“Ah. I take it from the fact that you were bypassing us that no one is from here. We’ve wondered about ours that live elsewhere,” James says. “How many are with you?”
Greg just looks at James without answering.
James chuckles, “Okay, I get it. Look, we’re all curious how it is out there. From what we’ve encountered here, it doesn’t look good, but we need to know what we’re up against…and for how long. I reckon you folks are okay. We’re about to sit down for something to eat. You’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you’d like…and I won’t lie, I wouldn’t mind having that behemoth of yours parked in sight to scare off any troublemakers. What do you say we head into town and trade stories? Tell only what you feel comfortable with, but it’d be nice hearing what it’s like. And it would pick up some spirits knowing there are others out there who aren’t just bandits.”
“We are on a timetable of sorts and don’t really want to stop, but I think we could spare a few hours,” Greg says. “Any information you have about the area would be helpful.”
Back in the Stryker, Greg relates the conversation as they follow the pickup toward the town of Lamar. He tells them that he wants them to stay close to the Stryker until he is able to get a handle on the situation. The gun is to be manned at all times. If they find that everything is legitimate, then they can mingle. However, he doesn’t plan to stay long. They still have a mission to see to.
As they approach, Greg gets a better look at the fence he observed earlier. It’s about ten feet tall and covered with coils of razor wire along the top. From his vantage point, he sees that it completely encloses the northern segment of town and has the appearance of encompassing the entire section. Placed at intervals on the inside are semi-trailers with armed men stationed on top. As they drive through an opening in the fence, a bus is driven across it, sealing it off. Greg isn’t overly worried about being cut off as the Stryker can run through the chain link at any time.
Once inside, they continue to follow the truck as they pass through the center of the town. They intersect a main road and turn north. Looking behind, Greg notices a section of fence several blocks away sealing off the southern part of town. A school bus blocks an entrance similar to the one they just passed.
They travel through the central part of the town. Fast food restaurants line both sides of the street along with the usual local businesses. Hotels line the road at the extreme northern end of town. The industrial area, which the team was attempting to bypass, takes up the northeastern section just beyond the inns. The pickup pulls into the last building on the left. A sign signifying the Rodeway Inn and Cow Palace decorates the front. Ahead, past another entrance, lies the bridge they were seeking to cross. Pulling into the lot next to the truck, he sees several other vehicles parked. Greg informs the others to stay put and exits.
“This is where we gather for evening meals and meetings,” James says, joining Greg. “We use the kitchen here and discuss the day’s activities. Eating together helps to keep us feeling like a community. I’ve called ahead and asked the town to meet us.”
Other cars and trucks enter. Those who exit stare at the Stryker and Greg as they walk into the restaurant portion of the hotel. Greg doesn’t sense any malevolence in their actions or the darting eyes that may foretell misfortune. They carry the same wariness exhibited by James during their initial meeting. Greg is shocked to see them casually enter into a building.
“You just go into a building? What about night runners?” Greg asks, watching several people swing the entrance door open and go inside.
“Who?” James asks.
“You know, the night hunters…the infected ones who come out at night and hide out in darkened buildings?”
“What do you say we get out of the sun and talk about things,” James says, motioning with his arm for Greg to head into the restaurant.
Greg looks sharply at James. The answer James gave was an outright evasion of Greg’s question which makes Greg feel uneasy.
“Not until I have an answer. I don’t mean to seem inhospitable, but wherever there are survivors, there are also night runners,” Greg says.
“Well, the answer to your question is that we don’t have any of the sick ones here,” James says.
“How is that possible? Were you able to kill them all?”
James hesitates just a fraction of a second before replying, “Yes. We took care of all of the sick ones in town.”
It still seems like an evasion of sorts, but it satisfies Greg’s curiosity. He supposes in a small enough town that it’s possible to eliminate the night runner population and set up a community like this. Greg nods and he and James proceed into the café.
Inside, Greg smells the aroma of food cooking. Men, women, and children of all ages sit around scattered tables. It looks like any other family-style restaurant, and seeing people gathered as they are almost makes things feel normal. Others enter behind and push past to find places to sit.
“We’d usually be in the fields or working on other chores. We vacated the fields when we saw your approach,” James says.
He introduces Greg to the gathering and guides him to a table. Many people nod their greetings and there are a few dispersed vocal greetings. The silence is complete except for the occasional clang of a pot or pan from the kitchen in back. As Greg sits with James, the hubbub of general conversation slowly picks up.
Soon, plates of scrambled eggs and bacon begin to be distributed.
“It’s all we could come up with on short notice,” the man says, placing a plate in front of James and Greg.
“I’m sure it’s good and thanks for coming in,” James returns.
Turning to Greg, James says, “Your people are welcome to join us for a hot meal.”
Greg looks around. It seems normal enough and, while most of the people have weapons either on or near them, there isn’t an ounce of hostility that he can detect. He calls on the radio and has the team come in two at a time to eat. The .50 cal remains manned with a small three-person reaction team. He tells the others they can open up the rear and head outside, but they are to remain near the protective armor.
The conversation between James and Greg turn to their stories. As they talk, Greg begins to feel more comfortable and shares as well. There was still that fraction of a second hesitation James had in answering, but that could be from the discomfort of two groups coming together and trying to find where the trust line falls.
Greg learns the group, totaling eighty-three men, women, and children, built the fence early on after things fell apart. They pulled the materials from Pueblo and carted them back on semis. They also brought solar panels, inverters, and equipment to set up a solar farm which they are presently working on.
“We know the batteries won’t last forever, but we’ll have something else figured out by then,” James says.
For now, they have several greenhouses and animal pens set up within the fenced portion of the city. A ready water supply is provided by the river and they bring it in with the town’s two fire trucks and a water tanker. They started working the nearby fields in the hopes of getting a small crop in before the cold hits. They’ll use those fields extensively in the coming year. An irrigation project is underway to supply the fields from the river.
When asked about arms, James mentions that everyone carries and they mostly have hunting rifles with a scattering of semi-auto carbines. “Everyone around here knows how to shoot, but we still practice.”
James mentions that not everyone is from Lamar but from the surrounding towns all the way to Wichita, Kansas. The ones who survived in the town started gathering others up and down the highway while on scavenging runs.
“So you were able to take care of the… sick ones early on? There aren’t any who bother you here?” Greg asks.