An Unwelcome Development

Had a similar problem with one of my ex BiL's. He was a shifty SOB in everyday life, and I wasn't going to see what happened PEOTWAWKI.While I kept the plan to myself, he WAS NOT part of any long term plan for my family..

 

Mark's arrival was quickly put to the back of my mind. Things were rather hectic when we got back to the warehouse. There were a lot of people coming and going, and a line extending out of the door of the clinic. I had a feeling Doc and Denise were busy seeing people that hadn't had access to health care in a month and were living in conditions that promoted sickness.
My ever lengthening mental To Do list included finding more doctors and nurses.

I spied Zelda walking across the yard and waved her over. I introduced my new people to her. She took to them immediately, and them to her. They started talking over their parts in the meeting, walking away from me while doing so. I didn't see any need to be included so I didn't follow and soon found myself standing alone.
Not sure what to do next, I looked around for inspiration.

I found it when my eyes settled on Kiko. Catching his attention, I started walking toward the warehouse, waving for him to follow. We made it inside, him slightly behind. I didn't stop until I got to the pile of weaponry. Kiko's eyes got big.
Reaching down I grabbed one, straightened and handed it to him. He didn't say a word as his eyes traveled slowly up and down the rifle's length. Twice. He finally snapped out of it and pulled the charging handle back to do a chamber check.
“Know what it is?”
He tore his eyes away from the beauty between his hands and gave me a fake look of indignation. At least I hoped it was fake.
“Of course I do. You know from way back I always talking 'bout wanting an M1.” He gave it one last longing look and handed it back. I shook my head, keeping my hands to my side.
“It's yours.”
Kiko searched my eyes, wanting to believe, but not quite able to bring himself to. “For true?”
“Yeah man. Found it here. Soon as I saw it I knew it was yours.” I reached back down to the pile and handed him a bandoleer of loaded clips. I was about to ask if he knew how to run it, but stopped, not wanting to earn myself another look. If he didn't know, he'd figure it out, or he'd ask.

I watched as Kiko fell in love. Sort of like a Russian mail order bride. He'd seen pictures of the curvaceous beauty that elicited lustful feelings. He'd fantasized about all the things they'd do together. Now she was finally here and he could run his hands all over the body he'd dreamt of all these years.
I felt somewhat the voyeur.
They were an unlikely pair. She was sturdy, but long legged with curves in all the right places. Easy on the eye. He was as wide as he was tall and didn't seem to have much height over her. They made a great match, I thought. He stood with her cradled in his arms, long beard and 'locks shot with grey, resolute and steadfast. They were obviously meant for each other, and I silently wished them a long relationship.

“You're going to be helping Zelda with the meeting, right?”
Kiko nodded. “Much as I can. She's going to do most of the talking.”
I let out a breath. “Great. She's going to need the support.”
“She said you're going to keep out of it.”
I nodded, leaning back against the nearby desk to take some of the pressure off my feet. “That's right. What's your take on that?”
He shrugged, tilting his head to one side. “I'd say it's smart. There would be resistance because you're an outsider. And.” He stopped unsure, unwilling to finish.
“And, I'm white.” I let him off the hook. “It's cool. I get it.”
“So, yeah, I think it's smart that you let Zelda handle the meeting.”
“Even so, do you think things might get out of hand?”
“Yes.” No hesitation to think about it. “There are some trouble makers. Some folk that had ties with the gang that used to run the place until a couple of days ago.”
“You up to dealing with that?”
“By myself?”
I just looked at him.
He thought about it, knowing I was testing him. “I wish I had more people...” he trailed off. “Actually, I have a couple guys that might be useful. Can you spare any more guns?” He considered for another moment. “Never mind. They aren't' trained yet, that would be a bad idea. They might be better off with clubs or something,” He continued thinking out loud.

“I've got a couple of things, might help.” Out of the pile came the wicked long bayonet for the Garand. Kiko fixed it and now the combo of rifle and blade was, indeed, longer than he was tall.
“You put that on your rifle and you will get people's attention.”
“Bluffing?”
“No. Never bluff with use of force. Don't put the bayonet on unless you are willing to stick it in someone's guts.” I took the sheath from him and put it over the blade of the mounted knife. “This is an option.”
Kiko gave a couple of practice lunges. “ They used to train, man against man, this way. With sheathes on the bayonets.”
“I can see where this would be good to convince someone to sit down and shut up, without hurting them too badly.”
“Exactly. Come on, I've got something else for you.”

I led him over to the medical supply store, and the project that I'd started earlier in the day. Finding a box of N95 masks and fishing three out, I handed one to Kiko. I put one on, and he followed my example. The third one I had him hold over the open top of the sprayer while I carefully started pouring the bucket of isopropyl alcohol into it, straining out the crushed pepper. I stopped a moment later.
“Maybe we should do this outside.”
“What is that? Peppers and alcohol?”
We resumed again outside. Kiko put it together. “This is a giant can of pepper spray.” I nodded, watching the pour, not wanting to fill the filtering mask faster than it could handle. “You going to use this if the meeting gets out of hand.”
“Me? Not me brother. You. I'm staying out of it, remember?”
“Seems to work.” We had started feeling the effects just from pouring it from one container to the next, the dissolved capsicum carried in the evaporating alcohol making our eyes sting and water.
“You could deal with a whole crowd with this thing!”
“That's the idea. Let's hope you don't need it.”
“So your not going to help at all?”
“Kiko.” I used his name to make the connection and let him know I was serious. “We'll be nearby. If you need us, we'll be there to help. I've got your back. But do all you can to not let it get to that point. See trouble developing and step on it. Hard and fast. On the other hand, don't wait til it's too late to call for back up.”
“Not asking for much, are you?” Kiko joked, but I knew there was an element of worry there.
“Not more than you can handle.” I replied, hoping it didn't come across as trite and dismissive of his concerns.
Done straining, we took the sprayer to a downwind portion of fence. Kiko pumped the handle and gave the trigger on the wand a careful press. He experimented with the nozzle and found he could go from a stream to a wide spray.
“That's good to know.” Kiko was thoughtful.
“With the stream I think you could be pretty selective about who you hit.”
“Yeah, you could kinda single a person out and not affect the people around him.”
“Two things.” I dredged up some long unused information about pepper spray. Kiko gave me his attention. “Pepper spray is less effective in a stream, harder to inhale, which gives the best effect.”
“And the other thing?”
“We're using alcohol as a carrier. Remember that it's flammable. There's been cases of the spark of a stun gun igniting it on someone that's been sprayed.”
“We have stun guns?”
“No, but just something to be aware off, considering that open fires are more common these days.” Although the though occurred to me that the local PD did carry X-26 Tasers and some of them should be floating around. Have to put out the word for my people to keep an eye out for them.

Having provided lunch for the workers and my people at the warehouse compound the women packed up and left, being needed to cook for the meeting. I gave the workers the rest of the day off so they could attend, leaving the lot empty and quiet. A good opportunity to brief the men about the meeting.

The meeting was to be held in the common area of the housing project. Frank and Lyle had a view of most of it from their position on the hill. Leaving most of the men to man the defenses, I took Lyle's team with me to the meeting. I'd scouted out several places for our people where they'd be out of sight, but close to hand if needed.

We sat, hunkered down, in an abandoned house on the far edge of the project, with a good view of the common area. We sat well back from the windows, letting the shadows work their magic in concealing us.
Zelda had a small platform set up, nothing more than a sheet of plywood on legs, as a stage. Ostensibly so people could see and hear her better, but the height gave her a psychological advantage too. Workers were busy, some bustling, others working at a more sedate pace.
Chairs, sourced from a variety of places were set up in front of the stage. We watched as a PA system was set up, a microphone on the slapped together lectern on the stage. A small generator was cranked up and soon our ears were hit with first the sound of the generator, and a few moments later, loud calypso.
Well, it was loud to my mid fifties ears anyway. The effect on the mood was immediate as steps had more spring in them, the pace of the work picked up, albeit with a dance move or two throw in here and there for good measure.

