Lazarus Rising

by David Sherman

  Now that it was full dark outside, someone had carefully erected a screen across the entrance to the cavern. Bass and Raipur stepped into the circle of lamplight that illuminated the small group of villagers assembled there. Everyone was present except for the men detailed to watch the approaches to the ravine.

  The Stoughton family—Esau and Mehetabel, the parents, their daughters Lela and Tamar, and sons Reuben, Benjamin, and Elon—stood apart from the others in a small cluster. As Raipur came into the light, Reuben, the oldest son, stepped forward and leveled his finger at him. "You murdered my brother!" he accused. Behind him, his mother wailed her grief, and as Esau held her in his arms, he cast a murderous glance at the sergeant.

  Bass held up a hand. "Listen to me!" he began.

  "We are tired of listening to you!" Reuben shouted. "That—That man there killed Levi, and I—we—demand retribution!" Several others nodded and murmured assent.

  Knowing how these people loved to vote on community issues, Bass took stock. He could count on Zechariah and his family to support him; probably Hannah Flood, and possibly the Maynards, especially Spencer; Amen Judah and his family too. Colleen and Chet would support him. How many adults was that? He counted them up mentally. Counting himself, that would be fourteen. Discounting the seven Stoughtons, there were fourteen others he could not be sure of if this situation came to a vote.

  Then it couldn't be left to a vote.

  "This man is our prisoner and he will be treated—"

  "Damn you, Charles!" Mehetabel Stoughton screamed.

  "Mehetabel!" Zechariah exclaimed.

  "Damn you, Charles!" she screamed again. She strained to break loose from her husband's grip. "May God damn that man's soul to eternal hellfire!" she shouted, eyes blazing and spittle flying from her lips. She pointed at Raipur as she cursed. "And you too, you damned foreigner!" she raged at Bass.

  "He is not even a believer," Esau Stoughton added, meaning Bass.

  "Put him on trial now!" Tamar, the Stoughton's forty-year-old daughter shouted, pointing at Raipur.

  "He's even untied him!" someone else cried, noticing for the first time that Raipur's arms were unbound.

  "Friends!" Zechariah held up his arms. "Friends, this animosity must pass. This is not our way, we live in the spirit of Christ!"

  "I want that man dead like my son," Mehetabel croaked. Her voice, like an icy curse from the tomb, froze the tableau into shocked silence.

  Zechariah worked his lips soundlessly, searching for words.

  Bass broke the silence. "Now you people listen up—" he grated, his voice just above a whisper.

  "We don't have to listen to you!" Reuben Stoughton shouted.

  "Reuben, you interrupt me one more time like that and you will not live much longer," Bass rasped. He placed his right hand on the blaster holstered at his side and glared at Reuben, who tried staring back but after a moment cast his eyes downward and stepped back with his parents and siblings.

  Zechariah cleared his throat nervously. "You have the floor, Charles," he said, returning to where Consort and Comfort were standing.

  "Now listen up and nobody give me any shit," Bass began. "I've been busting my ass for months, trying to whip you yokels into a force that could protect itself. And you did today, you did fine. Young Levi did his duty like a soldier, Mrs. Stoughton, and we should all be proud of him for that. But I am not—repeat, not—going to let you degenerate into a godforsaken mob! I'm in charge of the defense of this village and you will obey my orders, is that understood?"

  Nobody moved or said a word. In the dim lamplight Bass cast a huge shadow over the rear wall of the cave, and to the people gathered about him, he looked physically bigger now than they remembered him in the daylight. His right hand rested easily on the blaster at his side.

  "This man is our prisoner, and if anyone here—man, woman, or child—touches a hair on his head, I will kill you." The word "you" echoed off the cavern walls. Still nobody moved a muscle. Bass looked into the eyes of each person gathered about the smoking lamp. "Tomorrow," he continued, "this man," he laid a hand on Raipur's shoulder, "will go out under a flag of truce and end this foolishness.

