Muster

by Christoff Orr

  “There?” The Commander asked as he looked towards the building indicated by Alberto.

  “Why not? It’s as good a place as any, and I’m fairly confident, we won't find any Regionals or Russians in there.” Dave answered back.

  Harvey Mennonite Brethren Church

  Ever since Josif had been killed in the fire at the library, Stacy had been a bit out of it. She somehow managed to stay out of the fields, even though her viable vocation had literally gone up in smoke. Now to pass the time, and hopefully lighten the burden of grief, she spent a lot of her time at the Harvey Mennonite Brethren Church. Here she could fill her time in relative peace and still serve some form of service, which would hopefully keep her out of the fields, and in someplace warm.

  Stacy wasn’t an overly religious person, often questioning the need for organized religion, and even when she did go, it was never to this parish. However, during the blackout, the Fox Wars and overall lack of funds, nearly all of the houses of worship in Harvey had been destroyed. Most due to fires, set not on purpose, but as the results of mishandling of candles and such to keep warm. In most cases, someone fell asleep and one thing led to another and soon another building would be on fire. During the blackout, the fire seemed to be one of the biggest killers. Due to the lack of emergency services, such as local fire departments, combined with an increase in candles, gas stoves and such, resulted in almost as many deaths as the Fox Wars.

  Stacy made her way towards the back of the chapel, as she finished cleaning up. It was when she was putting away the last of the hymnals that she heard it, the unmistakable sound of horses. She stood still in the now darkened room, as she strained to listen beyond the walls of this basilica. She held her breath, and closed her eyes, as she could once again hear the sounds of horses. The sounds of their hooves on the snow-covered sidewalk were now combined with the sounds of hushed conversations. She knew none of the local Regionals used horses, and didn’t expect any Russian patrols to be mounted neither. She hesitated a second later before making a hurried approach to the back door.

  Jacob, one of Stonewalls men, was the last to bring his mount into the dilapidated building. It appeared to have been just another room or set of rooms, attached to the main chapel. Now half of it was blacked by fire, as darkened scars reached out from the shattered windows and upwards towards the damaged roof. A portion of the roofing was exposed, where it appeared someone was attempting to replace the beams in hopes of rebuilding the room and making the building operational once again. Its current vocation was that of an extra large storage room, perfect for hiding a ten horses and their riders for the night.

  Jacob had just stepped into the large room, his feet crunching on debris that still littered the flooring. He had loosely lashed the rains of his horse, Doc, to a burnt and busted pew which lined one of the walls. He then casually removed his hat with his left hand and ran his right hand through his thinning hair. Then, in a move practiced and perfected over time, he dropped his right hand, palmed his stainless steel Ruger .357 Vaquero pistol as he spun on the balls of his feet and turned towards the doors he had just passed through. In the same motion, he had tossed his Justin cowboy hat in the same direction, tossing it like one would a frisbee. The action had the desired effect, causing the unknown intruder to flinch at the incoming hat, unable to recover themselves before Jacob had drawn, cocked and aimed his pistol in their direction.

  “DON’T SHOOT!” The young lady screamed as she remained in a crouched position, the tossed hat now at her feet.

  “Who are you?” Jacob quickly asked back, as he slowly raised from his shooting position and approached the girl.

  Everyone else in the group, now armed, spread out along the outer walls of the burnt out building. Some peered through the busted windows, while others kept a bead on the young guest. None of them sure of who she was or if she was alone or not.

  “Stacy, my name is Stacy, I work here,” Stacy called back, her hands slowly raised up in a sign of submission.

  Jacob continued to walk slowly towards her, his pistol still leveled at her chest. He was only a few steps away by the time Dave came running up beside him, holding an M4 tight to his shoulder and trained on the young girl. Jacob gave a quick glance towards Dave then asked, “You got her?”

  “Yeah, I got her,” Dave calmly replied.

  Jacob then re-holstered his pistol and rapidly approached the girl. Once standing right in front of her, he grabbed her shoulders and stood her upright. He proceeded to pat down her arms, body, and legs, ensuring that she didn’t have any weapons or forms of communication on her. Finally feeling comfortable, he bent down, picked up his hat and motioned towards the door. “I think it’s in your best interest to get out of here, go home and forget you ever saw us.”

  Stacy slowly began to back away, “Yeah, yeah, no problem. I didn’t see anything.”

  Stacy was just about to shut the door when the Commander yelled out, “Wait!” He half jogged towards her, as she stepped back into the building. “Are you from around here? Do you know where the town's library is?”

  “Harvey library?” Stacy asked a bit confused why these group of men would be interested in checking out periodicals at this time of night. “I know where it was. I use to work there.”

  “What do you mean ‘was’?” Miguel asked as he walked towards Stacy.

  “It burnt down, just a little bit ago. Everything is gone, all the books, everything.” Stacy replied sadness in her tone.

  “Josif, where is Josif now? Where can I find him, I need to talk to him,” Miguel said a bit excitedly and concerned at the same time.

