Original Work The Unwelcome Sign

Well, there was that one broadcast from the guy in Maine.
And various foreign language broadcasts, probably from Central or South America.
But that was a while back.

 

Must have missed them…will go back and look tomorrow…maybe soonest!

 

I spent the rest of the afternoon talking with Fatandflabby. There are certainly better ways to spend your time than talking with a grossly obese human with poor hygiene, criminal tendencies, a bad attitude, and double digit IQ. I did my best trying to breath through my mouth and stay upwind as much as I could in the small room we had him ensconced in.
The night before we talked about Threeballz' set up. He was broken at that point, not that he'd been a challenge, and so he spoke freely. He gave me details on how many people Threeballz had at his command, how they were armed, which buildings they were in, and what their defenses were like.
Now I wanted to know about the command structure, the government's involvement, and why they wanted the food. What I learned from Gelatinoid was interesting. And unsettling.


“Ok everyone, we've got some serious items to discuss.” We'd gathered for our evening meeting in Jacob's living room as usual. Mr. Charles was ensconced in an easy chair with both Denise and Fiona hovering around him. Jake was slightly jealous of the attention, until I caught Fiona purposely give him an eye full down her shirt when she bent over to adjust the blanket around Charles' legs. I might have put it down as an accident, but for the wink she gave him when she saw she had his attention.
I still didn't know what to make of her, but put it aside as I got back on track and concentrated on the meeting.
“First off, how's Johns doing?”
Doc took a sip from his tumbler of scotch. “The bullet hit the clavicle square on. Being a hollowpoint, it dug in and broke a section out of the bone, breaking it and then almost exiting. I found it as a lump under the skin just above his scapula. I was able to easily remove it with a small incision.” He tossed a small object to me underhand. I followed its trajectory which ended in my palm. I looked at it, then him.
“Hornady HST. What the VIPD issues currently”
“Makes sense. Johns was very lucky he was wearing a vest. He has some subdural hemotomas on his upper thorax, but none of it is causing any acute injury.”
“What about this one?” I held up the deformed bullet between thumb and forefinger.
“As I said it hit and broke the clavicle midline. While the bullet missed the subclavian artery. Bone fragments didn't. I had to open him up and go exploring, pulling several fragments from the artery and then suturing the damaged areas. Luckily the artery was just transected, not severed.”
“English Doc, English.” this, from Juice.
Doc gave an annoyed looked, partially from being interrupted and part that a layperson couldn't follow the jargon.
“the artery, that's those things that carry the blood from the heart to around the body?” the sarcasm was lost on Juice. “pieces of bone sliced the artery, causing it to leak, but they didn't cut the artery in two. Got it?”
“Yeah, thanks Doc.” Juice waited until the Doc wasn't looking and then winked at me. Clown.
“Bottom line?”
“Prognosis?”
“Yeah. That.”
“He didn't actually lose that much blood. I've fixed the damage, and I think I've recovered all the fragments, so I don't think there are any floating around in there. There is always a possibility that I missed one and it could move and cause problems later. The biggest damage is to the bone, which is missing a pretty good chunk. The nurses helped me stabilize it with a cast. With time, it should heal well.”
“But”
“No buts, really. My biggest concern is infection. Under normal conditions I'd have him on a prophylactic regimen of antibiotics, just to be sure, but we don't have so much that I can just throw it around. I have a feeling we'll need more before too long.”
“Ok, thanks. Has Mrs. Johns been informed?”
Fiona had been crossing the room, with a refill for Mr. Charles' drink. “Yes, poor dear. She got to spend some time with her husband and she knows the situation. I took her and her son home and put them down for a nap. They were emotionally exhausted. I invited her to come here tomorrow, asking if she would help in around the house. It'll keep her busy and near her husband.”
“Thanks Fiona. That was good of you.” I looked at Lavell, “That means Carol's house is empty and unguarded.”
“Stan and I talked about it and posted a guard. We're changing them out every two hours, rotating them through the road block duty so they don't get bored”
“And so they don't have time to get too curious and poking around” Stan added.
“Cool. Thanks.” I took a long drink to give me time to collect my thoughts. “As you know, we have a big problem. Several of them. It was bad enough that we had several probing attacks that weren't necessarily aimed at us. Now we have the head of the Kirwan Terrace gang actively wanting what we have.”
“Why does he want OUR food? He must have plenty of his own.” Sandy asked
“We don't know that, and if you're right and he's gathered food from other sources, and given the government connection, that makes sense, he's going to want it all. It's not so much about the food as it's about control.”
“So how did he find us?” was Sandy's next question. Lyle answered before I could.
“Grey told him. They are somehow working together. If I had to guess, I'd say the Grey has given Threeballz the locations of the other stockpiles and given that it's taken over two weeks for them to get here, they've probably been busy with the other food caches. I'll bet they've moved everything together in one central place.”
“They have.” Everyone turned towards me. “Fattyfattytwobyfour filled me in. They've been doing just as Lyle says. Grey's given them the location of several other food distribution points and they've attacked and killed everyone at each of them, then moved all the food to that set of warehouses in the industrial park by Kirwin Terrace, where they can keep control of it.”
“Control the food and you control the people” Mr. Johnson added.
“Why is Grey working with them?” I faced my wife to answer her.
“He didn't have any choice. After the Governor fled, taking his bodyguards, Threeballz rolled up to Government House. Grey was staying there because it was well equipped with a generator and emergency supplies. The few VIPD that were there laid down their guns when a couple dozen gang bangers hit them. They gladly switched sides when given the opportunity, knowing what the alternative would have been.”
“Why didn't they just kill Grey?”
“Threeballz is smarter than that. He's top dog of a criminal enterprise. He knows how to read and play people. He saw that he could manipulate Grey as his puppet and that he could make use of his legitimacy, seeing as everyone knows who Grey is and his ties to the government and his job as spokesman.”
Mr. Charles cut right to the heart of the matter. “They be coming back.”
“That's right. And Threeballz has been in here and seen some of our defenses”
Juice let out a curse under his breath. “Those guards shouldn't have let them in. Now they know our layout.”
“No. Listen, we've been over this. It's not the guards' fault, it's mine for giving them something before they were equipped to handle it. But it's cool. Threeballz came rolling right in here like it was nothing. Yeah, he saw the road blocks, but so what? They had two guards and didn't do anything to stop him. He hasn't REALLY seen our defenses. Aren't you glad now, that I moved those vehicles? Imagine if he'd seen them?”
“He'd a been pissed!” Juice pointed out the obvious.
Stan wanted to get back to problem solving. “So I imagine we'll upgrade our defenses and keep training our people and be ready for when they get back?”
“Yes and no. Yeah, we need to keep working on the defenses, no question.”
“You said 'yes and no'”
“I did. No. We're not going to wait for them to attack us.”
“What do you mean?”
“I'm going to go hunt Threeballz' ass down.”

 

NOW, we're on…nothing more fun than a good toad hunt…but what are you going to do with the fat one now that he is 'compliant' and loosing weight with all the information he's giving out? Johns is about to become more important than he ever was before…and building some 'rat' traps just might be in order; hit them in the gut and make them chase 'you' right into them ;-)

You can't kill Johns off for a broken clavicle, I've had one of those…all it does is turn him into a 'bureaucrat' and out of LEO! (And there I was wanting him killed off and all.)

Thank you again for the story…it's getting me back into reading something besides web sites! (At 75 that can be important!)

Edited to delete offensive reference, member warned of CoC item 2 violation.
ghrit

 

very good story, found it last week and am now caught up. keep up the story, very well written and very enjoyable

 

Zen , I am really impressed how you show the thought process behind the Action, And a the driving details are a bonus too

 

Otherwise should be known as 'Zen Tsu'.

 

Thanks! Writing about the driving is fun, but a lot of work. Describing the dynamics of cornering, something that takes a few seconds, is challenging. Takes much longer to write about than to actually do.
I guess people dig it though, because I get a lot of comments on it.

