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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 10, 2016 17:12:41 GMT -6
harsh. thank you. don't know if I could do that I don't think I could either. This story has taken a far harsher turn than anything in "Lariat Advance." I'm not altogether sure I like this last turn. That's what makes this kind of writing interesting for me, though - I honestly don't know precisely what will happen from chapter to chapter. It kind of takes it own turns, even when the turn is down a darker path. I might have to think for a day or two on where things goes from here.
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Post by 9idrr on Jul 10, 2016 20:39:04 GMT -6
I'm ready for a break of a day or two. I get the feeling that this one was kinda hard to write.
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 11, 2016 16:57:31 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 18
Tuesday, December 26th – 6 PM
Jillian couldn’t figure out why her bed was moving. It was almost like someone had sat on each side of the bed.
Her eyes opened to the sight of Donna Cooper sitting on the left side of her bed, and Dayna Cooper on the right side.
“Dayna! Donna! What are you doing here?”
“See, Dayna? I told you she’d say your name first. You owe me $5.”
“Surprisingly, I don’t have my purse with me. What’s an eternity’s worth of interest on $5?”
“Wow, you two argue in the afterlife too? Things never change. I’ll ask again: What are you two doing here?”
“We wanted to come say good-bye to you – in person, as it were,” said Donna. “I mean, you had the note from Dayna, but that didn’t seem enough.”
“J, thank you for identifying us. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you,” said Dayna. “It was the act of a true friend.”
“You two were my best friends. I don’t know how to go on now. Losing Mom, all those people out there on the highway, the neighborhood, you two...”
Dayna and Donna each took one of Jillian’s hands. “We’re always going to be here with you, even if we’re not right there, know what I mean?”
“But I want you here now! … Or I want to be there, with you.”
Dayna looked at Donna and then back at Jillian. “That’s not going to happen, J. Not for a long while.”
“She’s right, Jillian,” Nancy’s voice came out of the blue, and Jillian realized her mom was standing at the foot of the bed, with one hand each on Donna and Dayna’s shoulders. “You can’t join us yet. You have too much to do here.”
“I can’t DO anything, Mom! I shopped, I socialized, I went to school! Now that’s all gone!”
“You know how to love your Dad. And Dave,” Nancy pointed out. “And you knew how to love me, even when I wasn’t very lovable.”
“You loved us enough to identify us,” Donna said. “That’s the bravest thing anyone’s ever done for us.”
“And now you’re going to have to be even braver, J,” Dayna said. “You’re going to have to go on living.”
Jillian looked at the three women’s faces. “How do I do it?”
“You love your dad, Jillian. And Dave. And the Jacks. You help them however you can,” Nancy said, leaning forward to place her hands over Donna’s and Dayna’s and Jillian’s.
“We’ll be here when you need us. You can always talk to us, you know,” Donna pointed out.
“Mind you, people here you talking to us, they’ll think you’re crazy,” Dayna said with a smile. “But we’ll know better.”
With one movement, the three let go of Jillian’s hands, and the Cooper sisters stood.
“We have to go now, Jillian. Wake up. Go be with your Dad and Dave,” Nancy said.
“Can I have a hug before you go?” Jillian asked, her eyes brimming with tears.
Without a word, all three women wrapped their arms around Jillian, and Jillian wrapped her arms around their necks, pulling them into her.
Suddenly, Jillian was alone in the bedroom, sitting up in bed with her arms wrapped around her knees.
There was a knock at the door.
“Jillian? It’s Dad. Are you okay?”
“C’mon in, Dad, I’m fine.” Jillian stood and stretched as her dad opened the door and tentatively stuck his head around the door.
“I thought I heard you talking in here, hon.”
“It was just a dream, Dad.”
“Good or bad?”
“To tell you the truth, Dad, I’m not sure.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Maybe later, Dad, but not right now. I have to think about it for a while.”
Frank tried not to frown. “Would you like some dinner? Dave’s rummaging around in the kitchen looking to get something together.”
“Let me wash up and I’ll come out and give Mr. Powers a hand, ok?” Jillian walked past her dad toward the bathroom, stopped, and hugged her dad. “Thanks, Dad.”
Frank hugged his daughter and watched her walk into the bathroom. I don’t have the faintest idea what I did.
An hour later
Once Jillian had come out of the bathroom, she shooed both Dave and Frank out of the kitchen and became a whirling dervish accompanied by a cacophony of cupboards opening and closing and pans clattering on the stovetop. Recognizing their untenable position, both men spent the hour in front of the gun safe, servicing and cleaning their weapons, as well as working on dosimeters and supply inventories.
“My goodness, Jillian, fancy schmantzy!” Dave remarked at the sight of the breakfast countertop. Three complete place settings had been laid out – cloth placemats, cloth napkins, silverware, water glasses, and even a vase with artificial flowers. “Tell the truth, you sent out for pizza and are just trying to fancy it up, right?
“Well, it’s not fancy food, but there’s plenty of it,” Jillian remarked. “And it’s ready.”
Surprise piled upon surprise when Jillian brought out a serving bowl with orange chicken and another one with rice and colored vegetables.
“How did you do all this, Hon? It looks fantastic!” Frank said.
“The orange chicken was in a bag in the freezer, so I just followed the directions and heated it up. Rice is rice – boil water, add rice, drain water. I added some green and red peppers from the freeze-dried stocks, and there you go! Even *I* was able to handle that.” Jillian was proud of her accomplishment, which, considering how little cooking experience she had, was indeed an accomplishment.
Frank gave her a hug and pulled out her stool for her as she came to sit down at the other side of the counter. “I’m proud of you hon! This looks delicious!”
Jillian looked like she was about to burst.
Twenty minutes later, every scrap of the orange chicken and rice was gone, and three very satisfied people sat back in their chairs.
“That was outstanding, J,” Dave said. “You did well, young lady.”
