by D. J. Molles
“Captain Tomlin,” Bus sighed. “Trust, much like respect, is something you have to earn. It is not freely given.”
“And what would earn your trust?”
Bus took a moment and realized where Tomlin was going with this. It was a good move—come up with the terms, and then make it sound like they were Bus’s idea. But in reality, what other terms were there? What else could he ask Tomlin to do that would earn his trust? In the end, it all came back to the same answer.
“Help me find this guy.” Bus smiled without humor. “And we’ll see where you stand after that.”
Tomlin grinned, causing the scars on his scalp to shift. He extended his hand. “Sounds like a deal.”
Begrudgingly, Bus reached out and shook the man’s hand.
***
There was something uniquely disquieting about having someone who wanted to kill you, Lee discovered. Feeling both heavy and jumpy at the same time, Lee exited the Camp Ryder building into what was turning into a bright, cloudless fall day. A day that would have made him want to throw a pack together and take a trip up to the mountains in better times. Now he stood on the steps, feeling slightly sickened, and looked out at the people of Camp Ryder, bustling about their chores, gathering water, splitting wood, preparing for scavenging trips outside the wire.
Everyone seemed suspicious. They all moved too purposefully for Lee, as though they were trying too hard to be nonchalant. He felt eyes on him and when he looked they smiled fake smiles with hidden meanings, and he could not force himself to smile back.
A grumble next to his side drew his attention back. He looked down and found Deuce standing close—but not too close—to his side and gazing up at Lee with hopeful eyes and a tail that wagged hesitantly. He’d tried to get the mutt to come inside with him, but Deuce wasn’t keen on the Camp Ryder building and chose instead to lurk around the corner from the front door and mumble at passersby, as suspicious with everyone as Lee had just become.
“Hey, boy,” Lee murmured. “You hungry?”
The dog bobbed his head as though he were nodding in response.
“Course you are.” Lee had already brought the dog a hefty plateful of scraps after breakfast, but dogs were always hungry, it seemed. “How about a ride? You wanna go for a ride?”
The dog tilted its head.
Lee smiled and started down the steps. “Come on.”
The dog followed. Lee was under no illusions that Deuce was obedient, but moreso that Lee was the only one that brought him food, so naturally he tagged along, hoping for more. But that was where obedience began with dogs. Good old Pavlovian training.
He found Eddie Ramirez walking across the square, away from the front gates. Lee called out after him and he turned and waved with a half smile. “Hey, Captain. What’s up?”
“Got plans for the day?” Lee asked, shaking the man’s hand.
Eddie looked back towards the gate. “Actually, I was just about to go out with a scavenging crew. See if I couldn’t rustle up some car parts. Try to earn my keep a little.”
Lee nodded. “I’d like to borrow you, if you can rain check them.”
Eddie looked down at Deuce who took up a position to Lee’s right. “Uh…yeah, I guess. What do you need?”
“I’ve got to run some rifles and ammo down to Lillington. I need a second to ride with me, and I figured we could drive up and take a look at some of those vehicles we had to leave at the airport. Maybe you can figure out what you need to fix them.”
Eddie nodded. “Yeah. Absolutely.”
“You know where we keep all the rifles and ammunition?”
Eddie pointed to a shipping container between the front gate and the Camp Ryder building. “I’m assuming that one that you got everything out of earlier today.”
“Yup. I’m gonna pull the Humvee around so we can load up.”
All the gun truck Humvees had been taken by Harper and LaRouche’s groups, which left them only with the cargo variant they’d retrieved from the airport the day before. It was equipped with a radio, but no turret. That was fine. If they got into any trouble, they’d ditch whatever they were doing and hightail it, rather than fight it out. It was not infected that Lee was truly concerned with—they could be outrun in a vehicle. It was hostile people with guns that worried him. But the patrols out of Outpost Lillington were now including the roads to Broadway and a few miles past, and they had not reported anything.
Lee backed the cargo Humvee up to the shipping container. It was close to the front gate so that the sentries could keep an eye on it during their normal duties. As he opened it up, Deuce lingered around the Humvee and took a piss on one of the tires.
The shipping container was mostly empty, save for a dozen rifles and a few thousand rounds. Everything else had gone with the two groups to help them bargain with and recruit other groups of survivors to join the fight. What was left would go to Lillington and Professor White’s group. Lee didn’t like having an empty gun locker, but there were more rifles and ammunition at Bunker #8. Perhaps he would make another trip out there before he left to catch up with LaRouche’s group.
“Anyone give you a rifle yet?” Lee asked of Eddie.
He shook his head, looking a little dubious of the little black M4. “No…didn’t realize that was the welcoming gift.”
Lee smiled. “Yeah, no fruit baskets here. Just an M4 and a couple hundred rounds.” He took one of the rifles and one of the shoulder sling magazine pouches and handed them to Eddie. “You ever use one before?”
“Uh…no. Can’t say that I have.”
Lee gave him a two minute crash-course on the operation of the weapon. Eddie nodded along, his eyes intense and never leaving the rifle, as though it might jump and bite him if he handled it incorrectly. Lee wasn’t sure how good Eddie would be with the thing, but he still wanted his passenger to be armed.
