An Unwelcome Development

Looks like Mrs Zelda's going to get started on your coin purse Keith. Pretty sure it will have toad spit on it before she is done.

Whynot

 

I am finally caught up with this story just in time to start the second of an exciting page-turning series. Now I'll join the rest of the cheerleaders in encouraging you to give us MOAR!

Your new characters read a lot like women I have known for most of my life. Solid, strong willed older women who are respected by all. They see no colors or races, just folks. They love all the folks around them, but step out of line, and they'll let you know. If they got hold of D'von James
they'd feed him to the hogs, one piece at a time.

HD

 

Jordan came out of the warehouse quickly, clearly in a rush. We brought our weapons up thinking there was a threat. Richie stopped like he'd run into a brick wall when he saw all those muzzles pointed at him. In truth, we were lucky we didn't have a blue on blue shooting.
Jordan ripped the gas mask off of his face and vomited, spewing breakfast all over the loading dock. He fell to his knees and wretched again, then once more, producing less each time. Richie came the rest of the way out, pulled off his mask which revealed a quizzical expression on his face.
Several of us ran up to the loading dock, warily eying the dark interior, noses crammed into elbows to provide some protection from the smell of the puke and the remnants of the CS gas still lingering near the entrance. Juice who had a stronger stomach than the rest of us was next to Jordan, offering him a water bottle which was thankfully received.
I moved closer to get some answers. “Did the mask leak? Not work?” Throwing up is, after all, an effect of exposure to CS gas. I looked to Richie with a question but he just shrugged his shoulders.
Jordan shook his head and took another mouthful of water, swishing it around and spitting it out. He stood, steadied by Juice and moved away from his mess. He didn't like smelling it anymore than we did.
He probably didn't want to be reminded of it and everything it represented, either.
I waited, trying to hide my impatience, until Jordan gained his composure. He looked at the entrance of the warehouse and shivered, soul deep. A deep breath another drink and he pulled himself together.
“We cleared the main area and moved to the back and opened the door and the windows to clear the place out. There was a large room in the back, off to the left with a closed door. We went over, I was leading, Richie covering me. The door was locked on the outside, but just with a dead bolt. I threw it and pushed the door open and stepped back, you know, in case some one was in there. I didn't think so, not really, because of the lock on the outside, you know?” Jordan looked at us for approval of his thought process. I tilted my head and pursed my lips, thoughtful, nodding, like I was considering his logical deduction, assuaging his ego and signaling him to continue.
“I pie'd the corner, just like you taught us. I saw the edge of a mattress, and I thought that was odd, you know?” Another look at us with haunted eyes, streaming tears. He looked to us because he didn't want to be alone with whatever he'd seen. Juice put a hand on his shoulder and the connection bucked him up. He stifled a sob, took a shuddering breath and continued. “Another step and then I could see the foot, a rope around the ankle. I didn't want to look, but I couldn't no look, you know what I mean?”
Another look for confirmation which I provided. And I did know what he meant. We can't help ourselves, we're draw to look at things we know we probably would be better off not foisting on our psyches.
“I wasn't so worried about tactics anymore, I guess I kinda just forgot about it, I went right to the door so I could see, thinking I could do something. But I was too late.” A sob caught in his throat and he fell to his knees again, muzzle of his rifle clattering on the pavement, hung head pouring tears on the concrete that evaporated them before they could leave a spot.
I looked to Richie who shrugged his shoulders. “I didn't see. I didn't go in. When he ran out I followed him. We're supposed to stick together, right?” that last, worried, like he'd done the wrong thing.
I gave him two quick nods so he knew he was cool. I was about to say more when Jordan looked up and saw our prisoners. The change was as dramatic as it was sudden. Sorrow was replaced with fury as he launched himself towards the bound gang members. We were way behind the curve and Jordan had landed several serious butt strokes to the 'banger Zelda had brought us, before we could restrain him.
“You bastards! You sick demented pieces of shit!” He punctuated the last with a kick that would have been brutal if it had landed. Richie and Juice had him under the arms and was pulling him back so the blow missed by a scant inch.
I suddenly got a bad feeling as my mind started to make connections. I ripped the mask from where it dangled in Richie's hand, forgotten, and ran to the warehouse. Half tripping on the stairs in my haste, half blinded by my efforts to get the mask pulled over my head. I stopped at the entrance long enough to make sure it was seated, blowing out to test the seal. Satisfied I went inside.
There were stacks and stacks of boxes on pallets. Untidy piles of unidentified objects laid against the walls. I moved diagonally across the main space, until I stood in front of the door. I steeled myself menatlly for what I was about to see and stepped inside.
The good news is, we didn't kill them. The thought that spurred me to run in here was that we might have killed captives with the CS gas. Turns out I didn't have to worry about that.
No, the three girls inside the room were already dead when we flushed out the 'bangers. So there was that, at least. I didn't have these deaths on my head, more ghosts to visit me in the quiet moments. Then I scolded myself for my selfishness, realizing what these poor creatures had endured before their release.
For the stark evidence of their torture was plain to see. The bodies of two young women, hell, children really, were tied to filthy matresses on the floor. Bad enough that they'd been badly used, but the cuts, the bruising, the cigarette burns were too much for me to process.
I started to gag and pulled the mask up. I managed to keep my gorge down and discovered that the air in the room was clear. The only opening was the door and it must have kept out the gas. I walked around to the far edge of the matresses and discovered a third little body. A girl who hadn't made it puberty yet. Her lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling above her.
The bowie made short work of the rope and I picked up the first body, wrapping it in a filthy sheet, embarrassed I couldn't find better for her and disgusted at what I was coming in contact with. She hadn't been dead long, her body was still somewhat limber. I carried her out, laid her gently on the loading dock and repeated the process with the second.
I went back into that hellish room a third time and knelt by the body of the youngest girl to scoop her off the floor. Her body offered no resistance but wasn't showing the first signs of stiffness that the others had. Tears of anger, tears of pain and anguish ran from my face as I cradled her body in my arms, looking down on that lifeless face that should have been filled with youthful innocence.
One of my tears fell, landing heavily on her check, and I almost dropped her when her eyes blinked.
This was way above my pay grade so I hustled her over to the three women. They gasped simultaneously when they saw her, whether from surprise at her being alive, or because they knew her, I didn't know.
“Oh no! What have they done to you baby girl?” I was starting to hand the child off to Zelda but the third, nameless woman interceded and took her from me. “Oh my poor, poor child! Don'tchu worry none, you'll be Ok now. You'll be OK.” She repeated, trying to convince herself, not the child, who appeared catatonic. Beyond the initial eye blink I hadn't seen the shadow of an expression cross that girl's face.
I followed as they took her to a picnic table where employees used to eat their lunches. The woman eased the child on the table and started dabbing at her with her skirt. I dropped my pack and handed her a water bottle and a spare handkercheif. From what little I could see, the child hadn't been as badly abused as the other children. They started to undress her and she gave no resistance whatsoever. It was like she wasn't even there. Nobody's at home.
Zelda turned and took me away, I guess to preserve the child's modesty. Frankly I was too dazed to know what was appropriate or I would have done it myself sooner. Movement shook me out of it.
“I'm sure you've got other things to do Zed. You just let us handle to the lil' one.”
“Do you know her?”
She cocked her head, surprised at the question. Surprised that I cared, maybe? I looked into eyes that bore the weight of ages in them stoicly. “Yes. Yes, we know her.” Zelda nodded over her shoulder. “That's S'Hammie's youngest niece. She been missing for two days. Her daddy took off 'bout deh same time. We just thought he done take her wid him. Now we knows. He musta traded her to deh gang fo tings he want 'fore he leave.”
I just shook my head. What do you say to that?
“I'm sorry.”
“Ain't you who done dis. Use the one got her back. We got her now. We take care of her. You goan 'bout your work now.” I noticed her slip into the local dialect providing the comfort of home she needed at that moment. I put my hand on her forearm. She let me. Then I turned back to what needed doing.
“Foxtrot, Zebra. You still cool up there? Need someone to spell you?”
“I'm good for a while longer Zebra. Give me a shout in a couple hours.” Knowing that Frank was still on the job, providing overwatch was comforting. He didn't miss much, and with the .30-06 he could take care of things up to a half mile away.
“Mary, this is Zebra, you gotta copy?” There was a pause of a couple of seconds then Maria came back to me.
“Roger Zebra, I can hear you fine.”
“Tell your boss that everything is going good here. No serious injuries, we control the objective, and made contact with local people. Over”
“Understood. Will relay that. Anything else?”
“I'll call again in a few hours with more. Zebra out.”

