The Oracle Trilogy Book One Ohm's Node

Down at the Hole

chapter 26

part 2

They had kissed. Not just any kiss but a long wet, deep, never-ending kiss, end of times kiss that once mouths locked, there was no reason to leave, anything else quite impossible. He couldn't remember how long it lasted or where it happened but since it had finally broken through the firewall of consciousness, he knew it had to be historic. And no recollection of what his hands were doing. He saw it as a release of pent-up emotional baggage and a deep unsatiated desire to be, feel the tender closeness to a woman, her warmth and feral scent and whispers of deep longing. It seemed like another person ago, in a make believe past where the only worries in the world had been finding descent Jackal and the female species to do some with.

The place still had all of the sensual pleasures of a mountain beer pub but without the claustrophobia of packed sardine can. After spending a year in some god-awful tight-fitting outposts, this was a piece of cake. Also, a lot of the residents had either packed and left or died. They were the remainders,

Duck had been over to the apartment just checking on hearsay that he was back but had been denied entry. Decompression is all he managed to say, so Peggy Leggy together with Socrates had put together a welcome home basket loaded with donations from everyone including much revered candy bars, a bottle of sake and a few bottles of beer. If he needs more, he knows where to come.

In fact, after a few days of decompressing into a semblance of his old life, the dreams began that kept him prone and writing whatever he could recollect on waking. After a few hazy images embracing Daisey May, things began clearing up to her wrapping muscular legs around his torso while French kissing him and whispering in his ear. The wayward son returns home. Give yourself time to adjust. Be present and allow your body to grow.

Whatever he was shot with, dreaming had never been as lucid and detailed. In one week, he'd been through all of the tight skin of your teeth, nail biting anxiety events that came with detecting and eliminating drone strikes before they eliminated you, in exquisite detail. So much so that he had picked out details that he hadn't first noticed. And then last night the dreams had gone to the Hole where it posited, that answers could be found. It had been dark with moving amorphous shadows caused by flickering candlelight and hands and arms reaching out to comfort him and treasure chests, their golden bands glittering, emitting their own light but locked, scattered over the floor. He had asked Socrates where the damn keys were but all he got was a shrug.

He'd been on a jag for the last few days, having begun the old ritual by warming up the sake on an old hot plate which of course caused a disturbance with the dreams and had finally pushed him out of his nest to his old hang. No more forever wars. They were far too costly, a drain on resources and better that the Military be reallocated to the borders. When the guy first came over to his office, the table with his name etched on it, and offered a hand, he at first went for the defensive but quickly lightened up, listening more to his intuition than his head.

'Heard you got scooped at the WB.'

One look at the musclebound biker and Fletch knew what it was. He'd heard of the brotherhood through the Mill. All retired or otherwise deranged human beings who had put in their time and returned from hell were eventually contacted by the Brotherhood, a bunch of ex Marines and Army who had forged a bond with a special branch of law enforcement to protect their brothers from the vicissitudes of a world gone Wack job. And the PTSD on steroids.

'Hey man, Disneyland ain't going to do it', the ex-marine declared, 'a wake of bodies and hurt, like you can almost see the damage in the brain but for the mountain of hate and sadness in the way. Drink and be merry or fuck Mary but remember, dealing with the past is bullshit. One day at a time for the rest of your friggen life unless you know. War resets your hardware and anything other than getting jolted by lightning is just silly. Sorry, there's no fix, only adaptation, the way of the jungle. You deal with it by coming to peace with the fact that you've become a weapon, dude. I know the look man. You are who you are. Accept it and get on with life. You my drunken friend are a warrior on a dying war fucking planet that's called off war unless you call keeping millions of refugees out of your country a peaceful initiative.'