Islam Rising

by Johnny Jacks

  Grayson tried again. “If we organize the locals to form a militia cadre—”

  “Another new word. Damned if I don’t need to get a notebook and start a list. What’s a cat ray?” Charles asked.

  Grayson spelled cadre and explained, “It’s a specially trained group. We, as well-trained militia members, could lead untrained armed civilians and supervise their security activities, patrolling, guard posts, crowd control, etc. If we start now, we have time to get them ready for the collapse.”

  “What kind of training? I don’t know how to train people,” Samuel groused.

  Samuel’s whining and Grayson’s patience slammed into a wall. “Damn it! Everyone step up to the table or this won’t work! I never built a water treatment system, but I did it. Read a manual, research on line, but don’t sit on your asses and wait for somebody else to figure it out for you!” Embarrassed eyes hit the floor again.

  In the charged silence, Ramirez took control. “Grayson may not have been eloquent with his admonition, but he is correct. We’ve grown dependent on him living here and doing everything. To survive in the collapse, each of us must be able to take action and figure things out, just as our ancestors did.”

  The look he gave Grayson over the top of his glasses told Grayson what he must do.

  “Look folks…Samuel…I’m sorry for being so blunt when a softer word was called for.” He sighed heavily. “The locals have men and women with military experience, and plumbers, electricians, and other skills we can’t survive without in the long term. By working with them, we limit the number of people we have to prepare for at the BOL. When we consider our spouses, kids, in-laws, etc., we could easily overextend our resources and become unsustainable.”

  Ramirez momentarily lost patience. “You need to examine yourselves carefully and make a firm decision to be in or out of the MAG. This is not a weekend camping trip. It’s serious business. Take some time and evaluate your commitment to go forward.”

  Samuel flinched. “Chief, I don’t think anyone wants out. Things are going in a different direction than when we started. I, for one, need time to digest this.”

  “How can we feed all those folks, so that they don’t turn on us?” Yeung asked. “My great grandmother told me what happened in China under Mao. From 1959 to 1961, the famine killed forty-five million people. You wouldn’t believe some of the things they ate!”

  “Why do y’all assume these people won’t have enough food?” Grayson sounded exhausted. “They’re almost all farmers and ranchers, many of them preppers. Canning and curing meat are a routine part of their lives. Initially, we’ll have to help them develop their food storage systems. We may even need to get food from them later.”

  Pablo spoke up. “My parents and I fled Venezuela as refugees when I was a kid. I returned to visit relatives a few months ago. I couldn’t believe the number of people starving and the level of violence under their socialist dictator. Each of their generals now has a Cuban handler. It helped me visualize what the die-off might be like.” He shivered. “It’s too scary to think about. I believe we definitely need to work with locals to give us a better chance of survival, and we can do the same for them. It’s starting to make more sense to me.”

  “What about lazy locals that aren’t preppers, those who won’t help produce food? Suppose they look at us as their food stamp program?” Charles asked.

  Grayson’s answered without hesitation. “Second Thessalonians, 3:10. ‘For even when we were with you, we gave you this rule: If a man will not work, then neither shall he eat.’”

  Mark whispered to Yolanda, “Something major is wrong with Grayson.”

  “If the locals are disorganized and unfriendly, their help certainly won’t be forthcoming. If we remain secretive and things get tough for them, they may see us as a threat and be inclined to attack rather than ignore us. When the collapse occurs, everyone will be scared witless. I believe in sharing talents and skills to promote a convivial, cooperative atmosphere. We need their help with our security, and they need our guidance on how to prepare to survive.”

  Reality spread quietly through the room. Prepping as a faraway concept was one thing; prepping for an encroaching event was sobering.

  “What the chief and Grayson are saying is beginning to make sense,” Yolanda said.

  “I agree,” Joe added.

  Grayson took a deep breath and reached out. “Samuel, you’re right to be concerned. We need your help to make the right decision.”

  “I don’t want to be an ass about this, Grayson. But I don’t want to be everyone’s savior, either.”

