Original Work The Unwelcome Sign

Great...

 

Hot damn and sweet jeeeeesuss…we got a head on a stick…I'm thinking! ;-)

 

44,800 views... second only to Lights Out...
That says more than I could ever say...
Kudos.
(and wow!)

 

Great insight into everyone's behavior after the battle, some will talk a mile a minute reliving events others just go quite. Leadership at this point is critical.

 

Yep…definitely 'head posting' time! ;-)

 

Those heads will be of a Hit squad that Zed takes out I'll bet.

 

Na its gotta be a cross or somthing for the cerimony im still wondering what happened on the main land! @Zengunfighter if you end this without telling us i will be so pissed! Lol good work man this is the first book i read since highschool and im hooked

 

I was feeling pretty ragged by the time the Sun hinted at dawn. I tried to sleep, thinking several hours would be better than none. The bed was large with me as it's only occupant. That, my injuries, and my worries brought me back every time I dropped off. It was a roller coaster of weird REM sleep interspersed with being jarred back to consciousness by one of those distractions.
I figured it was better than no sleep at all. That might have been wishful thinking.
Not the first time I've deluded myself.
I gave up when the Sun started brightening the day. A shower helped brush away the biggest of the cobwebs. Dressing was a challenge between picking what to wear and then struggling to get it on with my damaged digits and stiff muscles and joints.
I ran through my start of day procedures on auto pilot. The pups were agitated, wondering where there mom was, clearly concerned. Breakfast barely consoled them. Barely.
Gearing up I left the house and headed for Jacob's I was early and things were still quiet. A couple of women were working noiselessly in the kitchen. The HQ was empty. Sort of.
Daniels was crashed out on the couch nearest to the HQ desk. The drone sat on the counter, a red eye winking at me, let me know it was charging up for the day's patrols.
Fiona came out of one of the patient rooms. We shared a look and by unspoken mutual agreement, we ignored each other. She headed for another room and I went out and sat on the porch.
The neighborhood was quiet and I sat enjoying how relaxed it made me feel. I must have dozed off because Doc Shoemacher coming up the walkway woke me up.
“You didn't spend the night there, did you?” Disapproval apparent.
“No, Doc, I went home. Didn't sleep well, though. Guess I dropped off.”
“Sleep's critical for healing Zed. You need to make sure you are getting enough.”
“I hear you. I'll catch up soon. Promise.”
“As long as you're here, you might as well come in and let me have a look at you. You can be my first customer of the day.”
I followed him in and he pointed me to the same room I'd been in with Denise the evening before.
“Go on in and sit on the table. I need to go over the latest on the patients with Fiona.”
I nodded and complied. Sitting on the table, my head got heavy and fell forward, waking me up. I shook my head, trying to clear it and wake, only to have the process repeat itself.
I was glad I wasn't driving.
Doc came in a couple minutes later, waking me one last time. He was looking at a clipboard, looking from one page to another, occasionally jotting some notes.
“Everything OK over night?” I didn't make the mistake of asking if we'd lost anyone.
“Hmmm?” was his distracted reply. He flipped all the pages back and looked at me. “What's that?” he said while his brain caught up. I waited. “Oh. Fine. No major issues over night.” He gave me his full attention. “So, how are you doing?”
“I came in last night and Denise gave me the once over. Checked my vitals, re-bandaged my finger.”
Doc consulted his clipboard, flipping pages until he came to what I assumed was my chart. He read it through, looking at me a couple of times in the process. He ran the same diagnostics that Denise had, half a day ago.
“BP is down, as is heart rate, so that's good. Temp is the same.” He paused and looked a the chart again. “I gave you antibiotics for your gunshot wound. You still taking them?”
“Yes. I think I have a day or two left on this course.”
Doc Shoemacher frowned to himself but didn't say anything. He made a notation and looked back at me. “How's the pain?”
“I'm fair to partly miserable. 'Bout like you'd expect.”
“Want something for it?” He was really focused in on my reaction.
“Nah. I'll live. I have stuff at home if I need it.”