People started drifting in. Ones and twos, now and then small groups. People of all ages. Children running, darting here and there, laughing and shrieking in delight at their impromptu games. Older folks sitting in the shade, talking animatedly, a slapped knee punctuating a point. Young women in their late teens, through their twenties, involved in a variety of things. Some watched the children, often with a small one straddling a cocked and jiggling hip. Others helped with the cooking and other preparations. But there was one group that was conspicuous by their absence, young men.

I felt a twinge of guilt at the realization that we were responsible for that lack. It lasted only as long as it took me to remember those girls on the dirty mattress in the warehouse.
The only man that I saw in that age bracket hobbled across the commons on crutches, missing the left leg from below the knee. He was displaying more than the normal amount of blue. A small bubble of tweener boys followed him, the idolization evident.
That bore watching. I wasn't about to let the gang get another foothold in this community.

Down the roads leading to the housing community people were walking, Stan's signs having had some effect it seemed. They bled into the commons, looking around, trying to work out where they belonged. I watched as Zelda noticed and detailed several young women to greet these new comers. There was some evidence of curiosity, distrust, and here and there, hostility at the arrival of these folk.
Zelda's helpers cut down on some of this. So did the fact that some of these people knew each other and friendships were renewed.

Three o'clock rolled around and the food was served. Missing was the grilling of chicken, ribs, and brisket which would have been typical a month or so ago. Still, if the smell that wafted our way was any indication, the cooks had done a great job with what was available to them.

Zelda ushered my neighbors to the seats on the stage a few minutes to four. It served as a gentle reminder to the other attendees that the meeting would be starting soon. People started finding seats, none moving fast, some literally waddling after having gorged themselves. Shoveling down food in amounts unavailable in recent weeks.

Right at four, Zelda, accompanied by Kiko, stepped up onto the stage. His new baby was slung on his left shoulder, Africa carry. He must have spent hours with her last night, because even at this distance she shown brightly in the sun. Kiko separated himself from Zelda, leaving her at the lectern, then took his place at a rear corner, remaining standing, arms crossed across his broad and deep chest, looking out and over the audience. I noticed something under the stage that caught my attention as 'not belonging'. Binoculars brought it into closer view. The garden sprayer. Right under where Kiko stood.

Before she had a chance to start, I keyed my mic. “Can you hear me OK?” Zelda quickly pulled her right earlobe, the signal we'd worked out earlier to mean, 'OK'.
“All units, Zebra actual, we're about to go live with the meeting. Zelda is up on this frequency so keep that in mind.”
I got all the replies I expected. And then Zelda tapped on the microphone several times to get everyone's attention and quiet them down.

“Good afternoon everyone!” she started brightly, pumping happy energy. The reply was half-hearted,
“I see everyone ate too much and y'all are too full to be excited.” Her joke received laughter and people talked to each other, making their own jokes, reliving the good feed they'd just had. Zelda tapped again to bring them back.
“I want to take the opportunity to thank each and every one of you for coming out and joining us for this important meeting. I'm sure you're all here for that, and not the wonderful food.” she smiled at the crowd that chucked politely.
“Speaking of the food, would those people that prepared that wonderful meal stand up.” Hesitant, shy at all the attention, a handful of women stood as the rest of the crowd gave them hearty applause.

The women sat as the clapping died down. “Before we go any further, I'm going to invite Deacon Smith to come up here and give the benediction.” Zelda pivoted, one hand on the corner of the lectern, facing the direction the Deacon would approach. They shook hands and she relinquished her spot and took her seat.
“Good afternoon” He received a solid reply. “Please rise and join me in prayer.” He gave them a moment to get to their feet before continuing. “Father, please look down upon us with favor and bless today's proceedings, that they may be conducted in harmony.” Deacon Smith paused to let that last word sink in, looking out over the bowed heads.
“You have seen fit to test us and challenge us. We know that You do not give your children more than they can handle, but we ask for Your strength and Your guidance to help us do the right thing during these troubling times. May we be mindful of your Grace in our dealings with our neighbors, that we may treat with each other in ways that You would find pleasing and worthy.”
Another pause in his deliberate and dignified delivery. Another look at the bowed heads.
“And finally Father, we beseech you to provide your protection for our children, those least able to take care of themselves and depending on others to make it through our current tribulations. These things we humbly ask in Jesus' name. Amen”
A strong and resolute 'Amen” was returned. This was a religious community, one that hadn't' had much in the way of outlets for it in recent weeks. It was obvious that they appreciated the Deacon's efforts.

Zelda was there with a handshake as Deacon Smith stepped back from the mic. She slipped back into her place effortlessly. She was a natural.
“Thank you Deacon. Now.” she paused, giving the crowd a chance to switch mental gears. “We need to talk about the future. First. What we know. The United States was attacked and is hurt badly. We don't have full details yet. This trickled down to many other parts of the world. Bottom line, we're on our own for some time to come. We won't be receiving any help. From anyone. Anything that needs doing, we'll have to do our own selves. And that will be a difficult thing for many of us to comes to terms with.
We've had it easy, and we've come to expect that. Well, that's all changed. Like it or not, things are different. Changed in fundamental and radical ways. Ways that we are unaccustomed to.” I watched the audience to gauge their reaction to her words, studying them carefully through the magnification of the binoculars.
They were uncomfortable. People shifted in their seats, changed the position of their legs. Some arms were crossed over chests. But not all. Here and there, I'd see someone shift back in their seat, sitting straighter, several leaning forward, eager to hear the next words.

“Before we go any further, before we go into detail, I'd like us to listen to some guests. Some people just like you that found their world turned upside down, but have adapted to the new situation and are making progress at establishing new lives. I think we can learn from their example. Please give them a warm welcome to thank them for taking time to come and talk to us. ”

As the applause started, Zelda brought up Mrs. Petrie the woman that founded the laundry business. She was painfully shy, and the calls for her to “Speak up! We can't hear you!” didn't help. Zelda stood by her side to offer her support, adjusting the microphone to a better angle.
She started off haltingly at first, but soon warmed to the task as she saw people nodding approval at her story. She went through it all. The not knowing what to do at first. Then the idea for the laundry. Getting people to help her build it. And coming to terms with barter and other means of exchange. That started a side discussion of what an education she'd just received in basic economics. Something she'd never given a lick of thought to, before.

Mrs. Petrie ran out of steam after ten minutes or so and Zelda deftly switched her for Jarvis and Marvelyn, the owners of the bar. They stood side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Dealing with the public on a daily basis, they didn't need Zelda to prop them up. She recognized it and took her seat.

It soon became apparent that these two were partners in the truest sense. They seamlessly covered for each other, splitting the talking between them effortlessly. Being more animated, the crown picked up, hungry for the entertainment of a good story. Their body language reflected it, exhibiting more openness and receptivity.

Zelda had a notebook and divided her time and attention from listening to the speakers, taking notes, and watching the audience. It was while doing the later that I saw her stiffen, eyes enlarging slightly. I swung the binos in the direction that she was looking.
There, at the edge of the audience stood the same lout that tried to push his way to the front of the line yesterday. It didn't look like he'd changed, wearing the same stained clothes as yesterday. Judging by the way the people next to him leaned away from him, it seemed he was still pretty ripe. I racked my memory, dredging for a name. Gumbs!
I'd thought Zelda put him in his place yesterday. He was accompanied by a handful of people, a mixture of men and women of medium age and similar mien. Some people across the audience had saved him seats and waved him over. He took the direct route, between the people, being deliberately disruptive.

“Don't let him rile you. You've got this. And we're right here.” I released the mic and watched as Zelda visibly relaxed a little, one corner of her mouth twitching up in a secret grin triggered by her hidden radio. She followed it up with a tug on her ear lobe.

“Once again, I'd like to than Deacon Smith, Mrs. Petrie and the Jarvis' for sharing their stories with us. I think it's very instructive and can show what people can do, what we can do if we think creatively and work together.
In addition to talking to us, their neighborhood, the security people from their neighborhood, came her yesterday, and as most of you know by know, rid us of the gang members that had taken over the government food warehouse next door.”
Gumbs jumped to his feet. “Who asked them to do that? Nah me!.” He looked around to see if his interruption had any traction. Several people nodded in agreement, and I could barely hear a couple of people “Yeah!” and “That's right!”

