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Post by bitsmith on Feb 5, 2017 13:18:10 GMT -6
Story Outline & Characters
Working Title: The Intollerant American
Socially defined as 'intollerant' because they are not racist, not fascists, not islamaphobe, not homophobes. Labeled as intollerant because they want to be left alone to live as they believe while causing no harm to others. Conservative in at least on thing that challenges the liberal left.
Because of the volume of noise and fingerpointing, the 'Intollerants' have gone quiet. They work. They stay silent. They do not riot. Churches have closed. Synagogues, too. Mosques are growing in popularity. The Supreme court passes ruling that muslim enclaves may 'self-rule' as long as 100% of the population within their owned lands are muslim. Sharia Law is accepted, as long as a 'trial' is held. The Muslim enclaves have demanded they are held to a higher law and purpose and therefore are above the Justice of the U.S.
Inner city populations, working with the moslems, have fought a hard ampaign to drive ammendments to rid the nation of the Electoral College. Now national and state elections are won by 'popular vote'. The inner cities have become over-run by the jealous, the disenfranchised, the free loaders and the bullies. To fight crime rates, cities have become entire 'gun free zones'. To possess an unlicensed firearm in the city is an automatic 5 years prison sentence. Everyone on the city owns a gun. But no one goes to prison for gun possession because it is racist that the minorities are the only ones found guilty of having illegally posses firearms.
The hard working citizens, who have any self respect left the cities to live in the suburbs and farther afield from the cities. There are no more jobs in the cities. The once proud and grand nation of the United States of America is now a thrid world nation, importing more than it exports. The citizenry has demanded so much 'free' stuff from their government, there is now a tax rate of 65% ... unless you are a 'minority' and elligilbe for tax breaks.
Chicago is a wasteland, reminiscent of old Detroit, ever since the ditry bomb was set off, making the city unlivable. Though some do try. Residents of Dearborn took responsibility for the attack on Chicago as part of Jihad. They were a group of refuggees from Syria that had been let into the country after the liberal left determined it was racist to have walls, security checks and borders. Canada and Mexico both jave built walls along both borders, though many 'immigrants' cross that southern border with impunity, as they carry their drugs and trafficed children and women.
In essense ... The United States of America now exist only as a memory and a label on a map ...
Characters
Larry Wiesener - Former High School Principal, forced to retire,
Benjamin Davies - Police Chief & Mayor
Esther Simpson - Pastor of local Assembly of God Church, Widow. Husband killed by gangs in Indianapolis while taking farmer's market donations to a community food bank there.
Margaret Simpson - Esther's daughter. Missing. Her mother called her ladybug as a pet name.
A-shon - local resident. Decent kid. lost, confused, orphaned. Inner city kid with a sharp mind.
Fariq Al A'Faraed - Radicalized inner city youth now gang leader. Self proclaimed immam.
A-shon - young man, lost, adrift, confused. street urchin with a thirst for knowledge.
Others to be added as the story grows. Will be added here.
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Post by cutter on Feb 19, 2017 9:56:52 GMT -6
Don't stop now. This beginning has promise.
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Post by ydderf on Feb 20, 2017 20:56:30 GMT -6
More please
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Post by bitsmith on Mar 19, 2017 16:45:00 GMT -6
Chapter One
"Esther, you cannot be serious!" Chief Benjamin Davies cried out, standing from the pew he and his family sat on. Others stood, just a half a breathe after him, to also voice their concerns and worries.
"What are you trying to do, Esther? Join your husband? That animal Faraed will kill you, too! We need you here, Esther!" Larry Wiesener called out, just as loud and as empassioned as the Chief of Police.
"Stop it!" Esther called out from the pulpit ... Her husband's pulpit. "This is not a decision I have made easily. I beleive it is what God has told me to do. And I believe he has sent me a guide, as well."
"Are you feeling well, Esther?" called out a feminine voice from the congregation.
"Yes, Mary, I feel fine!" Esther laughed back from the pulpit. "No, I'm not hearing voices or any such. I have prayed on this for many weeks. And I believe God has seen fit to answer my prayers. I believe this is what I am supposed to do."
"Who is this guide?" CHief Davies asks. "I want to meet him!"
Many more of the church stood and voiced the same concerns. Of the 30 or so families present there was only one stranger. At first he was quiet, avoided people and watched with novelty. After three weeks of attendance, his quiet and self-secluded way had become accepted.
"He is a child of God, Larry. Just as you are." Esther replied, calmly, quietly. "I have asked him to take me to Faraed. I must find my daughter and bring her home."
"Esther? When will you leave?" asked Mary, the Chief's wife.
"I leave this afternoon, Mary. Will you lead the choir, this evening and until my return?" Esther asked, receiving a tearful nod.
As the congregation erupted into arguments and wailing laments, a figure stood from a back pew and left just as quietly as he had come in. Stopping at the door, he looked to the pulpit, making eye contact with Esther.
-----
"Bill?" Esther called out, as she entered the small encampment at the back corner of the cemetery. It was a convenient place for small camp site. A break in the fence gave an alternative egress that was hidden amongst bushes. If not for the bicycle and string of clothes washed in the creak near by, most people would not know it was there. "Bill? Are you here?"
"I'm here, ma'am. And please, call me William. Bill was a different person who lived a different life." The quiet man said, as he moved, letting the lady know he was there.
"Good gracious, Bill! I mean William. I did not see you there, but there you are! Hiding in plain sight." Esther started to babble as she was getting an inkling on just how dangerous her guide might be.
"That is part of the idea, Ma'am." William replied, quietly, as he stood gently, with a fluid grace. Just enough effort to lift his body and not an ounce of pressure more. "There will be times when will need to be invisble. Other times where we will need to be seen, but just as quickly dimissed and forgotten. I call it 'being gray'."
"Being Gray?" Esther said as she stepped in closer. "I don't know what that means."
"I understand." William replied. "Please, have a seat as I pack?"
Turning his back to her, William started picking items out of the bushes. "Do you recall being on a busy street and seeing a great many people? Like being in Times Square, All those people about you. People of every color, wearing anything from fine suits and furs to rags. You remember those people. The ends of the spectrum of your familiarity. The people that stood out. You might have even gotten home and mentioned to your husband or a friend the widely varying displays of wealth."
"Yes, I can see that."
"Good, now think about all those other people. The ones in the middle. The ones that were insignificant to you. The ones that were not noticable, becasue they did not represent anything different to you, nothing outside or beyond your comfortable existence. Sure, there was the pregnant woman, probably a waitress, rushing to get somewhere, and held back by the crowd adn press of people. There was the guy with the hardhat, probably on his way bak to the building he was working on, after his lunch. Those people you saw them and dismissed them as not relevant to you or your purpose."
"I try not to dismiss anyone, William!" Esther barked back. "We are all God's children and deserve to be seen, recognized, appreciated and even loved!"
"Ma'am, you are missing the point. You did not see those people, because we each have a built-in discriminator. We forget and ignore those stimuli that do not affect our goal. We remember those that helped us. We definitely remember those things that got in our way. That is why lanmarks are so valuable to everyone. They stand out. They are memorable."
"Being Gray is abotu being invisble. Being dismissed in the same way, as unimportant and irrelevant to who ever may see us." William explained.
"For what we are about to do ... We want to be invisible. We want to be seen and immediately forgotten. We want to be gray."
"Now, please go home. You do not want to be a part of this. You are not even ready to go."
"I do to! I MUST do this, William!" Esther argued back. "I need to find my daughter." was added, quietly.
"But yet, you did not follow my directions." William pointed out. "I asked you to dress and pack in clothes that were sturdy, but worn. Not new. And to wear work shoes. You are in what looks like a brand new pair of cross training shoes. Those have no ankle support. And being new, they will wear blisters on your feet within 5 miles on the bicycles."
"I wore what you ... " Esther stopped as she realized that other than her inital entrance, William had not looked at her. He certainly had not studied her to see all of that.
"And you are wearing perfume, a nice watch. Shiny rings. And a gold cross on a fine chain. That chain has yoru husbands wedding ring on it, too."
"I thought we might need them to trade, if we need supplies." Esther stated. "And it is easier to wear them than to pack them and they get tangled."
"Esther, get back on your bicycle." William answered as he stood. "But before you do, may I see your daughter's picture?"
Esther stepped close to hand the photo over. As she turned, William reached out, grabbed her in an embrace, holding her, facing him for just a moment. "I know what loss is like, Esther. I know what it can do to you. I know the mistakes it can drive you to make." Holding her away, so he could look into her face, William continued, "I need to speak with Chief Davies, before we leave. Would you please lead the way?"
