IGMS - Issue 12

by IGMS

  No, he wouldn't start listing the indispensable people who were dead, bulldozed into the mass grave in the parking lot of the stake center on Pinetop Road. There was no point in a census now. They were gone, and this meager handful of Saints was still alive. That meant that the Church was still alive, and would go on, sustained by faith and the Lord and, with any luck, this stranger who came out of nowhere offering help unasked. An angel would have been more useful, but if this Jamie Teague was all the Lord had to offer in the way of help, he'd have to do. If it was, in fact, the Lord who sent him.

  They made it in one trip. One long trip, with frequent stops. Teague wasn't actually with them most of the way. He ranged ahead, leaving south and returning from the north. Sister Monk actually led them, spotting the marks Teague had made on tree trunks, showing which way to go. At the end of the day they were back on the road. U.S. 421 this time, a two-lane expressway, with the overpass some miles behind them. Exhausted as they were, Teague made them rebuild the carts before they gnawed on their jerky and went to sleep. "You'll want to be under way at dawn," he said. "Not sitting around in the open building carts. That was just one overpass."

  So they rebuilt the carts, and he finally let them build a very small fire so they could boil up some soup and give the children a decent meal. Hungry as they were, the kids could hardly keep their eyes open long enough to eat. And when they were asleep, Teague laid out his conditions for traveling with them.

  "I'm not good enough to take you two thousand miles," he said, looking Deaver in the eye. "I only promise to take you as far as the Great Smokies. I haven't traveled west of there anyway, only between the mountains and the sea, so I don't know any more about the country than you do. But I've got a cabin there that's good for the winter. It's where I live. I know my neighbors there, I've got trade goods from my traveling to buy food, and we've kept it free of mobbers. It's as much as I can promise, but I think I can teach you a few things along the way, give you a better chance next spring."

  "If that's as far as you go with us," said Pete, "then we can't pay you anything at all. We got nothing you need, until we get to Utah."

  Teague pulled up a tuft of grass, started splitting the blades up the middle, one by one. "You got something I need."

  "What is it?" demanded Annalee.

  Teague looked at her coldly.

  Deaver offered an explanation. "Maybe we're people he thinks are going to die if he doesn't help us. Maybe he needs not to see us dead."

  Deaver saw Teague's expression change again. An unreadable look, hiding some strange unnameable emotion. Am I right? Is Teague's motive altruistic? Or is there something else, so shameful Teague can't hardly admit it? Does he plan to betray us at some terrible time? Never mind. If the Lord means us to thrive, he'll protect us from such treason. And if he doesn't, I'd rather die by trusting a man who may not be as good as he seems than by being so suspicious I refuse a true friend.

  Sister Monk changed the subject. "You by yourself, Jamie Teague, you can generally avoid trouble, I imagine. You can pretty much be invisible out in the woods, and stay off the roads. But with us, trouble's going to come. We'll be on the roads most of the time, too many of us and too clumsy to hide. Somebody's going to spot us."

  "Might be," said Teague.

  "You got the gun, Jamie Teague. But do you figure you can kill a man with it?"

  "Reckon so," said Teague.

  A pause.

  "Have you ever killed anybody?" asked Pete. There was awe in his voice, as if having killed somebody was a magical act that would endow this stranger with supernatural power.

  "Reckon so," said Teague.

  "I don't believe it," snapped Annalee.

  "We want him as a guide anyway," said Deaver, "not a soldier."

  "Where we're going I don't think there's a difference," said Sister Monk. "You're an English professor. Pete's a fireman, trained to save lives, to risk his own life -- but none of us has ever killed anybody. I think."

  "Wish I had," murmured Pete.

  Sister Monk ignored him. "And what if the only way to save us was to sneak up on somebody and kill them. From behind, without even giving them a fair chance. Could you do that, Jamie Teague?"

  Teague nodded.

  "How do we know that?" said Annalee.

  Teague waved her off with a gesture of impatience. "I killed my mother and father," he said. "I can kill anybody."

  "My God," said Rona Harrison.

