The fact that she was still alive had nothing to do with preparedness, survival training, or anything of the sort. She had survived—she believed—by the grace of God alone.
When the crash came, Ana and Hamish were two of the very, very few people who made it out of Fort Worth. How many coincidences could there be? They just happened to have a half-tank of gas; and they just happened to choose a route out of town that hadn’t already been closed off by the police, burning cars, rioters, or looters, or all of the above. They managed to make it two hours west of the city before the worst of the violence and mayhem consumed most of those who were left behind.
They ran out of gas outside of the small town of Albany, Texas. As they walked on the service road, terrified at everything that was happening around them, her silent prayers were answered when they were picked up and taken in by an older retired couple, the Haltoms.
Ana paused for a moment in her harvesting and took a whetstone out of the horn sheath that she kept tied around her waist with a section of rope. As she reflected on the aftermath of the collapse, she drew the whetstone along the edge of the blade. It is amazing, sometimes, to consider what events are necessary to sharpen us and to hone us to make us of any use, she thought.
The Haltoms were a very nice couple, and she really liked them a lot, but they were hopeless and helpless against the mind siege that accompanied the collapse. The day after they arrived at the Haltom’s home, Hamish offered them money to take him to town, but Doc Haltom wouldn’t take any money. He said that he was just being neighborly, adding that things were going to “get back to normal soon,” and that he was only doing what he hoped someone would do for them under the same circumstances.
The four of them piled into the Haltom’s car and drove into Albany to buy supplies and groceries and maybe fill some gas cans so they could retrieve the car from the highway. She had always been told that there was at least a three-day’s supply of food at any grocery store, but that lie was exposed pretty quickly. Now, she knew that the supply would last for three days so long as nothing was wrong. If things got bad, the supply was only good for a couple of hours… maybe. The store had been cleaned out, as had the feed store and the hardware/sporting goods store. The commercial part of town had, for the most part, been abandoned.
Doc’s wife May pronounced firmly that everything would be ok, and that things would come around soon enough, so they all went back to the house to wait for the return to normalcy that had been always been promised to them. At that time, they hadn’t considered that the promise had been made by everyone with a vested interest in the status quo.
The promise of ‘normalcy’ was a mantra and maxim of that unholy trinity of bad ideas and ungodly living—the world, the government, and the church.
For a few days, things went as well as could be hoped under the extreme situation, as they all waited anxiously for things to “return to normal.” They paced the house and talked a lot, making rather superficial preparedness and survival plans. Hamish and Doc Haltom inventoried what food and supplies were left in the house, and made lists of what might be needed if they could find someone with whom to barter, or if they could somehow get to Abilene.
The news on television waxed worse and worse; and eventually there was no news, because even the reporters, cameramen, producers and directors had families and needed to start fighting for their own lives.
When the reports of riots, fires and death in American cities and around the world stopped repeating incessantly on the flat-screen television and were replaced with an emergency broadcast scroll asking people to ‘stay tuned’, there was a moment when a palpable sense of panic crossed the faces of everyone in the room. Still, old Doc Haltom actually seemed cheerful when he announced that “nothing really bad can happen here. After all, we’re Americans!”
They were all wrong. The Haltoms and Hamish were gunned down in the Haltom’s living room as they stared at the TV vainly hoping that something, anything, would come on to replace the scrolling ‘stay tuned’ that had been their only message for two days.
Ana had walked down the alley behind the Haltoms’ small house in order to see if she could get a sense of what was happening outside. She needed a walk and being cooped up in the house for days had done nothing to ease her anxiety and fear. Jonathan Wall talked about this, she had thought then. He said that all of this was inevitable.
She knew that the Vallensian community was only a few hours south of Albany, and she wondered if Hamish would now consider listening to what Jonathan had to say.
Maybe there was enough gas left in the Haltoms’ car to make it south to the Vallenses. Maybe. Then she wondered how many thousands of people might be flooding into Central Texas hoping that the Vallenses—the same plain people who they had all once considered cute, quaint, or even crazy—would provide for them. Why would the Vallenses help any of these people? After all, they had willfully chosen not to heed the warnings that were all around them and had failed to provide for themselves. The least she could do was talk to Hamish and Doc Haltom about it, she concluded. She had just committed to that plan when she heard the gunshots.
Shocked and frightened, she ran back towards the house, but before she could even make it into the backyard, she saw what seemed to her like twenty gunmen ransacking the house. She crouched behind a dumpster until the men left.
She paused from sharpening the stone, and despite the heat of the summer day, a chill went down her spine. Even after 20 years, the image of the scene she encountered in the house was still vivid in her mind.
Hamish and the Haltoms had each been shot in the head, their blood mingling together and soaking into the upholstery. Almost everything in the house of any value had been stolen, and she could hear gunshots as the gang moved down the street.