He seemed to relax just a bit. “Ok, but don't be a hero. Being in pain can have it's own set of effects. As far as I can see, you're doing OK. Go off and do what you need to do, but try to schedule some down time. Soon. Others are capable of covering for you. Let them.”
I nodded. “Understood. Can I take Sadie home later today? This afternoon?”
“I think so, but I'll wait until then to give you my final answer.”
I stuck my hand and we shook.
“Thanks Doc. For everything.”
“I can say the same Zed. For everything.”
I could have driven up to the Stafford house, but decided to walk. I was in no hurry. The service was still several hours away. Walking would give me a chance to think and to survey the community.
While the burning tires had been put out, the sour smell of burnt rubber still clung to everything. And probably would, until the next rain. The cars of the lower chicane, rather than a neat road block, now resembled something out of the Middle East, pocked with hundreds of bullet holes.
I saw people, here and there, on my way up the hill. To a person, they greeted me respectfully, if in a subdued manner that seemed totally appropriate, and matched my own mood.
The prisoner work detail was still at its grisly task. The big pieces were already taken care of. Now they were combing the gut for smaller body parts. We could probably left them, but I didn't want the smell to bother people, or to attract pests. Keeping the prisoners busy and cowed wasn't the least of the reasons either.
There were people already at the Stafford house when I arrived. Juice was there with his truck, and he and several other people were in the process of carrying the bodies. Deacon Smith was on the front porch overlooking the four graves. I joined him and we watched the men place the bodies, contained in neat burial shrouds, next to their respective holes.
The Deacon had found a lectern, probably his own from home and set it up on the porch. His wife was busy setting up the vestments and making the porch look like a proper place for a solemn ceremony.
“I guess that's a bit of your work?” the Deacon pointed with his chin at the tarp covered shape overlooking the graves.
I just nodded.
“Late night for you then. Trouble sleeping?”
“Yeah, but unrelated. That needed doing. Didn't have time to shop it out to someone better suited to the work.”
“I'm sure..” I snapped a look at him and he smoothly, but visibly changed course. “that it will serve the purpose that you intend.” he finished.
I wasn't in the mood for any dime store psychiatry, accurate as it might have been.
I turned, looking at the house itself. “It occurred to me last night, that this property is turning out to be our official grave yard. Would it make sense to set the house up as a sanctuary? A place for mourners to come?”
“Like a chapel? Yes, I think that would be good.” He trailed off and I could see the wheels turning. I gave a small shove.
“What would you think about moving your operation here? Convert the home to a place of worship?”
He nodded thoughtfully. “A community center. For spiritual matters, certainly. I can see it being more, too.”
“Like?”
“A day care center would put a few people to work while free others to work to provide for their families.”
“I like that. Good thinking. Real useful on both sides.”
“Actually, my wife came up with it. She's organized a couple of women to set up a room in the house for today, to take in children while their parents attend the service.”
“Where would we be without our women?”
“Where indeed. Speaking of spouses, how is your wife? I stopped in to see all the patients briefly yesterday. She was asleep and nobody would tell me much.”
“I think she'll be OK. Needs some rest and a chance to heal in peace.”
“Thank the Lord. On another note, how do you want to handle the service?”
“That's up to you. You're better equipped for it than I am. On several levels.”
“Do you want to know what I have planned?”
“I'll let it be a surprise. I know it will be well done.”
“Ok.”
“I would like a few minutes though. Maybe five or so? I'm thinking towards the end of the service, but during it. I think you should close the proceedings in an official manner.”
He smiled at me. “Have anything to do with that whatever it is on the lawn?”
“It does. Oh. By the way, do you have someone in your congregation with a clear strong singing voice?”
“Several, put one young woman in particular can make the angels weep with joy.”
“Perfect. This is what I'd like to do.”
The Deacon and I worked out the details for a couple of minutes. When we were done I went to find Juice and enlisted his aid in my plan.

