Original Work The Unwelcome Sign

Your writing is impressive. You have combined so many elements in this story so it appears as a symphony of emotion. This would (and maybe will) compete in the commercial market. Zed is a remarkable Renaissance man.
GB

 

Thank you for an outstanding read.

 

Thanks guys! Your comments mean a lot to me. There is no way I would have been able to keep going if it wasn't for that.
I'll sit and think of what a daunting task to write for a couple of hours. Then I'll read a couple of posts like those above and it gives me the boost I need to keep plugging away.

 

Just keep it up!! Your story has become the first thing I check on when I sit down at the 'puter... I don't even check my e-mail first!! LOL

 

OK, let see, where were we?..... Oh yeah, here,


“Do you really think there will be more attacks? We killed the ones that were here yesterday. Who else is going to try?”
“Yeah, I'm more worried about getting food for my children. They're hungry now. I don't know if another attack will even happen.”
There were a dozen people stuffed in the Dupont's living room. I was having trouble reconciling the fact that this area had been attacked yesterday, with five people killed and two children orphaned, with their obvious disconect with reality. I also got a kick out of the 'we killed', by someone who didn't come out of their house until well after the fighting was over.

“Those four attackers belonged to the Crips. Probably out of Kerwan Terrace. These people are used to violence. They used it to get what they wanted even when law enforcement was still working. Yes we killed the four that showed up today, but you can count on more coming. It may not be the same group. Doesn't matter. Desperate people will be coming. I thought you people wanted my help?”

“We do” this from the same woman who spoke up yesterday. Dupont told me her name was Debra Childs. “But food is an issue. We have to eat. An attack 'might' happen. Hunger IS happening.”

“I understand. As I've told other people, there isn't much food available right now, and that makes it valuable. If you want to trade for it, we can talk. We're working on ways of producing more of it. But it's going to be rough for a while. And let's say we do manage to become self sufficient in food production, there will still be people that want to take it from us. Food production and defense are intertwined and inseparable.”

“What are we supposed to trade? We don't have jobs to go to, so we don't have any money.”
“Money is worthless. Nobody will want it. What are you going to spend it on? It's now a barter economy.”
“What do I have to trade?” Came from another woman
“How does bartering work?” this, from a man in the corner.
“You have something I want, we figure out what I have that you are willing to trade for it. It will take some time to get used to it and work out the bugs”
“What if I don't have what the other person wants?”
“The bartering may go several layers deep. You may have to find a third or fourth person that wants what you have, in exchange for something else, that you trade to somebody else, until you finally get the thing the first person wants.”
“Money sure was a lot easier.” There we some chuckles at that.
“No doubt. But it's not in play right now. We have to adapt.”

“So...” started Childs “I used to go to work and make money that I could trade to other people for what I wanted.”
I nodded for her to continue.
“But my job is not there anymore. So how does that work?”

“You can still work, but you are going to have to find something that you can do, that someone is willing to trade for your labor. You might be able to trade whatever you receive, for other things you want.
“I've been paying people in food. They can eat it, or they can trade the food, if they have any extra, for something else they want. Like I said, food is currently very valuable.”
“I worked as a cashier, who needs a cashier, now?”
“You'll have to figure out how to take your skills and turn them to something useful. Can you do laundry?”
“Well, sure, everyone can do laundry.”
“Most people CAN do it, but some can't and others don't want to. Setting up a laundry is one thing I can think of.”
“But the power's out, so my machine isn't working.”
“If you are interested, I can show you how to set up a hand washing system. Drying and folding shouldn't be a problem.”
“Where will I get soap?”
“More trading. You might trade doing a load of laundry for some soap. You might trade some loads of laundry for help in building the washing facilities, maybe to a carpenter or handyman. You getting an idea of how this works?”
“What if I need something now, but can't trade for it right away?”
“IOUs would work. It would be on the honor system, but you could write a note promising an item or work in the future. No reason those couldn't be traded too.”
I could see Ms. Child's brain working. “So, I could write a note, promising to do ten loads of laundry and trade that to a carpenter for some work, then the carpenter could trade that piece of paper to somebody entirely different for something else?”
“Yes ma'am. There will be a period of adjustment, but we'll figure it out pretty quickly.”
The mood in the room was lightening, now that people could see a way around their current difficulties. Some of their fear was removed. People were starting to whisper amongst themselves excitedly as they started to realize the opportunities. It would be interesting to see what these people came up with in week or two's time.

“Now, I'd like to get back to talking about security measures. There's one main road in here. I'd like to block it.”
“There's the side road that comes in from the community to the east.” Dupont added.
“Yes, it feeds into the main road fairly far up. I'd like to set up the road block up there. We'll set up a chicane and some fighting positions.” I was about to tell them about the place I designated as for a 'L' shaped ambush as a fallback if the road block was breached, but thought better of it.
I'll show you what should be done, but you'll need to do the work. Mr. Dupont, would you be willing to supervise the work for me?”
“Sure, tell me what you want and we'll get it done.”
“thanks. I'll show you what we've done, that'll give you an idea of how to do it.”
Childs broke in. “So we're providing labor, what are we trading it for?”
“Who are you doing the labor for, Ms. Childs?”
She wanted to say me, but realized that wasn't right. Before she could come up with something, I added, “This work benefits us, further down the road, so we are willing to help offset the cost. We'll pay anybody that works on the defenses with some food. Cool?” I looked at everyone, trying to get an idea if there was a consensus.
“Realize that this work benefits you directly, and us, indirectly. You're closer to the main road, so you are first in line for an attack. But as I said, we'll help as much as we can.”
“What about our houses?”
“I'll talk to you about some of the things you can do to harden your houses against attack. But one of the best pieces of advice is, 'think like an attacker'. Go outside and look at your house and ask yourself, 'if I was attacking this house, how would I do it?' The answer will be obvious. Then do things to prevent that. Do the same thing with your area of the neighborhood.”

“What about guns?”
“What about them?”
“Can we get some?”
“Guns, and more importantly ammunition is limited. Do any of you already have guns?”
Two people put their hands up.
“What do you have?”
“I have a .38 snub nosed revolver, from when I was vice president of the bank.”
“My grandfather had a shotgun and some kind of rifle from when he used to hunt. He's dead but I still have them.”
That was better than nothing.
“I'll get with you later to look them over and see if they work and how you're fixed for ammo. When was the last time either of you been shooting?”
“I got my revolver for work, but I've never shot it. Never needed to.”
I gave what I hoped was an inward sigh. “How about you?”
“I shot with my granddad a couple of times when I was a kid and one of my cop buddies took me out shooting beer bottles at the beach a few years back.”

 

“Guns are obviously important in your defense. We'll figure something out. We'll need a group of people that are willing to fight, and willing to train to fight. We'll be looking for volunteers, and there will be a selection process. If you make the cut, we'll find firearms for and teach you how to use them. We also need to teach you how to fight and how to work together as a team. And all of this while we still have all the other work we need to do.
“Let's meet again tomorrow, meanwhile, I want you think about what you can offer the community. If you have any special skills that you think would help in our current situation please let me know what they are. Carpentry, plumbing, electrical, communications, education. Think of what you can contribute.”

Dupont and I toured the work on the lower chicane, and the observation post on the slope above it.
“Clever, dropping the cars on the road and filling them with dirt.”
“Thanks. Cars suck at stopping bullets. Four feet of dirt is another matter.

We walked back up to his section of the neighborhood, looking for a good place for the road block. If it was an ambush point, we'd want it to be a surprise, like placed just past a blind corner. This was a strong point and I wanted long fields of view and fire.
Before long we found our spot, similar to the other in that it had an uphill slope on the left as we faced the direction that the attackers would come, and a steep drop off on the right.
The uphill didn't worry me, but I was concerned about being flanked on the right. It was a gut, a gully that carried run off from the rains. It was steep and boulder strewn. Those boulders would provide cover for flankers. I talked with Dupont about moving some of the bigger ones. Rolling them down hill wouldn't be too hard, and once past the road block, they wouldn't provide cover for advancing flankers. A variety of traps, pits and caltrops would help discourage people from taking that route.
What I wouldn't give for some claymores...
The thought of claymores triggered a memory. I'd seen some model rockets in Jacob's bedroom...

Dupont took to the work with a will and soon had everyone working on the upper defenses as I started thinking of them. I left the workers with the promise of a good supper when they were finished.

“We didn't get to go goat hunting yesterday.”
“Yeah, we were a little busy.” Jacob grinned at me.
“Try again today?”
“Sure? Did you want to try to take them with my bow?
“I'd like to keep the noise down if we can, so yeah.”
“All I have is target arrows.”
“I know. We'll fix that. Do you have some epoxy laying around?”
“Probably, I'll have to look.”
“We'll need a few tablespoons also”
“We've got plenty of those. Those are the bigger ones, right?”
“Yeah, the smaller ones are teaspoon's.”

