No
Time
To
Mourn
1st Edition
Shawn Pinkston
Dedicated To Martha
Dear Reader,
If you are reading this first edition I would like to personally thank you for picking this independent title among so many others. This First Edition has been a dream five years in the making. Without the funding to complete college, stuck working as a full time apprentice butcher, and slowly organizing this and other projects has been a slow and rough process. However, here we finally are. This book is 100% self edited. This first edition will stand as a testament to the future of this book series. Sweat and tears went into this creation and it means everything to me as an author to be able to share this story of a family's will to simply stay alive. This saga will hopefully grow with your support as well as your participation.
I am sure there are those out there who will be able to pinpoint certain issues this first edition.That is why this is a first edition. This novel will hopefully, with your help, grow to become an even more memorable journey of apocalyptic struggles and heart wrenching moments. Together we will dwell in the hardships of surviving an all too plausible wasteland. Together we will scale the heights of human kindness pitted against greed and savagery. I want this series to be very engaging and I want you to help mold this book and the next. So I encourage all of you readers to engage me on social media by simply searching for the title No Time To Mourn on almost any platform. Let’s share this project and spread this awesome journey to other readers. Read this book in depth, send ideas of plot twists, and other things we can input to make this and future installments of No Time To Mourn as large as it can be.
I want this letter to be short because at the end of the day it isn’t about me. This is about the story. A story I have brought into life and a story others get to nourish. I look forward to hearing any and all feedback. Our journey of creating this awesome project has begun and our story begins now…
Sincerely,
Shawn Pinkston
Warning: This novel depicts extremely graphic content and may be disturbing for some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
Part One
Chapter One
No Time To Mourn
Four walls and four bunks surround my life. All I see everywhere is white. White walls, white jumpsuits, and white tables. It is psychological, as they say, for the most part. But isn’t that what true and “good” punishment is all about? It’s how they psychologically break you. The people who never return are perceived as being scared. They are scared. Some would call them pussies and wimps if they tow line and fly straight. I don’t think that’s the case at all. People do right once they are released not because they are scared of the rough necks or the hardcore criminals or even the (mostly false or mostly justified) beatings by the guards. We are in fact deathly terrified of the silence. The agonizing wait. Passing time while appeasing those around you. It is hard. You are left to the mercy of your own mind and soon it will wonder. What if I get out, fuck up again and end up with life in this hell hole? I couldn’t fathom sitting here and staring at the white wall ahead or the asshole across from me. After so much time has passed you quickly lose any conversational pick up with those you spend your boring meaningless life with. You soon learn most of their life from the outside and what they did to end up in here. The most hardcore of them know that they can’t stop doing whatever it is their doing and actually sit around for the duration of their stay and figure a way to stay out longer, how not to get caught or just how to generally beat the system. To me that is a sad lifestyle. However all this pointless plotting soon gets old and you are left to stare at the white walls that is your life.
There is a window just in the corner of my white walled life. Just beyond it there is a sign just visible through the bushes. County Detention Center. They call it a detention center to keep a low inmate count but it's run like a damn prison even with less bodies. Absolutely no freedom. With a limited view the small outside glimpse soon becomes burned in your memory and then there is no need to see outside unless you get desperate for a tiny ray of sunshine to fall on your face at the right time of day. Psychologically you are drained. Desperate for something to take the edge off, something to scratch the enormous itch that is isolation. After you go to the cafeteria and eat three times a day there isn’t anything else to occupy your time. Gossip is rampant but some stay away from it because it causes reaction by some of the roughnecks. Books. Books take your mind away. If you have someone on the outside to send you cash you can buy books and snacks if you have good behavior. Many don’t know how to read or would rather pick up pencil and paper and doodle than actually read. Some would never get caught with a book. I myself are one of those arrogant assholes and -.
Wait, I hear the distant buzz of heavy metal doors opening that are in our part of the hall. A small tingle of excitement builds. It is late at night and guards never come in unless there is a fight or someone is getting released. If you listen intently you can count their steps and hear what cell is buzzed open and after a long while of being cooped here you know who is in which cell. Sometimes there might be a friend or family member in a cell. Like my cousin who is two doors down. It gives a reason for people to gossip. It gives mealtime some importance. To talk about who got out or who won what fight provided little distraction from staring at white walls or suffering through a damn book. The footsteps I hear stops at our door. My heart races a little fast now. I’m certain I’ll have something to talk about now and there is always that little bird in the back of your head that asks are they coming for me? Lying on my bed facing the doorway I have a perfect view and the sound of our cell door buzzes open. Two guards are standing in front of us. All four of us sit quietly looking and waiting eagerly. They announce, “Inmate 0098670, David Mercer. You are being released.” A man from the bunk across from me but on the top bunk sits up little further. He arrived last night and only woke up a few hours ago. He was drunk and they had no room in the tank on a Saturday night so we ended up with him. Lucky bastard. This guy isn’t even a hot topic around the lunch table except the fact that even through his slurred speech from the night before there was a small but evident accent. The tipsy man climbs from the bunk, careful not to his his head on the ceiling. With another loud buzz and it is nothing more than a wasted distraction but a distraction nonetheless.
