by D. I. Telbat
Milton rose to his feet and went to the front of the tent.
"If I can't organize a fighting force, we'll have to disband by the fall. Otherwise, we'll die of starvation through the winter. If that happens, Eric, the Liberation Organization will overrun everyone all the way to Seattle. This isn't just about my brother, anymore." He faced Eric. "This is about America. It's about freedom. You want to read your Bible, but how would that be possible unless I fight and win that freedom?"
Eric didn't have an answer for Milton right then, but he knew more killing wasn't the answer from God. God had used the outcome of the horrors of war, but was war the calling for His obedient and loving servants?
"There's a small valley, hardly more than a canyon, with a river, about ten miles southeast of us, but it's hard to get to." Eric shifted his rifle in his hands. "It would take a hard day to reach. It's a narrow trail."
"Even better, if it's protected by the terrain." Milton chewed on his piece of wood. "So, you'll take them? You'll help me?"
"I'm not one of your soldiers, Milt."
"I know. I don't expect anything else from you, except to do for them what you did for me."
Eric foresaw the burdens ahead, and they weren't favorable. There would be danger, and hardship, but he couldn't turn down people who were close to starvation and disease. From what Eric had seen outside, the people really did need help, war or no war.
"Leadership doesn't appeal to me, Milt, but these people will need to follow my orders. That wilderness is no playground."
"You'll be in command. Hank will enforce it." He pulled Eric to his feet and shook his hand, which was a rare gesture in those days, since few touched one another while rumors of the Meridia Virus still circulated. "It's a welcome thing to have a good heart in the middle of all this madness."
"Madness and mad men apparently go well together." Eric smiled sadly, already regretting the commission he'd received. "How many do I need to relocate?"
"About a hundred. It's all that's left of these men's lives. It's everything they're fighting for—their families."
"Just promise me one thing, Milt."
"And that is?"
"As soon as the enemy realizes you're a worthy opponent, accept a sit-down and talk out something peaceful. We'll have nothing left at all if this war goes on much longer."
"I mean to make them pay, Eric."
"From what God tells us, revenge never works out that way. You'll be the one who pays in the end."
"You do your job, Eric Radner, and I'll do mine. Just because you and Talia took care of me doesn't mean your sensitivities toward the enemy rubbed off on me. If I need you, I'll send for you. Otherwise, keep these people alive."
Eric clenched his teeth as he glared at Milton. Perhaps Eric would've been filled with wrath as well if he'd lost as much as Milton had. But it was easy to justify war and death. It would take a steadfast compassion and much prayer to continue to see God's side of matters. Evil had to be stood against. Eric was just one man, but God had set him in a place to do some good. If caring for women, children, and the wounded was his calling, then he would do so, even while the rest of the world ripped itself apart.
*~*
Chapter 2
There was a time in Eric's life that he thought he would be content to live alone and isolated on the mountain until Christ came in the clouds. But God had driven him off his high mountain and into the valleys of life to extend a hand of mercy to others. First, he'd been directed to Grandma Talia Wiseman, and given her a home. Then, Joyce and Andy had come to live with him. Thankfully, they'd each been exposed to the gospel of Jesus, and Joyce had died as a believer—forgiven rather than condemned.
So, it was only natural that as Eric accepted the charge over Milton's people that he began to pray for a way to be true to God in the midst of this seeming precarious position. A civil war was being fought, and the reasons for the fighting were confusing, but he didn't need to concern himself with the fighting or confusion. The job he'd been given, apparently, was to care for those under his charge, and show them the compassion of Jesus. Perhaps twenty years earlier, he would've preferred to fight for honor or certain rights, pride or land, but God had opened his eyes. Life on earth was preparation for eternity. Anything that interfered with that perspective simply wasn't worthy of pursuit.
But that didn't mean his charge for God would be without trials, tragedies, and challenges. The narrow canyon he had in mind as a refuge had a river running through it, but it was no paradise. Maybe trusting God at the river would make sense there.