William stopped outside his small hutch, looking at his bicycle with a small two wheel trailer attached, battered, scratched, bruised. Then Esther's practically new bicycle. It was shiny, fresh and even had a little bell on the handlebars. He also looked at the brighly flowered duffle bag she had on the ground next to it. He tried very hard not to laugh at her, as she struggled to put the handles on her shoulders to carry it like a back-pack. William stpeed up to help her, as she struggled. "Esther, you really should have gotten a neutral colored backpack. This is bright and will stand out."
"Not gray enough?" she asked.
"No, esther, not gray enough." William answered. "But I have a solution in mind. First, the Chief for some answers. Let's see if you can beat me there."
Esther smiled and jumped on her bike ,taking advantage of William not being on his and still having things to pack in his trailer. William continued to move with his grace, as he gathered his laundry, while gathering that lin at the same time.
Once all was stowed away in the trailer, he jumped on his bike, smoothly and started pedalling away. He went down to the creeks, instead of through the cemetery. Just before he lost sight of her, Esther was just getting to the paved path amonst the headstones.
William pedalled smoothly, shifting gears to keep his legs moving at a constant pace. The trailer bounced around a little. As soon as he cleared the creekside trail, at a bridge, he was on a city street. With the smooth pavement he reached forward to snap a small generator spin against the the rim of the front wheel. Leaning back, he did the same to the back wheel. William shifted, again, as he re-built momentum lost with engaging the generators.
Before long, he was at the Police station, he continued riding past it to take up a position at the entrance of a hidden alley where he could see both the street from the cemetery as well as the poslice station.
Several minutes later, Esther came into view. Huffing and puffing, she was really struggling to continue moving forward while also looking back over her shoulder. William watched, as she parked her bike. She wanted to bounce at having beat him there, but was having a hard time breathing. William broke cover, as she was looking for him, walking his bike and the trailer across the street and to the station.
Smiling he parked, then held the door open for her to go in, as he followed.
"Jerry!" Esther called as soon as she saw the officer at the front desk. "We need to see the cCief, right now!"
"He is not in, ma'am. It's Sunday. He's at dinner with his family."
"Well, call him in! We need him, now. It's important. Now get with it. You are burning daylight!"
William just stayed back against the wall. When Jerry looked to him, he just gave a little shrug.
Esther paced, as William kept still. Almost motionless. She kept eyeing him in an odd way as she paced. Jerry was getting nervous. And even more so, when he saw the Chief approaching.
"Chief! There you are!" Esther started as soon as he opened the door. "William, my guide I mentioned needs to speak with you. We need some answers."
Flustered the Chief turned to face William, "Yes, sir? How can I help you?"
"Well, Chief, what is the process fo rfiling charges against a thief, here in your little town?"
"A thief?" the Chief looked back at Jerry who just shrugged. "What was stolen?"
"A silver dollar coin. Walking liberty. 1967. There is a smooth flat spot on the edge." William answered. "It is very valuable to me. My grandfother bought it the day of my birth. He left it to me, when he passed."
"And do you know who has stolen it?"
"Yes, sir, I do." William said, as he used his eyes to point at Esther.
"What? She stole your coin?" Chief Davies answered, laughably. "She is our Pastor! Not a theif."
"None the less, Chief, I believe if you will check her pockets, I beleive you will find the coin." William replied. "People do any number of odd things, when they are stressed or think they are pushed back into a corner. Can you not see how nervous she is?"
Esther was sweating, still from the 'race' he had challenged her to. "I've stolen nothing from you, William! What are you doing? We don't have time for this. We need to go, while there is still daylight!"
"Esther, we can put an end to this, very quickly. If you do not have his coin, I will arrest him for making a false claim." Chief Davies interjected. "Let's prove him wrong and then we will move to taking care of him and his statements."
"Here, I don't have his coin!" Esther turned to the coutner, started grabbing things out of her pocket, putting it all on the counter. Jerry was surprised, when he saw a large coin bounce off the counter and roll off, onto the floor and under this desk.
"THAT sounded like silver hitting hte floor, gentlemen. Just about one full ounce of it." William said, as he moved off the wall.
Jerry dropped to his knees to retrieve the coin. Showing it to the Chief.
After inspecting it, he looked to Esther. "Why, Esther? You know any of us would have helped you."
"But ... But I did NOT take that from him!"
"It's OK, Esther. Relax. Let me get to the bottom of this." The Chief turned to Jerry. "Process her, as I take this gentleman's statement."
Once in the Chief's office, He closed the door behind William. "What he bloody hell? Who the hell are you and why is my pastor stealing from you?"
"Chief. Do you care about that woman?" William started.
"You've seen me at church. You know she is important to all of us!" Davies started in, as he sat down. "This is the last thing we need, in this town, a scandal like this!"
"Then Chief, help me keep her alive. Lock her up for a few days. Set a court hearing date for Wednesday. I will not be here to press the charges, so this all can be written off and forgotten. But you MUST keep her here. I'm going after her daughter. If she comes with me, she will probably get us all killed. She is not as healthy as she said she was. Racing me here, from the cemetery, she got so winded, she could barely stand. But she is so bull headed,, she won't stay." William explained. "Can you help keep her alive, by bending the rules this little bit, and keep her here. On Wednesday, explain to her what and why. But not before then."
"You want me to arrest and hold my pastor on trumped up charges, fake reports, and with full knowledge of what and why?"
"No, sir. Not trumped up charges. I will fill out of the paperwork to support the claim. But when I'm not here, on Wednesday, explain it to her. Then take the pulpit that evening, and explain what you THINK I did to protect her. Help me keep her safe. This town has lost too much, already."
"Mister, I don't know who you are." The chief coninued. "And as much as I do not like your idea, I agree it will work to keep her here. But how did she end up with your coin?"
"The same way I got your pistol, Chief." William said as he produced it, handing it over, butt first. Magazine and one round in the other hand.
"Ah, a pick pocket, huh? Take those skills out of my town." The Chief responded. "And do not ever come back."
"Chief, you can not charge me with anything. I proved evidence of a skill, and returned your property. That was encourage you find a little trust in me. I WILL be back, with Esther's daughter, if I live through this."
"If you make it back, I will buy you a beer. Just before I lock you up for trespassing." The Chief threatened. "Go on. Go fill out the paperwork. We will need it. All charges will be dropped when you are not here, Wednesday."
William left the small office.
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Post by kaijafon on Mar 20, 2017 9:05:36 GMT -6
very interesting. William, not many like that
thank you
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Post by papaof2 on Mar 20, 2017 12:08:50 GMT -6
But many like Esther - those who would attempt anything to save a family member. Most would need a William to guide them - or perhaps get them locked up for their own safety ;-)
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Post by kaijafon on Mar 20, 2017 12:30:52 GMT -6
But many like Esther - those who would attempt anything to save a family member. Most would need a William to guide them - or perhaps get them locked up for their own safety ;-) yes that was my thought.
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Post by ydderf on Mar 20, 2017 14:07:49 GMT -6
William sounds like an interesting man. Good luck William.
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Post by pbbrown0 on Mar 21, 2017 16:25:17 GMT -6
So typical for people to bluster and blow about others who do not fit inside their neat little boxes. LOL And so atypical to find someone like William who does not bluster and blow right back.
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Post by cutter on Mar 21, 2017 20:35:29 GMT -6
I'm liking the story so far. This could get real interesting real quick.
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Post by bitsmith on Mar 25, 2017 21:54:06 GMT -6
TIA Chapter Two
William hated that he had to be such a bastard to Esther. She only wanted her family as whole as possible. But there was no way to do what she wanted and they all survive. As it was, William was going to be walking a thin line. First things first, William needed to get into the city. Then locate this Al A'Faraed, find the girl, extract her with as minimal danger as possible and egress ack to as safe place where she could be sent home from. William had no intention of ever returning to this town.
William rode out of town to the south west, though he needed to go north to get to the city. He made way to a small one lane country road. The kind so narrow that two bicycles would have a hard time passing each other. But it had been paved, once a upon a time. Surely some farmer had used it to get from his barn to the road with the product of his labors.
William stopped a comfortably safe distance from the man blocking the path.
"Who are you?" the very large boy asked.
"William"
"Where you going on my road?"
"To a camp in the woods, near the creek. I paid the family in that house for permission to camp there."
"But you did not pay me. This is my Daddy's land. And them people are gone. We evicted 'em this mornin'."
"Oh. Well that changes things. If you will let me get my things, I will be on my way, then."
"You did not pay us to camp on our land, so you must pay the fines, now." came another voice from William's left and behind.
William slowly got off his bicycle. "Well, I'm sure we can come to some reasonable arrangment. I'm not looking for any trouble. How much is this fine you mention?"
"What have you got?" Said the large one to the front, as he stepped closer. The other was approaching slowly, as well.
