The Valley of Dry Bones

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  Next, the Gills and the Xaviers and their kids, Caleb and Kayla, headed off for the quarter mile or so walk to Doc’s Land Rover. Zeke noticed Jennie was moving slowly, but Doc’s wife hung back with her, and Gabrielle was not only packing, but she also knew her way around a weapon.

  Zeke planned to wait till the six of them were out of sight before releasing Raoul and Benita Gutierrez, Elaine Meeks, and Katashi Aki. Once they were gone, he, Alexis, and Sasha would go.

  He couldn’t wait to get back and spend some time with Alexis. He still wasn’t sure how he would broach this matter of God revealing Himself in such a dramatic fashion, but there was no way around it: Whatever it meant, she had to be in it with him all the way or it would never work. Zeke had to decide whether the diminished water intake experiment had affected his mental capability—which might motivate Alexis to take Sasha and accompany the Gills east—or that God really was calling him to some higher plane (which could just as easily have the same effect on Alexis).

  Zeke certainly didn’t feel qualified for some divine call, but everything he had ever learned told him that maybe that was the point—nobody God called was ever worthy, let alone qualified. Regardless of how Alexis reacted, what might Pastor Bob think?

  With just the seven of them left in the room, Zeke nodded Katashi over and asked if he would take window duty and let him know when Jennie and Gabrielle were out of sight. Then he asked Elaine if he could have a moment. She followed him to the corner by the door while Alexis was getting ready to go.

  “Could you find a reason to distract Sasha for an hour or so after lunch? I need to discuss something with Alexis and—”

  “Of course, Zeke. Never hesitate to ask.”

  “Oh, no!” Katashi said. “Zeke! They’re running this way! Even Jennie!”

  Zeke yanked the Glock from his belt. “Raoul, what are you carrying?”

  “Snub-nosed .38.”

  “Everybody else, fill your hands! Sasha, you up to speed on that nine-millimeter?”

  “I’m a better shot than you, Dad.”

  “You know the rules.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Alexis cried out, “God, help us!”

  “Raoul, come with me,” Zeke said. “Katashi, you know the drill. Set up a perimeter. Nobody gets in without the password.”

  “Got it.”

  Raoul swung the heavy two-by-four out of its brace, and Katashi held it as Zeke followed the Mexican out. At the slam of the door and a thump of the wood, Zeke and Raoul sprinted into the merciless midday sun toward the swirls of dust created by their compatriots running from who knew what or whom.

  Raoul quickly put ten yards between himself and Zeke and met Dr. Xavier, who’d stopped before passing Jennie Gill, apparently to be sure she was okay. When he got to Zeke and Raoul, the three of them were already breathless and drenched.

  “My Rover’s gone,” Doc said. “Had to be Mongers. Hope they haven’t followed Mahir and the others.”

  “Or know where we are,” Zeke said. “Get everybody safe. We’ll check on the other vehicles and get back to you—either to pick you all up or figure out what we do next.”

  “If Katashi’s back there and everybody’s armed,” Doc said, “I’m going with you.”

  “No, I need you there for Jennie or in case you guys get blindsided before we get back.”

  “What if you run into Mongers? Think you’re going to sweet-talk your way out of it? Who’s going to treat you if you get hurt?”

  “You and I shouldn’t be together, Doc. Anything happens to me, you’re in charge.”

  “Obviously. But don’t think you’re going to railroad me out of being the next pastor.”

  Zeke shot him a double take. “That’s the last thing on my mind right now, Doc. And it ought to be the last thing on yours too. Now get going.”

  Zeke and Raoul jogged about another half mile to where Raoul had left his four-door pickup. They found it on its top with all the tires slashed. “Glad I didn’t bring the tanker truck, man,” he said. “They woulda stolen that for sure.”

  “At least this is fixable,” Zeke said.

  “Yeah, but where we gonna get tires?”

  “We’ll figure it out. We always do. Barter, something. Let’s see what’s left of mine.”

