The Compound

by Darrel Bird

The compound

  By Darrel Bird

  Copy©right 2015 by Darrel Bird

  Part 1- The Road

  None of the people Paul Murphy knew had an idea of what was going to happen to the Christians in America back in 2015. Oh sure, there was the gloom and doomers. There are always the gloom and doomers. Jesus said the poor we always have with us. Maybe he should have included the gloom and doomers. Youtube was rife with self proclaimed prophets proclaiming the fall of America from atomic bombs to Asteroids from space.

  Things got rough, but then there were food lines clear back in the thirties, so it wasn’t anything America hadn’t seen before. Christians are mostly a free hearted lot, and are willing to help one another, and even others outside the fold, but some left wing whing ding let his hate get the most of him, and began blaming the Christians for everything that was happening to them. This caught on fast. Things got worse, gas, food and rent went sky high, and the government began loosing its iron grip on the populace and came up with the idea to blame it on the Christians. Another left wing whing ding in Washington D.C. latched on to this Christian blaming game and ran with it. Soon people began to believe it, right down to your every day Joe the plumber.

  By 2019 if the lettuce crop failed in California, forest fires burned homes, or the price of food, and gas went up, the people had a scapegoat. Christians were shot for being Christian and no one did anything. It was open season on them. Churches and homes were bombed, the Christians suffered, and the church went mostly underground. Portland Oregon was a bad place to live in 2019. They blew Paul Murphy’s house up with his wife in it, and Paul, with nothing but his cloths on his back walked up the I-84 highway thinking the road to Denver might be a better place to get off somewhere to lick his wounds as it were.

  Paul was long on grief, and short on food. Paul, with no home, no wife, or no job, felt like his life was pretty well done up. He tried to stay off the highway in the day time because of pot shooters who passed. He ended up outside Baker City, Oregon, and he was so worn in body and spirit he didn’t hear the car begin to slow behind him until it was even with him.

  “Where are you heading Sir? Are you a Christian?” The young man leaned his head out the window of a small car and asked.

  “Yes. Off… maybe Denver or thereabouts.”

  No one would admit he was a Christian nowadays unless he was one. It used to be the thing to say in America. Oh yes, I’m a Christian, they would say, but now it could get you killed, and they weren’t in an all fired hurry to proclaim Christ.

  “We are pretty loaded down, but I think we can make some room for you to ride.”

  “Why would you do that? If you want to kill me, just do it. Why did you stop?”

  “The Holy Spirit prompted us to stop for you. We are Christians, we don’t kill people; we heard there was a place in Colorado we would be safe, so we are going there. Let us pull off the road, and we’ll make a place for you to ride.”

  “Ok.”

  The young woman that was driving pulled the car off the road. The man got out of the small car and began shoving cloths and boxes around. He soon made a small place for Paul to sit. Paul was barely able to squeeze into the small space beside the cardboard boxes, and loose clothing. The tiny back seat left Paul’s knees drawn up almost to his chest.

  It wasn’t long before his five foot nine; one hundred eighty five pound frame began to protest.

  “My name is Howard Simpson, and this is my wife Linda.” The young woman smiled at him. He figured they were both under twenty five.

  “Name is Paul Murphy. Where did you say you were going?”

  “We are going to a place called Indian Valley in Central Colorado; there is a Christian compound there.”

  “Why this place?”

  “Neither of us has been able to get work. The word we got was that the Christians had food.”

  “I have a little money, but I don’t think I can ride that far. My knees are already hurting.”

  “Can you drive?”

  “Sure.”

  “I can sit back there, I’m a lot smaller.” Linda said. “Howard…pull over.”

  “I don’t want you to do that for me. I don’t want help.”

  “If God gives you help, you should take it. You can help Howard drive, that way we don’t have to stop except for gas.” Linda said.

  Howard found a place to pull the car off the road, and Paul exchanged seats with Linda. When she got out of the car he saw she was a tiny woman. After he was situated in the front seat his legs began to feel better. At forty nine years old he was still in fair shape, but the last year had worn on him, sapping his strength as well as his spirit. Both Howard, and Linda seemed a cheerful couple, and it was good for him to be with someone such as that.

  As they got near Brigham City Utah Howard said it was safer for Christians, and they decided on a restaurant meal in a small Mormon owned café off the road. He had driven big rigs and knew about the place. The home cooking was delicious and it seemed a bit of heaven to the three of them. The Café also had gas pumps, and Howard crammed every drop he could get in the car before they went in.

  The conversation was sparse as they ate as hungry people do. Finally Paul pushed back his plate, and accepted more coffee from the friendly waitress.

  “So how do you know this is a safe place you are going to?” He asked.

  “Our church was bombed, and our pastor told us of it. That was three days before they shot him.”

  “Killed?”