Zelda used the extra power of the PA to talk over him. “You'd rather that the gang was still there? Do you know what they were doing over there?”
Gumbs shrugged his shoulders, raising his right hand over his shoulder and swiping it down, dismissively. “Ah we doan' know ah wah happen o'er dere.” He looked around him for support. The people around him made their agreement vocal. “Could be deez people dem make'n up stories. Make dem look good, and de brothas look bad. Same old, same old we done seen plenty time before.”
That last garnered him more vocal support. Arms thrusting fists in the air.

“Order! ORDER!” Kiko was on his feet, pounding the garand's butt against the plywood floor, the booming getting everyone's attention. “Listen up people!”
“Or wha'? Yo goan shoot us?” Gumbs was pushing, trying to escalate into a fight. Zelda waved Kiko down. He stared at Gumbs for a moment before relenting. She tried again. “People. I know there are concerns. I know we are scared. Frightened for the future. But this isn't the way to handle it. We will all have a chance to talk about it and work it out together.”
“Nothin' ta wuk ou'! Dem people dem need ta leave heah, now. We see wha' goan on, Deez people dem tink dey can take over all a we. Well sah, we nah goan le' dat happen!” More arm pumping and several more people were standing.

“These people are here to help us. Not take over. They are turning everything over to us to distribute. To help us get back on our feet, to where we can take care of ourselves. We will be governing ourselves. That's the whole point of this meeting, to start the process of organizing our community.”
“Wha' foolishness is dis now? Wha's ta oanize? How it is you da boss, anyhow? Oanize? Ah say we jus' goan o'er ta de warehouse and spli' up wha' dere 'mongst ourselves. Dat's all de oanize we duz need.”

I dearly wanted to put a bullet in this loudmouth's head. But it was Zelda's show. Her's to win or lose. At least for now.

“We are going to do this in an orderly fashion!” Zelda used the PA to good effect, using a command tone that any grade schooler would immediately understand and respond to. “How am I the boss?” She paused for just a moment, to stare them down. Many subsided. Gumbs was still on his feet. “Because I was elected as president of this community. That's how. I understand things are different now, and once we get organized, we can figure out if someone else should be in charge. But it's not about me. Or anyone else. It's about US. If we don't come together, work together, we are going to be in serious trouble, trouble that no one is in any position to help us out of. There won't be any bail outs.”

She was making progress. Or so I thought. Gumbs started riling up his people, getting them to their feet. Zelda tried again to maintain order, unsuccessfully. The group, a double handful of malcontents moved forward, the crowd parting to let them forward. That's when I saw the weapons. Clubs of various types, wooden sticks, pieces of pipe, lengths of rebar, where pulled from waist bands. The small mob hit anyone that didn't move out of their way fast enough. People who moments ago were transfixed by the drama playing itself out, where shaken out of their reverie by the violence and started to scatter.

“Come on! Let's go!” I ran out the door, and around the house to get to the stage. The pounding of running feet let me know I wasn't alone. We had a couple hundred yards to cover. I was worried about Zelda, but I was really concerned for my neighbors. They didn't ask for this. They were doing me a favor and it turns out I'd put them in danger.

Kiko jumped off the platform, retrieving his sprayer and moved to put himself between the mob and the stage. Judging his moment, he waved his wand back and forth. He'd gone for the stream I saw. He hit a couple of the charging people in the face with my concoction with good results. The recipients wiped their faces, serving only to rub in the pepper, making the effect work. They fell to the side, pushed out of the way by the people behind them.

Where the spray hit chests instead of faces the effect was less impressive. It wasn't the first time the 'banger on crutches had been sprayed. He managed to pull his shirt up over his face protecting it to some degree from the chemical weapon. Doing so exposed the pistol in his waist band.

“GUUUNNN!” I yelled. I slid to a stop, everything in slow, body stuck in molases, motion. My rifle came up of its own accord, unbidden by me. Everything was chaos and I didn't have a shot. I watched as he scooped the pistol out and up, arm extended above his eye line, in classic gun held sideways stance.
I started running again, desperate for a shot. I watched in impotent horror as first one, then more, muzzle blasts blossomed from the front of his pistol. The people on the stage fell, whether of their own volition or not, I didn't know.

A second gun joined the first the deeper boom of a magnum in counterpoint to the higher pitched crack of the 'banger's semi-auto. Pistol went to slide lock just as the gang member turned to jelly, plopping to the ground. Kiko looked from the body to the Colt .357 in his hand. I tried to shout a warning but it got stuck in my dry throat. Gumbs brought the pipe down on Kiko's head once, twice, and was swinging for a third time when his target was no longer there, his victim having collapsed.

“NOOOOO!” Grief found my voice while hands found my rifle.

 

Keep you friends close and your enemy's even closer! Work this out for us Zen, don't leave us hangin!

 

Yep, could have told ya so…now, can we have a short, sweet and bloody riot followed by some head taking n all dat sheet & stuff…please? ;-)

 

Thanks Zen, another good one.

 

Zen, you better have not killed of Zelda, we're bout running out of "Z's" here...

 

And this is why, when it all comes unraveled, you put the rabid dog down RIGHT THE HELL NOW! You don't reason with them, you don't coddle them, you don't hope they will be okay if you pull a Neville Chamberlain, you put two in his head and step over the cooling body.

BTW, good job Zen.

 

holly shit kinda seen it coming but damn

 

Thank you Sir...

 

The red dot of my sight found the top of Gumb's forehead, training mindlessly compensating for sight offset and I had five pounds of pressure on a six pound trigger when another face was whipped in front of his. My finger flew forward releasing the tension on the trigger. Gumbs had pulled a nearby bystander in front of him, spoiling my shot.

Squealing tires complaining about being forced to take a turn too quickly snapped my head toward the road. Three red cars, chopped and lowered, windows stuffed to overflowing with faces and muzzles. Muzzles aimed at us.

“DOOOWWWWN!” My yell seemed to be the command for the 'bangers to open fire. A half a dozen or so guns opened up on our side, while an equal number let loose on the other, aiming at the warehouse compound.

The attendees of the meeting were in full panic mode. They began scattering when Gumbs started his trouble and the cripple on crutches opened fire. They were too far gone, mentally, to get down, running every which way, some poor souls actually running towards this new threat.

You can shoot all your life, it doesn't prepare you for getting shot at. There's a whole 'nother dynamic when the muzzles are oriented in your direction, the sharp snap, that angry bee whine of rounds that are passing by you at a high rate of speed.
Another, worse, sound assaulted our ears. The meaty 'thwock' of rifle bullets smacking into large hunks of flesh. Then the cries, and the screams of those hurt joined the shrieks and yells of those trying desperately to flee the carnage.

A couple of us managed to get a few rounds off, but it was mostly ineffective, a projection of our fear and anger. A deep boom erupted from the hill, another following several seconds later, accompanied by a much faster rate of fire from the same place. Lyle and Frank were finally entering the fight.

The vehicles passed us one after the other in succession. We couldn't take advantage of the superior angle provided by the receding first cars because the following ones took us under fire. I could start to discern that some of the fire facing us was actually from our people at the compound. The momentary lapse in response was over, and the guards in the fighting positions poured it on. I caught a brief glimpse out of the corner of my eye, of the winking of muzzle flashes from the rooftop bunker.

They were having an effect as the previous unhurried procession speed up, wanting to get out of what was turning into a killing zone. The final car passed, the occupants no longer able to bring their rifles to bear, we were now free, rising to kneeling and standing positions, the men with me sent round after round into the retreating cars.

“They can't leave!” I yelled into the boom mike. “Lima, Foxtrot, target the driver, lead car.” I got off the transmit button and swapped mags in my rifle, the partial stuffed in a cargo pocket. “Lima team! On me!” I lead them to the road in time to see the last car turn the corner a block down. Lyle and Frank kept up their fire from up on the hill. No telling how long they'd continue to have a shot.