William stepped away from his bike, not liking how this was comming together. He hated what was comming. William turned at the sound of a horse approaching from a third direction. Both of the other men backed-off a bit, as the horseman approached.
"Mister, who are you and what are you doing here?"
"I'm William. Almost a week ago, I made arrangements with the family that lived in that house to camp at the creek, just past the end of this road. We came to an agreement for the warm season."
"What did you pay them?"
"I caught them 5 rabbits. One I skinned for them. The other two we put in cages at the back of their house. I showed them how to raise and care for the rabbits so they would have food for the winter."
"That sounds like it was a fair trade. Unfortunately, they don't live here no more."
"So this young gentleman was telling me." William replied. "If I may get my things, I will be on my way."
"You know a lot about living off what you can find?" the horseman asked.
"My father showed me a thing or two."
"Brendan, let him pass." the horseman instructed. "It's getting late in the day. Gather your things, stay the night. But we cannot honor the agreement you made with the previous tennants."
"But Tom!" Brendan started to argue. "He is tresspassing! He needs to pay the fines! And we already ate them scrawny rabbits!"
"Brendan, stop." the horseman barked. William started seeing a family resemblance. Maybe brothers? "Garrand. You back away, too. Both of you, listen to me. He came here in good faith of an agreement. He had no way to know the contract he made with those people would be voided. Let him be on his way."
"What's your last name, William?"
"My last name? It's Smith. William Smith, formerly of Toledo, Ohio." William lied. "And you? What is your name, sir? So I might pray thanks for your stepping in, when you did. I was certain I was about to be beaten."
"Thomas Gunderson. These are my cousins, Brendan and Garrand Barton." he answered with some pride, from up on his horse. "The Bartons own pretty much all the useful land around here. We've been in these parts for at least three generations, now."
"Well, thank you, sir." William replied as he nodded, and kept his head and shoulders hunched. "Again, sir, thank you for permitting me to retrieve my things and permission to stay the night."
"Have a good evening, Mr. Smith." Tom suggested. "And you two, get back to work. There is a lot to be done."
Brendan stepped aside, as William walked his bicycle past the large man. Keeping the bike between them. Suddenly, the bike jerked to a halt. "I want this." he growled. "I can use it to go carry more stuff, when Ma sends me on them errands."
"Brendan, let it go." Tom ordered. "I already promised him safe passage. Let him be."
"Bro, Mamma's gonna whoop you, if you don't do as Tom say." Garrand adds from behind William.
"I saw it. I want it. It's mine!" Brendan shouts as he jerks on the cover of the small trailer, ripping it off.
William immediately gets more tense as this is escallating in a way he does not want. The odds are against him and he has no where to get to that will be safe enough, quickly enough. Especially with an unknown number of people in the house and barn a short distance away.
"You broke it. It is not yours, and now you have broken it. You broke the man's trailer. Let it go." Tom said. "Do not make me get down from this horse."
Disgusted, Brendan threw the cover onto the ground.
"Mr. Smith, I'm sorry that he damaged your trailer. How can we make this right?" Tom asked.
"I believe it will be alright, sir. I think I can fix it with a few pieces of green sticks." William answered. "I really should get to camp, if I'm going to fix this, and pack my things, before dark."
"Have a good evening, Mr. Smith." Tom said as he motioned the other two to leave, while turning his horse to cross the road behind William.
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William rode the remaining few minutes to the end of the road, then walked the bike along a wooded path to the small creekside clearing he had made camp in, previously. Once the bike and trailer were secured, he snuck through the woods to check his backtrail. Brendan and Garrand made him nervous. And he doubted Tom was actually keeping them contained as much as he was probably just delaying them. When he saw three bodies a half mile away working on hay bales, William went back to the clearing, found his marker tree and set off parallel to the creek, entrenching tool on a trevois he had left behind. Once he was 49 paces from the marker tree, he found the deadfall he had buried a cache under. He started digging. On the downhill side of the deadfall, he pulled out two sealed buckets. One with food stuffs, the other with high value survival items, such as water filters, medical supplies and other items.
On the high side, William dug deep. More then three feet deep to get to two plastic ammunition cans and two four foot long pieces of extra wide PVC pipe sealed with a cap on one end and a screw-in plug on the other. William looked up to check the time. The sun was about 30 minutes from setting.
Quickly he opened one of cammouflaged pipes to pull out an LESOCOM rifle, in pieces wrapped in burlap. Just a few moments later, the rifle was hanging from the sling on his chest. Next, he had a high capicity magazine in place with another in the pocket of his old Army blouse.
Ready for what he was expecting, William loaded his gear onto the travois, went down into the water, dragging it behind him. The creek hiding the drag marks of his load. His camp site was empty, but he was not expecting it to stay that way. He loaded everything on to the trailer of his bike, covering it all with the poncho used to make the travois. Quietly, he moved the trailer across the creek, wading belt deep in the process. His return route was via a crossing further down stream and not nearly as deep.
Once back at the camp site, he started a small fire, making sure to put green limbs on it, with the breeze blowing back up the path toward the road. Once the fire was smoking well, he picked up his bike, carrying he again fjorded the creek.
As expected, the smoke brought Brendan and Garrand trying to sneak their way, in the dusk. William chuckled to himself as he sighted in on one, then the other, until he saw Tom on the horse.
"Where is he?" Tom asked.
"He must have snuck away." Garrand answered.
"He left with my trailer!" Brendan cried. "Go find him, Tom!"
Tom kicked Brendan. "Don't think to tell me what to do, Brendan!"
"You let him get away with my trailer!" Brendan answered the threat. "We could have taken it and everything else he had, back there on the road. But, Noooo. YOU said to let him go!"
"I wanted to know how he trapped the rabbits." Garrand stated, flatly. "It would be nice to know we had meat, this winter."
"Stop your whining, Garrand." Tom barked at him. "You were not thinking about that, while that bitch cooked them up!"
"And why did you have to kill her, Brendan?" Garrand turned his attention to the other on foot. "We all wanted a turn at her, but you had to kill her. We could have kept her as a cook and house keeper."
"She came at me with a knife." Brendan answered. "We've already been through this. I'm tired of explaining it to you."
William sighted in on Brendan.
"I bet he taught her husband and that brat of their's how to catch rabbits." Garrand whined, again. "Why did you have to kill them, Tom, before we could find out what they knew?"
"Garrand, shut up." Tom stated, exhausted.
William changed his sight to Tom. Even though the distance was short, he slowly let out his breath, holding it when the sight moved to Tom's abdomen. Gently, he stroked and squoze the trigger. With a crack that echoed up and down the creek, William watched Tom fall from his horse, as it reared, dumping him. It ran off, back up the path they had come down. Tom was on the ground, screaming in pain. Garrand was frozen in place, trying to identify the source of the shot. Brendan was hiding behind a tree, thinking the shot came from up up river. When no other shot came, Brendan went to Tom, taking the pistol in his belt as he cried out in pain, demanding they carry him up to the house.
"Tom, you are bleeding black. You know what that means. They got your liver." Brendan continued as he crouched behind Tom, stripping him of anything valuable. "Sorry, cuz, you ain't gonna make it. And I'm not carrying a dead man back to the house."
William decided it was time for Brendan, now. Again he carefully sighted in on his target's center mass, then adjusted where he wanted the bullet to hit. With Brendan's back exposed, William had many choices. Garrand approached Brendan, just as William again, gently squoze the trigger. Brendan was spun around and across Tom, as the bullet shattered his left shoulder blade, shredding the subclavian artery as it passed out of the body.
Garrand started to run. William fired again, shooting Garrand in the center of his back. Garrand was the first to die.
William backed out of his hide, picked up his bike and trailer, walking them both toward a tractor path beside a field of high corn. Once he was around a bend and out of site of the campsite, he attached the trailer and climbed onto the bike, riding off towards another road, barely more than another tractor path but paved at one time. At a cross road, William learned the creek was named Ray Creek. He stopped long enough to put the rifle away, exchanging it for a .40 calibre pistol and holster with extra magazines in his blouse pocket. It was still light enough to see the road on the clear night. William decided to ride west, then north for an couple of hours, before finding a cold camp.
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Post by bitsmith on Mar 26, 2017 9:11:45 GMT -6
TIA Chapter Three
William slept fitfully. Haunted by the cries and screams of so many. Awoken by gentle birdsong of a clear morning, William rolled out of his sack, stood and stretched, feeling his age as his back sounded off like a zipper. Stiff muscles from sleeping on a cool hard ground, drained the strength and warmth from him. Another cost of the day before.
