Original Work The Unwelcome Sign

I was worried that Fiona's lib-stupidity was going to go nuclear before the bangers attacked.

 

Zed has way more restraint than I. I would have punched her...

 

He was too tired, mentally and physically.

I see by your hat that you're a Raven...

 

Yup. Picture was taken during my 350...

 

Cool. I did 250 in '92 just before the Colonel sold to Jee. Are you on the API list?

 

Yes. That's where you first hooked me on the Unwelcome Sign. It's much easier to follow here.

 

I stopped suddenly, stiffening, my amygdala looking for the comfort of a rifle in my hands, when it registered the group of gang bangers. The cortex kicked in a moment later and realized it was the work crew of prisoners. Someone had come up with the idea of hobbling them, a section of rope limiting the range of motion of arms and legs. Fatboy, who’d been our guest for a while now was earning his keep, dragging bodies and parts along with the rest of the bangers. He kept to himself, whether that was his wish, or theirs’, I didn’t know, nor care. I waved to the guards as I walked by. I opened my mouth to give them some advice, then closed it again, realizing they didn’t need it, and not wanting to cut down their credibility with the prisoners.

“So talk to me Doc.” We stood outside the door of the room that Sadie was in.
“Fiona told me that she filled you in on the basics earlier.” I nodded so he continued, “Bottom line, I think she’s going to be OK. Stiff and sore and groggy for a little bit, and we have to keep that bullet wound clean and draining and watch for infection.”
“I can do all that.” Doc Shoemacher started to argue but I didn’t give him a chance. “I’ll check the wound twice a day and put on clean dressings. I’ll monitor her vitals, especially temperature every hour. She’s going to want to be at home, in her own bed. It’ll be better for her and take a little bit of pressure off here. And we’re right around the corner. If we need you, you are just a minute away. And you can stop in and check on her easily.”
The doctor sighed, knowing he’d lost, but actually glad, for all the same reasons I’d listed. “Fine. But we keep her here another day before we release her.”
“Done!” I stuck out my hand to shake like we’d just concluded a deal on a used car. I was actually glad to have them keep her another day. I was going to be very busy. Doc gave me his blessing to go in and see Sadie. I entered and found her in much the same position. She was going to get tired of lying on her side. I reached out and held her hand. Her breathing changed and her eyelids fluttered open. “How you doing Sweetie?” I gave her a gentle smile, struggling to get it all the way up to my eyes. “Over?” she coughed a little and winced at the core muscles involved pulled at her wound. She gathered herself and tried again. “Is it over?”
“Yes” I nodded. “It’s over. We wiped them out and got Shocka.”
“Good” she said with simple finality. “I talked to the doc. I’m going to spring you from this joint tomorrow and get you back to your own home. Sound good?”She nodded, a brief hint of a smile broke the corner of her mouth. I caressed her head and she closed her eyes, body needing more rest. A kiss on the temple and I left the room.