  Another half mile away, Zeke’s nine-year-old Jeep Wrangler had its windows and lights smashed, tires—including the spare—slashed, and fuel tank ruptured. It had to be Mongers. They’d been smart enough not to let much of it spill on the parched ground. Anyone else would have salvaged the vehicle. They took only the valuable commodity.

  “You as hungry as I am, buddy?” Zeke said as they trudged back.

  “You kiddin’?” Raoul said. “Know how long it’s been since I’ve had my kinda food? I don’t even remember. Sometimes Benita and me, we dream about sneakin’ across the border and eating beans and rice and tortillas till we esplode.”

  “You’re not helping. I even dream about Tex-Mex or Taco Bell.”

  “Oh, man! People in my town would shoot you for sayin’ that.”

  Zeke laughed, which he found encouraging, considering. He couldn’t imagine the others finding anything funny about this.

  By the time the old tattoo parlor came into view, lizard and snake didn’t sound so bad after all.

  “What’re we gonna do, man?” Raoul said.

  Zeke shrugged. “What we always do, my friend. Once we’re all together, we’ll quote our password verse, we’ll pray, and we’ll start over.”

  “Start walkin’, you mean.”

  “No, Mahir and Danley and Cristelle will come looking for us soon enough.”

  “Yeah, then we’ll see how many of us can fit on one of their dirt bikes.”

  Zeke gave Raoul a high five as they reached the door, but they also had their weapons ready. It had been a relief to see no Mongers, but he wouldn’t breathe easy until he was sure they hadn’t been here while he’d been gone. He rapped on the door and was glad to hear Katashi: “Password!”

  “Isaiah 9:6.”

  The wood slid up, the door swung open, and Zeke’s brothers and sisters welcomed him and Raoul. After securing the door they knelt in a circle, held hands, and recited in unison: “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.”

  The rest looked up expectantly, and to no one’s surprise, Doc broke the ice. “So?”

  “We have a lot of work to do, friends.”

  PART 2

  THE MANTLE

  5

  WHO’S ON FIRST?

  “YOU’RE NOT THINKING of having us walk back in this heat . . .”

  “’Course not, Doc,” Zeke said. “Jennie’d never make it, and you can bet that with what they did to our vehicles the Mongers set us up for an ambush.”

  “I don’t get it,” Benita said. “Why didn’t they just take ’em?”

  “It was a message,” Katashi said. “They don’t need them.”

  “Okay, we’re all hungry,” Doc said. “Let’s quit gassing about this and send a couple of men back to the compound for some vehicles.”

  Zeke held up both hands. “I’ve got this, Doctor. It’s safest to stay right here until Mahir or—”

  “Belowground with one exit? We’re sitting ducks and you know it.”

  “Our people will come looking for us before long. How the Mongers missed the bikes, I don’t know, but—”

  “Meanwhile we sit here starving, hoping they don’t attack and smoke us out and—”

  “Wow, Doc, way to have faith and make the kids feel safe.”

  “Face facts, Zeke! For all we know, they followed our people and took out our whole installation and the rest of our vehicles.”

  “Dr. Xavier!” Pastor Bob said. “For the love of all things sacred . . .”

  Zeke moved to a corner and waved Doc over. The black man’s eye
s were slits, his jaw set.

  “What in the world, man?”

  “I don’t know, Zeke. You’re running this like Amateur Night in Dixie.”

  “I have no idea what that means, but you’re sure not helping. Listen, these people look up to you, so if you can’t help me keep ’em calm, I wish you’d shut up. Can you do that?”

  Doc recoiled. “What’d you say?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with your hearing. You know I respect you, but I need your attention and I need you with me. Are you with me?”

  Doc pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Yeah, I hear you.”

  The more time that passed without any sign of their compatriots, the more Zeke began to wonder if Doc was right. He considered sending Katashi and Raoul out to forage for food, maybe something that not so long ago was considered endangered. Once the state was condemned, its animals were no longer protected.