“Thank you, Mr. Powers,” Jillian said with a blush as she got up from her stool and started clearing the dishes. “Can we help you with anything?”
“Yes, Mr. Powers you can help by staying right there. The microwave coffee is just about done,” Jillian replied, as the microwave beeped. “And there we are.”
Five minutes later, the dishes were soaking in the sink and the three were sitting on the sofa, Dave and Frank with coffee and Jillian with a Coke.
"That was well done, Jillian,” Frank said. “I’m proud of you.” Dave echoed Frank’s sentiments, and Jillian’s face turned almost as red as the Coke can she was holding.
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Post by 9idrr on Jul 11, 2016 17:10:05 GMT -6
It was good to see something uplifting.
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Post by kaijafon on Jul 11, 2016 18:59:10 GMT -6
thank you for the moar!! I have a feeling it's gonna get bumpy soon!
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Post by motherhen on Jul 11, 2016 19:41:27 GMT -6
I really have enjoyed this story, thank you! I was so glad when they got in touch with the fire department, that is a lot of work for only a few people. Hopefully the fire department can get ahold of some heavy equipment for digging.
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 12, 2016 11:07:56 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 19
Interlude – Returning to Near Normal
The weeks following Christmas began to resemble a normal life, if you can call anything in a post-nuclear war world normal.
Frank, Dave and Bruce began doing organized decontamination outside, mainly hosing down the roofs, outside walls and yards of their homes and then gradually expanding to the other homes in Midway Estates. This was greatly helped by several rainstorms in January and February. Ironically, the years-long drought appeared to have broken when very few people were around to enjoy it.
Jillian’s school education was resumed as best it could be in the given circumstances. Everyone pitched in with this, as indeed they did on most everything. Suzy Jacks, who had retired as a high school teacher the previous spring, spent a couple of hours a day working with Jillian on different subjects. Frank had a large collection of open-source texts downloaded from the Internet Archive and Project Gutenberg, as well as copies of their Kindle and Nook e-books backed up on his home server. With these, plus the hard copy books the families owned, Suzy developed an extensive reading program for Jillian. The adults participated in this reading program as well, mainly to keep up with Jillian, who was making rapid progress in the one-teacher, one-student education she was getting.
Jillian’s education wasn’t limited to the scholastic arena. Dave resumed weapons familiarization training for Jillian a couple hours a week, expanding it to the other adults, all of whom knew the basics of using and maintaining their weapons, but were lacking in any knowledge of tactics or repairs.
Dave, having been an Army NCO before leaving the service, was well versed in conducting physical training and developed a calisthenics and running regimen that could be performed in the two homes: calisthenics on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, alternating with running on Tuesdays and Thursdays. In both homes, the running involved a circuit from the basement, up the stairs to the second floor, and back down, and started with a single lap, at first, expanding to multiple laps as time went by.
Both houses observed Sunday as a day of rest. This was particularly welcomed by the adults, who particularly needed Sunday to let their bodies recover a bit from the physical fitness training as well as Dave’s hand-to-hand training, which occurred on Saturday mornings.
Sundays also saw a church service, followed by Sunday lunch. The church service and lunch alternated between the Jacks’ and Simonians’ homes.
One of the most difficult tasks of this period was salvaging the unoccupied homes in Midway Estates. It was physically unpleasant, because of the rotten foods in refrigerators and freezers which had gone without power since December 2nd. It was emotionally unpleasant as well, because every home was a reminder of people who hadn’t returned and were, apparently, dead.
Bruce suggested that they begin by going from home to home in the thirteen homes that had had no occupants since December 2nd and cleaning out the refrigerators and freezers. At each home, the men moved the refrigerator/freezer to the driveway and their spoiled contents dumped into trash bags, which were placed in the back of Bruce Jacks’ truck and transported to a pit dug in a field next to the gated community for burning. Suzy and Jillian scrubbed the refrigerators and freezers clean, after which they were allowed to air our in the driveways. Kitchen windows were left open to try to air out the stench of the rotting food. Two days later, the refrigerators were moved back into the homes and the salvaging began in earnest, under less odorous, if not more pleasant, circumstances.
In a few houses, dead pets were found – dogs and cats that were left in the house and died of starvation and/or dehydration when their owners never returned. Their remains were taken for disposal with the spoiled food.
The primary focus was on canned food; many of the dry goods were stale and, often times, buggy as well. Each kitchen and pantry cupboard was carefully checked. Useable food items were noted in an inventory book, boxed up, and split up between the Simonian and Jacks households. Any damaged or bulging cans were placed in trash bags and disposed of with the other spoiled food.
Dave and Frank kept an eye out for weapons, ammunition and gun safes. If a safe’s combination or keys could quickly be found, the safes were opened; otherwise they were left secured in place. All weapons and ammunition were inventoried and transported to Dave’s basement shelter, which became their unofficial armory. Any valuable non-firearm items (gold and silver coins, jewels, jewelry, etc.) found in the gun safes were also inventoried and secured in Dave’s basement.
The survivors had several operable vehicles, so cars and trucks were left in their garages, or on the street. As with everything else, an inventory was made of vehicles, their locations, and whether or not keys were available.
One day, during a break from salvaging, Jillian asked Dave why they were keeping such a detailed inventory of what was taken from each house.
“It’s the right thing to do, J,” Dave said. “We can use these items to survive, but they still belonged to someone else.”
“What happens if someone who lived here comes back and wants to know where their stuff is?” Jillian asked.
“We check the inventory, see what was taken from that house, and give it back to them. Where an item was consumed, we repay them in some way. We’re salvaging for survival, J. We’re not thieves or looters.”
Jillian took responsibility for maintaining the various inventory lists, with some instruction from her dad on using the Excel spreadsheet program on his laptop.
As the survivors of Midway Estates salvaged their neighborhood, authorities in Fresno and Clovis began salvaging to help care for the survivors.