 

Outstanding as usual.

 

Great stuff zen

 

Dang…feels like I've been kidnapped into the story…again. ;-)

 

This is a great story Sir... Thank You

 

I wandered around aimlessly. I'd try to sit down and wait, but couldn't. Stillness wasn't in me today. I tried several times. I'd find a place to plop down, but within seconds my body would start fidgeting, my mind unable to shift from high gear. It was just spinning its wheels, no going anywhere, or accomplishing anything, just flitting from thought to thought.
I'd give it up, stand and wander around. There was nothing for me to do, and that was the problem. More and more people showed up, at first people with tasks. I'd strike up a conversation, and they'd politely hold up their end until I realized that they were busy and I was holding them up.
A small group of people, mostly women with a couple of men drafted as pack animals came and set up a table and awning. Ladies directing and men doing the grunt work. That accomplished they were shooed away and the women put out their wares. Platters with various pastries and rolls, rising steam testifying to their oven freshness. Pitchers of drinks followed. Carafes of coffee, Bush tea, bottles of ginger beer. It wasn't long before they had their first customers.
I saw a small group of Frenchies, pastry in one hand, drink in the other, standing near the food pavilion. I made my way over and greeted them all warmly, saving George for last. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you yesterday. You closed the door and nailed it shut on those ‘bangers.”
“Eh, I think you would have handled it without us. But we were glad to help. Glad to pay back for all the help you’ve given us.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “brother, if nothing else you gave me peace of mind. Something I desperately needed yesterday. Knowing you were there to give me a bit more margin was comforting.” I swept my free hand to include everyone in the group around me. They nodded their acknowledgment, embarrassed at the praise.
“Now that the gang threat is taken care of, will you still be doing your patrols?”
I realized he was actually asking about the training we were giving them.
“Absolutely. When we have a moment we’ll go over what we got and dole out some of the weapons to you. Should be enough to get a rifle into the hands of everyone that wants one. And of course we’ll be continuing the training. I’d actually like to talk to you about joining our forces, I’m not sure to what extent yet, but we can hash that out later, yes?”
George relaxed and his people were happy at the news.
“Yes. That sounds great Zed. And you know you can count on us.”
I clapped him on the shoulder and we shared a quick bro-hug. I shook each of the hands that was extended toward me and then moved on.
Trying to stay out of people's way, I stood to the side and watched. I occupied myself with people watching, looking at the interactions, the body language, gauging the general mood. I noticed that everyone had made a serious effort at looking their best. Clothes were clean, neatly pressed, Sunday best. The people who were part of the security force must have talked amongst themselves. While we'd never issued uniforms, they had done everything they could to create one for themselves. All wore boots of one type or another. While the patterns varied, everyone had on camouflaged pants and black shirts. Each had a black armband around the left upper arm, while on the right were either red or blue.
These weren't just ribbons hastily tied around biceps, but neatly sewn creations. It only took me a moment of observation to note that the red bands were our first line people. I kicked myself for overlooking something so obvious and made a mental note to do something about it. Including commissioning the coin maker.
Their gear was clean and squared away, metal work on their weapons gleaming in the sun.
Our fighters carried themselves with a quiet pride. Earnest and grave. They mixed easily with their neighbors, who's esteem was plain to see. Jokes were shared and punctuated by quick quiet laughter. Handshakes and hugs were the order of the day.
The overall feel was that of a funeral of well known and well regarded old friend.
Deacon Smith found me and indicated it was time. He lead me to the porch. Behind the lectern a couple of chairs were place and he waved me to one. I demured but he insisted and I took my place, standing in front of my chair.
With that awareness crowds have, they noticed the change and as a wave, the quiet moved over them. Conversations died out and attention was given to Deacon Smith as he watched them from the lectern.
He waited, working the timing. He scanned the large crowd making eye contact with them. They stood, ready. I heard an nervous cough and watched as the crowd as they started to shift weight from one foot to the other, or scratched an imagined itch. Just, and I mean just, before it got awkward, he started.
“Brothers and Sisters, we have gathered here today for several important reasons. We are here to mourn the loss of our family.” He looked at the cloth wrapped bodies and everyone followed his gaze. “We don't mourn for them, as they are now in a better place, free from all the pain and strife of this world, waiting until they are reunited with you.”
“That's right.” a large woman in the second row witnessed.
“We mourn for ourselves. For our loss. We will miss the comfort of their hugs. We will miss the conversations, the wisdom, the laughter. But most of all we will miss their love.” The Deacon paused to let that sink in.
