Rumi's Field (None So Blind Book 2)

by Timothy Scott Bennett

  Gabrielle turned, her face clearly puzzled. "But why are you doing this?" she asked.

  Jeff sighed. "I told you. We burn now for God, in reparation for our sins and to further His holy judgment. Pastor Clinton has declared it: everything must go. Every board in our house and barn. Every stitch of clothing. Every toy. Every book. Every bit of wood or paper. Every bookmark and playing card. Every morsel of food. And into this great flame, we offer what flesh we can, our livestock, our working animals, our dogs and cats and other pets, in remembrance of days long past, and to prove our faith, just as God Himself is burning the flesh of the unworthy with the Great Plague called Greensleeves. When our house is gone we will move on, meeting with others who are doing the same as us, burning every house we see, every barn, every store, every building. Burning our entire town, and the next one, and the next after that, burning the food that sustains us, the homes that shelter us, burning even the clothes we wear to hide our shame. There will be no more hiding when we are finished. No more humans taking their lives into their own hands. There will be only us, God's naked servants, dependent on His grace for all that we need, or dying gladly, if such is His will. Everything must go." Jeff smiled again, a gentle expression one might use to greet an old friend. He watched as two men tossed a dresser onto the pile, then looked again at Gabrielle.

  "So tell me..." he said. He stopped, cocked his head, clearly waiting for Gabrielle to tell him her name.

  "Gabrielle."

  "So tell me, Gabrielle." He gazed at the fire with pride and excitement, then turned his attention back to her. "Do you know the God of the Burning? And will you join us in our work?"

  12.2

  When word finally came to Colonel Aidan McAfee, it came in an email from Paul DuPont. It pissed the Colonel off no end, but he would never allow himself to really feel that anger, let alone express it. Not with that chip in his arm. Not with cameras and microphones built into every corner of the facility. But the anger was justified. It was he who was in charge here, after all. Not that snot-nosed tech, Family member or not.

  McAfee sighed. Urbem Orsus. The City of Beginnings. The Loading. The Launch. The One-Two Punch. The Great Journey. Plans within plans within plans. And if he wanted to be included in those plans, he'd have to keep his nose to the grindstone. A smile and a song and all that. That's how he'd catch his ride, if there's to be any hope of catching one. Prove his usefulness to the powers-that-be. Hope that he already had. After all, he and his troops had all been immunized against the alien flu. Obviously The Families had need of them. Surely they would not kill off their own work force?

  He put down his tablet and scratched behind Nicky's ears. The cat had sauntered back in as the twilight darkened to night, sniffed at his food bowl, then leapt up onto McAfee's lap in a rare moment of tolerance. The Colonel, in an equally rare moment of fondness, let him stay, even when Nicky sunk his claws into McAfee's leg. There was just something about a warm cat on the lap that was nice.

  "Well, Nick," said the Colonel with all the cheeriness he could muster. "Looks like it's time for the old girl to meet her maker." The cat turned his head and looked at his human eye to eye. "By which I mean to say, buddy, that I've got to get up now and go kill the President of these United States."

  McAfee wiggled a bit in his recliner. Nicky sunk his claws in deeper. The Colonel grabbed the cat around the middle, lifted him unceremoniously, and dumped him quickly onto the floor. Nicky sat back on his haunches and started licking his front paws. His tail slapped repeatedly against the floor.

  The Colonel sighed, pushed the recliner forward, and pulled himself to his feet. He reached down to grab his glass and drank the last gulp of his highball, then headed to the kitchen to put the glass in the sink. He grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair and started pulling it on as he headed toward the door. He glanced back at the cat, who now stared at him from the living room carpet. "I wonder if I'll end up in any history books," he said to the cat.

  The cat just stared and slapped his tail. McAfee shook his head and headed out the door.

  12.3

  A sharp blade of anxiety sliced through Mihos like a phantom knife. He stopped and caught his breath. Looking around, he could not see that anything had changed. They were still in Doggyworld, still following a tunnel through the Murk, still surrounded by the crazy black and white visuals, still apparently walking through what the dense ones in the physical layer fondly referred to as "rural Maine."

