"Friends, Christ started his mission with only twelve, we are forty." He paused and looked again into the faces. Zechariah Brattle had never spoken this way before. It was almost as if the spirit of honest old Reverend Bolton, dead in the attack on Gerizim, had entered into him and given him the power of speech to persuade. He was surprising himself, but he couldn't stop now. "Our survival means that the Lord has something in mind for us. We are going to reclaim our lands and refound our church and reestablish our lives." Zechariah did not know for sure if that was what the Lord really wanted them to do, but it would be a good start. He knew that if there was something else in store, the Lord would reveal it to them in His own good time.
Zechariah now had everyone's full attention. "Pack your things. As soon as it's dark, we're loading into the cars and we're going home."
"Amen!" Abraham Maynard shouted.
"Praise the Lord," ten-year-old Ruth Judah squeaked loudly.
"And pass the ammunition," Comfort whispered, grinning.
"Comfort and I will walk point; Judah, you bring up the rear. We can switch around. We have that duty because we have the firearms and can employ them immediately if we're attacked. Keep a round in the chamber at all times, safety on. Spencer," he turned to twenty-five-year-old Spencer Maynard, a mechanic, "you drive the lead car. Hanna, you drive just behind him. Keep them moving at a walking pace. If we're ambushed, drive straight off the road, into and through the enemy if you have to, at top speed, and keep moving until you're out of range. You older people—Samuel, Esther, Paul, Sharon—you ride in the passenger compartments—yes, Samuel, you ride inside, don't give me a hard time now."
"Damnit, Zech, you'd think I was an old sack of potatoes, the way you're treating me," Samuel Sewall fumed.
Esther jabbed her husband's ribs. "If he had to share your bed with you of a night as I do, Sam, he'd think you were an old sack of farts!" she cackled.
"Sit up front with me, Sam, you can ride shotgun," Spencer volunteered.
"Well, least there's someone in this crowd who respects this old ‘sack of farts,’" Sam muttered.
"Children," Zech turned to the young ones, "you'll ride in the passenger compartments too. The rest of you, if there's room, ride inside or on the roofs or walk with Comfort, Judah, and me. The cars will be moving slowly enough that the ride shouldn't be too rough."
"How long will it take?" Nehemiah Sewall, Mordecai's thirty-year-old son, Samuel and Esther's grandson, asked.
"Three days? Maybe longer? We'll have to go slowly because most of the way it'll be cross-country and at night. Amana?" He turned to Amana Rowley, who was a surveyor.
She produced a hand-drawn map of the countryside between their hideout and New Salem. "Three days should do it. I'm pretty familiar with most of the territory between here and New Salem. There are secondary roads we can get on within thirty kilometers of home, and best of all, they run through dense woodland, so maybe we can travel undetected by day, at least part of the way."
"How about it, Zech?" Sharon Rowley asked. "Do the devils know we're here? Are they watching us?"
Zechariah shrugged. "Their technology must be far advanced from ours, so I would assume they can watch us, if they want to. But if they know where we are, then why haven't they finished us off?" He looked up at the ring of faces surrounding the map spread on the cave floor.
"The Lord protects us," Keren Sewall piped up. She was Mordecai and Jemimah's eleven-year-old.
"That's right, Keren," Zechariah said as he folded the map, "but still, we won't take any chances. All right, it's three hours to dark, so let's all try to catch some rest before we move out."
They found the Skinks on the morning of the third day.
At dawn the caravan entered the fringes of a deep forest. This place was familiar to all of them, since on the other side began the lands that had belonged to the residents of New Salem. But because the plants and tree trunks were so thick under the forest canopy, they had decided to park the landcars and complete the rest of the journey on foot. Everyone agreed to continue the trek during the daylight hours.
The forest was the habitat of wild cattle, the descendants of beasts brought originally from Earth by the first settlers. Long ago some of their ancestors had escaped into the forest and thrived there on the native vegetation, which was surprisingly compatible with their diet. But best of all, and this did not escape Zechariah, the animals would provide excellent cover if the devils were using infrared sensors or other devices to detect movement and life in the dense foliage.