 

I shut down the hub-bub that my declaration caused by changing the subject. “Wil, Daniels, have you had a chance to monitor the shortwave at all?”
They looked at each other, deciding who should answer, and somehow came up with a decision without speaking. Wilford started. “Yeah, we've been scanning through the bands when we have time. Mostly at night.”
“We get better reception at night” Daniels interrupted. “We've been hearing lots of carrier wave stuff. Lot's more than I've ever heard before.”
“Carrier wave?” Stan asked the question everyone had.
“Morse code” I showed off, just about tapping my limited knowledge of all things radio. Stan followed the thread. “Why more Morse code?”
I looked to Wil. “It's easier to get out with, because you run it on a different band that can reach further, depending on the atmosphere.”
“They could also be using Morse for privacy. Not many people know it anymore.” Daniels finished for Wil.
Stan wasn't letting up. “So what are they saying?”
“We're some of those people that don't know it.” Daniels smiled sheepishly.
“Any chance of us learning it?” I wasn't only thinking of being able to decode the broadcasts, but that it might have practical uses for us.
“Well sure, I guess we could probably find a copy of it somewhere, and start learning it.” Daniels started
“In our copious free time” Wil finished with a grin. I nodded at their point.
“Understood. So have you heard any voice communications?”
“Some. Mostly foreign stuff. Lots of Spanish. One or two French language. These are official radio stations, not individuals. But we don't speak those either.”
“Any idea where they are originating?”
“We figure down south. We hear city names that we recognize occasionally, like Sao Paulo, and Caracas, but we don't really spend much time listening to them because we don't understand it.”
“Okay, you don't get the language, what about the tone and tenor?”
They paused and I watched as one, their eyes moved up and left, an indication that they were accessing memories.
“Solemn, mostly”
“Yeah, I agree, sad, except for that one station.” Wil remembered
“Oh yeah. That one station out of Caracas! They were all wound up.”
“In what way?”
Another pause while they tried to put it in context. “You ever watch film of that Hitler dude?”
We all nodded. Who hasn't seen that? But then I laughed. I couldn't help it, it slipped out.
“What's funny about that?” Daniels was part perplexed and part disturbed at inappropriate reaction to what should have been troubling.
“Sorry. Couldn't help it. It just brought to mind all those youtube videos of that actor playing Hitler in the Berlin bunker.”
“Oh yeah! Where the subtitles are changed so he's ranting about one outrageous thing or another” Denise filled in for all of us.
“Yeah, well, that's what this reminded me of. Some ego maniac going off, trying to get people riled up.”
“And the music. Remember? It was like military type music. What do you think it means?”
Mr. Johnson answered. “Venezuela is getting ready to take military action”
“Against who?”
“Probably Guyana. They aren't going to pick on Columbia, and certainly not Brazil.” Johnson hypothesized.
“Colombia would give them a land route to Central America.” I didn't see what anyone would want Guyana for. “They are obviously looking to take advantage of the situation, whatever it is. Anything else is just speculation at this point.”
“A couple of weeks ago, you could have watched half a dozen experts and consultants tell you Venezuela's motivations for ratcheting up the saber rattling” Denise reminded us.
“I really dug the Information Age. This is going to take some getting used to.” I lamented.
Back to the radio boys, “Ok, so far you've told us what you haven't been able to understand. Is there anything you did get?”
“Not much. Bits and pieces here and there.”
“Anything official? Government? A commercial station?”
“No, nothing like that. Just people talking. Occasionally we'll catch one half of a conversation, but it fades in and out and there's lots of static. Hard to understand.”
Wilford's frustration was apparent.
“There was that one dude.”
“Oh yeah! Guy from Massachusetts.”
“Maine”
“Yeah, yeah, Maine. All those Yankee states are the same to me.”
“So yeah, there was one dude from Maine that we were able to listen to for a few minutes. Pretty grim stuff.”
“Did he say what caused the situation?” I was getting pretty frustrated myself. “We heard a guy from Maine a week or so ago. He said things were getting violent”
“He said something about an EMP. And an attack, but that's pretty much it. He mostly talked about the looting, and that supplies were a problem.”
“That's right. He said people were waiting for FEMA or some other government agency to come in and bring them food and water, but it wasn't happening.”
“No, it wouldn't. They're overwhelmed” offered Johnson.
“Anything else?” I tried to keep the discussion on track.
“No, that's about it.”
“Thanks. Keep listening. I think that guy said he was going to keep broadcasting at the same time every day. We should try to catch it. And it would be good to get a Spanish speaker to listen to the South American broadcasts.”
“Let's wrap up here. Anything else we need to talk about?”
“What about tomorrow?” Sandy inquired
“What about it?”
“Are we still having the celebration?”
“Absolutely. And we have guests coming too. I invited some of our Frenchie neighbors to the east to come visit with us.”
“I hope we have enough food.”
“We should, and I arranged for them to bring some fish with them. Hope you all like seafood.”
Everyone's face lit up with the prospect of fresh tuna, or mahi, or lobster.
The meeting broke up and dissolved into little groups, as it always did. I watched from the just outside the door, where I could see both inside and outside.
Some groups pulled out board games or cards, others went out to sit under the stars and chat. We'd all been working long days, and beyond that, the stress we'd all been under was heavy and getting heavier every day.
A person will crumple under the load if they don't get enough rest and have some escape, some 'safety valve'. I was glad we hadn't ignored the games in our scavenging and wondered what the trade value of a deck of cards, or a Monopoly game would bring in the weeks and months to come.
“Have you thought who's going with you?” Lavell walked up from behind and stopped when he reached my shoulder, looking out into the yard, rather than at me.
“Some. Haven't decided yet. Definitely not you.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I need you here. You are way too important here to risk you with me.”
“So I'm stuck here?”
“No. You can go out when I stay. I'd like us to start patrols, and if you'd like to lead them, that's fine. As a mater of fact, why don't you take out a patrol in the morning and meet the Frenchies.”
Lavell was quiet a moment and then simply replied, “Thank you.”
“No worries. I get it. It's easy to go stir crazy, especially after being so used to getting in our cars and going out every day.”
“No, not that. Well yes, some of that. But thanks for what you're doing here.” He pointed with his chin at the people in the yard. Relaxed conversation punctuated by small outbreaks of laughter peppered the yard. “I couldn't have done this, neither could Dupont. We'd be all on our own, at the mercy of whatever came. You've given us a chance.”
I was feeling really uncomfortable at this point. “It's not a big thing. I did it for my wife and me. We need this,” I duplicated his chin pointing, “as much as anyone else. Pure self interest.”
“Bullshit”
“Yeah, well, whatever. Doesn't really matter what my motivation is, as long as the results are good.”
“Are you for real? Motivation absolutely matters. I understand that what you've done benefits Sadie and you, but you also want to help people.”
I was feeling pretty awkward at this point. I like people's approbation, and because I like it, it's dangerous. So I avoid it as much as I can. I don't want to become the self obsessed egomaniac that I fear lurks somewhere in my Id.
I walked slowly off the porch, an indication that Lavell could follow and found a couple of patio chairs to sit in.
“Not only do I not know who to take, I don't even know how many people to take. Obviously a large group would be more prone to being discovered.”
“Yes, but also more able to defend itself if it was attacked.”
“True, but I really don't want to get into a fight in the first place, also, I don't want to take too many people away from the defenses here.”
“Makes sense. Whatcha thinking then, four or five?”
“Two”
“Two? That doesn't leave you any slack. And why are you going at all, you should send someone else.”
“I can't send someone else. I can't ask them to do that. I also think I have the best chance of success. And all I need is a spotter who can provide some back up.”
“Sadie?”
“No, and I'm not looking forward to telling her. No, I'm going to ask Jacob. He's been working with me, sorta like an apprentice, so we're used to working together, and he'll listen to me.”
“But he's so young!”
“And that matters why? I'm going to ruin his innocence? His family's been brutally murdered, he's killed people, and he's sleeping with an older woman. Not much left for me to corrupt.”
Lavell was quiet for a couple of moments. “How will you get there?”
“Walk.”
“That's a long way to walk alone. By the way, where are you going?”
“Tub o' Lard told me that Threeballz has taken over Cathrineberg, and is spending his evenings there.”
“The Governor's Mansion? Damn, that's bold.”
“Sure is. So, I'm thinking Jake and I will follow the Frenchies when they leave here tomorrow. That way we'll be traveling with a group to Four Corners. Then we'll be in their territory for a while, until we drop down off the mountain near Sib's. We'll have to play it by ear from there on. We'll only be unprotected for about half a mile.”
“But it's a densely populated half mile. You're not going to be able to go through the bush to avoid people seeing you.”
“Times like this I really miss the internet. Google maps with Earthview would really come in handy. I have topos of the island, but it's just not the same.”
“I hear you. Well, you be careful. Any special instructions while you're gone?”
“Keep doing what you're doing. Work on the defenses, run some patrols, check with the boys with the hexacopter, and keep up the training. Work on getting the people to respond quickly to the chicanes. You know what you need to do, better than I do.”
“Will do, boss.”
I left Lavell and found Sadie playing blackjack with Sandy, Denise, and Wilford, who was dealing. I watched as she split 8s against the dealer's 5. She got an ace on the first 8, and drew another 8 which she split again. Somebody must have found a coin jar and they were using them in lieu of chips. She got a three on the second eight and put down another quarter indicating that she wanted to double down. Wilford put a card face down and sideways on the eight and dealt another card on her third eight, a four.
“I hate twelves!” She groused. She waved Wilford off. “I'll wait for you to bust.
Wilford dealt the rest of the table and then turned over his down card, the ten that everyone was hoping for.
“Dealer has fifteen.” He drew an ace. “Sixteen.” He pulled the next card slowly and let the suspense build and then slapped it down dramatically. “Six makes twenty two. Dealer busts.”
There were broad smiles around the table as they pulled in their winnings. It occurred to me that there might be a market for an establishment that provided entertainment. I put the idea aside. I might be a good idea, something worth pursuing, but not now. There were some pressing issues that needed to be resolved first.

