by Jay Vielle
“Troy, take that young man’s gun,” said Nick. Glen just handed it over without thinking.
“Jesus, Nick, what the fuck did you just do?” said Troy.
“I suppose I just put us in charge,” Nick said. Troy’s eyes widened.
“Do you know what those Russians are gonna do to us now?” said Troy.
“Nothing,” said Nick. “They won’t come after us right away, because the story they’re gonna hear will be a slight variation of the truth. We just witnessed Larry double cross Sergei, take his money, and fearing the Russian mob, we killed him for it. They won’t know any different, and it will take them a while to track down the transaction and where the money went. We’ve got two truckloads of weed, a handful of cash, and a free van to get the fuck out of here with.”
“Are you kidding me?” said Troy. “Where will we go?”
“I don’t give a damn. But I’m not gonna do slave labor for some junior varsity mafioso in a hick town when the whole fucking world just blew up.”
The Colonel looked up at Nick and nodded.
“What about all these fucking witnesses? You don’t think they won’t turn on us?” Troy said.
“Gonna take care of that right now,” said Nick.
I swallowed hard. This was it.
“Colonel,” said Nick, “Don’t mistake me. I’m not a good man. I’ve done bad things in my life, and I’ve paid for some of them in jail. But before I went bad, I was in the army for four years. Looking back now, I’d probably have to say they were the best four years of my life. I guess that’s pretty sad when you think about it. They turned me into a man and made me feel like part of a team. My sergeant and my commanding officer were good to me. You kinda remind me of him a little. As good as they were to me, though, I couldn’t stay in the military. I’m afraid I don’t much like taking orders.”
“I gathered that from your last interaction there,” said the Colonel.
“I don’t pretend to know what you’re talking about with all the intel you say you have, but I know Fort Detrick works on some pretty heavy-duty secretive shit. If you have anything that can help save this country from the shit storm that is hitting it, then I need to let you try and do that. You all are free to go. I’m sorry for what we did to you.”
Then he lowered his gun and gave a salute. The Colonel saluted him back. Then he walked off, with Troy walking behind him incredulously.
“Un-fucking believable,” I said.
“Let’s get back to the bus, before somebody changes their mind,” said Jake. He reached up and patted the Colonel on the back. “Nice work, sir.”
The Colonel smiled big for the first time since I’d met him.
CHAPTER 18
Father Joe drove up to Mark Longaberger in a golf cart as silent as a cat stalking a mouse. Mark lurched a moment, startled, once he realized the cart was there.
“Oh God, Father,” said Mark. “You scared me.”
“Sorry, my son. This golf cart is all electric. We were able to keep it charged with our emergency generator. Thought I’d try it out. Where are you off to?”
“Um, back to Hunter’s Run,” said Mark.
“You left in a bit of a hurry,” said Father Joe. “Is everything okay?” Mark kept walking, forcing Father Joe to tap the accelerator and lurch forward awkwardly.
“Sure,” said Mark. “No problem.”
“Son,” said Father Joe. “The swiftness of your pace and your inability to look at me suggests otherwise. What’s troubling you?” Mark slowed his brisk walk almost entirely. He closed his eyes, lifted his head, and took a deep breath, before stopping and turning towards the pastor.
“I’m not sure I’m such a good fit for your church, Father,” said Mark. Father Joe smiled an almost piteously accepting smile and nodded his head at Mark. “I thought something must have bothered you,” he said. “What makes you think that?”
“I just think your philosophies don’t really jibe with mine,” said Mark.
“Why, whatever do you mean, son?” asked Father Joe.
“I just had a talk with Pablo, and he discussed a few interpretations of things that I don’t exactly fall in line with, that’s all.”
“Well now, you just described nearly everyone in the church, then,” said Father Joe, smiling.
“Huh?” asked Mark.
“Why, nobody agrees with everything,” he said. “And Pablo is European. They all come off a little extreme, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“Yeah. Yeah, he did come off extreme,” said Mark.