The morning after Major Milton appointed him as provisions officer, Eric led one hundred people south. They followed a mere deer trail into the mountains, a trail wide enough only for a pack horse. Behind him, women and children marched, some as young as infants in their mothers' arms. A few wounded soldiers were being dragged on travois behind ten horses Major Milton had given them. The trail was riddled with bogs that late spring, and an occasional deadfall tree. Women who didn't have their hands full guided the pack horses and wounded men through or around the obstacles.
Initially, Hank Worcester was assigned to the back of the long procession, to keep stragglers moving. However, their pace was so slow that he moved up the line to find Eric at the head, then scouted cautiously up the trail for the best route southward.
"Do you have a plan to keep all these people alive?" Hank asked as they climbed over a log that crossed the trail. "We're lucky it's almost summer, but winter will be here in a few months."
"What were you before Pan-Day, Hank?" Eric took the hand of a redheaded woman with an infant on her hip, and helped her over the log. The woman was beautiful, her eyes fierce and bold, but Eric wasn't there to court a future wife. "Let me guess. You were a laborer—carpentry or construction, right?"
Hank's face showed surprise.
"How'd you know? I was a building foreman. Pan-Day happened after my fiftieth birthday. I was planning my retirement."
"You've got the hands and shoulders that show you've got the experience. Besides, Major Milton said you'd be helpful when it came to building log cabins in the little valley I have in mind."
"No offense, but why are we following you instead of me? You're not even a soldier, just a crazy survivalist no one but the major believes in."
"All that may or may not be true, Hank, but this crazy survivalist knows these mountains after six years of hiking and hunting and gathering in them. The way Major Milton put it, you'll be in charge of the building, and I'll sort out the provisions, which means hunting and gathering. You and I are the only two able-bodied men here, so we need to start picking out women who can help with the work. We need builders who can swing an axe for log cabins, and diggers for latrines, and skinners for game we bring in. And there's the matter of security as well. There's bound to be squabbles amongst us and new arrivals from Major Milton. Everyone needs to be recorded, and even interviewed and assigned to a responsibility."
"So, you do understand this is no small venture." Together, they lifted a travois over a log as the horse walked slowly on. A sleeping wounded man lay on the transport device, his head bandaged. "Maybe I should see the good side. At least I'm back here with my family instead of marching on Mastover where I'd be getting shot at."
"Your family is here?"
"Wife and daughter. They're toward the front of this parade." He moved to Eric's side of the trail and lowered his voice. "You mentioned security. The major will want a guard posted around our campsite, and we need to vet strangers who wander in. Could be spies for the Lib-Org."
"I'll leave the security to you," Eric said. "Just keep in mind we're not the army. These are women and kids."
They reached the hidden river valley after dark. Everyone was exhausted. Hank and Eric started several fires and set up the wall tents, with the help of several useful women.
Hank and Eric picketed the horses, then sat down at a fire with the new citizens of River Camp, and shared their jerky made
from deer meat. Hank spoke quietly with his wife, a stout blond woman named Sara, but Eric saw no sign of the daughter he'd mentioned.
Many of the people—both men and women—were too tired to leave the fires, even after the tents were erected, so they simply slept under the stars, collapsing in sleeping bags, tarps, or blankets next to the fires.
As Eric fell asleep, he prayed for strength, wisdom, and faith to lead, now that he was at the river. Trust God at the river.
The rest of the night would've been uneventful if it hadn't been for the redheaded woman who rolled over and threw her arm across Eric's face. The blow startled him awake, but he realized he wasn't actually being attacked. The night was cool, and the woman, about Eric's age, had snuggled under the edge of his tarp for warmth.
Careful not to wake her, he used two fingers to lift her arm off his face and set it aside. Only then did he sit up to see the sprawling camp around him—one hundred lives committed to his care. He could be a useful caregiver to them because of the skills he'd learned, but he wouldn't be a meaningful and effective follower of Christ unless he remained steadfast in the Lord through the coming months. The people needed a shepherd, not just a provisions officer.
