The Last Pilgrims

by Michael Bunker

  Sometime around midnight, Tim and Jack rode over to a militia unit that was just arriving—it was one of the units that had been stationed in the Thicket, east of Bethany. Ruth, who had gone to get more coffee, caught up with them just as the Ghost militia rider began to give his report to Timothy.

  The debate was over… the Vallenses were not going to fight. I already knew that, Tim thought. Why did anyone think that they would? Both militia units that had been stationed near Bethany, as well as the outriders that had been tasked with pestering the invaders all along their advance from San Angelo, were returning to the Wall ranch to protect the family. Their only hope now was to guard as many of the Vallenses as possible during their retreat, and to consider a possible defense of the Wall ranch if the invaders decided to keep moving northward.

  There had been no way to plan a full-fledged defense of the village. Phillip and the bulk of the Ghost militia were still gone, and were probably unaware of what was going on in Bethany. If, vastly outmanned and outgunned, the remaining units had tried to mount a defense, and if they were defeated—which was very likely—there would be no hope for the fleeing Vallenses. The war would have been over before it started.

  “So we are just going to give them Bethany?” he asked. “Why didn’t the Vallenses just burn it down, like they did San Angelo?”

  The spokesman for this militia unit was an impressive rider they all called Piggy. Tim had given him the name a few years ago for his excellent and unique ability to take down a wild boar by throwing a knife from horseback—a feat no one else would even attempt, much less accomplish.

  “It’s a very complicated situation,” Piggy responded, leaning forward in his saddle. “I think everyone agreed that Bethany should be burned before the Aztlanis could loot it. But, no one wanted to burn it if there was still the slightest possibility that the Aztlani army might give up on it.”

  Tim pondered the likelihood of such an outcome for a moment. He couldn’t imagine the enemy retreating without destroying the town. “What makes anyone think that they will leave Bethany intact? Why ride all this way and then quit?”

  “Ok, I know that this sounds confusing, but it’s actually not when you consider it carefully, and when you have all of the information. After the council meeting, a handful of militiamen, along with David Wall, decided to stay and fight when Aztlan tries to come through the Bethany Pass. They are hoping to slow them down long enough to allow for a defense to be planned and executed here on the high ground of the ranch,” Piggy explained, almost sheepishly, shrugging to indicate that it had not been his idea.

  “David Wall?” Tim almost hollered the name. “David Wall decided to fight? What the hell is going on? He’s a Vallensian! Fight? How many is a handful?! I need to know the details of all that is going on Piggy, right now!”

  “Ok, ok!” Piggy tried to placate him, putting up his hand to slow the conversation down. “Let me run through it quickly.” He took a deep breath, “After the council meeting, Jonathan announced that any man who felt strongly compelled to fight had to make a decision if they were going to be Vallenses or Militia, given that the Vallenses are not permitted to fight. He said that he would understand it if anyone wanted to join the militia. However, if they chose that part, they would henceforth be considered militiamen and not Vallenses, and though they could continue to live and work among the Vallenses and attend some Vallensian functions, they would no longer be permitted to participate in the communion or close fellowship of the Church.

  “Regardless, David Wall announced that he would fight with the militia. The only other Vallensian who crossed over was Grayson Smith, the blacksmith. No one else was willing to forego the communion in order to fight what they considered to be a losing battle.”

  “So what is this about fighting? I still don’t get it. What is happening now?”

  “Easy, Tim, give me a moment to lay it all out” Piggy said softly. “When David and Grayson crossed over, we had already decided that the fight could not be won there without risking everything. We were all pulling out. However, a few of our men decided to stay and help David in slowing down Aztlan. As far as I know, there are maybe five men, counting Wall and Smith, left to defend Bethany.”

  “Maybe five men?” he asked.