We gathered up the supplies, half a dozen tablespoons, epoxy, arrows, my Dremel with cutoff wheels and a hammer. We started by hammering the bowl part of the spoon until it was flat. Then the handle had to be flattened and straightened so it was inline with the now flattened bowl.
Using the cutoff wheel, we cut the end of the bowl into an arrow head shape, trying to keep them as close to the same size as possible. We wanted the weight to all be the same. The back of the bowl was cut at an angle to form a big barb. Most of the handle was cut off, leaving just enough to fit into his arrows.
We managed to get the sockets that the target points were screwed into, out of the shafts without damaging them.
A little bit of fidgitty work and the handles fit snuggly into the shaft. We epoxied them in place be as careful as possible to make sure the heads were in line with the shafts so they would fly true.
Giving the 5 minute epoxy half an hour to cure, we used the cut off wheels to sharpen the edges of our homemade broadheads.
“If I had known it was this easy, I would have made these long ago! No way would mom let me have broadheads!”
“Problem is getting them to fly straight. Your arrows now have a wing on the front of them. If we screwed up putting them on, your arrows are going to fly all over.”
“Guess we should try them out before we go.”
“let's get ready for the trip and meet back here in half an hour, give the epoxy a bit more time to cure then you can test them.”

Jacob ran inside to get his gear in order and I walked home to do the same. Sadie was sitting on the porch when I got home.
“How you feeling?”
“Ok, just a little woozy. I think Doc might have gotten a bit more than a pint out of me. I'll be Ok though.”
“How was Mr. Charles?”
“He made it through the night, which is a good sign. Doc is hopeful.”
“Has he regained conciousness?”
“Not yet. He seems to be resting comfortably, and the Doc's not concerned about it.”
I told her of our plans for the goat hunt. She told me to be careful and to bring my radio.
Opening the gun locker I pulled the .22LR conversion bolt for my AR off the shelf. It, and a twenty six round magazine loaded with CCI's Quiet rounds went into my pack. The Quiet rounds wouldn't cycle to bolt, I'd have to do that myself for each round, but they really lived up to their name, being almost silent to anyone more that fifty yards away.
I refilled my water bottles, made sure I had something to eat and headed back to collect young Jacob.

“Can I try them now?”
“Sure, let's see what you can do.”
He stood 15 yards from the foam block he used as a target.
“So close?” I teased
“Just want to have some margin of error with these new points”
Drawing a shaft from over his right shoulder he nocked it while keeping his eye on the target.
Drawing back, he anchored thumb joint to jaw joint. The pause was fleeting before the string rolled off his finger tips. The arrow hit the target with a satisfying sound, about four inches below center.
“I guess they are a little heavier than my target points.”
Next arrow was right in the center, as were the next three. The last nicked the edge of the block and sailed off into the yard.
“I guess we messed up on that one”
Jacob moved back to twenty five yards and repeated the process. This time the first one was almost eight inches low. The following four made a hand sized cluster in the center.
“Good enough?”
“Good enough”

I checked in with Doc quickly. Mr. Charles was still holding steady. I borrowed Doc's truck to carry the two plastic kayaks down to the path that lead to the beach. Fifteen minutes later our gear was secure and we shoved off from shore, paddling steadily for the Brass islands.

We paddled to the northeast to compensate for the two knot current between the islands, turning the half mile straight line distance closer to a mile paddled. I enjoy kayaking, but I always feel small, sitting basically IN the water, in the ocean. Definitely a different feel from that of being in a river or lake.
We aimed for the back side of Inner Brass to be out of view of St. Thomas, landing on the northwestern side of the island, to be downwind of the goats. “Keep the wind in your face” was advice I received when I was young, from the old time deer hunters. I figured it would apply to goats too.
We beached the kayaks, dragging them ashore and secured their painters to a handy bush. We got our gear sorted out, me pulling the 5.56mm bolt from my M4 and swapping it for the .22LR conversion. A mag full of the CCI Quiet rounds was shoved on board, and I ran the bolt and flicked the safety to 'on'.
The Frenchies seeded the small outlying islands with goats a long time ago, for just this sort of situation. They would hunt them occasionally, but not enough to keep the population in check. The result being that all vegetation from the ground up to the height of a standing goat was gone. Erosion was a big problem, and Jacob and I slipped and slid up the the scree slope to get to a level spot where we could start hunting.
“How do we do this?”
“We'll walk abreast, just within sight of each other. A step or two and pause. Look and listen. We may hear their hooves on the rock before we see them. No talking. Hand signs only. It's a small island, so if they hear us, we'll drive them before us. Pay attention to your side in case they try to slip around you. If you have a shot, take it. Other than that, we play it by ear. Cool?”
“Cool.”

 

The trimming that the goats had done to the vegetation made walking much easier than the bush on St. Thomas, and it gave us good sight lines, sometimes as much as a hundred yards. Which might not be such a good thing seeing we were carrying weapons with a twenty five yard practical range.
We moved forward, towards the east, step pause, step pause. We quickly fell into a slow steady rhythm.
We'd gone a couple of hundred yards when I looked over to Jacob to see him giving me a hand sign to stop. Then he cupped his ear and pointed towards his two o'clock.
I shrugged indicating I didn't hear anything but motioned for him to go in that direction. I changed direction and came up behind him and past him, heading for the direction I thought the goat might head. I figured it was trying to double back around us.
We both moved quietly, thighs burning from walking at the crouch. Jacob had an arrow knocked, three fingers on the string, my M4 held in a flat stock ready.
We slowed our already deliberate progress even more, taking more time at each pause to carefully scan for a glimpse of our prey.
There! An twitched, whether to drive off an insect or just a nervous tick, I don't know. The rest of the goat slowly resolved itself as it stepped forward. It's chest barely cleared the cover of the rock it was behind when Jacob's arrow hit it with a meaty “thwok”.
The goat reared up on its hind legs. The front legs collapsed when they came back down. The goat fell on it's left side, arrow standing proud just behind the front leg, hooves drumming for a few seconds while its destroyed heart beat its last.
We ran over to it. Drawing my bowie, I put the tip against its throat just in front of the spine, pushed down then forward toward the windpipe, left hand gripping the curved horn for leverage.
Using the left hand I aimed the neck away from me when I hit the carotid. The blood didn't spurt because the heart wasn't working, but it was still under some pressure.
I wanted to make sure of the kill and start the draining process.
“You said your granddad showed you how to field dress deer?”
“Yeah”
I reversed the knife and handed him the grip.
“Get him opened up and lets get him hanging to drain as much as possible. Then let's see if we can get another one.

We left the goat hung up by the back legs, a stick holding open the body cavity to get it to cool as much as possible, both carotid and jugulars open for draining.

Picking up where we left off, we kept mowing east, wind in our face cooling the sweat on our brows. We'd crossed three quarters of the island before we saw our next goat. It was about twenty yards away on my left. I slowly crouched, a quick glance showed Jacob doing the same.
On both knees, only my head was visible over a crest of rocks that seperated me from the goat. Bringing the AR up, I controled the safety so that it didn't make a metalic click when it moved to the 'fire' position. I remembered the point of impact/point of aim difference for this low velocity load, having checked the trajectory at various ranges when I first got the Quiet ammo.
The goat was quartering away from me. I put the red dot of the sight at the base of its skull then raised it two inches for the difference in impact point.
The goat proved that my trigger let off was good, as it just crumpled at the shot, then disappeared as it fell off the edge of the cliff it was standing on.
Bother!
Jacob joined me as we looked down at the lifeless body, fifty feet below us. I pulled off my pack and rummaged around until I found the hundred foot hank of 550 paracord. I tied one end to a stout bush and threw the rest over the cliff.
“You going to repel down there?” Jacob was obviously having a good time at my expense.
“No, smartass, I'm going to climb down there and use the cord to help bring it back up here.”
I started to look for a place to make the descent when Jacob passed me and started down.
“I'll go. You're too old. You'll take forever and probably fall anyway and then I'd have to drag both of you old goats back up.”
“You just keep laughing, funny man. You remember this when you're in your fifties. Old goat my ass!”
Jacob got down to the goat with the swiftness you'd expect from a sixteen year old boy. He got a loop around its neck and with me taking most of the weight, he guided it up and over the rocks until it was resting safely at my feet.
“You did so well with the last one, I'll let you do this one two.” I laughed at his look as I once again handed him my knife.

Dressed out the two goats only weighed around fifty pounds each, which still proved to be quite a burden to carry across the rocky terrain of a tropical island. Arriving back at the kayaks, we waded into the ocean and rinsed our selves off and then then rinsed out the body cavity of the goats.
We took a break, getting some water and a snack down our throats. Being on the backside of the island, we couldn't see St. Thomas, only Outer Brass and the expanse of the Atlantic laid out before us. This view always made me feel small and lonely. A good thing to be reminded of, from time to time.

