The old woman squinted up at her and Tess expected her to tell her off for staring. Her gray hair was held in a tight bun on the back of her head.
“Are you hungry, child?”
Tess felt herself nodding.
The old woman waved to her with a free hand. “Come here and warm yourself. The chill will make you sick.” The old woman continued to stir the stew in a circular motion. She glanced up at Tess and gave her a sad smile. “Not my best, but we make do with what we have.”
Tess took a seat cross-legged at the fire. Three small children and a teenage boy sat around smiling as they ate. A young woman probably in her twenties stared out across the field as if she expected someone.
“It’s good,” the teenager said. His mouth was full as he spoke. He had the beginnings of a weak blond mustache, the kind he definitely would have been made to shave if they still lived in a normal world.
“Danny, mind your manners,” the old woman chided.
“Not as good as at home,” one of the little girls said, picking at hers with a spoon. She had curly blonde hair and looked to be about six-years-old.
The old woman gave her a disapproving look and dug her spoon into the pot and ladled it into a tin cup. She tried to hand it to the young woman, but she wouldn’t lift her arms to take the food. Her eyes were blank as if nothing resided inside her. Her brown hair was unkempt and strewn about her shoulders and her lips were barely parted as if she had something small to say.
The old woman set the stew down next to her. “I’ll feed you later,” she muttered to herself.
She gave Tess a tin cup of the red stew. “Thank you,” Tess murmured into her steaming tin.
“He will provide all we need, honey,” the old woman said with a sad smile. “Now, all of you eat up.” She shook the spoon at the children. “Especially you, Georgia. I won’t have you complaining later that you’re hungry when there’s food to eat.”
Georgia nodded her little curly-haired head and poked at her stew.
The heat from the stew permeated through the small blue metal cup and warmed Tess’s hands. She sat for a moment, taking in the delicious smell of the savory broth. “Where’d you get beef stew?”
The old woman smiled faintly. She leaned over and whispered to Tess. “The Lord provides, but it’s mostly squirrel. Don’t tell the wee ones. I don’t want them refusing to eat.”
The old woman clanked her spoon on the side of the pot as she stirred the stew. Tess shrugged. She didn’t really care what the meat was. Tasted enough like chicken, or was it beef? It didn’t matter. It tasted decadent.
The elder woman spoke while she stirred. “The pastor sends out men every time we stop to scavenge for food and hunt. It’s not a lot, but we ain’t starving. Prayer and food is enough for us to keep going.” She gave Tess a toothy smile.
She gestured with her head at the young brunette. “Her husband was killed during the outbreak. She found a nice young lad in the camp later. The pastor blessed the marriage. He is always encouraging the young to join in the replenishing of the earth. It is God’s will.” She stopped stirring for a moment as she thought back. “It was a wonderful day amongst all this misery.” The thought seemed to turn to ash in her mouth and her lips twisted in disgust. “He was killed in that battle with those filthy heathens on the lake.”
Tess took a bite of her hot stew. The broth burnt her tongue. She immediately scratched her tongue on the back of her teeth trying to mitigate the burning sensation.
The old woman carried on. “If it were up to me, I’d as soon as see them all burn for their many indiscretions, but the pastor says we follow the scarred one now. So we do. Even the Israelites were forced to follow the Egyptians for a period when they had been enslaved.” She peered back down at her stew, stirring and stirring round and round.
“They can’t all be bad people,” Tess said.
“Anyone who doesn’t believe is bad.” The old woman nodded her fierce affirmation. She gestured out to the farmland. “Those things out there are evil and they don’t believe. There isn’t any other way to see it.”
Tess slurped up some of her stew. “This is delicious. I can’t tell you the last time I had such fantastic beef stew.” Tess set her cup down. “Say, you haven’t seen our glorious leader, the pastor, have you?”
The old woman smiled. “Of course, my dear. He stays near the red barn at the end of camp. Him and his disciples.”
