Never mind coming to grips with the whole "dead guy getting back to his feet and trying to eat you" thing. That shit was too fucked up to get a handle on for even the hardest of them. Shit, if the military lost their motherfuckin’ minds over it, what chance did John Q. Public have? Some things were better left alone. Others were best left not even being considered.
Abruptly, a disturbance became apparent toward the front of the line. Cleese leaned out and saw the pony-tailed girl, Jenny, waving her arms and gesturing wildly. She repeatedly pointed her finger at someone as if in accusation and then another more heated exchange took place. Whoever she was talking to, it was pretty obvious that she was pretty pissed at them.
Then suddenly, the object of her ire stepped out of line and made himself known.
Bartlett.
Man, that guy just has no skill at making friends.
The crowd around them was starting to become visibly agitated, due primarily to the fact that whatever was going on was keeping them from getting their dinners.
"What’s that all about?" Cleese asked the small dark-haired women standing in front of him. She held a fidgety two year old boy tucked under her arm and her face was covered with a thin layer of dirt.
"Someone’s jumping the line," she said, brushing a lock of hair from her boy’s tired eyes. "It happens… especially when the Scavenger Squads come back with supplies. Some of them feel like, since they took all the risks, they deserve first dibs."
"Some of them, eh?" Cleese quietly excused himself from line.
With an amiable gait, he slowly made his way up alongside the queue. As he got closer, he was able to make out bits and pieces of the conversation.
"Look, we earned a place at the head of this line, Jenny," Bartlett said in his most cocky manner. "I didn’t see any of these people out there with us… when we were risking our lives!"
"Don’t make me have to go get Wolf, Fred. You know what he’d say about this kind of bullying."
By now, Cleese was close enough that he could be seen by Jenny. She nodded slightly, but didn’t acknowledge him. She had bigger problems.
Bartlett stood with his back toward the line so he therefore had no idea Cleese was coming up behind him.
"Go get him! I don’t care!"
"These people are just as tired and hungry as you or any of your men. The line moves quickly. You know that. Just show a little patience."
"Honey, we risk our asses to get this shit while the rest of you sit up here and do nothing."
"When exactly did you risk jack shit, Freddie?" Cleese interrupted as he stepped up behind Bartlett. "Before or after Motorcycle Boy got the drop on you? The only thing I seem to remember is when you were rolling around on the ground with him, screaming like a bitch."
A wave of snickers rippled through the crowd.
Bartlett markedly jumped at the sound of Cleese’s voice and quickly turned around. His expression spoke volumes as to how unwelcome Cleese’s involvement was in all of this. A pain in his ass since he first walked into camp, Cleese somehow managed to yet again show up and make him look like a fool. Bartlett looked back and forth between the diminutive girl who had stood up to him and the newcomer who’d managed more than once in less than twenty-four hours to make him look stupid and ineffectual.
Visibly angry, he mumbled a quick "fuck you both" and strode off sullenly toward the tents and campers which surrounded the Mess area. His boneheaded coterie was quick to follow close behind him.
Jenny sighed and stepped closer to Cleese.
"Thanks for that," she said diplomatically and then shrugged in resignation. "Fred’s a decent enough guy… I mean… He means well, but…"
"Sister, Fred’s an asshole and could use a good paradigm shift, but… No problem," Cleese responded and turned to go back to his place at the end of the line. "Rest assured though… he’s not going to let this go."
Jenny stared at Cleese as he stepped away, her eyes sparkling brightly in the diminishing light.
"He’s someone who’s fueled by his ego. And that ego now has a pretty big dent in it thanks to you and me. If I’m any judge, he’ll be looking for an opportunity to regain some of his sense of self."
"Are you saying that he’s dangerous?"
Cleese looked over his shoulder and grinned. "Hell, who knows? In the last few weeks, I’ve seen things that I thought were incontrovertible suddenly get turned upside down and become something out of a nightmare.
Knowing all too well what he was talking about, Jenny grinned and looked down toward the ground. She reflexively slid her hands into her pockets.