  “Yes.” Howard said gravely. “Our pastor also said that it isn’t the great tribulation, but it’s getting really close. Linda and I were the young people’s leader, but with the church gone, there was no one to lead. I can sing a little, but Linda is a wonderful singer.”

  “Don’t let Howard tell you that Paul, he’s a great singer.” Linda said.

  “I’m sure you both use your gifts for the glory of God.” Paul said.

  “What did you do before this?” Howard asked.

  “I was a writer for the Portland paper until they bombed my house. That’s when they reported me as a Christian, and the paper fired me. My wife was in the house when the bomb went off.”

  “It will get better Paul.” Linda said quietly as she reached across the table and squeezed his hand. Tears were forming in her eyes.

  “I don’t need pity.”

  “No, but you need to let people feel for you.” Howard said.

  “We better get back on the road.” Paul said.

  They thanked the lady behind the register and crammed themselves back into the tiny car, “We’ll be at the compound by eight tonight; wake me when it’s my turn to drive.” Howard said, as he laid his pillow against the window of the car to sleep.

  Paul thought about the conversation in the restaurant as he drove the car. Yes I do need to let people feel for me, Christians are going to feel my pain anyway, and maybe it will get better as Linda said. The miles sped away under the car as they ventured into the mountains and high plains of an America that had failed itself. Soon the Lord would command the Angel to take a final swing of his sickle and reap, but until that day it was mostly survival.

  Part 2- The Compound

  When they reached Laramie Wyoming Howard took the cut off toward Denver, and then took another road and proceeded toward Meeker Colorado. When he was fifteen miles out of Meeker he turned down a graveled road, and drove for six miles, then turned off that onto a dirt road that led through the mountains. The road began to get steep as they climbed a switchback to come out in high country with stands of evergreens. They came to a small guard shack. A grey haired man walked out of the hut with a rifle in his hand. He held up his hand as they came to a stop.

  “No entry beyond this point folks,
sorry. This is private land.”

  Howard leaned his head out the window, “I’m Howard Simpson. Pastor Dan Egan in Portland Oregon told us to come here.”

  “I know him, how is Dan nowadays?”

  “He’s dead, church blown up. He told us about this place before he died.”

  “You all Christians?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, if Dan sent you, I guess it’s all right to let you in, but I don’t know how many more we can let in, we are filled to capacity already. There is a another small shack about fifty yards before you get to the compound, stop there and tell Burt I sent you on down.”

  “Who might you be sir?”

  “Name is Colby.” He held out his hand.

  “Thanks Colby.” Howard shook his hand, and drove on.

  They found the little shack where another man came out to greet them holding up his hand, he also had a side arm on his waist. He had a German Shepard dog on a leash.

  “Colby sent us on to you.” Howard said.

  The man looked inside the car at the three of them, “I’ll have to search the car…you folks can get out and stand over there by the shack.”

  While they stood by the shack he led the dog around the car, then inside the car as the dog sniffed for explosives. The man finished the search and walked back to the shack.

  “I have some questionnaires for you each to fill out, but that doesn’t mean you can stay. After you fill out the questionnaire, you have to meet with the board. They meet in that house tacked to the front of that Quonset hut yonder. I’ll call ahead to let them know you are coming while you fill out the questionnaire.” He said, pointing toward the nearest Quonset hut. There were six large Quonset huts in the compound, and a few small shacks sat around the eight foot high chain link fence that surrounded it. Razor wire ringed the top of the fence which made the place look more like a prison.

  After they had filled out the questionnaire the man directed them to the small house. Howard knocked on the door, and a voice inside said, “Enter.”

  They entered the door and saw three older men seated on the opposite side of a table, “please take a seat.”

  After they had seated themselves across from the three men Paul felt as if he had been sent to the principles office back in high school. One of the three men looked up from the sheet of paper and spoke, “You may introduce yourselves.”

  After they had introduced themselves the man looked at Paul, “I see here you’ve had military service?”

  “Yes, I served in Afghanistan for one year.”

  “Good, we are putting you on the hunting party. You all don’t have a say in where you are placed to serve, you go where we need you if you stay.”

  “What about you Mr. and Mrs. Simpson? You were young folks leaders it says here.”

  “Yes.” They both answered in unison.

  “Well I’m afraid we have plenty of that already as most of the people in this camp were deeply involved with the churches. Mr. Simpson will have to do various chores under the supervision of the camp overseer, and Mrs. Simpson will work in the nursery. Thank you for doing a good job of filling out the forms. It saves time. As time goes along your assignments may change. It’s not a life sentence, but there are now ninety two people in this compound that have to be cared for. If you have questions we would try to answer them, but its best to get your feet wet first as it were.”

  One of the other men spoke, “You can go inside this building to eat. It’s the cafeteria, and they still have the food hot. Most everyone else has eaten already. After you eat, your individual supervisors will show you where you sleep. Your car will be unloaded, taken outside the compound and dismantled for parts.”