  "Yes, Mrs. Stoughton," Bass's voice softened as he looked at the Stoughtons, "I am a foreigner. You people saved my life, and you saved the lives of Emwanna, Colleen, and Chet. And because of that we're in this with you up to our eyes. You people have come through a lot because you stayed together and worked together and prayed together. And I haven't come this far with you to let it all degenerate, as I said, into a godless mob action. I only have one question to ask of you: What would have happened today if you'd been attacked and you didn't have a plan to defend yourselves?" Nobody ventured an answer. Bass nodded. "Well, I'll tell you—you'd all be dead, and any of you who might have survived would be wishing they were dead too.

  "Now here's what we're going to do. Those who want can go back to the village while it's still dark and there's enough light from the fires to salvage what you can from your homes. No matter what happens to our peace mission tomorrow, we'll be living in this cave complex for a while, so we might as well get as comfortable as possible." He turned to Raipur. "You stay right beside me for the rest of this night."

  The staff duty officer, an overstorm leader, considered the dispatch he had just received from General Lambsblood's headquarters. Should he disturb the Leader? It was late. Perhaps he should call the Deputy Leader and pass the information on to him for a decision? That was the chain of command. No. The dispatch was an opportunity for him to have direct contact with the Leader, and he wasn't going to pass it up because of the chain of command. If the demons were still active on Kingdom, that was news of the utmost importance.

  But first—the overstorm leader checked the daily Special Group order of battle. Yes. There was an airmobile company on standby. He made a quick calculation. They could be there in forty minutes, by 0130 hours local time. The men of the Special Group had never engaged the demons during the recent invasion. His heart raced. Yes! The chance of a lifetime! He picked up the communicator and entered the code that would connect him directly with the Leader in his private suite at Wayvelsberg.

  "What the hell do you want?" de Tomas snarled. "It better be nothing short of total war," he added ominously.

  "My leader, we have just received an urgent dispatch from General Lambsblood's headquarters. It is of the utmost importance."

  "Nothing that idiot could tell me could ever be of any urgency," de Tomas replied sourly. "Well, what is it?"

  "A reconnaissance unit has engaged demons in strength at a village called New Salem, my leader. Our forces inflicted heavy casualties before withdrawing to await reinforcement. General Lambsblood wishes you to know about this before he takes steps to close with them in force and annihilate them."

  What! de Tomas thought. That fool has actually managed to find some surviving demons? Will wonders never cease? "‘Inflicted heavy casualties,’ Overstorm Leader?" he said. "In the parlance of Lambsblood's so-called army, that means they got their asses kicked."

  "Yes, my leader! Precisely. My leader? May I suggest we take this matter out of the army's incompetent hands and handle it with our own troops?" The overstorm leader tried to keep his voice even, though his heart was pounding as he spoke.

  "What? Do we have the forces?"

  "Yes, my leader! There is an airmobile special weapons and tactics team standing by. They are specially qualified in city fighting and night operations, my leader. Their mission is to be on hand if it becomes necessary to restore order in Haven, but they have never needed to do that, and when this operation is over, they can be back here quickly. In the interim, I can call another team to stand by."

  De Tomas hesitated, thinking. "You recommend a night operation, Overstorm Leader?"

  "Yes, my leader, before the demons have a chance to consolidate their position and strengthen their defenses."

  "Very well. Give the order."

  "Yes, my leader. One
more thing, my leader, I don't think you should leave this matter to a junior officer." He hesitated briefly before plunging ahead. "I request the honor of leading the operation."

  "Who the hell are you again?"

  "Overstorm Leader Martins, my leader. I commanded the Hesperus Special Group Detachment in Radak for five years, and before that I was—"

  "No need to recite your service record, Overstorm Leader. You have my verbal permission to command this operation. Report to me directly when it's over. Oh, by the way, why did you not report this situation to Deputy Leader Gorman instead of calling me directly?"

  "I considered it of too great importance, my leader, to trust with anyone but yourself."

  "Good, very good. What's your name again?"

  "Overstorm Leader Martins, my leader."

  "I'll remember that. Hop to it."

  "Do you know what time it is?" Ambassador Jayben Spears gasped as he looked unbelievingly into the receiver of his communicator.