Military personnel from the Air National Guard facility at Fresno-Yosemite Airport, operating under the authority of the Fresno Police and Sheriff’s Departments, began to systematically strip grocery stores, warehouse stores, pharmacies and wholesale warehouses for food and medical supplies.
Police and fire stations were used as food distribution points. With what they had in their own supplies, plus what they had salvaged from their neighbors, the people of Midway Estates decided not to seek out any of the food supplies.
They stayed in regular touch with Deputy Chief Wilson of the Clovis Fire Department, and learned that progress was being made. Working groups involving local fire and police personnel, as well as tow truck drivers, had started clearing highways and major surface streets in February. Vehicles were moved to center divides or parking lots; bodies were bagged, marked with personal information (or vehicle license plates, if nothing else), and transported for burial or incineration, when fuel was available.
Surveillance flights by Air National Guard F-15s confirmed the damage reports they had received on the day of the attack. The Bay Area and greater Los Angeles had been utterly destroyed. Deputy Chief Wilson’s fears proved correct; an overflight showed a massive traffic jam in the Ridge Route area. It was doubtful that blockage would ever be cleared; Interstate 5 would be the eternal resting place for thousands of men, women, and children.
Communications had been restored to some degree with Sacramento and the federal government, which was operating out of a hardened facility well outside Washington, assumed by most in the know to be Mount Weather, Virginia. Their instructions to local authorities were simple: For the moment, you’re on your own.
KMJ began broadcasting again in January, after receiving fuel for their generators as well as certain replacement parts damaged by a power surge when the grid collapsed. Information was limited mostly to local news and instructions and was broadcast three times a day, at 8 AM, noon, and 4 PM, and then only for 15 minutes per broadcast, so as to conserve fuel.
March 1st marked the day that the cleanup effort crossed the Friant-Kern Canal. Deputy Chief Wilson indicated that he thought, fuel supplies permitting, the effort would be complete by the 1st of April.
March 1st also marked the first armed attack against Midway Estates.
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Post by ss1442 on Jul 12, 2016 11:25:08 GMT -6
Thanks I was starting to wonder if this was the last chapter for this one, untill I got to the last line.
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Post by kaijafon on Jul 12, 2016 15:27:33 GMT -6
That last line was a BANG! well done! and thanks!
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Post by 9idrr on Jul 12, 2016 16:51:31 GMT -6
I knew the story couldn't be over this quickly. Good ol' ba65 still seems to have too much good writin' left in him.
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 12, 2016 18:28:46 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 20
Thursday, March 1st – Morning
The decision to bring Nancy home from Riverpark was reached after a surprisingly brief discussion. Jillian suggested the idea after breakfast and by 9 AM they were on the road, Frank and Jillian in the Blazer and Dave driving his Suburban. They arrived at Riverpark by 9:30. Nancy’s red Mercedes coupe was still the only vehicle in the structure.
Dave suggested that Frank and Jillian led him do the actual removal of remains from the car and both agreed. Jillian gave Dave some artificial flowers to place with Nancy’s remains. Dave was less concerned about them seeing Nancy’s remains than about keeping them from seeing what had happened to the gangbanger rapist. Dave shed no tears for him, but, judging by the condition of the remains and the back seat, he wouldn’t have wished that punishment on his worst enemy.
By 9:45 they were headed for the temporary morgue facility at Herndon & DeWolf. When they arrived, just after 10 AM, Deputy Chief Wilson met the vehicles and, with Dave’s help, took the remains into the facility. After filling out an identity card, Dave returned to the Suburban and led the convoy back home.
In their grief and/or shock, nobody noticed the motorcycle that had trailed them, at a very discreet distance and often riding off-road, from Riverpark, to the morgue facility, and nearly to their home. Nobody saw the motorcyclist raise a radio microphone to his lips and speak.
Later that same day – just before 6 PM
The attackers numbered a baker’s dozen and tried to sneak up on Midway Estates from behind, coming from East Shepherd Avenue and towards the south wall of the community.
Had they done surveillance for a couple of days, they would have known that Bruce Jacks was in the habit of taking an after-dinner stroll toward the front gate. They would also have known that he carried both a shotgun and a handheld CB radio with him.
Bruce could hear motorcycles in the area but couldn’t determine their direction of travel when he spotted two bikes roaring out of the now-abandoned neighborhood across the street and right at the gate. He fired four rounds from his shotgun, taking one biker clean off his ride and dismounting the other one when he swerved at the sound of the first shot. Bruce ducked behind a pillar and raised Dave and Frank on the CB. Everyone grabbed their weapon and headed topside. Dave paused briefly to switch the CB to Channel 9 and report an armed attack on their neighborhood.
The bikers came over the rear wall on the south side of Midway Estates, not looking for any home in particular, three or four dropping from well-aimed fired by Bruce and his wife, who had taken up position behind a large planter near their front porch. Bruce and Jillian came down the street on foot, using the community center and park for cover. Though a longer distance, Dave came around from the other direction in an attempt to catch the bikers, now returning fire, in a crossfire.
Bruce was reloading when three of the bikers, trying to outflank him, ran across the street and into a withering fire from Frank and Jillian. Dave edged around the southeast corner of the community building and was wounded in the left arm by a biker who fired a split second before Dave did, the shotgun slug catching the biker in the throat and separating his head from the remainder of his body.
Though they didn’t realize it at the time, the residents of Midway Estates now outnumbered the bikers, who had lacked any real sense of tactical operation. Dave was moving toward Frank and Jillian’s position when Frank made the mistake of stepping out to help him, temporarily blocking Jillian’s point of view. At that precise moment, Suzy was reloading and Bruce was putting paid to a biker near the front gate.
