by G. R. Carter
“Why do you say that?” Lamar asked. He had been waiting for this moment to start pressing for more information. Once there was no hope of rescue from her own people, human nature would force her to start searching for new allies.
“You’re a smart guy. If you thought they were still following us, you wouldn’t have allowed the fire.”
“I’m impressed. We’ll make a woodsman out of you yet,” Lamar joked.
“So you’re not going to kill us?” Pina asked.
Lamar was taken back by the question, surprised by the tone and words. “Of course not. Why would you ask that?”
“We’re not worth anything as human shields anymore. I just figured that made me a liability instead of an asset.”
“Pina, what do we have to do to prove to you that we’re not like that?” Lamar pleaded. He found himself actually liking her, and did feel a little sorry for her being in this situation. It wounded his soul a bit that she assumed he was capable of doing something like killing a hostage.
“You could let me go,” she said hopefully, finally looking up at Lamar.
“Is that really what you want? For us to set you lose out here in the woods by yourself? I said we would make a woodsmen out of you, not that you already were one,” he chuckled.
“Just assume a pretty little lady can’t make it on her own, mister big tough super man?” she said sarcastically.
“I’m pretty sure you met my mother. Is that how you think I was raised?” Silence fell as Pina watched sadness creep across Lamar’s face. He was still in pain from the thought of leaving his mother behind.
None of this seemed real yet. He felt as though this was just an extended hunting trip. But there was no way to go back now. The Cogs may not be looking for them anymore this far out, but he had no doubt they’d be sitting and watching the camp for a long time. Whoever was in charge would assume that eventually they’d have to come back.
“You think she’s okay,” Pina asked Lamar.
“Yes I do. The Elders had this planned ever since we moved into the caves. They put up enough supplies to last an entire year for all of us in that cave. They won’t get bored and restless like the rest of us, try to make a move outside before they should. They’ve got their Bibles and other books, games and they can tell stories for days at a time. We just have to keep your Cogs away from there as much as possible,” Lamar told her.
“Think that will work?”
Lamar shrugged. “After our exodus - that’s what we call it when we fled the District – we formed close ties to the people of the small towns along the foot of the mountains. The first year or two were peaceful as we adjusted to new lives in a natural world. No one knew why the electricity and all communications disappeared, but there hadn’t been much time to speculate. Hours of endless toil yielded us a hard won harvest. Hunting parties spent days or even weeks at a time in the forest to bring back game.
“Against the urging of the Congregation, many of the townsfolk decided to make the journey into the city after the harshness of the first winter lifted into spring. Living without government rations or a steady supply of heat was a hard life. Suicide claimed some during that first winter, lack of medicine claimed others.
“We realized the human brain had morphed into a fly trapped in a jar, never able to rest and in constant motion. An endless stream of entertainment and information and medication fed the fly like sugar keeping everyone restless and always looking for the next rush. In one night, that sugar was cut off and multiple generations of electron junkies went cold turkey. Many couldn’t make the transition from a constant buzz to the new deafening quiet.
“Even some of the Congregation fell prey to the idea that it might be better back in the District. Ma quoted Bible passages to them, relating our situation to the Israelites. Even after all the miracles God gave them, the Jewish people were weak and afraid. Just like our folk got after a while. She convinced most to stay, but a fair number joined townsfolk one spring day to begin the walk towards the assumed safety of civilization. But none were ever heard from again,” Lamar told her.
“I’m surprised we, I mean the Federals, didn’t send out some patrols to locate people. We did a lot of rescuing communities like that,” Pina told him.
“Oh yeah, if you want to call it rescuing,” Lamar spit out. “Motorized patrols flying American flags made their way into the surrounding towns not long after that. Many townspeople hailed the sight of American soldiers with delight, disregarding the warnings of the Congregation to be wary of the uniforms and the intentions of those who wore them. The lure of the flag and the promise of order proved irresistible. Soon one town after another ceded their governance to the troops, until all that was left were folk who joined the Congregation in the mountains.