In movies, things are explained and the viewer usually gets to grasp the ‘why’ behind the plot. The script usually answers your questions and the ending always makes sense. In real life, when the invisible and often imaginary threads that hold a society together are violently ripped apart, there are no pat answers. When the superficial veil of order gives way to the real chaos that reigns underneath it all, sometimes murderers just disappear down the street and you never know their back story or when or if they ever met with some kind of cosmic justice. Either way, Hamish was dead and she was alone.
Everything in her being told her to just run and try to get away, but panic, confusion and grief had washed over her to the point that she couldn’t move at all. The only thought that made sense to her was that the gang who had killed her husband and the Haltoms wasn’t likely to return. So she stayed in the house, hiding in the Haltoms’ bedroom for two days. Finally, the stench of death got to be too much for her and she decided to walk southward under the cover of darkness. The entirety of her plan could be distilled down to one word—south. With that in mind, she had walked.
Ana looked up and she found that in her reverie she had walked to the threshing barn and the sun was starting to dip lower into the western sky.
In just a few days, if the Lord willed it, this barn would be a beehive of activity, as men and women carried in the sheaves and the business of threshing and winnowing would begin. Long flails—sticks with thin boards lashed to the end of them using leather straps —would be used to beat the sheaves placed on the threshing floor. When the sheaves were sufficiently beaten, the straw would be removed, and the doors on the opposite sides of the barn would be opened to allow a breeze to pass through the barn. The mass would be thrown into the air, the wind separating the wheat from the chaff.
She was convinced now that God knows just how much of a beating it takes to get rid of the chaff. She nodded her head at that thought. The world was God’s field. First, the tares were ripped up from the field, and burned. Then the wheat was beaten to remove the chaff. From all of this, God brought forth the crop that he intended. Ana laughed. How different the reality was from the religious prophetic fantasies that had overflowed the wo
rld in the decades prior to the collapse!
Ruth walked up as Ana was in the doorway of the threshing barn, looking down at the six-inch board that had to be stepped over to get in or out of the door.
“That’s a threshold, Ruth.”
“I know that Mrs. McLennon! I’ve lived here all of my life!”
“Did you know that in the world the people call the entranceway to any door a ‘threshold’, even though they have no idea what that means?”
“No. I didn’t know that.”
“A threshold keeps the wheat in so when the wind blows the lighter chaff away, the heavier wheat falls to the floor and is kept in the barn by the threshold board.” Ana looked at Ruth and smiled. “Both the wheat and the chaff are blown by the wind, but since the wheat kernel has the weight of God’s goodness in it, it drops and is separated from the lighter and worthless chaff. It is kept safe by the threshold.”
“I never thought of it that way, Mrs McLennon. I just always thought it kind of made sense not to let the wheat blow out through the door.”
“Everything around us is there to teach us how God deals with us, Ruth. I never knew or cared for such matters back when I lived in the world—back before the crash. The modern religious world wasn’t in the business of teaching us such things.” Ana took a deep breath, then put her arm around Ruth.
“So, how are you doing… I mean, since the battle, and Jack’s funeral and everything else going on. How are you holding up, young Miss Wall?”
“I’m doing fine, thanks. Father told us that it is very likely there will be another Aztlani attack soon. But I don’t think we know much yet about when or where or what to expect.”
“Although there is no doubt that your father is a good man, he doesn’t tell you everything, Ruth. He protects us women from the very imminent and real danger of us knowing too much and thus worrying.”
The brightness of the summer day had given way to the softer light and longer shadows of evening. Dozens of Vallenses were departing the fields and heading back to their camps, some talking quietly and others laughing at some quip or joke.
“We must head home now, dear Ruth,” she said wiping dust from her apron. “Wally will have supper ready soon.”
As the two walked, they talked about Ruth’s day. Ruth told her that three large pigs had been caught in the traps, and that there had been a frightening event near the camps when some of the Vallensian women had seen a mountain lion cross the road only a half mile from the front gate.
“It seems that the predators are getting an upper hand for the time being,” she told Ruth.
“Father says that the system of predator and prey eventually balances itself out, but I can tell you this… we have never seen so many wild pigs. We may get fat… if we aren’t killed by them while walking to the outhouse at night!” Ruth exclaimed.
“A mountain lion brave enough to come so close to people frightens me more than some silly old pigs,” Ana said, laughing.
“That’s because you’ve never been face to face with a charging wild boar!”
“That is true, dear. That is true,” she admitted.
As they drew near the gate, they heard the sound of horses behind them and turned to see a militia contingent approaching. Timothy was in the front, riding abreast of Piggy. Behind them was Tim’s best friend The Hood, along with Enos Flynn, and Pachuco Reyes.
“It seems that your father has invited the heroes of the Battle of Bethany Pass to his table to share in some wild boar roast this evening.”
Ruth smiled in response, “This ought to be interesting.”
There was muted joviality and much conversation over a supper of tender roasted pork, browned sweet potatoes drenched in butter, sautéed onions, slow-cooked black beans, and a delicious desert of peaches and heavy cream. Ruth and Timothy caught up on the day’s happenings and Ana told them funny stories of her earliest failed attempts at processing deer hides.