"All I’m saying is…" he said walking away, "that you should be careful."
Jenny nodded more to herself than anything and watched Cleese’s broad back diminish in size as he walked away in the fading light.
~ * ~
The midnight moon shone down over the silent compound, bathing everything in a cool and subdued light. Lanterns were lit inside many of the tents and RVs where the camp’s citizenry lay settled in for the night. The lamps gently pushed back a little of the darkness and made the meager domiciles almost feel like home.
Almost.
High up in the trees, the overnight sniper watch shift settled into their spots with their thermoses of hot coffee, a sandwich or two, and high powered scopes equipped with night vision. Their prying eyes continually roamed the surrounding countryside, vigilant for any out of the ordinary movement or disturbance. So far, the night had been a quiet one.
Thankfully.
Cleese left the armory tent, having bid Wolf a good night after a few too many shots of whiskey and a few too many rounds of chess. The whiskey had come first and, once a mutual interest had been discovered, the chess soon after. You could say a lot of things about Wolf, but he wasn’t dumb. His playing had been some of the best Cleese had ever seen. Not that he was any kind of master chess player, but Cleese had learned a thing or two about the game from some of the faculty of the rec center he’d frequented as a kid back when his mom was busy working. While he wasn’t going to give Kasparov a run for his money anytime soon, he was no slouch when it came to the game of kings. Wolf was a solid player and, to Cleese, that spoke volumes as to the kind of man he was.
Winding his way through the assorted tents and recreation vehicles, Cleese felt the cold night air against his skin and was grateful for it. The crisp, biting chill in the wind meant that the seasons were changing, and despite all that had happened over the last few weeks, Life went inexorably on no matter what the machinations of Man were.
As someone far better than he once said, "And so it goes…"
It was still a little too early for him to try to get to sleep, so he decided to take a stroll through the campground and get a sense of the place after the majority of people had hit the hay. It was a habit he’d picked up early in his life: roaming through the house in the early morning hours, making sure everyone was safe and snug. Sleep had always been a ghost he chased but only caught for small bits of time. Wherever he ended up living, he could oftentimes be found walking the halls in the dead of night, watching over the house and making sure the doors were locked, the windows were secure, and everyone was covered and warm beneath their blankets. In many ways, the feel of a place late at night gave him a better sense of itself than it ever could when there were people around to confuse the issue. When it was quiet the house would speak to him, telling him its secrets.
As he walked, a voice from his past came echoing from the recesses of his intellect. "The night hath been to me a more familiar face, than that of man; and in her starry shade, of dim and solitary loveliness, I learned the language of another world." It was a piece of a Lord Byron poem, one of his mother’s favorites, that had stuck with him over the years. His brain couldn’t recall what he’d had for lunch the day before, but the important things—the things that nurtured his soul—he always seemed to remember.
Earlier, he’d met a few of the men who kept the line outside the compound safe as they collected their weapons and ordnance. He felt a lot more secure having done so. They were, to a man, capable and well-equipped. After meeting them, he’d been satisfied that they could put down anything that might encroach on the camp from outside. Anyone with a keen eye could see that they had a bold combination of vigilance and duty in their eyes. It seemed like an almost sacred obligation that they’d undertaken, each being well aware of the fact that the safety of them all depended on their attentiveness. Every so often throughout the long cold night a muffled rifle shot would be heard when one of the snipers caught sight of something making its way through the surrounding forest and toward camp. After a while, people didn’t even notice it. The random pop and crack sounds soon became part of the soundtrack of the camp.
If more than a few were heard, however, the group would take it as a signal that something was up and they’d all grab their firearms and go to Full Alert. The residents had their own posts specified where they were to report should something untoward occur. It had, from the beginning, been of one Wolf’s highest priorities that everyone in the camp remained well trained and ready.
It was another one of the things that made him a good leader.
The thing that gnawed at the back of Cleese’s mind now though was the multitude of unsavory things that might potentially take place inside the compound. People were people, after all, and people… sucked.