  Now Stacy just stood silent, as she looked dowered towards some of the chard rubble on the ground. “He’s gone,” she finally mumbled out, hear words fell heavy to the floor as they too came to rest at her feet. “He died in the fire. I think they killed him and then torched the place.” She looked up to see noticeable sadness and shock upon the face of Miguel, who was now standing only a few feet from her. She subconsciously reached out and touched his shoulder, “I’m sorry, did you know him well?”

  “I did. He was my friend,” Miguel said sadly.

  Stacy lowered her hand and slowly began to walk out of the building, but paused as she placed her hand on the doorknob. She turned back towards the group as she asked, “Do you guys need a place to stay? Have you eaten anything?” She looked around as no one replied, their chilled and sunken eyes meagerly glanced in her direction. “Come with me. My house is nearby. I don’t have a lot, but what I do have is warm and will put something in your belly.” She turned momentarily then quickly added, “You can leave your mounts in here. The Priest that runs this place won't be in until around noon tomorrow. No one comes back here, they should be safe until morning.”

  The group secured the doors, ensuring that the horses wouldn’t wander off during the night. They also did their best at blocking up the busted windows, in an attempt to keep as much warmth as they could in the dilapidated structure. Then cautiously they followed Stacy across the town center, down one of the side streets and finally to her small two bedroom house.

  Stacy opened the back door to her humble home, tossed the keys to the church on the table that sat next to the entryway. It was a quaint place, a soft blue paint covered most of the walls, where old framed pictures dotted the landscape. There was a small wooden table, one that could seat four comfortably, but not more beyond that. An old collection of fruit, completely made out of glass, sat in the center of the table. A thin layer of dust and sediment encased the display indicating that it hasn’t been moved in some time.

  Once inside the ten men, made their way to the front living room, where other antiquated nicknacks adorned side tables and shelves. There was an old oil painting of a farmhouse that hung center stage above the couch which was upholstered in a faded flowered print. When Stacy joined them in the front room, she quickly noticed their confused expressions as the continued to assess the decor.

  “This was
my Grandmas house. I was visiting when the lights when out. I’m originally from Kentucky, Hillsboro. I only came on a short visit, before heading off to college, but then the lights went off, and well. We all know what happened after that.” Stacy hesitated for a second then quickly changed gears, “So who’s hungry?”

  Instantly all ten men shot their hands up in the air in response to the question. “I guess we are all a bit hungry,” The Commander said with a smile. “Do you need any help?”

  “Nope, I got it. I might take a few minutes, but I promise it will be warm and edible.” Stacy said before turning back towards the kitchen.

  For the next half an hour Stacy worked steadily in the kitchen till finally, she had everything ready. By the time she called them in, the group was passed out on the couch, chairs and even on the floor. After a long strenuous trek, being able to sit down in a fairly safe and warm environment was just too much to pass up, and soon they were all sleep. After calling out twice, she walked back into the front room, where a display of ten grown men sprawled out across her floor and furniture greeted her. She stood there a moment before she loudly cleared her throat, then spoke clearly as she called out, “The food is ready.”

  This time, like the bell to well-trained dogs, all in the group shot up. They nearly stumbled over one another as they tried to regain their faculties and balance. Because the table in the kitchen was far too small to suit their needs, each man was given a bowl filled with fresh vegetable and chicken soup. They then proceeded back to the front room, where not a single word was said. Only the sound of spoons scraping bowls, and the occasional gulp from one of the men drinking directly from the bowl could be heard. In no time, all ten bowls were empty, save it be for an individual spoon that rested in the now vacant chasm.

  It was Alberto who stood up first and began to collect the empty bowls, and return them to the kitchen. Whereupon entering he found Stacy quietly sitting at the quaint table, finishing up her bowl of soup. He paused for a moment as he looked at her, then quickly found the sink, where he proceeded to place the bowls within. Like he had done many times before, back in his old life, he filled up one side of the sink with hot soapy water and the other side with cool clean water.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Stacy said as she looked up from the table.

  “It’s the least I can do. You basically saved us. Anyways, it reminds me of home, back before.” Alberto said, letting his last few words trail off.

  Stacy nodded, then slowly got up from the table. “Well at least let me help. Do you want to wash or dry?”

  Alberto smiled and thought a moment, “I’ll wash.”

  Stacy nodded, placed her empty bowl on the counter next to Alberto and reached for one of the clean kitchen towels which hung on a rack over the sink. She grabbed the first bowl out of the clean water and began to wipe it down as she looked over towards Alberto. Despite, his unkempt hair, his windburned face, and tattered jacket, she could tell there was something brighter underneath all of that. That he wasn’t just a hired gun, that he held something greater inside. It wasn’t till she had dried her third bowl that she finally spoke up, “Why were you looking for Josif?” As soon as she asked the question though she instantly panicked, worried that maybe their reason wasn’t the most pristine of reasons. She quickly added, “If you can’t or don’t want to tell me I totally get it. It’s none of my business and I know how to keep a secret, trust me.”

  Alberto looked over and just quickly answered, “He use to work with my dad. He had a book we needed.”