  Iain, just ahead of him now, stopped and raised an eyebrow. "You okay, Mihos?" he asked. He seemed genuinely concerned, which just added embarrassment to the cat's anxiety.

  Mihos coughed. "Just a hairball," he said. "Still, I think we should try to hurry."

  Iain nodded. "You got some reason for that? Or is this just your cat radar or something?" He gestured toward the dog at the head of the line. "I mean... Dennis is working pretty hard, it seems. Maybe we should just trust-"

  "Maybe you could trust both of us," interrupted Mihos, raising his chin. "It's not like I'm a newbie here, you know. Not like you."

  Iain opened his mouth to respond, then stopped. He looked at Emily and Grace, who had stopped now as well, then back at the cat. "You're right, Mihos. My apologies." He turned to Dennis and the girls. "Mihos says we need to go faster," he said.

  Dennis nodded once. "Go faster," said the dog. He turned and put his nose to the air and started off again, now at a quicker pace. The kids fell back into line, increasing their speed.

  Mihos, his heart still anxious, followed along, glad to be moving again. Whatever it was he was sensing, they might as well find out what it was and get it over with.

  12.4

  Dinner at the Thieving Seagull had turned out to be a bit of a replay of the welcoming party the Church of the Stranger had thrown at Ken's house when Cole and Stan had first arrived. Annabelle had come, bringing a half dozen others with her in her old Nissan pickup. There was fresh seafood, more beer, a bottle of "fortifier," and a large helping of hugs, handshakes, and laughter. Outside, the wind bellowed and howled, gusting fiercely at times. Inside, the human beings huddled together, hearts and minds and bodies. Ken would not be joining them, Annabelle had explained. His sister-in-law, Beth, had died a couple of hours earlier. Now his wife, Celia, was sick. Those assembled closed their eyes for a few moments of silence.

  Cole could hardly believe it had only been a day since they'd all first met. He was glad to see that Stendahl Banks and his cameraman, Eddie, were welcomed and included as graciously as he and Stan had been. Cole understood Marionette's suspicions, but he'd worked with Sten for years now, and knew him to be a good man. In fact, Cole had figured something out: Sten was the mysterious caller who'd started Cole on his journey. He'd given himself away earlier, on the deck, when expressing his fears about their enemies, and how "they do not mean well for the human race. The tone of Sten's voice had reminded Cole of that call. The more he thought about it, the more obvious it had become. He smiled. Sten was a good man indeed.

  It was Doobie, now sobered up, who'd first come up with their next plan: sneak out to the island in the cover of night and the growing storm, land a small crew in a tiny cove he knew about on the north side of the ferry landing, see how close they could get on foot, and see what they could see. It was just the sort of dangerous, crazy, covert operation that Cole had most wanted to avoid, and he said so, but the idea had already caught on with the younger folks in the room. Doobie argued that he knew that island like the back of his own hand. Marionette protested that surely they couldn't have patrols all along the shoreline. Simon, Keith, Gordon, Joe, Ann... they all expressed their willingness to give it a try. "We can do this, Stranger," said Marionette, her voice grave and low. "It's why we're here."

  "Then I'm going along," said Cole, shaking his head.

  Annabelle rose to her feet and the conversation came to a halt. She turned slowly, her gaze moving from face to face, stopping at last at Cole. She smiled. "I think we need to let thes
e young people do this, Stranger," she said to Cole. "I think you need to let us help you."

  "But-," Cole began, only to be stopped when Annabelle raised her hand.

  "I understand, Stranger," said the old woman. She looked around the room. "I think we all do. This is a risky venture." She gestured through the window out toward the bay, and Squirrel Island in the distant night. "The people who abducted your wife are far more powerful and dangerous than just the U.S. military."

  Stendahl raised his hand like a schoolboy, and only spoke when Annabelle nodded to him. "I think at the very least Eddie and I need to go, to get some video and..." Sten's words faltered when Annabelle started shaking her head.

