STEADFAST Book Two: America's Last Days (The Steadfast Series 2)

by D. I. Telbat

  "This civil war with the Lib-Org will make conditions worse in Mastover real soon. I'd like you, your wife, and your child to come live safely with us in the mountains."

  "That's ridiculous. You don't even know me, and you don't know who my father is. Besides, we're perfectly safe here."

  "For how long? The neighborhood is a garbage dump. An army could walk right through town and attack you—if the Lib-Org wanted to return in force, after the judge defies them for some reason. You hunt miles away for meat, and you burn fences to cook and stay warm. Winter will be here in a few months. Are things really that great where you are?"

  "I can't leave." He looked at the floor. "My wife is sick."

  "We have women to care for the ill."

  "I don't mean she has the flu. I mean she's sick in the head. She just shut down since Shawna was born. I have to stay and take care of her most days. I was even demoted—to lieutenant."

  "There's nothing left for you here, Joel," Eric pressed. "You and your wife will be very welcome in our camp. The change of environment and friendship may be just what Lena needs to return to her old self."

  "The world is such a mess." He wiped at his eyes. "There's just no more hope. We're all just waiting to die."

  "Not out at River Camp. We're alive. We're fishing and hunting. We're laughing and living in God's creation, enjoying one another's company. The war is far away from us. And you should be out there, too. That's one of the reasons I came here tonight."

  "So, there's a catch?" His eyes narrowed.

  "No catch. Just a responsibility. If the resistance falls apart, there'll never be stability in Wyoming. Your dad took prisoners a few days ago. We need to free them before we leave town. Unless they're free to continue their fight, hope for liberty in Wyoming can't be achieved. The Lib-Org will never meet to discuss terms for peace unless there's an opposition. We need to balance that power tonight."

  "My father would kill me!"

  "Where are the prisoners held?"

  Joel shook his head.

  "Are they at the courthouse?" Gretchen asked. "If they're there, the cells are in the basement."

  "You can't free them." Joel glared at Eric. "How could you do this to me? We could've stayed here and died in peace! Why did you have to come? Why?"

  "Because you matter." Eric rose to his feet. "Gretchen, go upstairs and pack for Lena and the baby. You'll be hiking back with them the way we came. Joel and I will be going through town."

  She left the room, not even taking her rifle with her. They were a good team, Eric felt, but the last woman he'd favored had fallen down a cliff. He wasn't too keen on losing someone else he cared for, even if she did continue to drop hints about marriage.

  Eric accompanied Joel as he collected his hunting gear and bow from the garage. Though it felt harsh to squeeze him between two choices, Eric still believed God was going before them, teaching him to trust . . .

  Thirty minutes later, they were all gathered in the living room. Lena, a downcast blond, stood with a large pack on her back. Gretchen had attached a baby-carrier pack to her own front, while Shawna wiggled wide-eyed.

  "They'll be chasing Joel and me," Eric said to Gretchen, "so you'll have some liberty with your pace, but you'll need to keep moving. It's fifteen miles the long way around the town back to the highway. If we can get free, we'll meet you at the edge of the forest. Otherwise, get Lena to River Camp."

  "How're you going to free the captives?" Gretchen asked.

  Since he didn't have an answer, Eric gently crowded the four of them close, one arm around Lena and one arm around Joel, who stood stiffly next to him.

  "Let's pray. Dear God, we are afraid and alone. Please show us Your favor and wisdom in this hard time. And please watch over us as we go into the dark night. We pray this because of what Your Son has already done for us. Amen."

  No one said amen with him, but Gretchen nodded at Eric in the dim lighting as the fire died out.

  She led Lena by the hand out the back door about two in the morning. Eric prayed he would see Gretchen again, that he would be given the opportunity to lead her to Christ. He felt she did hold some promise of a possible life partner, and he hoped he'd be able to pursue that thought.

  Then, with their own packs, Joel and Eric walked out the front door and climbed into the Humvee.