The small group was spread out in a column about a hundred meters in length, the fastest walkers matching the pace of the slowest. Amen Judah was bringing up the rear, careful to prevent straggling. Comfort carefully made her way along on the point of the column, twenty-five meters ahead of her father, about the limit of visibility permitted in the dense undergrowth. It was her time of the month, and she felt very uncomfortable in that condition without aid of the necessary sanitary measures, but she forced herself to concentrate on guiding the column.
Zechariah walked ten meters ahead of the others. He was careful to keep his daughter in sight at all times, and Comfort alert to her surroundings. She stopped every few meters to consult her positioning system, a simple navigational device they'd removed from one of the cars. The point man was responsible for keeping the column on the right course, but in the dense undergrowth it was necessary to consult the device frequently.
Several times that morning she had signaled for a halt as she encountered small groups of wild cattle. The first time, she was startled half to death, but even then she had remembered to take the safety off her shot rifle, though keeping her finger away from the trigger until she was sure of her target. The crashing of the beasts through the foliage was clearly audible to the column behind her, and everyone instinctively went to ground until Zechariah gave them the all-clear signal.
Comfort sensed the Skinks before she actually saw them. As the foliage ahead gradually cleared, she signaled her father to halt the column. She crept forward to investigate. Ahead was a glade through which ran a stream. She was not familiar with that part of the forest and she knew that marshy spots abounded throughout the place, yet something was different about the spot, and she sensed it before she could actually see the stream. Checking the safety on her shot rifle, Comfort lay flat on her stomach and crawled slowly forward, cautiously parting the low-growing fronds and branches in front of her until she had a clear view of the stream. Dim sunlight penetrated the glade, but it was sufficient for her to see—nothing. Nothing out of the usual. And then something moved!
It stood on the bank of the stream. It was about the size of a small man, and at first Comfort thought that it was another person, and she almost called out to it. But when it turned its head at an angle where she could see its face, she gasped. The face was colored saffron and sharply convex. She could clearly see its pointed, canine teeth, and the sight sent a shudder down her spine. Its legs were bowed, as if from a life of carrying heavy loads. Along its sides there appeared to be scars or ridges like scars. Also running down the creature's side was a stripe, not a different color from the creature's skin but rather a variation in the skin pigmentation that was very noticeable. Beside it on the bank was a pile of equipment which apparently it had taken off temporarily, to relax. The thing stepped into the water and lay there half submerged with its back to her. Comfort's physical discomforts vanished immediately, replaced by the paralyzing knowledge of what the thing before her was. Her heart jumped into her throat. It pounded so loudly she was sure the monster could hear it. She struggled to overcome her fear and slow her racing heart. All her life she had been taught that evil could take a corporeal form, and there was no doubt in her mind that what lounged in the stream only a few meters in front of her nose was a demon.
Three others suddenly emerged from the water. They made squeaking noises as they half walked, half slithered, onto the bank and flopped down in the mud. Slowly, careful
ly, Comfort let her breath out. They did not know she was there! She offered a silent prayer, and it was answered: she knew what had to be done.
Very carefully, millimeter by millimeter, Comfort slithered backward until the stream bank was out of sight. Silently, holding her breath all the time, she got to her knees and, keeping as low a profile as she could, she crept back toward the column.
Zechariah's own heart skipped a beat when he saw the expression on his daughter's face. Cupping one hand over his ear, she whispered: "Devils! Straight ahead. Three of them."
Zechariah whispered, "Give me your rifle. Then go back down the line and get Amen. Along the way tell the people to lay flat on the ground. Not to make a sound. Thank God we have no infants among us! Go! I'll cover the front." Zechariah unholstered his hand-blaster and lay flat himself. If the devils came at them, he was ready to rain immediate fire upon them. Moments later Amen, face pale with fright, joined him. The three huddled in a whispered conference.