When Lee felt that Eddie had a good enough grasp of how to use the rifle, they loaded the rest into the cargo bed of the Humvee and piled in, Deuce taking a watchful position in the back with the goods. They got their armbands from the sentries at the front gate—blue, today—and then they left Camp Ryder. As they drove down the dirt road, Eddie nervously clutched his new weapon and stared at the front gate as it retreated in the side view mirror.
CHAPTER 28: TIPPING POINT
They reached Lillington at noon.
Over the course of the last week Professor White’s group from Fuquay-Varina and Old Man Hughes’ group from Dunn had built the outpost into a defensible location. The wide entrance to the south was blocked with a clutter of dumpsters and concertina wire. The western entrance was manned by a sentry at all times, and there was another that roamed the rooftops, looking out for signs of trouble from infected or human threats.
As they neared the compound, the sentry atop the roof waved to them and they slowed. Lee dropped his window and hung his left arm out, displaying the blue armband they’d affixed when they left Camp Ryder. The sentry took a good look at them and Lee recognized him as one of the guys from Old Man Hughes’ group. When the sentry was satisfied, he waved them on and they pulled around the corner into the eastern entrance where the second sentry, a middle-aged woman with auburn hair, was in the process of removing the white car from where it blocked the narrow alley. Lee nodded to her and she smiled and motioned them through.
“Hey, Captain,” she said as they pulled abreast of her. “We’ve been expecting you.” She leaned on Lee’s door and her face became grave. “After what happened with Professor White’s group, he’s been pretty panicked to get his hands on some rifles.”
Lee nodded impassively. “I guess he should have taken them when I first offered them.”
She shrugged. “Maybe he won’t give you so much grief now.”
“Maybe, but I wouldn’t count on it.”
She cracked a smile again and allowed them to pass through.
They were met in the parking lot by the younger man with blond dreadlocks sticking out of a
black watch cap. He regarded them coolly as they stepped out of the Humvee. He offered no greeting to Lee, and kept his arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Did you bring the rifles?”
Lee gave him a look that he hoped communicated how stupid the question was. Then he pointed to the cargo bed in the back of the Humvee where all the black rifles and green cans of ammunition were stacked, plainly visible. Deuce maintained his spot in the bed and looked curiously between the two men as though he found their quiet animosity fascinating.
Dreadlocks kept his haughty stare up for a moment more before following where Lee pointed and seeing the weapons in the back of the truck. He nodded. “For the record, I don’t agree with this.”
Lee closed his door behind him. “Where’s White?”
“Busy.”
Figures, Lee thought. He wouldn’t have the balls to face me.
“Okay,” Lee said. “You wanna call your people out here so I can hand the rifles out?”
“You can just drop them here.” Dreadlocks put one hand on his hip and pointed to the ground at his feet with the other, like he was some factory foreman commanding a workforce. “I’ll distribute them.”
Lee’s expression remained impassive. “Or you can call your people out here so I can hand the rifles out…and explain how they work.” He touched his chin. “Unless you have some extensive firearms experience I don’t know about.”
Dreadlocks rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
He retreated quickly and disappeared into one of the buildings.
Eddie had crossed over to Lee’s side of the vehicle and was leaning against the cargo bed, shaking his head. “Damn…they really like you.”
Lee smiled. “That’s my fan club.”
It took a few minutes for Dreadlocks to corral his people into a loose bunch at the side of Lee’s Humvee. When he had their attention, Lee spoke slowly and clearly, going over the basics of the weapon system he was about to hand out. He explained how to load the weapon, how to aim and fire, how to change magazines, and how to tap-rack-ready if they experienced a jam. Lastly, he went over how to disassemble, clean, and reassemble the rifle.
To their credit, though a few appeared to have the same attitude as Dreadlocks, most of them listened attentively and seemed to be absorbing the information.
It took nearly a half an hour to explain and issue everyone a weapon and six magazines in a shoulder sling. They had no questions for him, and they all took their rifles and filed silently away. Lee watched them go, feeling less than enthused about handing out weapons to this group. If he was going to hand them out, he preferred it be to people that would actually help when shit hit the fan. With these people, only God knew what they would do when the bad times came. Just toting a rifle didn’t make you a badass. It took a certain mental edge for a person to put a rifle to good use, and looking at their eyes, their faces, the entire way that they carried themselves, Lee just didn’t see it.
But who knows, right?
I’ve been wrong about people before.
He turned and opened the door to the Humvee. “Come on. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
***
The waiting was unbearable.
Jerry sat in his shanty, going over everything in his mind, picturing all the outcomes like a chess player anticipates the movements of the board several steps ahead. His whole body was jittery at the thought of it, alive with tension. He found his hands becoming increasingly clammy. They were ice-cold, but somehow the palms would not stop sweating. He’d urinated three times within the last hour. Noon came and went and he couldn’t find the appetite to eat anything for lunch.