  Piggy began counting on his fingers, “Ok, there is David Wall and the Smithy, and among the militia there is The Hood, Enos Flynn, and Pachuco Reyes. When we left, Hood was preparing the town so he could ride through and burn it in a moment’s notice. The rest were rolling boulders down off the sides of the twin mesas and doing whatever else they could to block the pass.”

  “So five men are going to fight five-hundred trained Aztlani soldiers?” Tim asked, clearly bewildered at such a notion. “This is their plan? It’s a suicide.”

  “Actually it’s only four,” Piggy added. “Hood can’t be risked, because if they all die early in the battle, no one will be able to fire the town.”

  “Ridiculous!”

  “It’s a sacrifice, Tim.”

  “It’s a useless slaughter!”

  “They didn’t see it that way.”

  “They should have just burned the town!”

  “They needed to slow them down. Listen, you weren’t there, Tim; you can’t know how it went down.”

  Tim sighed deeply, rose up on his saddle before settling back down into it. After a moment of thought, he looked at Piggy. “I’ve been charged with protecting the Wall family by Phillip himself. I have my orders. There are enough of you here to start preparing the defense of this place. I’m riding south. What are the plans there?”

  As he spoke these words, he heard a slight, almost imperceptible gasp escape from Ruth. When he looked at her, she had her hand over her mouth. When she saw him looking at her, she dropped her hand and averted her gaze.

  “All of your family is my responsibility, Ruth,” he said gently.

  “I understand,” she replied, “and I would ride with you, if I thought you’d let me get away with it. But you won’t.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  Piggy interrupted, “They are expecting the Aztlanis to arrive at sunrise. The storm and the burning of San Angelo slowed them down, but not for long.”

  “I’ve got to go then.”

  “I’ll be going with you,” shouted Jack, who had remained silent through the whole exchange.

  “If you do…,” Tim cautioned, leaning forward.

  “I will be kicked out of the fellowship, I know. But my family is indebted to the Walls for their friendship and help when my parents first came to this country. David is my friend… I’ve known him all my life. I will go and fight.”

  “I can’t stop you,” Tim replied. “Jonathan said that each man had to decide for himself. Go quickly and say goodbye to your parents, and get what weapons you have. If we ride through as fast as we can, and barring any unexpected delays, we can be there an hour or so before sunrise. The road isn’t as jammed with refugees as it was an hour ago, and the northbound traffic will grow lighter. I know a few shortcuts too. I’ll meet you here and be ready to ride in thirty minutes.”

  Jack rode off into the shadows, and the rest of the militia began to ride into the camp. Piggy stopped his horse next to Tim’s and the two shook hands.

  “Thank you for your report, Piggy.”

  “I’m just doing my job. I know that you are too. May God keep you and protect you.”

  “Thanks, man. You keep all of these folks safe—especially my best friend Ruth here, ok?”

  “Will do, Tim,” Piggy replied, as he followed the last of his unit through the gate.

  Tim turned to Ruth, who was sitting stoically on her horse, absentmindedly clutching the coffee bag. The two looked at one another for a few moments in silence that spoke volumes. Tim reached into the pocket on his leather coat, pulled out an old arrowhead and handed it to her.

  “I found this by the creek the day you took down that pig with one shot. Why don’t you hold it for me until I
get back?”

  Ruth rubbed the arrowhead in her hand, looking at him searchingly. “I’ll do that, Timothy.”

  After another moment of silence, Tim pulled the reins, spurred the horse and headed for his tent.

  As he passed by the pilgrim camp and the people moving about setting up tents and preparing fires, he wondered if the Vallenses knew what the militia was doing, and why they found it necessary to fight. He figured that they did know. They must know. Somehow, he knew that they were grateful. He also knew that most of the members of the Ghost militia were also grateful for the Vallenses, and for all they had done to stabilize their world after the collapse, providing some light to the world cloaked in deathly darkness. What would the world be without them? What a weird sight we must all be to the world.