“Stragglers from the towns reported that the young people, male and female, had been bussed under gunpoint to join the Cogs in the capital. Soon all that was left in the towns were the weakest of the survivors, forced to live on shorter and less frequent rations. The Congregation did what they could to help, sneaking in food under the cover of darkness. But hard decisions had to be made about risking lives and protecting resources.
“Anyway we lived in fear each day of another Cog invasion up into the mountains, but none ever came. In fact, the last couple of years we’ve seen fewer and fewer patrols out our way. Then all those trucks started heading south,” Lamar concluded.
“So we’re really not going back?” Pina asked, desperate now to change the subject.
“No. Can’t now. We’re committed.”
“Committed to where?” Pina asked with a sweet smile.
Lamar laughed at her and grabbed the coffee pot. He poured a cup for her, then filled his own. He laughed again as her face twisted at the taste of the hot liquid. “Not used to campfire coffee in the Federal Zone?”
“What is in this crap?” she asked.
“That, Miss Pina, is just as much a secret as where we’re headed,” Lamar answered.
A loud wale of an air horn pierced the chilly night air. “Fires out!” Lamar shouted. Dirt kicked on to the coals as everyone grabbed their weapons and scrambled to shallow fox holes set out around the camps. The air horn was a warning from one of the outlier scouts, and wouldn’t have been used without a very good reason.
Automatic gun fire ripped through the night, pulling Lamar’s attention nearly straight out from his position. That’s not one of ours Lamar thought, subconsciously taking inventory of the weapons his scouts carried.
Another rifle fired from the group to his right, nearly giving them all night blindness from the flash. “Hold your fire!” came an order before Lamar could get the words out himself. Each of the smaller groups were led by a veteran of the Congregation’s scout training. Firing blind in the dark simply gave away your own position, and concealment might be the only thing saving them right now. Besides, their own people were out there, too.
Roy slid to a stop beside Lamar; respect swirled with irritation that he hadn’t heard the man coming. “Scarecrows on the wire,” he said, half shouting half whispering.
“How many? Better be a bunch to be giving away our position like that,” Lamar replied.
“Can’t tell for sure, but they’re already past the sentries. I do know for sure, there’s enough that we’re completely surrounded.”
Lamar did some quick calculations, figuring up how many enemy it would take to surround their group; he decided at least 50 and probably more like 100. Plus his adversary possessed the tactical advantage of knowing the terrain. It all added up to one thing, this was bad.
“Okay listen, the sentries will stand on their own at this point, we’ve trained them for this. Pull everyone else in together so there’s no friendly fire,” Lamar ordered. “Then we can shoot at anything that moves in front of us.”
“That means we’ll be trapped,” Roy said, half questioning the plan.
“We’re trapped anyway,” Lamar answered. “We’ve got to play for
time. When daylight comes, we’ll be able to tell what we’re up against.”
Satisfied with the answer, Roy slipped away into the darkness to pass orders to the rest of the groups. “How do you know it’s not Cogs finally finding us? Instead of this scarecrow group.” Pina asked from the side.
“Cause if it was, they wouldn’t be firing on us already. And those aren’t Cog issue weapons going off out there. Scarecrows aren’t a group, they’re just scavengers and thieves that live in packs out in these forests. They probably been tracking us for a day or so, waiting to spring the trap. Roy said a couple of sentries saw something yesterday, but I didn’t figure for an organized attack like this. This shows some level of planning,” Lamar said.
“I wish you would have done a better job of figuring. Because of you I’m going to die out in the boonies under a cold rock,” Pina said spitefully.
“Well Miss Pina, I promise I’ll leave a nice message on your stone. The Congregation doesn’t die that easy,” Lamar replied, and slipped into the shallow fox hole dug just feet from where they were.
More muzzle flashes came from their left, the direction Roy had slipped off into the dark. Shouting pierced the dark, and then several crouching figures came into view through the dim moonlight.