William uncovered his trailer load to get to his food bucket. Inside he pulled out a small food container with a screw on lid. It was the perfect size to hold two eggs worth of powdered eggs. Adding water from his canteen, he shook the container to mix well and make frothy. Using his folding shovel, a small depression was made easy enough. Dried grasses were scraped and rubbed together to break down the fibers to catch the spark. William was getting frustrated that he was not getting a good spark when he heard a shuffling amongst the small woods he was in. Looking about, he saw a small boy, no more than 7 or 8 years, stalking a squirrel, slingshot in hand. With practiced ease, the boy raised his weapon and released. The stone hit the squirrel in the head. This was just enough of a stun for the boy to grab it up, wringing it's neck. William continued to watch the boy, while looking for others in the immediate area.
"Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you." the boy said.
"Thank you for that promise." William said, gently. "To be honest, I'm more concerned your daddy or big brother will show up and cause me issues."
"Nope. Bubba is some place in Europe, mamma says." the boy announced, as he used a rock to hammer a nail through the squirrel into a tree. Without looking to William, the boy opened a pocket knife to expertly skin the squirrel. "I never knew my father. He was gone before I was born. My grandpa taught me how to hunt. When I turn 10 I get a bow and arrow. He has promised that on my 11th birthday I get to go hunting deer with him." The boy took down the squirrel carcass, carrying it to William.
"Thank you." William said. "Does your grandpa hunt morning squirrels with you?"
"No, he and mamma are collecting eggs and feeding and milking the goats."
"Will your family be upset that I camped here, last night?"
"Nope. Gramps set this clearing up, just for travelers to be safe." the boy said. "But why did you sleep on the ground? There is a raised bed, right over here. Along with dry tinder."
William followed the boys pointing finger to see another small clearing with a chaise lounger that would have been more comfortable than the cool hard ground.
"Well, to be honest, it was quite late when I got here, last night. I did not see it in the dark."
"I will tell gramps you are here and the solar lights stopped again." the boy said. "I've got to get back."
William watched as the boy walked away. "The water pump over there is safe, too." The boy was so mature and so young at the same time. Matter of fact of experience and curious still of youthfulness.
He stood, left the campsite to check the pump the boy mentioned. The water was cool and clear and sweet. Looking abotu William saw the dry tinder and larger pieces of firewood. Smallish pieces, no larger across than his wrist. Hanging from a tree was a torch striker, throwing a lot of sparks. William moved his gear into this larger space. Using the materials available, William started a small fire in the pit, setting his skillet atop the grate. A small sharp knife removed the bones from the squirrel, just before it went into the skillet. As the skillet heated, he again shook up the powdered eggs and looked around the area for herbs. Wild Asparagus had already flowered, leaving the woody stalks. A large handful of fresh green pine needles would make for a bitter but healthy tea. Adding a few chicory leaves will give a much wanted caffeine kick. William smiled as he found a small plot of wild onions. The boy was right, someone had taken efforts to make this a comfortable campsite for travelers. A metal canteen cup was filled with water and set on the grate, as well with crushed pine needles and chicory leaves in it to get hot and steep. The onion bulbs were cut off and sliced quickly, added tothe squirrel in the skillet. William dug through his food bucket to find a pill bottle of recently made lard. A small amount was added to the skillet of squirrel and onions. Once the squirrel was fully cooked, he added the eggs, stirring it with a thin wooden spoon until finished.
Just as he lifted the skillet off the grate, the boy was back, with an older man. William looked to them, nodded and proceeded to sit down on the edge of one of the chaise loungers, skillet in one hand, spoon in the other.
"Thank you the safe campsite. The wild herbs and plants are a nice touch." William said.
"We are glad you found it useful." the older man said, simply, plainly. "We only ask that you leave it as you found it, if not better. Please, eat, before it gets cold."
William nodded and quickly ate his breakfast. "Thank you for the squirrel, young man." He said, when he finished.
"It was a small one." the boy said.
William sat through an awkward quiet as the older man was sizing him up and the boy was looking nervous.
"Do you trade?" the man asked.
"When I have something of value to trade for value." William answered as he stood to retrieve his tea. "Do you have any honey, to trade, by chance?"
The boy nodded, scurrying out of the camp site. "We have honey. And eggs, milk, cheese and meat, jerky and penmmican." the older man answered, plainly. "What do you have to trade? for food stuffs."
"Not much in the way of food stuffs." William answered. "What are you needing? I may not have much, but I have learned of places to find things and people to trade with."
"I need ammunition for my rifle. 30-30 and 12 guage."
"I don't have any 30-30, but I do have a box of 12 guage shot I can trade.." William answered. "But I might know where to trade for some 30-30 cartridges."
Looking about, as the boy returned, the old man watched William carefully, as the boy laid out a jar of honey, a jar of preserves, a handkerchief of fresh biscuits (still warm enough to smell them), a small bit of cheese and wax paper wrapped items, William guessed were either jerky or pemmican.
"But I have to be honest, I'm kind of uncomfortable trading ammunition to someone I don't know. And who stands over me, making me nervous." William said. "Will you sit and join me for tea? It's bitter, strong and has a kick to it."
The older man moved to sit on the edge of the other chaise. William stood, pulled a ceramic mug from his trailer, carefully unwrapped it, rinsed it from the pump, before pouring some of the tea into it.
"What is in the tea?" the boy asked as he sat beside and behind his grandfather.
"Mostly pine needles." William answered. "High in vitamin C and good to fight off parasites. I also added some chickory leaves. That will help give a bit of a mornign kick start."
"You found chickory around here?"
"Yes. Quite a lot. Let me get you some." William answered as he stood. Grabbing up his entrenching tool, he left the little clearing. On the outside of the brush 'walls' that protected the camp site, William dug up a largish plant, carrying it back inside. "Most of the plant is edible. Cattle love it. The leaves make for a fair tea. The roots, however, dried and ground up makes for a coffee subsitute. And it is very healthy. Great help for calcium absorption for strong bones."
The old man nodded, holding his cup of hot tea. Realizing the issue, William picked up his canteen cup and took a large mouthful, swallowing the warm liquid and grimacing at the bitterness. The boy giggled at the face he made.
The old man took a tenative sip and grimmaced as well. "Definitely needs honey." The boy jumped up, retrieving the honey jar for his granfather.
Both men relaxed a bit.
"So, let's get serious, here." the old man said. "Where have you been and what news can you share?"
William stood, washed off the chickory root at the pump as he spoke. "I'm a veteran. I was over seas as I watched the nation just collapse in on itself. I managed to get a boat ride back to the US. Made it to my Dad's place in Kentucky. Found he had expired when he ran out of medications. My sister and brother were there. They blamed me for Dad's passing, because I was not there. So, I packed up a few things of his, some of mine and left. I've been on the road now for about 9 months. I will be going up to Indianapolis, soon. I need to find someone."
"It is not safe up there. A lot of people ran out of Chicago, when things started to collapse."
"I understand that." William answered. "In fact, I'm counting on it. I hope to use those same people and thugs to help me find who I am looking for."
"What else do you need?" the old man asked. "Showing us that chickory is worth a lot to me. I miss my morning coffee."
"Don't we all?" William asked. "To be honest, I need arrows, arrow heads, feathers. Elastic tubing like used for your grandson's slingshot." He rolled the chickory root over on the grate. "I have tylenol and aleve in single serve foils I made from the bags computer parts used to come in."
The old man's eye brows went up at that. "How do you seal those bags?"
William smiled and gave a wink as he simply stated "Iron them closed." Again, he walked over to his trailer, bringing the miscellaneous bucket back with him. He pulled out a 3x5 index cardbox. Counted out 5 packs of generic tylenol, 5 packs of generic aleve. 5 small packs of 3 in 1 antibacterial ointment. A small recycled carmex jar filled with horse liniment.
The old man tried hard not to evaluate what William was laying out. Knowing there was much more in that trailer he could use. But that was not the exmaple he wanted his grandson to follow.
"Here, take these." William offered, as he put the card box back in the bucket. "Use them sparingly?"
"Thank you, young man." the grandfather said, taking the double handful of medicinals like they were Faberge Eggs. "You have no idea how helpful these will be."
"Then let's get back to trading." William said. "Do you know of any used book stores around here?"
"Most of them are gone, son. People were looking for anything to help them survive. They took up all the books about plants, and tools and farming. Leaving everything else to waste in the weather."
"That's OK." William said. "I'm looking for an old phone book. White pages. The really thin paper."
"Why do you want that?" the boy asked.
"Becuase its good to use as toilet paper, and the book makes for convenient storage, when kept dry."
The old man just started laughing. "Last winter, we tried to burn one of those, but it was just too thin. Went up in a hurry. It was an old thick one, from the city."
"Place it whole in the bottom of the stove and put a heavy piece of wood on top of it, to keep it condensed." William advised.
"Come on up to the house, when you finish here and we can do soem real trading. And if you would not mind, dig out that box of 12 guage shells, before coming up to the house? Just the shells, please."
