by Marlin Grail
I don’t give him the satisfaction by even looking over. I simply clench Gary’s sword tighter than before. The rest of our group piles out of the truck, and I’m eager to become incognito because of our numbers.
That man probably just does that to every girl he sees, because the number of girls he’s been around has been very small. I already pity him, but nowhere near in a good way.
When Gary makes his way to me, I let him help me down off of the bed, and complete our hand exchange.
Maybe if that man sees that Gary’s protective over me, they won’t even consider trying to check me out anymore.
I hand over Gary’s sword. Over the commotion we look into each other’s eyes. “You are my strong man.”
He chuckles. We circle around to the other side of the truck, mostly by my maneuvering, so that way I’m further hidden. This time of waiting for whatever happens next fades to obscurity for me, because I’m becoming more okay with the choice our group made together.
I drift back into awareness when I feel a slight tap from Alex in between Will and me. “Yes?” I try to politely ask him.
Alex keeps his head low, his gaze wandering from side to side. “Your people, the ones with guns, that’s new to me.”
Right. He apparently comes from another setup of C.’s. Far away, even. Why and how did this young person get all the way out here? Furthermore, does C. move back and forth from place to place?
I scope the area, certain he’s referring to the guards on the borders. A few are even close to our own radius. “Don’t you worry your adorable head off. They’re to keep the peace around here. You’ll find that seeing guns on people isn’t as scary as some would want you to believe.”
Still not confident with my response, I tell him he can stay between Will and me if it makes him feel safer.
Guns really don’t scare me, and it’s fair to say it’s because I had an unfair advantage on certain things over others. For starters, when I would see a man carrying his gun by his side on the street, he was the protection I would beg for. I’d do this in case there was another trying to disrupt both my life, and in turn, that side carrier’s own. I guess I could say there were the unofficial police that roamed the town I dwelled within.
His small figure bumps into my thigh slightly when the loud voice of the supervisor is suddenly heard hovering above everyone. He’s standing high on one of the turret’s platforms.
“Silence!” he instructs the rowdy crowd of those men. “Everyone, you all are here, whether you’re a part of the trip or not, because we all now have the same assignment…defending our homes!”
Gary was right then. Even if I stayed, I’d be going along with the task anyhow. Everyone with C. is.
At this point, absolutely no voice is heard by anyone else beside him. Then that recognizable tone of madness reinforces what I remember.
“Welcome, my wonderful workers!” C. exclaims enthusiastically on the second turret’s platform. “Those that are meant to come with me have proven themselves to have great courage, great sacrifice, and overall great loyalty! To those who will volunteer themselves to come with, I still applaud your bravery!”
Men of various groups hoot with testosterone-filled lungs, while many women clap to signify their own response of admiration. C. follows through with details to this energetic speech.
“We are about liberation to earn what we can through hard work! I’m afraid, however, there is a threat wanting it to all be for nothing! This is a threat more than just a few people to convince, or protect our lives from. We’re talking about an army’s worth of ferocious living, heading straight here!”
Many then boo and visibly rouse in anger. “We can take them!” is what’s implied through the majority’s vocal response.
The supervisor calls for quiet.
“Yes, I thought our small and humble colony of C. could stay hidden. I thought I could keep this hidden from you all. I’m sorry. Truth is, my associates within Cheyenne have been having turf wars with these people for a while now!
“I originally came from there, but the heat became too much. Out of desperation, I fled while my remaining dispatches kept that secret from the enemy! Needless to say, the information got extracted, and a battalion is heading straight to our grounds! They should just want me, but they will try to take you all as well!”
The jeering begins from many, with phrases such as “Those people are weak, C.!”, and, “No wonder you left them, ‘cause they couldn’t keep their damn mouths shut!”
C. then speaks with a tone of disapproval. “People! For cryin’ out loud! You know what, they are your comrades, even if you’ve never met them! They’ve dealt with more danger on a daily basis then all of you put together!”
Then, a single male voice belches deep and anonymously from within a group, stating an obvious question I also have. “Why won’t our people of Cheyenne just cut the enemy off before they get here?”
C. rubs his neck harshly, then throws both of his hands in the air. “Didn’t you just hear me? This is an army! A battalion is being sent here! War’s still going on at Cheyenne! It’s not like our people can just turn tail and flee here! We’re lucky all the enemy’s forces haven’t been sent here! That shows how little they think of you!”
Fair enough, C., but what’s so special in Cheyenne for our people to still ravage war? Is it just the territory? It must be special enough for this “aggressor army” to still want to claim it. Then again, war in the past would happen, whether regional, or national, for just as something as simple as land.
Will then catches C.’s attention when he throws out his own question. “Why do only a few go with you, C.? Why not have every one of us pick up and relocate? We could all avoid—”
C. cuts back in with an unrelenting attitude. “Because, we are C., and we don’t give up what we worked so hard to get! I wish we could all pick up and leave, but this would be too risky! More people could mean more probability of shit hitting the fan for some!
