“You’re safe with us now,” Cricket said. “Whoever hurt you is gone. If they do come back, they’ll be the unlucky ones.”
The wounded teen again grimaced, though Cricket believed a smile had started.
“When you get better, we’ll be friends,” Ethan said. “We stay at a huge farm, not far from here. Everybody is really cool, and a lot of fun… you can learn a lot from them. I did. I still do.”
Cricket almost stopped Ethan but let him continue when she saw the boy blink a few times and a tear escape, wetting his face. Ethan was looking at the fire. He had one hand on the boy’s leg.
“I learned a lot about bees. I know it’s crazy, but of all things I want to do someday—and there’s a lot I want to do—I want to raise bees. The way they take care of the queen and protect her is amazing. This winter they’ll keep the temperature of the hive around seventy degrees. Now I guess being further south, really cold winters aren’t a problem, but Grandpa Holaday told us kids—that includes my brother Caleb and our good friends, Lily and Lee Ann, you’ll meet them too—that when it gets really cold, they won’t leave the queen because they got to keep her warm. They won’t move even inches to get the honey—”
The boy shook violently, and Cricket gently kept his head turned to the side to prevent choking. He was dying and Cricket kept saying that they were there for him and weren’t leaving.
“Tell him, Ethan, you tell him he’s not alone. Tell him the story goes on. Tell him about the bees and the best days…”
Ethan’s voice was scratchy with emotion. “The best days for bees are when the sun’s out and it’s warm—they don’t like rain much… When the sun shines they’re out all day. They bring us life.”
The boy exhaled quickly. He got the message and wanted to be on his way. Ethan was at his feet, and Cricket cradling his head. They sat in the fire’s warmth with the young man for several minutes before Cricket rose. She took out her gravity knife and in the smooth bark of the beech carved a cross.
Ethan remained before the fire. “I thought we could help him.”
Cricket kneeled and started an Our Father, and Ethan joined her, keeping a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
When they finished the prayer, they both remained quiet. The silence spread in every direction until Cricket offered Ethan her hand, and the boy took it. A cosmic switch was thrown, and the distant sounds of mayhem returned and the birds creased the air with their wings and song.
Ethan brushed off his jeans, still looking at the boy. “I couldn’t help Mom… but this boy was still alive.”
“We’re too far from home. He’d never make it, Ethan.”
“But the fire, the water… you gave up your sweatshirt?”
“I wanted him to be comfortable and warm, leave a kind world for an even kinder one.”
“We were his friends,” Ethan said loudly. “Only a few minutes. But really his friends.” He said this with the conviction of knowing it was true.
“Yes, we were.”
Ethan started to walk away, and Cricket noticed his shoulders shaking.
She knelt down and kissed the young man and pulled the hoodie over his head, and caught up to Ethan.
“It’s too much to lose your mom and a new friend so close together.”
He cried for both losses as they started walking. Cricket kept an arm around him and messed up his hair, startling him. Ethan didn’t know what to say, so she told him: “Take a deep breath and keep scouting. We have a long walk ahead, and killers are everywhere.”
49
Meditation Hour
It was midday when the screams outside Ajax’s tent rose to a climax. He had ordered the punishment of two slavers hired to supply him with “product.” After they returned a few times empty-handed, or with a lousy catch that soon died, he sent out spies and caught the men several miles upriver selling their best flesh to a competitor who paid in gold coins and first-rate meth.
The number of screamers had risen to four in the past hour due to a couple of hunters who unwisely had followed the cries to camp. A barbershop quartet of howls from the doomed men and laughter from the other slavers was distracting until an interesting thing happened: one of the quartet broke from the group, a solo performance, escaping into the woods. Of course he was being pursued by a dozen slavers. Could he truly escape his fate? Of course not, Ajax said to himself. The pursued man was quickly captured, and for a long time his desperate screams and the cracking of one bone after another filled the camp—a warning to all aspiring soloists…
Ajax returned to his daily meditation on the children rescued from the island by the powerful dark-haired young woman who had stormed the slaver camp, killing his people with such ease.
