I apologize for another plotty sort of chapter, but...well it's kind of a necessity.
Chapter Thirty-One: Ogoun
**Kowalski**
A month before the world fell to shit was probably the most inopportune time for one to lose complete hearing in one ear and about seventy percent in their left, but then again, having an IED explode in your face and walking away from it could have been considered extremely good luck.
So, understandably, he was on the fence over whether he was grateful or pissed off at providence for that little amount of luck he had.
Hell, even when that dark haired man was on the wall shouting at him, he had only caught enough of the conversation to know the gist. Typical questions like 'who are you' and 'how many are you with' were expected, so he strained his left ear to hear enough, but he grew sick of focusing all his energy on that. Of course, he was just beginning to get how lip reading worked, but he wasn't at expert level just yet, so he missed a lot of it. Especially if he didn't know the topic.
Around him swarmed strange faces from the other group, women who brought him warm water and a rag to wipe the grime of the road off himself, ladies who offered him water and all kinds of things.
Without being able to hear what they were saying, only the low end bass gist of it all if he craned his head to the right and really concentrated with his left, but as he refused to do that and looked stupid, he felt a little over his head.
He was used to people literally talking over his head, it seemed being a deaf 'idiot' made people generally ignore his presence.
The lean man with the dark hair spoke, looking him straight in the face, and the man Delgado had explained to him was an old Marine buddy of his, the Cajun Vancoughnett and every now and then a woman with short, curly grey hair would kneel down and ask him something slowly, they all looked him directly in the eye, but the others seemed unable to figure out what to do with him.
Well, he wasn't sent to be their friend, he supposed. Initially Delgado sent him to just be sure the man they were set to execute wasn't one of his friend's people, the Corporal didn't honestly think he was, but he wanted to be certain. It was a precaution that he was sent, there was only one survivor from the massacre of the SUV that had boldly turned down their driveway and they didn't want to keep him around for much longer.
Kowalski had volunteered because, really? He wasted his days in a fucking tree avoiding the pity the others gave him and it was beginning to get tedious. Getting shot by a human being was actually beginning to seem like it wasn't such a bad idea.
He supposed it was isolation. He felt so fucking alone and cut off from the scattered remnants of humanity because of his condition.
Killing himself was a pansy-assed way out, but death on the battlefield (or more likely a shot in the back by some Southern man in the wild wastelands that had become Georgia) didn't seem all that bad.
Watching the silent fucking film that was unfolding around him, Kowalski scowled a little as some scruffy fellow came loping up with a crossbow in hand, a large, black man on his heel.
The scruffy man looked mildly irritated and gestured with his hand at Kowalski a few times, before he seemed to be appeased by the dark haired fellow and Vancoughnett.
It wasn't so much that asshole that interested him, but the grey haired woman with the fine boned features who looked him in the eye when she spoke to him, sidling up beside the scruffy guy that intrigued him. They seemed an unlikely couple, but the way the scruffy guy seemed to put himself between the woman and Kowalski was curious.
Someone touching his arm drew his attention away from the others and Kowalski looked to his right to find an old woman there, signing something to him with a kind look in her eye.
Kowalski shook his head. He was taught the alphabet in the few meagre weeks he had in recovery before the shit hit the fan, but that was pretty much it for him.
He had traipsed up and down the countryside for about three fucking days looking for where Vancoughnett's group was hiding themselves, checking every major building and landmark known, any place that would seem the likely hideout for a group to thrive and nothing proved worth his time. The prison just across the highway and down a road some ways in looked promising, but it was empty and locked up tighter than a drum.
It was only good fortune that he found this place, as he was eyeballing a map of the area and saw it only because he mistook it for the prison at first. This was his last stop on the tour and he was actually glad it was, it was getting cloudy and he didn't want to be stuck out in the rain.
Resting his elbows on his knees, he leaned over the hard concrete of the stoop he was on and eyed the raining skies quietly, wanting to be anywhere but sitting in the middle of pandemonium.
Shifting, he unloaded his burden from his shoulders and caught glimpse of the child-like note he had pinned to his back in case one of the men from this group caught sight of him in the wild and he didn't have time to explain before they shot. He tore it off stubbornly, glancing around to see who saw.
The old woman at him side smiled gently and held out her hand for the note he had balled up, so he handed it over, still keeping his eyes moving around. The scruffy guy seemed to be having an intense aside with three other men, it seemed they were the inner male council of the group, the one with the blade where his right hand should be, the dark haired man who let him in, and Vancoughnett. He wondered if these leaders were elected or just sort of fell into the role like Delgado, Kessler, and the Hollander's had done in their group.
