As darkness approached, in the twilight, the bandits built large fires near the access roads of the Interstate, and they cooked up whatever food and delicacies they had stolen from their prey. She determined that the fires would benefit her and help her to cross the highway, because they would destroy the night vision of those who were feasting around them.
She waited until the entire group was seated around the fires, and, checking to make sure that there were no other people around, she started her sprint across the highway, a distance that she later learned was longer than a football field. Her mind raced as fast as she ran and, at one point, she thought that maybe she wasn’t going to make it. She feared that she’d have to stop to lie down and rest in the median, but the urge to live and to get to Jonathan and the Vallenses overrode her fears. Huffing and gasping for breath, she made it to the south side of the Interstate, and, slipping over the barbed wire fence, she disappeared into the trees—glad to be invisible again in the darkness. Maybe I am like a gazelle on the Serengeti, she thought.
Back in the hayloft, she recruited the huge militiaman the Ghost soldiers called The Mountain, but whom she just called by his name—Rollo—to help her carry two recently deceased men to the newly inaugurated militia graveyard. She struggled with the weight, but Rollo was able to carry most of the load as they hauled the bodies to their final resting place. In the graveyard, eight militia warriors dug holes in the hard ground with picks and shovels, carving out graves in which to bury men who had been their friends and brethren.
Rollo seemed to be emotionally unaffected, but he was particularly quiet as they went about their dark task.
“The floodwaters carried away another 25 or so who died at the base of the dam… so at least we don’t have to dig holes for them,” he said.
“It would be nice if we could find them and give them a decent burial,” she replied softly.
“Dead is dead, Miss Ana. When you’re dead, it doesn’t really matter if you were one of the 300 down that hill over there who we shoved into a mass grave, or one of our friends here who we bury respectfully and individually.”
“I think there is a difference, Rollo. Those men were here to kill innocent people that only wanted to live in peace. These men died trying to defend them. There is a difference.”
“I’m not sure the mother or father back in Aztlan who won’t be seeing their son again will appreciate that difference,” he replied, looking down at one of the graves.
She turned to go back to the barn, then stopped and looked back at Rollo. “All of these men chose to fight—which is against our way as Vallenses—but I do believe that there is a difference, Rollo. There is a great divide between good and bad, and wrong and right.” She turned again and walked back up the hill.
An hour later, walking into Prince Gareth’s room to change his dressings, she noticed that he was at the end of his bed, doubled over. He barely registered her presence and his face was completely disfigured with pain. He ground his teeth into the heavy woolen blanket he had put into his mouth to keep himself from screaming.
She was able to push him backwards onto the bed, and he let out an almost animal groan as he pulled his legs up to his chest and writhed on the bed.
“What’s wrong?” she shouted to him, holding him by his shoulders and trying to get him to look at her.
“He… brought me a drink… medicine… told… me… to… drink.” As he struggled with words, the pain must have become too intense because he passed out.
Poison. Someone had poisoned Prince Gareth. It seemed inconceivable. Who could have done this? What to do?
She had a good amount of activated charcoal in the tannery, which also served as a pharmacy and dispensary, so she ran out of the house and down the stone walk towards her workplace.
Coming around the corner near the icehouse, she could see David and Phillip, who were both mounted, near the drive by the front of the house. She shouted to them, and they both turned toward her. However, before she could say anything, she heard two sharp reports—akin to gunshots—and she saw both David and Phillip—one at a time—fall backwards off their horses. Men were shouting and running towards them, and she could see the shape of a man as he leapt onto a horse by the hay barn.
She froze for a moment, not knowing exactly what to do. It seemed that several of the militiamen had already gotten to David and Phillip, so she finally made up her mind and ducked into the tannery, grabbing a small crock, which she knew contained the activated charcoal.
Running back to the springhouse, she could see that the militiamen had placed David and Phillip on stretchers, and they were rushing them into the house. Wally was running out to meet them. She’d have to help them once she was finished trying to save Gareth.
She reached into the ice-cold water of the springhouse and fished out a quart jar of milk. With the milk and charcoal in hand, she rushed back into the house and into Gareth’s room.
Her mind struggled to process the information, and she almost dropped both of her jars when she discovered that Prince Gareth of Aztlan wasn’t in his bed. He was gone.
Part Three
Chapter 20 - Ruth
She was not at all surprised that she didn’t feel that tired. Her adrenaline had been pumping regularly for the last several hours, and though she was highly on edge for the moment, she knew that when and if she finally did get to sleep, she was going to crash hard.
From the shadows, hidden in the darkness, Ruth watched intently as Piggy confronted the looter gang, and as the group of thieves—groggy from sleep—began to slowly surround the lone militia warrior. Piggy had dismounted, and his horse had retreated at his command.
Piggy, contrary to his name, was not fat at all, but like almost all of the Ghost militiamen he was wiry and very muscular. He was of medium height and build; his hair was black and curly, and a bit long beneath his hat; and he had a striking personal presence, even when he was silent. His beard was dark and full and complemented his impressive face. He was confident, maybe even brash or arrogant, and he never seemed to doubt himself even in the slightest.