“But take a moment. Take a moment, close your eyes, turn your senses inwards and tell me that you can't still feel their love.” He gave them that moment. I watched as they followed his instructions. Here and there a head nodded slowly, softly in acceptance. Some swayed, more than a few arms wrapped around themselves, standing surrogate, providing the hugs the lost weren't here to deliver. Others leaned on each those nearby for support.
“Could you feel it, brothers and sisters?
Quite a few murmurs replied to his question. It wasn't enough.
“I asked if you could feel their love?” forceful, but caring. He had to snap them out of the introspection he'd caused.
“YES” the crowd responded, their attention back on the Deacon.
“That love will always be there. And when you feel the loss too strongly, when you miss them so much you don't know if you can bear it, know that our heroes are still right there where they've always been, right next to your heart.”
A breath was all the pause he took. “Heroes, because that's what they are. We are also here to acknowledge and celebrate their heroic acts. The recognize their sacrifice. A sacrifice they willingly made out of their love for you.” He made a point of looking at them all. Each of them.
“Are you starting to see a common thread here, brothers and sisters? A theme that runs through this, the unbreakable thread from which the fabric of our society is woven?”
“Love” This, from a man in the middle of the crowd. The cynic in me wondered if he was a plant. The showman in me admired it.
“I'm sorry brother, but I couldn't quite hear you. Would you mind speaking up?”
The man cleared his throat nervously, a nice touch. “I said Love, Deacon”
“Love. That's right. Brothers and Sisters, when times get hard, and I guarantee you that they will, when you are struggling, or in strife with your neighbor, remember that love that is inside of you. Remember the love that was the sacrifice of our heroes.”
“Amazing Grace how sweet the sound” A deep voice boomed out from the back, soon joined by a woman's high, crisp notes. “How sweet the sound”. My suspicion of plants in the crowd confirmed as the Deacon joined in. “That sav'd a wretch like me!” The whole group was on at this point. “I once was lost, but now am found. Was blind but now I see.”
There was a profound stillness as they finished the old English hymn. Handkerchiefs were passed and daubed at distaff eyes, while the less well equipped used the back of their sleeves to clear tear streaked faces.
“We are here, Brothers and Sisters, to celebrate the great victory that was yesterday's battle, while mindful of the cost. Not only those who laid down their lives, but those who put theirs on the line, not knowing if they'd get to see today. Yet willing to make the wager, knowing the odds, realizing the stakes. Some of them received wounds of the body. Some of them lie, at this moment, in their sick beds, injured and in pain.
But even those who came through the battle with body intact, did not escape unscathed. They carry hurts that only they can see. I ask that you seek these heroes out. That you provide an open heart and a willing ear. That you be there for them, to have their backs in the internal battles that they will continue to fight.
Brothers and Sisters, we must acknowledge the efforts, behind the scenes, for the battle is not just of the man with the rifle, but of all those that support him, that provide him with what he needs to do his job. Our victory rests on their shoulders too. They too, made sacrifices. They worked long hard hours, putting off the needs of their own families, and have to bear the burden of friends and loved ones lost. Let us take a moment, right now. Share a hug with the person next to you. Shake the hand of a neighbor. Tell them that you thank them.”
He set the example by walking over to me and exending his hand. I took it and he helped me to my feet. The hand shake turned into a heartfelt hug. “Nicely done. The plants were perfect.” I spoke into the ear that was inches from my mouth.
“Plants? You saying those people weren't taken by the Spirit? He returned. We seperated to arms length, holding each other's fore arms.
“Kidding aside, Deacon, you've done a great job. Just what we needed.”
“You're welcome, of course. But I've saved the best for last.” He parted and turned back to the crowd before I could ask what he meant, which just made my feeling of concern grow.”
Back behind the lectern, he cleared his throat a couple of times until he had everyones' attention once more. He looked out upon a group of faces where smiles and tears shared space, coexisting like there was not contradiction implicit.
Brothers and Sisters, today we must also let our appreciation be known to the one person who has made all this possible. Who selflessly has given of his time, his expertise, and his heart, who had the foresight to see the way things were going, to get us to pull together as a community against the challenges that faced us. You all know the odds, you know what we faced. Without him we would have been at the mercy of those ruffians that would have taken from us all they wanted. It doesn't take much imagination to think of what our lives would have been like if those evil doers had free reign to come into our neighborhood and do as they please, taking what they want.
One of the plants started a slow clap, pause, clap that was picked up by another, then a couple more until the whole group had picked it up.

