Author's note:
I am a new author here at Lit, and I'd genuinely appreciate your constructive comments. But first, I would like to thank Gamblnluck for his kind assistance in getting these stories kick-started and posted. And thanks to you for reading this. I hope you enjoy going out into the bayous and swamp.
If you are looking for a stroke story, this is not it. All characters are over the age of 18.
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Coven of the Ancient Swamp - Chapter 3
The Glade
Jack and I were standing at the foot of the old dock, "Shep? I know you want to start in on rebuilding the dock. But bossman, there's a huge old water-logged stump out in the channel, and neither Zeke nor I can figure out how to move the damm thing, and it's gotta go. Do you think that your Navy buddies might have something big enough to move it? That stump has to be four or five feet around and with all the roots on it upwards of eight feet long."
Trying to picture the submerged monster with all the roots hanging off of it. "Shadow, what do you think?" That resulted in some loud barking and serious tail wagging. I was standing there trying to picture how to get the thing out of the water.
"Guys, let me go talk to my old boss and the Seabees and see what they have to say. Be back in a little while. Come on, Shadow, let's go to town. Do you two know if everybody is going home tonight? I'd like to talk with everyone about the changes that are afoot."
As I drove into town, I saw what had been a vacant, overgrown, weed-infested lot was now the eye of a hurricane that had become the center of the Navy's relief efforts. Walking up to a trailer, I called out, "Ensign? Is the old buzzard still around and flapping his gums, or has he flown off?" Well, that comment certainly got everyone's attention, along with a few laughs.
That led to a thunderous explosion of caustic obscenities laced with more than one or two profanities. "And hello to you, Admiral, Sir. So glad to hear that you are in such a fine voice today. Might I have a moment of your time, Sir?" I called out gleefully.
"Tom! Get your sorry ass over here! You know better than to ask for that! You and I have been around too many CF's together. What do you need! Now!"
"Two things, first I'd like to borrow whatever clodkicker you have running the SeaBees. I got a little tree stump that I need to move, though since they don't do a lot, they might be able to pick it up. Second, when you guys get around to doing an after-action report, I have a few things they might want to look at."
"Ensign! Two coffees, and on your way out, close the door. Also, get the Seabee Chief on his way here, tell him I got a little moving job for him. No calls."
So here we go again, yet one more in the long line of CF's.
"Boss, for sure, I do not have all the details yet. But here's what I think and believe is the root cause that led to the mess we see outside. Crawl Bayou is not on anybody's radar. Hell, this place does not exist on most maps. When your orders came down, sending you and the task force here, I'd bet your first question was, where the hell is this fly spec?
Almost all of the homes that were flattened by the storm were rentals. I have no heartache with people renting a home. But here, well, there seems to have been some liberties taken with the system? I'd bet you if some bright-eyed person ran down who the actual owner of the properties is, what they will find is that most of them are owned by Leopoldo Goshert. He owns, among other things, Goshert's Trading and General Merchandise and half or more of the property here in town. Bright eyes should look into the store's tax filings and whatever else is connected to the store. Now Leo likes to think of himself as Leo the Lion of the Ancient Swamp. The people here call him LL or Little Leo; we know how nicknames get hung on people.
Here the building department and tax collector offices are part of the Sheriff's office since they do various enforcement actions. It seems to me that Leo got his buddy and partner, the Sheriff, to allow non-code buildings to be put up on some of his properties around town. Non-code buildings are supposed to be in place for less than four months max. They are temporary buildings. But people have lived in these temporary buildings, hell shacks for years before the storm swept them all away, leaving people here homeless with little more than the clothes on their back. Other places that have been built in the past few years are way outside of the building code. On the coast, there are strict building codes for new construction. The code requires that the buildings be built to withstand severe storms, like what we had here the other night. Meeting code adds costs to the building but in the long run, doing so saves lives and money for everyone. There are no tie rods in place or bracing in the places I've looked at so far; no significant reinforcement was in place. The footings, if you could call them that, hell, a kid could kick them out in some buildings. What we see was a disaster waiting to happen, almost like it was pre-planned.
Boss, thanks for the coffee and your time, Sir. Let me take the SeaBees in hand and take them down the road."
Five minutes after I pulled up in front of my new cottage, the clodkicker, aka my brother, arrived. "Hey you, I have a little problem I hope you can fix; let me show you." We walked around back to the foot of the old dock. "Brother, at the far end of this old dock is a huge tree trunk that is buried down in the channel there. I'd like it up in one piece and put the stump in front of the mill. I want to clean the stump up then cut slabs off of it. I should be able to make tables from it. Is it reasonable to be able to do it?"
"Any idea how big it is?"