  "It is time, Mr. Ambassador, that we talked," his caller replied smoothly. There was a tone of amusement in the voice, and that angered Spears even more than the lateness of the hour.

  "Right goddamned now?" Spears asked. "Are you out of your mind, Gorman?"

  "I'm out of patience, Mr. Ambassador," Gorman answered patiently. "Let us say seven hours, at the consulate? It is better I come there than you come here."

  "Yeah." Well, there goes breakfast, Spears thought. "Gorman, is this to be an official visit or are you just eager for intelligent conversation?"

  "I will explain when we meet." The comm unit went dead.

  Well well well... First General Lambsblood intimates to General Banks that he's not entirely satisfied with the new Maximum Leader on Kingdom, and now the number two man in the hierarchy calls in the middle of the night for a private meeting, the purpose of which he is unwilling to discuss openly.

  Spears put his arms behind his head and lay back. Something was beginning to unravel on Kingdom. One thing for sure, though, Mr. Herten Gorman was the last man on Kingdom he was about to trust. No, correction, the second last man.

  Things were beginning to get interesting.

  Silently, slowly, she pulled herself out of the mud. The pains were coming very quickly now. The baby would be out soon. She simply could not birth it here, with those noisy Earthmen only a few meters away from her hiding place. It had been a mistake to think the streamlet was a safe refuge. Painfully, she inched her way down to it. She was weak from lack of a proper diet. She had been living off the carbohydrates stored up in her body because of the danger posed by foraging so close to the Earthman camp. Well, after the baby came, she would feast and hunt enough for the two of them.

  She plopped at last, almost soundlessly, into the stream. A great weight seemed to be lifted from her body as the water buoyed her up. She sighed as the caked mud washed off her skin in the swift, cool current. She used her gills and just drifted along with the current, floating that way for some distance until the water became too shallow. Then she found a mud bank and crawled out under some water plants that she hoped would shield her. There, the baby came.

  It was a healthy male.

  Chapter 21

  The Brattles' house, along with that of the Rowley family, was one of the few left relatively undamaged in the bombing, so Zechariah invited the Judahs—Amen and Abigail—and their three children—Deuteronomy, Ruth, and Aaron—to come with them and salvage whatever they could use from the place. The Judahs had lost everything in the bombing. "I want my linen," Consort Brattle had said, "so at least we have clean sheets to sleep on!"

  "We'll take everything we can back to the caves to share with the others," Zechariah said. "But let's get a move on. The fires are dying and we need the light to see by."

  "I'll go with you," Bass said. He turned to Spencer Maynard and handed him his sidearm. "You stick with Raipur here until I get back." He glared at the Stoughtons as he spoke. "Don't let anyone near him."

  "I won't, Charles." Spencer eagerly accepted the weapon and strapped it on.

  "I stay too," Emwanna volunteered. Chet and Colleen stepped forward and stood beside Spencer.

  "You don't need to worry, Charles, I'll keep order here while you and Zechariah are gone," Hannah Flood announced as she moved her large frame into the lamplight.

  "Very well," Zechariah said. "You are all welcome to come along if you want," he told the others. "We'll salvage everything we can and be back here before sunrise." He paused, expecting everyone to go, but only the Rowleys moved toward the cave entrance. The others stood sullen and silent. They were the ones who'd lost everything in the bombing, or thought they had. That they were not even willing to go back to check on their property was a bad sign. "After all we've been through together, all you people can do is stand there and stare at me?" Zechariah looked each one of the adults in the eye, but no one was willing to hold it. Zechariah sighed. "Very well. We'll be back in a couple of hours, then."

  The windows in the Brattles' house had all been blow out and there were holes in the roof, but otherwise the structure was sound and intact. "I wish," Zechariah muttered as he went in the front door, "there was still some of that beer left."

  "Zechariah, when this is over I promise you, we'll lay in a year's supply and I'll help you drink it," Bass said from behind him. Consort snorted but Comfort laughed.

  "Beer? I didn't know you had beer, Zechariah!" Amen Judah exclaimed.