I stood. This way the most dangerous thing I’d ever done. Like that first line of cocaine, the euphoria of the adulation was heady. I approached the lectern slowly as one does when easing up to the edge of precipice. The view is breathtaking, but one misstep will send you plunging over the edge.
Deacon Smith stepped back and we shook hands, a double shake, left hand grabbing right wrist. The tempo of the clapping picked up.
“That was a bit over the top.”
“Was it? Any of that untrue?”
“I don’t want this.”
“I know. But you did ask for five minutes. And everyone, including you, especially you, need to appreciate what you’ve done. Now go and talk to them.”
I took my place behind the lectern, hands on either side and waited. The clapping slowed and stopped. I saw familiar faces in the crowd. My team leaders, the laundry woman, Maria from the western observation post, Mr. Charles and his woman friend standing next to Detective Johns and his family.
The crowd was rapt, wrapped to tight with adulation. I was treading on dangerous ground here. What’s worse is, I liked it.
I looked back at Deacon Smith now seated in my chair. He nodded at me, then at the crowd. Telling me to get on with it. I turned back to the people. My people. And begun.
“My wife Sadie and I grew up in different areas, but under similar circumstances. We learned to be self sufficient, to depend on ourselves. We saw things in the world that worried us, and took steps to ensure our independence.
But we miscalculated.”
I paused to let our mistake sink in. Yeah, Zed made a mistake.
“If things went badly wrong, if the world got tipped on its end, we thought we could hunker down and ride it out, just the two of us. We made what we thought were the appropriate choices.
But when it finally came, when our world did get up ended, we realized we’d messed up. We couldn’t hunker down, isolated from everyone else. Deacon Smith decribed me, or at least my actions, as ‘selfless’. But that’s just not true. I was selfish. I, we, needed a community if we were going to make it through this. We couldn’t do this alone.
I stepped from behind the lectern, denying the need to hide, or it’s support.
“Point is, we all need each other. No one single one of us is the reason for our survival. It’s all of us pulling together, helping each other as best we can, each to his abilities.
“And you know what? We’re not just surviving, are we? Despite being thrown into a maelstrom, we are actually thriving. We are rebuilding a society out of the what we have left on hand. Working hard, innovating, rising up like the mythical Phoenix”
I waved behind me, indicating Smith. “Whether it’s Deacon Smith starting a church, or Jarvis and Marvelyn with their pub, or the women taking in laundry,” I pointed out the people I’d named in the crowd. “They saw an opportunity and took a chance, putting their effort and spirit into it. Which has a ripple effect. They all needed things that only others could provide. And thus we became interdependent, all with our parts to play in this machine. As we become stronger, we gain the ability to continue to grow. As we become more stable we gain the ability to help others. The people in the surrounding areas are looking to us. Not just for a hand out or a hand up, but for hope. The most valuable thing we have to give.”
I took a moment, and a couple of paces, giving the crowd a chance to digest that and me a chance to gather my thoughts. I stopped after a couple steps and turned back towards them.
“There will always be those that will take advantage of others. Whether to cheat in a deal or steal with a gun. Those people will always be with us. They become emboldened when the normal constraints of society are taken away. Just as Sadie and I thought we could provide for our nourishment in tough times by putting aside food, we thought we could protect ourselves. Hide away in our home and shoot any bad guys that came by.
“That was probably a little short sighted.”
They chuckled politely.