Standing stupidly in the middle of the road I tried to form a quick mental image of the neighborhood, the direction the cars had taken, and their options. If they went up a block, they could hang a right, go down three blocks, and be back on the main road.

The madness was on me. I ran full tilt for the warehouse compound, beating the hell out of my half century old knees and ankles. “Open the gate!” I screamed needlessly, as they'd seen us coming and had already started the process.

“Stan! With me!” Running to the Suburban, I saw Stan detach himself from the fighting position he'd been in and run to join me. The shooting from the hill was paused.
“Talk to me Foxtrot!” I was running blind and needed information.
“Got the first car stopped.”
“Great! What are they doing now?” By now I was starting the big SUV, tugging on the seat belt while wiggling my butt far back into the seat. Stan got in the passenger seat up front, muzzle out the window as soon as he was settled.
Frank keyed back in. “They're backing up. Front car not moving. Wait one...”
Lyle's men were standing around, catching their breath after their run to keep up with me. I jabbed the window button. “Come on! Get in!” They didn't need a second invitation. They were scared. And angry. And angry that they were scared. That needed an outlet.
I was looking to give them one.
“Shotgun!” I pointed to Lyle's breacher. “Passenger rear!” The Suburban bounced on its springs as men jumped aboard and found their places and windows got rolled down.
More shots from up the hill. “Foxtrot?!”
“Looked like they were going to back out. Four pax exited first car and got in other two. Now they're moving again.”
“Backing up?” the guards were opening the gate as I approached. I was about to swing the wheel to the right when Frank got back on.
“Negative. They're going forward again. They stopped backing when we took them under fire. We no longer have a shot.”
“Keep me posted. Going to head them off. Juice?”
“Yeah Zebra?”
“Get Doc and Denise over to help the wounded. Provide security.” I straightened the wheel from my left hand exit of the yard, accelerating hard for the two blocks to the main road. “Hang on!”
I warned.
I carried a lot of speed right up to the turn, jabbed the brakes hard, getting all the weight up front, making the ass light. Input on the steering wheel threw that ass out to the right into an over steer skid, sliding through the turn to the main road, facing east.
Back on the gas. Hard.

The big girl built speed, rpms screaming I pulled my foot of the gas so she could up shift and slammed it back down again. Despite the weight, there was the slightest chirp from the rear tires, eliciting a wild stupid grin from me. “Yeah, you go girl!” I thought
The suspension stretched as we crested a small rise giving us a view ahead. The Suburban almost bottomed as she passed the rise, but the shocks had us back at equilibrium quickly. The two low riders exited the side road and headed east like us. They had solid block lead on us.

The dropped rice burners took off, hard, hares before the hound. They had acceleration on us, and quickly pulled away, gaining a couple hundred yards in a handful of seconds.

Lowered suspensions carrying heavily loads don't do well on crappy roads. Sparks erupted from underneath, followed by brake lights, as both cars bottomed badly on the pavement. The distance they'd gained now gone, instead, we were gaining.

The road opened up to a divided two lane. We closed to a hundred yards when a couple of the 'bangers in the tail car stuck guns out the window and let loose. I shook my head, not so much because the fire was ineffective, not coming close to us, but because there was a tail car. There was room for them to be side by side, which would allow them twice as many ineffective guns to shoot at us. I giggled at my thought, Stan throwing me a concerned look.
I ignored it.

“Wait for it” my council was not needed, the men knowing it wasn't their time yet. “Shotgun! Load with buck!”
“Already up, Zed!” Good man. I'd have to remember his name.
“What the...” Stan vocalized what all of us thought. Two of the gang members were crawling out the rear windows, sitting on the sills, and opened up again. They held their AK s by the pistol grip, their other hand needed to hold one. They whipped off another couple of bursts. We could see the muzzles weren't indexed on us, not quite, but it was only a matter of time. Even a blind squirrel finds an acorn once in a while.

“Shotgun!” I called over my shoulder to get his attention. Like he had something else on his mind. “I'll set you up for a shot.” I took a look at the mirror and met his eye. He nodded and brace himself in the window, legs pushing his back hard into the seat back and door frame, muzzle out the window.

I sped up, gaining a dozen yards, bringing us to within thirty or forty of the tail car. Shifting to the left lane, the window meat's muzzles swung wildly in our direction. A quick lane change to the right, a little more speed...
“Now!” I turned as hard left as I could, giving the shotgunner a brief view down the road. “BooBoom!” the autoloader pumped two rounds, all the time I could give him before I had to correct, back in the left lane, having jumped two wheels up on the curve.

The SUV settled just as I saw the left hand 'banger hit the pavement in front of me. Years of conditioning made me jam the brakes and start a dangerous swerve before my front brain kicked in and realized it was OK to run his ass over.

“ThumThump! ThumThump!” the Suburban shuddered as it went over the sudden speedbump before the body shot out the back, aided by an extra kick of her spinning rear tires. The other 'banger had been hit too, and we watched as his homies tried to drag him back in by the legs. He lost his tenous hand hold and flopped, head hitting the pavement and bouncing. Once, twice, each strike, each contact with the pavement rasping away another big chuck of his face and scalp.
His buddies weren't doing him any favors.

They seemed to realized it and let go. I had plenty of room to go around the body this time.
I stared down the faces in the rear window glaring at me, as I turned the wheel and ran over their compatriot.
They thrashed around, pounding fists into anything handy. Seems I'd upset them.

“Got slugs?”
“Yeah Zed!”
“Set it up again.” Without a word, Shotgun wedged himself into position, seeing he was ready, I gave him his shot. “Pump 'em through the body on the left side. Get that damned driver!” The men swayed with the maneuver, uncomplaining.
The driver wasn't stupid and saw me setting up. As I turned, so did he, both of us shifting left, robbing my man of his shot. I faked him out by shifting right again, quickly. He didn't know we weren't ready to engage on that side. He just wanted to rob of us of a shot, hoping something would come up and they could get away.
Don't give him time to think. Stay inside his OODA loop and keep him reacting to me. He slipped right as I was moving back left. The driver was a second late in reacting and the Benelli roared, coughing three times without pause, a horrible, pitiless lion.
The reaction was immediate.
The driver was making his shift left, turning the wheel when one of the trio of Brenneke slugs punched through the trunk lid, the rear seat, transecting a 'banger's torso. Contact with his fifth rib on exit, sent the slug angling down, through the driver's seat back and then, finally, smashing his pelvis to flinders. One of those flinders shredding the abdominal aorta were it branched into the femoral arteries. The driver never corrected his turn, the little low Honda plowing into a street light pole.

“Rake them as we pass!” My gunners didn't need the encouragement, and it was unlikely any of them read Forester or O'Brian, despite living in the Caribbean. They port side guns opened up as they bore, my stern chasers offering their parting shots.

“Two down” I thought to myself as I set my sights on the last car. It might have had a chance if it hadn't been overloaded. She had at least four hundred pounds on board that she wasn't rated for, before some fool who valued form over function had lowered her to where she only had a couple of inches of ground clearance.

So instead of pulling away from us, it was a see saw. A herky-jerky acceleration until she hit a pot hole or other rough patch and she'd lose whatever she'd gained. The driver saw that he didn't have the cover of the tail car any longer and his driving became more frantic. Just a couple of car lengths seperated us now. The rear seat passengers had, up to now, been reluctant to expose themselves enough to fire at us. I'll bet they'd seen what happened to their brothers.

“Give me a shot!” Stan's muzzle was out the window, cranked forward. He was the only one that hadn't been able to get a shot off yet and had a tension that needed release. A quick scan of the rear view showed me a car full of intent passengers. Leaning forward, on the edge of their seats, dogs straining at their leashes, waiting, wishing to be let slip. Millions of years had informed their DNA. These bipedal, binocular bravos were true to their breeding. The chase let the hunter in them loose. We were a hunting pack running down our prey. Our tools were highly evolved, but other than that, we were recreating a scene that would have been familiar to our progenitors a thousand generations removed.