50
Dancing Scarecrow
They made it to the Hilltop by late afternoon and came across the scarecrow on fire. The children continued to make up stories for their own entertainment, a few inventive plots reaching the adults. The stories had started with the scarecrow being christened with a new name almost weekly—“Plastic Man,” “Scary Man,” “Creature from the Woods,” and “Night Stalker,” the most disturbing for Cricket.
Cricket thought the scarecrow looked stranger in late fall, like this was his time to come off the tree and dance around the forest. She thought of Claubauf, who believed that an encounter with some make-believe monster was an exercise to lead the children into some new world. “Think of all this as a physics experiment,” he had recently told Cricket after she confronted him with Lee Ann’s report of her sister’s fear of the doctor.
One afternoon he had led the kids to the scarecrow and got them to stand quietly and observe the scarecrow on a cloudy, windy afternoon. Then he told each of them to approach the monster and take its hand. Lily jumped away like an electrical shock had gone through her when she reached for the waving plastic strips. Only Caleb was able to approach the mythical creature and touch it without shaking.
Whew, crazy Doctor Claw. She prayed his ideas hadn’t taken root with Caleb.
Cricket judged the creature to be over eight feet tall, and saw that instead of taking down Plastic Man, Mr. Cline must have expanded him. The head was larger, scarier than before, and extra strips had been wrapped around the limbs to imitate muscle and bulk, and longer pieces fluttered in a light wind. The plastic strips were dull, even dirty-looking, without illumination. The sun was hidden behind clouds, and the threat of rain loomed.
“I’d like to tear him apart, but I guess Mr. Cline needs him for next year.” Ethan circled it at some distance.
“Ethan, he’s a scarecrow.”
“He’s more than that.”
A wet chill rode Cricket’s back. “What are you talking about?”
“The girls have seen him. At the farm, walking across the pasture.”
“How come they didn’t say something?”
“You wouldn’t believe them.”
“Of course I would. I thought the stories were just for fun, all made up. Why didn’t you tell one of the adults? You know all the crazy people that are roaming out there. Ethan, we’re family. To survive we need to communicate quickly.”
“The girls never saw the scarecrow together. One would see it and get her sister and it would be gone. That happened to both Lee Ann and Lily.”
“From now on you report dreams, visions, hallucinations, hunches to us. I don’t care how crazy it may seem to you.”
“I guess that makes sense. Sorry I didn’t let you know, or my parents.” He closed his eyes tightly, trying to stop the next batch of tears. He lowered his head, and she took him in her arms and held him until his quick downfall of grief passed. She knew the day was only going to get tougher. With her arm around Ethan, they started to walk away when a wind gust startled them. They both turned to see the scarecrow dancing madly in the wind.
The wind abruptly ceased, and the scarecrow continued to dance.
51
A New Currency
Blinking away tears, Cricket w
atched the two boys clinging to their dad as Hank said a few words over Ann Davies, who had been laid to rest in a plywood casket fashioned by Oakley and Forrest. Ann’s parents supported each other, heads touching, their grief at times rising in unison.
Fritz had returned with the antibiotics and a few other medicines. During the service he kept an arm around Cricket, turning to her often with words of comfort. He and Hank had also told her not to worry about the plane. Had she not followed her instincts, they would not have known about the earthmover invasion until it was too late. Hank said that Oakley and Forrest would drive to the downed aircraft in the morning, and if it wasn’t destroyed they would fix it and fly it back to the farm. Oakley believed the paper air filter had rotted and had been sucked into the carburetor, which would explain the smooth rollback of rpm and not a complete loss of power.
When it was Sister’s turn to say a prayer, Caleb turned his head away, ignoring Sister’s words and prayers. Diesel sat obediently between Cricket and Fritz but started pacing and whining halfway through the service. Cricket shot him a look of tough love, and he doggied up for his tribe’s well-being and again sat respectfully at her feet.
The Clines and a few other Hilltop families sent representatives to cook throughout the day. Doctor Claw stood at the back of the group during the brief ceremony at the house and stayed away from any small talk—taking the time, however, to listen to Caleb, who approached him like he was seeking confession.