The way the men congregated together though, gave Kowalski the idea that there was still a pecking order amongst them. It seemed they all looked to the dark haired one for the final say, though the way the blade handed fellow addressed and looked at him, he had the suspicion there was some tension there. But oddly enough, it seemed like the blade handed fellow still had a very small smidgeon of respect for the dark haired fellow.
He turned his eyes away from the men, looking about at the happenings and the rain. It wasn't until he took to counting the number of buildings, to studying the place, that he spied her, across the lawns from him, in the safe overhang of a building, peering out through the rain at him.
He wasn't expecting a Muslim to be hanging around a Catholic convent, but the white jilbāb she wore and the long, pretty teal abaya that was blowing with the breeze, catching around her legs, revealing she wore a pair of brown salwar kameez underneath, kind of gave her away.
Jesus, if he thought he was isolated, he could only imagine how it felt being the only Muslim at a convent.
He could have sworn that even across the distance, for a moment, he met her eyes and held them, before she shrunk back into the building, out of sight.
Kowalski stared at the still open doorway for the longest time, imaging he could see inside it, see the woman still there, just out of sight in the shadows.
His staring match with the dark doorway was interrupted by a bowl of warmed rice and meat being handed to him by a dark haired lady with a doll-like face and he nodded his thanks to her.
She offered him a bright, but somewhat shy smile and stepped back. He remembered her, came with Vancoughnett, seemed quite nervous to be at their farm at the time, didn't seem able to take in enough of her surroundings as she trailed behind Delgado's friend.
Cautiously, he sniffed the food, before trying it.
It was gamey, but not all that bad.
The dark haired lady was still standing there, smiling down at him almost eerily and Kowalski turned a little to avoid staring at her while he ate, beside him the old woman smiled and he tried the other side, finding yet another lady sitting there, rifle in her lap, smiling at him.
He remembered her as well, she came with the group when Vancoughnett paid the first visit. Her curly, black hair was pulled up high and she looked at him with cautious, but sharp eyes.
She met his eyes and offering him a shy smile, turned to give him some privacy, before pushing to her feet and wandering off.
Kowalski had to admit he appreciated it. As a man who spent about seven months stuck in a damned tree with only two pails, one for food and the other for…well what the food eventually became, he didn't really care much for being the centre of attention.
He ate quickly, shovelling the food in so that he could get the low down from this group and be on his way. His orders were to wait until he had something to go back to the farm with.
Alright, so he was mistaken, the gamey rice and meat dish was actually pretty fucking delicious. He wondered why those two fucking cowboys back home didn't go out and hunt up some game meat once in a while, there was only so much eggs and milk a man could stand.
Although this group didn't look like they had access to fresh eggs or milk, so he assumed to them that would be a numptious meal as well.
Eyeing Vancoughnett, the soldier he was told was technically a Lieutenant in rank, Kowalski scowled. The man was wearing only his camouflaged jacket and nothing else underneath but his tags and some bandages about his ribs, he wondered if he caught him at a bad time or if this was how the man conducted himself.
There was a young Asian man, one who had showed up with Vancoughnett, who was lingering near the group of – for lack of a better term – Alpha males and Kowalski wondered if he wanted in on the little four man tête-à-tête. There was a quiet hope in the poor man's eyes that actually made Kowalski sick.
Jesus man, he thought, put down the purse and just push your way into the huddle.
Finishing off his meal, he handed the empty bowl back to the dark haired lady with a nod of gratitude and finally decided to push to his feet, the rain was still dumping down, but he didn't care, he wanted to get back to the farm before the next morning.
Approaching the group of men, he stepped up boldly to the dark haired man and shoved his eyebrows up high on his forehead in inquiry.
The man said something to him again, his lips obviously going slowly with the wording.
Kowalski scowled.
His scowl must have sunk in, as the man quickly fumbled for the notebook.
The blade hand remarked something to the nearby scruffy man and the two scoffed, causing Kowalski to suspect it was something about him.
He felt his scowl deepen.
God, he disliked people as a teenager and this social apathy had only intensified after he returned from overseas and was basically relegated to living in a tree because of his inability to communicate properly with them.
The dark haired man pushed the notebook at him.
We're sending a few of our people with you in the morning, just to make sure you get back safely and to explain things personally to Delgado. It read. We'll give you a bed to sleep in for the night if you want.
Kowalski didn't like the idea of travelling with people and he sure as hell didn't want to stay long, so he shook his head.
The man shook the notebook under his eyes.
Clearly it wasn't an option.
Without a word, he turned on his heel and marched off, knowing full well he was being trailed by someone. He didn't think he'd have free run of the place, but Delgado did want to make peace with them, so he figured he'd play nice for one night. At least until the rain stopped and he got dry.
A gentle hand on his arm had him stopping and he found the grey haired woman there, she said something slowly to him and he leaned in ever so to see in the rain what she was saying.
Thankfully, she repeated herself.