“Give you that bit about the selected children of God, did he?” asked Father Joe.
“Yeah. Yes, he did. Isn’t that what your church teaches, then?” asked Mark.
“Mark, every church feels like it’s the selected one,” he said. “Think about it. That’s why we have so many denominations. The one church of Christianity now has so many branches that they all seem specifically different from one another. But in the end, we’re really all not that different if you think about it,” he continued.
“That stuff Pablo was saying sure sounded different,” said Mark.
“Mark, the Jews considered themselves the chosen ones, and that was in the Old Testament. Doesn’t that make them the oldest recorded racists, then? Every denomination thinks they have all the answers. The truth is, every church is competing for souls, so to speak. The more people you have, the more sustainable your church, the more universal your message, and the more good works you perform. There are always people in each church who are more zealous than some of their fellow flock. Pablo’s one of ours, that’s all. He comes from a pretty extreme branch of Catholicism,” said Father Joe. “That’s hard to shake all at once.”
“But Father, that’s Catholicism. Your church, I mean…the Protestant Reformation,” Mark started.
“Simply changed the power structure of man’s relationship to God, my son,” he said. “You don’t need me to talk to God. I’m just the ‘guide on the side,’ not the ‘sage on the stage.’ And apart from some of the habitual dogma, we’re all on the same side. I’m sorry he spooked you. I hope that you’ll reconsider. We’re all just doing God’s work right now.”
Mark paused and furrowed his brow a little. Father Joe smiled, and silence ruled for the moment. Not an awkward kind—Father Joe just smiled patiently, obviously waiting to see the effects of his words.
“You know Father, I’m not exactly what you’d call a ‘good Christian’,” said Mark.
“Tell me anyone who is,” said Father Joe, still smiling. “Other than Christ himself.”
Mark nodded. “Okay, I’ll keep an open mind. Guess I shouldn’t scare so easily,” he finished.
“Good man. Great news,” said Father Joe.
“Look, Father, truth is, I do need to be getting back to the school—Hunter’s Run. We’re all taking care of each other, and I’ve been gone all day. I just want to check in with everyone. I’m sure we’ll be back.”
“Of course. Tell Wes Kent that we’ll probably be having some kind of gathering tomorrow, and I’d love to have him there. I figured that by now, everyone is taking care to find out what services or utilities they have that work, which ones don’t, what loved ones are in touch, and so on. It’s a rebuilding time, a time for taking stock. The church wants to help the town any way it can.”
Mark said “Thanks, Padre. See you soon. I appreciate your coming to talk to me.” Then he kept walking towards the school.
------------------------------- -------------------------------- ------------------------------------
Wes Kent was sitting in the principal’s office with his feet propped up and a smile on his face. An empty plate was sitting on the corner with barbecue sauce smeared on it. Lou Orville sat in the corner on a chair sucking on a rib bone.
“That was delicious,” he said. Lou nodded emphatically in agreement, his mouth too full of bone, meat, and sauce to answer.
“Those boys sure do know how to throw together a
barbecue,” said Wes. “Nice of Emory to bring us by a plate. I’ve been too busy to leave the campus today.”
Lou wiped sauce off the corner of his mouth with his forearm and made slurping noises while giving Wes his agreement with an “Mmm-hmm.”
Just then the phone rang on the principal’s desk. Wes cut his eyes towards it warily, then remembering that as the man in charge, any phone call to this line was, in fact, to him. He smiled again and picked it up. Lou Orville listened in.
“Hello, Wes Kent,” he said with a smarmy grin. “Father Joe! Nice to hear from you. Great spread today, many thanks. I imagine we got some new blood around the church today, hmm? No, he hasn’t arrived yet. Sure, sure, will do. Pablo, huh? Yes, I suppose it does. Well that’s good. Yes, I’d be happy to. Sure, sure. I will report back periodically, sure thing. Thanks Padre. Goodbye.”