  *~*

  Chapter 5

  Lieutenant Joel Grayport drove his Humvee through two check points on their way to the courthouse. Heavily-armed soldiers let him pass without more than a wave, even with Eric, a bearded stranger, as a passenger. All around them, many buildings had remained half-burnt or in disrepair for years. There'd been no rebuilding, no recovery, no rising from the ashes of civil fighting. For six years, surviving had been the goal. Fear had been their driving emotion. How grateful Eric felt in that moment that God had directed him on Pan-Day to drive up that lonely mountain road and build a cabin. He hadn't seen half the misery these people had, but that didn't mean he could stand aside now that people in need required what he had—spiritually and logistically.

  Joel halted the Humvee two blocks from the centrally-located courthouse. Soldiers on night patrol stood against a partially-demolished tech store, smoking cigarettes. On a low platform in the middle of the square were wooden gallows. Four bodies hung by their necks. One was even a child. Eric thought one of the dead moved, but it was a scavenger bird. It was a gruesome sight. The citizens of Mastover were forced to see what consequences they faced if one turned against Judge Grayport and the Lib-Org government.

  The courthouse beyond the gallows seemed formidable, and Eric suddenly wanted to be anywhere but in Mastover, Wyoming. He wanted to be in the mountains, hiking beside Gretchen, Andy's hand in his, Runner dashing about as she chased squirrels. But, no. Runner was dead, and Gretchen was already far away. Before him stood a courthouse that housed soldiers with whom he had nothing in common, but he still desperately needed them to be free so balance could return to the land.

  "There are about a dozen guards inside." Joel squinted through the windshield, then frowned at Eric. "I'll never be able to get you past them. We'd have to get downstairs. Only one holding cell has a functioning toilet, so that's where the resistance fighters are held."

  "How many?"

  "Seven."

  "Is Major Milton Pickford with them?"

  "He is. My father said that with his capture, he broke the resistance. He'll be furious if the major escapes, but it's impossible, anyway—if we want to get out alive."

  "Exactly where in the basement are they being held?"

  He drove the Humvee around the square and parked facing another wall of the courthouse, his headlights on the structure.

  "There. That's where the cell is. The top of the cell has a small window at ground level. See it at the bottom of the wall along the ground there?"

  "I see it." Eric licked his lips. This was a lot harder than springing Grandma Talia from Adderthorn's jail the year before. "Does the cell extend to the corner of the building?"

  "Yeah, the cell fills that whole part of the basement."

  "Let's get out. I have an idea."

  They both climbed out of the Humvee. The odor in the air reminded Eric of Major Milton's resistance camp that had run with sewage.

  "What now?" Joel asked.

  "Meet me on the other side of the courthouse." Eric handed him his pack and bow. "I have to do this part. Go. If anything happens to me, get Lena and Gretchen back to camp."

  As Joel walked briskly away, Eric went to the front of the vehicle and kicked the grill. It seemed made for ramming. He sat in the driver's seat—his first time in six years—and flashed the headlights at the courthouse three times, waited, then flashed three more times. If anyone was awake behind the cell windows, they'd be paying attention now.

  Joel was out of sight. Both men would've liked to take the Humvee as far as they could out of town, but Eric's whole mission was meant to secure River Camp. Anywhere they took the vehicle, the
Lib-Org troops could follow them.

  "Lord, please help me." Eric revved the engine and buckled the seatbelt. Gripping the steering wheel, he punched the gas. The multi-ton vehicle roared forward, faster, faster. The speedometer said sixty when he jumped the curb, aiming at the corner of the building, intent on swiping through and beyond the edge of the structure.

  The impact caused the seatbelt to bruise his collarbone, but the Humvee pushed through the debris, causing the courthouse corner to crumble. As soon as his brain recovered from the collision, he hit the brakes and skidded to a stop on a patch of uncut grass.

  Running from the vehicle, he approached the demolished corner of the building. He imagined the soldiers would be rapidly approaching from inside, but he only needed ninety seconds.