Stan and his team were back with our vehicles. I told them to put the Expedition, the biggest thing we had out on the street, sideways, a hundred or so yards away to act as a simple road block. The rest of the vehicles we set up for a quick get away if needed.
Now that I had a better idea of what we were doing here, long term, I put the men to work putting together more solid fighting positions. We hobbled the prisoners and gave them the heaviest work, hauling pallets up to the roof of the building.
Leaving Juice to monitor the work, I headed back to the warehouse. On the way across the yard, Zelda and Gracie's path converged with mine. We were headed in the same direction.
“We mus' take care of dees other chil'ren” Gracie explained.
“Can we please get some help burying them Mr. Zed.” Zelda, all formal.
“Oh course you can, Miss Zelda.” Which led me to another thought. “There's more work here than we can do ourselves. Would you know some people that would be willing to work? We can pay them.”
“Whatchu ha' to pay dem wid?” inquired Gracie.
I nodded to the warehouse. “We'll pay them out of what's in here. We're going to have to do it soon anyway. It's how we got things started in our community.” That seemed to satisfy them and I could tell they were thing of the best candidates.
“Soons we ge' deez chil'ren taken car'a respectfully, we get you some help.”
“Thanks Gracie. I appreciate it.”
I felt uneasy about my place here. These women seemed to accept the change in the power structure without missing a beat. I felt like an interloper, an usuper, out of place, but what was the option? Leave this place alone for someone else to take advantage of? It represented a lot of power.
Was I willing to leave that power laying around for someone else to pick up? To possibly use against us?
I was here, so I guess I answered my own question.

 

Damn, just damn...Some people need impaled...

 

Dang!