He caught the word 'dry' and nodded.
Whether she was offering him dry clothes or a dry place to rest for the night, he wanted it, any of it, all of it.
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The woman lead him in the direction of the building where the Muslim woman had been hiding, pushing inside and passing by a blond man who was tied to a cot, that blonde woman who Burke and Harkness had found in their little hole trap in the woods and a man who was sitting halfway down the open main room, reading from a bible, a pistol in his lap just under the holy book.
The Muslim woman hung close to the blond man and watched him with wide, curious eyes as he was shown to a bed. Her beautiful brown eyes met his as he passed, and for a moment both isolated outcasts communicated wordlessly, before she bowed her head.
Kowalski would have preferred a dry corner of someplace else to sleep if it meant having his privacy, but he was exhausted from his hunt for the group and too wet and uncomfortable to argue, so he removed his pack, tucked it under the cot and flopped onto the mattress, testing its comfort level.
It was better than a rock to the cock, he figured.
Leaning down to untie his boots, he paused and glanced over his shoulder.
Everyone in the infirmary was watching him eerily, so he hesitated, before reaching over and drawing the curtain across, blocking their view.
Laying back on the bed, boots still on, he waited for a moment, before reconsidering and sitting up again, he retrieved his pack from under the cot and pulled it to his chest protectively.
He didn't have a weapon on him and didn't want to be caught vulnerable.
Moving the bed into an upright position, he drew his knees to his chest and with his pack in his arms, settled in for a light nap like a bird perched on a branch.
One good thing about being deaf was that he could fall asleep in the middle of a fucking Aerosmith concert, so it didn't take him long to drift off.
In those few, rare moments before sleep, he thought of home and hated everything and everyone all over again.
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Kowalski woke only when the grey haired lady woke him, her arms full of dry clothes, her blue eyes bright and shining.
Behind her sunny self, however, stood the sullen, dark, scruffy backwoods type who eyed him like he was a threat, at his side an equally scruffy looking horse that lolled a huge tongue out of its muzzle like the red carpet rolling out for a king.
The woman pressed a hand to Kowalski's chest gently and said something to him slowly.
He squinted, but refused to lean in like a deaf old man.
She leaned down and repeated herself.
He made out the word 'bath' and shook his head. It was one thing to catch some Z's with them, but to strip down naked and hop in a tub of water, well he wasn't about to just bare himself like that.
Behind her, the scruffy man tensed and said something, causing the woman to turn to face him.
Kowalski missed whatever she said, but it seemed to piss the man off, as he wandered out of sight, beyond the curtain with that grey horse of his at his heels.
The woman turned back and said one word, touching a hand to her chest.
Well, she wasn't saying Garol (didn't think that was a word), so he assumed she was introducing herself as 'Carol'.
He touched a finger to the worn, nearly shredded nametag on his chest.
She said something back, but he missed it.
Then the woman boldly removed his helmet and set it on the table beside the bed, touching an almost motherly hand to his hair and stroking.
Kowalski wasn't sure whether he wanted to be appalled and lean away from her touch, or be warmed and lean in to it. She put out a sweet, matronly vibe that pulled at his heart and made him long for home and his own mother even more.
So, he did what he was used to doing, and pulled away from her touch.
Her big blue eyes turned sad and she said 'sorry' and something else, but he missed it.
He avoided her eyes until she pushed to her feet and left.
Eyeing the dry clothes she brought him, he pushed them onto the floor and curled up into a tight ball around his pack again, sulking until he fell asleep once more in his own damp gear.
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The Voodoo Dialect
Ogoun - Ogoun (or Ogun, Ogún, Ogou, Ogum, Oggun) was originally associated with fire, blacksmithing and metalworking. His focus has transformed over the years to include power, warriors, and politics. He particularly likes the machete, which is a common offering in preparation of a possession. Each of the many aspects of Ogoun have their own personalities and talents. One is associated with healing and is seen as a combat medic, another is a thinker, strategist and diplomat, and many are machete-swinging warriors.
Interesting sidenote, the tattoo the Lieutenant has on his abdomen is the veve (symbol) for the loa Ogoun.
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missdaryldixon - I'm hoping Milton will play a bigger part in this soon. He's actual a very vital character to me and more importantly to the group.
Merle's Right Hand - I understand completely. Cash has a few good qualities. I mean, no one is ever really a monster. Of course, Cash does make it hard to like him at times. He has a big mouth and likes to pick fights.
itsi3 - Then you'll really love this chapter then. I hope you did anyways.
HaloHunter89 - Yes. And also I feel bad for him too.
shelly2 - Wait no longer...well enjoy it while it lasts anyways. ^_^
Guest - Rick kind of makes me all melty in general.
GG - You would think, huh? Some people have no faith.
LaurenEmilyxx - I agree.