“Once again, we need you. And we became a team. I may have got the ball rolling, but you pitched in, once again helping where your talents lay. Whether it was my team leaders, or people like Maria who manned a post, or our soldiers, red and blue, who trained hard, obeyed orders, and fought valiantly, or all of the support people who helped them do their job of protecting us, or protecting our community, whatever part you played, know it was valuable and appreciated.”
I held up my bandaged hand and the arm with the visible gunshot wound for them to see.
“I seem to be accident prone and have managed to bang myself up a bit recently.” More polite laughter.
“We are incredibly fortunate to have a great medical team right here in our community. I hope you know how lucky we are to have Doctor Shoemacher, Fiona, and Denise. People are alive today, people standing out there, who are here because of their knowledge, dedication, and experience. Please take a moment to let them know. They’ve had a pretty rough time of it recently.”
I paced back the other way, and stopped at the same distance on the other side of the lectern. Looking toward the tarp shrouded item, I saw Juice standing next to it. He shot me a thumbs up. I nodded my understanding.
“Then, lastly, there are those that gave us all that they had to give, and having done so, are not here to share in our victory. Not here to see how our experiment proceeds. Whether we make it or not. I am going to make certain that I do everything in my power to make sure that their sacrifice will not be in vain. I hope, I pray, that you, each and every one of you, does the same. Remember them always, keep them in your hearts, and do not disappoint them.”
I nodded at Juice who pulled the slip knot out of the rope. The crowd turned toward him, their forgotten curiosity rekindled.
Juice reached up and snaked the tarp off the large shape. It snagged and a tall fellow ran forward to help.
As the object came into view a strong, clear woman’s voice broke out.
“Oh say can you see, by the dawn’s early light.”
The twin arms of my hastily constructed monument was free of its veil, a ten foot tall ‘Vee’ made of 4x4 posts. The Stars and Stripes hung from one arm, the breeze caught it and it waved and snapped like a rifle shot. At the top of the other arm were mounted the broken pieces of the Winchester ’94, a testament to Wilford’s last stand.
Several voices joined that of the woman’s “What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming,”
I stood tansfixed, managing to get my hand over my heart, as tears flowed unabated, unabashedly down my face.
“Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,” By the third line everyone had joined in.
We cried. We cried for what was lost. Our people dead and injured, our way of life, our country. And we cried for what we had gained.
Hope.
The anthem finished, the spell was broken. I turned and walked to Deacon Smith, who’s had was out. We shook.
“Was that Ok?”
“You missed your calling, Zed. You are quite a showman.”
“It’s easy when you believe it. It’s your show now. I think I got them warmed up for you.”
We shared a grin, and a last squeeze of the hands, then parted, me resuming my seat, and him, the lectern.
All eyes were on him when he said. “Let us pray. Dear Lord who art in Heaven.”
The prayer concluded, the Deacon and I left the porch and moved to the bodies. One by one they were carefully lowered into the ground. When the men coiled the ropes and moved away the Deacon fulfilled his last part.
“In the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God our brothers and sister and we commit their body to the ground; earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord bless them and keep them, the Lord make his face to shine upon them and be gracious unto them and give them peace. Amen”
“Amen echoed the crowd.
The Deacon and I moved over to the pile of dirt next to the first hole. He, then I grabbed a handful of the earth and through it on the shrouded shape at the bottom of the hole. We moved to the next hole, then the next, repeating the process. The rest of the community lined up to follow suite, paying their last respects to our dead.