I wanted to stay, to crawl into bed next to my wife, cuddle up and care for her. But I had too much to do. And I wasn't about to ask others to do it for me. I tried to think of what needed to be done. I started a mental list, then realized my mind was too jumbled for that to work. I needed a note pad. Mine was in my pack. I wasn't sure where I'd left it.
I worked back through my day, trying to locate it. Best I could come up with, it was probably in the fighting position at the upper chicane. Not doing me any good there. I went to the corner of the living room that was the command post, figuring to find one there. Daniels had made his way back down and was back at his post. He, like me, was looking to keep busy.
He was working on getting the drone airborne again, to scout the road. I stood to one side, behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. “He was a good man.”
Daniels blinked his eyes, only partially successful at keeping the tears at bay. “He was a good friend. The best.”
“I know. I'm so sorry. I wish I could change it.”
“Nah man. He got what he wanted. He could have stayed in here, worked the radios or the drone. He wanted to be part of the fighting. It was important to him.”
I had nothing to say to that. I located a scrape of paper and a nub of a pencil and left him to his thoughts. I made it as far as the porch. Lavell, Stan, Juice, Lyle, Frank and Virgil were crossing the yard towards me. I plopped in an Adirondack chair and waited for them to get chairs rounded up and join me. Lowering myself into the chair crunched bruised stomach muscles which weren't happy. My back hitting the chair reminded me of the crease a bullet left. My left hand throbbed, especially the middle finger. I dug in my pocket for the pills Denise gave me, taking one of each.
Settled, I looked over my To Do list.My team leaders left their people with what tasks were readily apparent that needed to be done. People had been assigned to security and various clean up details. Now they needed longer range plans. First, I needed to know where we stood.
Lavell started. “George and his men are at the top of the road, covering us in case there's another wave. I evaluated our people and put the ones that were the best off to manning our lines. The others I sent home for rest. Half of them will report back in six hours.”
Juice picked up. “We've done a preliminary sweep of the battle ground and picked up all the weapons and ammo that we could find. Which was quite a lot. It will take a will to go through it all to function check everything, but on first inspection, most of it is in good shape. Some of the guns near the explosion didn't do well, but even those might provide spare parts.”
“Good. That all?”
A boyish grin came over his face. “Despite a few minor dents and dings, the machine gun seems to be OK. A 240, is it?” he looked at Lavell who nodded confirmation. “So, yeah, we now have our very own machine gun.”
“Ammo?” I'm not as fond of full auto as some people. They have their place, put chewed through what to use were very limited resources. “The truck had quite few of those metal ammo cans. Fifteen or twenty? I'll have a better count for you soon.”
“Cool, thanks.”
I looked at Frank.“We've been up and down the hill once, especially concentrating on the gut an the far side of it looking for survivors. It was pretty gruesome work in places. Not to mention having to put down the wounded. It was pretty tough on the people.”I scribbled some notes on my paper and then looked at him so he knew I was paying attention. “I know. I'll talk to them. I'll also get that preacher involved. What else?”
“My team is making one more sweep to double check. Then I'd like to take them off line to give them a break, if that's OK?”I nodded my approval and moved on to Stan. “We've got the prisoners working on cleaning up. They're moving the 'bangers' bodies for disposal now. Need them to do anything after that?”
“Yes.” I paused, working it out, this being the first chance I'd had to think about it. “We need graves dug for our people. I want good, deep, neat holes dug.”
“Where and how many?”
“Talk to Doc Shoemacher to get a final count. Talk to the families of the fallen. They may have wishes that we need to be mindful of. If they want the graves to be at their homes, make that happen. If not, we'll put them in the same yard as__________. We need to get them in the ground tomorrow, early. We'll do a ceremony. Let the families know and see if they have any requests.”
Stan looked unhappy about this last part. “Scratch that. I'll go talk to the families. Apologies. I shouldn't have tried to put that on you. Can you make the rest happen?”
A much relieved Stan nodded in agreement and in thanks. “Ok, I'll get you the information as soon as I can. Anything else?” I looked at each of them. Juice had something. “I'd like to get up on the road and continue our recover efforts. There may be useful stuff, weapons and things. Not only should we have them because we earned them, but we probably don't want them falling into random hands.”“Good point. And you probably want to do that sooner than later, right?”Juice nodded, not needing to say anything else. “You got people you can use? Don't go under manned. You should also take a couple of vehicles.”