No one said a word as each person crouched into the exact same firing position, all pointed back towards where they came from. One of the Congregation members fired their weapon, temporarily blinding anyone looking that way. Lamar’s ears started ringing from the roar. He subconsciously opened his mouth and moved his jaw around, trying to free the imaginary cotton balls filling his ears.
Another group came in from the opposite direction, and now he had about thirty of his people fanned out in a semicircle from the rock outcropping behind him.
“No one fires until I say,” Lamar sound firmly. “We should have more folk coming in, we can’t risk hurting them.”
Eerie calm in the woods contrasted with the racing hearts Lamar felt as much as heard in his people. The shock of the attack was wearing off, now replaced with the terror of not knowing who was hunting them in the dark. Each second brought more concern for their friends and family still out there. Lamar could feel them getting edgy to go into the dark and help.
“Hold on everyone. I want to go out there, too. But right now there’s too many itchy triggers. If we see a major fight break out, I want five men with me. First five up, everyone else stay and protect each other. Understood?” No one said a word, but the message was delivered.
As if on cue, multiple rifles went off directly in front of Lamar’s position. Without thinking, he rose and began crouch running towards the fight. He could hear leaves crunching underfoot behind him confirming that he was being followed by his volunteers.
“Onward Christian Soldiers, marching as to war,
With the cross of Jesus, going on before!”
The chorus of the hymn was taken up by the men behind Lamar, using it both as encouragement in the face of death but also to let fellow Congregation members know who was coming. The powerful lyrics were used by their people in every skirmish large or small as a rallying cry. The same lines repeated again, parroted back from baritone and base voices in front of them.
In a few steps, Lamar found himself striding past familiar faces. A quick count told him at least ten more of the Congregation were here, pinned down and unsure of where to go. Using the momentum of their run, and the brief confusion of the noise created by his rush, Lamar intended to go on the attack.
In a matter of a few yards, he smelled the stench of unwashed human bodies. Movement flashed and he squeezed off a burst from his rifle. A face appeared and he instinctively swung the rifle’s butt up to hit under the chin. The shock of the impact tore the rifle from his hands, causing him to grab for the pistol at his hip. Another form came at him, seeming to be almost parallel to the ground, a long stick in one hand with something sharp that caught a glare of moonlight. Lamar fired his pistol but the creature came on, finally sliding to a stop at his feet as the last bullet left the barrel.
Then something was one his back, grabbing at his throat with wire like fingers, searching for a soft spot. He raised himself up in the air, and fell back with all his might. Two hundred pounds of muscle drove his attacker into the ground, forcing a disgusting blast of breath out of a rotted mouth. Lamar didn’t have time to gag as he sprung and spun at the same time, bringing the full force of his knee down into the soft abdomen of the scarecrow. He paused for a millisecond, staring into the distorted face of a young woman, suddenly not so scary.
A scream lashed into his ear drum and he was tackled from the side. A knife blade tore into his leg, then pulled out to try to strike again. The pain flashed like white fire, turning Lamar’s survival instinct into rage. He grabbed the scarecrow’s head and twisted, feeling the bones pop and the sudden limpness of disconnected nerves.
Like a leopard he was up on his feet, trying to survey the area and get a handle on the situation. He worked to calm his breath, focusing on the surroundings instead of the pain radiating from the gash in his leg. He could feel blood seeping into his pants around the wound but it still held weight for now.
“Rally to me, Congregation!” Lamar shouted. He was relatively confident the scarecrows didn’t have any guns left, so there would be strength in grouping his men back together. “To me, to me!” he shouted again, his bass voice echoing through the trees. Some limped, some jogged and some just seemed to appear around him. “Weapons check,” he commanded, and the ten Congregation members all grabbed for their pistols and knives. That means at least five of my folk are still out there, probably hurt Lamar thought to himself. That couldn’t be helped right now, not in the middle of a life or death fight in the dark.