The yard and house were fuller than Cricket had ever witnessed, but the mood remained somber, not only for Ann’s passing but for the discovery that morning of another horrific murder. From Fritz, she had learned that an elderly woman, a widow, living several miles north of the Clines, had been wrapped in a mattress, tied to the trunk of a tree, and set on fire.
“Cricket, her mouth was taped shut with duct tape. Between the mattress and tape, she never even had the release of a scream. No more fights, at least until we’re rocking-chair age. We have devils all around us that need to be destroyed. You may need to rein me in soon.”
They stayed out on the patio and ate with Sister Marie, who told them that there was a lot of news from Hilltop families that wasn’t good, reports of more chaos throughout Ohio and the surrounding states.
“Just like the Brazilian, but on a greater scale and right in our backyard,” Cricket said, dragging her fork across the gravy-covered beef. Her imagination ignited with the same scene of Ajax—a lightning-quick beast moving toward her, not in a straight line but always zigzagging, waiting for his opportunity to attack.
Fritz first looked at his wife with a host of emotions that lasered into I believe you. He then addressed the guests. “We finally have a name—‘Ajax,’” Fritz said. “The kidnappers mentioned him, and Cleveland Command has heard it repeatedly. But there’s no face, no individual profile tied to it. It could still be an umbrella name for an organization, and the escaped prisoners might already have a working relationship with this entity. What we’re sure about is Mexican heroin and slavery are the new currency. So Ajax, with drugs and slaves, buys soldiers and accumulates property. Menial workers, doctors, lawyers, and engineers are available to the highest bidder for whatever Ajax desires on any given day—houses, property, weapons, food, medicine, and of course, sex slaves. Part of the story is that this Ajax was in Cleveland when the solar storm and the EMP shut us down. I’m flying back to Wright Patterson in the morning to see if I can get a C-130 gunship to partner with the Mustang.”
Cricket felt her prayers had been answered. She wanted this fight to crush Ajax with the same finality delivered to the Brazilian.
“You think he’s manning the earthmovers?” Sister looked to Fritz.
“I don’t know,” Fritz said. “We know that the white power group from the Cincy prison see themselves as the new barbarians. I think they’re a giant one-off, destroying homes, pillaging, raping, like the Mongol hordes. But the vicious murder of an elderly lady?” Perplexed, he shrugged. “Maybe. We can’t rule it out.”
Cricket noticed Doctor Claw watching with interest. He came over, drawn to the conversation.
“Is it evil… or survival?” Doctor Claw said, sitting down, not waiting for an invitation. Cricket wanted to slap Claw for his remark. The doctor smiled and quickly averted his eyes, a response she had gotten from men all her life who found her attractive and intimidating.
“Call it any name you wish, Doctor, as long as we stomp it out with both feet,” Cricket said hotly.
“But how do we know that evil was involved in Ann’s death? A brutal killing, but if they’re prompted by food for their children—”
“Oh, please,” Fritz said. “Peddle your Ivy League horse crap to Diesel. He’ll listen for a few treats.”
“Maybe it’d be more fun to call Ann’s killers Klingons, who are allowed to hunt earthlings, directed by the Dahar Master Ajax,” Cricket spat out.
“Evil has an existence outside of time,” Sister Marie said, and everyone looked to her, excited by such a stimulating piece of red metaphysical meat.
“God’s outside of time, too,” Claw said. “What, dueling banjos? May the best lord of the universe win? Good and evil battling it out over thirty-two bars.”
“After he was created by God and given free will, he chose to rebel.” Sister Marie looked like she was on comfortable ground, but Cricket knew Claw would take this opportunity to slash and burn her religious principles. “Satan never had God’s unlimited range of spiritual territory. Never will. But here, on this good earth, he can infect a person, bring them to ruin. The devil ultimately loses but can cause a real mess before the day heaven infuses the world.”
“Sounds to me, Sister, like you’re getting dangerously close to heresy: dualism, Gnosticism.”