“His disciples?” Jesus, he thinks he’s Christ.
“You don’t know them?”
Tess shook her head. “Of course I do. There’s that handsome blond one.”
The old woman gave her a broad knowing grin. “Matthew. He’s a catch that one. Handsome and brave. Or are you asking about Peter? He’s our rock, such a pious man and strong.” She raised her eyebrows in dismay. “I know you can’t be referring to Luke. Are you?”
“No,” Tess said softly.
“He’s a different one. Holy and loyal.”
“Are they always with the pastor?”
“No, of course not. They are constantly working to preserve us and defend us from the wicked, just like the pastor instructs.” The old woman shook her head in wonderment. “As pious as Jesus, that one.”
Tess nodded. “He sure is.” She averted her eyes and picked up the brown stew. It had cooled quickly in the fall air. She tilted her head back and poured the stew in her mouth. “I have a prayer meeting to go to. Thank you for the food.” Tess stood.
“My dear, you are always welcome here,” the old woman said with a wide smile.
“Go with God,” Tess said, biting her burnt tongue.
“May he always be on your side,” the old woman said. Tess waved at the little children. The teenager blushed. “Bye, Danny,” she said, pursing her lips. The boy looked away, ashamed of his hormonal teenager tendencies.
Tess weaved through the campsites, keeping the barn on the edge of the field in her sights.
Near the end of their camp sat a simple weathered barn. The color was so faded that one could barely tell that it was once a vibrant red. Time, wind, and rain had stripped it down to a dull chipped gray. The timber was warped, and in some places, outright missing. If it rained, it wouldn’t provide much shelter. It would only get in the way as the water ran along the wood until it dripped inside. The barn doors were closed and two men stood out front. One held an AR-15 and the other held a wood-stocked AK-47. They both held their guns loose in the bend of their elbows.
A towering old oak tree stood, withered branches extended outward. Tess continued to walk and took cover behind the tree.
“They say we’re going to have to fight our way across,” said one guard. He wore a full hunting woodland camouflage suit.
The other one wore a navy ballistic vest. “Shit, I’d rather swim it.”
The hunter shook his head. “I’ll tell you one thing. I’d rather fight these backwater yokels than go toe-to-toe with the soldiers.”
“No shit. We won’t stand a chance when we’re pinned on the river and old Scarface won’t keep us moving.” He wiped a hand through his greasy hair.
“What a moron. I’m telling you, I had a shot on him at the battle on the lakeshore.”
The man in the ballistic vest turned toward the other guard. “No way. Why didn’t you take it? This shit would have been over and we could have stayed put at the Temple. Now we’re stuck out here in the middle of nowhere.”
The hunter tilted his head to the side. “He ducked.”
“How’d you know it was him?”
“What other guy’s got a huge scar on his head?”
“True. True.”
These men still want us dead. Even the old woman disdains us. I knew they couldn’t be trusted, but the key lies with their leader.
Having heard enough of the guards’ bravado, Tess followed a dirt path around the barn. She weaved between a pickup and a bus.
She crept to the back of the barn and listened. Men’s voices leaked out
from the cracks of loose graying boards. She thought she heard the pastor’s voice, but she couldn’t be sure. She pushed her face near a crack in the boards.
Dark forms moved on the other side. Damn, can’t see anything.
Long grass had grown up along the edge of the barn, and she crept along until she came across a wooden ladder lying sideways on the ground. Her eyes drifted upward to an opening to the hayloft. The door was open and swung loose against the barn wall.
As quietly as she could, she lifted the ladder upright and leaned it against the hayloft opening. She climbed rung over rung up the ladder. At the top, she sidestepped onto the barn loft. She crouched down for balance and peered through cracks in the wood below.
She couldn’t miss him. He was like a black-clad specter in his preaching garb, white collar at his neck. He wasn’t alone.
Roughly twenty men stood in the middle of the dark barn. No lights illuminated them, and the gray sky above provided only a dim glow from outside. She listened hard, turning an ear in their direction.