 

Outstanding! Your character development is so thorough that I already have a complete image of Miss Zelda and Gracie in my mind.

I'm waiting to hear what the stuff was leaning against the walls of the warehouse. This sounds like it'll get interesting...quick.

HD

 

I'm liking it. New allies, new characters and new directions. This is good stuff.

 

Outstanding. Enjoying the story--thanks.

 

You have me again!

Thanks again.

 

Back in the warehouse I tried to avoid the room of horrors, staying as far away from it as I could, both physically and mentally. I tried to wall it off, to hammer down the thoughts of what went on in there when they popped up.
I needed to keep busy, to distract myself and besides, there was a lot of work that needed to be done. I walked around the warehouse, once quickly, and then more slowly, trying to form a mental map and to start the very beginnings of understanding what was in here.
The place was a mess. You could see where it had once been neat and orderly, with things laid out in a manner that made sense. But two sets of careless groups had been at it, and they were anything but orderly.

Food made up the majority of the contents, lots and lots of MREs, cases of water, and dry goods. Reminded me of what I'd seen in a FEMA warehouse after a hurricane. And indeed, much of the material carried government markings.
After my second circuit I stopped at a messy desk in the back corner. Thankfully at the opposite end of the space from the room. I sat on the beat up swivel chair, foam exposed in several spots where the cracked pleather had lost its war at containing it. The desk top was a mess, mirroring the rest of the room. Food containers fought with empty liquor bottles for space, I tried the drawers, all but one of them opening easily and after a cursory examination, revealed nothing of note. The last, biggest draw, for files, wouldn't budge though.

Many complain about Cold Steel's over thick blades on some of their knives, but I was glad for it now as I used mine to pry open the drawer. It resisted for a moment until something snapped, then opened heavily, revealing records for the company that previously occupied this space. Sitting on top of the files was a clipboard. Flipping through the pages showed an inventory, obviously relating to the food and other emergency supplies. Many of the pages had 'FEMA' on the top of them.
It would give us a good place to start. It wouldn't be current, because the supplies had been gotten into by the gang-bangers. I read the itemized list, my finger tracing a line that my eye followed. It stopped suddenly on one line item; sandbags.

The rest could wait until later. I thought back at what I'd seen on my two tours and recalled a couple of places to look. I got lucky on the first try and located several bales of empty sand bags. I pulled one bale out, and walking backwards, tugged it to the the loading dock. I saw Juice walking across the yard and waved him over.
“Whatcha got?” his usual happy go lucky smile on his round face.
“Sand bags.”
“Great! Got any sand?”
“Not on me. Smart ass. We need to get these filled and get some fighting positions made. Start with the roof. I want one on the front corner nearest the gate first. Use some pallets and whatever else you can find to get a roof on it.”
“First? You mean you want more than one?” Juice was playing the lazy bum, when in truth he was one of the hardest working people I knew. Once he stopped joking around.
“I'm going to leave this in your capable hands. Use the prisoners, use who ever you need. Look around in some of these other units to see if you can find shovels. A cart might be handy.”
Juice turned serious. “No problem. We'll get it done.”
I pointed with my chin across the street to the abandoned house that Stan's team had staged out of at the beginning of the fight. “You could get dirt out of that yard.”
Juice looked where I had pointed. “I'll have the prisoners dig the dirt out neatly.”
I just looked at him, waiting for the rest of it.
“A couple neat holes, three feet wide, and six long and deep. They might come in handy.”
He was joking. But he wound up being right.
“Mary, this is Zebra. How copy?” There was a couple of second delay before Maria got back to me. It would be nice if we could get external speakers and microphones for everyone. Currently we only had enough for our team leaders. My mind drifted in those couple of seconds, thinking of places we might find them. Radio Shack was looted, I was sure, but would anybody have wanted that sort of thing? Would we be able to find them laying on the floor amidst the other items looters didn't want? Did Radio Shack even carry stuff like that anymore? Maybe the company that supplied the police?
“Hey Zebra, this is Mary.” Maria sounded breathless and embarrassed. Like I'd interrupted something. I hoped it was just a bathroom break.
“Mary, I need you to relay a message to your boss. Have him send a medic with supplies, a small kitchen detachment, and my boss, to our current location. Use a vehicle, I need them here now. Tell them to take the back way in. Should be clear.”
“Medic, cook, your boss, vehicle. Copy that. Anything else?”
“All for now. Zebra out.”

I went back to the space where the ladies and I had our meeting. Opening windows let the wind clear the air, stirring up dust in a an office that hadn't been cleaned in at least a month. I poked around, checking for resources. I found a generic first aid kit, like you'd buy at an Office Max or Home Depot. In a janitor's closet I found a basic tool kit. Taking the hammer and flat bladed screw driver I popped the hinge pins from an interior door and laid it across a couple of file cabinets. Pulling the flat cushions from the couch in the reception area I secured them to the door so they wouldn't slide around. I went around the room first with a whisk broom, then a full sized one, getting the big chunks of dirt out of the room. I now had an exam table in an exam room.