Slipping out from under his tarp, he pulled on his boots and gently pushed several half-burnt logs onto the fire. Dawn was an hour away, and the people would wake to a cold morning. And they'd be hungry. Hank was a soldier and builder, but Eric could tell by the way he'd walked the day before that he was no woodsman. His feet fell heavily and noisily. A hunter needed to be a prowler, a tracker, silent and deadly. Therefore, meat would be largely Eric's responsibility.
The gentle river flowed with barely a ripple below the ridge on the edge of their camp. It was shallow and rocky, but Eric had seen trout swim in its shadows in years past. He knelt and took a long drink, praying through the decisions for that day. He'd cared only for himself for so long. His mind was reeling at the number of people gathered around seven fires that early morning.
"It'll be a busy day." Hank crouched next to him and filled a tin pitcher of water. "What do you think we should do first, Provisions Officer?"
"My adopted son and grandma were left at my cabin to the east. Whatever needs to be done today is in your hands while I go get them. Can you handle things?"
"After our talk yesterday, I thought you had everything planned out." The big man frowned. "I haven't really put any consideration into what needs to be done myself."
"Call a meeting with everyone. Let them know that latrines need to be dug and the tents need to be moved away from the river to a little higher ground. I'll hunt on the way back from my cabin. Anyone with fishing line should get started on breakfast. I'll build a fish trap soon. And gather some of the women with axes and saws. We'll need logs for the lodges and firewood for cooking and warmth. If everyone has a purpose, no one will have time for despair."
"What about the enemy seeing our smoke from our fires?"
"We should put a couple guards on that ridge there. Maybe a couple of the older women who can pair up to keep each other company."
"That'll keep them out of my hair, too." Hank chuckled. It was a good sound to hear his banter. "I'll set my wife, Sara, over some of the women. She's bossy. How do you expect to fetch food for everyone here?"
"There's tubers, like potatoes, all along this shaded area west of the river. The fish from the river will supplement our diet, but we shouldn't over-fish. So, we'll need a hunting troop, maybe three healthy women who can hike, shoot, and pack meat with me. It'll be hard work. Two teams of two should do the job."
"Well, my daughter seems to already have taken a liking to you. She can shoot and she's strong."
"Your daughter?" Eric felt his body go rigid. So far, he'd been able to think of the River Camp situation as a professional and Christian responsibility. But the whole camp had more than a dozen women who were single and possibly searching for healthy suitors. "Which one is your daughter?"
"Gretchen. You were snuggling with her this morning. I thought you knew."
Eric felt his face get warm.
"Hank, I didn't— I mean, there was nothing—"
"Relax, Provisions Officer." He nudged Eric hard, knocking him off-balance. "She's a grown woman. I'm just glad to see she's comfortable around you. She usually steers clear of the soldier-types. Cares for the children more than anyone, but she doesn't smile much, anymore. If you need a hunter, I taught her to shoot, and Gretchen's a hard worker. Maybe with that kind of responsibility, it'll bring her back to the smiling girl we used to know before Pan-Day."
Before the camp woke, Eric waded the river and set off toward Andy and Talia at the cabin. He'd been gone three days, and it was a hard ten miles to the homestead, through deep valleys and up steep slopes.
Moving alone, he could cover forty miles a day, with a pack, so when he reached the cabin before noon, he took time for a swim in the pond below the cabin. All this business about being around attractive women suddenly made him feel self-conscious. A bath seemed in order.
He was pulling on his clothes next to Joyce's grave when Runner barked and ran up to him. Andy was a few steps behind, grinning broadly. Though he was mature for his age, he still didn't hesitate to run into Eric's embrace, and laugh as they ruffled each other's shaggy hair.
"No bears?" Eric asked as they hiked toward the cabin.
"Nah. I yelled and screamed during the nights, so I scared them away."