"I can do that" William stood, smiling. As the boy started gathering up the supplies he had laid out, William laid the roasted root amongst them. "Be sure to ask your mother to grind that up, fine, for your grandpa's mornign tea."
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William left the trading farm a few hours later having added a dozen arrows, 2 pounds of lye soap cakes, a couple of days of food stuffs and other tradable items.
It only cost him the medicines he had already given, a box of 12 gauge shells and a quarter pound of yeast in foils he had found in a destroyed country grocery. He shared with the family the issues he had experience the day before, letting them know the family there was dangerous and potentially prowling.
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Post by pbbrown0 on Mar 26, 2017 12:01:55 GMT -6
As is typical for you, bitsmith, you have a great story developing here. Thank you.
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Post by bitsmith on Mar 29, 2021 16:56:27 GMT -6
TIA – Chapter Four
William, as grateful as he was for the kindness of ‘Gramps’ and his family, there was a task to be completed. Turning left out of the drive way, he was on a paved road. A country road. Barely wide enough for two farm trucks to pass each other. But it was plenty wide enough for him, his bicycle and the two wheeled trailer he pulled behind.
A clear day, beautiful scenery, fresh air, country smells of fields, crops, animals. And many, many memories. And William set an easy pace on his mountain bike. Three hours into his ride it was time to find a place to take a rest. The sun bright and warm, warned of a hot summer.
This flat land was criss-crossed with small creeks, some dry, others too deep to fjord on foot. William found a foot trail beside the bridge, leading down to the water. Carefully, he walked his bicycle off the road, turning it and the trailer around. Pulling a used 1 liter water bottle out of the trailer’s side pocket, he carefully stepped down the path to the water’s die and under the bridge. The stream bubbled and gurgled over rocks as it moved swiftly near this side. The other side must have been deeper as it was slower moving.
Once past the base of the bridge, William was able to see where the far side of the bridge had been driven up and down many times. From the looks of it, by a tracked vehicle. Capturing a little water in the bottle, William poured it over a paper test strip for heavy metals, another for dangerous levels of biological waste, and pesticides. All were within allowable limits. Dipping the bottle back into the stream, he filled it, before standing to return to his bicycle. There was movement at the top of the bank. Quick, fast, and evasive. The short hairs on his neck stood up as he felt himself being watched. Carefully and quickly he climbed the bank in time to see a coyote with a hind leg lifted over one of the wheels on his trailer.
“GAH!” William roared, expecting the coyote to run off. It just looked back at him. An almost human ‘that all you got’ type of expression on it’s features. Stepping on the far side of the trailer, he pulled out a short piece of hose. Carefully, he attached the hose to the water bottle, laying it, opening downward on the top of the trailer. The other end he slipped through one of the rope grommets of the poncho cover. The now hanging free end looked as though it had been melted into a bit of a nozzle and was just starting to drip water out. The tip had what appeared to be a cotton ball blocking it, above that was a tight fibrous material. Further above this were layers of very fine sand, a black grainy substance and larger sand. Forced into the upper end was a metal hose insert. A garden hose screw-on fitting seemed to have been slid over that to connect to the bottle.
As the water was dripping, William peeled back part of the poncho to access his backpack. He really should not have stepped away from the trailer without it. It had the essentials he would need, if he were separated from his bike and trailer. Reaching into the pack, he pulled out one of the wax paper packages of jerky, taking a bite for himself, he heard the coyote whimper from it’s safe distance. William smiled and tossed the bit he had just taken to the animal. As he took another bite, the coyote stood, alert, facing back down the road William had come down, ears swiveling. William stood, looked, and saw a horse drawn wagon slowly moving down the road.
He moved the bike and trailer farther along the wood line, away from the road. There was nothing he could do about the obvious path he had made, but it might be enough to just be left alone.
William continued with little maintenance steps as he watched road out of the corner of his eye. The coyote stayed at attention, as the trailer continued to be drawn closer by the horse. William checked his pistol, a reliable Glock35, to make sure it would come clear of the chest mounted holster, quickly if needed. After putting away his few tools, and closing the poncho, William checked his water filter to find the canteen over flowing. He quickly took a deep drink from the canteen, before putting back under the drip from his filter.
As the trailer pulled to a stop at the end of the bridge, the coyote laid down. The wagon was about 12 feet long, 7 feet wide, mid chest off the ground, flat topped, empty, with a bench seat. William was surprised to see that the wheels looked to be the back axels of a car or small truck with the leaf springs providing some smoothing of the ride. The driver appeared to be a middle aged man in dark work pants, blue shirt, suspenders and a straw hat. His grey / white hair was tufted out from under the well worn, wide brimmed hat. He wore what appeared to be formerly well trimmed beard, along his jaw line and chin with shaven cheeks and upper lip.
“Good Day” the man said from his bench seat.
“Hello.” William responded, with a waive.
“Stopped for water?”
“Yes, sir” William responded. “Is that a problem?”
“Oh, no. No problem. Public road. This creek is a property line, so you are not trespassing. My neighbors and I just like knowing who is near. Can’t be too safe, these days.”
“I understand. I’m grateful for the water. Just stopping in the shade to rest a bit, before moving on.” William shared, politely.
“Where are you headed?”
William just waived in a general north westerly direction. “I’ve got family off that way. Taking my time getting there. Not sure I will be welcome. Been gone a long time. A lot has happened.”
“Have you got food for your trip?”
“I do. I also have some trade items I use, along the way.”
“Well, I’ve got the 2nd farm up the road. When you are ready, stop in and we can share news and maybe trade a bit.”
William nodded. “Thank you for the invitation. I will consider it.”
“I understand. Being cautious and all. We are Mennonites. People of faith and peace. You will be safe with us, if you choose to stop for a spell. News of the rest of the world would be appreciated.”
“I’m William.”
“Neufeldt” the gentleman replied. “See you at the farm, if you wish. If not, please travel in peace.” Then he snapped the reigns and the horse moved off, gently down the road.
William watched as the man continued on. An air of both wariness and weariness went with him, as he watched. Once the man was up the rise of the road and out of sight, William cleared the area, tightened the poncho down, again, and pushed the bike out to the edge of the road. Turning back the way he had come. Hanging around with a bunch of people so very outnumbered had his nerves afire with warning.
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Post by texican on Mar 29, 2021 19:32:48 GMT -6
bs,
Good start.
Thanks,
Texican....
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Post by sniper69 on Mar 30, 2021 7:36:22 GMT -6
An excellent read and looking forward to reading more when you post it.
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Post by solo on Mar 30, 2021 11:36:15 GMT -6
Thank you for picking this one up again!!
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Post by arkansascob on Mar 31, 2021 9:34:40 GMT -6
Enjoyed the read so far. Hope it continues. Has the making of a good story.
COB
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Post by bitsmith on Apr 1, 2021 6:46:40 GMT -6
I'm liking the story so far. This could get real interesting real quick. What would make it interesting?
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Post by bitsmith on Apr 1, 2021 7:17:28 GMT -6
TIA -- Chapter Five
Even though William was less than a day of moderate bicycling from Indianapolis, he took three days to get to the neightbohood he wanted. Having to ask questions, discretely, to avoid suspicion. And many people were selling lies as truth and fact. A societal collapse turns everyone into a politician and a 'filthy capitalist'.
Regardless of why who was doing what, William knew he had things to do. And it was good Esther was not with him. She would want to run in, hellfire and brimstone blazing, looking for her daughter. Only to cause chaos and mayhem that was not of their making. And much to their detriment and the mission. He hoped she was well.
The information William did get told him Al A'Faraed was operating from a roughly 10 story building north of 46th on Keystone. William remembered a methadone clinic was near there. He rode past the building, sitting on a rise gave a nice view. Pastor Simpson's church van was in the parking lot. Presumably, he got that far. More than likely, A'Faraed, took the van, too, because it had fuel, then.
Every corner had someone selling something. For a city with little or no electrical power, even less fuel, people were still making drugs. William still did not know how the society had fallen. He assumed it was like Rome ... and Russia. Too much dead weight. Too many receivers with a high shortage of providers. People just quit. Taxes kept going up, along with the prices of everything, as the government was giving away more and more 'free stuff'. It was the inevitable end to an unsustainable system. William was thinking these deep thoughts, as he continued cycling, he nearly missed the chariot going the opposite direction on the street. At least 20 cyclists, all on the same model of bike, were pulling a custom rigged ... chariot (nothing else could better describe it). Two large wheels were on either side of a central body, holding a large and plush seat on a platform. Reigns from the cyclists gathered to a man at the front of the chariot, his head at the same height as the cusion of the seat. Lights sparkled on every surface of the chariot's body. He stopped, surprised and dumbfounded as the cyclists continued on by. Music, if it could be called such, played from speakers on the backside of the platform.