Therefore nobody was able to return fire when the leader of the gang, the man who had tracked the two vehicles earlier that day, raised up with a .45 in his right hand and fire half a dozen rounds at Frank, finding his target with four rounds. As Frank crumpled to the ground, Jillian, Dave, and Bruce all fired multiple rounds at the gang leader, killing him instantly.
Dave came to a sliding stop in front of Frank, trying to shield him and Jillian with his body while watching for any further threat. Jillian screamed and grabbed for her father. Bruce held his position at the front gate and screamed “NOW, SUZY, GO GO GO!” Suzy, heedless of any danger, ran for Frank and Jillian.
Jillian was kneeling next to her father, his head braced on her knee, his torso covered with blood. A thin line of blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. “Ji-… lli...”
“Don’t try to talk, Dad, help’s on the way. Hold on, Dad, c’mon...”
Dave was glancing back at his best friend, while trying to watch for any more dangers from the bikers through the tears filling his eyes.
Suzy tore off her outer shirt trying futilely to use it as a bandage and to stop the bleeding. Bruce was near the gate, trying, like Dave, to watch for any outward danger while looking over at Frank. Suzy glanced up at Jillian, who was sobbing over her father’s head, and then at Bruce. She shook her head and made a thumbs-down gesture.
Jillian was holding her dad’s hand and repeating, “I love you, Dad, I love you. Hold on, hold on.” Frank raised his head and whispered to her in the faintest of voice, “I love … you, I’m … so proud … of you. Be...strong.” Frank let his head fall back, the slightest movement of his chest the only sign of life.
Suzy tapped Dave on the shoulder and inclined her head towards Frank. She took her shotgun and scanned the area for any danger. Dave turned around and pulled himself to a reclining position on Frank’s left side. “Stop lazing about, you bum – we’ve got work to do!” Dave murmured, looking from Frank’s tattered chest to his face.
The sound of his best friend’s voice seemed to energize Frank briefly. He opened his eyes and turned his head towards Dave, trying to raise his left hand. Dave grasped Frank’s hand firmly and looked into his eyes.
“D...ave, take care … of Jillian,” Frank gasped. “See ya … later … buddy.”
As the sky grew dim, Frank’s breathing slowed, then stopped. The last thing he heard was his daughter and his best friend sobbing, the last thing he felt their tears falling on his face.
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Post by papaof2 on Jul 12, 2016 19:11:23 GMT -6
thank you!! not sure how they are going to clean up and bury all those bodies though.... whew! I think requires a backhoe to dig the trench, a dump truck and a frontloader to load the dump truck. Maybe one marker per mile.
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 12, 2016 19:29:46 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 21
Deputy Chief Wilson arrived a few minutes after Frank died, going code 3 with a Clovis paramedic in the passenger’s seat of his departmental truck. A Clovis Police motor unit arrived a few seconds later, coming from the direction of 168. Sergeant Scortia, who had done the surveillance of 168 earlier and had met the occupants of Midway Estates once before, dismounted from his bike, drew his pistol, and motioned to the fire vehicle to stay back.
Scortia stuck his head around the edge of the front wall and saw bodies scattered across the front lawns of three or four homes, and a group of people clustered around a man down near a building in the center. Bruce spoke up quietly to alert the officer to his presence before coming around the pillar. He carried his shotgun in one hand, barrel down, as he unlocked the gate to let the police and fire personnel in.
Sergeant Scortia spoke. “What in God’s name happened, Bruce?,” motioning to the bodies.
“Buncha motorcycle thugs tried to come over the wall. We’d have been in serious trouble if I hadn’t seen two of ‘em trying to cross the road.” Bruce gestured in the direction of the downed bikes across the road. “Better check them out, make sure they’re all dead. We never had a chance to.”
Scortia held his pistol in one hand and pulled out a flashlight with the other. “Mind walking over with me? We can’t afford to send two men on calls anymore. I’m it.” Bruce nodded and walked across the street, where they found both bikers dead, one with a slug to the chest, the other with a broken neck after crashing.
Deputy Chief Wilson tapped the paramedic on the shoulder and pointed to the group surrounding Frank. Together the two men ran over and stood helplessly as Dave looked up and shook his head. Wilson turned away and, seeing Scortia and Bruce coming in the front gate, motioned to the bikers’ bodies. The three men checked for survivors and found none.
The paramedic, seeing the wound on Dave’s arm, knelt down beside him and gently began to remove Dave’s shirt sleeve and to clean and bandage the wound.
Jillian remained kneeling, her dead father’s head on her knee. Suzy knelt beside her, not speaking, just resting a hand on her shoulder.
Bruce stood across the street, amidst the carnage, talking to Sergeant Scortia and Deputy Chief Wilson. “Chief, I count thirteen bad guys dead – eleven over here, plus two across the road. I’d like to collect the firearms and have you carry them back to the station for me, if you would. What about the bodies?”
Wilson stood with his arms crossed, looking at Frank’s inert form across the road. “Only one body’s being moved tonight. Let the garbage truck pick up the rest. Will you gentlemen help me?” Scortia and Bruce nodded their heads. Wilson went to his pickup truck and returned with a body bag. Together the three men slowly walked towards the cluster of people.
The paramedic had finished bandaging Dave’s arm and stood up, his equipment bag over his shoulder, as Wilson and the others approached. “Through-and-through, Chief, no bone or artery damage. I gave him a couple of pain pills.”
“Good job, Burnside. Would you give us a hand in just a minute?” The paramedic nodded and sat his bag down out of the way.
Wilson knelt between Dave and Jillian. “I am so sorry about this. I heard the call come in on Channel 9, grabbed a paramedic and got out here ASAP. Too late, I’m afraid.”
“Thank you, Chief,” Dave said quietly as he pulled himself to a sitting position, wincing at a pain from his arm.
“I can’t take care of everything tonight, Dave,” Wilson said, motioning with his hand towards the dead bikers, “but, if you’d like, I … we can take Frank home.”
