by Nobody, Joe
Boyd and the guards looked around. “Family?”
Bishop chuckled, “Yes, sir. I would guess my wife has you in her crosshairs about now. We’re as nervous as you folks, given the state of the world.”
That statement caused Boyd to scan his surroundings, looking for the stranger’s family. The guards did the same, their weight moving to the balls of the feet, knuckles tightening on their rifles. Bishop studied the preacher, trying to judge the man’s reaction while facing danger.
Having given up on locating Terri, the minister looked at the two armed men and nodded. Both lowered their weapons, Dean slower than the other man. Returning his attention to Bishop, Boyd said, “You have my word as a man of God that we’ll not start anything, sir. It would probably help matters if we didn’t feel vulnerable, however.”
Bishop took a moment to ponder the man’s words. Terri knew her husband, the telltale tilt of his head an indication he was thinking it through. “Okay,” the Texan finally announced. Then, without taking his eyes from the two armed men, he raised his voice. “Terri, it’s cool. You can come in.”
“Just like that?” Terri whispered to Hunter. “Just like that he wants me to walk into that situation? I think your dad’s getting soft in his old age, kiddo.”
Terri rose from behind the sign and began casually strolling down the street. Despite the apparent truce, she never stopped looking for some place to hide.
As she got closer to the now curious onlookers, one of the women huddled next to the bus said, “She’s got a baby! A little baby! Look how cute!”
Hunter broke the spell of distrust, the lad’s diplomatic abilities far exceeding his father’s. Despite the harsh looks from Dean and his co-sentry, three of the women began walking to greet the approaching mother and child. Before long, there was a crowd gathered around the newborn. No one seemed to notice the AR15 hanging from Terri’s shoulder, nor the pistol on her hip.
Before Bishop could say a word, Hunter was out of his papoose and being snuggled by one of the gals, his mother busy answering a flurry of questions. “How old is he? What’s his name? Where was he born?”
As the women-folk were busy ogling the infant, the preacher approached Bishop and extended his hand. While the two men shook, he glanced back at the baby review and explained, “We’ve not had a newborn around for a long time. I can’t think of a better ice-breaker.”
“He invokes that response a lot,” Bishop teased. “That’s why I bring him along. He lets me handle his light work.”
Boyd looked at Bishop’s rifle and kit, a smirk crossing his face. “Somehow, I get the impression you handle a little more than light work.”
Ignoring the comment, Bishop indicated the town with a wave of his arm. “I’m dying of curiosity, Reverend. What the heck happened here?”
Grunting, the preacher answered. “We were running out of water. The town’s pumps were electric, and when the electricity stopped working, they stopped pumping. We hooked up a backup generator for a bit, but then it became clear that our fuel supply was finite. Everyone came together and agreed it was time to lock up and move to Camp Pinion.”
“Camp Pinion?”
Grinning, the padre pointed toward a distant mountain. “The Boy Scouts of America built a summer camp up on that mountain a few years back. It sits of the shores of a nice lake, has some solar power and plenty of wood from the surrounding forest. We take a deer now and then, and there are plenty of rabbits around. The fish are delicious. We assigned the cabins and moved in.”
“What did the Boy Scouts think of that?”
“Oh, they only used the camp a few months out of the year. When we went three weeks without seeing a single car come down our road, we figured they wouldn’t be coming back for the summer season.”
Bishop nodded, the mystery solved. Remembering the disagreements that arose during a similar crisis in his old Houston neighborhood, he still had trouble digesting the response. “I’m amazed you got everyone to agree on any plan. I’ve never had much luck with that in the past.”
The minister pondered his response for a bit, a smile eventually crossing his lips. “I didn’t say it was easy. There were some heated discussions – no doubt. It’s amazing though… when the sewer system stopped working, folks suddenly became agreeable.”
Bishop laughed at the man’s choice of words, then grimaced at the thought of toilets backing up. “Yeah, that would do it. So, why are you back here?”