In order to scratch the itch many people start trouble. In the dullness of their ever so boring lives they prey on people they know they are superior to or dominant over physically. Like the skinny fellow above me. He would be fun to pick on. Maybe I could get some extra commissary off him if I bully him enough. I don’t pretend to be a nice guy. Hell I ended up in here for robbing anyone and everyone. Women on the streets, stores, and even a bank or two. I didn’t discriminate on the target and I can, to some extent, do the same in prison. Physical confrontations I am not so good at and I know from experience that just because someone is small doesn’t mean they can’t handle themselves and to lose to someone is to lose any intimidation with anyone else. He would then dominate me. The point is to never get into any confrontations so that no never really look weak or intimidating to anyone. If you're lucky you can fly under the radar for a while. A vicious class system it is. This guy above me though, if there was anyway I could bribe him somehow? If only I had something he wanted that I could promise him in exchange for extra coffee or some cigarettes. Of course I would never keep my end of the bargain I would put off for as long as possible. Anyone on the outside who is important? After racking my brain I come up with no one important enough to fake collateral. I think of objects I actually own (you want to think of real things or people to really sell yo
ur con and make it believable) that I could promise. Maybe I could fake a safe deposit box but I come up with nothing but a Rolex I stole from a lawyer in his own office. I rack my brain again for someone I know on the inside. Someone. There has to be someone.
Then it dawns on me. The little shit above me is a new arrival. He has only been here for a week now. I’m sure he doesn’t know who Major is. This I could use to my advantage. Major is a hard ass. You have to know someone to even get introduced to him and you better say something of importance if you are introduced or you waste his time. He has an attitude you could slap off him. The arrogant bastard spent his whole life in the military and became a Major, which hints his name, before he did something and ended up in jail for life. No one knows what that something is. Anyway he has strong friends on the outside and eventually he got transferred to a lower security level jail. Those same friends send that man a lot of money. He buys commissary in bulk so he gets it a little cheaper and inmates who know him buy from him.
I could sell this info to the kid above but falsify it and never introduce him. So without a second thought I got for it.
“Hey guy!” I kick the ceiling of my bunk. I attract attention from my neighbor in the next bunk but he was uninterested in the commotion and rolled over back to sleep.
He doesn’t answer so I kick again, “Hey did you have fun with the nurse yesterday?” I recall him sitting in office with the nurse who is here once week.
I kick once more almost annoyed now.
“What the hell do you want asshole.” The guy finally responds.
“How long are you in for?” I sneer.
“Why do you give a fuck?”
“Because you little shit if you’re in for long you might want to know someone important.” I match his annoying attitude.
“I’m getting transferred to a maximum security prison in a week. Could this person get me out?” He asks earnestly with another odd accent that throws me off.
That was a good question. Never really thought about it. “Well he does have strong friends on the outside.” I say forgetting to throw a lie in to mix it up.
The man above me quickly jumps off the top bunk and is face to face with me. I try to push him away but he fights me. The guy across dares not to do anything, no one gets into a fight in this cutthroat jail that isn't their own. This is unexpected and I am no fighter. I struggle to push him off of me. I’m desperate not to make noise and alert the guards. The thought of going into the hole with this fucker was not appealing. He slips past my half-hearted attempt to push his fists and after two hard hits I quickly am done in. He holds me close by my collar and I can see every feature of his tanned face. He seems of Asian descent but has a dark tan as if he lived in the Caribbean. He is seething. “Tomorrow at lunch you will show him to me. Or I will kill you. I do promise that. I have nothing to lose… never did.” His accented speech became a little moure pronounced the more energetic this guy became but it was still unrecognizable to me.
“Ease up man. Look I don’t even know your name I was just try-.” I get cut off by another punch to the face.
“My name is... Actually don't worry about it. You won't be around long enough to remember it.” He mocks and I rub my face. “Oh, and what is your name? You know, for future reference?” The weird man smiles.
“Uh, Jesse.” I reply stupidly rubbing my sore face, dazed. This man is crazy.
"Something big will happen soon, something you won’t want to miss but I have to get out first. Play your cards right and you just might make it." The man patted my face and disappeared back onto his bunk.