  “But sir, the car is a good runner!” Howard spoke up.

  “Yes, I expect it is, but we have four pickups to maintain, and we can’t keep the cars. I’m sorry. If there are any of you want to leave, you need to speak up now.”

  Howard looked at Paul, “No, we’ll all stay.”

  “Ok then, it’s on to chow; the stuff out of your car will be by the front door of this building. Most of it will be taken to stores, but you can get your blankets, cloths and personal stuff.”

  They entered the Quonset hut, and saw the dining tables reaching across the room with a buffet line of food. Half of the Quonset hut was walled off for a kitchen. There was a lone woman eating at one of the nearest tables. A man working behind the buffet spoke, “The board said you would be coming, just get trays and silverware at the end, and take what you want. It’s a little cold, but it’s edible. Take all you want.”

  After they had food on their trays they sat down at the nearest table to eat. As they ate Paul looked at the woman who had long black hair. She was a nice looking woman with dark skin. While they were eating two other people, a man and a woman, walked in with clipboards in their hands, “Paul Murphy?” The man asked.

  “Here.” Paul answered.

  “Sorry to interrupt your meal, but it’s getting late, and this has to be done, says here you are on the hunting party, can you shoot a scoped rifle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Meet your hunting partner, Maria Gomez over there. Maria, if you are done eating, can you come over?”

  “Sure, let me give Alvin my tray.”

  Paul watched as she walked over and handed her tray to the man, and walked back to where they were sitting, “Sorry I’m late Bob.”

  “No sweat, you’re not on a regular schedule. Meet Paul Murphy, your new hunting partner.”

  The woman reached out to shake hands, her demeanor giving away nothing, “I go out at five AM in the morning, be up and ready.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to wake you at four, Maria is a worry wart.” Bob grinned as he said it, and that loosened the tension somewhat. Maria gave him a rather grave look, and turned to walk away toward the front door of the building.

  “Ok, I’ll show you your bed if we are all through here? Hanna here will show Howard and Linda where they bunk.”

  The woman split off with Howard and Linda. Bob led him to the building directly across from the buffet. He led him to a single bed in the very front of the room, “This is your bed Paul, your friends will be housed in a cubicle for the married people in the far back left corner of the compound if you wish to visit them later.”

  The single beds in this room were about three feet apart, and the building appeared to house about forty men. The man bid him good night and left. Paul sat down on the single bunk, and sighed as he took off his shoes.

  “I can tell you ain’t had them socks off in a while.” The man in the bed next to him grinned at him and said.

  “Sorry.” Paul returned.

  “Its ok, clean socks ain’t all that common here. I’d guess you are a rifleman since you were assigned that bunk, name is Fred Collins. We go to bed a little early, but you’ll appreciate that after a day or two in this camp. What did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t say, but it’s Paul Murphy, what happened to the man who had this bunk?”

  “Fell off a cliff and died. Good night Paul, God bless, and welcome to the compound.”

  Part 3-The Hunt

  It seemed to Paul that he had no more than closed his eyes when he felt a hand shaking him awake, “Go to the buffet kitchen, and eat.” Bob whispered in his ear. He quietly dressed, and walked through the front door of the building, and over to the other building.

  He could see a crack of light around the door of the kitchen, and he smelled food cooking. He walked into the dimly lit buffet to see Maria already eating. She nodded her head slightly at him and continued eating. A cook brought him a tray of food and coffee, and sat a thermos bucket down on the table.

  “There isn’t much coffee left, so enjoy it.” Maria said. He saw two rifles with scopes laid out on another table.

  Paul wasted no time eating; he wasn’t all that hungry at four fifteen in the morning. Maria looked at him and spoke again, “You might better get used
to it, and you’ll be mighty hungry before we get back today. We are hunting an area twenty miles from the camp. That’s your 270 Winchester there; I hope you can hit something smaller than a barn door.”

  “Why so far out to hunt?” Paul asked as he took another sip of the hot coffee.

  “Game is getting scarce closer in. It was scarce before we began hunting for food, now it’s almost none existent. You have three minutes to finish that coffee, and then we have to go.”

  Paul hurriedly swallowed the last of the coffee, and then followed her out to an early model four wheel drive pickup. Things had happened so fast after they reached the compound that he had scarcely had time to think, and he welcomed this hunt to gain time to catch up.

  After they left the first check point, they proceeded a half mile further, and then turned off on another dirt road that he hadn’t noticed as they came in. The road was actually no more than a track across the rolling hills. The rough road tossed him back and fourth as they rode. After about three miles of this they turned onto yet another road that began to climb into higher country, and there was not much opportunity to talk above the noise of the engine as she shifted into a lower gear. Paul lost track of time as they proceeded deeper into the mountains. Eventually Maria pulled the truck off the track, and into a steep gully, and stopped the engine. All he could hear was the sowing of the wind in the dry pine, and the ticking of the engine as it began cooling.