  "You're a good shot with that rifle of yours, there, Judah," Zechariah replied, "but stay away from my beer supply." He felt like reminding Judah that if he hadn't shot down that spy device, they would not be in this position, but dismissed the thought as unworthy of a Christian.

  After a few trips inside, they managed to collect a pile of things to take back to the cave. "Charles, there's a wheelbarrow out back in the shed. Would you mind fetching it so we can load these goods?" Zechariah asked. "I want to take some of these things back to the cave right now, though." He hefted two sacks of vegetables he'd gotten out of the root cellar. He'd stuffed them into pillowcases, which he tied together so he could sling them over his neck and shoulders. "These might help lighten the mood back there, and besides, I want to be sure our prisoner is still safe."

  "Zechariah," Bass said, "I can do that for you."

  "No, Charles, these are my people. Besides, I want to check in person, make sure they all know I'm behind you."

  The fire in the house next door had almost burned itself out, so the light out behind the Brattle house was very poor. Once he got the door to the shed open, Bass had difficulty finding the wheelbarrow. The tools were mostly old-fashioned implements intended for minor carpentry jobs around the house and for working in the flower and truck gardens the Brattles kept. Consort was fond of gardening. He had to search essentially by feel. He brushed something hanging on a peg in the wall and it fell with a crash.

  "Goddamnit!" Bass swore.

  "Charles, you shouldn't talk like that," a woman said from behind him.

  Bass whirled. Comfort stood outlined in the dim firelight against the doorsill. He knew it was her by her voice and the outline of her head against the flames. He didn't know what to say, so he said the only thing he could think of, "Give me a hand, will you?" then turned back to what he was doing.

  She stepped inside and laid a hand on Bass's shoulder. It was not a helping hand. He straightened up and faced her. She put her arms around him and rested her head on his chest. "Charles," she whispered.

  At first Bass held his own arms out at his sides, awkwardly wondering how he—should he? could he?—get loose of her embrace. Then he put his arms around her. Comfort Brattle—what an appropriate name!—was a beautiful, healthy, energetic young woman who'd never asked anyone for anything for herself. And she had nursed him back to health like a latter day Florence Nightingale. The devils had ruined Charlie Bass's memory, but the rest of him worked quite well. Numerous times he'd thought if only Comfort were just a few years older...
Now, he rested his head against hers. "Comfy..." He was pleasantly aware of her young body pressed close against his. "Comfort, this'll never do."

  "I know. I don't care," she sighed. "Just let me stay like this awhile. Please?"

  They stood there for a while. "Comfy," Bass began, "I'm sorry for the way I talked to you that night on guard duty—"

  "I acted like a child that night. I'm sorry I let you down."

  Bass could feel her arms tightly about him. He smiled in the dark. "Let's have a seat."

  "There's nowhere to sit in here, Charles."

  "Sit on the floor with me, Comfy." They sat on the floor and Comfort rested her head on his chest. He felt her warm breath against his neck. Her hair smelled of earth and wood smoke. He lifted her chin and kissed her lips. Her teeth scraped against his. "Ah, goddamn," Bass whispered, but this time it wasn't meant as a curse.

  Later they dug out the wheelbarrow. "Get in, little girl," Bass said laughing, "and I'll give you a ride!"

  He wheeled her around to the front of the house, where Comfort's mother was busily sorting linen and utensils into separate piles. "I'm so very happy someone's enjoying the evening," Consort Brattle said. "What took you so long? Father's probably halfway back to the cave by now."

  "Mother!" Comfort leaped out of the wheelbarrow. "Let me help you!"

  "What has come over you?" Consort stared at her daughter. She was radiant, even in the dim firelight. She hadn't appeared this happy since... when? Consort looked up at Bass, who studiously avoided her eyes. "Comfort!"

  Amen Judah, followed by his wife and children, all laden with goods, emerged from the house.

  From somewhere came a strange sound, a hooosh-hooosh-hooshing noise. Then Hoppers swooped in at rooftop level using infras to mark their targets. Judah and his family, since they were moving, stood out from the lingering fires. The pilot in the lead machine fired.