  "I understand that the whole 'media circus' angle is a big part of your plan," she said. "But it's dark, and this is dangerous. Let that part wait for the light of day. Tonight, let's do a bit of stealthy recon and see what we can learn from that."

  Stan stood in the back, shaking his head. "This is stupid," he said, his voice a low growl. "You got a storm coming and you're sending out a bunch of green kids?" He looked at the folks gathered in the dining room. "You're not trained commandos." He turned to Doobie. "You're not some seasoned naval captain." He looked at Annabelle. "Hell, Annabelle, I am a seasoned naval captain and even I wouldn't venture out on a night like this. Not against an enemy like the one we're facing. Not even for a bit of recon." He glanced at Cole and sighed, shaking his head.

  Annabelle smiled gently at Stan, then turned to Cole. "Stranger," she said, "there's a piece you do not have." She looked around at the young people in favor of the mission, then back to Cole. "In The Book of the Stranger, it says this: "Venture into the darkness and the storm, and know that the Stranger's light will be with you. Be as his arms, his feet, his very eyes, as he faces his worst fear and confronts his horrible foe. Spend yourself in the Stranger's service, and know that your sacrifice will have meaning." The old woman stopped and exhaled softly.

  Cole rubbed his eyes. "Jesus, Annabelle," he said at last, his voice heavy and tired. "We're gonna risks these young people's lives because of a few Bible verses?" He shook his head.

  "We're all we're ever going to have, Stranger," said Annabelle softly, looking him in the eye. "We'll either be enough, or we won't be, but we're all we have. And the time is here, as we knew it would be, and we will never be more ready than we are now." She looked at the quiet, expectant faces around here. "Marionette?" she said when she caught the eye of the young woman. Her voice had risen both in volume and pitch, as if it was time to change the mood to one of action.

  "Ma'am?" answered Marionette, stepping forward.

  "Doobie will be in charge of all boat-related matters. You will lead the reconnaissance mission. Can I trust you not to do anything stupid?"

  Marionette lifted her chin. "I don't know," she said, "can you?"

  Annabelle grinned. "Good point. Yes. I can. And I will And I will also trust you to know when it's time to abort the mission and get your mouthy, one-eyed little ass back here as well." She turned to Cole. "This is what we've been waiting for, Stranger. A chance to help you. Please allow us to do our best."

  Stan sighed but otherwise held his tongue.

  Cole looked at Annabelle and nodded almost imperceptibly. He glanced at Sten, who winked and grinned at what they both now knew: you did not stand in the way of this tiny old Church lady and her magic Book. "Okay," said Cole, turning back to Annabelle. "Okay."

  In the end, it was decided that Eddie should join the Church members and get as much night-vision video as he could. Depending on how things went, some of that video might be used to help stir public interest, and it would allow those who were not going to see, upon the mission's return, at least some of what those in Marionette's group would experience in person.

  They packed what they needed and boarded The Pokey Joker for the third time out. Just five of them this time: Doobie, Marionette, Gordon, Ann, and Eddie. They hoped that a smaller group would be an asset, and both Gordon and Ann had served in the military, Gordon as a medic and Ann as a communications specialist.

  The sky was completely overcast now, though brighter than they'd expected, with the Gridlight illuminating the cloud layer from above, giving enough glint to the waves that they could distinguish, just barely, where they were. The wind was stronger than ever, and gusty, and the seas were choppy, but no worse than Doobie had seen fishing in the winter, their captain assured them. In fact he was glad for the wind and waves, he said, as it would help cover the rumble of The Pokey Joker's diesel engines.

  They calculated that the mission should take no longer than 90 minutes total. Those staying behind hugged those who were leaving, voicing stern warnings and strong wishes for these brave young people to be careful, and to come back safe and whole. Then Doobie started his engines and they were gone in the night.