“Yeah Zed. Got it all worked out, just wanted to run it past you first.”
“Ok, good. I don't have much for you guys. You all heard what I just did, so you're up to speed on what's going on. As much as possible, give your people time off to rest, but have them take care of their gear first, have it ready to go. Let's run twenty five percent alert. I think we're done fighting for a little while, but let's not totally let our guard down. Make sense?” adding the last to give them a sense of ownership in the decision. They nodded or voiced their agreement. “Ok, cool. Tomorrow we need to bury our dead. Short ceremony, reception afterward. Anything you want to add? Anything we need to do?”I gave them a couple of moments so they'd have a chance to think. They remained silent. “If you think of something later, let me know. Unless there's something else, I've got stuff to do. Talk with you guys later."
They went their seperate ways and I slowly got up, taking it easy on my body. I realized I didn't hurt as bad as I had when I sat down. Denise's pills must be doing some good. I turned to go back inside and talk with the Doctor. He was just coming out of one of the original clinic room. I pulled him aside and talked to him quietly. “We need to get the dead in the ground quickly before they get too ripe.” The doctor nodded, agreeing with me, but not interrupting. He was busy and needed to get back to what he was doing. No time for idle chit-chat. He wanted me to get on with it so he could too. “the 'bangers will go in a mass grave, we don't care about them other then proper disposal of trash. But we need to be more respectful of our people. I need a count on how many dead we'll have by tomorrow morning. I know we currently have three dead, but Denise said that might change.”
“Make that four. We just lost Peterson.” he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at the door to the room he'd just exited. “I know it's ghoulish to ask, but do you think we'll lose any more by tomorrow?”“
I'm doing everything I can, with inadequate equipment, with facilities out of a third world country!” He said with some heat. “Do you think I'm not doing enough? That I'm not up to the task?” I'd messed up and approached this the wrong way. I put my hand on his forearm and he tried to jerk it away. I held on and squeezed, to make sure I had his attention. “I apologize.”
“For what?” Confusion mingled with anger. A good start. You only have so much room for emotion. Substitute a different one to push the other out of the way. I relaxed my grip, massaging my forearm, my exertion reminding me that the gunshot wound still had some healing to do. The doctor in him noticed what I was doing, distracting him from his anger even more. “For everything. For you having to deal with all this death and injury. For having to do so in primitive conditions. For asking you to do so much, with so little. I apologize if I gave you the impression that I think you're not doing enough. We'd be in bad, bad shape if we didn't have you. And I'm sorry that I haven't made that clear enough to you.”
I gave him a last look in the eye, so he'd know I was sincere and walked away. I didn't really have the answer I wanted, but I'd fudge it. We had four dead. I'd tell Stan to have the prisoners dig five graves. If we were lucky we could just have them fill it back in, empty. Back out the door, re-starting the trip that my team leaders interrupted, I walked back up the hill.
I radioed Stan with the number of holes we needed as I walked. I wanted my Jeep back. I was tired of all this walking and how long it was taking me to get things done. Arriving at the home where Shocka holed up, I found the family still in the yard. Most them stood, pacing now and then. One would go in the house for a moment but come back out a few seconds later. I recognized the behavior and felt bad for not anticipating it. I walked past my Jeep an into the yard.
“Come on.” I got their attention. “Come on with me, Let's head on down to Jacob's house and get you something to eat.” I headed back to my vehicle, not looking back to see it they were following. I opened the passenger door and held it. One of the teenaged children took a step, looking to her father for permission. That was the reminder he needed of his job. He put his arm around his wife and herded her in my direction, the daughter rounding up the two smaller kids. I knew they might not have much appetite, but they needed to be somewhere, anywhere else than the scene of such frightful trauma. We drove slowly, and I noticed them looking around the inside of the Jeep like they'd never been in a car before. Funny what a month will do to your perspective. I turned the forlorn family over to the women running the kitchen at Jacob's house. Seeing they were in good hands I got back in the Jeep and headed to my next stop; Deacon Smith's.

