Original Work The Unwelcome Sign

Best half hour at work all week.

Will I get to wake up to some more story in the morning?

 

Yep, dem seconds seem like hours in a real fight…and Zen…you made it real REAL!

 

F'n GREAT...

Thanks...

 

I shook my head, violently, snorting, sputtering, trying to clear the sharp, vile smell from my nose. Denise took the vial of smelling salts away when she saw she had my attention. It didn't last long, because suddenly I remembered.
My hand was empty! I lked and Sadie was gone.
“Where?” was all I could get past my parched throat. Denise answered by holding a water bottle to my mouth. I tried to sit up to get a drink, figuring the quicker I complied the sooner I'd get an answer.
A deep stabbing pain reminded me that I'd been shot. I looked down to find that my shirt was missing, and my chest and abdomen were bare. I was sporting a fist sized bruise, and angry red and purple, just below my ribs.
“Where's Sadie!?” I said past the pain.
Denise pushed me back down. I let her. “Sadie's down at Jacob's house with the doctor.”
“She's alright, isn't she?”
She gave me a kind and gentle, calming smile, a tool of her profession, honed by years of practice for times just like this. She wielded it masterfully.
“Sadie's pretty beat up. She's got bruising in a number of places, including a pretty good goose egg on the side of her head.”
“The gunshot?” I interrupted, impatient to get to want I wanted, no, needed to know. Her expression changed. So much for calming me.
“The vest took most of the brunt.”
“MOST!?”
Denise tried the smile on me again. It wasn't as efficacious this time. I'd developed a tolerance. “Being a contact wound, she took all the force. That broke two of her ribs. Fired at an angle, and at the edge of panel the bullet wasn't stopped by the Kevlar. The bullet slid along it and gouged a deep wound along her side.”
'Will she be OK?”
“I think so Zed, but you can get a better answer from Doctor Shoemacher. Infection will be the big worry.”
“We have antibiotics stocked if you need them.”
“Good. We probably will.” Her looked changed. I caught it. My heart sank.
“That bad? What's the bill?”
“Three killed. Twelve wounded. One or two of them probably wont make it. Not with the facilities we have. The other ten have injuries varying from serious to minor.”
“So it's over?”
She nodded. “Let me get Lavell, he can fill you in better than I can. He wants to talk to you anyway.”
She handed me the water bottle and left. I drank more and had time for Brain to continue systems checks. My back hurt and I remembered getting shot at. I tried to reach back to check it and noticed that my left hand wasn't working right. The middle finger was bandaged and taped to the ring finger. I gave up and lay back, exhausted by my exertion.
I settled for sucking down some more water and then remembered the pills Denise gave me earlier. I dug in my pants pocket and pulled them out. I debated with myself for a moment, then popped one in my mouth and flushed it down with another glug from the bottle.

“Good to see you're still with us.” Lavell startled me. I guess my hearing was still effected by what had been inflicted on it, for I didn't hear him come up.
“It's over?”
“Yeah. It was pretty much done when you and Sadie got hit. I heard she'll be OK.” The aside was accompanied with a hopeful expression.
“That's what Denise thinks. Haven’t talked to Doc yet. What's the status” I needed to know. And I didn't want to think about Sadie being injured.
“We did it! The gang is wiped out. Totally.”
“Totally?” I was somewhat skeptical.
“Frank is leading a group that is scouring the area to make sure there aren't any hide outs. And we took a few prisoners, but other than that, they're done.”
“Prisoners?”
“I know you didn't want any, but some gave themselves up, unarmed. Did you expect people to kill unarmed people?”
“They came here to rape and kill and steal our stuff!” I spat. Lavell took it and I relented. “Sorry. No, I guess I shouldn't expect otherwise good people to kill their fellow man. How many?”
“Seven.”
I took some small comfort in just how small that number was. Dealing with them was something we could put off for a little while. Meanwhile, they could be useful.
“Put them to work. Pick a spot and have them start digging a mass grave. Once we've had a chance to pick up weapons that are out there, put them on clean up detail. We can't leave those bodies lying around. Did any of our soldiers lose anyone close to them? Friends? Family”
“Sure. Why?”
“Assign them to guard detail. They won't hesitate to deal with the bangers if needed. Our pick up squad may miss something, so tell the guards to be vigilant to the enemy finding weapons. Tell them to err on the side of shoot first. Understood?”
“Yes Zed.” his answer seemed hesitant.
“You haven't said anything about Shocka.”
“We haven't seen him. That's the main thing Frank is doing. Trying to find him. Nobody got past us. He must have taken to the bush.”
“God Damnit it all to Hell! He can't leave here. Understand?”
“Frank's on it. He's got Virgil, Lyle and ten of our best people. George took his people up top to block the road. He's not going anywhere.”
“Help me up!” I extended my hand, which he took and between the two of us we got me vertical. I swayed a bit and saw the pin pricks of light again, but I took a deep breath and they went out, one by one.
“Hand me my rifle” I didn't trust myself to bend over to pick it up. Lavell handed it to me. “Thanks”
He just nodded.
“Really. Thanks. I couldn't have done this without you.” I held out my hand. He took it, no hesitation. We studied each others eyes for a moment, shook once and let go.
“Yeah Zed. No worries. You know I've got your back. We all know what you've done for us.”
I nodded, as much to myself as to him, and not for the same thing.
“I'm going to check on my wife. You handle things 'til I get back?”
“Sure boss. Anything you need, you let me know.”
I looked him in the eye, put my good hand on his shoulder, nodded and started walking, unsteadily at first. A little momentum firmed up my course and I headed towards the chicane.
Bodies were everywhere. As well as parts of them. Blood. Blood everywhere. Gallons of it splashed liberally in a manner Jackson Pollock would have been proud of. The thought occurred to me that we need to keep him away from firearms. I laughed at the idea, and then quickly looked around to see if anyone saw.
Laughing in the middle of all this gore might be hard to explain.