“What’s that all about?” mumbled Lou, sauce covering his hands.
“You need to find a sink, fast,” said Wes. “Don’t get that sauce on my furniture.”
Lou gave him a saucy scowl, then ran out of the office to the next-door bathroom. Wes could hear the water run and the paper towel dispenser being batted awkwardly. Lou was wiping his mouth when he walked back in.
“It was Father Joe. Apparently, Mark Longaberger got a little spooked when Pablo talked to him.”
“He does that sometimes. Pablo, I mean,” said Lou.
“Yes, he does. Comes from his Opus Dei background. Pretty hard core, that guy. Not that I disagree with him—just some of his methods. Tends to scare off some folks. Better to ease them into things, by my thinking. Still, he’s a good man who means well and does a lot for the church. Anyway, Father Joe just wants us aware of Mark’s sensitive state right now and said not to push him too hard.”
“Good thinking,” said Lou.
“We’ve got lots of work to do, Lou. A town to rebuild, a new world to change, steer, and define. Great opportunities here. Guys like Mark can be real helpful. Good looking young fella like that. The kids think he’s super cool, and the ladies all swoon around him,” said Wes.
“Swoon?” said Lou.
“Yeah, swoon.”
“What the hell is ‘swoon’?”
“You know, like pass out. Collapse. Lose consciousness,” said Wes.
“From what?” asked Lou.
“From, I don’t know, his hotness,” said Wes.
“Are you gay?”
“Hell no, I’m not gay. Frankly I’m glad to be rid of those weirdos that left with Jake Fisher. No, I’m saying the girls think he’s hot and they pass out. They swoon.”
“Pass out. Swoon. Okay,” said Lou. “No girl ever swooned with me around.”
“Somehow I do not find that surprising,” said Wes. Lou scowled again.
“Swooning. Who’d have thought?” said Lou.
Just then, almost as if on cue, Mark entered the front courtyard and knocked on the door.
“The prodigal son returns. Lou, let him in.”
Lou got up and walked to the main entrance, trailed by Wes behind him.
“Welcome back, my boy,” said Wes, offering his hand.
“Hey Wes. How are things going here?” said Longaberger.
“Swimmingly, swimmingly. The ladies have made some great advancements in the kitchen storage now that the electricity is back on. And we have started to set up more permanent quarters for those choosing to stay here. Father Joe has been helpful in coordinating some cooperation with the church. We’re helping each other out. I understand you had the good fortune to meet the Padre.”
“Yeah. He’s a nice guy. Seems like a wise fellow,” said Mark.
“Indeed, he is,” said Wes. “Indeed, he is.”
“We had a good chat. I’ve never been what you’d call a religious man,” said Mark. “But there are advantages to being part of a greater community with shared values,” he said.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself, lad,” said Wes. “A man needs to tie himself to a good church, a good congregation, a good way of life. That church can be the backbone of the entire community. In fact, we mean it to be that way here.”
“Well, your influence is certain,” said Mark. “But in this town—where an American saint resides next to a Catholic college—I think you’re always going to play second fiddle.”
Wes looked a bit perturbed by the suggestion. He pursed his lips, nodded, considered his words a moment, then put his arm around Mark and pointed down the hall. There was a great deal of bustling going on and a large amount of people were coming and going in the hallways.
“Who are all those people?” said Mark.
“Those people are the ones that are going to help ensure that we don’t have to play second fiddle in our own town for much longer,” said Wes.
“What do you mean?” said Mark.
“We have just announced a partnership with the Church of Many Blessings for outreach for our citizens displaced by this horrible catastrophe that has befallen our town and our country.”
“Meaning?” asked Mark.
“We are offering up the school as a place for people to stay as they get their lives back,” said Wes. “The church is partnering with us in terms of supplies and services, as well as getting the word out. That barbecue you helped with was just the beginning. We’ve got room enough for nearly the entire town to live here, eat here, shower here. Classrooms are being converted to family homes as we speak. It is truly God’s work going on,” said Wes.