 

Yep, war is real real! Good story Zen…, now, don't work de balls of de toad before we gets ta skin it! ;-)

 

Thank you Sir...

 

Whats with the line where your talking.about burying the fallen? Great stuff zen

 

Thanks!
I'm not understanding the question. Are you asking about the number of graves being dug?

 

I dont know where this is

 

Ah! Sorry. Remember there was an attack in the neighborhood way back, before the upper chicane was built. A man was killed defending his house and the one across the street. The people in that house had also been killed. They were all buried there.
I was figuring that would be the 'cemetery'
I forgot the dead guy's name and didn't look it up. the space was a place holder. I posted, forgetting that I needed to find that name.

 

Ah ok had the 2 kids i remember. Thanks

 

What are you feeding the toad prisoners that be working like de slaves dey bees? And being the animal lover I am it concerns me greatly that so much good…really good dog food is being wasted…an all dat sheet! ;-)

 

Paul Stafford, page 20.

 

Nice.

 

Every head turned to watch as I parked in front of Deacon Smith's house. There were a handful of people, all of whom were busy making up packages. The novelty of a car caught their attention. Who got out of it held it.
They were quiet as they watched me approach, most giving me a respectful bob of the head.
"Afternoon." I greeted them as a group. And as a group they reflexively answered back, "Afternoon". Detective Johns was one of the workers. I waved and he nodded in return, his one good arm busy and thus unable to return my wave. I was glad to see him up and doing.
As I neared the door, the man I was looking for exited, carrying a couple of baskets. My nose told me they contained hearty and delicious meals. He seemed please to see me. I'd been concerned with what kind of reception I was going to get.
"Brother Zed! I was wondering when you'd get here."
"Expecting me, were you?"
"Sure. Why wouldn't I?" He handed his load to willing hands and motioned with his now free hands to move over to a quiet area where we could sit.
"So what can I do to help?" he continued.
"I've got a couple things I could use a hand with. You want them in any particular order?"
"Whatever you think is appropriate, I'll leave it up to you."
I took a deep breath and started. "I know I don't have any right to impose on you, and given what happened here today I understand if you don't want to have anything to do with me, so If you want to refuse any..."
He put his hand on my forearm to interrupt and quiet me. "Stop right there brother." He gave me a well practiced and totally sincere look of compassion and understanding. "I know you've had a heavy load to carry for a while now, and especially these last couple of days. You're probably feeling a bit guilty, especially over the loss of life."
I nodded, sadly, my agreement.
"I could lecture you, give you the rationalizations, but I'm sure that you are fully aware of them."
I repeated my nod, watching his eyes, gauging his understanding.
"So I won't. You'll make your peace with it in time."
"I don't think I'll ever get used to it."
"That's not what I said. You'll make your peace with it, examine it, understand it, know it for what it is, and put it on a shelf, out of the way, so you can get on with your life. It'll still be there, on the shelf, and every so often, you’ll take it down, dust it off, and look at it again to see if anything has changed. It won't have, and you'll put it back again."
"I'm worried that before I'm done, I'll have a shelf full of them."
"Probably. I know a pretty good carpenter if you need help building more shelves."
We both chucked at his soft sell proselytizing.
“But you didn’t come here for you. That’s not who you are. So talk to me.”
I took another deep breath, and held it, steadying myself and buying time. The Deacon watched patiently.
“I’m going to the families of those that lost people today. I’m sure they already know, but I have to make it official. I understand the need for it.”
“For them as well as for you. Yes. So when do we leave?”
I looked at him sharply wondering how he knew.
“I haven’t asked you to go along with me.”
“But you were going to, weren’t you?”
“Sure. But..”
“Not hard to figure out. I know you are thoughtful and look out for those you consider to be under your care. I knew you’d be going to make these visits. It wasn’t much of a leap to think you’d want someone like me to go with you, and you don’t have many choices.” He smiled at his small joke.
He stood and held his hand out to me, part shake and part support. I took it and stood.