Piggy raised his empty hands in a peaceful way, showing to the looters that they really needed to remain calm. His attempt made the looters more confused and suspicious, but seemed to keep them from being able to immediately decide to attack him.
“Everyone just take it easy and throw down your weapons,” Piggy said with a playful look in his eyes. “It’s possible that you all might make it out of here alive if you don’t do anything colossally stupid… well… all except that guy,” he said, pointing his finger at the biggest man of the looter gang, “because that guy has no hope. He’s already dead, but the rest of you can still make it if you play it smart.”
She sensed a very slight movement to her right and she looked and saw The Hood slowly and silently draw back his bow and take aim.
“I’m being very serious here,” Piggy continued, as the group of looters circled carefully around him like a pack of hyenas surrounding a lone lion. “That guy right there is already dead, but the rest of you can save your own lives by just calmly putting down all of your weapons. Believe me, you want to do this Piggy’s way!”
The large looter that Piggy had identified as a dead man straightened up a bit, and Ruth could see a mask of confusion on his face. “Why do you keep saying I’m dead? What’s going on here? Who are you?”
“Shut up corpse! I’m talking to these other folks who can still save themselves. Quit being so selfish and shut your filthy trap because there’s no hope for you.”
“What… what are you talking about?” the looter asked, with a tremor in his voice that genuinely sounded like worry.
“Ok,” Piggy replied, keeping his hands out and facing down, each slowly moving up and down in a calming motion, “the rest of you forget about the dead guy. Don’t listen to him and just don’t do anything stupid. I’m going to show you something you’ll really want to see. In fact, it is amazing and I promise you have ne
ver seen it before.”
Ruth watched as Piggy slowly raised his left hand in a fist, as if he were holding an imaginary bow. He then pantomimed pulling an imaginary arrow from his quiver, and he went through the motions of loading the invisible arrow onto the invisible string. He then drew back the arrow and pointed it at the large looter, who raised his hands as if, for some reason, he thought that the imaginary weapon was real.
“Calm… calm… calm,” Piggy said softly, as he reassured the rest of the looters, and after a few seconds pause, he smiled and released the non-existent arrow. A slight sound of air splitting and a real arrow hit the looter right in the heart, and he fell over backwards.
The rest of the looters froze in place, and could not at all get their minds around what had just happened. After what seemed to Ruth like an eternity, a clumsy and stupid looking looter went for his sword, and this ignited a frenetic burst of motion as each of the remaining looters went for their own weapons. Just as they began to move, Piggy, lightning fast, drew out throwing knives and as he spun in effortless and artistic motion around the circle, the knives just seemed to find their targets—usually the heart or the throat. Simultaneously, arrows pierced the air, and looters were falling in every direction.
In only seconds, the ballet was finished, and all of the looters were either dead or dying. Piggy stood in the middle of the circle of dead men, still slightly crouched down, and holding a knife back and close to his right ear.
“I told you idiots to remain calm,” he said with mock dismay and disappointment, “this was totally unnecessary!”
Ruth and the rest of the posse approached slowly from out of the shadows, each with their weapons at the ready. When it became obvious that there were no more immediate threats, they each lowered their weapons and walked closer to Piggy.
“I don’t know,” she said, confused, “why… why did you kill that big man first? Why kill him at all?”
Piggy looked at her sadly and took a deep breath, before pointing at a heap of what had looked to her like clothing and blankets on the ground, lying just outside of the looters sleeping circle. From where she stood, she could now see what looked like two Vallensian woman’s headcoverings exposed beneath the blanket.
She let out a gasp as she ran over to the heap and pulled back the blanket. What she saw caused her to fall backwards in shock and horror. Timothy caught her as she plunged backwards, and she turned into his waiting arms, sobbing. The two Vallensian women were dead, and obviously had been tortured and probably raped as well. The most appalling thing about the condition of the women was that their assailants had left on their prayer coverings—perhaps as a joke or as a statement of disdain against the faith of the plain women.
After taking a few minutes to get over the traumatic sight of the dead women, she stood up shakily and with Timothy’s help she walked slowly back towards the group.
“They haven’t been dead long,” Piggy said, looking at her. “If we had gotten here maybe a few hours ago, we might have saved them.” He paused again. “That guy,” he said, pointing at the first and largest looter, “still had blood stains on his knuckles. That’s why I picked him out to die first. I knew that Hood would know what to do. It wasn’t just for drama, Ruth. I wanted them to feel terror, just like those women did. I guess you could call it revenge, but I call it justice.” He looked back at Ruth, “I told you if you came on this adventure, there’d be plenty of killing.”
“These other people weren’t innocent,” Timothy told her, “they were just as guilty as the guy with blood on his hands. Piggy played it so that they would draw their weapons first. He knew we’d all have his back. But still I’d have to say that that was a phenomenal feat of knife throwing, Piggy.”