He laid down on his mattress and stared at the ceiling, but the recumbent position was too much for him to hold. He had to be up, he had to move, but he feared stepping out of his shanty. He felt his plan like a bright, neon billboard strapped around his chest and anyone he came into contact with would know.
They would know, and then they would blow the whole damn thing!
He jumped off of his mattress and paced the tiny confines of his room.
Fuck! What time was it?
He checked his watch and discovered only three minutes had passed since he’d last checked.
Jerry darted to his door and opened it a crack. If he craned his neck out just right, he could see The Square and the front gate. The sentry stood, idle at his post, his rifle slung on his back, his face relaxed.
Still no sign of Greg.
“Jesus Christ!” Jerry whispered to himself. Where was that bastard?
He closed his door and set to pacing the room again.
He could feel his bladder spasming.
He tried to ignore it, shuffling around his room like a child on the verge of wetting his pants during a game of hide-and-go-seek. The sensation persisted and finally won out. Jerry snatched up a gallon jug that sloshed at the bottom with a murky, yellow-tinted fluid. He pulled himself out of his pants and stuck the head of his penis in the top of the jug. A weak stream dribbled forth for all of five seconds.
He swore and put himself away.
It would all be worth it. It would all be worth it to see the look on Bus’s face.
And Lee, Jerry thought, baring his teeth. Fucking GI Joe himself…
He straightened suddenly, tilting his head. Was that the sound of the gate opening?
Jerry rushed to his door again, pushing it open a little farther this time and sticking his head out. His heart leaped as he saw that the gate was indeed drawing open. On the other side, waiting patiently for the path to clear, was Greg’s old gray Geo. What would Greg say? Was it time? Was everything in place? Or was it bad news? Did something go wrong? There were so many things that could go wrong…
He closed his door and put his back to it, only to realize that he needed to exit his shanty. He pushed through the door, forcing the unbearable nervousness to shed off of him as though he were shucking off a clingy robe. He took a deep breath as he left the safety of his little shack and walked with as much confidence as he could muster, raising his chin and relaxing his face into the barely-visible smirk that he usually wore. The look of someone that is always supremely pleased with himself.
Ahead of him, the tiny gray SUV pulled through the gate and the sentry closed it back. The Geo whirled around, kicking up a tiny amount of dust, and parked in the same spot that Greg always parked in to open the tailgate and barter with whatever items he’d scavenged. There would be no bartering today, which was no loss—the little trade-market was slower than usual today and only a few people were hanging out with anything to offer, and only one person had come in from Broadway to scout around for some mechanical parts.
Greg stepped out of his vehicle and his eyes went immediately to Jerry, who was just now emerging from the rows of shanties. His eyes were clouded and serious, and he gave the slightest of nods. An affirmation that made Jerry’s pulse quick-step. Jerry motioned to the right with a subtle gesture of his head and the two parties converged in the center of The Square and began walking towards the northeastern corner.
“They’re on the way,” Greg said.
“What’s their ETA?”
“They were a few minutes behind me. Might already be in place.”
“And you explained everything? The signal and what I want them to do?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Jerry felt almost light-headed.
They passed the last row of shanties and looked around cautiously to see if they were being observed by anyone. When it appeared that they were not, they walked quickly to the collection of unused shipping containers. This time, rather than squeezing into the hollow space between them, they approached the doors to one and Greg quickly knocked twice, then twice again. Then he pulled one of the doors open and he and Jerry slipped quickly inside.
The interior was dimly lit by a kerosene lantern, dangling from a hook in the roof of the container. Lined up along each wall were ten men. They all held the M4 rifles and the shoulder-sling magaz
ine pouches that Lee had given them. There was something vicious and ironic about that, but Jerry supposed it was not the first time someone from the US government had handed out weapons like candy and it had backfired on them.
The US had always been far too trusting.
Captain Harden had always been far too trusting.
Hubris or stupidity, Jerry wasn’t sure.
All of that changed today. The world was a harsh, cold, cruel place, and people outside these walls were not their friends. They were only drains on their resources that would cut and run as soon as being a community became inconvenient for them. Jerry recognized that this was how the world worked, this was how the world had always worked, and anyone who put their best foot forward was only looking to get it lopped off.
You had to close yourself off, wall yourself in, cut out the rest of the world. That was how it had always been, and nothing had changed with the collapse of society except for the apparent nature of it. Any society that opened its doors would sooner or later be destroyed. A closed society might not be a rich society, but they were a safe society.
But it took strength, and purpose, and perseverance to maintain that safe society. Bus was unwilling to turn anyone away because he was an incapable leader, and as a result they had become weak. They had recreated the very same weaknesses that had doomed the United States to begin with. This time around, things would be different. Because Jerry was going to lead this community, and he was going to correct their course. He was going to a set a path for them that was sustainable, and promised that they would survive, and not simply starve to death a year down the road, happy that they had a clear conscience because they’d allowed any person with a sob story to come into their gates and suck down their resources.
Jerry smiled at the men before him. “Gentlemen…our future begins today.”
Solemnly, they nodded their heads. Their lips were bloodless lines on their faces, their jaws struck hard from stone, their eyes cold and ready.
