Page 3 of The Commander

“Stupid wankers. Bet he put them on pikes.” Mighty Joe sounded to Cara like he relished the idea.

“We could smell them.” Cara made a face.

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “It’s worse than that. Not just them wank-off bastards, that commander kills his own guys. I’ve seen it. Strung ‘em up and left ‘em hanging outside his base like it was nothing. Did you know that?”

Cara shook her head, unease crawling up her spine. What kind of leader killed its own men? Why would he do that?

“They are a vicious lot. My parents saw one of them wipe out the Southern Resistance Army like they were plastic green army men. They had stores, nuclear shit, didn’t use any of it. Cut them down like death walking with a scythe.”

Mighty Joe’s description filled Cara’s head. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Brenda listening as the old man wound himself up.

“You have no idea do you, woman? Where you been hiding yourself?” He shook a finger at Cara.

Cara hadn’t been hiding. She’d just kept her head down. She wasn’t going to explain herself to a crazy man. “I told you we came from Springfield. No blueys there. Just the muzzle heads picking up taxes.”

“That’s his land too. You must have had a better mayor.” His bitter laugh sounded like a cackle.

“We didn’t have anyone like you guys. Who would elect a man like you picked?” Brenda asked.

Mighty Joe’s face closed down at the reminder that the towns elected their own leaders and alien go between representatives. He didn’t appear to Cara like he wanted to take responsibility for picking the man who’d kicked him out.

“The blueys are from the mother ship,” Brenda told Cara, showing a bit of her old helpful self.

“And they like things to be quiet. We gotta keep quiet, see? What do you think he will do to us when he finds us?” Mighty Joe interrupted her.

“Blueys,” Cara repeated the strange term. Testing it. The two of them made the commander sound like some sort of demon monster out of legend.

“That’s damn right. We gotta be quiet. Your friend’s gonna get us caught by the base commander. And I don’t want that trouble.”

Dalewood’s refugees shifted nervously, their wide eyes fixed on Cara. Their faces — pale, sunken, and smeared with grime—looked like melting skeletons. They hadn’t been ready to leave the town’s safety. They didn’t know how to survive out here.

Hunger gnawed at her ribs. She didn’t like it, but at least she knew how to fight it.

She dropped her pack near the fire and crouched to pull out her basket before taking a place on a log. The string she’d used to weave her floppy creation felt rough under her fingers, stiff with dirt. Dad would have told her to toss that one and start over. He was always more exacting when they had time for a lesson.

There wasn’t time for that now. A basket snare wasn’t her best option, but it might catch a bird. Maybe a rat. She’d brought back supplies to make two more, maybe three. Getting something she could cook to snag the trap and stay under a basket was a different problem. She’d worry about bait tomorrow.

“We’ll be quiet, I’ll go out again tomorrow and look for food. I just need to catch something so we can start making our way back to Springfield. On foot, or something.” She tested the basket as she talked, turning it in her hands, folding the flat soft grass into the weave. It wouldn’t hold water, but it might stop a pigeon from taking flight.

Mighty Joe laughed at her, sharp and bitter. “Catch something. I doubt that.”

“I’m so hungry,” Brenda murmured, her voice trembling. Her swollen nose and tear streaked cheeks made her look fragile. If Cara had even a crumb of food, she would’ve given it to her.

Brenda always chose men who let her down. Andy was the worst of the lot. Cara never trusted him, but Brenda clung to him like he’d been her last chance at happiness.

“That’s ‘cause you ate the last of it, bitch,” Mighty Joe growled, mood turning. He kicked a rock toward Brenda.

Cara was ready to step forward if he tried anything. She wasn’t going to trust him just because he was old and senile. “Hey. Don’t. There’s no reason for that. I’ll get food. I’ll do something. But I can’t do it right now.”

Mighty Joe muttered something under his breath and shuffled toward his hut. The others followed. Brenda, sniffing, took a new seat by the fire.

Cara let out a slow breath, her chest tightening as she turned back to the basket in her hands. Something had to change. Things had to get better. Therehadto be a way to save Brenda, to save herself—and, just maybe, help these people too.

Dropping her pack near the fire, exhaustion settled like a fifty-pound bag of grain across her shoulders. Damn. She’d left Springfield to escape that kind of long, dirty backbreaking day.

Brenda had nothing to say as she made a space on a makeshift bed near the fire, cocooning herself in Cara’s extra coat and closing out the world.

That was fine. Cara had baskets and snares to make before she could sleep. She needed a plan, a real solution, not this dead-end camp and its hopeless inhabitants. Tomorrow, she’d start before sunrise. She’d find food, a way out, a path back to something better. She had to.

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