We strapped the goats onto the backs of the kayaks, and pushed off from shore. A short distance from shore I paddled around behind Jacob to see if his goat was leaking any blood, one of the reasons I wanted to rinse out the carcases before we took off. I didn't want to deal with sharks drawn to us as we leaked a trail of goat blood behind us.
I didn't see any evidence of blood, so I had Jacob do the same for me. Completing his circuit, he flashed me a thumb's up and dug his double bladed paddle deep, heading for home.

My fears of sharks were unfounded and we made shore with no drama. Nearing shore, in about ten to fifteen feet of cystal clear water, we could see the bottom was a rocky outcropping with lots of holes and overhanging shelves.
“Good place for bugs” Jacob slowed his paddling and was carefully looking below him.
“Bugs?”
“Yeah, lobsters. I'll bet these rocks are home to a bunch of them. They like holes they can hide in. We can make up some snare sticks and get some for dinner”
“You can. I'm not that great a swimmer. But some lobster should would be a great treat! I don't want you going by yourself though. Let's find someone else to go with you.”
“Stan's a diver, he'd probably be willing to go.”
“And owning restaurants, I'll bet he knows what to do with them when you get them.”

We had to make two trips to haul everything from the beach to Doc's truck. Arriving back to Jacob's house I gave him directions to cut off a haunch and find something to wrap it in. Then I ran inside to see how Mr. Charles was doing.

“So why'd you ask if I was in the cavalry?”
I laughed out loud, something I seldom do, mostly from the sheer relief to see that Charles was sitting propped up in bed and looking much better than the last time. I also thought it was funny that he remembered my comment from just before the gunfight. He shifted his position a little, his face wincing from the pain. The smile left my face.
Denise came in and took his vitals, taking a moment to wipe his brow with a damp cloth.
She turned her back to him and bent forward to pick up a blood pressure cuff from a nearby counter. Charles' right arm snaked out from under the sheets and gave her butt a pinch.
She straightened and yelped in outrage. “Mr. Charles!” but she winked at me as she turned around and stuck an outstretched finger in his face. “Just because you're injured doesn't mean you shouldn't act like a gentleman. If you're well enough for shenanigans, then you're well enough to get kicked out of here!”
Mr. Charles looked properly chastised. “I'm sorry Miss Denise. I just couldn't help myself. I'm not well you see, must be the medicine making me act crazy and disrespectful.”
Denise's contenance softened and she patted his forearm. “You're forgiven. Talk to Zed for a few minutes and then I want you to get some rest.”
She turned and walked briskly out of the room, leaving us alone.

 

“So, the cavalry thing?”
“Oh, well when you showed up with a sword in one hand and revolver in the other, it made me think of a cavalry soldier. I thought it was interesting that you had the pistol in your left hand.”
“Well, you know I've been practicing with the gun empty most evenings. I got to thinking about the revolver only having six shots, and that I might want another weapon. I picked up the cutlash in my left hand, but it just felt all wrong. It's been in my right hand for sixty years. So I tried using the revolver with my left hand. I'm starting to feel comfortable with it.”
“If you listen to a tool, it will tell you how best to use it.”
“What's that?”
“Oh, just something one of my mentors told me. If you pay attention when you are using a tool, whether it's a hammer, a chainsaw, a car, or a gun, if you 'listen' to the feedback it gives you when you are using it, you will soon learn what works and what doesn't. But you have to pay attention.”
“Well that just makes sense.”
“Yeah, well, you'd be surprised at how often sense is something some people don't have.”
“Son, I've got a decade on you. No surprise here.” We shared a big grin at the thought of all the 'senseless' people we'd dealt with over the years.
“So how are you feeling?”
“Not too bad. The pain can be pretty bad, but the pills they give me take care of most of it.”
“Doc say how long you'll be laid out? I can't afford to feed a non productive lump.”
“He wants me to get up and try and move around tomorrow. Said something about needing to stand up and move around for my lungs and blood clots.”
“Yeah, that's gonna suck. But the sooner you're up and moving around the better. Well, you get some rest, I need to go check on how the projects are going. I'll check in on you again soon.”

Heading back outside, I found Jacob had detached a rear leg from the goat and wrapped it in what might have been a pillow case. We took it to the pantry and filled the remaining room in the sack with about ten pounds of potatoes, topping it off with a few sprigs of rosemary and thyme.


Pack and rifle on, Jacob and I headed up the hill. We took turns carrying the sack. The workers at the first chicane were putting the finishing touches on the observation post. You entered by crawling in the back. Once inside you could stand up. A shelf dug into the back let you sit down, yet still see out. There was enough room for two people, barely. Someone had found a sheet of galvanized roofing and covered the top, supported by rocks. It gave a commanding view of the road block thirty feet below and up the road all the way to where it turned, a bit more than one hundred yards away.

“Great job guys! Hope y'all like roasted goat, because that's what's for supper. Clean up and head down to Jacob's in an hour or so.”
“Will there be more work after this?” said one woman.
“Oh yeah, I think we can find some more stuff for you guys to do. Show up in the morning again. I'm really pleased with what you've done here. It's great you put the top on it. I'd like to get some dirt on top of it and see if we can get some plants growing on top to camouflage it, but we'll deal with that another day. Go on, I'll see you all at Jacob's in a bit.”

Jacob and I moved up hill and a few minutes later we came to the party working on the other road block. This is the first one that outsiders would come to. Dupont detached himself from the group when he saw us come up. I handed him the sack.
“Dinner's here.”
He looked in the sack, his expression showing his surprise.
“Sorry, I know it's not a nice cut of meat on Styrofoam with plastic wrap, but it's the best we can do.”

“Oh, no! Glad to have it! Just wasn't expecting an animal leg when I looked in the bag. What is it? Goat?”
“Yes sir. Jacob here harvested your dinner with that bow of his. One shot, one kill. Drove that arrow right into it's heart. Goat fell dead right there.” I was telling the truth, but I was pumping it up a bit. I wanted word to get out. Legends can be useful. And Jacob sure didn't seem to mind the praise.
“There should be enough there, with the potatoes for a couple of meals. You're in charge, dole it out as you see fit. Although I recommend giving people food to go with. They like having some control over it. Feel like they earned something of value. And they may want to trade some of it for something else.”
“I understand. That makes good sense. I appreciate it. We appreciate it.”
“Hey, we're all working together here. I'd like to address the group, if you don't mind.”
We walked up to the group. “People, Mr. Zed wants to talk to you for a moment. He also brought us a bunch of food. We'll be eating well tonight!”
“I want to thank you for your work here. This first step will go a long way to help us keep the neighborhood safe. But defenses aren't any good unless we have people to defend them. I'll be back in the morning to address that issue. I can't arm everyone, and not everyone wants to be actively involved in fighting attackers. That's cool. There's plenty of support roles than need to be filled that are just as important.
But I want you to think about it tonight. Tomorrow, if you are interested in being part of the defense forces come and see me. I'll interview you, and put you through a try out, to see who has aptitude for this. Those people will be given training and weaponry. Have any of you heard the phrase: “Si vis pacum, parabellum”?”
“If you want peace, prepare for war.”
I looked at the young man who gave the correct answer. “What's your name?”
“Lavell, sir.”
I figured me and Lavell needed to do some talking.

 

“That's right. Seems kinda funny at first, getting ready for war if you want peace.”
Lavell interupted me, “But if you're the biggest badass around, nobody will mess with you.”
“Exactly right. We don't want to get into any fights if we can help it. Defenders have a tactical advantage, but in any fight, there's a chance we may get hurt. Right now one of my people is recovering from wounds he received in yesterday's attack. The neighborhood wasn't prepared, and we paid the price. What you are doing here,” I pointed at the road block, “will give us a much chance of dealing with another attack. I'm hoping most people will look at it, and decide to go elsewhere. But if they do decide to attack, then we have the advantage of good defensive positions.”
“Is this the only thing you're going to do?” Lavell again. “Seems to me one road block isn't much of a defense.”
“You're right, and we will do more, this is just a start. Did you have some ideas, or suggestions?”
Lavell nodded. “Yes sir, I do.”
“Good. We'll talk more tomorrow. I'll let you folks get cleaned up and get started on your dinner. I'll be back first thing in the morning.”

Shaking hands all around, thanking each of them for their work, we said our goodbyes and headed back down the hill.
“I think that Lavell was in the army”
I smiled. “What makes you think that?”
“Well, he knew that quote.”
“He'll, I've known that quote since I was eleven and I've never been in the military.”
“Well, it's not just that. It's the way he carries himself, He just seems, I don't know, capable, I guess. Confident.”
“I'd say you are probably right. We'll know more tomorrow.”
“Are you going to start an army?”
I chuckled. “No. But 'we' need to put together a defense force. A militia if you will. If we have time.”
“Why wouldn't we?”
“If a halfway organized group came in here, we'd be toast. A few of us are prepared, but we'd be mostly fighting by ourselves. At most four or five of us together, if we happened to be together when the attack started or had time to get together. Twenty or thirty attackers used to working together, would be hard for use to handle as things stand. I need a week. A week would give me a head start. Anything after that is a bonus.”