  The building material was still crumbling when he reached the damaged corner. Wires and rebar hung tangled in the settling dust. A gaping hole extended down into the basement cell. Eric stared at it, realizing it wasn't large enough for a man to escape through. His rescue attempt had failed!

  Suddenly, a hand burst through the hole. Eric leapt back, then knelt and dug with his hands to enlarge the gap. Men from inside yelled incoherent instructions with panicked voices, as hands clawed at the hole from their side.

  The first one out was a familiar face—Major Milton Pickford. The red, white, and blue armband was still on his arm. Barely did he acknowledge Eric when he reached back into the hole and pulled out another man. They wore their own clothes, some bloodstained. They were on their own now. Eric's job was finished.

  Hearing gunshots to his right, Eric ran to the Humvee to shoulder his pack and rifle. Then he saw men running and firing from his left, and realized the soldiers were shooting at one another in the chaos! God was answering his prayer for help!

  Within seconds, Eric had slipped from the confusion and was jogging into the darkness. A shape ran toward him. He'd nearly forgotten that Joel had been waiting for him. The bow hunter took Eric's arm and guided him down a dark street. They moved next to storefronts and down quiet sidewalks. Behind them, another burst of gunfire erupted, then silence.

  They stopped in the moon shadow of a tree on someone's front lawn and tightened their packs for a prolonged hike.

  "I can't believe that worked!" Joel panted and drank water from a canteen. "How long until we reach my wife? She needs a lot of . . . care."

  "Gretchen's no stranger to helping people. Get down!"

  They dropped flat on the grass and hid their faces as two pair of headlights rushed past them toward the courthouse. Major Milton had his hands full, but Eric knew he wouldn't go down easily.

  When the way seemed clear, they jumped to their feet and dashed between two houses to leave the main thoroughfare behind. For an hour, they weaved their way through Mastover until the highway bridge south of town came into sight. Fifty feet below, the river boiled at its runoff stage, muddy and filled with debris.

  "We can't swim it." Joel knelt off the highway. "But if we can cross the bridge, we can get into the forest. That's our goal, right?"

  Only then did Eric see his concern. The bridge was guarded by four men inside a sandbagged nest in the center of the structure. The guards had certainly been radioed by now, and were waiting for the enemy—Eric and Joel. At any time, reinforcements could arrive to help hold the bridge.

  "We have to swim the river," Eric said.

  "No way." Joel took off his pack and drew an arrow for his bow. "If we get close enough, I can take out one or two. You can kill the others."

  Eric looked back at the town. They didn't have time to discuss his moral and spiritual conscience against killing the enemy. Returning through town wasn't an option since it was nearly dawn and Mastover was crawling with soldiers. Nor was swimming the river really possible—not if they wanted to live. The logs and bushes floating in the swift rapids would batter a swimmer to death.

  "You've heard me talk about God, right?"

  "It's not a subject I care to talk about, I should tell you."

  "Well, now we're about to find out if it's all just talk or not."

  "What do you mean? We need to cross this river!"

  "Are you ready?" Eric asked. "Because we're not beating four riflemen across that bridge, even if we were willing to kill them. They have machine guns. You have a bow and I have a bolt action hunting rifle. We're outmatched."

  "What else can we do?"

  "Nothing. That's the point. Nothing, except trust God." Eric felt something rise inside of him, growing, swelling. "We're dead if we go forward, and we're dead if we go back. So, it seems now might be a good time for us to place it all in God's hands. We need to trust God at this river."

  "Well, we die if we stay here, too! I want to see my family again!"

  Eric looked at the sky. This was it. This was the moment God had been communicating to him for days—to trust right now. This was the river. Now was the time, when trusting seemed impossible and useless and hopeless . . .

  "What're they doing?" Joel grabbed Eric's arm and pulled him flat. "Where are they going?"

  Together, the two men watched as the four bridge defenders climbed over their sandbags and ran up the bridge toward them. But instead of charging across the ditch to attack them, the four continued up the highway toward the town.

  Their reasons for abandoning the bridge made little sense, since it was this very bridge that had caused such a problem a few days earlier. But Eric wasn't about to argue with what God had orchestrated at exactly that moment.