The man in the seat on this chariot waived at William as a king recognizes a vassal. There were four women on that platform, three standing behind the seat and not a one of them was sober, from what William could see. And none of them were dressed. The fourth was on her knees, between the driver and the seated would be king.
William now knew more about Al A'Faraed than he knew yesterday. And it was disturbing.
As he decided it was time to get a better view of the building, he took a side street that had slight rise. Hidden just past that slight rise was trouble. A camp had been setup up, blocking the street. A combination of shanties, tents, buses and u-haul rentable trucks were there, parked to line the street on either side. Some of the trucks had large traps stretched between them, covering the street. Shanties and shacks were built between the trucks or attached to them. And he had been sighted. There was no way to turn around and leave, so William rode up to the guards at the entrance to the camp.
"Excuse me? Which way is Allisonville Road?" he asked the first of the guards before they could speak. The younger pointed farther downhill and past the camp. "Thanks!" William replied as he started turning his bike around.
"WAIT!" barked the older guard. "It's that way. Why you go'n dat way?"
"I was thinking it would be rude to ride through someone else's camp. So, I was going to go back to that main street over there and find another way to Allisonville."
"A path, ovr der." The younger volunteered. "Itlltaku ta Allisinille."
"Great! Thanks." replies William as he points his bike towards the path entrance.
William follows the pointed finger to path that appears to have been a part of the park system, at one time. It's still there, and apparently heavily traveled. But not wide enough to ride on with his trailer. Especially if he needs to share the path or pass others. Just a short distance inside the path was a billboard with an old map on it. William studied it for a moment, as he decided what to do. A series of whistles were coming from the camp behind him and the wooded area along the path. Expecting trouble, William dismounted, keeping the bike between him and anyone coming at him, and the billboard to his back.
"Hey, mister. What have you got in that trailer? Got any liquor?" came a voice from behind him at the billboard.
"No. No liquor. I gave it up, years ago. Long before everything fell apart. Mostly, it's just some camping gear, and some stuff I'm taking to family." William answered, as he continued to study the map, but in reality, he was watching their reflection in the plexiglass covering of the map.
"We want to see what you got. There is a toll to use this path. And the Immam wants his taxes, too." Another youth said, smiling.
William unzipped the wind breaker he was wearing just enough to be able to get to his pistol. Instead of pulling it, he pulled a pencil from this pocket on the harness. A think pencil, like the kind given to kindergartners to learn to write and build strength for fine motor skills. As he turned around, those surrounding him in a half circle were armed with various tools of a thug life. Not a one of them had a firearm. Their eyes got large and their hunger for power grew as each of them saw the pistol on his chest.
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Post by texican on Apr 2, 2021 21:00:13 GMT -6
BS,
William going to dot a few eyes.
Thanks for the chapter.
Texican....
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Post by smitty60 on Apr 16, 2021 11:34:13 GMT -6
Ok. I will be the first one to ask. More please. Thank you.
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Post by bitsmith on May 8, 2021 14:22:59 GMT -6
TIA -- Chapter Six
The smallest and least secure looking of the six thugs was the one calling for taxes to be paid. William just smiled and waived his hand over the trailer as if to invite them to look. A larger boy, not more then 17 or 18 was the first to move towards the zipper.
“This trailer, gentlemen is private property. If you wish to see what is inside, you will have to pay for that privilege.” William stated, solidly, offering no room for discussion.
The little one, building up his bluster shouted out, “Man! There ain't NO private property around here, man! You are in the Immam's 'hood. And we are his faithful servants. Here WE make the rules. Here, WE take what is the Immam's to him. And your ass will be part of his collection if you don't give us everything you got! And it's going to start with that gat on your chest. You can just hand that over to me, right now. Or my boys here are going to stomp your ass.”
“Them? And not you? You don't do your own dirty work?” William asked. “Let me guess. Because you are the smallest, you learned to the be the fiercest? Had to toughen up in a hurry to make sure you were not ass punked by these boyfriends of yours?”
Short one replied, as he took out a knife, snapping his wrist to open it, “I ain't no body's bitch, bitch! I'm gonna open you up like you was a woman.”
William looked around him, seeing the numbers. “OK, pip squeak. You want a tussle to prove your manhood? To try to show how much of a bad ass you think you are? Fine, I will go mano y mano with you. You win, then all I have here is yours and yours alone. You will have earned it. But you keep your, uh, buddies back. If I win, they let me go on my way. And with the understanding I ever see them, again, they WILL die.”
“And what's to keep you from pulling that pistol and just making it that much easier on yourself to win against me?” the little one asked, trying to sound both tough and smart.
“My word.” William stated, as he moved the bicycle and trailer to create a corner with the billboard. “Just as you are going to give me your word, that they will respect the outcome of the contest. I will have your promise on this, before we start. And YOUR Promise will be from all those here. A Taqwa.”
“What is a Taqwa?” asked another who was part of the circle from the edge of the billboard around to the back end of his trailer.
Taking a deep breathe, William then quoted: “'Yes, whoever fulfills his pledge and fears Allah much; verily, then Allah loves those who are Al-Muttapun'. Basically, if you fear Allah, and keep your promises, honoring your word, then you will be recognized by Allah as being pious. Faithful. Chapter 3, verse 76. And then there are the words of the Prophet … 'Whoever breaks the covenant of a Muslim, upon him be the curse of Allah, the angels and all the people, and Allah will not accept any obligatory or naafil act of worship from him.' These are the words of the faith you are adopting. These are some of the attitudes you must keep to maintain that faith. And as 'Ali has said to Malik al Ashtar: Breaking promises makes others unhappy as also Allah will be unhappy.' states, If you make a promise, it is up to you to maintain that promise.”
“You are not one of us. But you speak of the Quran and the words of the Old Prophet. I remember my father speaking such, before the collapse. How do you know these words? Are you a believer?” Another asked.
“I have traveled far.” William stated plainly, “And wide have I seen of the world. I have learned much in where I have been and all I have seen. Knowing what I believe is of little value, here. You need only know that I will keep my promises. I have no wish to hurt or kill anyone, today. I just want to go on my way. To keep a promise I made to family and to help a girl get home to hers. Honestly, you all are preventing me from keeping my promises. I will also fight like hell, to keep that which is mine from godless men who would be thieves and take what is not theirs.”
“Are you calling me a thief?” the smallest one shouted, bringing all attention back to him.
“I told you, already, there are but two choices here. Leave me to go on my way, without further disturbance. Or kill me and take all I have. Which would make you both a murderer and a thief.” William stated, simply, factually, and with ice in his voice.
“I will kill you. And I will take everything you have. Starting with that pistol on your chest.” He crowed. “And I will give Al A'Faraed what is his. The rest of you stay out of this.”
“Make the promise,” William stated.
“Fine. I promise they won't Not that it matters. You will be dead. The dead can't collect promises. And promises do not count with infidels.”
William stepped away from his gear, to give him self a few feet to move within. The punk took that as his queue and charged. William side-stepped, grabbed the punks shirt collar at the back of his neck, planted his foot deep into the ground, pivoting, using it to steer the punk away from the billboard, allowing him to run into his friends. The two go down in a knot of limbs. The little one stands with a bloody knife in his hands. The other dead on the ground.
“Quran, 5:33” William states, loudly and with the force of Justice in his voice, “The punishment of those who wage War against Allah and His Messenger and strive to make mischief in the land is only this, that they should be murdered or crucified or their hands and feet should be cut off on opposite sides or they should be imprisoned; this shall be as a disgrace for them in this world, and int eh here after they shall have a grievous chastisement.”
With a roar the little man swung the bloody knife at William, a string of blood came off the knife, flying through the air, marking him across the face. William crouched, preparing to meet the little man's next rush.
The others had all taken a step farther back, away from the action. Two had found a tree to put between them and their friend.
“You killed my friend!” he cried out as he feigned an attack, looking for an opportunity.
“I did not. You did. It is your hands that run red with his blood.” William stated as he continued to hold the large diameter pencil in his hand.
“You think you can kill me with that pencil?”
“Do not worry about the pencil. Worry instead about what it represents.” The punk rushes in on William as he replies. A block, forearm to forearm leaves William an opening. He risks the chance, driving his fist, powered by his own anger and the push against it, giving that much more speed and force as he delivers a solid left cross to the cheekbone. Th runt goes down, rolling and scrambling away to make space to get back on his feet.
Circling, again, the small one, asks, “What does that pencil represent, then?”
William stood straight then, leaving a fighting stance, “This pencil represents knowledge, education, enlightenment. It represents calculation, thought, logic.” Never once taking his eyes off the runt, he continued, “It is the means by which you will die. It is the edge of your ignorance that will cut you down.”