The smell of roasting meat hit us well before we could see Jacob's house. No wonder we had that group of pissed off, hungry people visiting us. Didn't take a genius to figure out where the food was coming from.

Dinner was solid, if not exactly my first choice. Goat would keep us fed, but it sure wasn't beef. We fed the workers and gave them enough left overs for several more meals. When they left, with promises to be back the next morning, we moved into the living room for a meeting.

“Sadie, would you take a few people with you tomorrow and harvest the rest of the potatoes tomorrow? I want them where we can control them.”
“Yes Sweetie. I'd like to start working on getting the land ready to start planting. I've talked to Mr. Charles a bit about what we should plant there. I told him about the 'Three Sisters'. He'd never heard about it, but once I explained how corn, beans, and squash compliment each other. He seemed interested in it. Between him and me we have a pretty good assortment of other vegtables. If we start work now, we can be harvesting some of them in a couple of months. I know it won't meet all of our requirements, but it will help.”
“It will also give us some more variety, and much needed vitamins and nutrients” added Sandy.
I looked at her. “Would you help Sadie? I'd also like an updated inventory of food. I need to know how many people we can feed for how long. So give me the inventory in the form of feeding one person for one day. Cool?”
“Absolutly. Fits right in with restaurant work. Speaking of which, considering that we are feeding so many people each day, and that you are trying to put people to work, how would you feel about having a kitchen staff? Maybe two or three people dedicated to food prep? None of us mind cooking, but it's probably not the best use of our time.”
Stan chimed in, “Yeah Zed, we have plenty of experience managing restaurants, let us handle it.”
“Great idea. You should have mentioned it earlier.” I grinned at Stan and Sandy.
“Well it's been a developing situation and we're just going with the flow, working things out day by day. We didn't realize you'd be bringing other people that we'd have to feed.”
“I know, I know. I feel like its running away from me. I just can't get ahead of it. I've been making it up as I go along. It would have been nice if we'd planned all of this out before hand, but we didn't. Now we're playing catch up. Reacting as things pop up. That's why I'm trying to have these meetings so we can start getting a handle on the situation.”
I looked at the rest of the group. “I need to hear from you if you have other ideas like this. Rather than workers, I need you to be managers, as we deal with neighbors, we have to find out what skills they have and then give them jobs that fit. Like the kitchen help.” I looked at Stan and Sandy again. “I'll leave it to you two to do the hiring and managing of the cook staff. Also to figure out what the duties are and how many people you need.”

I can handle the HR situation. I'll put together a form that people can fill out, and I'll talk to them to get a feel for not only what they can do, but other important things like attitude. I'll put it all in a spreadsheet so we can quickly reference it to identify a person to fit a particular job.”
I'm good at a few things, but organization isn't one of them. I hated paper work and writing things down. I kept things in my head, which worked for me. Most of the time. Before the Change, Sadie kept things in our household running smoothly. That skill was just as important now.”
“Great! Thanks Sweetie.” I turned my attention to Daniels and Wilford.
“I need a few things from you two. You up for it?”
“Yeah Zed, no problem.” came from Wil
“Especially if you'll teach us how to use our cowboy guns” smiled Daniels.
“You just can't get past that buffalo soldier thing, can you?” I laughed.
“Well, it is a catchy tune, even if I don't have dreds.”
“We'll fit in some training time on the pistols and rifles. More importantly we'll be drilling some team tactics and learning and working some immediate action drills. Soon come, meh sohn.”
They grinned indulgently at my coloquialism.
“But I need your expertise on a few projects. One, I'd like you to program a scouting route for your hexacopter and fly it several times a day. Just a quick check up to the main road, either direction as far as your machine can safely go. Don't push it, it's too valuable to lose.”
“We have another kit that we haven't put together yet, so we actually have a spare.”
“Oh. Well that's good news. You didn't think I'd want to know that?” I grinned to let them know I wasn't angry at their oversight.
“Sorry Zed, it wasn't deliberate. What else do you need?”
“I talked to Jake and he's agreed. I'd like you to set up a communications center in one corner of this room. We can monitor the drone from there, set up radios, keep communications gear, and other things I'm not thinking of yet. I'll see if I can find some one to build walls to close it off. I'd do it myself, but I don't think I'll have the time.”
“Third, I'd like you to go up to the other road block and set up lighting and a car horn like you did for ours.”
“No problem, easy to do. Which do you want done first?”
“Wait, I'm not done.”
They both gave mock groans.
“Fourth, I want you to rig up that monster tv that was in the gangbanger's car in here. I see there was already a home entertainment center, so plug into that. We should have a 'movie night' once a week and maybe for an hour or two each night. We need a chance to unwind.”
“Zed” Jacob broke in. “My dad just got one of those LCD projectors. He was going to use it for presentations. We could set up a screen outside and show movies to a bunch of people.”
“That'd be great!” enthused Sandy. “We could have a weekly celebration, cook a special meal. It would be a way to thank everyone for their work, relax and hang out with each other.”
“We put up quite a bit of popcorn.” said Sadie. “I think it would be great for building community spirit.”
“Alright, I'll leave you guys to set it up. Let's do it for this Saturday night, yes?
Everyone seemed to be in agreement, and a level of excitement that I hadn't seen since the beginning of the Change swept over the group. Maybe it was just what we needed. After all, what could go wrong?

 

Great story and great work! Thanks for sharing it with us!

 

More great reading!!! You da man Zen!!!

 

Keep up the great work Zen... we appreciate the effort it takes to keep a story going until some form of closure is reached...
Still hoping for some tall ship to come over the horizon... and tell us WTF Happened...

 

Best I've read in years. Looking forward to more

 

“How are the twins doing?” I asked Fiona, who seemed to have taken them under her wing.
“Not great. They've been severly traumatized, their world turned upside down. They are eating, a little, and answering when asked a question, but other than that they are withdrawn. But it is still early. Children are resilient.”
“Thanks for looking after them. Let me know if there's anything you need. Should we be looking for a family to adopt them?”
“Who's going to do that when everyone can't even feed themselves? In a few days I'll ask if they have family, but even if they do, I don't know how much good it will do.”
“If there is family we could give them some food with the kids to help them out. Meantime, I guess we continue taking care of them.”

My attention went to Denise next. “I'm going to be starting the process of forming a defensive group tomorrow. I'll start with selection, but move right into training. I'll be plugging us into the training at the oppropriate time. Most of us have some firearms training, some of us quite a bit, but we need to learn and train on small unit tactics, fire and manuever sort of stuff. I'll work out the schedule and let you all know when you'll be involved.
Denise, you're part is I'd like you to present a half day class on trauma care for this group. I'd also like you to start working up some individual first aid kits for us to issue. I'll give you what spare supplies I have, but you'll have to do some improvising I'm sure.”
“No problem. What's my time frame?”
“Let's see, it's Monday. Say Thursday or Friday? That give you enough time?”
“Sure. Let's plan on Thursday after lunch.”
“Done.”
“Anything else?” I looked around at the tired but hopeful faces. “let's call it a night. See you all in the morning.”

 

DAY 13 Tuesday
After getting the work details going, Jacob and I headed up to Dupont's Chicane. In addition to our regular walking about gear, he had a notebook and I had an Airsoft version of an M4 rifle. These airsoft guns were going to be a Godsend as far as stretching our limited ammo supply for training. Being quiet didn't hurt either. While there are times when 'barking' makes sense, I'd rather not bring attention to our community with a large volume of gunfire on a regular basis.

Daniels and Wilford were already there when we arrived, working on a lighting system for the road block and a car horn to alert the neighborhood.

Dupont had the crew working on road block. The two cars were filled with dirt, and the observation post was almost complete. We talked about putting a cover over it and worked out a route that would allow people to get in and out of it without being seen.