And it was that thought that brought up the mental image of Bartlett. Cleese couldn’t shake the bad feeling he had regarding him. The guy had been an asshole when they’d first met, and after the incident at the drug store and the face-off with Jenny in the mess line, he was someone who Cleese knew he’d need to keep a watchful eye on. His years of dealing with the drunken public had given him a sixth sense when it came to such things. Both Jenny and he had made that fat fuck lose face in front of the local populace and that was a recipe for trouble. Bartlett was someone who harbored a deep-seated hunger for power and now he’d gotten a taste of it. He wasn’t going to give up even a small amount of it without a fight. For anyone to take the spoon that fed that desire away from his ravenous mouth was to deny him his drug of choice.
And to deny any junkie his dope was always a dangerous proposition.
By now, he’d found himself near the roach coaches and saw that the metal doors covering the serving windows were pulled down and closed up tight. The smell of cooked meat lingered over the area like an aromatic pall as did the rich odor coming from the large canisters of brewing coffee which seemed to be constantly percolating. Alongside them on a small table plastic containers sat with pre-made sandwiches inside. The cooks made sure to always have some sort of food available during the night. It was important to keep the watch shifts caffeinated and fed.
He walked past the Mess area and continued on to the RVs, heading toward the tents on the far side of the campground. Cleese cast his gaze skyward and saw through the trees a large moon suspended in the sky. Strings of clouds moved lazily across its bright yellow-orange face, giving it a veiled, sad look.
Far off, a coyote wailed mournfully.
Strolling along, leisurely enjoying the feel of the night air on his face, Cleese caught the sound of several hushed voices whispering excitedly in the darkness. He almost dismissed it and continued on his way, but then a loud slap punctuated the exchange. Changing the direction in which he was heading, Cleese soon found himself near the far perimeter of the camp. There a large family-sized tent sat, looking bluish-grey in the moonlight. He stopped and listened intently. He cocked his head to one side and closed his eyes as he tried to pinpoint the source of the slap. This far out, it could have only come from inside the tent. As he ambled over, he saw two men exit the tent, both shaking their heads in what looked like disgust. The moonlight threw a cold light across their faces as they headed off into camp.
Hines and Harrison.
Now obscured by the shadows at the side of the tent, Cleese turned his head and looked through the uncovered mesh window. Inside, he saw a group of broad figures, cloaked in varying shades of shadow, standing inside hunched over something curled up into a ball on the ground. He was just about to step away figuring it was none of his business when the thing on the ground spoke.
"Fred… please. You don’t want to do this."
Jenny.
"Shut up, bitch! You don’t know the first thing about what I want to do."
Bartlett.
"Yeah, but she’s soon gonna learn, right?"
Pugnowski.
Cleese didn’t wait to hear any more. He drew the flap open and stepped into the cramped tent. Once inside, his added bulk made for some very confined quarters.
"Gentlemen…" he said, his voice dripping with menace. "Is there a problem here?"
As one, what remained of Bartlett’s men stepped backward and pressed themselves against the side of the tent. Like little boys who’d just been caught with their hand in the cookie jar, their faces betrayed not only their guilt, but also their intent.
Bartlett was the first to step forward.
"Get the fuck outta here, Cleese," he growled and then did the unthinkable. He poked his left hand’s index finger against the center of Cleese’s chest. Not once, but twice.
Cleese was someone who was not exactly fond of being touched by people he didn’t know. In fact, he absolutely hated it. The only thing he hated more was being touched by people he didn’t like. That feeling, coupled with what was obviously going down in the tent, provoked an immediate response. With blinding speed, he caught Bartlett’s index finger in his fist and twisted it roughly. The sound of bones breaking was painful in its tenor. Cleese then pushed the shattered appendage back toward Bartlett’s wrist, hyper-extending it. Bartlett fell to his knees before he knew what happened. His cry of pain was a welcomed thing to Cleese’s ears.
"Jenny," Cleese said gently, but firmly, "get up and on out of here."