 

O'h hail yes…let's open a 'frontier style' trading post with gambling, booze and sheet! Maybe do some bounty work for ears…did I mention that I'm loving the story?

I see the beginnings of organized tribalism here…soon to be recognized as identifiable fighting units against the common enemy…clearly identified as illegitimate, savage, and basically a strain of human wildlife and biological filth not worthy of preserving…just my continuing opinion mind you ;-)

An old bank rober named Bob Ford once told me that he didn't want anyone to be afraid of him…because if someone were afraid of him he would just have to kill them…after all, if they were scared you never know what they'll do! (He was about 80 at the time).

 

Here's your fix, going into the weekend.
“Hey Jake, can I talk to a minute?” I'd found him on the porch swing with Fiona. He untangled him self from her and came over to me. I turned and started walking away and he caught up and joined me.
“What's up Zed? This about hunting Threeballz? You're taking me, right?” His enthusiasm was both comforting and unsettling. I was glad he wanted to back me up, and unhappy that he was so eager to put himself in danger to go hunt and kill someone.
How quickly the world changes, and we establish a new 'Normal'.
“I hate to ask, but yes, I'd like you to come with me as my spotter. You up for that?”
“Sure! When do we go?”
“Tomorrow, after the party. We'll leave with the Frenchies”
“Cool. What do you need me to bring?
“We'll travel light. Plenty of water, a day's worth of food. Something that doesn't need to be cooked. Rain gear, extra socks, and the spotting scope. Try to keep the pack to ten to twelve pounds minus the water. Obviously your weapons. Six mags for your AK. Oh, and bring your bow.”
“Great! I'll be ready!” He held out his fist for a bump, and when I did, he turned and ran back to Fiona. I walked back in the house to find Sadie. She was having a good time playing Blackjack, so I left her to her well deserved recreation, telling her that I was going home.
I headed back to our place and started getting my gear ready. My natural inclination was to take a whole bunch of stuff. As I went through my gear I kept thinking “this might come in handy.” I made an initial pile of items and then looked at each thing with a critical eye, pulling things out that I probably wouldn't need. It got harder as I went along.
Everything revolved around the rifle. I was planning on sniping Threeballz from as far away as I could, so I'd be bringing the Winchester model 70. It would be good for the job of long range shooting, but would suck in a close range encounter. I didn't want to carry two rifles, so I didn't include my M4.
But then I remembered the AK Krink we got from the gangbangers that attacked the Doc's house. It was short and easy to carry with the folding stock. And it used the same ammo and mags as Jake's AK. But it wasn't particularly light weight.
I put it aside. I'd decide on it later.
First aid and trauma kit stayed in the must have pile, but the binoculars came out. I'd use the scope on the rifle and Jacob's youthful eyes.
Poncho stayed, as well as a couple of camo veils. I'd wear my green shemaugh. A gallon ziplock of jerky and some hard candy would do for food. I hoped to be back in twenty four to thirty six hours.
If we were out longer than that, food would be the least of our worries.
Sleep came easily, which surprised me, but it was a troubled sleep. I woke frequently with half glimpsed snatches of dreams. I'd turn over and fall right back, only to repeat the process forty five minutes later. At least I was getting REM sleep.
I woke with the Sun, washed up and got dressed. I pulled my belt snug and realized I'd have to put another hole in it. While I was eating fairly well, I was burning more calories than normal. I wondered how others were doing. We were holding our community together, but the lack of food and medicine must be having an effect at this point.
I'd done my packing the night before, and reviewing it in my head, I was satisfied with it. The festivities weren't scheduled to start until noon, so I had the morning to myself. I decided to spend it my workshop.
(most forums have rules about what I'm about to go into here, so I'm going to be intentionally vague so as not to violate those rules. What I'm posting is for the purposes of the story and is no means a recommendation to experiment or use any illegal device.)
I had been gathering some items for the past week or so, to use as 'force multipliers' for our defenses. I went through the pile and picked out the radiator stop leak and the cold packs first. When I was done I had about a pound of material that most people would recognize as 'tannerite'. I funneled this into an empty metal can than previously held charcoal lighter fluid. Some epoxy and gravel would finish the project.
I hated to part with it, but I filled another, smaller container with some smokeless powder from my reloading station. I added three of Jacob's rocket ignitors for triple redundancy. A 9 volt battery would set it off, but we had the 12 volt car battery already in place, might as well use that. The extra umph wouldn't hurt.
I put the containers in a back pack and headed up to the upper chicane. Passing Jacob's house, there was plenty of activity with many of the neighbors pitching in to get ready for the party. There was no sign of Jacob, nor Fiona for that matter, and I smiled to myself remembering what it was like to be a teenager.
I found Wilford and Daniels inside, listening to Spanish language radio and watching video from the drone.
“See anything interesting?”
Wil looked away from the monitor. “No, nothing yet. We'll send it back out in a little while. We figured we'd try to send it out once an hour today, while the party is going on.”
“Smart. Hey listen, can one of you break free to help me for maybe an hour?”
“Sure Zed, I could use a break.” Daniels stretched and stood. “Whatcha have in mind?”
“Some wiring. Do you have any wire that we can use? I think I have everything else we need.”
“How much, and what type?”
“A hundred yards of a pair if you've got it. Light weight stuff is fine.”
“We have some two pair phone line, will that work?”
“Should. We'll test it to make sure.”
“What are you wiring?” Wilford's curiosity was piqued and he was regretting not going.
“Daniels can fill you in later.”
The two of us headed up the hill. On the way we grabbed a twenty five pound propane tank that had been salvaged from the twin's house. Another resource I hated to waste, but felt it needed to be done.
There were two persons manning the road block, on in the observation post and one down by the cars. Juice's truck was parked diagonally in the opening between the two cars of the chicane. I noted that the bed had been filled with rocks. She sagged on her suspension from the weight. I wondered what Juice would say when he saw that.