  Until the last few years, Zeke had never been an outdoorsman, let alone a hunter. He had since come to appreciate the circle of life and what men of nature could teach once office-bound men like him, Mahir, Doc, and Pastor Bob—not to mention their wives and even the children—about hunting their food and respecting the kill by avoiding waste. They were humane reapers: never for sport, making use of every bit of the target.

  Zeke had grown to admire and learn the skills of his brothers and sisters in mixing the most unlikely herbs and spices and liquids to tenderize and make not only palatable, but even appetizing, creatures he would not have dreamt of as meals. Now he found himself actually looking forward to artfully prepared insects, even arachnids, assorted vermin, and other mammals hardy (and ugly) enough to adapt to the new climate realities. Amazing how hunger could influence the taste buds. Desert tortoise the way Elaine Meeks or Katashi Aki prepared it, or coyote backstrap with Raoul Gutierrez’s special sauce became delicacies.

  Even thinking of it made him hungry, but Zeke didn’t dare send anyone out just now. If Mahir, Danley, or Cristelle didn’t show up within the next half hour, he’d have to assume the worst. He asked Alexis for pen and paper, which she produced from the same handbag she used to magically supply Caleb, and Kayla with diversions during long meetings. Zeke set about determining who would stay and who would go if help did not arrive.

  He had abandoned any vestige of sexism long ago. Benita Gutierrez was one of the best marksmen among the fourteen who shot (she and Doc taught their kids gun safety but wisely did not yet allow them to carry). Of all people, Sasha was also a crack shot who put most of the men to shame.

  But if worse came to worst that afternoon, Zeke would not be sending out any of the children, nor would he separate them from their mothers. So, among those who would stay he listed Alexis, Gabrielle, and the three kids. It only made sense to add Jennie Gill to that number, along with Elaine Meeks.

  He still maintained that he and Doc should be separated in the face of danger so the group would have a leader if anything happened to either of them, though this latest dustup made him question whether Doc was his most logical successor. Regardless, for now Doc needed to stay.

  That meant that for a sortie into Monger territory to find their friends and—he hoped—at least a couple of operable vehicles, Zeke would take Katashi, Raoul and Benita Gutierrez, and Pastor Bob. Naturally, that last one gave him pause. If either Pastor or Jennie had a second’s hesitation about it, he would defer to their judgment. But he knew Bob, remarkably spry for his age, would want to go, and that Jennie wouldn’t deny him.

  Zeke waited ten more minutes, then announced the plan. He was pleasantly surprised when Doc raised his hand.

  “Actually, boss,” he said not unkindly, “not only do I have you outnumbered, but I think my team has yours outclassed. Don’t worry. Nobody will get through that door who doesn’t belong.”

  “I have no doubt, Doc.”

  They divvied up ammunition and food and inventoried everyone’s water supply. There wasn’t much edible beyond emergency packs of dried seeds and nuts, and they were loath to exhaust those aside from literal life-and-death situations. The entire troop scavenged far and wide at dawn and dusk every other day, harvesting what meager foodstuffs the ravaged earth yielded. They meticulously compared seeds and nuts they gleaned from withering plants that grew scarcer every day against an exhaustive guide the scientists had prepared, specifying what was safe to eat.

  Zeke remembered clearly that Pastor Bob had often referred to the “miracle” of God’s selection process when He called the original holdouts, having impressed on the hearts of three scientists (two hydrologists and an MD) that they should be among those who would stay—and giving them the strength to persevere when others did not.

  Zeke had begun rendezvousing weekly with his friend and co-worker Mahir Sy as well as Dr. Adam Xavier soon after that providential Sunday evening meeting eight years before. And that hadn’t been easy for any of them. With the state already in grave condition, Zeke and Mahir were logging twelve-hour days at the Department of Water Resources. Zeke and Alexis were just seeing the light at the end of a two-year tunnel of grief and were desperate for more time with each other and five-year-old Sasha. And Adam Xavier was a twenty-eight-year-old resident at Torrance Memorial, sometimes working around the clock, his wife, Gabrielle, at home with a toddler and a newborn.