We'd expand on it when we had a chance, but it would do for now. I checked the bathroom, which was grimy. The toilet bowl was empty, and I turned the taps and heard a dry gurgle, but no water. I'd have to figure out what the water situation was here.
Satisfied, I went back out to get the ladies to bring the young girl in. I recognized Sadie's Jeep pulling into through the gate as I was crossing the yard. Waving her over, she pulled to a stop near the picnic table. Denise recognized the need for her talents and exited before Sadie had the gear lever in Park. She ran the remaining few feet, noticed the two wrapped bundles and plopped her aid bag on the table next to the young girl. Zelda and the other women recognized her occupation as well as her competence and made room for her. She started by taking vitals, shooting questions to the women, scowling at the answers.

Sadie exited at a more normal pace and gave me a hug. Two women who'd worked the kitchen at Jacob's house since the early days came over, and stood a respectful distance, waiting to be acknowledged.
“Ladies” I greeted, nodding politely. “We're going to need to set up a kitchen operation here. You'll put it together. We'll get other folks to take over for you. But in the meantime, we could all use a good meal.”
“Where you want us to set up, Mr. Zed?” Esmey asked. She was a handsome and solid woman. Solid in every sense.
“Talk to Juice. Tell him I told you he's to take care of you, however you need.” She colored at that, the blush visible behind her caramel skin. Juice liked to eat, and Esmey liked to cook, although I had been wondering if Juice was hanging around the kitchen at HQ for more than food.
None of my business, long as things got done.
“Yes Mr. Zed. I suppose you boys probably ready for some lunch then?”
“Yes please. And include these ladies.”
Esmey nodded a solid nod. She looked around until she saw Juice, then set off in his direction. That done, my attention moved to Denise and her patient.
“I've got a place set up where you can treat her. You want me to carry her?”
All four of them shot me a look that made me feel like I, being a man, was somehow responsible for what happened. In that brief millisecond I represented everyman and everything he'd done to woman down through the ages.
In answer, Denise gently picked up the child, and I, understanding my role, lead them off to the room I'd prepared. The girl was laid just as gently down on the table. They didn't need me, nor want me, and in unspoken communion the four women went to work, Denise on her patient, the others working to make the room more suitable.
“There's a closet in the back, down the hall, with cleaning supplies.”
Gracie's only response was to leave the room and go in the direction I'd indicated.
“Water?” Denise managed to get out, though she was loath to break the silence. I shook my head. “I'll bring some”
Sadie and I left them and walked to the warehouse. “How'd it go? Any problems?”
“Pretty well. Things went smoothly. Only one minor injury.” “That's good. Everything was OK at home when I left. Nothing you have to worry about.”
It was the conversation couples have when they see each other after work. The surreality of it, that my 'work' today consisted of attacking a facility and killing some gang-bangers, struck us at the same time. We started laughing. Chuckling at first, building into full-fledged laughter as we thought more about the absurdity of the situation. Our laughter caught the attention of the people around us, who gave us questioning looks, which just set us off again. Knowing it was more an emotional release than a response to a humorous situation did nothing to calm our guffaws.
Wiping tears from our eyes, sides cramping up, we climbed the stairs to the loading dock and entered the building.
“I suppose you want me to inventory all of this?” Sadie leafed through the pages of the clipboard I'd handed her.
“I'd like you to be in charge of the process. We'll get some help. But yeah, we need to know what we've got.”
“Are we taking any of this?”
I shook my head. “No. Well, not much. There maybe some things we need, or should control, but no, most of this, the vast majority of this will stay here to help stabilize this area.”
“Going to use the same model we did at home?”
“Pretty much, yeah. Seemed to work OK. Different group of people, so..” I trailed off.
“Different how?”
“Well...it is a housing project.”
“ZED!”
“Hey, I'm just saying. I'm here, right? We're here. I'm hoping that it'll work. I know there's good, hard working people around here.”
“But a lot of them have been used to the government taking care of them.”
“Right. Am I wrong to be concerned?”
“No, I get it. I'm just thinking about what you always say about your students.”
“What's that?”
“Treat them the way you want them to act.”
“Ah! Pulling the Pygmalion Effect on me! Hoist on my own Petard!”
“Am I wrong?”
“Is this a trick question?” I tried to cute my way out. I forgot who I was dealing with. She didn't even bother responding. Other than giving me the Look. The one that made me feel like I was retarded.
“Hey. Like I said, we're here. We're going to give this our best shot and making this work. Hopefully these folks realize we're offering them a helping hand and it's the best offer they're going to get. Hopefully once they understand what we're doing, they will act in their own enlightened self interest”
“We need it to work, don't we?”
“We do. Just like at home. You and I weren't going to make it by ourselves. Not after our preps gave out. So yeah, we need these people to come on board for our continued well being.”
“Enlightened self interest?”
“Touche'. Would you believe that I also actually want to help these people?”