“Take a walk with me.” Dupont followed me up hill, the attacker's side of the road block. We went all the way up to the turn in the road that hid it from view.
“Ok, let's think like looters. We come into this neighborhood, down this road, and see this road block in the distance, a hundred yards away. What do we do?”
Dupont pondered for a moment.
“Yes, that's what they're going to do, stop and think. They aren't expecting it. The road block will have interrupted their OODA loop.”
“Ok, I get it.” Dupont paused to look around, “You mentioned this, pretending to be the bad guys, to try and think like them and see how they would do things.”
“Yup. Now. You're a group of looters, may half dozen or so. What do you do?”
“Depends if I see anything else. Obviously we're going to stop here. Probably talk about what to do next.” Dupont looked around again and pointed to our right, up hill. “A person up there could shoot these guys while they stood around.”
“They could” I admited
“it would help if they had a safe place to shoot from.”
“Yes, it would. My question is, who's going to sit here? For how long? When?”
“So we shouldn't make a shooting position? I'm confused”
“I just want you to think it through. I think we should build a fighting position here. We can man it when we think it is important. But we can't afford to just have someone sitting around here. What I'd really like is some sort of mine, like a claymore, that someone from down at the road block could set off. But let's take this further. Suppose we did have someone in this position, and a group of attackers comes here and we open fire on them. Where are they going to go?”
“They can't go up hill at the person shooting at them.”
“Well, it would be difficult, and probably one of their best moves, but unless they are well trained and disciplined, they won't. They go the easy way.”
“Which would be to get off the road on the downward side.”
“Yes.”
“So we should be ready to deal with that.”
“Yes...”
Dupont walked over to the shoulder and looked down the gully that was the downhill side of the road. He looked at the uphill area where we would put the fighting position, back down hill, and to the road block and the downhill side.
“People at the roadblock have limited visibility down here. The uphill fighting position can see a bit of it, but not all.”
“Exactly. So you have a couple of choices. You can eliminate the dead ground, the hiding spaces, either by moving things like those boulders, or putting in different fighting positions that can cover this area.”
“You said a couple of choices.”
“Or...you can give them a big, fat, juicy place to hide and make sure there is a surprise for them.”
“Like a bomb?”
“Well, maybe like a mine, if we can figure out how to rig one up. But it could be caltrops, punji pits, things like that.”
“Sounds like a combination of those things would be good.”
“You got it. Once you have the initiative, you want to hold it. Don't let them catch their breath. Anticipate their moves and be a step ahead, waiting for them.”
“Understood. Hit them and don't let up.”
“It seems brutal, but the harder you hit them, the quicker it will be over and the less hurt everyone will be. It's good all around. You take some time looking the area over. You know what to look for. I'll see if I can come up with some surprises for you. Now I've got some interviewing to do.”

“So, I get the impression you have some military experience.”
“Yes sir, I do.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Well sir, I did a stint with the Dragoons. The 2nd Cavalry Regiment.”
“Active duty?”
“Yes sir. Actually got back not too long ago. We were operating in Kandahar.”
“What was your MOS?”
“Started off 11Bravo, then 19Delta when I went to the Cav.”
“Rank?”
“When I mustered out I was a staff sergeant.”
“You looking for a job, sergeant?”
“Yes sir, I surely am.”
“Good man. I'm sure you can see that we are in a precarious situation, and that we don't have much time to act.”
“Yes, sir. Just a matter of time before we either get attacked again, or run out of food.”
While Lavell and I were talking, I noticed something had Jacob's attention. He watched the bush at the corner of a nearby house for a while. Then he quietly got up and slowly went the other way around the house. I don't know what sparked him up, but I played along, acting like everything was normal, carrying on with the discussion.
“We're better off than some. Being a little ways away from the population centers we've had a buffer, but it won't last long. We already had one small attack. I think if we can get organized, we stand a good chance of being able to survive. I believe the attacks will come in waves, each one worse than the other. The good news is it gives us time to get ready, and a chance to get some experience.”
“I agree with your assessment sir. Let me know how I can help.”
“Training is first. Well, really, before that we have to figure out who to train. Not everyone is suitable. So I guess selection is first, then training. Meantime we need to keep work on the defenses and food production.”
“As I said, how can I help?”
“I'll do the interviews this morning. Start basic firearms training this afternoon. Can you help with the tactical training? Buddy teams, fire and maneuver, immediate action drills, that sort of thing?”
“Sure, when do you want me to start?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. Let's start with fire and maneuver. How's this sound, I do firearms training with them in the morning, you do the tactical stuff in the afternoon? We'll need to plug my people into that also. Most of them have the firearms down, but their training has all been single person defensive work. Working as a team is a totally different thing.”
“Works for me sir. What about organization?”
“We need to work on that. What do you suggest? Obviously the smallest unit is the two man team, how should we organize above that?”
“How many leaders do you have? That might be a good place to start. Just off the top of my head I'd say you need three teams. One for each of the chicanes and one in reserve. A recon element would be good, but I don't know if you can afford it.”
“Good points. I guess we need to see how many people we have available and go from there.”
We were interrupted by a yelp, and a commotion in the bush that had so recently piqued Jake's interest. A moment later a man stood up and came forward, prodded on by one of Jake's half drawn broad head arrows in his back.
As he came closer, I saw that it was Widmore.
“Well, I haven't seen you since that meeting we had a few days ago, Widmore. What have you been occupying your time with? I haven't seen you in any of the work parties.”
He glared at me and didn't answer.
“So were you spying on us, just now? What were you doing in that bush?”
Jacob gave him a little jab with the arrow, but he still didn't reply.
“He was crouched in that bush watching you the entire time, Zed. I could hear you talk, so I imagine he could too.”
“Were you spying on us for Carol? If she wants to know what's going on, all she has to do is ask. We aren't doing anything secret.”
“Screw you! I'm not telling you anything. Everybody thinks you're so great, Zed the Protector, but I'm not buying it! I know what you're up to!”
I rasised my eyebrows in a question, but he fell silent.
“Did you search him, Jake?”
“No, Zed...”
Widmore used the distraction to bolt away. He made it about twenty yards and then
spun back towards us, pulling a pistol from his waistband. He fired from the hip, the bullet passing between Lavell and me.
Before he could fire again, he was falling to his right knee and then the ground, Jacob's arrow in his left hip. He lay on his back, writhing in pain.
Lavell quickly ran over to him, tossed the pistol out of arm's reach, put a knee in his chest and quickly searched him.
“He's clean.”
“Well, that's a matter of opinion.”
I picked up the pistol, a Sig P228. It was fully loaded, including a round in the chamber. I handed it to Lavell.
“It's not an M9. Spend any time with the M11?”
“Yeah, a little. I hung with some MP s that worked plain clothes that carried them. We went to the range together a few times.”
“Well, you're now the proud owner of an M11.”
I looked at the arrow sticking out of Widmore's hip. There was very little blood and hadn't penetrated very far. Must have hit the pelvis. I gave the shaft a little wiggle, which resulted in a howl of agony and a string of abuse from Widmore. The shaft didn't move. Must have been stuck in the bone.
“Bastard kid shot me, with a fucking arrow!”
I gave the shaft another flick, to let him know I took exception to his language.
“You're going to get yours! All of you! You'll see.”
Widmore had obviously seen one too many bad movies.
“What are we going to do with him?” Lavell asked.
“I gues we'll have Doc look at him. After that, I don't know.”
“But he tried to kill you! And he was spying on us!” Jacob wasn't happy.
“I know. And by the way, great job flushing him out. And putting him down before he could shoot us.”
“I messed up. I didn't search him”
“It's cool, dude. You did well. You'll do better next time. I'm just really glad you were with us.” I clapped him on the back. His serious look melted a little at the edges as his mouth turned up in a grin for a moment.
I looked back down at Widmore.
“So, can you walk?”

 