  All that sacrifice and training proved invaluable now, and to Zeke just eight years before already seemed like the good old days. Doc’s experience in all the areas of the hospital, especially the ER, seemed to come into play every day. And Zeke had to admit that, as with most everybody, Doc’s weaknesses were also his strengths.

  Zeke and Alexis had not really known the Xaviers until they joined those who answered the call that night at church so long ago. Zeke had noticed the striking black couple with the two infants, of course, and knew the young husband was a doctor.

  It had been Pastor Bob’s idea that the three most educated young men among the respondents should get better acquainted—“That is, if you’re serious about this and it isn’t just an emotional thing that’ll wear off in a week or two.”

  Zeke had recognized the pastor’s subtle way of solidifying a man’s resolve, but it was clear Pastor Bob had flipped Adam Xavier’s umbrage switch. “If that’s what you think, you don’t know me,” Doc said. “Number one in my class, file full of top references, destined for big things. The brass at Memorial tells me they’re already sizing me up for an executive office down the road. This state goes under, I could go anywhere and land the same kind of deal.”

  “Not if you stay,” Pastor Bob said.

  “My point exactly. You see what I’m giving up. This is no small commitment. I expect to play a leadership role in this holdout effort. Eager to prove myself worthy.”

  “We’ll all be tested,” Pastor Bob said. “I’m sure you’re familiar with Mark 10:44.”

  “I’ve taught in every church I’ve ever attended but this one, Pastor, but remind me.”

  “It’s where Jesus says, ‘Whoever of you desires to be first shall be slave of all.’”

  “Yes, sir. I’m familiar with it.”

  These days, Zeke couldn’t deny that Doc’s compulsion to be the alpha male also drove him to be on top of every detail all the time. Despite that he found Doc’s personality repellant from the beginning and that it caused Mahir to retreat even further into his shell—if that were possible—Zeke also believed the trade-off was worth it. Whatever those weaknesses cost him and the team, they paid off in Zeke’s knowing he could always count on Doc to perform at the highest level. That driven, overachiever side made Doc remarkably astute and analytical, and he could immediately size up a situation and see the big picture. That had proved valuable from the day he had answered Pastor Bob’s call from the pulpit eight years before.

  Regardless of how swamped Zeke and Mahir were back then, trying to save California from disaster, it was obvious Doc was the busiest of the three. Yet he had been able to carve out an hour a week for the th
ree of them to meet. And if ever Zeke and Mahir announced that meeting the next week would be impossible due to some undeniable schedule conflict, Doc would find a way to accommodate them.

  He was also the first to recognize the magnitude of the task before them. He began compiling lists of what they would need. Zeke finally determined that Doc lacked only two things that would have made him the complete Renaissance man: self-awareness—that ability to see how he came across to others—and a sense of humor. That was borne out when Zeke tried to pay him a compliment. Doc had proved prescient in predicting that when the California economy would collapse, the ecosystem would be obliterated beyond repair, and the US president would announce the government’s official abandonment of the state. Zeke said, “You were all over those from day one, man. How do you do it?”

  Without a hint of irony—or humility—Doc said, “I’m brilliant.”

  Without Doc, however, they never would have been ready. Among the three of them meeting weekly and including Pastor Bob about every six weeks, they fashioned an exhaustive plan that filled several megabytes of data backed by hard copies that filled multiple, thick, three-ring binders for each of the holdouts, most keyboarded by Jennie Gill. The plan outlined everything the group would need to survive and to minister in a worst-case scenario.

  It began with a financial strategy based on what had been announced by the federal government, which would be working with the remnants of the California treasury in an attempt to compensate homeowners and mortgage holders as they relocated to other states. The holdouts, naturally, would have this money to invest in survival necessities. But of course that wouldn’t prove nearly enough in the long run. Doc’s idea was that Pastor Bob should prevail upon the consciences of those in the congregation who had not answered the call and persuade them that they could still play a role in this significant ministry by donating.