She put an arm around my shoulders and gave a squeeze. “I would. That's why I love you. Or reason forty seven, why I love you.”
I squeezed back and leaned in for a kiss. “And I love you.”
“Mr. Zed?” Zelda stopped at the entrance, by the roll up door, not wanting to intrude. I waved her over to join us.
“I told you, Zed is my name.” I winked to tease her. “And Zelda, I like to introduce you to my my wife, Sadie.”
Zelda extended her hand. “I'm very pleased to meet you Sadie.” she gave my wife a warm and genuine smile as Sadie completed the shake. “As I am, you,” she returned. “How's that poor little girl?”
“Alive is about all I can say at the moment. Her body will heal, right enough, but I can't says about her mind. She might compartmentalize the trauma, keep it box up tight. Or she might come to terms with it and work it out. Or she might not ever get over it. We'll do what we can for her, but that's precious little, I'm afraid.”
I had a brief flash of insight. “Zelda, what did you do?”
“You mean before all of this” She gestured vaguely, an all encompassing sweep of her arms. I nodded. “I was a social worker. Worked for Health and Human Services for twenty seven years. Was getting set to retire. Move up to Tampa to be with my boy and my grand babies.” She got a wistful look. I'm sure she'd spent countless, fruitless hours wondering how they were doing.
“The government hired you when you were six!?” I tried to lighten the mood. She recognized it for what it was and batted my shoulder playfully.
“Is your husband always such a flirt?”
“He thinks he's much funnier than he really is.”
“Ouch! I'm wounded.” I wasn't, but I'd moved the conversation in a different direction. Time to keep turning.
“What is it we can do for you Zelda?”
“Well the child is in good hands and I had a moment free. You said you needed help here.”
“Yes ma'am.” I sketched out, in very broad and brief terms what we had in mind. She nodded in all the right places and was thoughtful when I finished.
“So your idea is to make this neighborhood self sufficient?”
“To an extent, yes, There will be limits to what you can do, of course, that's why having a relationship with other neighborhoods is important. So we can help each other out.”
“Who'll be in charge?”
“I'd like for each neighborhood to govern themselves as much as possible. There will have to be a hierarchy of some sorts and some point. I'm still working out what that will look like.”
“Just you?” she looked at me carefully.
“Well let me say that I think the consent of the governed is important.” I gave her a cheeky grin which seemed to mollify her.
“So what do you need from us right now?”
“We've got a precious resource here.” I nodded at the stacks of goods. “It needs to be guarded That's our first priority.”
“Will you be doing that for us?” the hint of suspicion not quite hidden.
“No longer than we have to. Your not in any position to do it, are you?”
She conceded the point and I continued. “Where you come in is we need help getting the defenses built up so we can hang on to what we have here. A lot of that is going to be labor, pure and simple. We will also need skilled workers, carpenters, masons, electricians. Do you know people like that?”
She was nodding, thinking, selecting people in her head. “Yes. Yes we have those people. You said you wouldn't protect us any longer than you needed to. What does that mean?”
“You, your community needs to be able to protect themselves. We'll train you and supply you with weapons. And I'd be happy if we could keep that as an ongoing relationship.”
“Protect ourselves? Against hardened gang members?” She clearly didn't think it was possible. She'd lived her whole life stepping around the edges of gang power, living as she did in a housing project. They were the de-facto power structure. She was having trouble changing her world view.
“Zelda, a handful of us demolished them. Look!” I swept my hand, indicating where we stood. “Who controlled this yesterday? Last week?”
“But you're all soldiers or cops, or something like that.”
“A few of us, yes. But not most. Most of the people that fought these thugs were just like you a month ago. But we trained them and armed them and led them. And they annihilated a force three or four times their size. Gone! The gang that live here has ceased to exist. Gone!” I repeated to hammer home the point. I kept up the momentum.
“We'll call for volunteers and start working with them right away. We need to get you on your feet as fast as we can. While our people are here, our homes are vulnerable. We are currently in a position to help you, but we need you on your feet and ready to help us as soon as possible.”
“Any you?”
“What about me?” I knew what she was asking, but what to hear her say it. It needed to come out.
“What do you get out of this? You said you weren't going to take this from us.” She gestured to the food. “So what do you get?”
“Sadie and I realized pretty quickly that we couldn't survive by ourselves. We needed our neighborhood for support. But they were in no position to support us. So we helped them until they could. Same thing here, just bigger. Our neighborhood needs you. At least as much as you need us. For a lot of things beyond the obvious. You'll start seeing all of them once you start looking.”
“How do we start? What can I do?”
“Get people over here to help us. You have some idea of what we're looking for. Would you be willing to coordinate that? Get the ball rolling with some basic labor, but it would help if you could make a list of how many people are here, and what they can do.”
“So I'm in HR now?”
“You up for it? It's only one hat that I need you to wear.”
“So there'll be others?”
I nodded, “There'll be others.