"We cannot go around without being discovered," Zechariah said. "We'll go forward to where we can observe them, and pray they go away without looking back here. If they do come this way, we'll have to kill them. We have the advantage of surprise. Take some of this mud and rub it in streaks over your faces. That'll break up the outline of your face and make it harder for them to see you if they glance your way. Comfort, lead us."
Hardly daring to breathe, the trio lay flat under the low-lying foliage and peered at the devils, who still seemed to be relaxing in the stream, their backs toward the people. Truly, the devil's own minions frolicked in the water before them! A slight breeze wafted in from somewhere. It felt refreshing, blowing over the backs of the three prostrate people.
One of the devils stiffened suddenly, raising its head and glancing about warily. It turned around and peered suspiciously into the surrounding foliage. Comfort distinctly saw its strikingly human eyes, which seemed to be looking directly at her. A nictating membrane closed over them, as if it were winking at her! It gabbled something to its comrades, who climbed quickly out of the water and began fumbling with the equipment that lay on the bank. The first one grabbed something that looked like a long hose and pointed it in Comfort's direction, but nothing happened and it flicked some switches.
"Fire!" Zechariah shouted, standing and leveling his hand-blaster at the quartet. What happened over the next five seconds seemed to take place in very slow motion. Comfort squeezed the trigger of her shot rifle, but nothing happened. She suffered a moment of terror before she remembered to take the safety off. Her father's pistol went hiss-craack! Zechariah noted with astonishment how the devil he'd hit with the bolt from his pistol had vaporized in a bright flash. And Amen's shot rifle steadily thundered blam! blam! blam! The hot casings from his gun flew directly onto the side of Zechariah's head, but he was too busy to notice. The four devils withered under the shots. Large pieces of their bodies splurted into the air as Amen's shot ripped into them.
Then, what was left of the devils bobbled obscenely in the stream. Slowly, the body parts began to drift away from the bank. Comfort let out her breath. She had not fired a shot.
"Father! You killed them!" someone shouted, and Samuel, who had come forward from the column against his mother's express orders, ran from his hiding place down to the stream bank. He looked back up at the three adults standing just inside the fringe of the forest and grinned. He picked up the nozzle device one of the devils had been trying to operate and held it over his head with both arms.
"Samuel! Get back up here! Now!" Zechariah bellowed.
A thin stream of greenish liquid suddenly spit out from behind the foliage on the opposite side of the stream and engulfed Samuel where he stood. He dropped the device he was holding and shrieked in fear and agony as the substance instantly began eating through the back of his head. He whirled around, arms flailing as he tried to wipe the stuff off his back and neck, but the flesh on his fingers began to dissolve. He collapsed, and as he fell facedown in the mud, his horrified father and sister could only watch as the acid ate through the flesh on his back, exposing his vertebrae and ribs.
Four more devils emerged from the forest and waded across the stream. They held the nozzlelike devices in front of them, spurting green streams of death before them. Comfort fired, and fired again and again and again. Each round hit its mark square in the center of the creatures' torsos. At such a short range the effect was terrific—the devils literally flew apart as each load of shot tore into them.
For a brief moment after the shooting stopped, the three stood transfixed on the small rise above the stream bank. Then Zechariah screamed and ran to his son. There was not much left of Samuel Brattle's upper body by the time his father reached him. Even his internal organs had been dissolved into a mass of semiliquid flesh, but his face had remained intact. Zechariah wept and screamed as he held what was left of the boy's face in his hands.
Comfort dropped her rifle and fell to her knees beside her father. She was so horrified by what lay on the ground that she could not find the breath to speak. Only Amen Judah, although shocked profoundly by what had happened, managed to keep his wits. He reloaded his rifle and scanned the forest. All was quiet. "Zach," he said at last, laying a hand on Zechariah's shoulder, "we must get out of here! Zach—Zach! We have to get moving!" But it was a dangerously long time before Zechariah Brattle was at last able to pull himself away from what was left of his son.
"Zechariah, the Lord will understand!" Consort Brattle said. Her eyes pleaded with her husband. They stood apart from the rest of the group, who watched them with concern as word of the fight and Samuel's death spread among them.