Dave nodded his head. “Let me talk to Jillian first.” He stood up carefully and stood next to Jillian, placing a hand on her shoulder. She stood and grabbed Dave in a bear hug, mindful of his arm.
“J, the Chief would like to, well, take care of your Dad tonight. Is that okay with you?”
Looking as if she wanted to burst into tears again, Jillian looked down at her dad and then back at Dave. “It’s okay, Mr. Powers. He’ll be together with mom now.”
Dave gently led Jillian a couple feet to one side so Deputy Chief Wilson, Bruce, and the paramedic could open up the body bag and move Frank into it. Wilson removed a wristwatch from Frank’s left wrist, and a wedding band from its place on Frank’s right hand. The bag was quietly zippered closed.
Deputy Chief Wilson and Sergeant Scortia took the two handles at the bottom of the bag. Bruce and Suzy each took one at the side. “Dave?” Bruce said quietly.
Dave looked up at the waiting men and then at Jillian. “J, do you want to…?”
Jillian stared at the bag for long moments, then, without speaking walked over and took one of the handles by her dad’s head. Dave took the other handle, and said “Okay, lift.”
The six people grasped the handles and lifted Frank Simonian from the ground. Jillian had to use both hands but bore the burden without a sound. The paramedic moved ahead to the department truck and got up in the back to help the six pallbearers lift Frank into the truck bed.
The assembly stood for a few minutes, without speaking. Deputy Chief Wilson and Sergeant Scortia removed their helmets and held them over their hearts. Everyone was sobbing.
Wilson approached Dave and quietly spoke into his ear. “I’ll personally ensure that Frank and his wife are buried together. You have my word on it.” Dave nodded, unable to speak.
Wilson and the paramedic got back into the truck and started to turn around. Sergeant Scortia held up his hand in a “wait” sign, put his helmet back on, and remounted his motorcycle, pulling in front of the fire department truck. He turned on his flashing lights, and Wilson did the same for the truck. Scortia raised his left hand in the air for a long moment, then slowly dropped it. The two-vehicle procession, lights flashing in silent tribute, pulled slowly away from the gate of Midway Estates and towards the city. It was nearly ten minutes before they drove out of sight.
Suzy insisted that Dave and Jillian stayed with them that night, and the four survivors of Midway Estates walked slowly back to their house, Bruce carrying his and Dave’s shotguns, Suzy taking hers and Jillian’s. Dave held Jillian’s hand.
Nobody wanted dinner that evening. Nobody slept that night.
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Post by kaijafon on Jul 12, 2016 20:18:27 GMT -6
went through two boxes of tissue....
.... sniff sniff
(thank you)
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 12, 2016 20:50:10 GMT -6
went through two boxes of tissue.... .... sniff sniff (thank you) Two handkerchiefs here. This is how a story can suddenly change - in Chapter 18, Jillian's on the verge of suicide; two chapters later and her dad's gone. Almost feel like I'm picking on her - lost her mom, her friends and neighbors, a thousand dead people essentially in her backyard, and now her dad's gone...
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Post by kaijafon on Jul 13, 2016 10:39:42 GMT -6
not sure what other bad stuff can happen to her.
but don't take that as a challenge!!!
hehehe!
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Post by 9idrr on Jul 13, 2016 20:44:19 GMT -6
Pretty strong stuff, sir. I can't begin to guess where you'll take it from here.
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Post by pbbrown0 on Jul 13, 2016 21:47:24 GMT -6
Writing fiction is an unusual experience. Sometimes the story takes turns the writer does not expect. It is really amazing how the "story" takes off along its own path, like an unbridled horse, and then challenges the author to to find the way home from there.
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 14, 2016 9:57:03 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 22
Friday, March 2nd
The four survivors of Midway Estates – Dave Powers, Jillian Simonian, and Bruce & Suzy Jacks – looked and acted like zombies the day after losing Frank Simonian to an armed attack against their gated community. Nobody had slept for 24 hours, and neither Dave nor Jillian had eaten since lunch the previous day.
Chores and outside work were ignored. Nobody was maintaining a radio watch of any kind; the CB in the Jacks’ shelter was still turned on and working, but if asked, nobody could have told the questioner if anything had come through.
Coffee was made by Suzy Jacks and drunk by all, even Jillian, who drank hers black, ignoring her favored Half-and-Half Splash.
The three adults were therefore quite surprised when Jillian got off the sofa, took her coffee mug to the kitchen and rinsed it, and then headed into the bathroom. Except for a quiet “thank you” when Suzy had handed her the full coffee mug a half hour before, Jillian had neither spoken nor left the couch for hours.
The degree of surprise (or, perhaps, alarm) grew greatly when, after a few minutes, Jillian came out of the bathroom with her hair neatly combed and still damp, dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Dave had gone back to the Simonian house a few hours after Frank had been killed and picked up his and Jillian’s bug-out bags, which were still in the basement and still intact. That way, they both had clean clothing when someone felt like doing something.
That time for Jillian, apparently, was now. The tasks were simple – throwing out the coffee grounds, rinsing out the now-empty coffee pot, and doing what few dishes there were – but it was more than anyone else in the shelter was doing that dark morning.
Dave walked into the kitchen and handed Jillian his empty mug, which was promptly washed, rinsed, and set in the rack to dry.
“I know it’s a dumb question,” Dave spoke softly, “but how you doin’, J?”
Jillian sighed but didn’t cry. “Mr. Powers, do you remember that line from Shawshank Redemption? Red, the guy who could get things, told Andy ‘Get busy living or get busy dying.’ Well, I’m gonna get busy living. That’s what mom and Dayna told me to do, and I think it’s what Dad would want.”
Dave’s first impression was that Jillian had lost her mind, that the multiple losses and traumas of the past three months had finally taken away her sanity. “Um, your mom and Dayna?”