 

Nice...

 

Another great chapter...

 

Zed seems to finally be getting the hang of delegating responsibility.

Excellent chapter.

HD

 

Dang again, I go out looking for something shiftless to kill and Zed get d job done…with the new "Island Ghetto Restoration Actions" of all d good folk an all dat sheet & stuff ;-)

Edit- picture deleted.
YD

 

Keith... there are things men are not meant to see, because you can never UNsee it...

 

One thing about it; this toad really pissed off someone…probably Zed! This is about survival, 'ours' not theirs! ;-)

 

That will be hard to cover, even with a beard...

 

“Hey Zed!” Juice came running up, excited. I was a good excited, or so it seemed.
“What's up?”
“You remember what was in the next lot over?”
“That trucking company, made a go at running a gas station.” I looked in that direction but the fence between the two lots was so over grown that I couldn't see much.
“Yeah. Coynes.”
“Didn't they go under?”
“Government shut down the station, but they were still running the trucking business.”
“That's nice” wondering what this had to do with me.
“I wondered over there just now. Place is wide open, nobody around. Signs of a fight. I'd guess that the gang-bangers here took out the Coynes when they tried to defend it.”
“Ok”
Juice figured out I was looking for the bottom line. “I found gas.”
That perked me up.
“How much?”
“One tanker with a bunch of gas. Another with diesel. Just going by tapping on the sides, they're pretty full.”
“Please tell me they are the tractor trailer tanks and not the tanker trucks.”
“Ok. They're the tractor trailer tanks.”
“Yes! Nice find!” We high fived. This station had tried to be innovative by avoiding in ground tanks. Instead they fed their pumps directly from trailer tanks that were filled in Puerto Rico and barged over here. Made sense to me. But I guess they failed to pay off the right persons because they were shut down in under a year.
“When I have a chance I'll see what I can do about hooking a generator to power the pumps. Worse comes to worse, we gravity feed.”
Juices' discovery would make our lives much easier. People stopped driving when there wasn't anyplace for them to go, no work, no stores, so many of the cars parked in front of houses had some gas in them.
We, however, did have places to go. On a regular basis. And while we'd been carefully rationing what we had, it wasn't going to last much longer. Even with this windfall, we'd probably continue doing the foot patrols over to the Four Corners, being on foot made them more accessible to the people on their route, more approachable and less threatening than a motorcade of heavily armed people.
But having more fuel available would let us do more, quicker. There needed to be a lot of back and forth traffic with our new outpost here at the food warehouse, and being able to drive would make things that much easier.
That's the thing about modern life. It's not that you are doing things you couldn't do before. People used to read at night, did laundry, traveled from one place to the other. All of our conveniences made life simpler, easier, quicker. Flipping a switch is faster than lighting a candle. Throwing a load of laundry in a machine, turning it on and walking away until it buzzes to let you know it's done is simpler than hand agitating them in a tub. Running to the store because you forgot an item is different when you have to walk two miles and the round trip takes over an hour.
You start to look at things differently. You start to reexamine your priorities.
We'd been in the yard for several hours at this point and I still hadn't looked at all of it. What was worse was we hadn't cleared the rest of the facility yet. I walked over to where Stan was overseeing the construction of a defensive position and asked him to come with me to back me up. I gave a shout to Juice to let him know where we were going and what we were doing. A quick call to Frank let me know that he was good for another hour before needing to be relieved.
Moving over to the second, middle building, the back side, facing us, had a loading dock running the length of it. Rather than deal with the rolling steel doors, we walked around to the front. Being slightly uphill, the front doors of the building were at street level. We could read the signs while I approached. Best Glass and Screen was next to TSI Supplies and at the end of the building on the left was Hassam Furniture. I was expecting signs of looting, broken windows and doors, but that wasn't the case.
I supposed that the gang took over quickly and Threeballz, not wanting to mess up any resources, had kept his men in check. The first door, that of the glass place was unlocked. I looked at Stan so he knew I was going in first. He scanned the yard quick and got in position to follow me in. Entering carefully, rifle at the ready in case there was someone hiding in here.
I sliced the pie, staying as far from the corners as possible, muzzle tracking down and up, looking for any telltales. Shape, shine, reflection, noise, smell, senses on alert for anything that didn't belong. Stan stayed within a pace or two, watching me, and then our six. Reflection can be a tough one indoors. I've had the reflection off the door of a microwave oven get me killed in force on force drills, where the bad guy saw me coming before I knew he was there.
The further we went, the deeper we penetrated the gloom of the glass shop, lit only by the sunlight coming in a precious few windows, the tenser we got and the more I kicked myself for not doing this straight off, with the whole crew, as soon as we had a chance. I paused a minute to give our eyes a chance to acclimate, and then cut the next corner, entering a hallway.