It mattered not that we were chasing dangerous prey. That at any moment they could stop and turn on us, lashing out, rending, possibly killing one or more of our party. Whether it was Dragoons riding down a broken enemy, rolling up a flank, or animal skin clad men, at the cusp of pre-language, running down a wounded mastodon that out massed the entire group by a wide margin, we were born and breed for this.

And oh, how we did love it, in that moment.

I was watching the front wheels, so I caught it in time. Just.

Foot in the accelerator, we were gaining again. The car, we were close enough now for me to see it was a Nissan, slowed so all of a sudden so we were only a couple of car lengths apart. This coincided with an intersection. I noticed the front wheel twitch before it committed, giving me a half a second to form a clue. I got off the gas as the Nissan turned right in the intersection, not to make a turn, but to continue east, now in the west bound lane. It also put him on the harbor side of the highway.

Left foot working the brake to keep some weight on the wheels doing the steering, I smoothly turned to follow, left foot lifting, right foot down again. I kept the left hovering over its pedal knowing I'd need it again soon.

We accelerated together with the same see-saw action as before. I watched, waiting, looking for my opening. The Nissan slowed for a rough patch and I tried to pull alongside but he was ready for me and cut off my move.
If he'd had any common sense, he would have let me, then crammed on his brakes. I would have shot past him unable to slow down in time. Combined with timing it to an intersection and he could have opened up his lead dramatically.

Instead, he ran, playing cat and mouse, watching, waiting for me to make my move. Left. Right. Left. Right. I set the pattern. Left. Right. That should be enough. We were both in the right lane, less than eight feet between us. I could see him watching me in his mirror, eyes nervously shifting from front to back, watching for my move.

I gave it to him. Jamming my left knee against the steering wheel, I moved my hands left, letting the non moving wheel slip past my hands. He bought. He commited to the turn while I romped on the gas. He recognized it too late and my bumper was ahead of his and he was stuck in his lane.

Left foot worked the brake, balancing the accelerator until we'd matched speeds and my front fender was even with his rear. I turned left and gunned it, nosing into his quarter panel and setting up an oversteer skid he was never going to recover from.

The Nissan started spinning clockwise, I tapped the brake, hard, to give him room to get by. They spun in front of us, across both lanes, then the left rear wheel hit the curb and the doomed car rolled over on to its left side. The roll continued, over onto its roof, crushing a torso that had been half ejected by centrifugal forces.

The body wasn't enough of an impediment to the forces in play and the car went over onto its right side, ending up back on it wheels. With just enough momentum to roll the remaining couple of feet to the water's edge. The rear went off first, the front hanging on for a moment, as if reluctant to release its hold on the waterfront apron.
And then she was gone.

 

wow great stuff thanks zen

 

Thank you again Sir...

 

Whew... finally caught up. Excellent doesn't seem a fit enough word.
I was wondering if Zen seemed to have gone on another long hiatus, so I checked up on the thread.
Good thing.
my 'alerts' seem to have failed on all my watched threads, and my screen seems to have changed themes all on its own. <confused>

 

Kiko was sitting up when I returned. Handing him my water bottle he took a grateful sip, let it settle then went back for another, deeper draft.
“You seen the Doc?” Kiko started to nod a response, then thought better of it. His left hand went to the back of his, hesitantly, exploring. He winced at the contact.
“Yeah. He gave me a quick look and then left. Other people needed him more than me.”
He handed the water bottle back after a last drink and kept his hand raised to me after I’d relieved him of the bottle. His message was clear. We locked hands around wrists and I hoisted him to his feet. He stood, unsteady, obviously lightheaded. My hand around his left bicep braced him.

He looked around with owl eyes. Wide, unblinking. I was reevaluating his decision to be upright. As if the weight was a reminder that finally made itself known, Kiko looked down at his right hand at the big Colt revolver that was still clutched in his fist. I watched as the connections were made, while the memories came back, synapses firing. His gaze went from his King Cobra to the crumpled cripple who lay in an untidy pile, face oddly distorted, a good portion of the rear of his cranium blown out, hanging, a scrap of scalp acting like a hinge.
Without further delay, Kiko puked.

I eased him to the ground, onto his knees. “You always did load your rounds hot.” My jibe was the trigger for another ejection. I can be a real asshole at times. I rubbed his back and waited a moment to see if there was enough time to move him. There was, and I lifted him gently, turning him away from the messes he’d made. Out of sight, out of mind. Unfortunately some sights never left your mind.

I set Kiko back down in a shady spot on the grass and gave him back my bottle. He took it, glad for the distraction, glad to have something to do. He sipped, swished, spat. Twice. I gently pried the pistol out of his hand, fished a speedloader out of his pouch, reloaded the revo and gently reholstered it, carefully snapping the retention strap. He let me do all of that, offering no help nor resistance.
“It’ll be all right brother” I placed my hand on his shoulder. The contact connected and he met my eyes. His pupils were the same size. Without being too obvious I moved my head a bit, side to side. His eyes tracked smoothly, no juddering, stuttering, or jerky motion. I breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s pretty awful the first time. Nothing wrong with you.”
“I’ve had to draw down on some guys, you know?” I nodded that I did. “But they always backed down. I thought I was ready to shoot them if I needed to.”
“Obviously, you were.”
He shook his head, regretting it immediately. “If I was ready, why did I throw up? Embarrass myself?”
“I’m the only one that saw, and I’m not telling.”
“I saw. I’m not up to doing this. All these years, training, practicing, and I don’t have the stomach for it.” He looked around and saw his rifle, laying on the ground where Gumb’s hit him on the head. “You can have that back. I don’t deserve it. Give it to someone that can use it.”
I retrieved it, dusted if off and set it on his lap. “I gave it to you. Deliberately. You telling me I don’t know what I’m talking about? That I make bad decisions?”
He didn’t response so I kept on. “Are you sorry you killed that gang banger?” figuring he was remorseful over the killing. “He was attacking you and the others! You didn’t have any choice. Even in normal times that was a clear cut use of force. It may not feel like it, but you did good brother.”
Kiko’s eyebrows narrowed as he looked at me. “What? I don’t care about that scumbag gangster. I’m angry that I was too slow. “
“Too slow?” I got a sinking feeling.
“It took me too long to stop him. Took me too long to draw that stupid long barreled thing! It felt like I was moving in mud. Too slow!
“That’s very common, brother. Tachy-psyche effect. Distortion of time. Happens to everyone.”
“Not everyone let Zelda get shot.” He said so quietly I barely heard him.
The ground came up and then I was sitting next to Kiko, dizzy.
“Zelda’s been shot?”
A slow, rhythmic nodding started, moving into a rocking of his shoulders, and then his whole body. He wouldn’t look at me. I’m not sure he was seeing anything.
Other than the scene playing in his mind’s eye, over and over again.
Gathering myself, I stood, looking. I needed info, but didn’t think Kiko was up to questions. There weren’t many people about, several, here and there, mostly a body, prone, with someone kneeling over them, providing aid.
There! Sadie was coming from the compound heading back this way. A quick look down at Kiko had me wondering if I should empty his guns. No. If he wanted to do himself, fine. But I wasn’t going to add to his burden by symbolically emasculating him, showing that I didn’t trust him.

Starting off toward Sadie, I saw Deacon Smith straighten up from a body. He crossed himself, looked heavenward for a moment and then stood, a brief pause between difficult tasks. I turned toward him, waving to catch Sadie’s attention.
“Someone needs your care.” I pointed back where Kiko was still rocking.
“I don’t have any medical training.”
“His wounds aren’t in his body, Deacon.” He nodded, taking my meaning and moved in Kiko’s direction. “I need him whole.” I said to his back. A cocked head told me he’d heard, but I received no other response.
“Fuck!” No other word gave satisfaction to my frustration. When will it end? How much are we supposed to take? Deacon Smith knelt next to Kiko, talking quietly. And I thought who do I get to care for a man of the cloth’s spiritual wounds? A corollary to ‘who watches the watchers?’