“Good Morning!” I greeted them, waving to the person up the hill in the OP
“Morning Zed. Everything OK?”
“Yes sir. Was going to do some work on our defenses here. You guys have done a great job.” I looked down slope, to the right of the road as I looked up it, into the gut and surrounding area. It had been totally stripped of vegetaion, removing all cover to any attackers that tried a flanking maneuver from that spot.
“Lavell's really been pushing us to get it done.” The pride in the work was evident.
“He's a good man. I hope he hasn't been pushing you too far.”
“He is. He's been good at balancing the work so nobody does too much.”
That was good to hear, but not particularly surprising. “Speaking of Lavell, did he go out on patrol this morning?”
“Yes sir, he took a group out about a couple of hours ago. I didn't see them leave, but the guard before me did and let me know.”
“Great. Looking forward to the party? You got someone to relieve you?”
“Yes sir. I've got a little less than an hour before I get relieved. I'll be back on later this afternoon.”
“Well don't eat and drink so much that you need a nap and fall asleep.” I put my hand on his shoulder and winked at him, gave him a smile that he returned.
I had Daniels get into the observation post while I moved to the first, smaller place in the gut that attackers would go if we took them under fire. Using hand signs I placed the first can I made where Daniels could see it, but it would effect the hiding spot. I placed a large flat rock over it to protect it from the elements and camouflaged it so the attackers wouldn't see it. I left the side the observation post could see, bare, its red white and blue label very visible.
Next I went to the large rock that would attract a larger group to use as cover. I waved Daniels over. I needed his help here, and this device didn't need to be seen from the OP.
We duct taped the second container that I made to the propane tank and made very careful connections, weather proofing them with electrical tape and a baggie. While I placed it, Daniels ran the wire to the road block.
I took a lot of care emplacing it, using the large rock as a back stop. It was slightly curved which didn't hurt. I dug a hole for it and then then covered it over, taking care of the wires. Lots and lots of stone went over top of it.
When I was done I looked at the road block from the perspective of an attacker. This was an idea spot. The big rock stuck up from the ground anywhere between two and six feet and was about fifteen feet long. It would shelter six to eight people easily, and more if they crowded in. It also offered great protection while allowing the attackers to fire at us from cover.
This rock would act as a great big magnet for any group trying to get away from the ambush we had on the road.
I rose from my work, stretched my back, massaging the muscles of my lower back. Dusting off my hands on my pants legs, something that would make Sadie furious, I made my way up out of the gut to Daniels. He had finished up running his wires, but hadn't made a connection to the battery yet. While bare wires could be put on the terminals if need be, I wanted to set up a couple of switches in relay, to act as safeties.
The sound of people, voices and footsteps came from up the road. Daniels and I joined the guard behind the cars and brought our rifles up to our shoulders over them. Looking over at the guard I was proud to see that he was crouched down eight feet away from the car. The lessons of skipping bullets off of sheet metal had taken with him at least.
A moment later a group of around a dozen people rounded the corner and stopped. Lavell was in front and his left hand went to his hat. I tensed and brought my rifle up, stock meeting cheek and looking for a target.
Lavell realized his mistake and dropped his left hand quickly, and pulled his hat off with his right and then used his left to scratch his scalp.
I lowered my rifle slightly and looked around, just in case. “Everything OK?” I yelled across the hundred yards seperating us.
“Yeah Zed, we're cool. Permission to approach?”
“Come on in.”
We relaxed a bit, but I still did a 360 slow scan while I waited for them to cover the distance. We greeted everybody and made what introductions needed to be made.
“Should I show our guests to the party?” Lavell stood with his AR at trail arms, looking a bit warm. I guessed he'd like the oportunity, along with his group, to clean up before they congregated with other folks.
“Daniels, would you take our guests to Jacob's house. Give them a chance to clean up. We'll be down shortly.”
Lavell dismissed his people and then rejoined me. I filled him in on my morning's work. “Make sure that who ever is in the OP is one of your better rifle shots. I'll leave it to you to come up with commands for triggering the surprises.
“Will do. That's a big help. What about the big rock?”
I told him about the device there. “I'd recommend herding as many people as you can to it.”
“Shoot at them if they try to leave, don't shoot at those that are trying to get behind it.”
“Exactly. It's almost like you've done this sort of thing before.” I grinned at him.
“Maybe once or twice.” He grinned back.
I left Lavell at his house and was about to head down hill when a woman came running out of her house.
“Mr. Zed! Mr. Zed!” I stopped and waited for her. But she stopped when she had my attention and beckoned me to follow and she turned back to her house. I got to her porch and she was coming back out with two neatly wrapped bundles of laundry.
“Would you bring this to Miss Sadie?”
“Um, sure. What is it?”
She looked at me like I was retarded. “Laundry”
“I see that. What about it?”
“It's yours. Miss Sadie gave it to me to wash. Don't you remember your meeting?”
I struggled to make the connection. She finally put me out of my suffering.
“You said things were different now and we would have to adapt and learn to do new things. I went to Mr. Dupont with an idea and he helped me to put it together.”
“That's great! Put what together?”
“A laundry. I had to hire a couple of other men to do the work, but I've got a set up for doing laundry for folks. They pay me in various things, just like you said.”
I was dumbfounded for a moment. Of course I remembered the meeting, but I'd been kinda busy since then, so hadn't done any follow up. It seems that I didn't need to. Some people took the push and went with it. More would follow as their imaginations were let loose by watching the other successful people.
Maybe this would work after all.
I came back to my senses and realized I was being impolite standing there like an idiot child.
“Well thank you. I'll be happy to bring this to my wife. What do I owe you?”
“Not a thing. Miss Sadie paid in advance. She provided enough laundry soap to keep me in business for a little while.”
“Well, I do appreciate it ma'am. Will we see you down to the party later?”
“Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