  Ramirez closed the meet up. “Okay, crew. Let’s chew on this awhile. Study your Special Forces manuals for details on covert and overt operations. That will help you understand the concepts of working with locals to assist with our operations.”

  As everyone stood to leave, Mark addressed the elephant in the room. “Grayson, you look like you’ve lost your best friend. Are you okay with our decision for now? You’ve been out of sorts today.”

  Suddenly everyone noticed Grayson’s drawn face, his eyes shadowed in gray.

  “I know I’ve been difficult today. Tomorrow is the third anniversary of Margaret and Amanda’s deaths.”

  “Oh, Grayson, I plain forgot. I’m so sorry,” Mark said.

  Grayson spoke softly. “It’s like yesterday for me.”

  Grace, who’d been taking the minutes, moved to Grayson and gave him a hug, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “Forgive us, son.”

  “It weighs heavy. I’m going to Houston tomorrow to visit them. I just hurt all over.”

  Charles offered a prayer, and Grayson nodded approval.

  “Please bow your heads. Most gracious Heavenly Father, You bring to us birth; Your providence guides our lives; You command us to return to dust. Lord God, those who pass from this Earth still live in Your glorious presence, We pray to You for our friend, Grayson, that You will give him peace in his time of sorrow, in the knowledge that You will unite him at a time of Your choosing with his loving wife and daughter. Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  Chapter 27

  Talk To Me

  Year 3

  Grayson stopped by a florist on the way to the cemetery. When he arrived, the shadow of the abandoned chapel extended to the east across countless and long-forgotten graves. He stared at the ancient structure, its state of disrepair a reflection of his own miserable existence. He placed the vase of pink flowers at the base of the headstone and sat on the ground, staring at the names and dates of two people he loved with all his heart.

  He closed his eyes, reliving happy family scenes, but it was a short reprieve before ugly images intruded, his grief and guilt consuming him. His throat closing, he labored to suppress his anguish.

  “Hi, baby, and how’s my little angel? I miss you both so much. I think of you every day and miss you in everything I do. Little Angel, I read Goodnight Moon last night and thought of you. I keep it on my bedside table at the farm. I’m going to talk to mommy awhile. You play with Jo-Jo.”

  Tears dripped on his shirt. “Sweetheart, I’m in pain. Guilt eats at me for what I did to you and our precious Amanda. She’ll never share girl secrets with her best friend, feel her heart race with her first kiss, walk down the aisle, or know the wonder of motherhood. I robbed you of the joy of being a grandmother.” He patted the grass.

  “Everyone tells me to move on with my life, but how can I pretend everything is okay? Guilt vexes, draining me every day. Is it bad that I wish to be with you and Amanda? How I need you to tell me what to do.”

  Choked with grief, Grayson looked to the darkening sky and screamed, “God, please let her talk to me!” His voice echoed off the old chapel’s moss-covered stone walls.

  A sudden surge of strong wind replaced the gentle breeze, almost knocking him over. He flinched when the chapel’s ancient bell began a gentle ring, pulling him toward it.

  He jiggled the rusty latch open a
nd exerted considerable pull on the door. The strong wind pushed back as if to say, “You’re not allowed to enter.” With a powerful heave, he wrenched the heavy oak door wide. The fading light barely illuminated the obsolete contents. He stepped inside, and the wind slammed the door shut, howling its objection to his presence. Grayson brushed cobwebs aside to find dusty, empty pews. The stained-glass windows, dulled with time, filtered light, reflecting the chapel’s lost significance.

  The bell continued its beckoning toll, but Grayson hesitated. Probably a kid trying to scare me.

  He stepped quietly to the faded white door, his tracks prominent in the dust of the forgotten floor. The rusty hinges creaking, he twisted the knob and pushed the door open quickly. The wild winds subsided; the bell stilled; and the frayed bell-pull lay on the floor in a dust-covered heap.