“One of the compromises everyone agreed to was scheduled visits. The concept of leaving their homes forever didn’t sit well with a lot of folks. I had to promise to reserve enough fuel to make a trip every two months with the bus. We’re extra full this time – it’s our last trip.”
“Why?”
“We’re almost out of gasoline.”
Bishop understood, sighing audibly. Boyd waved off the sad reaction, “It’s okay, though. The last few trips before this one, we didn’t have hardly any passengers. After living on the mountain for a while, people became less and less concerned about their homes back here. All of the important photographs, documents, heirlooms, and other earthly possessions either were packed up when we moved, or retrieved in the first few months. We have a pretty good life up there, and most have adjusted.”
Terri and the circle of Hunter’s new admirers meandered closer. Bishop introduced his wife and child to the minister.
“They’re all living up at a mountain camp,” Terri said, excitement in her voice. “The ladies were telling me how beautiful it was. The whole town relocated up there.”
“That’s just what we were talking about,” Bishop replied.
Terri glanced around and announced, “They’ve invited us to move the camper up there. Do you think it would be okay?”
Bishop was uncomfortable with the offer. While everyone but Dean had been nothing but polite so far, something was bothering him. Still, a beautiful mountain campsite would sure beat the back wall of Morton’s Doughnut Shop.
Before he could answer, Dean announced his own reservations. “Pastor, we can’t just be inviting every stranger we run across up to the mountain. Our best security is that no one knows we’re there. If word gets around, we’ll have every homeless Tom, Dick, and Harry at our doorstep demanding to be let in. We’ll be overwhelmed.”
Bishop had to admit, the man had a point. If he were running the Boy Scout camp, he wouldn’t tell a soul. But then again, he wasn’t a man of the cloth.
The minister put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, guiding him away so they could discuss the matter in private. “Consider,” the pastor began, “God’s very hand led us back to town today… before our plans here were compromised. You and I both know that we have to get them out of Crawford without making a fuss in front of the congregation. This is the best way. Once they see our little Garden of Eden, they will probably decide to stay anyway.”
Bishop took the opportunity to speak with his wife. “We don’t know these people. I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”
Terri scrutinized the gaggle of nearby ladies, then nodded toward the children playing tag by the bus. “They seem like normal, friendly people. I know what happened back in Alpha hasn’t just exactly improved your faith in our fellow man, but I don’t sense any lurking evil here.”
He had to admit his wife was right. “Okay, we can go if they still want us to. But I’m telling you sweetheart, something’s a little odd here.”
Evidently, Pastor Pearson still held sway over his flock, returning to reiterate the invitation with a smile.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” Bishop asked. “We don’t want to cause any trouble.”
The preacher nodded, “I told Dean that I would secure your solemn oath to keep our little community secret. Do I have your word, Bishop?”
“I’ll swear it on a stack of Bibles…,” Bishop paused, unsure if his remark would offend the minister. It didn’t.
“I don’t have a stack, but I do have one on the bus. I don’t th
ink that will be necessary though. Your word is fine.”
“Then you have it, sir. Wild horses couldn’t drag the information from me.”
That agreed, Bishop and Terri returned to hook up the camper while the citizens of Crawford made one last visit to their homes.
Bishop followed the old school bus out of town, heading north for the distant mountain.
They’re not fools, Bishop thought as he followed the bus onto a remote lane. Someone had removed the signage announcing Camp Pinion, leaving behind a narrow trail that would be difficult for passersby to spot from the main road. Why didn’t I think of that?
In the hour since they’d left Crawford, the New Mexico scenery had changed drastically. Featureless, arid desert had suddenly been replaced with rolling, grass-covered hills. The undulations gradually became more pronounced, quickly turning into full-fledged mountains.
The morphing landscape reminded Bishop of home, such transitions common in West Texas. It also fouled his mood, a pang of homesickness leading to a low-simmer of anger over having to abandon his ranch in the middle of the night. Again, with great effort, he pushed the rage back down. Nick will fix it, he told himself. My friends will uncover the truth.