After supper, in the pale moonlight, Ruth and Ana were accompanied by Tim, Hood, and Piggy, as they walked out among the campfires and tents of the refugees and visited old and new friends. The party arrived at the tent of Ruth’s sister Betsy and her husband Paul, and Ruth began to chase and play with her nephews Jon and Thomas while Ana helped Betsy with the supper dishes.
Elizabeth Miller, who Ana had always known as Betsy Wall, had grown into a strong and capable woman. She had her mother’s strawberry blonde hair, as well as her strong hands and will. She had developed into every bit the hearty, intelligent, and industrious Vallensian wife that her father had trained her to be. She was not the deadly hunter that Ruth was, nor was she as avid a reader, philosopher, and thinker as her brother David. In truth, Ana thought, she had become what every Vallensian woman wanted to be. She was a good woman, a good wife, and a good mother.
“You know that you are all welcome to come and eat at the house with your father, Betsy.”
“Oh, we know, Ana,” Betsy replied, smiling. “We just don’t want to be an added burden, and we really feel that we belong out here in the camps, with our neighbors and friends. Father would take every one of the Vallenses into his home if he could, and we all love him for that. But he raised me to love and care for our people as much as he does, and Paul and I really just want to do what we can out here to help those who need it.”
A gentle breeze was dispersing the heat of the day, and an occasional firefly would twinkle by in the night, catching their attention. As the two women dried the last of the wooden dishes, they could hear Hood, Tim and Piggy laughing over some joke with Paul, so they joined the men around the campfire.
Before long, Jonathan and Wally the cook came up and joined the group. The moonlight had faded and in the darkness, the Milky Way came clearly into view. Ana never grew tired of Central Texas nights, and she stared up into the sky in awe and wonder at the beauty of it all.
Piggy and Tim were arguing about the name of some constellation or another, when Phillip suddenly, and silently, approached from the road.
The militiamen stood up, and everyone grew silent when they saw the serious look on the militia leader’s face.
Phillip bowed slightly in greeting, and looked from his men to Jonathan with a pained seriousness etched on his features.
“I apologize for disturbing your evening. Trust me, I would have not done so without a good reason.”
“Go ahead, Phillip,” Jonathan said. “Please tell us whatever it is that troubles you so.”
“We have received outriders with news, and I thought it would be prudent to share it with you. One rider arrived from the east, and one from north. Both, I am afraid, bear… difficult news.”
“What is it, sir?” asked Tim, unable to bear the tension silently.
“From the north we have heard word concerning the attempt to rescue my wife and daughters.” Involuntarily, Ana’s hand came up to her mouth, and her heart pounded in her chest. “The attempt was apparently betrayed… somehow… and the men rode into an ambush. Rob Fosse and two other men escaped. Sir Gerold and the rest of my men were killed. We suspect that the Aztlanis have fled the area and there is no word concerning the whereabouts of my family.”
Betsy gasped, and Ana clasped her hand in order to silence her.
Jonathan approached Phillip, who still sat on his horse, and reached for the hand of his old friend. Neither man could find words, so they stood there for some time before Jonathan finally spoke. “Phillip, we are all with you in your sadness and grief, and we will remain with you in prayer until your family is returned to you.”
“Thank you,” Phillip responded gravely, straightening himself in the saddle and clearing his throat.
“From the outrider who rode east, we have heard that some of your people… a large number…, the refugees who fled before the Bethany battle—those who did not stop at the banks of Lake Penateka—were overrun by an Aztlani force of unknown size.”
“We don’t have any details, and I’m sorry to be the one to bring this n
ews. We fear that there has been a great slaughter. We’ve sent outriders to try to gain news of what happened. Apparently, some of the Vallenses had stopped on this side of Comanche, and others had continued as far as Chalk Mountain. I don’t know when we’ll know the full details. I… I just thought that you would want to know as soon as possible.”
Ana watched Jonathan’s face, as the information Phillip shared washed over him and slowly became a part of his new reality. His eyes looked glassy and damp as he looked up and nodded to Phillip again, this time patting him on his thigh as a sign of thanks, appreciation and unity in their mutual suffering.
She knew that Phillip, by all measures, had led a rough life; but he did have the mannish outlet of war and violence. She wondered if he could ever know of the sufferings of the Vallensian pastor. When she looked back at Phillip’s face, and saw in it the stoic shield that guarded him from any outward display of his own grief, she knew that Phillip did know.
In the darkness, the fireflies carried on with their business, and the soft summer breeze continued to ruffle tent flaps and lift sparks from the fire high into the Vallensian night. Ana followed the sparks with her eyes, saddened by the news and impotent to do anything at all about it. The fireflies reminded her that as bad as things were, she was glad that her new world wasn’t limited to a blackened screen with a scrolling message that said ‘stay tuned’.
Chapter 12 - English
It was now fairly obvious that the Duke had double-crossed him. He had to face the unpalatable fact that, until now, he was being used, and this could mean only one thing—the Duke was aware that he was a spy; and if the Duke knew, then so did the King of Aztlan.
The Last Pilgrims Page 13