Again, the small punk screams, dashing in, after having switched hands. William steps across this time to the assailant's empty handed side, catching in inside his elbow and gainst his ribs, he continues to turn further behind the punk, shoving his pencil deep into the back of his head, right at the joint where the neck ends into the head. The punk will be dead before his face hits the ground.
Those at his back gasp.
William quickly draws his chest pistol as he hears the motion of an attack, while finishing the twist and standing straight and tall, arm stretched out, pistol pointed at the face of the next aggressor. The young man falls on his back as he sees the larger than life letters stamped in the rim of the barrel “Smile for the Flash”.
“You are bound by the promise of your friend.” William stated. “I am leaving, now. I suggest you pick them both up and be about your lives. Oh, and find yourself a real Immam. One who teaches the peace of Islam.”
The smart one who asked about the Taqwa, he nodded, taking charge of the others. “He's right. We are bound to let him live. There is no revenge to be sought. Bobby brought this onto himself. Let him go.”
William made eye contact with the boy. Immediately he saw the man within trying to become himself. Starving for knowledge, and peace, and fighting to find honor in his life.
“What is your name, son?” William asked.
“My father named me A-shon.” He said quietly.
“A-shon. That is a strong name. It can mean two things in Ghanese. The seventh born son or the first son of the seventh generation. As I recall, 7 is a fateful number to the Ghanese people.” William replied.
“How would you know that?” A-shon asked. “You are white and not from Ghana.”
“As I said, I have traveled far and seen wide of this world.” William repeated. “See to your friends. Their families will need your strength.”
“They are not my friends. I ran with them to stay alive. That is all they are to me. A means to an end.”
“And what of your own family?” William asked.
“I have no family. They are all gone, now.”
“How long will it take to cross this wood, using this path?”
“Maybe five minutes. Why?”
“Then you have 15 minutes to meet me at the other end, if you wish to come with me.” William stated, before he even realized he had made the invitation. Letting out a sigh, then straightening his back, again, “If you legitimately have a bicycle, come back on it. Bring only what you can carry. And good, sturdy shoes if you have them.”
“Can I come with you?” the one who charged asked.
“Why would you want to do that?” William asked.
“I want to know how to fight like you do. I don't want to die like he did.”
“Then my answer to you, is 'No'.” William said. “Your words are empty and hollow. You only want to know how to kill. Not how to stay alive.”
“Then why invite me,” A-shon asked.
“Because you want to learn for the sake of learning. You understand that knowledge creates options and grants wisdom.” William stated, “Even if you do not recognize it, yet. That is what you know in your gut.”
“I don't understand.” A-shon said as two others drug off the two dead. The other still there, trying to just be adopted into the opportunity.
“If you want, I will try to help you come to understanding. But it will have to be on the road.” William said, as he started to push his bicycle and trailer down the path. “You have 15 minutes.”
William stopped, turned around, looking at the other youth, who stood there, a slight smile on his face. “You … do not bother following. You want the wrong things out of life. If you want to live, then leave this neighborhood. If possible, leave town, find a farmer who needs a hand. Work for what you need to stay alive.”
“Farm? Me?” the punk called out. “Never! I deserve better than to be a freakin' farmer!”
“Then you are not close to ready as I had hoped you might be.” William stated. “If you attempt to follow A-shon or me, you WILL die.”
“And what if I just come hunt you down and take your stuff?”
“Then be prepared to be like your friends.” William said. “Surprised, dead, and even betrayed. I doubt your buddy expected to die from a knife by his friend. If you want to live longer, stay away from me and get away from this neighborhood. A-Shon. 14 minutes.”
William went back to walking the path through the little wood.
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Post by bitsmith on May 8, 2021 17:16:33 GMT -6
TIA – Chapter Seven
William waited at the end of the little wood, the far side of small bridge that crossed a creek. Twenty minutes had gone by, since he left A-shon to make a choice and gather his things. “He made his choice.” he said to himself, as he mounted the bike and started to leave.
A-shon was running, carrying far too many of the thin plastic grocery bags. “Wait! I'm here! … Please! Wait! … I'm coming as fast as I can! Dear God! Please wait for me!”
William looked back over a shoulder having moved about ten yards from the end of the bridge. There was A-shon, just getting to that same little bridge. He could see that A-shon had had a little trouble. One eye was starting to swell, his nose appeared to be bleeding and a lip was split. William stopped to wait.
“Others did not want me to leave, after what you did to that worthless runt. I had to fight my way out of camp. Please! Let me come with you. I'm begging. If I stay, I will die. I know it.” A-shon started to cry from fear and knowing he would not survive long in that camp. Everyone has to sleep. Eventually.
William looked him up and down. His face was swelling. His hands and knuckles scraped and raw. His shirt was torn, not that it was whole, before. And he was wearing well worn, but still serviceable heavy work boots. They looked to have steel toes. With the shorts he was wearing, it was easy to see he was not wearing any socks.
“Over there, across that next bridge, I believe is another park?” William said, causing A-shon to look around until he spotted a lone picnic table. “Meet me there.” And he rode off on his bicycle, leaving A-shon with his bags.
A-shon arrived just a few minutes after William arrived on his bicycle. William was already talking with a man who appeared to camp near by, judging by the wet clothes spread out on the bushes.
“... alright, mister. I will see what I can come up with. But I will need some time. An hour, at least.”
“Thanks, John. We can afford to wait a while.” William agreed.
“And I will get paid for this stuff?” John asked, uncertainly.
“Yes. I will trade with you, so long as the trade is fair, the goods are usable for our needs. Two complete MRE meals for the parts I asked for.” William said.
“And I working lighter!” John said, almost shouting.
William reached into the small bag on the handlebars of his bike, pulling out a new short cigarette lighter, still on cardboard with the plastic still sealed. “A deposit.”
John took the package with awe on his face. Nodding from excitement, “Yes, sir! I will get what you asked for. I know where to get it all!”
Turning, William looked at A-shon. He then pointed to the table. “Empty your bags on the table. Sort and stack your belongings. Let's see what we have to work with. Don't just make piles of clothes. Fold them, neatly and stack them.”
“Who was that guy? Do you know him?” A-shon asked.
“He said his name is John. He's a scrounger. He's going to get us a few things we need.” William stated. “Now, do as I asked. I will speak. You will listen. You will answer when asked. And absorb when not.”
“But … “
“No!” William barked. “I will instruct. You will learn and do. There will be a time for questions, after. Now, start laying out your stuff.”
William walked away for a moment, adding another stick of wood to John's existing fire, after stirring it back to life. He sat on his heels as he watched A-shon watching him, before he started unloading his bags. Literally, A-shon just upturned every bag, dumping the contents onto the table. Then started separating out clothes. Piling them on the four corners of the table. Leaving everything else in the middle of the table. Small things kept falling through the expanded metal table, onto the ground. A-shon stood for the fourth time after retrieving something that had fallen through the table, again. With a sigh, he looked at the small pocket knife and put it in his pocket.
William stood then, coming to the table. Looking things over. “A-shon. Take one of those plastic bags, spread it flat on the table. Put your small things on it. They won't fall through, then.”
“Oh. Yeah. Thanks. Good idea. I'm flustered.” A-shon stated, sheepishly.
“I get it. This is a new way of life for you. And the adjustment will not be easy. You are going to have to be broken, unlearning bad habits, before I can put you back together.” William promised with sympathy. “I see a few books here. How well do you read?”
“Well enough to understand those.” A-shon stated.
“These are classics. '2001: A Space Oddesey'. What was it about?”
“A group of people going out to explore Jupiter. Except the ship's computer got to be too smart and killed them all. But one of them survived in a way. Was touched by other beings. He came back. Told humans to stay away from one of the moons, then made Jupiter into a smaller sun.” A-shon stated, having stopped working.
“Keep working, don't stop until it is done.” William told him. “Decent synopsys of the story. But what does it mean?”
“What do you mean?” A-shon asked.
“OK. A story like that is written to express an idea. Why was it written, if it was not just to be a fun story?”
“Fun story? Nothing about that book was fun. It was weird. First the computer learns to create it's own ego. Then Dave becomes … a god?” A-shon asked. “I guess, it would be telling us that we can create our own destruction and that there are others who are more advanced than us, out there, somewhere.”
“Very good. I like reading. It is important to read stories with a meaning or lesson in them. You will read a lot with me. And, I will ask you similar questions.”
“Okay. But I'm not your slave.”