Chapter Two
No Time To Mourn
We stay under constant enemy fire so I hold my Ar15 tightly to my chest. We rest behind a bullet riddled suburban in the middle of a hornet's nest. An Afghani license plate separates a small gap between my buddy Neil and I. We remain close for fear of being seen. The rooftops are riddled with sentry. I have been trained for these kinds of rescue missions and the fear is always real. The fighting is intense now and every few seconds a shot rings out. Some fly too close for comfort. I shift my bullet proof vest to a comfortable position and peer around the back of the suburban. I see movement up ahead and it’s moving away from us in the opposite direction toward the battle zone. Hordes of scared residents run our direction away from the hail of bullets that fly haphazardly in all directions. The sheer amount of civilians trampling in all direction makes it hard to pinpoint the enemy. Sweat wets my entire face. Adrenaline and fear consume my mind. I press my head against the back of the vehicle and try to calm my mind and focus but all I can think about is the two of us against the worst this village has to offer. I still have a job to do and it will get done. Fear is rational and it will aide my instincts for survival so I clear my thoughts and concentrate on the task at hand. I look around the vehicle and see nothing but frightened feet scrambling in all directions. I stay low and unseen. The torrent of noise drowns out my thoughts. I can hear Neil's breathing increase and become uneven. He must use the fear to stay alive but I can tell the terror is consuming him. We have been in deeper shit than this and we will come out on top. The longer we stay in the open the more fear will be a burden to our progress. The longer fear is a burden the more likely we are to make a mistake. We need to keep moving. My have an objective to complete and my friend's life depends on it.
I look around again. Peering through multiple sets of legs I happen to lock eyes on one of them. I pull my head back behind the vehicle. He had seen me and recognized me as a soldier. Even though he was dressed in the same garb as everyone I knew, he was still the enemy. Their demeanor gives them all away. They see a uniform and become unraveled in seconds. In this case it was his stare that gave him away. We fired a couple shots upon entry and he had been looking for us and found us. He held my gaze, burning his indoctrinated hate into my soul. Our next move was crucial. I hear shouting but I can hardly make out what our soon-to-be attacker is yelling. The likely chance was that he was alerting other militants to aid him in trying to kill us. They know where we are heading and they are going to try and stop us.
“Alright, Neil one of 'em saw me.” I glance over at my friend.
“Damn it Jack.” He replies after shaking his own horrific mental projections from his mind's eye.
“You ready?”
“Yes.” Neil is breathing even harder. It is the horrid gut wrenching feeling of knowing what happens next.
Fear is a life saving motivator. I peek around one more time and I see that the head wrapped man is closer now and within range. He stops to check and reload his shabby looking AK 47. This is our chance. We can gain good ground if we do this right. I swallow bile forcing the liquid of horror back into the pit of my stomach. I wipe the dirt from my brow and rub my eyes clear of the blowing dust. Deep breaths.
“Now!” Without another word to each other we rise. I shoot the man before he can even reload and Neil searches around for anyone else nearby who seems like an enemy. There is a silent understanding of what each man should do and what is expected of us. Neil quickly locks onto the approaching back up that arrived too late and at the wrong time. The two men go down by Neil’s bullets before I can raise my rifle. Due to the abhorrence in our mind we acted swiftly and survived. We must press on.
The sounds of the gunfight send the crowd into even a more furious scramble to get away. We wade through the sea of people with our guns held high over our heads, wading through the flow. We go for the cover of a high wall that runs the length of the road. Cover is essential. These fuckers stay on top of any building just waiting to take the right shot. There are a lot of people in the middle of this slum. We force our way through the surge of civilians running away from the violence we are running toward. They pour into us like a flooding river while we force ourselves upstream.
When we reach the wall I can see the actual amount of people running. The bulk has passed but three hundred people at a time flow like rapids through the street. I do
n’t know how many enemies are escaping by pretending to be frightened victims. We have to be prepared for close combat no matter what. At anytime someone could leap from the crowd. We’re moving again. It’s slow going because we are trying to stay out of people's way, look out for enemy ahead, and also looking out for anyone in the crowd who could attack. This is a bad spot to be in. I wish there was an alley that led straight to the fight. The truth is my best friend is in the midst of the worst fighting. He is in the epicenter and I need to get to him. They are dug in. Us two and another team are coming in from different directions. This is the first time U.S. troops has set foot in this town. This town is crawling with the enemy and apparently it’s important to them because this place is locked down. We have been under fire since the chopper landed us just on the outside of the town. We are almost past the main stream of people completely when what I’ve been dreading happened.
One of those fuckers sprang out from the running crowd wielding a pistol. He catches Neil off guard and using his own body slams Neil into the wall we were running along. Holding Neil against the wall the white cloaked man attempts to shoot at me. I react long before he can aim properly and I do what I have to. Blow his brains out.
Neil shakes himself off and pops his neck. “Thanks.” He wipes red grime from his sleeve and picks up the attacker's pistol.
We continue along past the wall and two dirt path streets. We stop at a crossroads. Many people are still around panicking but not nearly as many as before. Just across from us, Opposite the cross roads are two other U.S. Soldiers. They have to be the other team of reinforcements. I can’t see who they are just yet but something is happening. One of the soldiers bends to one knee and takes off his helmet. There should be more than two of them.
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