 

Wonderful, a bbq…can we cook de fat toad now?

Great story…fun reading…and I do like the overkill claymore with the rocks and propane…kuel fo de kil! Rend the fat toad down for the lard and make a bit of wood ash lie and you have a fair approximation of 'grandma's lye soap.' An all dat sheet and stuff! Ms Sadie be able to do a whole bunch of laundry with that.

Now, I'm thinking that the public spectacle of a hanging at the party…with the fat toad in the trap as it were…maybe let him break the rope and allowed to leave to tell his story to 3nuts; get the enemy riled up and mad…mad men don't fight well, just with enthusiasm…women on the other hand…nuf see.

 

The party was a hit. It started around noon and over the next hour more and more people showed up until there were close to a hundred men, women and running, yelling children in Jacob's yard.
Multiple cook fires were going and the smells were heavenly. Many people arrived with a pot or two and it quickly because a community potluck supper. People were talking and laughing and eating and drinking. Games broke out. Several tables were set up for dominoes and the clack of them being put down on the boards enthusiastically punctuated the games. Every few minutes a clang would ring out, signifying another score at horseshoes.
Kids ran around, chasing each other in impromptu games of tag. The swing on the tree, something Jacob had outgrown a number of years earlier, was getting a real workout. Sadie had donated some dish detergent that I diluted and bubbles blew by on the wind, after I showed some children how to use their thumb and forefinger to hold the soap while they blew them into bubbles.
I looked around at the groups of people having a genuinely good time. While these people all lived in the same neighborhood, most of them had never met any of the others, as they drove past them day after day, insulated in their cars.
Sad that it took a catastrophe to bring people together and remind them how to be humans.
The one incongruity was that a fair number of the attendees were armed. Many had pistols in holsters. I noted with a wry smile that many of those holsters were homemade using the pattern I'd shown them. A few long guns were in evidence, an assortment of rifles and shotguns. Some were suspended by jury-rigged slings. Some people had propped their long guns against trees and fence posts and tables. Someone, I suspected Stan, had rounded them up and put them inside Jacob's house. I made a mental note that we should cobble together rifle racks at meeting places.
Continuing to survey the scene, I caught Sadie's eye across the yard. She was sitting at a table with George and some of the other Frenchies. They had outdone themselves and brought a feast of seafood, and Sadie was enjoying it immensely. Yellow fin Tuna, Mahi, and Mackerel, were all on the grill, while lobsters were being boiled in big pots. One of the Frenchie women was working with one of our cooks to make conch fritters, which were getting eaten faster than the pair could make them.
I was happy at all of the bonding going on. People making friendships that would tie us together. I was also anxious to cement our relationship with the Frenchies. We had much to offer each other, things that would be critical in days and weeks to come. I resolved to make sure that the trade items I gave them in exchange for the fish was on the heavy side. It was a smart investment that I hoped would pay dividends in the future.
While I was feeling happy and satisfied with the way the celebration was going, I couldn't wind down and relax. The mission was on my mind, and I didn't feel like I could relax my guard, especially with all of these people partying.
I went inside and found Daniels at the command desk, looking at the latest take from the drone.
“Anything?”
Daniels hit pause, pushed back from the desk and spun his chair to face me. “Nope. All quiet out there. This is the third flight of the day and we haven't see anything at all.”
“Cool. Thanks for doing this. Have you had a chance to get anything to eat?”
“Oh yeah. Wil and I are switching off. I'm cool.” He turned back around and scooted the chair back up to the desk and hit play. I watched a few minutes of the video before the restlessness got too strong. I patted his shoulder and went back outside.
I went to a couple of the tables of food and put together a plate of some of the tastier offerings. I made my way over to Sadie to tell where I was going.
“Hey Sweetie, I'm going to take some food up to the guys watching the road block.”
“They're going to get relieved so they can come down here before too long.”
“I know.”
“You just can't stand it, can you? You can't relax and let someone else keep an eye on things.”
“Well, it's just”
“Go. I know you have to go. It's who you are. I get it. I don't always like it, but it's part of the package, isn't it?”
I smoothed the hair back on her head and leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead. She did a pretty good job of not being too angry. She wasn't upset about me leaving the party to go check on the road block that was being ably manned. Her reaction was just a spill over to me going on the hunting expedition. She knew all the reasons why I needed to go, and she agreed with them, but she still worried. And it was easy for worry to turn to anger.
I carried the food to the upper chicane and gave it to the grateful guards. Everything was quiet according to their reports, but I was still antsy. I walked the rest of the way up the road to the main road and stood there a few moments. I found a place to sit on a large rock, just off the road and stayed there, listening.
Nothing.
Nothing was moving. It was the eerie quiet of the new normal and I still wasn't used to it. No cars, no lawn mowers or other motorized equipment. No TV or music coming from the houses. After fifteen minutes I realized that I would be missed and worry Sadie unnecessarily, so I got up reluctantly and walked the mile back down the hill to the party.
I'd only been back at the party for a couple of minutes before Fiona came marching up to me.
“There you are! I've been looking for you!”
“What's up Fiona?”
“I can't believe you! Who do you think you are? The king of everything?”
I had a good idea what this was about, but I had to ask anyway. I wished I could have walked away and ignored it, but that wasn't going to happen. “You're worried about Jacob. I'll be careful of him. What we're doing is fairly safe. I don't have a death wish.”
“ “What you're doing”, say it, say it, you're going to go murder someone. And you are taking a teenaged boy with you!”
“The same teenaged boy that you're having sex with?” It was a cheap shot, but I was trying to make a point.
“making love and killing someone isn't the same thing and don't you even pretend it is. Who put you in charge anyway? What makes you think you have the right to go to where someone lives and then murder them in cold blood? Using a rifle from a distance like a coward.”
“So which is it? I'm a murderer, or a coward?”
“They're not mutually exclusive.”
“No. I suppose they're not.” I conceded the point. “What gives me the right? Threeballz has directly threatened us. I'm going to do something about that.”
“If he comes back, fine. I can see fighting him in self defense. But you aren't doing that. You are being the aggressor.”
“If a tree is leaning over your house, threatening to fall and crush those inside, do you wait until it falls to cut it up? Or do you take care of the threat before someone is hurt?”
She didn't have a comeback for that, so I carried on. “We could wait for Threeballz to come back here and then fight in 'self defense'. And we'd probably win, being the defenders and having prepared for a fight. But I guarantee you that we would take casualties. Some of our people will die. More will suffer severe injury. You've treated Mr. Charles' wound. You want more to deal with?”
“But we've fought off attackers before without injury.”
“Sure. When it was just a handful of them and they didn't know what they were up against. But when Threeballz comes back, he'll come with all he has. He'll bring forty or fifty of his soldiers. He'll arm them heavily. He'll have at least Molotov cocktails, and probably heavier stuff like grenades or maybe even rocket launchers. You want that fight in YOUR neighborhood?”
“No. But.”
“By the way, how are those twins doing? Have they started sleeping through the night? Are they still asking about their father?”
“Ok, I get your point. But why Jacob? He's so young.”
“Because he's young. He's got great reflexes, eye sight and hearing. He's a natural athlete. And more importantly, he has been working with me, side by side. We know each other. How we think, how we'll act. We don't need to talk to get things done. He's trained with me. And being young, he'll also listen to me. I need him with me. He gives me the best chance of getting back home to my wife. And I'll bring him back. I swear I will.”
“But he's so young. How can you subject him to all of that?” She was grasping at this point, knowing she'd lost the argument, but not quite willing to admit it.
“I know. But it's too late. He's already a man in every sense of the word. He's experienced awful tradgedy, stood up and did what was right. Pulls his fair share. No, I'm not exposing him to anything that he hasn't already dealt with. And by my choosing him, and giving him the chance to do this, I'm actually helping him psychologically. He's earned my respect, man to man, and he has a chance to do the right thing, selflessly for his community. Are you going to deny him that?”
Fiona's shoulders had been slumping and she hadn't made eye contact for a while. She straightened herself up and looked me in the eye. “I don't like it. But I understand it. Men and their men games. You do what you think you have to, but you had better not let Jacob get hurt.”
I held her stare until she broke it, then watched as she turned and walked away.
I took a deep breath and hoped I'd be able to live up to my promise.
As the afternoon turned towards dusk, Wilford and Daniels started a new project. They strung lines between two trees in the yard and hung a bed sheet from it. They worked and fiddled with it until it was taut and most of the ripples were out of it. They pulled some equipment out of Jacob's house and started setting it up.