We walked to the Jeep and some of the people followed, carrying small boxes, shopping bags, and baskets with them. I looked a question at the Deacon.
“I told you how I knew you were coming. Shouldn’t be a surprise we’d be ready for you. It’s kind of traditional to bring food to families in time of need. Do you disagree? My people can bring them later if you think it’s more appropriate.”
I shook my head. “No. No, that’s fine. Thanks. I’m sure it will be appreciated. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“You can’t do it all Zed. Let others carry some of the load. We all need to feel important too. Didn’t your momma teach you that it’s nice to share?” He smiled at me.
“Sure. But only the best stuff. I don’t want to share the crap. Nobody needs that.”
“That is the best stuff, if you think about it. Facing tough challenges builds self worth and confidence. It often isn’t pleasant, but without struggle, there is no strength.”
“I get it. The whole jihad thing. And I intellectually believe it. Know it to be right.”
“Just hard to put your thoughts into actions? History of the world, brother, history of the world.”
The food was loaded and the Deacon and I got in and headed to our first stop.
“What else do you need my help with?”
I took my attention from the road to look at him.
“You said you had ‘a couple of things you need a hand with.”
“After your dazzling display of detective work, I’d figured you’d puzzled it out by now.” I smiled at him.
“Hoist on my own petard. I see how it’s going to be. Ok then.” He paused for a moment. “We have peoples’ bodies that need to be interred. Knowing you, there will probably a ceremony. You’d like me to officiate?”
“That was a pretty easy one, Sherlock. Yes, I’d like you to run the show. You up for it? Are funerals in your repertoire?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “How hard can it be?”
Playing along with his kidding, I shot him a shocked look. “How can you be so cavalier about such a grave matter?”
“Ouch! Ok, I’ll do it, if you promise not to pun ish me like that again.”
W
"That all? Anything else you want my assistance with?"
"Done playing Colombo?"
"Hey! You see me wearing a wrinkled raincoat?"
"Point taken. A bunch of our people had to do, had to, experience disturbing things. They are going to need help coming to terms with it."
Deacon Smith reached into a pocket and pulled something out and showed it to me. "You run out of these to hand out?" I looked at the ersatz coin he held up for me to see.
"Having a drink, and more importantly, being able to hang out with some friends that have see the same rough things, can be helpful. But it's not for everybody. You get that in your donation plate?" I nodded at the coin.
"Yup."
"See? You already have people coming to you rather than drowning their troubles with demon rum."
"I do. But you want something extra? Something geared towards the troubled ones?"
"Yes sir. Maybe a group sort of setting? I don't know. That's your gig. I'm just trying to anticipate a potential problem and have a mechanism to deal with it in place."
"Yes. I'm sure that's what you are doing. Setting up a mechanism. Indeed."
"What are you getting at Deacon?"
"Never mind. I won't disabuse you of your tough guy self image if that's what you are using as a coping 'mechanism'." He grinned and winked when I tried to give him an angry look.
Damn. He was as good as I hoped.
Better even.
Who was playing whom? I smiled to myself. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Deacon Smith looking at me appraisingly.
Our first stop was a little ragged, but we got better at it. It never got easier, but the Deacon and I fell into a pattern of work. We figured out what parts we should play and developed a rhythm.
The food was gratefully, if sometimes somewhat absent mindedly, received. They had gaping holes in their lives that the gift of nourishment didn’t stand a chance of filling. But it was an accepted part of the ritual and gave them an expected anchor, a bit of normalcy that was desperately needed.
Each family agreed with having their loved one interred in a common area, so it looked like the Stafford house would become the cemetery. A thought popped up and I took note, to talk to Deacon Smith later about turning the house into a sanctuary for those grieving, and maybe even a place for worship. He might enjoy having his house back. I’m sure his wife would.
We finished with the last family and I stood up, my body feeling each and every one of its fifty five years. My mind immediately thought of the pills Denise gave me. As the Deacon and I walked out to the Jeep I pulled the container out of my pocket and popped the last two pills in my mouth, working up enough saliva to get them down my throat. I’d have to talk to Denise about getting more tomorrow. I wouldn’t have been able to function today without their help. No reason to think I wouldn’t be tired and sore tomorrow too.