“What would happen if several cars ran out of fuel, and we couldn’t resupply them all, nor would there be any room for them in others’? I’d rather some of you die under the heat of battle than have to leave you during our journey!”
But, what if everyone here has the mentality to leave? What if everyone wants to volunteer?
Then, C. states, “We’re only having two extra cars full of people that this isn’t mandatory for, and you know who you are! The groups who have at least one person who this is required of them, don’t worry about you guys! You have full decision! For those who don’t…the first 2 cars to honk their horns now are ticketed to come along!”
Somewhat twisted, C., but everything about your organization is about competition, isn’t it? Most of the people here respond well to that, don’t they?
The few movements out of my peripheral vision are fast and scurrying. The first car has its horn blare loudly for a consecutive number of seconds, making it unfair for the other cars to fully know who’s won the last spot. C. points both of his fingers to the two cars he’s deemed successful. When I look to a few of the groups, their bodies become slump and concerned.
I can tell some don’t want a war to wage. This isn’t right.
C. calms the commotion that’s stirred up back down. “Those of you staying, I promise, with the aid of your great supervisor and his guards, you will be under the greatest of protection there is to be offered!”
C. and the supervisor then mobilize their way off the platforms, momentarily pausing the assembly as they open up the road gates ahead of everyone. Once they do open them, we can see C. and the supervisor firmly shake hands with great solemnness.
The supervisor turns his attention to us all again, sounding as though he’s struggling to hold in emotions. “To those of you leaving, be blessed and under the might of C.!”
So, even the supervisor is afraid? How should that make the groups staying behind feel?
C. pats the supervisor on his back, and tak
es the radio connected to ours, in a brief and hidden exchange.
Almost hidden.
We always got the “special treatment”, didn’t we? It’s not like our supervisor has a waistband of several walkie-talkies connected to everyone’s group. It seems like it was only us. Either that’s an honor, or a majorly detestable “privilege”.
C. has his signature smirk. “You’ll be okay! When we arrive at Cheyenne, this land here will be known historically as the last battle of the puny outsiders! We’ll give you word when we cut out their hearts!”
That final cry became everyone’s indicator to be dismissed or be ready. The people disperse back into their vehicles.
I realize then that not me nor any of our group looked down at Alex. He looks to have been visibly horrified the whole time. Will comforts him, saying we’ll be getting him to his home on the way. He promises that he’ll make sure we do.
With that in mind, I don’t decide to alter our sitting arrangement.
Yeah, the ride’s going to be long, but I’ll be okay.
As I hurry on up the truck’s bed, Gary asks me if I’d like another to be with me. He adds “You know I would, Lissie.”
“I know you would, but you’ve got a role to portray. Leader’s drive the group, regardless of being in transportation or not.”
He quickly looks down with acceptance to my response, then secretively puckers his lips together, giving me a quick kiss. I smile at it, and tell him, “Get Ashton to sit with me. I’ll need someone to annoy for a while.”
When everyone settles into their spots, with Ashton taking most of the bed all to himself, our truck begins to move up the road beyond the roadblock. Ashton and mine’s vision is that of what’s behind of our vehicle. Right now, the convoy of cars is neutrally viewed by Ashton, but, for me, all I see is the driver of the car right behind us looking at the road, and straight at me.
That bandana man.
Dammit.
Shivering goes up my spine, and not in a good way. Ashton asks what’s up when I cross my arms over my shoulders.
“Nothing,” I say. “Maybe it’s just new wind.”
Chapter XVI
(Gary)
A convoy. We are on a convoy. I never thought I’d see the number of vehicles in our formed line in this time period, or at the very least, me being a part of it.
Our route has been quite linear. There’s only a few swerving turns on this mountainous region we’ve been on for about an hour. My ears pop repeatedly from what I can only assume is us driving out of the mountains. Wyoming is full of them, so it’s truly hard to say what elevation we’re really at, differentiating from us and this continent’s actual surface.
Will and Alex’s private conversation doesn’t remain that way for much longer, because Will suddenly wishes to include both Janice and me on their topic.
“Hey, guys, do you know that this young survivor here has counted that he’s taken out seven undead?” he asks, leaning closer by our ears since she and I are up front.
“That’s really impressive!” Janice congratulates Alex. He in turn blushes, clearly trying to keep his modesty.
I look at him through the rear-view mirror, nodding my respect to him.
I could say he would fit well within our group, if he planned on staying. I know he can’t. He must return to wherever his people are.
Frequently, I look beyond the back seats, towards the backs of Lissie and Ashton, wanting to make sure they are still visible to me.
I’m entrusting C., who is in front of everyone, will redirect us if danger is afoot—especially to any outdoor hazards.
Janice catches on to why my gaze sprints to look behind us. “They’ll be okay,” she says as she drops the book she’s been reading this whole time.
“You’re right. I know he knows most of everyone here is not safe from those hazes.”
Janice looks down to the floor while she agrees, then raises her gaze back up. “How would you feel, Gary, if I stayed behind?”
I give a chuckle, but with a pitch of confusion to her question. “You would’ve been fine being entrenched in a massive battle?”