It was an LCD projector and a stereo. The projector was probably Mr. Quinn's, used to give powerpoint presentations. But the DVD player in the laptop that was hooked to it would work just as well to project movies. In a few minutes they were done. They'd timed it well, as it was getting just dark enough for the images on the sheet to be visible. People quieted and moved to find places to sit or lay on the lawn with a view of the screen.
The wind shifted slightly, bringing with it the smell of popcorn. Sadie and I had put a bit of it up for long term storage. It was inexpensive, stored well, and made a great treat. I followed my nose to the kitchen to find a small crew mass producing pop corn as fast as they could. Instead of butter, Sadie melted some of our precious ghee and added olive oil to stretch it to go further.
She pushed a couple of large bowls into my arms along with a stack of red Dixie cups. I got the message and took it outside and started handing out cups of popcorn to the crowd. The people were all quiet, engrossed in the movie. They took the cups happily, with smiles of thanks. I'd hand a cup to a person and he'd hand it off to someone else, ensuring distribution. People were acting like humans, being kind and social and looking out for one another.
Two simple things we used to take for granted, movies and popcorn, were the perfect cap for the day. It was gratifying to see the success of our party, not only in giving people a chance to unwind and relax and forget their troubles for a day, but in the friendships that were made or strengthened and the community building that went on.
Popcorn made and distributed, Sadie came out of the kitchen smelling of the food she'd been making. We found a patch of lawn to sit on and watched the movie, shoulder to shoulder, holding hands, both dreading the end of the movie, knowing it meant I would be leaving.
The movie ended and broke the spell that had kept them quiet for the last couple of hours. People got up and spoke quietly amongst themselves. Knowing it was time to go home, but reluctant for the day to end.
Sadie and I walked home to get my gear and then headed back to Jacob's house. She would stay to help clean up, needing something to keep her busy.
“You be careful out there.”
“You know I will. Extra careful.”
“If it doesn't seem right, leave. Drop it. You can try again later.”
I agreed I would, knowing that it was partly a lie. I didn't know how much longer we had. I was very surprised that Threeballz hadn't come back already. I was glad for the reprieve, but it meant he was planning his attack and wasn't going to do it half-assed. All the more reason I needed to be successful.
We hugged and held each other for several moments, neither wanting to be the first to let go. I held her at arms length to look at her, gave her a solid kiss and left her standing there. A scene that had been replayed countless times through history.
I met Jacob in the yard. Fiona was no where to be seen and Jacob was rather subdued, whether from the weight of the mission, or an argument with Fiona. Probably a bit of both. He shouldered his pack as I approached. I walked past him, with him falling in next to me and we joined the group of Frenchies about ready to head home. They were full of bon homie and all remarked on what a great time they'd had and that they would host the next shindig.
I handed George the trade goods that I'd promised in exchange for the fish he brought. He distributed them out to be carried by the group. He was proudly wearing the AR that I'd given him, one of the battlefield pick ups we'd gotten from the gang bangers. It was overkill on the barter side, but it sure build lots of good will and his group sure could use the extra fire power.
I bounced up and down on my toes to settle my pack and found a problem. I pulled it back off to make an adjustment. I wouldn't be needing the model 70 until we got into position, so I'd strapped it to my pack, out to the way. The bolt handle was digging into my back so I took a minute to move the rifle. Another test bounce showed that I'd fixed the problem.
One nice thing about body armor is that it helped to distribute the pack's weight on my shoulders. While the pack started out at twelve pounds, putting two gallons of water in it brought the weight up to twenty eight pounds.
Not bad, especially seeing that the weight would go down as I drank the water. George had offered to give us water at the Four Corners road block, which would save us carrying so much between here and there.
I declined, not knowing the state of the water and whether it had been treated. Gut wrenching cramps and diarrhea was one of the last things I wanted on this mission. Jacob and I each had an extra gallon that we'd cache along the way for our return trip.
The hip belt on the pack interfered with my normal belt carried gear, so I had to move it. As much as I despise them, sometimes you have to use a drop leg holster. I'd adjusted mine to be as high as possible. I'd done a few sets of dry fire draws to accustom myself to the different position of the pistol and how to deal with the retention devices. It still worried me a little, I'd had so many more reps from my belt holster. I was a firm proponent of Bianchi's Law; “One gun, one place, all the time.”
I checked the pouches on the front of my plate carrier. Six 30 round rifle mags and four 19 rounders for my Glock. I'd really come to like the Arrondo +4 extensions on the G19 mags.
I let out all the slack on the quick adjustable two point sling and put it over my head with my right arm through the loop also. I let the Krink set on my chest and then pulled the tag end of the sling to set it so the short barreled rifle sat at the right height. Bringing it up to my shoulder, I transitioned it to my left side to make sure the sling had enough slack to allow that.
A tug on the mag,a pull on the bolt handle, and putting the safety lever up, let me know she was in condition one. I was peripherally aware of Jake mirroring my actions and he finished up right after me. No reason to delay any further.
“Ready? Jacob was tight lipped and grim and nodded his answer to my question. George also didn't answer, but lead his group up the hill. Jake and I joined the rear of the train.
We worked up a sweat walking the mile uphill to the main road. George paused at the top to wait for everyone to catch up and catch their breath. Everyone was just milling around. I took George aside where no one would hear us and mentioned that when they stopped, they should post at least two people as security. The Frenchies are tough, self reliant people, but they've never had occasion to need small unit tactics. It's one of the things we'd need to go over with them in the near future.
Sundown was several hours in the past and as the land cooled, the breeze shifted, making me shiver a bit as it hit my sweat soaked shirt, where it was exposed. The moon was just a few days shy of full, and the sky was clear, so there was plenty of light to walk by. We cast hard shadows on the pavement, a silent group accompanying us on our trek.
The walk was uneventful, though somewhat harrowing. The Frenchies had had a good time and wanted to talk about it, reliving the event. The lack of noise discipline worried me, especially when we came up to houses along our route. Most were dark, but a couple of time I saw a candle extinguished up ahead, as our voices alerted the inhabitants that we were approaching.
I guess we probably scared them more than they scared me and luckily nothing happened. Eventually the Frenchies quieted, as much from needing their breath for walking as from running out of stories to tell.
We walked the last half of the way to Four Corners in comparative silence, our foot steps and items occasionally hitting each other the only sound. I paid attention to Jacob and myself and noted that we were almost entirely silent.
We only stopped a moment at Four Corners to say goodbye to most of the crew. George and his brother continued on, accompanying us to the eastern boundary of their area. We arrived at the Catholic Church at the end of St Peter Mountain road, where another road block was located, at one am in the morning.
After walking around six miles I was ready for a break. We took five minutes. I wanted more, but didn't want to cool down and tighten up which a longer rest would have done. We drank some water, checked our gear one more time and then shook hands all around. George wished us bon chance as we passed through the road block and down Mafolie hill.
“Where are we going, exactly?”
“Not sure Jake. There are two places I want to scope out. Pilgrams Terrace and Blackbeard's hill. Both should have a good view across the valley to Cathrinaberg. Blackbeard's is closer and my preference, but we have to actually go on site and look to see if it will work.”
That seemed to satisfy him and he walked along quietly.
We each kept to a shoulder, with the road between us, alternating walking backwards to check our back trail. Everything was very quiet. With no electricity and candles and batteries in short supply, people tended to go to bed with the sun.
Our timing was pretty good, being the middle of the night. But when we reached the bottom of Blackbeard's hill, I had us stop. I looked around until I found a place in the bush were we could sit.
“Why are we stopping?”
“It' almost two o'clock”
Jacob looked at me, waiting for an explanation. “people tend to naturally wake up around two am. I don't know why. Some speculation that it goes back to our cave men days. Doesn't matter. It happens.”
“Interesting. Weird. I've noticed that I do that. Thought it was just me.”
“Nope. Lot's of people do it. Especially when they go to sleep with the sun. At this point they've been asleep around six hours. They'll wake, look around, maybe go pee, and then go back to sleep. Three or four is the time to move. People's natural cycle is at its lowest ebb.”
“You don't want someone taking a piss off the porch seeing us sneaking around.”
“You got it in one. So lets take a break. We'll finish the last few hundred yards around three.”