  Deaver turned to snap at the girl about not taking the name of the Lord in vain. But then it occurred to him that with Teague confessing to patricide, saying "My God" seemed pretty tame by comparison.

  "Well now," said Pete.

  "Isn't that what you wanted to hear?" asked Teague. "Didn't you want to know whether I was bloodthirsty enough to do the killing you need done to save your lives? Don't you want to know that your hired soldier has references?"

  "I wasn't trying to pry into things you don't want to talk about," said Sister Monk.

  "They deserved it," said Teague. "The court gave me a suspended sentence because everybody agreed they deserved it."

  "Did they abuse you?" asked Annalee. Finally she was curious instead of suspicious. A mind like a grocery store newspaper, thought Deaver.

  "Annalee," said Sister Monk sharply. "We've all stepped too far."

  "I've answered the question you need to know," said Teague. "I can kill when I need to. But I decide when I need to. I give orders, I don't take them. That clear? If I tell you to get off the road, you get -- no arguments. Right? Cause I don't aim to stick around and kill all comers just cause you aren't willing to do what it takes to avoid a fight."

  "Brother Teague," said Deaver. He pretended not to notice how startled Teague was to be addressed as Brother. "We will gladly accept your authority about how and when to travel, and on what path. And I assure you that it is the desire of our hearts to kill no one, to harm no one, to leave things undisturbed wherever we go."

  "I don't want you killing anybody for me anyhow," said Marie Speaks.

  Everybody looked at her -- she'd been talking like a teenager so long that nobody expected her to have an opinion on something serious like this.

  "I die myself first, you got that?"

  "You crazy," said Rona. "You lost your mind, girl."

  "Killing a bushwhacker isn't murder," said Pete.

  "Neither is killing a Mormon," said Marie. "So I hear." Then she got up and walked over to where the little ones were sleeping.

  "She's crazy," said Rona.

  "She's Christian," said Deaver.

  "So am I," said Pete, "but I know there's times when the Lord lets good people fight back. Think of Captain Moroni and the title of liberty. Think of Helaman and the two thousand young men."

  "Think about sleeping," said Teague. "I'm not taking first watch tonight, I'm too tired."

  "Me," said Pete.

  "No, me," said Deaver.

  "You, Mr. Deaver," said Teague. "Your timepiece there still work, or is it on your wrist from nostalgia?"

  "It's solar," said Deaver. "It works fine."

  "Watch till midnight. Then wake Pete. Pete, you wake me at three."

  Then Teague got up and went to the bushes they had designated as the boys' lavatory that night.

  "Murder's the unforgivable sin," said Annalee. "I don't want a murderer telling us what to do."

  "Judge not lest ye be judged," said Deaver. "Let him or her who is without sin cast the first stone."

  That was the end of the discussion, as Deaver knew it would be. There wasn't a one of them who didn't feel guilty for one reason or another. For just being alive with so many others dead, if nothing else. Maybe Marie had learned the right lesson from it after all. Maybe killing was never worth it.

  But Deaver heard the people breathing around him, he looked and watched the children's chests rising and falling with each breath, and then he imagined somebody coming and raising a knife to them, or pointing a gun at them. That's n
ot the same thing as somebody raising a weapon against me personally. I might have the courage to let the blow fall and not defend myself. But there's not a chance in the world that I'd let them harm a hair on those children's heads. I'd blast the bushwhackers to hell and back if I thought they'd harm the children. Now maybe that's murderousness, maybe that's a secret lust for blood in my heart. But I don't think so. I think that's the indignation of God. I think that's what Christ felt when he said it was better to tie a millstone around your neck and jump into the sea than to raise your hand to harm a child.

  Teague killed his mama and his daddy. That was a hard one. Not mine to judge. But I'll be watching that boy differently now. Watching real close. We didn't escape one band of murderers just to fall in with a worse one now. Bad enough to kill strangers because you don't like their religion. But to kill your own mama and daddy.

  Deaver shuddered, and stared into the darkness beyond the flickering firelight.