Zechariah's face was white under the mud streaks, and his cheeks were still tear-stained, but his expression resolute. "We are going to bury our son and give thanks to the Lord for our deliverance."
"But Father, shouldn't we get away from this—this—terrible place before we—" Comfort hesitated and then gave up. She looked down at the blanket that covered Samuel's pitiful remains, then turned her head away.
"Zechariah, the people will understand!" his wife said. "We've only just lost our only . . ." Her voice faltered and she could not continue.
Zechariah lay a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder. "Connie, I am now the spiritual and temporal leader of these poor souls. All my life I have maintained steadfast faith in spite of adversity and told others that tragedy is all part of God's plan, which we must accept without question. I've always believed mankind should look within itself to find the source of God's displeasure. Now that it is I who suffer from deep personal tragedy, am I to run off into the woods in silence? And what of these others?" His arm swept the pitiful group standing some distance apart. "Every single person here lost someone they loved in the massacre. Well, now I can open my own heart to these folks. If I am going to preach—and I think God has given me that duty—I must also practice.
"Comfort, go get Amen. The two of you are excused for lookout duty. Take up positions back along the stream, watch for more of those things. You are right, daughter, we must make haste. As soon as we are done and have buried Samuel, we will move. We'll come back and get him later, after we've settled back into our old homes. And after we have defeated Satan."
"Zechariah," Consort whispered, "at least wash the dirt off your face. You look like a savage."
Zechariah regarded his wife silently for a moment. "No, Connie, I am going to preach as I am, straight from the field of battle. We are the new Children of Israel. We are at war, and our Lord is a Man of War."
Zechariah called the others around him in a tight little circle. "Friends, in a moment I am going to bury Samuel. With my own hands, over there." He pointed to a grove of trees a few meters from where they were standing. He would mark them and later come back to the place and retrieve his son's remains. "I must speak quickly. When I am done, we will move on. We're going on the same course we set for ourselves this morning, across that stream back there and home, to New Salem. You wil
l see the battlefield where Samuel died, and we will take the weapons the devils left behind and use them."
Consort Brattle watched her husband as he spoke. His beard had grown longer these past days, giving him a wild, prophetic aspect, and his clothes and hands and face were smeared with mud, but as he spoke and as she was carried away by the power of his words, she forgot about his wild appearance.
"A long time ago one of our forebears preached a sermon in the days immediately following the deaths of his loved ones. I want to remind you now of what he said on that occasion: we live in the midst of death. We die daily, but in dying, we draw out the bitterness of death itself. A good man is a strong man who has the strength of character and faith to find consolation in his adversity. But I confess to you now, friends, I wish and pray the Lord would take this cup from me! I do not know if I have the character of that good, strong man. My want of it is perhaps the bitterest dreg in this cup I have been given to drink from. All I can ask of you, dear friends, is that when you yourselves press after this strength of character, that you remember me, and pray for me, that I may share it with you and therewith find my consolation."
The people gazed upon Zechariah Brattle raptly and many wept. "Amen," Hannah Flood whispered.
"And now, friends, I have a mournful duty to perform, and when that is done, be prepared to march!" He drew his hand-blaster and held it above his head. "We are men of war now! And our Lord is a Man of War!"
Consort Brattle leaned on her daughter's shoulder and wept silently. She had never loved Zechariah more than she did at that moment. She was crushed by her son's death but exhilarated by her husband's courage.
And she was very frightened.
Chapter Twelve
Captain Enkhtuya, commander of Charlie Company, 26th FIST, thought again of how he'd had to reorganize his company. He didn't like it any more now than he liked it when he first got his orders. Two reinforced platoons, consisting of the smaller Marines in his force, would conduct the actual raid inside the cave while the rest of the reinforced company stayed outside for security. He believed that breaking the normal chains of command by shifting his men around according to size would reduce their combat effectiveness. Just as bad—if not worse—he had to stay outside the cave to command the defense. Recon said he was too big to easily fit through the cave. Who ever said being a Marine company commander was supposed to be easy?
Kingdoms Fury Page 14