Even after turning off the two-lane highway, there was no evidence of the camp. The caravan of bus, pick-up, and towed camper bounced along the dirt trail that seemed to always be going uphill. Eventually, after cresting a steep ridge, the view changed significantly.
Monolithic walls of bare granite appeared, their rugged, nearly vertical exterior protruding from the mountainside. A forest of pinion pine and hardwoods emerged, the evergreen foliage in stark contrast to the grey stone abutments.
Terri inhaled at the view, smiling from the backseat. Bishop had to agree. “It looks like a postcard,” he observed.
“It’s gorgeous,” she responded, her neck craning to get a better view. “I can definitely understand why they would want to relocate the town here.”
The path narrowed, traversing alongside the sheer edge of a cliff on Terri’s side. “Don’t look down,” she mumbled from the back seat. “That’s one heck of a fall if we tumble over.”
And it was. Despite, and mostly because of her words, Bishop took his eye off the road and glanced over to see a vertical drop of at least 80 feet. Refocusing on following their escort, he noted the church bus’s wheels were within inches of the edge. It was harrowing just to watch, let alone imagine how close his own wheels were to what would be certain death.
The route widened, eventually leading to a valley, snaking along beside a small stream, bubbling through boulders and slabs of fallen rock. Bishop was driving with his head over the steering wheel, craning to look up at the steep cliffs. The position was uncomfortable, so he decided to open the sunroof, enabling them all a better view, coupled with fresh mountain air.
The first sign of human occupation occurred a short distance later.
They approached a cut, both sides of the trail bookended with high stone formations, one side reminding Bishop of the Rock of Gibraltar. Terri saw it, too. “That looks like those insurance company commercials that used to be on TV,” she observed.
“I was just thinking the same thing,” he replied. “If I was running this show, I’d have sentries up on that rock, but I don’t see anyone. Do you?”
“You drive; I’ll gawk. But you’re right. I don’t see anyone. Maybe they don’t think it’s necessary.”
As they passed through the gorge, the bus suddenly stopped. Bishop watched as Dean exited the unfolding doors, waving toward the mountain. Bishop followed the man’s gaze, finally spotting the guard. Near the top of Gibraltar was a man with rifle, staring down at them with binoculars.
“That’s just weird,” he said to Terri. “That guard post is facing inward, not where he can monitor the approach. Kind of reminds me of a prison… where they want to keep people in, not out.”
“Maybe there’s not a good spot on the outside. Those rocks look awful steep,” Terri supposed.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I get a little paranoid sometimes.”
“Not everyone looks at security like you do,” she smiled. “These people are just small town folks trying to survive. Maybe you can help them after we get settled.”
Bishop was skeptical, but couldn’t explain the feeling. “Maybe.”
The tiny convoy resumed its progress after the signal with the sentry had been acknowledged. For another half mile, the two-car parade maneuvered through the narrow gorge, finally exiting into the mouth of a wide valley. The view was stunning.
“Wow,” Terri summed it up from the back seat. “They should have filmed television commercials here.”
“Maybe they did,” an impressed Bishop responded. “This is just drop-dead gorgeous.”
The sky-blue waters of the lake initially drew the eye. Bishop estimated it was 15-20 acres in size, the shores lined on three sides with mature trees growing right to the edge. A larger-than-expected cluster of cabins and other log buildings resided on the north side.
“I had no idea Camp Pinion was so expansive,” Bishop observed, nodding at the settlement. “That’s like a small town.”
“I was expecting about four or five bunkhouses,” Terri agreed. “They even have streets down there.”
And she was right.
Their tour-guide bus continued along, finally coming to rest in a wide gravel parking lot, stopping in front of a building that was clearly marked “Camp Headquarters.”
On their way down into the valley, Bishop had tried to count the number of visible structures, finally giving up at 30. Each building had solar panels on its roof, as did the occasional utility pole topped with a florescent bulb.