Stan stayed in the doorway, using it as cover as I traversed the fatal funnel. The good news was that the hall was against the exterior wall, which limited where doors could be placed. There was one at the end of the hall, about fifteen yards away. Checking for hinges and door knobs I couldn't see any of the former and the latter was on the right. So an inward opening door that would open out of the way of the rest of the room. Not too bad.
To my right, half way down the hall was a partially open door. It too, opened in and the hinges were on the far side of the frame from me. Made sense, same as the far door, but it made my life more difficult. Although the door was open, the way it was hinged, I couldn't see into the room from where I was. I'd have to pass the open door to be able to see, and to open it.
The interior wall was drywall and I reminded myself that it was concealment, not cover. In both directions. Looking at the placement of the door made me think that it center fed the room.
Great. I'm not sure which I hate worse; halls that end in a tee, or a center fed room. The door being in the center of the wall, made it hard to clear the room from the outside. You have to work the angles to see onside of the room, cross the doorway and then check the other side.
That's workable. Problem is that you can't see all the way into the room from the outside. So you have to enter and then clear the blind spot. In a room that's corner fed by the door, you only have one to worry about. With center fed there are two blind spots, one hundred and eighty degrees apart. If you look at one, your back is to the other.
That's why room clearing by yourself sucks.
I did a systems check. Of me, not my rifle. Worrying about the difficulties of entering the room I was breathing shallowly, and a rivelet of sweat ran down my spine, not entirely a function of being in a warm building. I forced myself to breath deeper and slower and started the process.
Staying close to the interior wall, but careful not to drag myself along it, making noise that would let a bad guy know exactly where I was, I moved up to the door, staying out of sight of the crack between the door and the wall for as long as I could.
Using the muzzle of my shorty AK to open the door fully, I shoved hard and took several steps back to make space and time.
The interior of the room was dark, having no exterior windows. Pushing the rubber coated momentary switch on the back of the flashlight ducktaped to the fore end of my rifle I cut the first slice of the pie, shining the light into the room. Butt in my shoulder, the muzzle and the light moved from the floor to the ceiling.
I wasn't concerned about the light giving me away. If there was anyone in there, they already knew I was here. The door would have been a clue. Key was to see them before they saw me. And hope they didn't wildly shoot through the wall.
Light off. Take a small sideways step. Light on, sweep from floor to ceiling. Light off. Take a small sideways step. Rinse. Lather. Repeat.
An eternity later I'd made it to the far side of the doorway, having discovered nothing more dangerous than the equipment and materieals you'd expect in a glass shop. Holding position, I waved Stan up. He was a solid man, one of my best. But right now I was wishing we'd spent more time on the range doing team building clearing. Too late now, but I put it on the mental list of things that needed to be done in the future.
Stan watched me for direction. I pointed to my chest, made the number one sign, index finger up, and continued by opening my hand, fingers straight and together, pointing into the room diagonally across the doorway.
He nodded. I noticed his eyes were a little wide so I smiled at him, mimed taking a deep breath. He returned a nervous grin and took the breath. I could tell it helped.
I pointed at him, help up two fingers, and then indicated the oposite diagonal.
Once again he nodded, lips pressed tight in determination. His tongue darted out, trying to moisten them, and I knew his mouth was as dry as mine.
Double checking that the selector lever was down on my krink, I held up three fingers. Stan nodded his understanding.
Hand back on rifle, butt in shoulder, my eyes on his, I nodded once, twice, and a third time, rushing into the room, light on, checking the blindspot. Nothing there I continued into the room, scanning all the spots I couldn't see before.
Nothing.
“Clear right.”
“Clear left.”
We met at the door. While the hall had been clear a moment ago, someone could have come up in the seconds we were in this room.
Building clearing with two people beats one, but it's still not really enough. I let Stan check the hall and get in position in the doorway to cover my next move.
Back in the hall it was down to the last door at the end. Door closed, I walked up to it quickly. Butt still in shoulder, I took a quick look behind me, left hand off the rifle, twisted the knob, pushed, and stepped back as before, lighting up the inside.
I was exposed, partially, and was trying to hide behind the wall of light. I didn't get shot, or charged by a wild-eyed, knife wielding maniac, so I continued the clearing process.
I switched the little AK to my left shoulder to have better cover from the doorway as I cleared the room. Nearing the door, the smell hit me. Ugh! My third slice showed the edge of a desk. I could see one boot underneath it.
I had a pretty good idea what the scene was, but I played it by the book anyhow. The next slice of the pie showed me what I already knew was there. A dead body. Slumped back, sprawled bonelessly in an office chair. A white male, middle aged, missing a good part of the crown of his head.
I finished the clearing process and entered the room, waving Stan up to join me. We pulled our shirts up to cover our noses. In reality the smell wasn't too bad, as far as decomposing bodies go. This one had been dead for a while and was at the point where he'd start to fall apart.