  His thoughts strayed to the issues that divided, and those that united these two unlikely allies. Maybe, deep down, he wanted—maybe even more than he was willing to admit—to be a Vallensian, and to have a family. Kin was something he had never had in his short life. Yet, he knew that for a soldier home life and family were not an option. Phillip himself had tried to keep a wife and now the Ghost’s own family was held by Aztlan.

  He had been raised in the militia. He didn’t even remember having a family, nor could he know what that meant outside the family he had among his Ghost brethren. His duty and honor were the only two things of consequence that he owned.

  He had only faint memories of being an orphan, running with a pack of what could only be called feral orphan boys out west and south of what had once been Wichita Falls. How old was he when the militia found him? Seven? Six? Probably seven—it was hard to tell, with no one to remember his birthday or locate any remaining records.

  The militia outriders picked up the eight homeless orphans and offered them real food and a place to sleep. And then they had trained. For the next seven years, they had trained almost every day. They didn’t just learn to fight and ride. They learned to read and spell. They learned history and philosophy. Phillip did not believe that a warrior could remain on the side of right if he was uneducated and if he was ignorant of history, philosophy, and religion. The Ghost militia was not made up of coarse and vulgar killers. They were killers, without a doubt, but they were educated and noble in their pursuit of justice.

  Phillip had called them his Spartans, and had taught them what that moniker meant. He told them that many years ago, three hundred Spartans had faced off against between half a million and a million Persians at Thermopylae, and had fought there to their death. It was an honor to be called Spartans.

  Phillip had also taught them the militia honor code, and they had all learned the art and business of guerilla war. At eighteen years of age, Timothy was one of the brightest and bravest of Phillip’s own troops; and now, he was heading towards his Thermopylae.

  Reaching his tent, he grabbed another quiver of arrows that had been fitted with a leather cover and a shoulder strap and threw it over his shoulder. Then he loaded his saddlebag with dried meat, extra containers of water, and a few extra flints. If they were to fight with guns, which they did on occasion, someone else would have had to have gotten them. Phillip did not usually allow them to keep guns with them. They were too heavy, and too easily relied upon. The militia stash of arms was hidden and only accessed when the whole militia would be engaged in an action. Most likely, the Ghost units would be using arrows, swords and knives against Aztlani guns and maybe even cannon.

  After he was certain that he had everything that he needed, he sat down with a quill pen, dipped the tip in a small bottle of ink he had bought the last time he was in Bethany, and wrote a note to Ruth on a piece of cotton paper.

  He wrote that the time he had spent guarding the Walls had been the best time of his life, and that he had really enjoyed knowing her. He told her that he admired her more than he did anyone else in the world—other than, maybe, her father and Phillip. She’d understand that. He reminded her to keep her faith, and be a good help to her father, and that he hoped that someday she’d marry and raise a good Vallensian family. He placed the note on his cot, knowing that Ruth would find it if something happened to him. Then he mounted his horse, looked back one more time over his humble home, and rode back towards the gate.

  As he approached the main entrance, he met up with Jack who had evidently informed his family of his plans. The Russian just smiled a crooked smile, indicating that it had probably not gone too well. Tim didn’t ask and Jack didn’t volunteer.

  As they rode in silence through the gate and turned towards the road to Bethany, Tim slowed down and pulled his horse up. He looked back, and in the moonlight, he could just make out the outline of Ruth, seated on her horse, silhouetted by Vallensian fires.

  He didn’t wave goodbye.

  Chapter 9 - Ruth

  It wasn’t much different from hunting. Her horse Peloncio stood patiently and without fidgeting as they waited in the dark shadows of the copse. A warm breeze swirled lazily through the trees, and she kept her breath steady and regular as she sat motionless in the dark.

  Traffic on the Bethany road had thinned to the point that only an occasional straggler passed by—either families to the north of the town who took a longer time to get ready to leave, or those who had made it through the pass just before it was closed down.