“What's going on? Is everyone OK? I heard a shot!” Dupont came around the corner he had been using as cover until he saw that it was safe.
“We caught this guy skulking around, spying on us. He tried to get away and shot at us. Jake put a stop to that nonsense.”
Dupont walked over and looked down at Widmore. “He was here yesterday. Watching us work. I asked if he wanted to help but he didn't answer, just turned and left.”
“He's spying for Carol. I don't know what her game is. What does she hope to gain?”
Dupont indicated Widmore. “What are you going to do with him?”
“Not sure yet. Don't really want to do anything with him. I guess it would help to know what Carol is up to.”
“Didn't he shoot at you?”
“He did.”
“You just going to let that go?”
“You want me to kill him?
“Well, no, I don't know, can you just let him go? Won't he try again? Isn't he a threat?”
I looked down a Widmore, who was staring daggers at me. “Well? Are you a threat?”
He didn't answer. What could he say?
“So. Why does Carol have you spying on us? What does she want to know?”
Silence.
“Do you really want to go this way?”
Nothing. I sighed. And pushed on the arrow a little bit. Widmore howled and curled up in pain. At least, as much as he could curl up with a thirty inch shaft sticking out of his middle.
I pushed him over on to his back so we could see each other's eyes. “Why are you spying for Carol? What's she want to know?” I repeated my questions.
Widmore's eyes followed my hand as it reached for the arrow again.
“Why am I doing it? So I can eat.”
“Carol still has food?” Getting the first words out is the hard part, once the barrier has been breached, the words keep coming. Almost as if a dam had burst.
“Yes. She has a room full of food. Some from the donations from the neighbors and a lot from the government when they still were giving it out. She convinced them that she represented our community.”
“If she has so much food, why is she paying attention to what we're doing?”
“She hates you!”
“Why? What have I done to her?”
“You've made her look bad for not protecting the community. She's angry that you are feeding people. She's..”
“Wait. She's mad because I'm feeding people?”
“It's the way you are doing it, having them work for it.”
I didn't know what to say to that.
“Is this about control?”
“Of course it is. She wants to be in charge. But if people don't need her food, they don't need her.”
I thought about what he said and how it fit with what was going on.
“I figured she was out of food. That's why people came to me. Why would they work for it if they could get it for themselves?”
“Carol was very tight with the food, only giving the bare minimum. And she wanted people to do things for her. Not for the community, for her. Making things for her house, like she had one guy build an out door shower. She has people doing chores like pulling water out of her cistern, doing her dishes, stuff like that.”
“What did she want to know? What were you supposed to look for, when you were watching us?”
“What you were doing in general, anything food related, the security measures you are taking. And how people are reacting to you. Are they treating you like a leader. And..” he paused, suddenly unwilling to talk.
“You've gone this far. And?”
“If it was possible to kill you.”
“Seriously? She wants me dead? Who's going to do it? You? Johns?”
“Johns hasn't been around. He doesn't have anything to do with Carol anymore. I don't know why.”
“So who? Not her certainly.”
“No, she's terrified of you. Especially after what you did after the last attack. She's offered a reward if someone kills you. She's really pushing the two 'deputies' that were working with Johns. They don't seem enthusiastic about it.”
“What's the reward?”
“A month's food and a couple of bottles of liquor. Nobody that I've talked to is interested. They aren't that desperate. Yet. Everyone knows that you killed Cannonier. That you beat him to the draw and shot him right in the head. And everybody knows you have a bodyguard.”
He looked at Jacob and I followed his gaze. Bodyguard, huh? Jacob looked embarrassed by the accusation.
“Jacob?”
“Yeah, him and that bow. People think it's spooky.”
I moved on. “Carol wants to know about the defenses. Why?”
“Because it's happening in her neighborhood. She's mad, not that she'd admit it, that she picked Johns to handle security, and that they underestimated the risk. She's also scared. Especially after you showed her those burned people”
“So why won't she help?”
“Because she hates you. And if wasn't her idea. And she's not in control. Stupid bitch wants to run things but has no idea what she's doing”
“Why are you working for her then? It can't just be the food.”
He turned his face away from me in what I took to be shame. I thought about twitching the arrow, but he started talking again before thought became action.
“She was going to tell my wife.”
“Tell her what?”
“We'd been having an affair. I broke it off a month or so ago. Or tried to. She won't give up. She's been forcing me to keep seeing her or she'll tell my wife and cut off our food.”
“Well you sure are stuck in a hard place man. And it just got a whole lot harder.”
I put my hand in my pocket and pulled something out.
“Cell phone service is down, but the recording feature still works. You now work for me. Or Carol and your wife get to hear you confessing to things you probably don't want them to know about.”
He looked miserable. “What do you want me to do?”
“You keep working for Carol. You keep spying on us, and reporting to her. But you will report what I want you to report. And you will keep me informed on what is going on with her. Understand?”
Widmore nodded, all resistance broken.
“First thing I want is a complete inventory of the food Carol has stashed. I also want to know how many people she is feeding, how many of her people are armed, and anything else you think I should know. Understood?”
He nodded sullenly.
“Hey, you don't have to like it, you just have to do it. I'm being generous. I should kill you. Would you rather that?”
He looked up at me. “No.” he pointed at the arrow. “What am I going to say about this?”
“We'll patch you up. It's best to stick to the truth as best you can. Say Jake found you snooping and shot you and but you escaped. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now let's get you patched up.”

The arrow hadn't penetrated very far, hitting the point of his hip. It was painful, but presented very little damage. I took a moment to coordinate with Jacob, and when he was ready, I knelt down and slapped Widmore open handed across the face. Jacob stood behind me, out of Widmore's sight. As soon as he saw my arm moving, he pulled, the arrow coming out the same time I made contact with Widmore's face.
It wasn't gentle, but he hadn't earned gentle. We needed to distract him and this worked just fine. Arrow out, we undid his pants, pulling them down far enough to access the wound. There was very little bleeding.
Never one to pass up a training opportunity, I had Jacob do the work. He cleaned the wound with saline solution, the nozzle of the little bottle making it easy to spray into the wound.
Neosporin was next, hopefully getting ahead of any infection. Jacob closed the wound with a combination of butterflies and superglue. He finished up by taping a gauze pad over everything to keep it clean.
I handed him a percocet and my water bottle. That would help him get through the next few hours.
We helped Widmore to his feet. After a moment's unsteadiness he was able to limp off away toward home.

Lavell stood next to me, watching him leave. “That was brilliant, using your cell phone to record the interrogation.”
“Yeah, thanks. Wish I'd thought of it before the interrogation was over”
Lavell looked at me for a long moment. “Remind me never to play poker with you.”

“So, am I your bodyguard?” Jacob asked as we walked over the group of people working on the road block. I chuckled.
“No, although you did save my life just now. No, I'd say you are a cross between a protogee' and an aide de camp. Learn as much as you can, help me as you can. Cool?”
“Cool”

 

We reached the group and explained how the interviewing would go. I asked them to come see me one at a time so I could talk to them. Once the process was complete, we could start training.

This was getting much too big to keep in my head anymore, so I asked Jacob to take notes for me. I needed to keep track of how many people were available, what skills they had, and if and how they were armed. Incident command was something I knew existed but hadn't been exposed to. I was regretting that now. I'm sure there was a lot of valuable knowledge and experience that I was missing out on.

The first person came over and introduced themselves. Gibson was retired from the government as a low level manager. Turns out he was licensed to own a firearm and owned a Glock 27, no long guns however. He used to practice a bit, but nothing recently.

He was the only one of the dozen that came to talk to me, that owned a gun. So I'd have to arm anyone else that made the cut. With the battlefield pickups, I'd lost track of what all I had available.

Somewhat surprisingly, or maybe not, everyone that was working on the project came to interview. Out of the twelve that I talked to I ended up with eight that I would consider moving to the next phase.

None of them, other than Gibson, had any firearms training. I had the eight stop work, take a quick break, get cleaned up and then started them on firearms training. We went over the Four rules of Gun Safety, really pounding the importance of muzzle awareness and keeping their fingers off the trigger. We could not afford any 'friendly fire' incidents.

I passed out 'dummy' inert training guns and had my eight students stand like they were on a firing line, then had them turn to the left, ninety degrees and watched what they did with the guns in their hands. Most, not paying attention, pointed them right in the backs of the people in front of them. Gibson and another person, held the gun down in a very low ready.
I brought the situation to their attention and let them know that not only were they pointing their guns at someone else, they also had guns pointed at them.

I had them turn back around and bring the guns up on target and then turn right. This time six of them controlled their muzzles as they turned. I explained it again, and we ran it again. One person just didn't get it. I didn't have time for it, so I gently asked him to leave the line.

I took him to the side and explained that I was going to be doing some more training soon, and we would put him in that class. I tried to let him down easy, and as privately as possible, but I didn't have the luxury of being able to coddle a difficult student. It was also important for the others to see that there were consequences if they screwed up.

Next I had them walk back and forth on the firing line, weaving in and out around each other, trying to keep their dummy guns on target, pressing the (non-working) trigger to simulate taking shots when they had them, and controlling the muzzle as they moved and other people got in front of them. Guns down, fingers off triggers. Then back up, on target, on trigger.

After we drilled that for a while, we moved on to the basics of marksmanship, We used the airsoft guns to practice and everyone fired a couple of hundred shots, something that just wouldn't have been possible if we had to do it with live ammo.

But there is no substitute for the noise and recoil of going hot, so to finish up our session, everyone got to fire five careful shots.

“Find out what that woman's name is” I told Jacob, keeping my voice low. “and make note that she's the best shooter of the lot. Write down that Gibson is also a good shot.”
“Got it. What's next?”
“lunch.”

“Ok people, that was a good start. You're all doing well, progress has been made, and more progress is coming. We'll keep working on the marksmanship skills, but we need to work on the gunfighting skills too. Take an hour for lunch and meet me back here for the afternoon.”

Jacob and I went back to his house for lunch. We passed Daniels and Wilford at the chicane and waved as we passed.
At the house, Sadie was no where to be seen, Stan and Sandy were in the kitchen with a couple of women I didn't recognize. We got quick introductions to the new cook staff. I left Jacob there. The women seemed to enjoy having a handsome young teen to feed. He didn't disappoint.

Stan told me that Sadie and Denise took a group over to the garden plot. Doc had joined them recently, driving his pick up over.

I poked my head into the treatment room. Fiona was putting Charles back into bed. She'd had him up and walking around the house, and had him sitting outside for a lot of the morning to get some fresh air and sunshine. He was looking better, but the pain was obvious on his face. As he settled back down in bed, a lot of it seemed to melt away.