Jillian smiled slightly and leaned against the counter. “Guess I never told you about that, did I, Mr. Powers?” Dave shook his head.
“The day after Christmas, after the Andersons and the Coopers were … recovered, I laid down when we got back home, and I had a dream. At least I think it was a dream, I don’t really know. Anyway, Dayna and Donna spoke to me, Mom too. I was … I wanted to be with them.” Jillian paused, replaying the conversation in her mind. Dave stood silently, just listening.
“They told me I couldn’t join them, not for a long time, that I had too much to do down here. They just didn’t tell me I’d have to do it without Dad.” Jillian looked grim, determined.
“I was ready to quit again after last night. I figured I’d get some pills in the bathroom and just … go away. But that phrase of Red’s kept floating through my head. ‘Get busy living or get busy dying.’ I guess I chose living. Now what about you?”
Dave was half in a trance. “I’m sorry, J – what about me?”
This time a small smile did form on Jillian’s face. “What are you going to do, Mr. Powers?”
“Honestly, J, I don’t have the faintest idea,” Dave admitted. “I can’t get my head around that my best friend, your dad, is gone.”
Jillian set down the dish towel and placed a hand on Dave’s arm.
“I think Dad would want you to keep an eye on me, don’t you? To finish raising me in his place, as it were?”
Dave’s eyes teared up. “You’d want me to do that? Act as your father?”
“I trust you, Mr. Powers. I know Dad did – you two were best friends for years and years.”
“Not that many years, J,” Dave said with a slight laugh, which drew the attention of Bruce and Suzy.
“That’s better. Now, what do we do today?” Jillian asked.
“Let’s go home,” Dave said.
Holding hands, Dave and Jillian thanked the Jacks for their hospitality, invited them to dinner that evening, picked up their bug-out bags, and returned to the Simonian residence. To home.
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Post by 9idrr on Jul 14, 2016 14:22:27 GMT -6
Onward and upward, once you've hit bottom.
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 14, 2016 16:25:24 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 23
Friday, March 2nd – late afternoon
After returning home from the Jacks’ residence, Dave and Jillian both retreated to their respective bedrooms in the shelter to get some rest before the Jacks came over that evening for dinner at 7 PM. Not a sound was heard in the shelter, with the exception of snoring, until well into the afternoon.
Dave woke up about 2:45, showered, shaved, and came out into the living/dining area to discover the kitchen table set for four and Jillian working in the kitchen, with an old cookbook open and various pots and containers scattered everywhere.
“Got something planned for dinner, J?” Dave asked, skipping coffee in favor of a glass of Coke with just a splash of Jack Daniels.
“Mexicali Meat Pie,” Jillian replied. “It was one of Dad’s favorites when Mom still cooked regularly.” She held up the tattered booklet containing the recipe. “She got it from a Pillsbury bake-off booklet from the early 1960s.”
“Sounds good – smells good too, so far,” Dave said. “Anything need to be done?”
Jillian shook her head. “Not really, Mr. Powers – the bacon’s cooked and crumbled, the crust is made, all I have to do is finish browning the hamburger, put everything together, and pop it in the oven about 5:30.”
“Well, if you’re okay in here then,” Dave said as he walked towards the shelter entrance, “I’m going to clean the weapons and put them back in the gun safe, make sure everything’s ship shape over there.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” Jillian said, throwing him a mock salute. “Do you want something to eat first?”
Returning the salute with mock solemnity, Dave said “I’ll grab an MRE, so I can stay out of your way, J.” At hearing Jillian’s gagging noise, he went on. “I really don’t see why people complain about them. They’re pretty good.” Not great, he thought to himself, but at least they’re less bad than when I was in the Army.
Dave took a folding chair and settled down to work at the gun safe. This model had a slide-out surface that gave you a working area with the safe open. Dave set his glass down and took out one of the shotguns that had been in use the previous evening, unloaded it, and began thoroughly cleaning and oiling it down. By the time he finished the other two shotguns, and had everything reloaded and locked away, it was nearly 6 PM.
Dave stood up and started to slide the working surface back in when he noticed a bright yellow Post-It note on the door. He’d noticed it before but never read it. It said simply: DAVE – SECOND DRAWER ON THE LEFT. - FRANK.
Why would Frank leave a note like that? Dave wondered. Unless he thought something might happen to him and I’d be going through his things.
Dave had tried not to think about the previous night’s events since he’d gotten up. Even while cleaning the shotguns that had been put to good use, Dave had thought about the task in purely technical terms. Use this tool, clean here, apply oil at these points, rub down, reload, and so on. Now, a small piece of paper brought everything rushing back.
Tossing down what was left of his deliberately weak drink, Dave opened the second drawer on the left and pulled out a thick padded manila envelope with Frank’s handwriting on the front. It read simply: In the event of my death, followed by Frank.
Do I read this now? Does Jillian need another reminder of her latest loss? For that matter, do *I*?
“Meat pie just went in the oven, Mr. Powers. What’s that envelope?”
Before he could do or say anything, Jillian had seen the writing on the front and let out a little gasp. “Where’d you find that, Mr. Powers?"
Mutely, still in shock, he pointed to the sticky note and then to the now-empty drawer.
Jillian looked from the sticky note, to the drawer, to the envelope. “Should we open it now?”
“Might as well, J,” Dave said heavily, standing up and handing her the empty glass. “Would you mind rinsing this out for me and putting on some coffee? Then let’s sit down and go through this at the breakfast counter.”
Jillian occupied herself in the kitchen for the next few minutes while Dave closed and locked up the gun safe and put away the folding chair. Finally, the two of them sat down, Jillian putting down two mugs of coffee.
Dave carefully broke the seal on the envelope, opened it and removed the contents. There were seven individual envelopes inside the larger one, wrapped inside a sheet of paper. Each enveloped was labeled by subject matter and a number: 1- WILL. 2 – TRUST. 3 – STOCKS. 4 - BANK ACCOUNTS. 5 – MONEY / PMS. 6 – DEED. A seventh envelope, not numbered, was marked JILLIAN.