"Good man." Eric smiled. "There's no shame in dealing with your fear. You get those poles peeled? They'll make good logs for a larger cabin someday."
"Yeah, they're finished." He ran ahead and laid a hand on the handle of one of their axes. "This got stuck when I was trying to chop wood. I couldn't get it out."
"That's okay." Eric took the handle in one hand and yanked hard. The head had rusted around the wood through a couple dewy mornings, but he knew Andy had been trying to help. The axe easily came free. "Where's Grandma Talia?" He looked toward the cabin. He was surprised she hadn't come outside to welcome him back. She'd been uncomfortable about him leaving in the first place.
"Yesterday, Grandma Talia didn't get out of bed."
"Is she feeling better today?" Eric asked.
"I don't think she feels anything anymore." Andy patted Runner on the head rather casually. "She hasn't moved. And she's cold."
"I see." Eric felt a little nauseous suddenly. He turned and looked at the pond where one grave already lay. It wasn't like Talia to remain in bed—or remain still and cold. Andy was young, but he knew about mortality better than most. "Did she say she wasn't feeling well?"
"I don't think so." Andy shrugged. "Her hip was always sore. But maybe her pain is gone now."
"Come on inside, Andy." Eric walked to the cabin. "I have some news." Inside, he found the small woman's still form on the bed. Her eyes were closed and her face looked peaceful. He prepared Talia for burial, like he'd done with Joyce, wrapping her in a deer hide. Andy stood watching nearby, Runner whining next to him.
At the gravesite, Eric saw Andy wipe at his eyes, but trying to be brave, as Eric dug the grave. They'd both grown close to Talia through that winter. They would miss her very much.
When it came time to speak over the new grave next to Joyce's, Eric's words were few.
"Talia went peacefully in her sleep, her body simply worn out. What makes it all less sad, is that she came to Christ around last Christmas. She knew the love of Jesus, and now she's face to face with Him. One day soon, we'll all be together again. Thank You, Lord, for bringing her into our lives. Amen."
Back in the cabin, he began packing as he told Andy about the commission he'd received. Andy's lower lip trembled as the news hit him much harder than Eric had figured it would.
"How long will you be gone?" Andy's little shoulders slumped and Runner whined. "I don't want to be alone forever."
"Oh, Andy." Eric knelt in front of the boy. "I'd like you to come with me, if you want. You can help with the plants
and building. You have a good eye for purslane and water lily, and your hands are already as calloused as a man's from hard work, so I know you'll be helpful when it comes to firewood. I don't want anyone else as my partner on this next adventure. And I don't think God wants you and me to part ways just yet, either."
"What if they take you away from me? There's a lot of people, you said."
"Andy, you and I have history. We're like family. No one can replace what you and I have. There'll be a lot of people and they'll have lots of needs. We'll have to share ourselves with them to help them, but at the end of the day, it's you and me eating around the campfire and swapping stories."
"I don't really want a bigger family, Eric."
"I understand." Looking away, Eric thought about the redhead, but it was probably just wishful thinking. "How about this: you and I have to meet and agree if one of us wants to add anyone else to our family. Agreed?"
Andy tapped a finger on his chin, while Runner and Eric waited for a response.
"Agreed! What do I need to pack?"
*~*
Chapter 3
Instead of starting back to River Camp that afternoon, Eric and Andy spent the night in the cabin and readied the shack for their coming extended absence. Eric disconnected the water system to dry out, then tightly rolled up any hides they were leaving behind to discourage mice as much as possible. The place had been Eric's home for six years, so he was somber about leaving the cabin to the elements, but he and Andy both understood that God was leading them elsewhere. That made the change for them acceptable, especially since they were staying together.
The next morning, they set off before dawn, both with packs piled high and arms full of tools and gear. Since the way to River Camp was mostly downhill, Eric laid upon Andy more than he was used to carrying. But the young man seemed game for anything he could do with Eric, to show him he was indeed worthy of hard work without complaining.