I went home to collect some gear. It was too much to carry, so I loaded up my jeep figuring I could squander the pint of gas it would burn to get me and the load a half mile up the hill to the first road block. Pistols I had in plenty, so I packed up enough for the morning's group. I was running out of support gear though. Looking around, I found a few empty one gallon water jugs, a roll of duct tape and a heavy duty stapler.

I parked at Jacob's to pick him up for the ride up hill. He wasn't waiting for me so I got up and went inside. I looked for him in the kitchen, but he wasn't there. I looked in the treatment room. Charles was alone, asleep.

I called out to Jacob and headed down the hall to his door. I was reaching to knock on the door when it was pulled open by a very embarrassed Jacob, who was trying to fasten his pants. Fiona stood behind him a knowing grin displayed on her face, fully dressed. I happened to notice that the bed was still made.

I dropped my hand to my side and stepped back, making room for him to exit the room. I followed back down the hall behind him, wondering what, if anything, I need to do about what I'd just seen.

“I don't know what's going on between you and Fiona, and it's not much of my business, but I do want to mention a couple of things. You're an adult, and I treat you as one. But you are an adult on the short side of experience.” I pulled over on our drive up to the first road block. Jacob was obviously uncomfortable.
“I'm not in trouble am I? Are you mad?”
I laughed, “No brother. I was a horny teenager once and distinctly remember it. If you want to do whatever it is with Fiona, and she's cool with it, then that's fine with me.”
“But..”
“But...I can't help but wondering about her. She is pretty close to twice your age. I don't know her at all, and have trouble getting a read on her. We're a small group and we need everyone to get along, which I know is probably unrealistic, but something we should work towards.”
“We're just having fun, that's it. Not a big deal. Fiona's not my first.”
I gave a mental sigh of relief. “Cool. As long as you have your eyes open and your expectations are realistic, then I won't worry about it” I put my fist up, which he bumped with his.
“Well, enjoy it. There are certain advantages to older women”
“Tell me about it!” his enthusiasm made laugh out loud.

 

Daniels and Wilford were at the upper chicane when we got there. They led me over to the observation post, which was now complete. A couple of wooden shelves lined the left hand wall of the dug out. I was glad to see that they were improvising and thinking for themselves. On the shelves were a few bottle of water, a can of insect repellant, and a pair of binoculars. Off to the side of the top shelf were two switches that had obviously been scavanged from a car. I looked around and something was missing.
“These are the switches for the lights and horn?”
“Yup. Give them a try.”
I blipped one button which turned out to be a momentary switch controling the horn. When it sounded I was able to locate it. It was about fifty feet away, further up the hill, pointed back down hill, toward the rest of the community. The other switch controlled the lights. I couldn't tell in the daylight how well they were aimed, but the two lights were seperated from each other by about ten feet, and pointing up at reflectors. The reflectors seemed to be aimed at differen't points along the road.
“We have to come back at night to adjust them. We're trying to cover all the road from in front of the road block, all the way up to the corner. We might have to add a third light.”
“What about just more reflectors? That way you aren't burning up more electricity. Speaking of which, where's the battery?”
Because you wanted the horn and lights away from the observation post, we had to put the battery up near them. You have to be careful of long wire runs with DC systems. This is more efficient. We stripped some phone line off our house to use for the runs from the switches here, to the relays out there.
“That's why you're doing this, not me. Thanks guys this is a big help. This afternoon I'd like you to join in the tactical training, need to get you two up to speed.”
“We've been looking forward to it.” Wilford picked up his pack and rifle
“Yeah, we'd like to get a chance to shoot our rifles, too.” Daniel said.
“I'll spend some time with you on the rifles soon. Now we're going to work on some basic fire and maneuver stuff.”

I gathered my morning group of six and added Daniels and Wil to it. I handed out pistols to the six and went over basic manual of arms. I had enough striker fired, double action only guns that everybody could have one, greatly simplyfying the training. I certainly didn't want to have to go to the old Israeli system of Condition 3 carry for pistols.

We spent over half an hour loading and unloading the pistols. Mags on, rack slide, chamber check. Mags off, rack slide, chamber check. We did it over and over and over until we were all sick of it. But I wanted the reps to gel the process in their heads.

Gathering around a table, I showed them how to make servicable holsters with the materials I'd brought; plastic water jugs and duct tape. I built a small fire and let it die down to coals. While that was doing its thing, I made a basic pattern for a belt holster all out of one piece. Part folded over to make the belt loop and part folded over to make the body of the holster.

That done, I cut open a jug and heated over the coals of the fire until I could flaten it out into a sheet. Using the pattern, I cut the plastic to shape. Once again I heated the plastic until it was pliable. I folded over the belt loop, molding it on my belt and putting staples through the remainder to secure it. I put the staples through from the inside so the points were on the outside. I used a scrap piece of wood as an anvil. Using a hammer, I bent the legs down flat, securing them. Some PVC pipe cement might have been a good idea and I made a note to bring some up later.

The plastic had cooled, so I warmed it again and then using a dummy gun as a mold, I folded the plastic over the gun, trying to keep the back as flat as possible and doing the forming on the outer piece. I pointed out to the group the attention I was paying to the trigger area. I wanted the trigger covered, but didn't want the material to interfer with my getting a full firing grip, and I didn't want the holster to be in a position to inadvertantly press the trigger while inserting the pistol in the holster.

Staples secured the edge where the two sides met in the same manner as before. Duct tape reinforced everything.

When I was done I had a very ugly, but very servicable belt holster.

“Ok, you've all seen me make one, I'll leave you the stuff to make your own. I'm not big on just carrying the pistol stuck in your waistband for a number of reasons. This is a good temporary solution until we can come up with something better. Please use the dummy guns to do the molding because it will be very difficult to avoid Rule 2 violations when you are doing it. Because what's Rule number 1?”
“ALL GUNS ARE ALWAYS LOADED!” they answered as one.

We spent the afternoon talking about cover and concealment. Concealment hid you from view, but might not stop incoming rounds. Cover was anything that stopped, impeded, redirected, or slowed down bullets heading your way. I pointed out that people have the tendency to crowd cover, which makes it hard to move, binding you up, and that bullets tend to hug cover too.

Several hours were spent on bounding overwatch in buddy teams. They were horribly ragged at first, but made improvement as the day progressed. We finished by giving each team a couple of chances to do the maneuvers using airsoft guns so they could get the hang of ammo management, one of the difficult aspects to deal with.
It's hard to cover your partner while he's moving if your gun's just gone dry.

It was a good start. Given enough time I'd have a pretty good force. I had no idea just how much time I'd have. Tonight I'd look over my available people and come up with team leaders and teams.

After dinner I sat down with a pad of paper and started making notes. In the area of the upper chicane I had a former staff sargeant and six people with very rudimentary training. Then I had my core down here, of ten or so people with varying levels of firearms training, but no tactical work. There was another handful that I could get involved, like Nibbs, Paco, and Wade.

 

That gave me around eighteen or twenty to work with. Now the question was how to organize them. I saw two basic needs that had to be met; sentry/guard duty and fighting. At the very least we should have the upper chicane manned at all times. Putting just one person there would be a problem. They'd get tired, lonely, and bored by themselves. It's also easier to take out one sentry than two. Eight hours is a long time to be doing a boring job so shorter shifts made sense, but added to the administrative burden. Six, four hour shifts? Or eight, three hour shifts? God how I hate administrative work!

Two guards, every four hours means twelve people a day. Sixteen, if we go with three hour shifts.

Should I put the upper chicane under control of Dupont and Lavell? That would certainly be the easy way out. But what would that do to community dynamics? Would we become two separate groups?

No, it would be better for a number of reasons for us to integrate. One of each pair of guards should come from our group and vise versa. We needed to stick together and learn to work with each other.

After looking at the numbers, I didn't see how we could man the lower chicane also. Well, we could, but there wouldn't be much time for anything else. No, I decided, three hour shifts at just the upper chicane would be the best balance for now. If we could find a few more people we could go to two hour shifts. That would be the least burdensome for everyone.

It occurred to me that we should stagger the shifts, so that one person was getting changed every hour. That would keep everyone fresher, and mix the people up more so that they met and spent time with a larger number of people.

I stretched, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The basic points covered, I'd let the lieutenants decide on what the actual schedule should be, who worked when.

Lieutenants. Huh. Who should the leadership be? Sadie was a capable administrator, but I wanted to keep her free for other things. Stan was an obvious choice with his management background. As was Lavell. Was that enough?
I wanted three groups. Should I lead one? Or pick another person for the third group?

Looking at the roster again, I decided to stick with two groups led by Lavell and Stan, and I'd keep the 'headquarters company' in reserve under my command. Tomorrow I'd let my new lieutenants know about their promotions and new duties. I'd also talk to Paco, Nibbs, Wayne, and maybe some others to see if we could bolster our numbers.