Dave unfolded the letter, setting the envelopes down in front of him like a hand of cards. Together, he and Jillian read the letter.
Dear Dave:
Obviously you saw the Post-It Note on the inside of the safe door, and you found the correct draw. Equally obvious is that I am dead.
I place Jillian in your care. The legal niceties are all taken care of in the first two envelopes. The rest are simply details.
If both you and Jillian are willing, I’d like you to adopt her. Nancy and I had talked about it before and agreed that you were the only choice to raise our daughter. We just never got around to putting it in writing
It has been one of the greatest pleasures of my life knowing you. I have absolute faith in you to do right by Jillian.
Your best friend forever, Frank
The note was signed and dated February 1 of that year.
Dave handed the last envelope to Jillian, who looked at it without opening it and sat it down on top of the letter the other envelopes had been wrapped in. Dave picked up the first envelope, opened it, and read the contents. He then methodically opened each of the other numbered envelopes in order, reading through their contents.
If it wasn’t for the nuclear war, Jillian would be a well-off young lady. Frank’s annual earning were in the mid-six figures, and even with Nancy’s spending habits, he saved a lot of money. He also invested regularly in stocks and precious metals (the PMs referred to on the fifth envelope).
The stocks were probably worth nothing more than kindling paper, and the cash and bank accounts were likely in the same situation. Even so, Jillian was in a good financial and survival state. The house was paid for, as the sixth envelope attested to. The shelter would always be useful – whether as living quarters, for emergencies, or even as storage. The guns and ammunition were worth their weight in gold – perhaps even more than the gold coins he had set aside.
At some point while Dave had gone through the numbered envelopes, Jillian had opened the envelope marked for her. It was a short note, in Frank’s handwriting, also dated the first of February.
My dearest Jillian:
I am so sorry that, for whatever reason, I will not be around to see you grow up. It doesn’t matter how I died, only that I will not be there for you in these troubled times. For that, I apologize.
I am asking Dave Powers to be your legal guardian until you turn 18 years of age. He’s a good, decent, kind-hearted man who, if necessary, would lay down his life to protect you. Treat him well. Take care of him as best you can. In a very real sense, he is now your father.
The other envelopes go through in some detail the estate your mother and I have left you. Dave will know how best to manage them, and I am certain he will teach you how to handle them wisely.
I have always been proud of you but never more so than in the past couple of months. You have taken blow after blow and refused to give up. I am sure your mother is proud of you as am I.
Eternally yours, Your father.
Jillian’s eyes watered but she did not cry or sob. She handed her father’s note to Dave and began replacing the documents in the appropriate numbered envelopes.
“Do you want to keep this letter with you, J?” Dave asked, trying not to break into tears himself.
Jillian shook her head. “No, let’s keep everything together, in the safe. For safekeeping… so to speak.” She handed him the other envelopes. “It’s late and the Jacks will be here any minute. Let’s get ready.”
Dave sat for a moment longer, staring at the envelopes. Finally, with a sigh, he stood up, picked up the envelopes, replaced them in the manila envelope, and placed it back in the drawer in the safe. I’ll have to give Jillian a key to this tomorrow, Dave thought as he closed the door. Just in case.
Shortly afterwards, the Jacks arrived, Bruce carrying an insulated carafe of coffee and Suzy a peach cobbler, made using canned fruit.
To say that the dinner was a success would be a gross understatement. Jillian’s Mexicali Meat Pie was a hit, well and truly praised by all. Judging by the empty dish, Suzy’s cobbler was equally appreciated, especially when accompanied by a scoop of vanilla ice cream (the last of what was in Jillian’s freezer).
After-dinner coffee was served and everyone retreated to the living room area, the women taking the sofa and the men the two recliners.
Dave was trying out how to broach the subject of Frank’s will and request to care for Jillian – or indeed, whether to bring it up at all – when Jillian told Suzy what they had found in the safe. She didn’t reveal all the details – her dad had raised her not to discuss certain things with people outside the family – but the important parts.
“I’m really glad for you, Jillian. Dave’s a good man,” Suzy said. “And you know that Bruce and I will always be here for you too, if you – or Dave – ever need anything.”
“Such a change for the both of you,” Bruce added. “For all of us, I guess.”
Dave nodded. “You’re right there, Bruce. We can’t replace Frank – I’m just going to try to do the best I can by our Jillian here.” He raised his cup to her. “Who by the way, is completely responsible for dinner tonight.” Jillian’s face turned about five shades of red as the three adults cheered and raised their mugs to her.
The dinner party broke up soon afterwards, as everyone had had a very long day and none of the four had slept much since the trauma of the previous evening. Dave and Jillian walked the Jacks to the front sidewalk and watched as they headed back towards their home, until they were out of sight. As the two turned to go back in the front door, Jillian spoke up, “Mr. Powers, do you think that we could move back up into the main house tomorrow?”
Dave was surprised. “Do you really want to, J? All I’d have to do is redirect the power from shelter systems to the house itself.”
Jillian nodded her head as they stepped inside. “I miss the house. I’m tired of looking at four walls without any sunshine or blue sky.”
Dave locked and bolted the front door and closed the security blinds. “I don’t see why not. We can leave most things in the shelter and get what we need when we need it. Now, can I ask you a favor, young lady?”
Jillian looked surprised. “Of course, Mr. Powers, what is it?”
With a smile, he said, “Do you think you could start calling me Dave?”
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Post by misterjimbo on Jul 14, 2016 19:51:47 GMT -6
Outstanding work. But, if everyone keeps dying off, this story will end too soon and you will just have to start another new one.
Thanks for all your effort!