  He and Joel crawled onto the highway and looked both ways. Sure enough, the four soldiers were out of sight and earshot. This time, Eric drew Joel upright.

  "It seems," he said, "that God has provided a way across the river."

  For a moment, Joel didn't move, as if he were still accepting what he'd just witnessed. Then, they walked across the bridge. It was riddled with signs of the previous battle. Mortar rounds had blown away sections of the railing. In the middle of the bridge, a portable radio system sat inside the sandbag formation. It had a recharger crank handle, much more versatile than Eric's bulky mountaintop system. In its collapsible form, the radio appeared more like a bulky thermos, and it slid nicely into the top of his pack as they continued to the south side of the bridge.

  The impossible had been made possible by God. Eric had witnessed a miracle, and he couldn't celebrate until he was safely in the woods a half-mile later. A distance into the trees, he slipped off his pack and collapsed onto his knees, his hands raised to the sky. From his heart, he spoke to God, his lips moving, tears forming, his soul soaring. God had saved them from more than a longer trek east or west to cross the river elsewhere. The Lord had kept him alive to serve Him more, to be His spokesman, to reach the lost at River Camp with the truth of who God is, to stand steadfast against the deteriorating situation sweeping their nation.

  Kneeling on the forest floor that night, Eric vowed to God as He corrected his humbled heart, that he would place River Camp's spiritual needs as a higher priority. Though he'd been mindful of God's presence and working, he'd not yet openly testified to all those under his charge. That had to change, especially in light of those final days when Christians everywhere expected Christ to catch them up in the clouds at any moment. He couldn't waste any more time!

  "How long should we remain like this?"

  Eric opened his eyes to see that Joel had shed his bow and pack, and had knelt beside him as well.

  "That depends if our hearts have sufficiently been settled about what's happened."

  "All I know is one minute, the bridge was blocked, and you were talking about God. And the next minute, the enemy was running away from the bridge like they saw an army coming. They must've been called back to town to hunt the escapees."

  "Moments like this shouldn't pass without acknowledging God." Eric took a deep breath and sighed. "God moves around us all the time, and we ignore Him. We need to be more mindful about what He's done for us and what He continues to do for
us—regardless of the mess man makes of everything."

  "I've . . . never really cared for religion."

  "Me neither, Joel." Eric clapped him on the shoulder and they stood facing each other in the moonlight breaking through the tree branches. "Let's forget about religion and just care about the God who made us."

  "Apparently, you know Him better than me. I've killed your kind before, for my dad." He and Eric walked together back toward the tree line, leaving their packs behind them. "I've been thinking all the way back to our first meeting in these woods when I shot your boy's dog. Your reaction—I knew there was something different about you even then."

  "As we wait for Lena and Gretchen to arrive, we'll have time to talk about it." They reached the tree line and stopped. The rising sun's rays illuminated the rolling hills, the clouds like wisps of smoke against the fading stars. "If we weren't being hunted, and if our women weren't running for their lives to meet us, and if that highway out there didn't traffic death every few minutes—I'd say that's a beautiful view."

  "It is beautiful." Joel leaned against a tree. "Any view that's different from that rotting town of garbage is beautiful. I owe you, you know. If you hadn't come, me and my family would've died in that stinking house. And my dad wouldn't have cared."

  "I risked your lives."

  "But you risked your life, too." They were silent for a moment. "All of this—I can tell it'll be worth the risk."

  #######

  Just before sundown, Joel nudged Eric awake. Rolling over, Eric looked into Joe's smiling face.

  "They're here. Come on!"

  Eric groaned as he climbed to his sore feet and returned to the tree line. The highway was clear, so he followed Joel into the open. Gretchen came into sight first, the infant strapped to her front, and the large pack on her back. Regardless of his own weariness, Eric ran to her. Joel took the baby girl, and Gretchen and Eric embraced with relief, like they'd been a couple for years. Her arms felt natural around him, and he didn't want to let her go.