That led me to wonder how Juice and Leslie were doing? I hoped they were OK and wished they were here. Same with the Johnson's and Frank. Even though he was only ten miles away, I had no idea how he and his family were doing. I'd feel a lot better if they were here too.

I could feel the stress creeping in, my muscles tightening, breathing shallow and rapid. I accepted that I couldn't control everything, stood and deliberately stretched my major muscle groups and worked on slowing my respiration.

Well, that was quiet enough for one day. I'd start again in the morning.

“So what are you going to do about Carol?” Sadie and I crawled into bed and I was ready to drop off. I'd told Sadie about my 'interview' with Widmore early that evening. We hadn't had a chance to talk about it, as other things came up and interfered.
“I'm not sure yet.”
“Not sure! She's put a price on your head!”
I laughed, despite myself. “Do you know how funny that sounds? Could you ever believe we'd be at a point in our lives where someone is plotting to kill me? It's absurd.”
Sadie was angry that I laughed. “It's not absurd! She's told people she wants you dead, and is willing to pay for it.”
“What's the likelihood of anyone actually taking her up on it? Who's going to do it? Looking at it from a risk assessment standpoint, I'd say the chances are pretty low.”
“Looking at it from a risk assessment standpoint, no matter how low the chances are, the consequences are large. You can't just let this go.”
“I agree, but I want to handle it the best way possible.”
“Fuck it!” She started to get out of bed. “I'm going over there right now and shoot that conniving bitch right in face!”

 

“Whoa!Wait! Stop! Listen!” I jumped out of bed right behind her and grabbed her arm as she was reaching for her pants. She stopped, clearly furious. Some of her anger at Carol was now aimed my way.
“What?!”
“Let's stop and think this through.”
“What's there to think about? She wants you dead. She's told people that she's willing to pay to have you killed!”
“But now we have someone on the inside, answering to me.”
“So? What will that do for us? Really? You wanted me on the food committee originally, so we'd 'have someone on the inside', but that didn't last long. What do we gain by having Widmore inside as a spy?”
I paused, thinking, but I didn't have an answer for her.
“You're overthinking this. Trying to be clever. I'm surprised at you. You ussually deal with things directly.”
I still didn't have anything to say. Conflicting thoughts ran through my mind and I couldn't settle on any one of them.
“Let me put it to you this way, if Carol had threatened me, what would you have done?”
“Gone right over to her house and shot that coniving bitch right in the face.”
Either she didn't notice, or more likely, choose to ignore my attempt at humor.
“Exactly! You wouldn't let that stand, not for one minute. So why should I? I understand you don't want to do it. I know why. I get it. But she doesn't get to do that to you. No. She. Doesn't.”

Sadie finished getting dressed, got her Glock from where she keeps it while she sleeps. Pulling the mag, reseating it, tugging on it and doing a chamber check were second nature. She probably wasn't even fully concious of it.
She put it in her holster and headed downstairs.
I rushed to follow, holding my pants up with one hand, tucking my shirt with the other as I raced down the stairs behind her. By the time I got my boots on, she was out the door. In my rush, I forgot my rifle upstairs and had to backtrack to get it.
I was out the door, shrugging on my pack, doing my own systems checks as I saw her march around the corner and out of sight.

I struggled to keep up with her, never actually managing to do so. When I got to Carol's, I saw Sadie had her pistol firmly pushed into the face of the guard sitting at the door. She must have caught him asleep.
“Go on! Get!” was what I heard when I finally got to her. The guard had trouble getting out of the chair with his hands up and a muzzle digging into his forehead. He struggled with it a couple of times before Sadie let up the pressure and let him go. The dark stain at the front of his pants was obvious when he stood. He took a few tentative steps away, slowly building speed, his gate somewhat hampered by the wet cloth clinging to his legs.
“And don't let me see you around! You hear me?”
“Yes ma'am” he called over his shoulder as he jogged away. I was surprised he answered, but I guess he didn't want to take a chance of making her angry.

Angrier.

There were a few lights on inside the house. Candles by the look of them. Sadie knocked on the door. There was no answer. She banged on the door with the bottom of her fist.
“Come on out of there Carol!”
Nothing.
She kept pounding. No way Carol didn't know someone was at the door. Or who that someone was. Or why they were there. I turned my back to the door, rifle in a flat stock ready, keeping an eye on Sadie's six. No one was on the street, but I saw curtains move in a couple of windows.

It took me a moment to realize that the pounding had stopped. By the time I turned around, Sadie was gone.

I didn't figure she'd given up and gone home, so I ran around the back of the house in time to see her banging on the rear door. I noticed that the couple of lights that had been on, were now off.

“Open this fucking door for me!”
I hesitated for a moment. She took a step back and brought up her pistol.
“No! Wait!” I was worried about a ricochet at that range.
“Move back a bit.” Sadie moved back and I stepped forward until I was about fifteen feet away from the door. Bringing the AR up I put half a dozen rounds into the door between the lock and the strike plate. Weapon down, safety on, I walked up and gave the door a kick. It opened and Sadie pushed passed me, a woman on a mission.
“Here” She stopped and I tossed her my flashlight. She caught it left handed, oriented the button under her thumb, and brought her left hand under her right until the backs of her hands met in a classic Harries position. Using short light and move bursts of the flashlight, she moved further into the house.

I found a chair to brace against the door. It wouldn't stop anyone for long, but it would give us warning that someone was coming in. It was a medium sized two story house, probably two or three bedrooms. I'd only been in a couple of rooms on the first floor during HOA meetings.
Sadie seemed to know where she was going, heading right for the stairs. I paused for a moment, not wanting to leave the bottom floor unsearched behind us, but not wanting to leave Sadie without back up either.
Sadie was my first priority. I moved to the stairs and started up them backwards, watching down the stairs to make sure somebody didn't come up behind us. I was feeling rushed and exposed.
The shot went off just as I was reaching the top stair. I startled me. There were no voices, no talking, no commands. At this point I didn't know who, if anyone, had been shot. I had my suspicions, but didn't want to assume.
The hall tee'd off left and right from the top of the stairs. The shot had come from the right.
I moved in that direction, shoulders hunched up around my neck, worried about what I was leaving behind me. There was only one door to the right. It was open. The smell of gunpowder was heavy in the still air.
Sadie came out of the room, pistol holstered.
“She won't cause anymore trouble”
Moving into the room, I brought the muzzle of my M4 up so the weapon mounted light shone in the room, I saw Carol crumpled in the corner, a thin trickle of blood seeping from the third eye on the bridge of her nose.
I admired the neatness of Sadie's work. She always hated wasting ammo.

“Feel better now?” Sadie was waiting in the hallway just outside the room. I gave he a hug. It took a moment for her to return it.
“I know it's awful to say it, but yes. Yes I do feel better. That woman has been trouble from the start. She's been a threat to us ever since the beginning. I'm sorry if you're angry with me, if this messed up your plans, but I'm not sorry she's dead.”

I gave her an extra squeeze, and dropped the hug, stepping back so I could look her in the eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Sweetie. I'm the one that should be sorry. I should have done this myself. You shouldn't have had to do it.”
“It's better this way. You'll see. Trust me.”
I gave her a kiss. “Let's clear the rest of the house, I'm not going to be able to relax until we do.”
We finished clearing upstairs, not finding anything out of the ordinary. I took lead going downstairs. Clearing buildings sucks, going down a stairway is one of the worst parts. Not only are you in a fatal funnel where everyone knows where you are, there's no cover, and a limited area for your enemy to hose down with bullets, but your feet lead the way, so anyone down below can see your feet before you can see them. Best to just get it done with.
We cleared the ground floor, all except one room that was secured by a hasp and padlock. An unusual set up on an interior door. My first inclination was to use brute force, but reason took over and I went back upstairs to Carol's room. The key was in the first place I looked, on a chain around her neck.

Opening the door revealed what Widmore told me about, a room litterally full of food. One side was floor to ceiling MREs, cases of canned and dry food on the other side, with government surplus food rounding things out.

“This is a real break!”
I looked at Sadie. “Yeah I guess so.”
“What? You're not happy to see all this food?”
“What are we going to do with it?”
“What do you mean?”
“What are we going to do with it? Who gets it? Do we take it over and administer it? We've been trading our food for labor. But this food came from the government to feed those in need?”
“So?”
“So, do we keep doing what we're doing? Or do we treat this food different and just distribute it to those who need it?”
“Are you even thinking?”
“What?”
“If you just give this food to some people, it devalues the food, and more importantly the labor that the people willing to work for themselves. You're asking for a lot of problems if you do that. You'll wreck what you've worked so hard to get started.”
I was too tired to think. I was starting to shake, now that the action was over and I was standing still.
“We'll figure it out in the morning. I think at least one of us should stay here to guard the house.”
“I'm not going anywhere, I'll stay here with you.”
We started to make ourselves comfortable in the living room when there was a pounding on the front door.