“Christ is the only one who can save you from this hell,” the pastor’s voice said. He stood in the front of the barn, holding a small book in his hands.
“You there in the hat. What’s your name?”
“Young,” the man said.
“That’s a fine name. I am old and you are young,” the pastor said. He gave a rich laugh and so did the people in attendance.
“Young, you are part of a pretty tight outfit, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. The War Machines are a tough club. They would fight for me and die for the club.”
Tess inched her way across the boards, hoping none would give her away.
“Of course they would. They’re your guys, but if you’re so tight with them, why are you here? What do you seek?”
Tess peered through the cracks in the wood. The man crossed his arms and his body language was that of a man with severe indigestion.
“I dunno. All this death and destruction got me thinking.”
“May God show you the way, Mr. Young,” the pastor’s voice was grave. “I wish I had a hundred lives to give. No, a thousand lives to give for my people. And you know why, Mr. Young?”
“I guess not.”
“Because I know that when I die, the angels will come down to earth and carry me on their wings to heaven. I don’t think it. I know it. And knowing that gives me strength. More strength than a hundred armed men. More strength than the army. More strength than your gang.”
The pastor’s voice grew quiet. “What happens to you when you die, Mr. Young?”
“I…I don’t know. Go to heaven, I guess.”
Tess stared hard, trying to recognize the people as her eyes adjusted to the weak light. At least half of the ones in the audience wore biker vests. She saw the skull and gears of the War Machines, the seven ghost women of the Seven Sisters, and a skull with the crimson streaks of the Red Stripes, along with a short curly-haired man. Rick. That idiot. Why is he here?
The pastor continued. “That’s why you’re here. That’s why all of you are here.” The pastor paced on the wood floors, his cowboy boots echoing along the creaking boards. “Some of you are seeking a community. Some of you are seeking salvation. Some of you only want to feel like things are back to normal.” The pastor stopped pacing. He stood erect. “I can give you this if you can give him your souls. He asks for so little but gives so much.” The pastor’s hands spread wide.
This guy is recruiting more zealots right underneath our very noses. Just wait until Steele hears this. He will put a stop to this preaching. And if he doesn’t, I will.
“I only ask this. Drop to your knees now and swear to him that you will uphold his holy laws. Swear to destroy those who bear the Mark. You need not join us openly but go and watch the others. Be silent among them, but celebrate our joy with us for we are the many. Kneel,” he commanded.
The old wooden floor groaned as feet turned into knees. The pastor gestured to a man who kept standing. “You need not be afraid, Brother. Kneel and all your fear will be taken away.”
The man hesitated but knelt. “May you look down upon your people and bless them for these are your Chosen people. These people will build your Kingdom. Give them your strength to stand up to the unbelievers and those marked by Satan.” The pastor bowed his head.
“Rise as his champions. Go and do his bidding.” The wood moaned and the newest Chosen rose upright.
The pastor hugged a woman and shook a man’s hand. “There will be food over by my tent. Please come and celebrate.”
Tess shook her head, watching the suckers with their false sense of security. The traitors to the others. Come on, Rick. You were one of us. Damn, he’s no better than the dead. Steals our people and makes them his own.
KINNICK
Warden, IA
“Who took the shot?” Kinnick repeated through the megaphone.
He regarded the desperate faces below. The people stared at one another in confusion. An unshaven man in a tank top covered with a blue windbreaker spoke up. “Ain’t nobody here took no shots. We be honest folk.” He finished with a nod.
Kinnick looked downward for a moment, collecting himself. “There is a nineteen-year-old Marine dying on a table inside. Somebody must know something or seen something that can help me bring the perpetrator to justice.”
A light murmur rumbled through them, almost like a faint wind of voices, but no one spoke loud enough for him to press further.