 

A hunting we will go, a hunting we will go, Off to kill 3balls, a hunting we will go! And just who might be heading right at them on the same path…certainly not dat cussed wabbit…must be the opposing 'bowling team' with all their balls and maybe some Xtra looking for the fat toad!

I'm starting to wonder who the fat toad is related to…3balls cousin maybe, ransom coming for his release, take the ransom and kill them all…yes, I'm enjoying the story greatly, it 'exercises' my mind, whatever is left of it anyway.

 

“Shit, shit, shit!” The expletives lost little of their urgency for being said under my breath. Jake and I had only been settled down about fifteen minutes when the rain started. It wasn't a squall, which has the decency to warn you with a freshening breeze before the downpour.
This was a slow moving rain cloud. My first clue was the noise of the rain drops hitting the leaves a couple of hundred yards away. I'd been sitting long enough in the cool night air that my muscles stiffened, slowing my response.
First the gun. The gun, the gun, the gun! I put the Model 70 on my lap and leaned over it, protecting it from the impending rain while I pulled my pack around in front of me, frantically digging in it for my poncho.
Jacob, wordlessly followed my example, but he wasn't under as much pressure as I was. If his AK got wet it was no big deal.
The beautiful Winchester bolt gun on my lap came from a different age. A time of deeply blued steel and finely checkered walnut stocks. While absolutely gorgeous to look at, it was more susceptible to the vagaries of the weather than a more mundane and modern rifle made of stainless and plastic.
Wood changes shape depending on it's moisture content. If it warps it can press against the barrel and change the point of impact of the bullets it fires. The solution is to 'free float' the barrel, removing material from the barrel channel of the stock so it doesn't touch the barrel. The amount of material removed is usually small, and the old metric was being able to pass a dollar bill between the two with no resistance.
I'd finally got the poncho out of my pack and over me and the rifle, just as the first fat drops hit. I think I'd saved the rifle from direct contact, but the fact remained that the humidity had gone from seventy five, to one hundred percent.
Great, just one more thing for me to worry about.
I related my concerns to Jacob, being able to speak freely, with the rain masking the sound of our voices.
“Does this mean we should quit?”
“No. Not yet. I'll check the rifle when we get in position, then make a decision. And when I shoot, it's vital that you be able to feed me a correction immediately.”
“I'll do my best.” I'd put a dent in his confidence.
“It'll be fine. We're cool. Being across a valley with no direct route between here and the Governor's Mansion gives us a good chance of a clean get away.”
“I'm not worried about getting away. I'm worried about Threeballz getting away.”
I looked at this boy that had become a man in the space of two weeks with a new respect.
“He needs to be stopped Zed. They all do.”
What do you say to that? I snaked my hand out from under my poncho and held it out for him. He shook it solemnly, meeting my gaze. We understood each other.
“Let's take advantage of this rain to move. Nobody will see or here us.”
Jacob helped me keep the rifle dry while I got my pack on under my poncho. I waited for him to do the same for himself and then set off, taking the lead.
We got to the crest of Blackbeard's Hill where we could see Catherinesberg. I couldn't believe it, the place was lit up, all the outside lights on as well as a few inside. That was wrong on a number of levels. Made our job easier though.
Being able to easily see the mansion and the grounds, it was simpler to find our sniper's hide. I wanted a place just down off the crest, but not too far. We were very slightly higher, and if we dropped down fifty feet or so we'd be very nearly level, making the firing solution that much simpler, not having to factor in declination.
We moved along the road that went around the crest, slowly, looking for the right place. I knew there were several abandoned shacks on the hill and was wondering to myself if that would make a good choice.
Before I could answer that question we came to one. It appeared out of the rain as we approached. I stopped and looked at it, trying to come to a decision. It offered a number of advantages. It would be drier and make it easier to keep the rifle out of the weather. We could probably build a good shooting platform from a door or table. Shooting from deep inside the building would make it impossible to see us and mask the signature of the muzzle blast.
But I had no idea if anyone was inside. Typically crackheads and other homeless sheltered in these abandoned shacks. I couldn't afford a confrontation that could turn noisy and give us away.
I turned away from the run down shack and kept moving, Jake following. Another hundred yard along I found an acceptable alternative. We passed a gut that was starting to flow from the run off, making quite a racket with its passing. A good and bad thing.
Just past the gut we dropped down off the road about twenty yards. A small ledge was sheltered by a large mahogany tree. It had been damaged by a windstorm in a previous year, knocked down so it's large trunk was horizontal to the ground and about three feet above it.
It was still very much alive, the break in its trunk not going all the way through. Suckers growing up from the base provided cover from that direction, while the canopy, which touched the ground in places, gave cover at the other end.
The rain was slackening, and I looked to the sky in the east and could see the cloud cover breaking up. We waited for it to pass completely then took off our ponchos and lay them on the ground under the trunk to give us something partially dry to lay on. The tree trunk had provided some protection from the rain so our new digs wasn't too uncomfortable. I set my pack on the poncho and carefully propped the rifle on it.
One hack with my bowie took down one of the suckers growing straight from the stump. Running the blade along the shaft I cut off the smaller branches and leaves. I had Jacob gather them for later use.
I cut my stick in three equal pieces about two feet long. Bringing them under the trunk with me I pulled a hank of paracord out of my pack and cut off about eighteen inches. Wrapping it fairly loosely around the trio of sticks six inches from one end, I fanned them out, producing a very usable tripod.
Supporting the forend of the rifle on it, I made some adjustments until I was comfortably able to look at the lights of the mansion across the valley.
Next, Jacob and I took the camouflaged veils and strung them in front of the trunk, adding my newly cut leaves to them to add to the effect.
I brought cloth to use as a ground cloth in front of my rifle to keep the muzzle blast from kicking up a bunch of dust. With the recently departed rain, that wouldn't be necessary.
Back into the pack, I pulled out my Rite-in-the-Rain note pad and opened it up so one piece of paper was sticking out. I ran it between the barrel and the stock to see what kind of trouble I was in. The paper moved easily all the way back to the action. Maybe I'd be OK after all.
Our preparations mostly complete, we climbed into our hide and started to set up for the shot. Looking out at the mansion, our position was almost ideal. We were about eight hundred yards away, which presented a middling difficult shot. We were very slightly above the horizontal, not enough to figure heavily into the ballistic calculations, but giving us a bit of an advantage in our ability to see into the grounds.
There was a finger coming off the hill we were on, about a hundred yards in front of us. My bullets would pass a few yards over it on its way to Threeballz. That would do wonderful things for disguising the location of the shot, changing the direction and reflecting the sound waves of the muzzle blast.
I was feeling pretty good about this until I heard the first buzz.
“Know what I forgot?”
Jake looked up from the spotting scope. “What?” and then slapped his neck.
“Bug repellant. Don't suppose”
“No Zed, I didn't think of it either.”
The trade winds mostly keep the mosquitoes and gnats at bay, but there was a dead calm in the wake of the passing rain shower, and they came out with a vengeance.
We smeared mud over our exposed skin, taking turns applying it to each other in the places we missed or couldn't reach. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it helped significantly.
Back behind the rifle I went over the basics. I found my natural point of aim. The three black SUVs were parked near the entrance that faced us. I was figuring that I'd get my shot as he came out that door.
I had to try several times, getting into position, as each time I found a new rock or root that poked me here or there, and I rearranged things to get rid of or avoid them.
Looking around the grounds I saw several guards. Two by the entrance, and a couple more walking the grounds. Their hearts weren't into it, going through the motions, but not really all that alert or dialed in.
False dawn had come with the sky brightening noticeably. We were directly east from the Governor's Mansion so they'd be looking into the sun if they looked in our direction. If Threeballz came out early enough. Lardapotumus said that his leader tended to get up early and get a start on the day. He got a jump start on his competitors who would sleep in until noon or later after partying late into the night.
He'd make up for it with afternoon naps.
Visibly and physically checking the magazine and chamber of the rifle, twice, after looking away the first time, I settled the cross hairs on the head of the left hand guard at the door. I settled my breathing, checked that I wasn't digging in with my toes. I watched as the reticle ticked up and down in time with my heart. A slow, deep intake of breath brought it all the way down to his feet, letting it out put it back on his head. I held the exhalation and started the pressure on the trigger.
I mindfully placed the middle pad of the first joint on the center of the trigger and started adding pressure, consciously pressing straight back.
The trigger breaking surprised me, just as it should, the click of the striker going forward on an empty chamber surprising loud in the pre-dawn.
Without moving my check from the stock I immediately ran the bolt, moved the rifle in the tripod fractionally and put and imaginary round into the second guard.
“How many shots are you going to take from here?” Jacob took a break from his scope and raised his water bottle for a drink.
“Hopefully one.”
“You don't want to take the opportunity to take more of them out, while you have the chance?”
“Biggest mistake a sniper makes is firing too many shots, staying in one place too long. It's easy to get greedy. If you see me doing that, remind me. In strong terms if necessary. I promised I'd get you back to Fiona.”
His cheeks reddened enough that I could see it in the low light. He went back to his scope so I came off the rife for a break.
“She gave you grief for letting me come along with you, didn't she?”
“Sure. But it wasn't a big deal. I half expected it. I'm never sure what to think of her. She constantly surprises me. Sometimes good, sometimes not so good.”
“Yeah, I get that” Jacob said, eye still to the scope. “I don't think it's going anywhere, me and her, she just likes having me around.”
“You cool with that?”
“Sure. I guess. Not like there's a lot of girls my age around, and the sex is amazing. Like way better than I've had before.”
I smiled to myself and moved the conversation back to the job at hand. “See anything inside?”
“A light came on downstairs just now. Towards the back.”
“Probably the kitchen. House will probably start to stir now.”
“Yeah, guards have straightened up a bit.”
“Expecting their boss, or shift change probably. Ok, now listen. I don't know how long we will have to wait, but I want us ready to bug out after the shot. So make sure all of your stuff is packed and ready to go. When I take the shot, we move. Slowly until we get up to the drive, then we jog. If we can pull this off with one shot, they'll have very little idea of where the shot came from. Even if they do, there's no quick way to get from there to here. If we can get the half mile up hill to Mafolie, we're home free.”

 

Still with you, I just relocated to my Eastern residence. I don't get to much computer time.

 

Don't you dare kill off Jacob…we be needing the light side of this killing machine…an all dat sheet!

 