“Good. Because I don't want a slave. But you WILL take orders from me. You WILL do as I tell you to, when I tell you to. Time for questions will be AFTER it is done. This is NOT a negotiation. This is how things will be. Right now, you are ill-prepared. You are not in physical condition enough to meet the needs of being on the road. Let alone surviving alone. You are used to being a part of a group. You have been with people you did not and could not trust. Yet, you wanted to, knowing they would take anything you valued, just because you valued it. And at times, you felt envy or jealousy for something someone else had, that you did not. Craving the satisfaction they gained from it. And at the same time, abandoning the idea of getting those things you actually needed to survive.” William explained. “Are you hungry?”
“Always.” A-shon answered, as he continued to fold a shirt. There was a slight hint of hope in his voice, threaded through a much heavier tone of distrust.
“Good. It's good to stay a little hungry.” William said, as he went to his trailer. “Keep an eye out. Head on a swivel. I'm trusting you to cover my back, as I concentrate on finding something for you to eat. But make it look natural. Don't alert others there is something of value over here to be taken by standing guard duty.”
A-shon answered back, “I have no idea what that means.”
“That's OK. You will get it, soon enough.” William replied, as he stood up. Looking around, he closed the flap of his trailer, but did not seal it, again.
A-shon looked up, as William handed him a homemade granola bar wrapped and sealed in wax paper. “What is that?”
“It's food. Do you have a nut allergy?” William asked.
“Not that I know of.” A-shon answered. “How would I know if I did?”
“Take this. It has pecans in it. Most people with nut allergies are allergic to peanuts.” William explained. “Don't tear the paper. Open it carefully. And just nibble on it. Slowly. Make it last. So we will have time to react if you ARE allergic to pecans.”
“It's stiff and hard to chew.” A-shon complained.
“That's because took too large a bite. I told you to nibble on it.”
“I'm hungry. What can I say?” “Well, if you ARE allergic, you won't be able to say much of anything if you eat enough to make yourself really sick.” William said. He watched as A-shon processed that the mouthful of granola bar might be truly dangerous, then try to figure out what to do about it. “I doubt you are actually allergic to the nuts in the bar. Chew it. Slowly. Swallow small bits at a time. And drink some water. Do you have something to drink from?”
With a full mouth, A-shon answers, “I did not think to grab my water bottle.”
“OK. I have something to help.” William went back to his trailer. “Take these and fill them up, from that creek, over there.”
“What? Do you know how many people crap and piss in that water?”
“I can guess. But we are going to filter the water, before you drink it. Now, go get yourself some water.” William instructed. While A-shon was walking to the creek just 20 or so yards away, he kept looking around, then laid out the filter bottle he used before with the medical hose.
“That's an interesting contraption” John stated as he entered the small campsite. “I sure could use one of those for myself.”
William nodded as he tossed a length of paracord over a low branch. “You know what I'm going to build for the kid. The more you can gather to make it more useful, the more inclined I might be to give more for what you gather.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” John answered, irritated his ploy was met with resistance. “By the way, one of the guys I get stuff from won't trade me the wood you asked for. He wants more for it than what I have to offer.”
William stood. “You committed to a trade. We agreed to a price for a minimum set of components. I will not tollerate being strong armed into paying more.”
“Well, maybe the kid will more agreeable,” came another voice. “You have your self a nice setup with that bicycle and trailer. You are like a little kingdom on wheels.”
“I'm assuming you are the person John went to for a piece of plywood?” William asked.
“John, here, comes to me for a lot of things, don't you, John?” the obviously aggressive man stated. “You see, I kind of 'own' this little bit of town. John let's me know when anyone interesting or rich comes through. So, you want to build your boy there a trailer to make it easier for him to carry his things. Odd, I don't see a family resemblance.”
“What we do, and who we decide to walk with is our own business.” William stated, flatly.
“No, not really. Not in my area, it's not. It's my business.”
William felt the hairs on his arm, the back of his neck start to stand up. Dread started to fill him as he realized there was about to be more trouble than he wanted. And A-shon was about to trigger it all. He waited that last 15 or seconds for A-shon to get close enough to be a part of the conversation. Seeing how John was looking through A-shon's stuff on the table, A-shon moved forward to try to cover it up with a sheet.
John's other guest quickly pulled a gun out of his back, pointing it at A-shon. “Stop. I think you owe John here a little something for the use of his table.”
A-shon looked at William in surprise.
“What is your name?” William asked the large, menacing man who was pointing a gun at A-shon.
“Sir.” he answered. “YOU may call me 'Sir', little man.”
“Oh, I think not.” William responded. John and A-shon both gasped as a larger combat gun appeared in William's hands, apparently out of thin air. Packing the stock into his shoulder pocket, William took careful aim on the bullie's forehead. “John, stop being such a prick and explain to him what you see on his forehead.”
“Uhm, uh … You have a green dot on your forehead.” John explained.
The bully looked over to William, seeing the short combat rifle for the first time. Surprise washed over his face … just before greed filled his eyes.
“I can kill him.” he said, still pointing his pistol at A-shon.
“And I can kill you, before you can. If you flinch, you die. The angle you have that pistol, you will miss the boy. And the boy is going to move to his right half a side step. Now, you will gently put that pistol on that table and step back.”
“Or what?”
“Or I will ventilate your skull.” William replied.
“I don't think you will. You don't want to. You are too sof …” with a 'pffth' from William, the bully flinched as half his head disappeared.
“You were right. I did not want to. And you were wrong. I'm not too soft to.” William stated, after shifting to John as his new target. “Now then, John … You have put me in more danger than was necessary to conduct a bit of trade. You swore the boy and I would be safe here, in your little camp, long enough to do what we needed to do. You lied to me. I really do hate it when people lie to me. Your lies endangered me. Caused me to take a life that I did not want to take. Put the lighter on the table with all A-shons' stuff. Also, if you wish to live, you will cough up yoru two best pairs of socks. Right now.”
John stood still, uncertain what to do. Frozen in a panic, unable to fight. Unable to flea.
“JOHN!” William barked, snapping John back into himself.
“Oh, right! Socks! Yes. Socks. And … and the lighter. I don't have the lighter. He took it from me! I can't give it back. Socks are on the bushes over there.” John said pointing first at the dead man on the ground, then at the bushes his laundry was drying on.
“A-shon. Move behind me. Do not get between John and I. Put your stuff on the sheet. Then tie the ends together. Do not forget the plastic bags. John. Turn, slowly away from me. Take three steps to your left. Walk towards that tree.” William directed both men. “NOW, A-shon. John, hug that tree. If you let go of that tree, you die. Period.”
“My stuff is in the trailer,” A-shon said.
“Good. Pull that piece of paracord from the tree. Tie a slip knot in one end. Good. Now, put that around his right wrist. Right, now, wrap the rope around that wrist, four times. Tuck the loose end around the bundle, covering the knot. Right. Now, put another slip knot two feet from that other wrist. Put it tightly over hit left thumb. Toss the other end over that branch. Good. Pull it snug so his hands are stretched apart. Doing well, son. Now, give me that loose end.” William instructed. “Now, here is what is going to happen, John. I'm going to wrap this end around your neck and tighten it. You will still be able to breathe. But, the more you struggle, the tighter it will get. And you will end up killing yourself. Nod if you understand me. Good. Now, open your mouth. Close your mouth. You are now holding between your lips a simple box cutter. You can use it to cut yourself free, after we have gone. But keep in mind, the rope and the knot are at the back of your neck. You will have to carefully work it around so you don't strangle yourself. A-shon, go get two pairs of socks, the best and thickest he has off those bushes. ONLY two pair of socks. Oh, and John, before you spit out that box opener to shout for help … think about it. How many people around here would actually HELP you while you are helpless? Or would they just take the opportunity to steal you blind, while you are incapacitated?”
William backed away from John then stooped to search the dead man. Of course, he picked up the revolver, found it fully loaded. A speed loader and pouch were on the man's belt. Both came off. So did the western sytle boots in size 10 with like new soles and heels. Three different styles of pocket knives, a new lighter in the same color as what John had been given. He tucked the lighter into John's back pocket, sticking out enough to easily be seen. “John, that's the lighter I gave you, that this guy came back with. I'm leaving that with you, in exchange for that mountain bike you have partially hidden by your tent. Oh, please. I know. It's generous of me to pay that much for it. But I can see that you are a man in … dire need.” William nodded at A-shon to get the bicycle.
A-shon nodded with a grin and went after it.
People were starting to notice that something abnormal was going on with John, as he was hugging a tree. They were watching, but not approaching.
“Hurry up, kid. People are starting to take notice. Let's go.” William stated, simply. “You DO know how to ride a bicycle, don't you?”
A-shon climbed on his new bike and asked “Just tell me which way to go. Then try to keep up.”
“The quickest and easiest way out of this park.” William stated as he dumped all he had taken off the dead man into a bag in his trailer.
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Post by NCWEBNUT on May 8, 2021 17:29:48 GMT -6
We need more Williams in the world today
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