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 14, 2016 20:06:09 GMT -6
Outstanding work. But, if everyone keeps dying off, this story will end too soon and you will just have to start another new one. Thanks for all your effort! Thank you. I'm hoping to avoid any more friendly fatalities, though as I said earlier, these stories sort of take their own path sometimes. I'm already planning a "non-fatal" story for my next one. Mostly non-fatal, anyway.
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 14, 2016 20:09:12 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 24
Saturday, March 3rd – Midday
Dave and Jillian slept well that evening and were both up early the next morning. After a quick breakfast, the preparations to move upstairs began.
Dave shut down most of the shelter systems and flipped the circuit breaker upstairs to allow the shelter generator to power to the house. Dave and his electrical sub-contractor had installed large enough generators that both the house and shelter systems could run off the generator. Jillian cried as the lights came on in the kitchen for the first time in three months.
While the empty refrigerator and freezer began cooling off, Dave and Jillian began moving non-perishables from the shelter up to the kitchen. After several trips, the excitement of moving back upstairs began to wear off rapidly. The kitchen refrigerator was now cool enough to begin moving perishables up, a task which was finished in short order.
“Whew!” Jillian exclaimed as she put away the last of the perishables in the refrigerator. “I’m glad that’s over, Dave! What do you think about a sandwich and some iced tea?”
“Sounds good, J, though I’m not sure I have the energy to chew,” Dave said, wiping his brow with a handkerchief as he sat down at the kitchen table.”
“I can always grab a couple of MREs from the shelter.”
“A sandwich sounds great, J!”
“Nice change of heart, Dave. I’ll have to get the bread machine going up here later. We’re about done with that last loaf.” She took the mayonnaise out of the now-cool refrigerator and got a couple cans of tuna from the restocked cupboard.
“I’ll bring it up after I’ve eaten, and sat down for a while,” Dave said, sitting back in his kitchen chair.
The weather was warmer than usual in the first week of March, so Dave and Jillian took their lunch outside and sat on the front porch. They ate in a companionable silence and, after pushing the empty plates and glasses to one side, simply sat back and relaxed.
“Did you ever think we’d be doing something so normal as eating lunch outdoors, Dave?” Jillian said as she looked around.
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Dave replied. “I just stayed focused on the day to day things.”
Abruptly Jillian got up, took the dirty plates and glasses inside, and started doing the dishes. Dave, trying to figure out if he had done or said something wrong, followed her into the kitchen.
“J, what’s the matter?” Dave asked. “Did I say something to upset you?”
Jillian shook her head. “It was the birds, Dave. More precisely, the lack of them. I didn’t see any birds. I didn’t hear any birdsong. No doves, no pigeons, no crows, no scrubjays. Nothing.”
Dave was floored. Something had seemed wrong to him, something he couldn’t put his finger on, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Now he realized: noise, or, more specifically, the lack of noise. No cars, no planes, no birds, no squirrels, no dogs or cats – he knew several families in Midway Estates had had pets.
“No noise, J. All the normal sounds are gone.”
Jillian nodded her head. “Nobody’s mowing a lawn. No kids fighting over a toy. Nobody has the radio blasting music while working on a car in their driveway. Will it ever be noisy again?”
Dave thought for a moment in silence. “Eventually, there’ll have to be, J. Birds will migrate back eventually. People, too.” The thought about people moving back into the neighborhood stuck in the back of his mind – not really forming a conscious idea or thought, just resting there for the moment.
Well!” Jillian exclaimed as she drained the dishwater and hung up the dishcloth. “What do you think, Dave? More trips up or down the stairs? Or shall we go see how the Jacks are doing this morning?”
“My knees vote for seeing the Jacks. Let me make one last trip down to get the shotguns out of the gun safe. Matter of fact, why don’t you come down with me?” From a shirt pocket, Dave produced a key on a red plastic ring. “We can make sure your key to the gun safe works.”
Jillian stood with her back to the counter with her mouth hanging open. “I don’t have a key to the gun safe!”
“Well, I think you do now, hon,” Dave replied as he handed her the key. “This was in the same drawer in the safe as the envelopes. I think your dad did that on purpose. It’s a good idea for you to have this key, just in case … well, just in case.” Dave had been about to say just in case something happens to me, but quickly bit his tongue.
“That’s a good idea. Dad mentioned something about that once, but said it wouldn’t be until I was at least sixteen,” Jillian remembered.
“Well, you may only be thirteen – almost fourteen,” Dave corrected himself, remembering her birthday was less than a month away, “but I think you count as an adult now. So let’s just call this an early birthday present. I’m trusting you to be wise with it, J.”
“I will, Dave. I think I’ll keep it in my nightstand for now. I don’t really need to carry it every day, do I?”
“Well, you’ve got a keyring with a house key on it, right? You probably ought to put the key on that. If something happens, God forbid, you might not have time to get to your room.”
Jillian stood silently for a moment, then said quietly, “Is it always going to be like this, Dave? Looking over our shoulders, waiting for the next time someone tries to kill us?”
Dave tried to think of something fatherly to say, something reassuring. Finally, he spoke.
“I don’t know, Jillian, honest to God, I just don’t know. I *hope* things will get better, but there are always lowlifes that try to take advantage of good people.”
“Will we ever be able to rely on the police for protection again?”
“Again, I don’t know, J. I suspect the days of 911 and immediate response are long gone. We just have to do the best we can, watch out for one another, and try to make things better.”
Jillian stared at the safe key for several seconds, then slowly took it off the plastic ring and put it on her keychain. “Get busy living or get busy dying,” she murmured. “Well, I don’t plan on dying anytime soon. So we better get that range we talked about set up. I got lucky with the shotgun the other night. We can’t count on luck anymore.”
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Post by kaijafon on Jul 14, 2016 20:12:07 GMT -6
love Red! that is one of the best movies ever!!
thank you for the Moar!!!!
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