“What do you need me to do?” My rock asked me. I opened my arms and she came into my embrace. When was the last time either of us had a hug? I racked my brain, realizing no one should have to think that hard to come up with an answer to that question.
I looked out, over her shoulder, counting bodies. Three within sight. I knew there were more behind me.
“Kiko said Zelda’s been hit”
Sadie nodded and I stepped back, taking one of her hands, waiting.
“It’s bad.”
“But she’s still alive?” Hope jumping up all in my face.
“She was a few minutes ago when I left her.”
“She’s where?”
“Clinic”

I was about to run that way but Sadie hardened her grip on my hand, staying me. “There are still people that need help. Doc’s working on Zelda, nothing you can do there.” I bit off a frustrated reply before it got past my tongue.
“Who?” forced it’s way through clenched teeth. In answer Sadie led me to one of the bodies behind me. A middle aged woman with a through and through thigh wound lay patiently, staring at the sky shockily. We raised the good leg on a pack and went to work on the wound. Honey and sugar replaced Quik Clot and a sanitary napkin held in place with an ACE bandage sat in for an Izzy.
Stabilized, we moved her into the shade, in the care of a family member. The next hour was more of the same. I snatched glances, in between care, looking around, wondering where Gumbs was and if he was planning any more mischief. Some of my people were out looking for him, but hadn’t turned anything up yet.
Finally, we'd done all that we could. Most of the injuries were fairly minor, and barring infection, they'd make full recoveries. Four bodies, sheet shrouded, lay neatly lined up, tidy in the twilight. They needed to get in the ground but I didn't see how that would happen before tomorrow. The tropical heat wouldn't be kind in the meantime.

The grounds were quiet, the only people around were mine. Most of them were at the warehouse but a last couple were helping a wounded man limp to his apartment. Hopefully he had someone there to help take care of him.

Then I was alone.

Body tired and soul weary, I sank back, laying on the grass of the yard, shifting a mag pouch where an AR mag was digging into my kidneys. The first couple of bright stars peeked out from behind some fast moving, high level cirrus clouds. The brightest didn't twinkle, giving up it's identity as Venus, the 'evening star'.

As I watched, one shy star after another revealed themselves to me, their long traveled light dancing in the atmosphere, a moment's delight before ending their journey on my retinas. Luna was nowhere to be seen, staying below the horizon. A dark night, then.

The mare's tails sailed along, pushed and piled to make way for the mackerel’s scales. Lower clouds took their place as I watched. A front was coming in and we were in for a change in the weather.

I was content to lie there, even as first one, then a next drop fell cold on my face. Content except for the bodies. While I didn't have the motivation to get myself out of the coming deluge, I couldn't subject those sheet wrapped bodies to the same soaking. The white bundles stood out against the black background, mute. I roused myself, standing, stiff from the cold contact my muscles had with the Earth. The first half dozen steps were rough, halting, neither body nor mind happy to be up and doing. Spirit whipped them on, on to the task it knew needed doing, as much for its benefit as of those neat, patient bundles.

I worked at securing the cords holding the tarp in place, chasing a corner blown free by a mischievous gust. “Stop that!” I scolded, frustrated and furious, and more than a little sad. “This is serious! Stop playing around!” but the zephyr was gone, picking up a plastic shopping bag as it's next dance partner, twirling her giddily, gracefully, in a corner stairwell. I smiled, in that moment, distracted and delighted, until she too, was discarded, forgotten, to flutter dejectedly to the ground, both of us dashed, reduced to yelling at the wind.

A short while later it was done, a larger blue package taking the place of the individual white ones. I tucked the tarp under the bodies, a permanent good night, as I wished them sweet dreams, unlike mine.

 

Nothing like a bit of serious pain to convince everyone of the need of 'hunter killer' teams to hunt down and destroy the enemy(s) and take their heads for the fence decor. ;-)

 

Thanks for the chapter. It's always a pleasure when another appears.

 

Thank you again

 

Zelda died during the night.

She slipped away when no one was looking, having never recovered consciousness. I stood in the doorway of the warehouse, watching the rain come down, sometimes in sheets, sometimes in buckets. The heavy drops pounded the pavement, recoiling from their contact, splashing up almost a foot, comet strikes in miniature, millions of times a minute.
Here, the water pooled, becoming ever deeper where the earthmovers screwed up the drainage. There, it ran like the mighty Amazon, carrying away everything in its path, where the earthmovers got it right.
I watched, transfixed, mesmerized by the shifting patterns, lulled by the incessant frying pan white noise of the deluge.

She needn't have died. A month ago, she'd have been lying on crisp sheets, rather than wrapped up in them. She would be in serious but stable condition in the ICU, a few relatives by her side. But not now. No. Some idiot, or group of idiots had, for I'm sure they thought were great reasons, struck our country and in so doing, struck each and every one of us.

Zelda was dead because of them. I cursed them, whoever they were, bitterly. I wanted my life back! Sadie and I had worked hard to get to the point where we were comfortable, now it was in shambles. We were forced by circumstance and necessity into doing things that would have been inconceivable a few short weeks ago.

The weather suited my mood. Beat down, oppressed by the dark clouds and constant pounding of a thousand small things, all threatening to sweep me away.

The dawn came, I guess. There was a very diffuse lightening in the east, Sol’s light not fully up to the task of overcoming the dark, Night not ready to release its grasp on the world. The Sun slipped above the horizon unnoticed, the same way that Zelda left.
I cursed myself as a meddling fool. Who did I think I was? A fraud, in truth. I was going to fix things? I was going to make everything right? Ha! Man plans and God laughs, and I must have been his favorite stand up comedian at the moment.

All of my grand plans, smashed by one stupid attack, by the death of one pivotal person. Who would take Zelda’s place? I hadn’t seen anyone else display the capability. She had a couple of good, solid lieutenants, but that’s all they were.

Kiko? He was well liked and accepted in the community, but to be honest, he was no leader. A rock that I’d feel fortunate to have on my team, who would do what was asked of him, a real contributor, but that’s as far as his group talents went.

So now what? Abandon the warehouse as a bad job? Write it off? Take what we want and leave the rest to be done with by whoever? God but that galled me. I hate being wrong. I hate when my plans don’t work out. Normally I keep banging away until something gives. It either works, or it breaks and I have to repair it. I’m noted for stubborn persistence, not subtly, as noted by one of Sadie’s several names for me: “Ripsnortandtear”

I dug my poncho out of my pack, shrugged it on, followed by my shorty AK. Habit had me run a chamber check as I stepped out into the rain. The noise increased tenfold as the poncho was pounded by the pelting drops. Within seconds my pants from the knees down were soaked through. My boots held the water at bay a little bit longer.

Walking out into the yard, I looked up to see the fighting position on the roof was manned. They gave a surprisingly chipper wave, considering the conditions. I could see them, but not much past. Visibility down to maybe a hundred yards. I hoped any attackers were smart enough to stay home, hunkered down, warm and dry, because it would be easy for a motivated enemy to sneak right up on us.

We’d given up on the hillside sniper position. They couldn’t see far enough to do any good, and it was exposed, offering no cover from the elements. Frank and Lyle were racked out somewhere, probably in our converted barracks. I had to decide if we'd put someone back up there or not. If we weren't staying, what would be the point?

“So what do we do now?” Juice asked around a mouthful of MRE pound cake. We'd gathered in the warehouse for lunch, having the twin benefits of being out of the rain and where the food was. No one volunteered to make anything, instead helping ourselves to the military rations, cherry picking through them, mixing and matching, until we'd all ended up with something we could, if not exactly enjoy, then at least tolerate.

I didn't have an answer, so didn't offer one. “We can't stay here” Frank had finished eating and I watched, mindlessly, as he opened a packet of drink mix, poured it in a broken handled and chipped mug he'd dug up somewhere, and stirred thoroughly.
“Why not?” It wasn't really clear that Juice was really that interested in staying, as much as being mildly argumentative. He, like the rest of us, were tired, and frustrated, and bored, and angry, and feeling more than a little trapped, outwardly by the rain, which was keeping us stuck inside, inwardly by the sense of obligation we had to the people in the surrounding area that we'd set out to help.
Frank set down the knife he'd been using to beat the flavor crystals into suspension in the water in his mug and started ticking off fingers. “Our own homes are vulnerable while we are away. There is work that needs to be done that isn't, while we are here. It's an exposed position that isn't as defensible as what we have at home. The people here hate us.” Frank had one finger left. It went down, making the others cringe as he continued with what we didn't want to hear. “And we failed here. We should just cut our loses and go before one of us gets hurt.”