“This is a public school,” said Mark. “We can’t really do that.”
“Mark my boy, the Cataclysm changed all that. These are desperate times,” said Wes. “The rules are different in times of extreme strife.”
“Cataclysm, huh?” said Mark.
“It’s what they’ve been calling it on the radio. You know it’s working again. Radio, I mean. We are beginning to get back communication across the country. It’s still patchy, but we are getting messages with some information about the Cataclysm. The announcers are calling it that.
Anyway—yes, we can partner with the church. There’s a need out there. If we don’t instill some good Christian order, places will devolve into a jungle, like they did the first few days here.”
“But you were one of the ones trying to keep people out those first days,” said Mark.
“And it was wise then to do so. We didn’t know what we were up against. Radioactivity, fall out, illness. Those first days after all the bombs, we knew very little. Now that we have a better handle on things, we can do the Lord’s work and bring people in and help them,” Wes countered.
“Okay,” Mark said cautiously. “It just seems odd that now we’re doing the very thing we pushed Jake Fisher out for.”
“Now just a minute, Mark,” said Wes. “You were part of that vote, remember? And Jake Fisher killed two people in front of you, possibly more at the Wal-Mart. He was violent and dangerous, Mark. I haven’t killed a soul here. I think that may be guilt talking, and I understand. But please know that I didn’t like having to make that decision any more than you did. I felt then it was the best for our survival. Just like you felt about initially keeping the Heffners out, remember? But as we take in each day and what it offers, we make decisions, and it’s unproductive to fret about decisions we made based on limited information. Go with your gut, I say, and do what your conscience says is right.”
“Yeah, I suppose so,” said Mark. “I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I am. None of us are perfect, Mark. We are all God’s children. It doesn’t mean He wants all of us living together. Jake Fisher was leaving anyway to get his sons. We didn’t exile him. We condemned his methods. He didn’t go anywhere he wasn’t headed in the first place. If he returns, we can always welcome him back—but only if he abandons his life of violence and autocracy. He elected himself leader of things, Mark, and then demanded obedience of all of us. I think you saw that before any of us. When we differed from his opinion, he threatened us. Whe
n he realized his actions had consequences and that we all stood firm in denouncing his methods, he left. You can spin it all you want, Mark, but that’s what happened.”
Mark’s face pinched a bit as he considered Wes’s words. What he said was completely accurate. Mark felt he had left out some things, but there was simply no debating that what Wes said was true. Perhaps Wes is right, he thought. Maybe it’s just my own guilt talking. Mark nodded and walked down the hallway towards the hustle and bustle of people moving things into classrooms.
“Show me what you’ve got started,” he said to Wes. Wes smiled big and patted him on the back and the two exited the office and turned into hallway.
They walked down the hall a bit and saw a family dragging in mattresses and bags of clothing into what used to be an English classroom. Student desks had been moved off to the side and out into the hallway and some of the mattresses had already been laid down. The entire A-Wing of the building was full of families settling in.
“Wow, this side’s already full. You guys worked fast,” Said Mark.
“Father Joe is a marvelous communicator,” said Wes. “And he’s a doer, Mark, not just a talker.”
“I’d certainly say he is,” said Mark. “Where did all of these people come from?”
“Emmitsburg, Thurmont, even some from just outside Frederick. Some of those poor devils barely made it out alive. They say Frederick is a ghost town. Horrible.”
“My God,” said Mark. “I knew that its proximity to Washington made it vulnerable, but I never imagined that much damage there.”
“Consider that it’s the home of Fort Detrick and is right next to Camp David,” said Wes.
“My God, I never thought of that,” said Mark.
“Well, the Russians and the Koreans sure as hell did,” said Wes. “I only hope we paid those bastards back in kind.”