who can cover your territory?” asked Jerome. “Everybody’s watching everybody else here. And that trash across the river got eyes on you, for sure. Our people will help you out if anything goes to shit back at y’all’s camp.”
“Always be prepared,” said Dre.
Chris kept looking Dre up and down, trying to get a beat on him and not liking his size if things weren’t as friendly as they were appearing.
Dre pretended to not notice Chris, recognizing he was a redneck and that could be awkward to hang out with during the exchange.
Fortunately, Chris’s size and new slim build hid the fact that his strength and stamina wasn’t what it used to be.
Peter observed all the interactions and body language. His gut didn’t give off warnings, though his mind was gnawing on the potential dangers. He cursed that they were new to the terrain and hadn’t been able to stretch out enough for a full look-see in reconnaissance. The area was too big for just one insomniac Lakota. They had found camera drone toys of the rich and batteries for them. But no one had the decency to place big signs on their rooftops to indicate who and where they were. Too much space. They needed specific location targets to use camera drones.
2.
Matt, Angela, and Peter went in one of the SUVs Phebe and Emily had conscripted. Jerome accompanied them. They were joined by a convoy of Mad Maxed vehicles to escort them into central North Charleston territory.
It was not next door to Historic Charleston territory. The greater Charleston area turned out to be much larger than Peter imagined.
A bridge overland connected Historic Charleston to North Charleston via Interstate 26. The bridge was intact. No armed forces blowing out segments. The convoy took it. Soon enough, Peter saw what their new friends were talking about.
The bridge looked like something he had seen in the overseas wars. Cars riddled with bullets. Some blown out on the side from an RPG hit. As was the railing. A mangled mess of steel holding blast scars. Further on, the remains of a car he recognized as a suicide bomber type – the explosion blew outward.
He wondered if the hostile tribes were crazy enough to actually suicide bomb, or did they just roll the explosives-packed vehicle.
He and Matt exchanged knowing glances.
Jerome rode shotgun as Peter drove.
He explained, “Down below us, it’s all houses and shit. Too many places to hide. It’s a killing field down there. So we take measures to keep this here secure. Lost a lot of good folks doing that.”
Peter nodded. He could see it.
In a vehicle ahead, a guy who looked Jayce’s age manned a National Guard fifty cal machine gun. It was bolted to a pickup truck bay. A proper third world civil war appearance, Peter thought.
As the highway bridge descended, the terrain changed. Buildings grew younger and uglier than the historic area. Things looked more wartime apocalypse. Burned buildings. Pathways made between derelict, destroyed cars. Some cross streets were blocked off as barriers, made up of anything they could pile up, including delivery trucks. Guards walked building rooftops. They waved to the convoy.
“Oh,” said Peter as he drove. “I see youse got some of Henderson’s friends.”
Decomposing bodies hung from lamp posts. Peter caught a sing hanging off of one. It read: Death to Nazis!
“That works just as good as severed heads.”
“They one of our problems,” responded Jerome. “North Charleston got a lot of black folks. A lot more than your Historic Charleston.”
“Um, Sweden has more black people than Historic Charleston.”
Jerome chuckled. “That probably true.”
“I’m imagining the neo-Nazis aren’t too happy about your group.”
“Aw, no. You could say that. We their worst fear. Armed uppity Negroes everywhere.”
Peter laughed.
“Now we gone and added a Yankee,” Jerome added.
“A few of us, actually.”
The convoy slowed. Beyond them, Peter could see the rise of a makeshift wall. “Wow. I feel like I’m in The Walking Dead now.”
“Except with more black people. Fucked up since it was supposed to be the South.”
“That’s true. It’s like Roxbury and it’s white. Oh, that’s a black area of Boston.”
“I get ya. Hollywood says they left-wing and all for the black man, but then leave us out when we are supposed to be there.”
“Hollywood doesn’t like reality. They make shit that’s supposed to be in Boston but no one sounds it.”
From the backseat, Angela commented, “Look at all the crosses.”
“Is this a graveyard outside your walls?” asked Matt.
“Not really. We put ‘em up for the folks we lose. Like they done when somebody died on a highway type thing.”
“A lot of people,” Angela muttered.
Row after row of homemade crosses flanked the entrance to the walled-in compound. There were hundreds. Some had personal possessions hanging from them or sitting in front of them.
“Is that a dog collar?” Matt asked.
“Yeah. That was my pit bull. He went down as a fighter, so he gets one. I don’t care what anybody says. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him.”
Orange-yellow school buses and city buses were used for the wall. They laid flush with the ground. Their wheels shot out and the undersides rested directly on the tarmac. Metal sheeting bolted over exterior gaps and windows. More sheeting at the top of the wall to provide cover. Armed guards walked the top of the wall behind the sheeting.
“We got a guy real into computer gaming,” said Jerome. “He designed this after a castle.”
“It works,” said Matt, looking between the bucket seats.
“What about explosives?” Peter asked. “Or is that not something happening?”
“Oh, no. We got assholes doing some suicide car s
hit on us.” Jerome’s head snapped around to look at Angela. “Excuse my cussing, ma’am.”
She smiled. “It’s okay, Jerome. As long as it’s not in front of my children.”
“My mama would pop me in the mouth if she heard me cussing.”
Peter said, “Our Ange is threatening everyone with the wooden spoon.”
“That all? Pssh. That was just for rolling your eyes to my elders. Behind their backs at that. They knew. Could just feel it.”
“The Force is strong with them.”
Jerome belly laughed. “You gotta meet some of my boys. They into all that shit.”
At the gate, guards appeared. They peered into every vehicle, identifying the faces.
“We always make sure it’s the right folks inside the cars. No one at gunpoint type shit.”
“They’ve used this?”
“Hell yeah. Used just about anything they could think of.”
“The Nazis?”
“Them and others. You get folks looking for more bullets and supplies and shit. Clean water runs at a premium.” Jerome looked at the side of Peter’s face. “That cruise ship has been wanted for some time. But they ain’t smart enough to get in it. Unlike yourselves.”
“You are going to have to show me where these hiding spots are that you can spy on us so easy.”
“Monty will tell ya.”
“Who?”
“Montgomery. He one of our council leaders. We call him Monty..”
“Okay, get that. You have a council?”
“We do that. Folks are better at different things than others. Some good at warfare. Some good at supplies and handling of people. All kinds. We elect a chief to it. That been him.”
“You elect?”
“We try to do shit right. We could be building a new society.”
Matt said, “I am seeing a lot of what Henderson was upset about.”
“Oh, yeah,” responded Peter. “He just left out this community.”
“He probably feared we beeline to them if we knew.”
Peter rolled the SUV to the gate and lowered his window. Jerome rolled down his window to the guard on the righthand side.
“This them,” Jerome said. “Y’all, roll down your windows back there so they can see down onto the floorboard.”