It was the middle of the evening when I dropped Deacon Smith off at his house, plans in place for the next day’s ceremony. I knew I needed rest but I wasn’t ready yet. I had a couple more things to do and as wound up as I was, I didn’t know if I could sleep right now anyway.
Parking at Jacob’s I got out of the Jeep and walked over to where I’d last seen Wilford. His body was gone, as was the bodies of the gang bangers he’d taken with him. I cast around, but didn’t find what I was looking for. I’d have to check with Juice.
The scene at HQ was much different than the last time I was here. There were only a couple of people around, quietly going about their jobs. Denise was coming out of Sadie’s room as I approached.
“How is she doing?”
“Good. Every hour that goes by without complications is a good sign. Her vitals are fine, considering what she’s been through.” She looked at me thoroughly. “How about you? How are you doing?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m hanging in. Not my best day.”
She picked up my left hand, looked at it, and used it to lead me to an empty room. A gentle push imparted the idea that she wanted me to sit down on the exam table. I complied.
I opened my mouth to say something and she shoved a thermometer under my tongue. I knew the drill so I worked at keeping it in place and held up my arm for the blood pressure cuff. The head of her stethoscope was surprising cold on my inner arm as she pumped the rubber bulb and my arm got squeezed.
“One forty over ninety.” She replied to my raised eyebrows as she let the pressure off. A bit high, but I guess that’s understandable. We’ll keep an eye on it for a day or two.”
Glass rod in my mouth, all I could do was nod. She put two cool finger tips on my wrist and watched her wrist watch. “Pulse is eighty. That’s high for you, isn’t it?”
Once again, all I could give her was a nod. A thought occurred to her. “Did you take the meds I gave you?”
She received a third nod. “The Adderall might be the reason for the elevated BP and pulse.” She nodded to herself, satisfied with her explanation.
Reaching up, she took the thermometer out of my mouth and checked it. “Ninety nine point two. That’s about normal. Do you usually run on the high side?”
Mouth free, I was finally able to respond. “No, usually slightly low.”
“Alright, I want you in here first thing so we can check your vitals again. None of it is really worrisome, especially with what you’ve been through, but we’d like to catch any problems early so they are easier to deal with. The Adderall’s probably not helping any either.”
“Speaking of drugs, I’m out. I’ve taken the ones you gave me.”
She looked me in the eye. I didn’t like it. “You took all the meds I gave you?”
“Yes. I’m glad you gave them to me. They were the only thing keeping me going today.”
“When was the last time you took them?”
I shrugged. “half hour maybe?”
“You’re good for tonight then. We’ll see how you’re doing in the morning.”
“What if I need more before then? I’ve been pretty well banged up today.” I held up my wounded hand as proof.
Instead of answering, Denise took my hand and started unwrapping it. She looked at it closely, poked and prodded, and last, smelled the wound. Denise reached behind her and pulled a glass jar from the counter. She’d already got smeared some on my wound when I managed to read the label.
“Honey?” I pulled my hand away from her. Denise grabbed it back and continued applying it. “Honey is great for wounds, and has antibiotic properties. Besides we’re all out of Neosporin.”
She finished dressing the wound and bandaged it again and cleared me for takeoff. Before I left I quietly looked in on Sadie. She was sleeping and seemed peaceful so I let her be.
A quick stop at Juice’s netted me the items I was looking for. I took them home and spent the next couple of hours in the shop working on it. It was after midnight by the time I was done. I lugged it up to the Jeep. It wouldn’t fit inside so I tied it on the roof. I tossed a shovel and pick in the back and took off up the hill.
I knew I wasn’t going to be able to do this myself, even under the best of conditions, so I stopped at the upper chicane and grabbed one of the people on duty to help.
At the Stafford’s house we made short work of getting a hole dug. Forty five minutes later we were tamping down the dirt that was now supporting my project. I looked up at it for a minute. It would do. We got a tarp over it and secured with rope. Ready to be revealed later today.

 

Thank you kind sir.