Fritz called Diesel over, and he and Cricket petted and stroked one of God’s greatest creations, full of loyalty and unending love.
Sister Marie voiced, “I’m being perfectly clear. The universe, this very earth is beautiful, even with the introduction of sin, suffering, and death. All you’re doing, Doctor Claubauf, is attempting to deconstruct my religion, deconstruct evil, and show that it’s all relative.”
“But it is.”
“Mere words, not grounded in the empirical world.”
“You should know you stand light-years away from the real world, slavishly attached to religion.”
“Hardly. The imperative for Christians is to think, to explore, and to use our reason. I would grant you some integrity if your research into philosophical ideas and history were done from a true interest in discovering the truth. What people like you do is use reason as a cheap tool to get a leg up on what you irrationally disagree with. You have no love for real questioning, fierce debate. You’re a smear merchant, Doctor. I’ve known atheists, agnostics who, for whatever reason, have too many doubts or can’t connect with God, but they don’t attack those who believe in God, try to make them look foolish. True, I’m a religious person, but I’m an American, and we live with the freedom to love God, believe in Him, or not believe in Him. You want others to not only doubt their beliefs but lose their connection to a God that brings them comfort and joy. I feel sorry for you. You’re hateful and you want others to hate alongside you, since you’re unable to make the connection with something greater than yourself. And though you’ll never understand this, I’ll tell you anyway: I pray for you every day.”
“That doesn’t make my day, Sister.” Claubauf stood up. “Like you, Cricket, I could have tracked down Ann’s killers and snuffed them out, too. But I don’t need religion to justify killing.”
Cricket rose. Fritz looked worried, expecting the unexpected.
“Doctor Claw, stop polluting Caleb’s mind,” she said.
He countered, “The boy’s intelligent, curious, not given to superstition.”
“I don’t care about your stupid opinions,” she said. “He attacked Sister Marie.”
“And I don’t approve. That was terrible.”
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Sister said, “The boy lost his mother, and he needs to heal and find purpose, Mr. Claubauf. I’m not angry at him nor you for being his friend. I just expect you to let the boy’s talents grow unfettered. That he finds wonder.”
Claw was starting to answer when Predator Jones drove up in the Mule.
“I paid my respects to Lawrence and his sons, and I’m here to help run down the bastards. I came alone in the mighty Cub and I have a few surprises for the bad guys.”
Doctor Claubauf excused himself and one of the Cline’s daughter-in laws made a plate for Mr. Jones.
Fritz said, “My wife took care of Ann’s murders, but we have bigger problems.”
Predator Jones blurted, “Escaped prisoners—white power brigade. Already heard from PJ Bob. He’s got relatives in Parkersburg with some family members doing time at the Cincy prison.”
“And a half dozen earthmovers,” Fritz replied.
Predator agreed. “Knocking down homes, running people over, stealing, raping. For these boys it’s the vacation package of a lifetime.”
Sister Marie made the sign of the cross.
“PJ Bob heard what you heard from Cleveland Command, divvying up territory: Islamo-fascists south side of the river; the white-power dudes keep to the Ohio side.”
“Maybe I’m getting in the weeds here,” Fritz said, “but why wouldn’t the Aryans go into West Virginia? You know, Appalachian folk—”
“You mean hillbilly folk like myself—”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I had this conversation with Crazy Jack before he died. Jack believed that the white-power boys—being gifted with more native intelligence—suggested the jihadists would like the West Virginey side better due to its more mountainous terrain and their ability to set up a community of worshippers far from the discerning eye of whatever authorities roamed the fruited plain. And if they got pushback, they could head further into the hills. But Jack knew the real reason they encouraged their prison rivals with that prime real estate on the other side of the river: good ole boys like myself would have no trouble killing every last one of ’em. A win-win for the Aryan guys. On the Ohio side they’d have more goodies, a bigger group of people to play with and draw women from. And new recruits. And they may all be wittingly or unwittingly feeding the Ajax Empire with slaves.”
American Blackout (Book 2): Slaves Beneath The Stars Page 21