First one bird, then another and another announced to the world that they were awake and ready to start their day. The Sun was still a quarter hour from breaking the horizon, but it was already plenty bright enough to see well.
I took a last, quick break, easing out of our hide and moving a short distance away to relieve the pressure on my bladder. Soon the Sun would rise and start baking the moisture from the ground, turning the rain soaked ground into a sauna by nine o'clock.
I hoped to be out of here by then.
I took a deep breath, stretching and enjoying the earthy smell of the moist earth. A sudden raucous squawking turned my head and a squadron of bush parrots flew past, fast and low, a riot of noise and bright colors, dodging through the trees as they argued loudly amongst themselves.
I climbed back in and got on the rifle. Now the hard part. Waiting. Waiting is bad enough, but remaining alert and ready to act at a moment's notice while waiting is torture. My mind wonders pretty easily and I had to keep grabbing it by the collar and dragging it back to the task at hand.
“How do you read the wind?”
Jacob concentrated, looking through his scope. “mostly calm, one to two mile an hour gusts barely moving the leaves.”
“Direction?” I shouldn't have had to ask.
“Tail wind, mostly. Hardly any cross to it.”
This was the art of long range shooting, and something I wasn't good at. I just didn't have the experience. I understood it, but that's a different thing entirely. I was confident of where my bullet would impact, up and down. We'd practiced at the same distance back home. But a badly timed ten mile an hour gust could push my bullet a yard or more sideways by the time it traversed the distance between me and the target.
I was hoping to have a calm moment to shoot. The tail wind helped. Most of our wind came out of the east, so I'd be shooting with it. That would help mitigate the sideways drift. But it would effect the point of impact high or low. The wind pushing on the back of the bullet would mean it would shoot a bit higher than normal.
I was starting to feel outclassed and totally inadequate to do the job. Who was I kidding? I was no sniper. This was stupid. And I was putting Jacob at risk.
I stopped myself. I formed a mental picture of slapping myself in the face, just like that cliché in the movies where someone is losing it and the protagonist shocks him with a smack to the face, and some witty line like “Snap out of it!”
Doing a body check I noticed that my breathing had become rapid and shallow and my muscles were tight. I forced calm through breathing. Slowly bringing my focus back into the now, my life lived through the little round window of my scope.
I watched the front door and the behavior of the guards. They were definitely more keyed up and alert, standing up straight and heads swiveling on their necks. The sun broke the horizon and illuminated them brightly. They squinted every time they looked in my direction, which I found amusing. They were both wearing brimmed caps, but with the bill off to the side it was unable to perform its intended function.
The Sun's light let me see in greater detail. The guards were carrying matching Ars, twins to the ones we'd picked up from attacker's we killed in our neighborhood. It didn't look like they were missing any meals and their clothes were clean and mostly neat, considering the fashion style of gang bangers.
These gang bangers were living well, using up the stored resources on island, with no regard for the future. They didn't seem to be husbanding their supplies, making the stretch. The sooner they used up what they had, the more desperate they would become.
The main door opening brought my wondering thoughts back again.
“Zed!”
“Got it”
I flicked the safety off and got ready to take the shot. A person exited the door and I put the cross hairs on his face and made contact with the trigger. Before I could start pressing I realized that I didn't recognize the person in my scope. It wasn't Threeballz.
I watched as five gang members exited the building and the door closed behind them. They moved off the stoop and down to the the vehicles. Splitting up, two men went to each vehicle except for the middle SUV which only had a driver. They started them, which was funny as it wasn't hot out yet, so no need to let the AC run for a long time. Which could only mean one thing.
I pivoted the rifle back to the front door in time to see it open again. Threeballz!
He stepped out and I tracked him with the reticle. Before I could take the shot, he was joined by a woman carrying a baby. Threeballz was facing me, and the woman moved in front of him, blocking my shot. They hugged and Threeballz picked up the child, holding him high and then bringing it down for a kiss.
He handed the baby back to the woman, kissed her on the lips and started down the steps.
I tried to keep the sights on him but I didn't dare risk a shot on him while he was was moving. I tracked him, hoping for a pause, ready to take advantage of it. The woman and child stood watching. She picked up the child's arm and waved it at Threeballz.
He moved to the passenger door of the middle SUV, back to me, facing the woman he stopped, one hand on the door handle while he raised the other to wave back.
The muzzle blast was startlingly loud as it reverberated back from the finger of hill in front of us. I worked the bolt automatically, my right hand coming back on the grip in time to hear Jacob say; “Miss!. Three o'clock, twelve inches!”
I fought the disappointment and self recriminations. One reason I was able to do well in competitions was my ability to forget about the last shot.
Time slowed and I could see the broken side window, the safety glass doing its job.
Threeballz paused, stunned, for the briefest of moments, and then he couldn't help himself, he had to turn to look. I moved the reticle a foot to my left of his nose and stroked the trigger again, working the bolt through the recoil.
“Hit! Ten o'clock, six inches!”
Threeballz had started to move after I'd let off the shot and managed to twist and crouch during the short flight of the bullet, enough to put the shot a bit high and off center.
He reacted to being hit by dropping to the ground, and curling into a ball. Before he could move I sent another round his way. I didn't have a clear aiming spot so I just went for the center of the ball. I aimed a foot high and left and fired my third shot.
“Hit! Can't tell where, but you hit him hard.”
A fourth time my muzzle blast disturbed the valley.
“Hit! Same thing.”
I watched Threeballz, holding my fire. He slowly relaxed from his curled up position, stretching out, much as the growing pool of blood was.
I looked at the other people. The woman broke out of her daze and ran to the prostate form of her baby's daddy. The guards had all taken cover, used to being shot at, but not used to protecting a principal.
“Zed! Nine o'clock, ten yards.”
I swiveled the rifle on its makeshift tripod. A flash of light in the area Jacob had directed me to, caught my eye. A gang member was standing behind the engine compartment of the last SUV, glassing my hillside with a pair of binoculars. He was facing the Sun and the reflection off his objective lenses gave him away.
Quickly putting the cross hairs a foot to the left of the binos, I fired my fifth and last shot.
“Hit! Two o'clock, three inches!”
“Think he saw us?”
“I don't think so Zed. I never saw him look directly in our direction. Even if he did. I don't think he had time to say anything.”
“Ok. We're outta here. SLOWLY.”
We backed out from under the tree truck and used it's cover to pack the last of our gear, stuffing the ponchos and cloths into our packs. We low crawled up to the road at the crest of the hill and didn't stand until there was enough brush to conceal us.
We took a moment while I looked back at the Governor's Mansion through the rifle scope, while Jake kept watch. Threeballz' body was gone, but the smear of his blood lead up the stairs and into the house. I sure hoped he was dead. I know I got three hits on him, but didn't have a good idea of where the last two shots went. And the first one was too high and off center, even if it was a torso hit. I wished I had more confidence that he was out of the picture.
There was not a lot of activity. A dozen or so gang bangers were milling around outside, clearly at a loss of what to do. While I watched a fireplug of a man, as wide as he was tall came out on the stoop and started yelling at the gang members. They gathered around and listened to him. My blood turned cold when he pointed directly at me and they all turned to look.
I know they couldn't see me, but the point was still clear. He wanted them over here, now.
I let Jacob know what was going on as I secured the rifle to my pack and put it back on. We started jogging, heading for the main road. We had to run down off of Blackbeard's Hill and then up Mafolie Hill. A half mile up a steep hill.
I did the math while we ran. The first goal was to get above the intersection of the road from Cathrinesberg with Mafolie Hill. It was only an eighth of a mile, but it was uphill and I'm in my mid 50's. I tried to think of how long it would take to drive from the mansion, versus us running.
I kept coming up with a tie.

 

Jacob was pulling away from me and kept looking back anxiously. I waved him on, but he was reluctant to get too far ahead of me. I had the Krink in my hands more to keep it from banging around, beating me up than from a need to have it ready. It pumped back and forth as I jogged.
Coming around a bend I could see the intersection a hundred yards ahead. Jake was just even with it and had stopped, waiting on me.
“Find a hide!” I yelled, and he turned up hill to comply.
I could hear vehicles to my left, in the valley, racing along the narrow road that followed a ridge. There was no question it was them.
I dug deep, forcing my legs to move faster and take longer steps. My lungs felt like they were on fire as they struggled to suck in enough air. The racing engines and squealing tires of the SUVs got louder.
And then quieter.
The problem with following a contour line is that it wound along the hills and not in a straight line. The SUVs had been heading towards me for a moment, but then the road curved away.
I figured they were maybe a quarter mile away and I had another fifty yards to go to come up even with the intersection.
I made it before they did and as I did Jacob yelled at me from the bush fifteen yards away.
I rushed towards him, arms up to protect my eyes, at the cost of scratching them up on the brush I pushed through. I flopped down next to him and he tossed a camo veil at me.
I got it over me, mostly, and froze stock still as the three black SUVs slid to a stop at the junction of the two roads.
“Don't look directly at them!” I whispered.
We were only fifty feet away from a dozen or more very angry and well armed criminals. Neither of us dared move, barely breathing.
After ten seconds that seemed like ten minutes, one of the men in the lead vehicle waved his arms out his window and yelled back at the following SUVs.
The first two turned right and headed down hill in the direction from which we'd come.
The other turned left and went uphill.
The way we needed to go.

 

That AKS74U (suka/bitch in Russian) gonna come in handy I'm thinking…having owned a number of them in 5.45 and 7.62X39 I'm here to tell you they are a hoot to shoot and damn heavy and clumsy while they are about it…up close and messy will do it every time given a chance…and enough rounds! I'm thinking it's time to take one of those Black SUV's away from the toad patrol…yep, I be a thinking.