Hunter needed changing, so Bishop hung out beside the truck while Terri cleaned the lad. Word must have spread quickly about the visitors, a crowd of onlookers gathering next to the camp’s HQ. They were trying to be polite and not stare, but obviously were overwhelmed by curiosity.
Bishop just smiled and nodded when eye contact was made.
After helping his passengers unload, Pastor Pearson sauntered over and said, “Welcome to Camp Pinion. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful in your life?”
“It is amazing,” Bishop agreed. “An hour ago I would have called you a liar if you had tried to describe this to me. No way I would’ve believed there was scenery like this in New Mexico.”
“I’m shocked not only at the beauty, but also the size of the facility,” Terri’s voice sounded from the other side of the truck. “It looks like a small village all by itself.”
Boyd was clearly proud of the camp, gazing around with a smile painted on his face. “Our ministry contributed a lot of money to the Scouts when they announced the construction. In exchange, our orphanage and youth programs were granted access during the off months. We had to build a large enough facility to handle the larger troops from Santa Fe and Albuquerque.”
“Your church had an orphanage?” Terri asked, now curious about the connection.
Nodding, the minister continued. “Yes, we ran several different programs for troubled youths. Many received awards for their success. I like to give credit to the hard work of our congregation and our remote location. We could get the kids away from the big cities, and that allowed us to work with them without the negative influences associated with an urban environment.”
Bishop scanned the residents of Camp Pinion, noticing for the first time how young the average person was. “How many of the permanent residents of Crawford bugged out with you?” he asked, merely curious.
Something in the question bothered the pastor. Almost as if a dark storm was building behind his eyes, Bishop actually thought the man was going to become angry. The expression passed quickly, but the Texan was sure he’d read the flash of mood correctly.
“Why don’t you folks enjoy a self-guided tour while I check with our facilities manager and see where we can find you some place to hang your hat?” Boyd suggested, compl
etely ignoring Bishop’s question.
“Sounds good,” Terri replied, hefting Hunter on her hip. “I’m dying to see more.”
Finally smiling again, Boyd pointed toward the HQ building. “Stop back in an hour or so, and by then I’ll have figured out your new address. Enjoy your stroll.” And with that, the preacher pivoted and headed for the door.
Bishop made eye contact with Terri and shrugged his shoulders. While his wife worked on Hunter’s papoose, he reached into the cab and pulled out his rifle. It was purely habit.
“You won’t need that here,” sounded Dean’s gruff voice over his shoulder. “As a matter of fact, it’s not allowed.”
“Not allowed?”
“We have teenagers here from some pretty rough environments. Personal firearms are forbidden. Only my security men carry weapons of any sort. Please leave all of your guns in your truck until I can make arrangements for you to surrender them.”
“Surrender?” Bishop asked, his voice suddenly very monotone and low.
Dean wasn’t intimidated. “My assumption is that Pastor Pearson will want you to check your weapons in with us. If one of these kids accidently stumbled upon your rifle, someone might get hurt… or worse.”
Bishop stepped into the man, coming close to Dean’s face. “I don’t know what your issue is with me, sir, and frankly, I don’t care. What I will make absolutely clear… right here… right now… is that no one is taking our weapons. Not you, not some kid. If those are the rules of this facility, then we’ll be on our way.”
Dean didn’t respond for a second, struggling to keep his temper in check. The Texan was ready for an assault, his weight shifting forward, his stance coiled. It was almost as if he wanted to get down with the camp’s security man right then and there – go ahead and get it over with.
But Dean didn’t initiate, instead exhaling and repeating, “Please leave your weapons in the truck.”
“No problem,” Bishop replied, his state of readiness unchanged.
The two men had a short, visual showdown, and then Dean did an abrupt about-face, briskly walking away. As Bishop turned to lock the rifle in his truck, he noticed a group of teenage girls standing at the edge of the lot, his encounter an obvious topic of whispered conversation. The young ladies seemed to be amazed. So was Terri.