Jeb watched as Grit grimly tossed the last shovel of dirt on
the graves they’d been covering up. Grit nodded to him, his anger just as
evident as Jeb’s, as he met Jeb’s eyes with his own brown ones. Neither one
spoke, moving as one away from the graves. They’d led the funeral for their
people, but neither of them had enjoyed the harsh reality that they were losing
the battle bit by tiny bit. Jeb ran his eyes over the grave yard where they
buried their people with a jaundice eye. Forty-nine graves were dug into that
hard earth just on the outer edge of the compound, and those were just the ones
they’d dug inside the walls. When the first bodies hit the ground at the
beginning, they’d buried them in a graveyard about two miles away.
Jeb and Grit had
known for a long time that they were all going to die. Whether it was to the
disease, or the crazies of this new world, the results were the same and one
day there wouldn’t be anyone left, because the world was dying—it was just
taking its sweet damned time about it. It wouldn’t stop him or Grit from
fighting till their last breath, but it was their inevitable end without a cure
for the disease. That cure was never going to happen, because no one knew enough
about the disease to even work on a cure, and when the CDC fell, humanity lost
any chance at recovery. Jeb let out a
sigh and leaned back to look up at the sky. As Jeb watched the sun rapidly fade
on the horizon, he couldn’t help but hope that its absence would cool things
off, because the summer months were brutally hot here in what had once been
Utah.
He could feel his t-shirt sticking to his chest like it was
glued to him as sweat coated his skin. Damn, he would kill for air conditioning
right about now, but it was too hard on the generators to run the central air,
so they only ran a few small window units in the clubhouse main room. If
Derick’s plan worked out, they might have better options for power soon. Before
the deadheads showed up, Derick was a scientist studying clean power and he was
working on setting up both solar panels and a wind station to harness power for
the compound. Jeb knew that the very first thing he was doing when they got
reliable power, was making sure his cabin had central air.
Rubbing the sweat off his brow, he stared out towards the
hill-top where they were setting the station up. It was outside the walls, but they
were working on making a similar set up for the power station. They planned on
building walls around it that wouldn’t interfere with the working of the wind
mills. Jeb hoped that spreading out like they were wasn’t going to cause issues
with security because their manpower was limited these days. Grit was brilliant
when it came to security, but even he was limited when he didn’t have the men
he needed to make his plans work. Jeb knew they had to work it out, because the
idea of having power again was bringing hope for a normal life, and that was
something they all needed.
Jeb tossed the shovel into the golf cart and grabbed some
warm beer from the cooler, handing one to Grit. Taking a seat, the two of them
sat in companionable silence, neither one wanting to talk about the truth they
were both struggling to face.
An hour later, Jeb was sitting on the porch at the clubhouse
with his head resting back on the support behind him with Grit. They’d played
poker with Davie and some of the boys until Davie had gotten tired and left,
heading to the infirmary where he was staying. Having anyone who’d been bitten
stay in the infirmary was a precaution they’d started a long time ago in order
to keep the illness contained. It was safer for everyone if the infected person
was in the infirmary with two guards who were both prepared to put down anyone
in order to prevent the infection from spreading and taking over the compound
before they could get it under control.
“Poor kid.” Grit muttered, as he pulled a cigarette out,
placing it in his mouth before holding them out to Jeb.
“Yeah, it’s a damned shame.” Jeb answered, reaching out to
grab the pack of cigarettes from Grit. He took one out and lit it, inhaling
deeply before blowing it out, creating a long line of smoke in the darkness
surrounding them. Grit took his cigarettes back and lit his own smoke, staring
out at the quiet night before them. The nights were cooler than the days and it
was much more comfortable to sit outside at night, which was why several people
could be seen sitting on their porches with little lanterns or candles sitting
beside them.
“Harrison says he started the fever last night.”
“Yeah, I noticed when he was leaving tonight that he’d
started sweating.” Jeb replied, his heart squeezing a little to know that the
boy hadn’t gotten away from the infection like they’d hoped he would. None of
them had really believed it was possible, but they’d wanted the boy to make it.
“Won’t take long before he’s in the comma and we’re putting
him down like a rabid dog.” Grit grunted, anger in his tone. To some, their
conversation would seem heartless because putting the kid down sounded wrong,
but it was better than what happened if they didn’t. Killing Davie before he
became a deadhead was their only option once he entered the comma.
“Did you ever think we’d be here two years ago when those reports
started coming through?” Jeb asked Grit after a long pause.
“Nah, I thought they’d get that shit under control. They
seemed to have their shit together at first.” Grit snorted, his foot swinging
back and forth between two railings as he spoke.
“I didn’t either. I never thought they would be as good at
handling it as they thought they would, but I never thought it would overtake
them completely. I mean hell, they had a fucking army of men.” Jeb took another
long drag on the smoke and shook his head.
“True, but it was a venerable army. When your army can
become your enemy, I guess it’s hard to win the fight.” Grit’s words were ones Jeb
had never considered, but he could see the logic in that argument.
“I just wish they’d figured out something to combat this
disease before they went to hell in a hand basket” Jeb muttered, his voice hard
as he thought of all the things that had happened over the past two years. He
couldn’t help dwelling on all the friends they’d buried. Jeb lifted the
cigarette to his mouth taking another deep drag as he gazed out at the porch
across the way, where Gretta sat with her two boys—Thomas and Leroy Jr.—remembering
the day they’d come back from a run to find Leroy Sr. trying to get into the
bedroom to eat Gretta and the boys.
That had been about a week after the outbreak and he’d been
the first of the club to turn—but he hadn’t been the last. At the time, they
hadn’t realized that anyone with a symptom needed to be kept separate and in a
contained environment. It hadn’t taken them long to learn that lesson. Jeb was
glad that Gretta had realized something was wrong with her old man and gotten
her kids to safety. Dutch—Leroy’s road name—wouldn’t have wanted his old lady
and kids to be hurt by Dutch himself or anyone else. Gretta and the boys, and
all the others like them, were the reason he and Grit were still fighting. They
couldn’t let their people down, even if it meant fighting a war they knew they
couldn’t win.
“You think we will make it?” Grit asked, his gaze on Gretta
and the kids too.
Jeb glanced at Grit wondering if he was the only one who
felt the inevitable end to this fight bearing down on them, but from Grit’s
expression and tone, Jeb knew he didn’t think they would survive any more than
he did.
“I don’t, but we have to try—for them.” Grit’s eyes clouded
with darkness and he nodded once, his eyes cold and his face determined.
“Yeah, for them.” Grit said, and Jeb knew it was a vow.
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