Piggy was walking around the circle, pulling knives from dead looters. “This is why we never stop training, gentlemen… and lady.”
The posse did a thorough inspection of the area to see if there were any other surviving hostages. There weren’t, so they gathered together what looted food and materials they could carry, along with most of the weapons, and bound them into blankets that they strapped to their horses.
They wordlessly began preparing a site to bury the Vallensian women, and took turns digging in the graves with their fold-up camp shovels while Ruth wrapped up the women’s bodies and cleaned up their faces. She didn’t know them, but she felt like they were a part of her family. After the burial, they gathered together and Ruth quoted a psalm to them from memory, as they all bowed their heads.
“We’re only about a mile from Harmony, so we won’t have to carry this stuff very far,” Timothy told her as they headed to the west. “We should be there not long before sunrise and we’ll be able to get some rest.”
The ride to Harmony was quiet and uneventful and each member of the posse seemed to be both pensive and reflective as they considered the death of the Vallensian women. Ruth figured that the women had been captured during the attack up near Comanche, and that the looters had been part of a group that had participated in the slaughter of the 2,000 Valensians there. She wondered how many more captive women or children might be out there in the soulless and cruel hands of looters, thieves, and rapists; and then she was forced to face the reality that her father was in the hands of the same kind of people.
Times like this truly tested her faith. She wanted to ask God how He could let things like this happen to such a peaceful people; but her father was always telling her that faith does not protect us from danger or trials or suffering… faith strengthens us and gives us peace in dangers, and trials, and suffering. “Nobody promised us a rose garden.” he would always say.
Before she had time to get too deeply into her own thoughts on the matter, they were drawing close to the secretive place the Ghost militia called by its one-word title — ‘Harmony’.
When they were still several hundred yards away, the posse reined up on the eastern edge of what looked like a large but shallow canyon. She steadied Peloncio as Timothy came up beside her.
“We have to signal from here. We’d likely be dead if we tried descending into the caliche pit without signaling.”
“Caliche pit?” she asked as she examined the canyon.
“Caliche is a material that they used to use as a road base for country roads back before the collapse. ‘Caliche’ means ‘clay’, and there are pits like this all over Texas where they dug out the white, rocky clay to spread on the roads.
“Phillip bought this pit and several hundred acres around it almost a decade before the collapse. He set up a small company that sold caliche to farmers and ranchers. All the while he was building the Harmony facility in the wall of the pit. It was the perfect cover for an excavating operation.”
“What is the Harmony facility?”
Timothy straightened up in his saddle, stretching out his back after the long ride. As he stretched, Piggy began making a very peculiar animal-like sound that Ruth could not readily identify; but he did it loudly enough that they were all certain that whatever militia guards were out there would know that they had company coming.
“Harmony, in addition to being an armory and storage facility, is an orphanage, school, and training center for children and young men. I was raised and trained in a similar school up north of here that Phillip started after the crash. He had to open a few others because there were so many orphans around then. As the militia patrolled this whole area of Central and North Texas, orphans would be saved and gathered up and sent to the orphanages.
“Once the orphans arrived at a place like Harmony, they would be evaluated over several weeks as they were fed and treated for malnourishment or whatever afflictions they might have. If they were considered militia material, they were enrolled in the militia schools and they would begin their training. If it were to be determined that they were not militia material—perhaps they were too docile or what Phillip might consider to be inordinately sensitive—they would be placed in a regular school, where they would remain until th
ey could be adopted out.”
“How would that work?” she asked. “I mean, how did you adopt out orphans after the crash?”
Timothy laughed and gave her a sly look. “Well, your father may not know it, but there were Vallenses in and around San Angelo who knew Phillip and who quietly and privately supported what he was doing. They would never let any of the Vallensian elders know that they were materially supporting the militia, but I guess it was one of the worst kept secrets around before this war started.
“Out of 20,000 or so Vallenses, there were many, many people who believed that they were obeying their consciences by supporting the militias, even if they were not being completely open with their own eldership about it. Anyway, these Vallenses would take in the orphans whenever they could place them in good homes. Many of the Vallensian families wanted more children after the collapse, and some of them had lost some or most of their own. Your people love large families and highly prize children (she noticed a slight wetness in his eyes as he said this)—something that was another stark difference between you and those in the pre-crash world.
“I was one of those set aside for militia training.”
“Did you enjoy it? What was it like?”
“It was all I knew. I never knew any other life, and I still don’t. The time I have spent with you and your family at your ranch was the first time I’ve ever seen a glimpse that there might be another life available out there.” He paused for a moment, looking down, “We need to go… the others are heading down.”
Harmony was a huge underground facility built into the walls of the caliche pit. It was completely obscured from the outside by the boulders, rocks, and bushes that were carefully arranged outside of its entrance. Ruth didn’t see any of the facility guards, but she was told that there were always 20 or more of the Ghost militia on guard at any time, protecting the facility.
The Last Pilgrims Page 22