  The setting sun reflected dully from the bell above his head, creating a halo around the bronze rim. A profound calmness cloaked him in warmth. He closed his eyes and felt Margaret’s near to him.

  While retracing his steps to her gravesite, a sentient peace touched him and he realized one day he would be with her in God’s Kingdom and his grief would melt away. A warm, soft breeze caressed his face. He knelt and prayed for his misplaced family and thanked God for sending Margaret to him.

  Chapter 28

  The Blind Date

  Year 3

  Grayson sweated profusely under an unusually warm late August midday sun while replacing a broken fencepost. From the dust trail on the road, he knew he was about to have company.

  Wayne drove up and got out of his truck. “Hey, Farmer Grayson, haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.”

  “Good to see you, Wayne.” Grayson slipped off his leather glove to shake hands. “It’s been a while. We need to grab a beer and grill a steak soon.”

  “Funny you should say that. I’m having some folks over this evening for a cookout. Hoped you’d join us.”

  “I’d love to, but one of my cows is going to drop her calf any time, and I can’t abandon her baby to the coyotes. A pack has been hanging around lately, at least the ones I haven’t introduced to my three-oh-eight.”

  “You might want to change your mind. There’s a pretty widow lady coming; you two might hit it off. It’s been over a year since her husband died. She recently decided it’s time to get on with her life.”

  Grayson hesitated. Would this be a date?

  “Please don’t feel obliged, but I happen to know she’s noticed you. She sat in front of you last Sunday at Sacred Heart.”

  A flicker of the pretty woman who turned to offer him the Sign of Peace put a smile on his face. Her pleasant look of surprise when they shook hands, her smile and the widening of pretty eyes were responses he’d experienced from more than a few ladies. He followed her to receive communion, yet it didn’t register with him to strike up a conversation after Mass. Being single still felt new to him. There was something uncomfortable about approaching an unfamiliar woman, with the intent of potential romance being the outcome.

  He remembered the woman’s smile, the way she placed her left hand on top of his when they shook hands, and the intensity of her eyes. He casually dismissed her, the same way he did with all women since his encounter with Shannon.

  “I remember her. I was glad I went to eleven o’clock Mass that morning and not my usual Saturday evening vigil, Beautiful smile.”

  Wayne’s permanent smile turned into a grin. “There’s more to her than her looks. She has great personality attributes that you’ll appreciate. I can vouch for her character, absolutely, without doubt.”

  “Absolutely, without doubt, huh?”

  The grin on Wayne’s face broadened. “She’s my sister.”

  Grayson’s eyebrows rose and his voice took on a tone of interest. “What’s her name?”

  “Laura. Laura MacIntyre.”

  Grayson shrugged. “Dang. It’s the heifer’s first calf, and as you can see, it’s coming late in the year. I guess I could check on her before I leave and spend a few hours socializing with y’all. Besides, I’m tired of my own cooking. What time should I be there?”

  “Wise decision. We’ll get started about six. With the sun low on the horizon, it’ll be cool and the evening breeze will do away with the mosquitoes.”

  “Look forward to it. I’ll see you at six.”

  ~~~

  While Grayson dressed for the cookout, he vacillated between schoolboy eagerness and fear tightening his throat. He would make sure tonight was different from the iniquitous one-night stand with Shannon. He had no real dating experience, and meeting Wayne’s sister felt like something more than a casual encounter. A twinge of betrayal to Margaret stared back at him from the mirror. Meeting a woman that he might want to date or make a life with evoked apprehension he’d never faced as a young man. He wasn’t sure he wanted to face it now.

  “Margaret, I feel silly going on a date. I don’t mind meeting a nice lady, and I know I’m supposed to move on, but you’re my number one gal. There are times when I’m tired of eating alone, reading alone, and talking to myself, but dating…. I don’t suppose you could send me a sign of some kind, tell me what to do?”

  Grayson’s nervous hands fumbled his cologne and the sprayer dislodged, dousing him in Margaret’s favorite fragrance for him. “I get the message. Be polite and nice and get my ass back home.”

  After another quick shower so he wouldn’t smother Wayne’s sister in “smell good,” he hurriedly dressed and headed to the cookout.