He wasn’t sure how long all of this had been going on, could have been minutes or hours.
“Alright, did anyone see where the scarecrows were coming from?” Lamar asked the group.
No one answered.
“Ok, then we’re going to advance a little ways out, see if we can find any of our guys hurt, okay? Any scarecrows get the mercy stroke. Can’t trust any of them alive at this point,” he commanded. Pastor will be getting an ear bent because of that order… Lamar suddenly thought of Pastor still back at the cave, probably praying for their safety right now. His two living sons were along with him on the westward trek, though Lamar wasn't quite sure just where they were right at this moment.
The men didn’t sneak now, unafraid at this point to make noise. They came across two bodies intertwined; a scarecrow and a Congregation member locked in a final death struggle. Then another three scarecrows, one still moaning and laying in the fetal position. Lamar’s knife flashed into the back of the man’s skull, causing the sound to stop.
“Lamar stop!” a shout up ahead in the dark stopped them in their tracks. “They got me tied up, it’s a trap!” then a scream of pain and the pitched howls of men running at them through the trees.
“Back to the ridge!” Lamar shouted, then turned and made sure everyone was moving before he began his own run. The wounded leg was throbbing now, barely overcome by another adrenal dump that forced his muscles to act.
His men were shouting at their friends in front not to shoot, needing a miracle and discipline to keep from being hurt by friendly fire. Crashing sounds came from behind as his pursuers made their way through the branches and leaves behind him. He detested being prey, longing to turn and fight again instead of waiting for a blade in the back. He pushed down the panic that came with flight, trying to regain his strategic plan.
He tripped and fell face first while trying to leap over a small washout, his leg finally betraying him. He grabbed at a tree’s roots, trying to pull himself back up. Debris of the forest floor gave way with each grasp robbing him of any handhold he could use. Try as he might to stay calm, panic began to set in at the thought of his pursuers right behind him.
Incredibly strong fingers dug into his neck and forced his
face into one of the puddles pooled at the bottom of the washout. Shock of the wetness made him gasp, sucking mud into his mouth. Gagging with dreadful terror his mind raced - I’m going to die here along with the rest of my people. Infuriated, he began to thrash wildly using every last muscle to throw off his tormentor. Finally he gained footing on a rock and thrust his body forward. He heard the man on his back gasp from the force, loosening the grip just long enough to give Lamar the chance to jump up. He swung blindly, unable to see through mud caked eyes.
“Lamar wait! It’s over, we’re safe!” He could hear Pina’s voice start to burn through his primal rage.
Why is she talking? Where is everyone else? Mind racing, he began to rub his eyes. The shock of the fight caused him to begin to sob as he sank to his knees. “I don’t understand,” he was able to finally cough out through the grimy mud still lodged in his teeth and tongue.
A familiar voice finally calmed his nerves. “Lamar, it’s Ty. I’m going to come up next to you now. Okay? It’s all safe now,” Ty told him as he walked carefully beside his still heaving cousin. “I’ve got a handkerchief to help you clean up your face.”
Lamar simply shook his head while the cloth wiped across his eyes. He grabbed it in his own hands, rubbing as hard as he could stand. There seemed to be light now, not bright but still the sky was becoming gray instead of pitch black.
“The Creek men are here,” Ty told him, anticipating the upcoming question. “They showed up just as the scarecrows got to us. You held them off the bad guys just long enough, brother.”
Roy also arrived, and now had an arm around Lamar’s shoulder and he was sobbing a bit himself.
The Creek men…right, that’s who we’re looking for. They’ll help us make it west he reminded himself. “How…how many lost,” Lamar stammered.
“Not sure yet. The Creeks are helping us look for some that are missing. But we saved most…did what we could.”
Another arm settled around Lamar, this one decidedly feminine. “You saved us Lamar. Thank you,” he heard Pina’s voice crack. There was sincerity in the statement.