Her eyes briefly widen from shock to what I ask. “No, not at all. I mean, how would you feel if by surprise I decided to put war as my top priority?”
I believe I understand what’s she inquiring. She would like to hear that it would impact us deeply.
“I can safely say we’d be in shock, and saddened by your decision to do so, Janice. For me, personally, whether this sounds normal to you or not, but it’d feel like I had lost my mother all over again.”
Janice lets the hand that’s holding the spine of her book to lift up to her chest. “Aw, Gary, that’s so sweet! Okay, I was just checking.”
I make a friendly observation. “Is that book making you reflect on your own situation?”
She lets loose a small chuckle. “Books can do that. For a moment, you can feel as though you get sucked into a new world, and it feels like it’s always been yours.”
They’re an escape from a stressful situation. I’ve been reading mine on and off. I’m hooked on the characters’ fates, and their upcoming events. All of it isn’t real, but they’re relatable to my life. Their moments of insecurity are just as real as mine. Their progress is a way to make further sense for mine—I’d imagine Janice’s as well—and how to keep my own chapters going, so the conclusion will feel justified and fulfilling. I can understand her with this topic.
I take a quick look down at the fuel meter of our truck. “1/4th of a tank left,” I silently think to myself.
Does C. have the contingency plan for if and when our vehicles lose the fuel it has?
I then politely ask for Janice to take out the Wyoming map from our glove compartment. I hear the crinkles for a long duration as she unfolds the entirety of the map. “Where does it show Cheyenne?”
There’s no answer for a few moments until Janice’s skimming finger pinpoints its location. “It’s in the Southeast-ish region of the state, further down the bottom of the border.”
One might suggest simply asking C. Currently, with two cars ahead of ours, and the current road being narrow without much ability to swerve further to the front at this time, I have to consider this is how our circumstance will be for a while.
“Does the map show a spectrum that ranges from mountains to drylands?” I ask her.
As we figure out where we could possibly be, Will and the boy’s talking has ceased completely, as now they involve themselves to our search. Will hunches himself to rest his elbows on the front arm rest.
“Have you seen any road signs, Gary?”
I answer Will. “Yes. A sign that said 13 miles until Dubois.”
Janice’s tone reflects her “Eureka” moment up when she can roughly make out where we are. That moment dies down when she sees how much of a stretch in distance there is for us to get to Cheyenne. She tilts her vision to look directly at the fuel meter, now gaining the same worry as I have.
“We’re definitely going to need to get gas. Maybe not now, but soon.”
All of us adults slump to our seats, wanting to concentrate on when’s the optimal time to raise this need to C.
I won’t let us get abandoned, even if we get that chance to back out of a dangerous fight.
When I think this, it makes me reconsider some of C.’s earlier speech to everyone.
At this point, I’m well aware that members of C. aren’t given a chance to back out, willingly, and without punishment. Could our lives be in danger anyways by him and the others that don’t hold him back?
The boy then vocalizes another “Eureka” moment for us. “Dubois is one of the places not much farther from where I come from with my people.”
That’s right! The other C. setup! They’re bound to have supplies and capabilities to help us!
In my calm way of excitement, I patiently wait until our stretch of road expands. It takes several minutes—about the time it had to take to arrive at D
ubois—then I consciously veer us around the cars in front. No radio contact is likely available between me and C., considering our group is likely low on his current priorities.
Here I go again, changing the pace for the others, but this is necessary, especially for the promise we made for Alex.
I accelerate enough for us to be right beside C. on his motorcycle, along with that blond “Undead Controlling” man seated behind him. The sound of our presence is enough for the both of them to find it prudent to get us to all stop. I quickly look behind at the truck’s bed, again conscientious about Ashton and Lissie’s comfortability.
Everyone gets the cue to slow down and anchor off the side of the road. A few undead lurk about, but nothing that couldn’t be managed by just a single person. Through the glass of our truck, I can see and hear C. in irritation.
“What are you doing, man?”
Before getting out, I quickly turn my sight to the boy’s. “Will, when I give you a signal, the both of you will come out.”
I can only guess that the reason C. wouldn’t keep us in the loop with this other setup of his is either to surprise us again—as he likes to—or because it’s another secret location he doesn’t want accidentally being caught in the crossfire.
I unlatch my door’s handle, but it’s already being helped by C.’s hand.
“What’s going on, Gary?” he sternly asks me.
“C., I have a proposal.”
“A proposal for what? Are you thinking of backing out? If you want to, you can just turn—”
This is the first time I decide to ever interrupt him. I’ll deal with being told about my insensitivity later. “We have a kid with us. He says he’s with another of your regions, apparently not much farther from here. Is that true?”
To my surprise, C. doesn’t give the familiar expression I’m used to.
Instead, for a split moment, it seems blank, but then his eyes squint hard. “What did they tell you about this other place?”
Undeterred by his unusual tone and look, I continue. “Only that he belongs to them. He was on survival training. I suppose they left him in our area because it was deemed we could help him return.”