  ~~~

  Stepping out of his freshly cleaned, red Ford F-250, Grayson felt confident sporting his best cowboy shirt, new jeans, and shined cowboy boots. He followed the sounds of happy chatter to the patio at the back of Wayne’s home.

  He spotted Laura at once. She looked lovely in a mid-thigh length, white cotton sundress sprinkled with small yellow roses and her Texas cowgirl boots. A bit of cleavage peeked from her modestly cut dress. Her long, natural blonde soft curls lay over her shoulders, creating the perfect picture of a Texas beauty any man would be proud to call his own. She was at the grill flipping steaks with one hand while holding a cold bottle of brew with the other.

  A half-grown German Shepherd ran up to him with a stick in her mouth, tail wagging energetically, begging Grayson to play. He threw the stick as far as he could, and the dog tore up turf running after it.

  “Grayson!” Wayne greeted him. “Glad you could make it. You know my wife Hellen. The other members of my family are Abner, Josephine, and Troy. I believe you met Laura at church.”

  Everyone focused on Grayson and Laura, anticipating the first awkward steps between boy and girl.

  “Not formally. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Laura.” His heart pounded hard when she turned in his direction. Feigning confidence, he strutted over to shake her hand. He felt his masculinity stir, an involuntary primal reaction, when he connected with her flashing gray-green eyes. It pleased and disturbed him. He sensed her similar reaction from the little blush shadowing her face.

  “The pleasure’s mine, Grayson. How do you want your steak?” She asked in a deep Texas twang.

  “Medium rare, more on the rare side, is my favorite.”

  “Yep, Wayne. He’s a genuine Texan all right.” The tenseness left Grayson when everyone laughed.

  The German Shepherd puppy ran up with the stick in her mouth. Again, he threw it for her.

  Grayson took a deep breath as he bent to the washtub. The hard part was over. He liked these people and felt a twinge of guilt about watching them with a cautious eye. You may like them, bucko, but these people may be the MAG’s best ally or worst enemy after the collapse.

  He joined comfortably in the conversation about crops and weather predictions, questions about growing organic vegetables versus using chemicals. They were curious about the hunting camp and his cover story for leaving Houston. He was pleased he could answer their questions about growing fruits and vegetables and killing garden pests without chemicals.
Remind me to thank Yolanda.

  The puppy wouldn’t let Grayson alone. He enjoyed throwing the stick and petting her. Worn down and panting hard, she finally settled beside him.

  Wayne was fascinated with the puppy’s reaction. “Millie’s taken quite a liking to you, neighbor. Do you have a dog?”

  “No. I guess I should get one though. It would help keep the coyotes away. Millie’s a nice name, and she’s a beautiful puppy.”

  “She’s the last of a litter, all yours if you want her. Does nothing around here but trip people.”

  “I’d love to have her, Wayne. That’s very kind of you.”

  “Every man needs a dog, and if you noticed, she selected you.”

  Once the sun moved low in the sky, he apologized and explained he had to check on the impending birth, a situation they all understood.

  “My steak was perfection,” Grayson said. “I don’t know how I managed it, but I filled my plate twice with grilled corn and fantastic biscuits. Once I get organized, I’ll have y’all over.”

  Laura walked him to his truck with Millie in trail.

  Grayson found Laura easy to talk to, a pleasure to look at, and she had a head full of sense. Somewhere in the back of his lawman’s mind, he detected a well-educated lady. At his pickup, he cleared his throat until it was raw and finally got up the nerve. “Laura, maybe we could go to dinner sometime…if…ah…you’re interested.”

  “I would like that.” Laura handed him a piece of paper with her phone number. “Call me Saturday morning.”

  Grayson eyed the paper for a moment. She’s interested in me. “Let me check on things at the farm, and I’ll get back to you...Saturday morning.”