  The fifth day after Teague joined them, they were heading toward Wilkesboro. Travel was getting into a regular rhythm now, and nobody was half as sore as they were the third day. And it wasn't so scary anymore. A few times Teague had come rushing back from scouting ahead and made them get off the road, but this wasn't freeway now and most times they could run the bikes up behind some bushes without dismantling the carts. The only portage was crossing I-77. Mostly it was just walking, one foot after the other.

  One of those times in hiding, Rona made Marie peek through the bushes and watch the horsemen going by. They looked like a rough crew, and to Marie it looked like one of them had three human heads hanging from his saddle. Three black human heads, and it made her shudder.

  "Canteens," Teague said, but Marie knew better. She knew lots of things folksdidn't think she knew. So now, on the afternoon of the fifth day out of Winston, when Marie was feeling hot and tired and wanted a little entertainment, she got a meanness on her and started doing a number on Rona.

  "You got your eye on him," said Marie.

  "Do not," said Rona. She sounded outraged. This was working fine.

  "You say his name in your sleep."

  "Nightmares is what."

  "You were thinking of him just now when you smiled."

  "Was not. And I didn't smile."

  "Then how do you know who I'm talking about?"

  "You're a queen bitch, that's what you are," said Rona.

  "Don't you talk to me with words like that," said Marie. She was the one supposed to be needling, not the other way around.

  "Stop acting like a bitch and people won't call you one," said Rona.

  "At least I don't get the hots for murderers," said Marie. That got her back.

  "He isn't."

  "Said he was himself."

  "He had good reason."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "They used to torture him?"

  "He say that?"

  "I know it."

  "Murder is the unforgivable sin," said Marie. "He'll be in hell forever, so you just don't even bother thinking about marrying him!"

  "Shut your mouth! I'm not thinking about marrying him!"

  "And he's white and he's not Mormon and he'll never never never take you to the temple."

  "Maybe I don't care."

  "If you don't care about the temple, why are you going to Utah?"

  Rona looked at her strangely. "Well it ain't to go to the temple."

  Marie didn't know what to make of that, and didn't want to find out what Rona meant. But the meanness wasn't gone out of her yet. So she turned back to the old topic. "He's going to hell no matter what."

  "No he's not!" And Rona gave Marie a shove that nearly knocked her on her butt.

  "Hey!"

  "What's going on here!" It was Brother Deaver, of course. None of the white folks ever told them off about anything. "Haven't we got things bad enough without you two tailing into each other?"

  "I didn't tail into her," said Marie.

  "Saying he was going to hell!"

  Marie felt Brother Deaver's hand on the back of her neck. "The Lord is the judge of men's souls," he said softly.

  Marie squirmed to get free of his grasp. She was eighteen now, not some kid that grown-ups could grab onto whenever they wanted.

  "So if you can't keep your heart free of condemnation, Marie, I think you'd better learn to keep your mouth shut. Do you understand me, girl?"

  She finally broke free. "You got no right to tell a black girl what to do!" she said -- loudly now, so that others farther back could hear. "You just teach your own white kids and leave me alone!"

  It was a terrible thing to say, she knew it and she was sorry. But it also got him to shut up and leave her alone, which was what she wanted, wasn't it? Besides, he did marry a white woman, which was the same thing as saying black women were trash. Well, see what it got him -- all of them shot dead along with all the other white Mormons, while he was at A&T, where the white Christian Soldiers didn't dare to go. That's the only reason he wanted her to forgive Teague for being a murderer -- because he felt like a murderer, too, him being alive because he was black, while his wife and kids were shot down and bulldozed into a parking lot grave. He wanted everybody to be nice and forgiving. Well she knew the law of heaven, didn't she? She wasn't just a Sunday School Mormon, she studied the doctrine and read all the time, and she knew that Christ's atonement had no force over them as murdered. Though truth to tell, his face looked stricken like he was about to die, and just from her cruel hard words against him. She might even have apologized on the spot, except that right then they heard horses' hoofs and all hell broke loose.