 

Amen!

 

Great, very Great...

 

Amen... and Aman!

 

Zen,

I have read a lot of "survival fiction" over the years but I honestly believe this is right up there as one of the best. As soon as you post where I can get my autographed, leather bound first edition, I will proudly find a home for it right next to my copies of Unintended Consequences and Ronald Reagan's autobiography...

 

Over the next several weeks we fell into a steady routine. We'd earned it.
After the ceremony I shook all the hands I needed to and said the appropriate words to the right people. I knew my part and tried to play it with as much grace as I could muster. It was difficult to not let my impatience show.

Everyone wanted to talk to me, and I had to let them. I repeated back what they said to me so they thought I was actually listening to them. Mostly I was just playing the part they expected. I wanted to get out of there, get my wife, and go home.
I also needed to get out of here because I was starting to like it. It's one of our deepest tribal drives, the desire to be liked, admired, to fit in. Problem is, there is also a deep tribal drive to gravitate towards a strong leader. This was a feedback loop I wanted to avoid.
Not because I didn't think I was a good leader, or that I would be good for the community, but because I was very aware of my limitations and weaknesses.
The worst situations often start out with the best of intentions.

The crowd parted for a moment, revealing Jacob standing about fifteen yards away. Someone else that I hadn't had a chance to talk to since before the battle. I made my directly toward him. As I neared I saw that Fiona was on his arm. I almost checked myself, but managed to keep up my forward progress. They saw me coming, as I dodged around the intervening people. Jacob wore a big proud smile. Fiona was harder to read.

I got a fierce hug from Jake and a perfunctory one arm hug from Fiona. I thought back to another public show of politeness hug we shared not too terribly long ago.

I stood back to have the space to look him up and down. “You look good, Blue Jay! I'm glad they let you out of the nest.” And he did. Look good. His color was almost back to normal, he stood strong, with no outward sign of pain. Ah, the healing power of youth.
“Thanks Zed. I'm feeling almost a hundred percent. Still a little twinge here and there, when I move the wrong way. And I've lost some strength from laying around so long. I need to start running again, soon as the Doc lets me.”
I turned my attention to Fiona. “I want to thank you personally. I did it publicly, but I've been looking for the time to tell you that I appreciate all you've done for our people, and are continuing to do. Your efforts mean a lot to me.”
Jacob beamed with pride as he looked from me to her. Her reaction was more muted.
“You're welcome. It's what I do.” I could tell she wanted to say more, but held herself back. I guess that was the best I could hope for.
I turned back to Jacob. “And I want to thank you for your work yesterday. I hated to have you there, but I didn't have anyone else that could have done what you did.”
“Murder people at long range” Fiona had reached her limit. I wasn't going to argue with her. Not now. I didn't need to.
“I'm not a murderer! I was protecting our community. I was protection you!. Imagine what they would do to you if those gang bangers caught you. I don't like killing, but sometimes it needs to be done.”
“I know don't have the heart of a killer. I'm just mad that Zed put you in that position. He had no right.” she stared daggers at me.
Jacob stood a little straighter and tugged her arm so she was facing him. “We've had this discussion before. Zed didn't tell me to do anything. I volunteered. He'd treated me like a man, with respect. He always has. And that was what I needed. Since losing my family, I need to make my own way. Zed's helped me do that. Understand? I don't want to have this conversation again. I thought we had this sorted out? Was I wrong?” He gave a little extra squeeze to Fiona's arm, she didn't flinch, but she did cast her eyes down from Jacob's gaze.
“Now apologize to Zed.”
“That's not necessary. Really” I was one part embarrassed, and one part shocked.
“Yes, actually it is.”
Head tilted down, Fiona looked up at me from under her lashes. “I apologize”
“Tell him why” Jacob prompted.
She looked down for a moment and then back to making eye contact with me. “I apologize for the trouble I've caused you while you were trying to help the community.” It sounded a bit rehearsed and I felt like I was in Shakespeare play.
Jacob looked at me expectantly. I'd have time to think about this all later. For now I did what was expected.
“I accept your apology Fiona.” She gave me a funny look. Part relief, but I couldn't puzzle out the rest. If anything, I got a hint of lust. I suppressed a shudder and searched my brain for way past this. Jacob didn't give me a chance. He tenderly let go of Fiona's arm and turned his attention to me.
“How is Ms. Sadie doing?”
“Better, but she's got a ways to go before she up and doing again. Soon as I leave here I'm going to collect her and bring her home. We can both use some down time.”
“I'm glad to hear that. Please give her my regards.” He paused, and I could tell there was more. “Go on” I prompted.
“What with everything that's happened, me being laid up, winning this battle...” He trailed off.
“and?”
“And, well, I was wondering if I still had a job?”
“I don't remember firing you.” a grin of relief took over his face. “ Though I don't remember hiring you either.” and just as quickly it faded. Fiona shot me a look of fear, and stood a bit closer to Jacob holding his arm. I let them off the hook.
“Come by tomorrow and let's talk. I'd love to have you continuing what you were doing. But we should make it official. Line out what your duties are, and how much you should get paid.”