Kinnick shook his head. “I didn’t want to do this, but for everyone’s safety, we are putting Warden under strict curfew. Anyone out after dark, living or dead, is considered an immediate threat and will be shot on sight.”
Faces snarled and anger rippled through them. Voices grumbled.
“We don’t need you!” shouted a woman with a fist in the air.
“You can’t do that,” the man in the windbreaker said.
Kinnick stared down the man. “I can and I will.” He let the megaphone down for a moment, watching them. He would not budge on this. “We’re here to help, but until this criminal is brought to justice, we will occupy and enforce martial law over this island.”
People waved him off. Kinnick handed the megaphone back to Gary.
Gary held the megaphone to his lips and his other hand in the air. “Now, everything’s going to be all right.” He patted the air with his free hand as he spoke. “If anyone knows anything about the shooter, please come to me or the colonel before dark. Anytime after that and we will need to wait until morning.”
The people wandered away. They melted between houses and back to their docked boats. Kinnick and Gary watched the people drift away. Gary leaned on the wooden railing, looking down at the street. He glanced up at Kinnick. The wrinkles around his tired eyes were deep but filled with more worry than anything else.
“Colonel, we are a simple people. Some folk may not take kindly to strangers, but we ain’t violent. Worst I seen them do is fistfight at Jack’s Lookout.”
Kinnick sucked in air through his nose. “We didn’t come here to fight you. We came here to help stiffen up any resistance that Warden and the other towns have to offer.” Kinnick glanced down. “But somebody shot my Marine and I will see justice done. We don’t have room for detractors. Our nation is on the edge of defeat. I implore you.” He stopped and pled with the man with his eyes. “No, I beg you to help me bring this man to justice so we can prepare for the real fight.”
Kinnick peered out across the Mississippi River. A dim sun covered by opaque clouds was close to setting behind them, leaving almost no color on the water. A larger town could be seen farther north on the Illinois side of the river. A bridge and long road stretched through swampy islands, connecting Warden to Garfield. “The dead are coming. We don’t have time to fight amongst ourselves.”
Gary gulped and nodded gravely. “I wish I could help you, Colonel, but I don’t know who did it.” He squinted out over the dark brown water. “We haven’
t had too many of them cross the river. With your help, I’m sure we can weather the storm.”
Kinnick pointed out over the horizon. “Tens of thousands if not more will end up here.” Kinnick didn’t know the truth of his words. He only knew it was going to be bad, and even with his help, these people would most likely be annihilated by infected tooth and nail. “You must be ready or you will be overrun.”
Gary blew air out, puffing his cheeks. “Woo. That’s not a pretty picture you’re paintin’.” He gave Kinnick a quick genuine smile and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Colonel. Martha will fix us up something nice.”
Kinnick followed his host back down the stairs and inside the restaurant. Washington and Duncan were posted on the windows.
Hunter looked up, holding a radio in one hand. “Hamilton One has circled the island twice now. Seen a few people moving around, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Tell them I want a patrol around the island once an hour after dark. Vary their routes. Between runs, I want them sitting right off the dock. If we need any heavy firepower in the night, I want them ready to go.”
Hunter nodded his head, gripped his radio in one hand, and relayed the message. He turned to Volk.
The Marine sergeant puffed up, making himself look bigger and ready to rumble.
“Volk, split your men into twos. You only patrol in eyeshot of Hamilton One. After forty-five minutes, come back here, and after a few patrols, rotate with the next team.”
“Yes, sir.” He glanced at Whitehead. “Boone and Ramos, you two drew the short straw. You got first patrol.”
“Ah shit, Sergeant,” Boone said.
Ramos lifted his chin. “Esto es una mierda.”
Boone frowned. “English, por favor.”
Ramos scooped up his helmet. “Come on, you redneck pendejo.”
Boone’s brow crossed. “You know I can’t understand you when you talk like that.”
Ramos slapped Boone on the shoulder. “That’s the point. Come on.”
The Departing (The End Time Saga Book 4) Page 22