  Every part of her had wanted to rush down to Bethany. She knew shortcuts that no one else even knew existed, and she could have probably arrived long before Tim and Jack got even close. She had waited a good thirty minutes before starting to follow them southward. Now, she waited patiently in the dark.

  Her conscience would not allow her to do what she so much wanted to do, which was to disobey Timothy, her father, and the ordnung of the community, and go fight those who would attack and kill her people and destroy their property. Still, her inner voice urged her to, at the very least, make sure that Tim and David were safe, even if she had to die doing so. But the obedience she had learned all of her life, and her love and respect for her father, would not allow her to rush south to Bethany without his permission. So she waited.

  Her father would have left Bethany only after the last of the stragglers had gotten out of the town, so she expected him to pass by here at any time.

  She was not surprised that a few minutes later her father and a group of friends and Elders appeared, riding up the road in the moonlight. She rode out where she could be seen, and sat waiting for them as they approached.

  “Ruth?” her father asked. “Is that you, dear?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “What are you doing here, Ruth?”

  “I was waiting for you. I need to ask your permission to ride scout to Bethany. I know that you won’t think that it’s wise, but please let me do it, Father. Somebody needs to be able to warn the camp—someone who knows all of the shortcuts and the hiding places also needs to be able to ride back and warn everyone if the Aztlani soldiers keep coming north. I’ll stay hidden, and away from the battle… I promise.”

  “Ruth…” her father sighed. “Ruth, you’re still a young girl, and you know nothing of war. Scouting is a grown man’s job. We’ll send someone to do this.”

  “Father, hear me out.” She paused and concentrated on not being emotional, and on not sounding scared or childish. “Father, no one knows the area like I do. No one can ride as fast, hide as well, or get in and out like I can. Even Tim says that only Phillip himself rides like me. I promise you, I will stay safe, Father.”

  She raised her eyes, sat up in the saddle, and looked her father in the eye.

  “When I left home, I had every intention of riding all the way to Bethany, of disobeying you, and of joining in the battle… but I know that such an emotional and rushed decision was wrong. I did as you said, Father, and I listened to my conscience. You know I will do as you say, but you also know that I can do this. Please let me go, Father.”

  Her father shifted around in his saddle and looked back down the road as if he were waiti
ng for some kind of sign. Then he turned back towards Ruth. “Stay off of the roads once the battle starts. Keep your eyes open, and your back to the sun when it comes up in the east. Don’t allow yourself to be silhouetted against the sky. The Aztlani army has been hesitant to send out scouts because the militia kills them all, but that doesn’t mean that they won’t do it. Keep an eye on your surroundings, and don’t let anyone get behind you. Pick a point far enough away from Bethany to watch without being seen, and stay out of shooting range. Do not get involved! If things go bad, head east into the Thicket; you know your way around there, and no Aztlani unit will be able to follow you.”

  “Yes, Father.” She stifled her desire to shout with joy.

  “Your job is to watch from afar, and get word to us if the army moves northward from the town. That is it, do you understand me?”

  “Yes Father. Thank you.”

  He rode up to her and embraced her, patting her on the shoulder. “Be safe, little girl.”

  “Yes sir.”

  As her father rode away, he looked back over his shoulder and smiled at her. She knew that he did not want her to go, and that others would likely second-guess him for doing so. Still, he was responsible for thousands of people, and he knew that she was the best at what needed to be done.

  She pulled Peloncio around, and rode off through the oaks heading south.

  Ruth arrived outside of Bethany at almost the same time as Tim and Jack entered the town. She turned eastward and rode until she was into the Thicket, just east of the easternmost mesa. She tied Peloncio to a low mesquite branch and then hiked back a quarter of a mile to the west, where she scrambled silently up a low hill until she commanded a good view of Bethany and the twin mesas. It was still quite dark, but light was just starting to spread across the sky to the east. She stayed lower on the hill and beneath a salt cedar bush, so that she would not be silhouetted against the sky, as her father instructed.