I threaded my way through the chicane and found more enemy bodies on the far side. There was a clump of them in front of a body covered by a sheet. One of ours, I guess, seeing that they were accorded the respect of some privacy in the intimacy of their death. This Horatio had racked up an impressive body count, holding the breach in the road block. As I surveyed the scene, I started putting it together in my mind. The first few had been shot, then must have run out of ammo, or had a malfunction. I looked for further evidence for my narrative. When I saw the rifle my heart went cold. The barrel of the Winchester 94 was close to the hand that last held it. The stock was snapped in half. He must have used it as a club, in those last moments.
I pulled back the sheet and had my suspicions confirmed. Sometime between the battle and the last time I'd seen him, he taken out his tight braids and my Buffalo Soldier went to his God with a proud Afro.
I reverently let the sheet fall back down on his face. “Good bye Wilford. I was proud to know you.”
I turned away, cuffing at the tears, then gave it up as a lost cause.

 

Bury your own…burn the rest and make sure theres guts enough laying around to feed the wild life.

 

Keep plugging along. I only check for updates 3 or 4 times a day.

 

Slacker;-)

 

Down to the wire now...

 

I think you are correct, after all:

You only defend 'yourself' from weakness;
the best defense is always a good offense!

And always do the unexpected…it's a fight winner!

Now, before we end this I wants my 'purse' to put these worthless Zeds in…they be killing the pockets in des ticking pantaloons I ben warring and sheet…and de toad just be eaten and shitting doing no good for anyone!

 

Perhaps you should get a kilt and sporran. Underneath there's nothing worn. How you'll wish the wind was warum.

 

Actually kilts are kind of comfortable…plenty of ball room and alls dat sheet…had a picture of my dad wearing the whole rig taken in Scotland during WW-II…lost it somewhere…but years ago working in Hollywood in the Motion Picture Industry I had a chance to check out a bunch of that stuff…it would be approaching Hot here in seattle…and I know the queers would like it…Oops, I meant 'gender challenged.'

 

Waaay cool Mr Gilbert!!!

 

Yea, it's my "cold war victory" trophy…the red SUV in the background is the FBI truck that followed us out to Boeing Field Seattle where the picture was taken while the KMZ MT-16 was being restored.

 

I have a kilt of my own. Would get caught in machinery at work, guess that's why they went out of style in the first place. They do let freedom swing.

 

Today's kilts (Scottish) are nothing like the original gear worn before and during the Battle of Culloden in 1747…much thinner and skimpy and without a lot of today's bling and sheet!

 

A great book cover for this story just might need to include a Zed…hell, cast up a bunch and glue them to the cover for the first 1k or more…but an impression would work just as well in the paperback cover.

 

Mine's nine yards of wool in my clan's tartan. I'm not a highland Cherrohonkie.

 

Before 1747 and the Battle of Culloden there really was no such thing as specific clan tartans…they were just a popular weaving technique…just for what it's worth.