“So that's it then? Call it quits and go home? What about all this stuff?” Lyle indicated the piles of supplies all around us.
“What about it?” Frank shrugged as if if was a small matter. “Take what we want.”
“And the people here?” Juice's sense of obligation sticking it's head up again.
“Leave the food. We don't need it. That satisfy you?” I shot Frank a look. He was never like that. Juice wasn't ready to leave it alone. For much the same reason Frank was being obstinate I suspected. “They'll eat it up and it'll be gone, and they'll starve.”
“Not my worry.”
“It will be if they come to our homes looking for food.” Juice. Frustrated.
Another shrug. “Let them.” Frank left unsaid what would happen to them if they did show up.

I stood, weary and disgusted, and walked towards the door. “So what ARE we going to do?” Juice asked my back.
I still didn't have an answer, so I didn't offer one. Or even an indication that I'd even heard the question. I knew I was being a **** and I didn't care.

Looking out the door showed that the rain had passed. The sun was shining brightly, not offering any apology for it's late arrival. It went right to work, evaporating the standing water into steam. It seemed that even Sol occasionally ran on 'Island Time'

He pushed the retreating storm clouds ahead of him to the west. Puerto Rico was getting the same pounding we'd just received. Despite myself, I admired the contrast between the gunmetal grey of the ass end of the storm, the vivid, washed clean blue sky above, and the vibrant, vibratingly green leaves of the hillside vegetation. I have very little control over my reaction to beauty.

“Zed!” head pivoting in response to the call, I looked up at the OP on the roof. When the guard saw he had my attention, he pointed up the road. “People coming”
“How many?” My people still needed work. I geared myself to give orders and take action.
He paused to count. “twenty something.”
Not good.
“Any of them armed?”

“Couple. Not many. I think the man in front is that friend of yours.” He kept relaying info to me and then looking back at the group. “The stout fellow.”
“Kiko?”
“Yeah, think so.” The others heard the yelling and came out to see what was going on. They didn't need prompting, they'd heard enough that they ran towards the fighting positions. I was unsure where I should go myself.
“They have a prisoner!”

Screw it. I ran to the fence and looked for myself. Half a block down was the expected crowd. At the front Kiko was frog marching Gumbs, jamming the muzzle of his Garand into Gumb's back every couple of steps.
I had the gate open by the time they reached me. Watching the people as they paraded past, there were a couple of familiar faces from the last couple days, but most I didn't recognize. It was hard to get a read on their mood, either collectively or individually. They weren't hostile. I opened myself to the vibe. Determined. Self satisfied. Willing.
That gave me something to work with.

“Nicely done.” Kiko met my eye and my praise stolidly. Not looking for it, but not shying from it either. Mostly ambivalent. The bandoleer of clips hung over his neck and under his right arm. He held the garand easily between his hands, muzzle lowered, butt tucked under his arm pit. Like he'd been doing it for the duration of a drawn out conflict.
He nodded back over his shoulder at the people at his back. “Sumza dem found he.” Gumbs was looking a bit worse for the wear. One eye was swollen shut. The other nearly so. His mouth was a bloody mess, the blood turned black where it had started to coagulate. Both hands were bound with so much cloth they were just indistinguishable balls, and his arms had what could only be defensive wounds.

I looked the crowd over. One of the nearest hawked up a lungger, launching it at Gumbs while she held my eye, an indelicate, but most articulate indication of how she felt.
“Very Nicely Done!” I repeated, with a bit more emphasis than needed. I sorely wanted to thrash the no good son of a bitch with my bare hands. But I knew if I let that monster out, there'd be no calling it back. Not until all that remained of the bastard that had murdered my plans was a greasy spot on the pavement.
My words were just a manifestation of the struggle, the praise and polite words a bar, a chain around the monster's ankle, keeping him in check.

“What are you going to do with him? Throwing the ball to Kiko, again, hoping this time he'd catch it. He did. “Givin' him to you.” It wasn't a net only shot from the three point line, but it was a start.

“Okay. Why? I mean, why me? Why don't you take care of him?”
He shrugged, like i'd asked whether he'd rather have a Corona or a Presidente. “You're the closest thing we have to law.” And then I understood.
“Got it.” Understanding, in that moment. I accepted the responsibility, taking it from Kiko, who literally grew an inch or two as I relieved him of the burden. I smirked inwardly at the display of the connection that body and spirit have. Despite all the crap, or maybe because of it, I was still able to appreciate the brief behind the scenes look at the machinery, one of those rare glimpses you get when an errant cosmic breeze blows the stage curtain aside.
My hand dropped to the butt of my Glock, fingers falling to familiar places. A couple dozen pairs of eyes followed the movement, expectation mixed with dread. I stared at the execrable lump before me, judging. It would be so easy. So easy. On all levels.

I dropped my hand to my side. We all let out breaths we didn't know we'd been holding. Relief. Disappointment. “Take him away. Put him with the others.”

“Can you.” she paused to correct herself. “Would you help us?” A tall, slender woman detached herself slightly from the group as she addressed me. Two teenagers took a step each, following her. Obvious offspring.
“What is it you think I can do for you, Ms...?” She had the look of athleticism about her. Tennis, maybe a runner. Possibly a swimmer. Not a fad, but a lifetime's pursuit.
“Oh. I'm sorry.” She held out her hand. I took it. Firm, warm and dry. She understood what a handshake was about. She held it a fraction too long. “Cannonier. Mariella Cannonier.”
“I wish you were.” I smiled, waiting to see. The look of consternation was fleeting, the moment's uncertainty mastered. I let her off the hook.
“I wish you were a cannonier. That would come in handy the way things are going these days.” I finished with another smile.
She saw my smile and raised it with one of her own. The white of her perfect teeth set off by her caramel complexion. “It's my husband's name. I never really considered its meaning before.”
“Husband?”

Before she could answer, Sadie came up next to me. “Please come in. Can we offer you something to drink? We'll put together something to eat for y'all.”
She caught my eye, turning hers up and left and twitching the left corner of her mouth back, tight. In the briefest of expressions I knew I'd been rude to our guests.
A slight sweeping gesture of her arm and she led them into the compound. As we walked, Sadie enlisted a couple of our people as volunteers who, after a quick consultation, scooted off to carry out their orders.
By the time we'd made it across the yard to the spot where we'd been doing our cooking and dining, several more chairs were set up, with various drinks set up on a make shift bar. Seeing the libations well in hand, Sadie switched gears to getting some food for these folks.
I stalled, using small talk to give her the time she needed. We both knew the tactical advantages of having people eating during a meeting.

The group didn't need any coaxing, tucking into the spread laid out for them. I watched out of the corner of my eye as food got stuffed not just into mouths, but pockets, up sleeves, in bags. Keen on bringing some of the bounty home to their families.
I filed away that piece of information.

I gave the group a few minutes to eat before moving over to sit near Ms. Cannonier. She pushed her plate, which still had some food on it, towards the young man that I presumed was her son. She confirmed it a moment later.
“Mr. Zed, this is Garvey, my son” We shook. He favored his mother, tall and slender, a inch or two over six feet. He met my eye without looking away. I didn't make it a contest of dominance.
“And my daughter, Harriette.”
“Twins?” I guessed. They weren't identical, but carried enough mannerism pairings to make it a reasonable assumption. There was no question of maternity, these two had the same easy movements of athletes comfortable in their bodies.

Mariella's pride was evident, giving her offspring fond looks before answering my quesiton. “That's right. Not everyone picks up on that.”
I dipped my head and shrugged a shoulder in acceptance of the little bit of praise she'd just offered. I thought of asking about the man that gave her her name but decided not to. She'd tell me if she wanted. I'd let it be her choice.
My well of chit chat was always shallow, and I'd dipped out about all that was in it. Time to get down to business. “So. Back to your original request. What is it you think I, we, can do for you?”