Coming around the desk, a pistol, a baby Glock lay on the floor beneath the lifeless hand that dropped it. I used my foot to scoot it closer to me and reached down to pick it up. A G29. Hope there was some ammo laying around because I sure didn't stock 10mm. Pulling the mag and racking the slide produced and empty fired case clattering to the floor. He must have held the pistol wrong when he put it up under his chin. Probably a thumb behind the slide. A bad habit that worked until the unusual angle of the shot moved it up and into the path of the slide, preventing it from cycling.
The desk itself was clear except for a couple of pictures. A family doing family things. A pretty blonde wife and two kids in various stages of development, the latest iteration showing them to be eight and ten, or thereabouts. I wondered where they were and if they were alive? Whether they knew the fate of their husband and father?
“Are we done here?” Stan was ready to move on.
“Yeah.” I turned from the desk and body. We could search the place later, after the 'bangers cleaned up in here. “Yeah, let's go.”
As we walked to the front of the shop I thought about calling the boys to help with the clearing operation. Problem was, I didn't know how long the gang with the truck could be missing before their buddies came looking for them. If they did, we'd need those fighting positions they were working on.
No. I'd leave them be. Stan and I could carry on by ourselves.
The next unit over turned out to be a medical supply place. Not the pain killers and antibiotics kind of place, but the walkers and bed pans sort. Stan lead this time, giving me a break from the stress for a couple of minutes. Switching the worry of getting jumped with that of having to cover our six and shoot past Stan if necessary.
Six of one, half dozen of the other, I found as we moved from the small show room full of wheel chairs, sphygmomanometers, and orthopedic braces into a much larger warehouse full of floor to ceiling shelving, all relatively well stocked and all relatively untouched.
It seemed there was some benefit to the gang taking over this facility so early.
The last unit on the end was a nightmare to clear. An Arab owned furniture store, typical of any of a dozen found around the island. Nightmare because of the Hodge-podge arrangements made it extremely difficult to clear. We took short cuts we shouldn't have and quickly determined that this unit too, was empty of people. I eyed the stacks of mattresses against one wall, already thinking of uses for them.
Done with this building, Stan and I took a quick break, eating a handful of salty peanuts and washing it down with some tepid water, the ice in mine long since melted. We stood thankfully in the shade at the corner of the building, enjoying the feel of the trade winds evaporating whatever sweat it hit. It didn't do much for the rivulet running down my spine underneath my tee shirt and soft body armor.
Doffing my hat I poured some of my precious water in it and put it back on, shivering as the water ran down my collar to going the sweat. A bit more water on a handkerchief around my neck would help with evaporative cooling. It was in the mid eighties with humidty to match, pushing the heat index up over a hundred. I did not want to become a heat injury.
“Ready?” I looked at Stan.
“Let's do this” and we were off, heading to the third and last building.
I was slightly familiar with this one, as it was where the battery store and solar panel store was. Being on the end we started with it. Like the other units, it was already open, and like the others it was relatively intact. While we cleared it, I noticed that there was still a lot of useful stuff hear. I wondered about the owener that I'd bartered with so long ago. I hope being armed didn't let him think he could take on the gang. I didn't see any signs of violence, which led me to hope he was safe and sound at home.
The middle unit was a warehouse full of used office furniture. Pretty unexciting stuff. The last unit was better. It housed a construction contractor and had a wide variety of tools and supplies, including lumber. That would come in handy. That lead me to wonder about the several lumber yards on island. Would they have been looted? Can't eat two by fours. I put it on the list. Not the one of things to do, but the one of things I wanted to know.
Done with our survey we walked back to where the others were hard at work. Lyle being our next best man with a long gun, I sent him to spell Frank for a while and directed him to watch the main road to our east for signs of any 'bangers heading our way.
Some strangers were in the yard and more were trickling in through the gate. They didn't appear to be armed and were non threatening . Some even carried tools, many of them machetes the ubiquitous tool of the tropics, so I had an idea of what was going on. They were heading toward the unit where the women were taking care of the young girl so I headed that way to see what was going on. I found that Ms. Zelda and Sadie had pulled a desk out from somewhere and had it set up on the loading dock of what I was coming to think of as building one.
They both had notebooks and were talking to the people in front of them at the desk. Close enough now to hear them, I could tell they were interviewing these folks, getting names, what work they did, families.
Sadie, stood, having collected a dozen men with machetes and led them to where they could see the overgrown field on the other side of the fence. She explained what she wanted and the men left to go clear the brush.
“That didn't take long.” I stood next to Ms. Zelda.
“People want to eat. I only had to tell one person and this is what we have.”
“Any carpenters, plumbers, electricians, masons?”
“A few, and I expect more shortly.”
Before she could go on a large man, sweat stained wife beater tee shirt loosing its battle to contain the large hairy gut visible between it and the straining belt of his pants, broke out of his place in line and marched forward to the desk. He tried to stare me down but lost that fight without even trying. He punctuated his loss by sucking his teeth derisivly.
“Wha goan ohn heah? Wha dis I heah 'bout wokin' fah foohd? Wha foolishness is dis now?”
Ms. Zelda took a breath. “Mr. Gumbs, please get back in line and wait your turn. We'll get to you soon.”
“Mean gehin no line meh sohn! Fo' wha?”
“So that we can find out what work you can do to earn some food for you and your family.” Zelda said quite reasonably.
“Wok?! Wha wok? Mean goan wok! Fo' wha? Fo food deh govment gave for all ah we?”
The people in line started murmering and starting to nod in agreement with Mr. Gumbs. I was just about to step in because we were right on the edge of going sideways, when I was preempted by Zelda.
“hesh yo' foolish mout' heah?!” She was taking things to another level. The crowd was instantly silent. “Yo disgustin' meh sohn!” Zelda stood, picking up a piece of pipe I hadn't see before, but that she had obviously selected as a weapon. “Goan geh you stupid ass bahk in deh line ahn stop dis foolishness righ' now or Ah swear to Jesus Christ Almighty Ah'll catch you such a lick wid dis pipe e'en you po' mama wont nevah recognize yoh nowhow.” She looked to the heavens and poked the end of the pipe in Gumb's direction to emphasis here point.
Gumbs very visibily deflated, shoulders slumped in defeat and he turned and trudged back to his spot in line which opened quietly to admit him.
“Any ohda ah yah fools ha' sumtin' to say?” She stared imperiously at the people gathered in front of her. It was like I wasn't even there. I was relieved that it was resolved without my having to intervene. She handled it much better than I could have, and avoided the potential problems of the racial component.
Zelda resumed her seat, straightened her papers looked up and calmly said. “Next”

 

We are moving along...

 

I like Zelda. well done.