  The mobbers came up a side road, just sauntering like they didn't expect trouble. Must have come up since Teague passed that road in this scouting. There was only two of them, and for a minute Marie hoped they'd think this group was too much for them. But the mobbers sized them up quick and didn't even pause a minute. They had guns out before they got to 421.

  "We don't mean you no harm," Brother Deaver said, or started to say, anyway, when the one mobber got off his horse and whipped him across the face with his pistol, knocking him down.

  "That's our speech," said the mobber, "and we do all the talking, got it? Everybody lie down -- on your bellies."

  "Look at what they got in the way of women, Zack, if that ain't pitiful."

  "That blond one -- "

  "Keep your hands off her," said Pete. He started to get up. The taller one with the long beard gave him a kick that looked like it might tear his head off.

  "She's dessert," said the tall one. "We got dark meat for dinner."

  Marie thought she was already as scared as she could be, but now when the cold barrel of a shotgun was pressed against her forehead, pressing down real heavy, she tasted terror for the first time in her life.

  "Please," whispered Rona.

  "Now you just hold still while I get this off you, honey, and open wide for pap, or Zack's gonna blow your girlfriend's head clean off."

  "I'm a good girl!" Rona whined.

  "I'll make you even better," said the long-bearded man.

  "No!" Rona screamed.

  Marie felt the painful motion of the gun as Zack drew a charge into the chamber. "Don't fight with them, Rona," said Marie. She knew it was a cowardly thing to say, but Rona didn't have the gun at her head.

  "You little kids best close your eyes," said Zack. "Wouldn't want you finding out the facts of life too young."

  Marie could hear the other one set down his shotgun and start unzipping himself, mumbling to himself about how if she gave him a disease he'd hang her head from his saddle, which told Marie that she did see what she thought she saw. It made her gag all over again.

  "Hold still," said Zack, "or it won't go so nice for you when I --"

  Suddenly the gun barrel jammed sharp into her head as Zack slumped on it; not even a second later she heard the crack of a gun going off not far away. Zack's shirt blossomed open and spattered blood; Marie grabbed the shotgun barrel a
nd tore it away from her face.

  The other mobber muttered something and fumbled for his gun, but then another cracking sound and he was down, too.

  "Teague!" Marie shouted. She got to her feet, her head bleeding. Everybody was getting up. Pete had Zack's shotgun in a second and pointed it at the two mobbers -- but they were stone dead, each killed with one shot.

  "Catch the horses!" Teague was shouting that. And he was right, had to catch the horses, they could pull the carts, they could carry stuff, had to catch them, but Marie couldn't find them, not with blood pouring down into her eyes --

  "Marie honey, here, are you all right?" Sister Monk was dabbing at her with a cloth. It stung like hell.

  "Did he shoot Marie?" It was one of the little boys.

  "Just jammed his gun in her head when he was dying is all -- Donna Cinn, you get the little ones back to the side of the road." Sister Monk taking charge as usual. And as usual everybody hopped to do it. Only this time Marie didn't mind at all, didn't mind those big old hands dabbing at the blood on her face.

  Then she noticed Rona making a grunting noise, and she turned to look. Brother Deaver was tugging at Rona's sleeve, but Rona wouldn't quit stomping her foot down on the bearded mobber's face. It wasn't even human anymore, but she kept stomping and now the skull broke through and her shoe sank down in a ways.

  Now Teague came up, leading one horse. He handed the reins to Deaver, stepped astride the dead man's body, and took Rona in his arms and just held her, saying, "You're OK, you're OK now, you're safe."

  "Took you damn long enough," said Pete. He had the other horse, and he sounded more scared than mad.

  "Came as soon as I heard the horses. Had to make sure it was only the two before I started shooting. Rona, I'm sorry, I'm sorry you got so scared, I'm sorry he treated you so bad, but I had to wait until he set his gun down, don't you see."

  "It's OK, he didn't do nothing," said Annalee.

  Rona screamed into Teague's shirt.

  "I don't call it nothing to have her lying there with her skirt up like that," said Teague.

  "I just mean he didn't --"