“We need protection.”
“Sure. You and the rest of the island” I hoped that hadn't come out as gruff as I feared. The change in expression told me it had. “I appologize, been a rough month, and I'm running a monster sleep deficit.”
“You and the rest of the island.” She laughed a little having caught me with my own words. It helped take the sting out of them. “I started poorly, didn't make myself clear. We're not looking for a handout. But we've heard somethings, somethings that let me believe you might be able to help us.”
“What have you been hearing?” Curious at several levels.
“Well..” she began, trying to find her way. “What you and your people have done here says a lot. You didn't just take over, you were trying to help the local folk.”
“Fat lot of good it did anyone.”
Graciously, she ignored my out burst of self pity, rather than try to address it. An interesting data point. I was dealing with a smart and classy woman.
“And despite the modern methods of socializing being down, people still find ways to talk. Word's been getting around about 'Zed' and his militia. You've done much to remove the threat that the gangs posed. There's also stories about other things you've done to help people survive.”
“Wait. Militia?”
“What would you call it?”
I thought about it and it made sense. And if you don't brand yourself, someone else will. We needed to consider whether that mattered and if we needed to do anything about it. It bounced against, stuck and reinforced a couple of other thoughts I'd had on the subject. Maybe in a quiet moment I could examine it in detail.

I got a little more comfortable as I saw which way this was going. This might actually be what I was looking for. Relaxing, I repeated myself. “So, what do you think I can do for you?” Asking it reminded me of being interviewed by one of my instructors who asked me “What is it that you want to learn? What do you think I can teach you?”
Simple sounding questions, that give you insight into the student's mind and psyche at several levels. Important considerations when you are teaching someone to become lethal.

Mariella looked around, at the group that had accompanied her here. Looking for support, and confirmation that they wanted her to continue. I'd been so intent on our conversation that I'd missed the fact that the entire group was focused on our talk. I scanned the intent faces. They knew a lot rode on the outcome of this meeting.

She got what she needed and turned back towards me. She took a deep breath before starting and my mammalian self admired the way that action stretched her shirt taut. I shoved that back down into the hole it normally lurked in, reminding myself that her eyes were 'up here'.

“Would you teach us to protect ourselves?” YES! I wanted to blurt out but I managed to keep a blank mien. Not getting a reaction, she continued, feeling the need to keep talking, falling for the old interviewer's trick. “We were at the mercy of that gang! Bad enough when things were normal, but now, with no law, we didn't stand a chance.” The people around murmured in agreement. I looked around, realizing that I wasn't having a conversation with Mariella but with all these folks. She was their mouthpiece, she was speaking for all of them. I met as many eyes as I could, weighing, judging. I saw a lot of determination there.

Mariella was still talking, trying to sell me on something I'd already bought into. Something I wanted. “If we just had some guns we'd be able to protect ourselves!”
I held up a hand to stop her.
“Guns, or any weapon, is the least important part of the self defense equation.”
“What? How can you say that? If we don't have guns, the people that do have them can do whatever they want to us.”
“Let's say a case of guns magically appeared in your living room a couple of weeks ago. Would it have changed anything? Do you know how to use them? Do you know WHEN to use them? Have considered what it's like to look down the sights at another human being? Could you pull the trigger?”
“A warning shot would stop most of them. You could shoot them in the leg if they keep coming. That way you wouldn't be kiling someone.” I was relieved that that came from a middle aged man and not Mariella. I looked at him, making note of him so I'd remember him.
“You could have had guns if you wanted. They were available, either legally or illegally before all of this. And while expensive, you could have acquired one since. The fact that you haven't, is telling. Matter of fact, I'll bet there are a few guns in some of your houses right now.” Several people looked at the ground. “Why didn't you use them?” I held a hand up. “Rhetorical question. We all know why. Which just goes to prove my original point, that guns are the least important part of self protection.” Everyone was looking at me now. You could almost see the little cartoon light bulbs coming on, above their heads as connections were made and mindsets started to be adjusted.

“Ok, look. We will help you. We'll do what we can to put you in a better position to defend yourselves. But I need you to be honest with yourselves. This is serious business. Using a firearm for protection means being ready, able, and willing, to take another human being's life. If you don't think you can do this, If you aren't willing to consider it, then please don't waste either of our time.” I looked the whole group over, ending with mister misguided pacifist. He tried to tough it out, but broke eye contact within seconds.

“So think it over tonight. Anyone that wants to take responsibility for themselves and their families, their community, anyone that wants to learn about protection, be here tomorrow morning at six o'clock.”

“Six o'clock! Why so early?” Mr. Shoottowound earned his second strike.
“Because I'm doing you a favor, so we'll be going by a schedule that works for me.” I looked around to see if anyone else had an issue with the time. They wouldn't admit it, if they did.
“I'm considering this to be a job, and so you'll get paid.” That perked them up and they literally sat taller, leaning in. “We'll feed you two meals a day and give you some extra food to do with as you will. Eat it, trade it, store it, whatever. But, and this is a big but, you need to commit to the training. A full week. Eight hour days. At the end of the week, we'll evaluate and see where we stand and if we want to keep going. Any questions?”

A woman raised her hand. I nodded to her. “That seems like a lot of time. Is it really necessary? I mean, I'm all for training, I've never held a gun before, let alone shot one, but how hard can it be? You aim it and pull the trigger, right?”

I nodded that I understood her question and patiently let her finish asking it. I repeated the question, going into teacher mode. “She asked if that much time was really needed to learn how to shoot a gun?” I looked at the 'class' to see if they were tracking, and to see if they were buying into the change in our relationship.
They were.
“The basics can be conferred to you in a few hours. But we need to go beyond the basics. I think you'll see what I'm talking about before the end of the first day. Tell you what; if you don't feel like the class was worth your while, I'll refund the fee in full.” I smiled and they laughed dutifully.
“Anyone else?”
A twenty something young man spoke when he saw he had my attention. No raised hand for him. “Can anyone come to the class? Other than the folks here?”
“Good question. Age is an issue. I'll take anyone sixteen or over. I might go younger, but that will be on a case by case basis. The person needs to be physically capable of taking the class. And we'll do all we can to accomidate people that might have physical issues, if they can demostrate to me that they have a fighting spirit.”
“What if a bad guy is in the class?” I was getting tired of Mr. Hastroublewithreality.
“I'd be surprised if they showed up for the class in the first place, for several reasons. If they did, I'd be surprised if me, my people, or you guys didn't figure it out before the end of the class.”
I stopped to look at them, holding their attention so they were clear about my intention before continuing. “And if one did manage to slip through all of that, I would take it as my bounden duty to hunt them down and finish them. Is that clear?” I finished, where I started, with the young man. He visibly gulped, his adam's apple bobbing, but he held my gaze anyway.

“Anything else?” I looked around, not getting any bites. “Nothing?” I tried again. “Alright then. I'll see who I'll see, bright and early tomorrow. And just so you know, it's rain or shine.”

I stood and moved a few feet away, as a signal that the meeting was over. The group got the message and started to slowly get up and mingle, not quite ready to leave. Clots started forming around my people, as they made connections, hungry for human interaction that they'd been denied for the last month.

Mariella came over to me. “That what you were looking for?” I preempted.
“More that I was looking for. Although I guess I didn't really know what it was that I was asking for.”
“Unconscious Incompetence.” I said, fishing.
“I didn't know what I didn't know.” She answered the line I'd dropped.
“Yes ma'am. You'll be getting a lot of that in the next few days. If you make it that far.”
“Because I'm a woman?” Her back up.
“No. Because I don't care that you're a woman.”

 

Women in combat are the most brutal and insensitive humans alive on the battle field, they will put up with more dirt and grime and misery…but danged if they don't whine and snivel more than any man alive! Don't doubt me, the Russians proved the point in WW-II, as just one example; heartless, cold blooded killers the lot of them given the opportunity; now, about that coin purse…still walking around I see! ;-)

 

Thanks Zen. Happy Sunday.