  Stacy just lowered her head as she pulled another washed bowl out from the cooling water. She half muttered, “Sorry.” She continued to dry the bowl as she half knowingly said, “Everything was burnt up in the fire, all the books, everything. There are no more library books in this entire town, except that one he gave me. But even that one seems off.”

  This latest news captured Alberto's attention, as he replaced the bowl which he had just washed, back into the soapy water. “What one book?”

  Stacy relayed the events that transpired right before she saw left the library for the last time. About the stranger that came in and the peculiar delivery that she had been given. She had spent some time trying to figure out the delivery address but after unable to locate it, combined with the fire, she had given up on the delivery altogether and just returned the book to her home. There it has sat, ever since.

  “Papa,” Alberto called as they passed through the front room towards one of the back rooms where the book now resided.

  Miguel, heard his son call out for him, causing him to shoot his eye open once again. He staggered as he painfully rose up, realizing that the more he sat the more his legs tightened up. Once he rose to his feet he followed Alberto and Stacy down the hallway. They passed a door to the left, which lead to the first bedroom, then proceeded into through the door a few steps further along, to the right. A darkened glow of violet light spilled out through the open doorway and onto the narrow hallway. When he turned the corner, and entered into the room, he was greeted by a very unexpected view.

  When Miguel entered the room he was greeted by the sight of Stacy, book in hand, standing there talking to Alberto. The white lettering on her black T-Shirt glowed under the UV lighting, along with her left bra strap which peeked out from the top of her shirt. Though the eerie view of her standing there was a sight that might catch the unexpected in their tracks, that wasn’t what Miguel was looking at. It was the rows of fresh vegetables which sprouted out of a verity of containers.

  There were tomatoes growing in a blue plastic tub, about two feet in diameter and three feet deep. There were peppers growing out what looked like a draw which had been pulled out of a file cabinet, and was now placed on the floor and filled with dark, rich soil. There were carrots, snap peas, and even lettuce, along with a good assortment of other verities of vegetables.

  “Wow!” Miguel said in disbelief. He turned to go tell the others, and ended up nearly running right into the Commander and Lt. Preen who were already standing behind him. He snapped back around to face Alberto and Stacy who were now standing next to one another. “Did you do all of this?” Before Stacy could answer, he addressed Alberto, “Is this what you wanted to show me?”

  “Yes and no,” Stacy said, as she stepped forward and handed Miguel a book, wrapped in brown paper. As soon as Miguel took ownership of the book she continued, “Josif gave that book right before he was killed. He said it was a special delivery. The address that he gave me was a bogus address, so I just held onto it. Then Alberto said you guys were looking for a book. It’s a long shot, but I figured, it might be this one.”

  Miguel curiously ripped into the brown paper that encased the book. Exposing the hidden treasure, he tossed the paper aside and turned the book over to see the cover. Once he did, he was greeted by the glossy image of Washington crossing the Delaware, and the title in bold red lettering Washington’s Crossing. Instantly a smile crossed Miguel’s face. He finally looked up at Stacy, “Thank you,” he said, a cacophony of emotion surrounding each word. He then looked back down at the book and started to thumb through the pages. It was a mixed blessing, on one hand, it was the book that they were looking for, though on the other hand, he had no idea what within the book was significant. It was like finally finding the correct door, only to realize he didn’t pose the needed key. Still, it felt like a step in the right direction.

  “There was this too,” Stacy said as she handed the slip of paper given to her, with an address inscribed upon it.

  Miguel paused a moment, his left thumb holding the book open, as he extended his right hand to take the slip of paper from Stacy. In the darkened setting, he misjudged the distance and mishandled the small paper, and allowed it to flutter to the floor. “Sorry, let me get that.”

  Lt. Preen stood there, his attention momentarily pulled away from the vast growth of eatable good, as he looked towards the book that Miguel was holding. He was still a bit fuzzy as to why such a
book would contain such importances to justify such a risk the lives of the ten men on this mission, or how it would make in sort of impact upon the upcoming war. He watched as Miguel bent over to pick up the dropped parchment. It was at the moment that he saw a glimpse of it. A glimpse of something, what he wasn’t exactly sure of. It was so subtle, that Miguel had already resumed an upright position before his brain registered what he even saw, and when it did, he instantly blurted out, “Wait!”

  Everyone in the room quickly shot a surprised look towards Lt. Preen. Unsure of what was happening, the Commander instinctively reached for his sidearm, as he quickly questioned back, “What? What is it?”

  “The book, I saw something when Miguel was bent over.” Lt. Preen quickly answered back as he reached out for the book. Miguel initially recoiled, as he pulled back the book, as if it was the most sacred item afforded to man. “Please, just a moment, I think I saw something written on it.” After another moment of hesitation, Miguel extended outwards towards the Lieutenant.

  Lt. Preen held the book in his hand then quickly started to thumb through the pages, all the while tilting it downward so that the darkened light from the UV bulbs washed over the pages. Instantly his search delivered results. As the flipped through, nearly every page exposed revealed script which lit up under the UV lights.