A smile bright as the sun occupied his face, a reaction a bit out of proportion in my opinion. My confusion must have shown because Jacob felt the need to explain.
“That was the last piece falling into place. Now that I have an actual job it's official.”
“What's that?” still unclear as to what was going on.
Jacob slid his arm around Fiona, happy and possessive. He looked at her, and she at me.
“Jacob asked me to marry him. I told him yes, as soon as he has a job.”
She looked from me to Jacob, pride as evident on her face as joy was on his. I was still a bit dazed when Jacob hit me with a surprise punch.
“I'd be greatly honored if you would be my best man.”

I walked back to the house, still in a daze about what I had just agreed to. Well, it would give me something to talk to Sadie about. I grabbed my Jeep and drove it back down to Jacob's , parking it as close to the door as I could manage.

“Is she clear for take off, Doc?” The three of us were in Sadie's room. She was sitting up, as Doc took her vitals. He made some notes on his clipboard and set it down.
“Yes. Denise will give you her meds and home care instructions. One of us will be by once a day to check on you.
“Thanks Doc.” we shook hands “I appreciate everything you've done, not just for Sadie. I know it's been pretty rough on you.”
“Hell man, what do you think would have happened if you guys hadn't come for me? Why are we even having this discussion?” He gave my hand a last squeeze and let go. He and Sadie shared a ginger hug, and we left the room, looking for Denise.

“Welcome home Sweetie” I held the gate open while Sadie walked through, only to be swamped by worried, happy dogs that were thrilled to see their mom home. Sadie weaved her way through their joyful twisting dance,
“Sit! Rudi! Loco! Sit!” the pups obey their mom's command, wondering if they'd done something wrong. But they soon realized it was just so she could hug and pet them better.
All was right in their world again.

I got Sadie set up with a shower, after which she climbed in bed. She said she wanted to watch a movie on the lap top, but she didn't make it more than ten minutes before she was sound asleep, wiped out from her move from one house to the other.
I managed to close the screen and put the computer on my nightstand before sleep overtook me also.

 

Great stuff zen thanks!

 

Un…I'm b tinking der be summin afoot…yep…someone is about to get killed for getting stuck on stupid! ;-)