Read Online The Remaining: Refugees by D.J. Molles - Free Book Online
Authors: D.J. Molles
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a useful skill set or not. But Jerry smartly steered clear of Harper after he'd knocked him out.
A day after Harper had punched him, Jerry called for a public apology.
Harper told him to go fuck himself.
So , that was one bridge burned.
He reached the Humvee and yanked open the passenger's side door, then he sat down and palmed the handset. "Camp Ryder to Wilson or anyone at Outpost Lillington."
A crackle. "Go ahead for Wilson."
"Hey, relay this message to Wilson from Captain Harden: you guys need to hold down the fort while Old Man Hughes and Professor White come in for a meeting . We just got some bad news and Captain Harden needs all the group leaders back at Camp Ryder so they can, you know...talk about shit forever."
"Yeah. Alright." A pause. "So, how bad is bad ?"
"Bad." Harper said to the handset. " Real bad.”
***
Nearly an hour had passed by behind the closed door of the foreman's office when Lee, Bus, and Kip Greene finally exited with an arrangement made. Fi ve rifles and 9 00 rounds of 5.56 mm ammunition i n exchange for ten pounds of wheat flour , ten pounds of cornmeal, and thirty large mason jars of home- canned cor n .
Kip Greene agreed to let Lee and his team use Broadway as a stepping stone to Sanford, but they refused to fall underneath the purveyance of the Camp Ryder Hub . He didn’t like the idea of being told how to run things by “outsiders,” but he relented that it would be a relief when Lee had cleaned out Sanford of infected .
Throughout the process, s leep deprivation and distracting thoughts wormed their way through Lee’s mind and caused flicker s of brief, nightmarish images behind his eyes, as though his brain were a television set picking up some hijacked broadcast .
When they finally left the office , Lee turned b ack inside and went to his pack. H e took from it an old red cloth , the kind used as a mechanic's shop towel. Inside the folded cloth was the remainder of a bar of soap Lee had steadily been using for the last month. It was amazing how long you could stretch a single bar of soap when you only bathed every few days.
He took his cloth and soap and his rifle and made his way downstairs. Outside, near the rain catches, there was a collection of buckets in various sizes and colors. Lee took one and filled it with water from one of the rain catches, feeling the bitter coldness of it as it splashed on his hands and woke him up a bit.
Feeling slightly less dead-on-his-feet, h e took his bucket around the other side of the Camp Ryder building where something of a "bathing area" had been set up using some tent poles and tarp s to create privacy screens. He shrugged his shoulders against a gust of wind that pestered at his clothing. Between the cold water, and the cold wind, it promised to be an unpleasant experience.
The stalls of blue tarp s had been erected over a cement sidewalk that ran parallel to the fence so that you could stand on the hard surface, rather than in the grass and dirt. It was early afternoon and the warmest part of the day, therefore the best time to bathe, so Lee only found one open stall. He entered and put the tarp back over the opening like a shower curtain. He stripped down all of his dirty and blood- stained clothing, placing his rifle atop these, and out of habit, he checked himself thoroughly for bites and scrapes.
A few purplish bruises here and there, but no broken skin.
He stood over the bucket of cold water with his little sliver of soap and steeled himself. Then he plunged in and scrubbed himself down as quickly as he could. A moment later he was done and shivering . H e swiped the excess water from his body and dabbed the rest of it up with the red towel he'd taken from his pack. He pulled on the same dirty pair of trousers and stomped into his old Bates M6 boots , still trustily holding together .
That was when the screaming started .
"Shoot it!"
“Oh my God!”
"Get away from the fence!"
In a flash, Lee was standing
A day after Harper had punched him, Jerry called for a public apology.
Harper told him to go fuck himself.
So , that was one bridge burned.
He reached the Humvee and yanked open the passenger's side door, then he sat down and palmed the handset. "Camp Ryder to Wilson or anyone at Outpost Lillington."
A crackle. "Go ahead for Wilson."
"Hey, relay this message to Wilson from Captain Harden: you guys need to hold down the fort while Old Man Hughes and Professor White come in for a meeting . We just got some bad news and Captain Harden needs all the group leaders back at Camp Ryder so they can, you know...talk about shit forever."
"Yeah. Alright." A pause. "So, how bad is bad ?"
"Bad." Harper said to the handset. " Real bad.”
***
Nearly an hour had passed by behind the closed door of the foreman's office when Lee, Bus, and Kip Greene finally exited with an arrangement made. Fi ve rifles and 9 00 rounds of 5.56 mm ammunition i n exchange for ten pounds of wheat flour , ten pounds of cornmeal, and thirty large mason jars of home- canned cor n .
Kip Greene agreed to let Lee and his team use Broadway as a stepping stone to Sanford, but they refused to fall underneath the purveyance of the Camp Ryder Hub . He didn’t like the idea of being told how to run things by “outsiders,” but he relented that it would be a relief when Lee had cleaned out Sanford of infected .
Throughout the process, s leep deprivation and distracting thoughts wormed their way through Lee’s mind and caused flicker s of brief, nightmarish images behind his eyes, as though his brain were a television set picking up some hijacked broadcast .
When they finally left the office , Lee turned b ack inside and went to his pack. H e took from it an old red cloth , the kind used as a mechanic's shop towel. Inside the folded cloth was the remainder of a bar of soap Lee had steadily been using for the last month. It was amazing how long you could stretch a single bar of soap when you only bathed every few days.
He took his cloth and soap and his rifle and made his way downstairs. Outside, near the rain catches, there was a collection of buckets in various sizes and colors. Lee took one and filled it with water from one of the rain catches, feeling the bitter coldness of it as it splashed on his hands and woke him up a bit.
Feeling slightly less dead-on-his-feet, h e took his bucket around the other side of the Camp Ryder building where something of a "bathing area" had been set up using some tent poles and tarp s to create privacy screens. He shrugged his shoulders against a gust of wind that pestered at his clothing. Between the cold water, and the cold wind, it promised to be an unpleasant experience.
The stalls of blue tarp s had been erected over a cement sidewalk that ran parallel to the fence so that you could stand on the hard surface, rather than in the grass and dirt. It was early afternoon and the warmest part of the day, therefore the best time to bathe, so Lee only found one open stall. He entered and put the tarp back over the opening like a shower curtain. He stripped down all of his dirty and blood- stained clothing, placing his rifle atop these, and out of habit, he checked himself thoroughly for bites and scrapes.
A few purplish bruises here and there, but no broken skin.
He stood over the bucket of cold water with his little sliver of soap and steeled himself. Then he plunged in and scrubbed himself down as quickly as he could. A moment later he was done and shivering . H e swiped the excess water from his body and dabbed the rest of it up with the red towel he'd taken from his pack. He pulled on the same dirty pair of trousers and stomped into his old Bates M6 boots , still trustily holding together .
That was when the screaming started .
"Shoot it!"
“Oh my God!”
"Get away from the fence!"
In a flash, Lee was standing
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