  Cole stood on the dock, watching. He glanced down at his hands, wondering how the hell he was supposed to make his "Stranger's light" be "with them" out on the boat. Had he just sent these young people to some huge disaster? Capture? Injury? Death? Had he sent anybody to anything, or had they simply chosen? Cole was too tired to sort it out, and decided that he didn't need to. They were all at risk. The whole world was at risk now. And greater forces than he were deciding the outcomes. Cole had his children to worry over. And Linda, sick and imprisoned on an island just a mile or two out across the water, held by the military, and by those who wanted to control things from behind the scenes. Annabelle was right: Cole had better learn to accept help.

  But then something occurred to Cole that hit him smack in the gut. Based on what Annabelle had told him just yesterday, and based on the quotes she'd just recited from The Book of the Stranger, it was Linda that he was supposed to stop from destroying the human race. In the minds of these Church people, Linda Travis was "his horrible foe."

  12.5

  Linda gazed out across the landscape. The Martian night had come, the yellow-pink sky slipping into star-studded blackness much more quickly than it ever could on Earth. The President tweaked her seeing slightly and gasped at the beauty of it all. The constellations pulsed with life, and the vast plain before her glowed with possibilities far beyond both rightdoing and wrongdoing.

  Across from Linda sat an empty armchair. William had disappeared again, this time without so much as a word of farewell. Linda sighed. That strange little man could stand to learn some manners.

  As soon as he'd gone, Linda had attempted to blink back to Earth. She couldn't do it. She'd focused on Cole. On the kids. On Ness and Mary. Nothing had worked. She couldn't blink anywhere, whether back to Earth or to some other point here on Rumi's Field. William had left her tuned to the near-physical. She was confined to the desolate surface of Mars.

  Something glinted in the far distance. Linda squinted her eyes. Glass, it looked like. It must be her "lobster tank," the container William had used to transport her body to Mars and keep it from harm. William had told her it was nearby.

  Linda rose from her chair and searched the night sky. Somewhere out there was Earth. On it were all the people she cared about. She felt like she could collapse in a sobbing heap and never get back up. But she knew that that would not get her back home. And she knew that, with William gone, she might be able to learn something she couldn't otherwise.

  It did not appear that the Fisherman was going to blink back anytime soon. And if he did, so what? To be frank, Linda didn't really give a rat's ass if she inconvenienced him or not. So she decided to go take a look at her body and make sure that all was well. Perhaps there'd be some clues there that she'd missed before. She'd have to hoof it, but that'd be fine. Give her a chance to think. And she hadn't been getting her morning walks in anyways.

  She set out. The near-physical tuning felt surreal. Gravity held her in place. Her tennis shoes left tracks in the dust and gravel. Stones skittered away when she kicked them. Gusts of the thin Martian atmosphere dislodged wisps of her hair. She seemed to be breathing in an
d out. None of this should have been possible.

  Not for the first time, she wondered if she was really on Mars at all. Maybe she was still on Earth. Maybe this was all an elaborate dream or vision. Maybe that was her real body underneath her cottage. But the evidence of the sky told her where she was. The sun had been so small. And there was Phobos again.

  Linda Travis walked toward the container that held her body. She felt no soreness, no fatigue, no imbalance. She was strong and able. She could easily make it, if William did not return to stop her. It might take all day, but who cared? What else should she do? Sit in that stupid chair and wait?

  12.6

  The tall, bald nurse stepped out the double front doors of the MaineCentral Hospital and looked to the west. The short, dark nurse took her place beside him. The thin, pale private left his barracks and faced to the south. The thickly muscled sergeant stopped his Jeep and looked to the east. The short, old woman stepped into the hospital hallway and faced the west. The beautiful blonde woman in business attire stood at her eleventh-floor window and looked out to the north. The short, curly-haired assistant walked down the ramp and looked to the east. The strangely exotic blonde man put down his phone and faced toward the west. The older woman with large, black eyes stepped onto the front porch of her home and looked to the south. The Other-than-Ness stood amidst the bodies of the comatose children and looked to the north. All over Augusta, the men and women who now occupied the city, mostly young, mostly strikingly beautiful or foreign in appearance, stopped what they were doing and faced the city center and met mind-to-mind. An invisible beam pierced the city from the sky above.