Lazarus Rising

by David Sherman

  "What's a ‘gig,’ Charles?"

  "Huh?" Charles screwed up his face. "Oh, well, a ‘gig’ is—it's, you know, like a mistake? Hell's bells, Comfy, I don't know! It just came to me." He examined a button on the left side of the rifle. It was sticking out. A green strip indicated it was on safe. "How many rounds does this thing hold?"

  "Four, Charles."

  Charles nodded. "Are these rounds solid shot or pellets?"

  "I don't know. I reloaded after the fight with the devils and didn't bother to look. When I used it that day, I just pointed, fired, and worked the action. Afterward I noticed black and blue marks on my shoulder, and Father said it was because I didn't hold the butt end properly. But I killed them, Charles, I killed them."

  Charles smiled. She didn't look like she could kill anything, but he'd heard that story many times, and he knew Comfort would never hesitate again in combat. "It needs cleaning, Comfort," he observed sourly. "When you come off duty tonight we'll sit down and run some oily rags through the tube, get the dust and grit out of the action." He pointed the rifle in a safe direction, hefted it and sighted along the barrel. "How do you get a proper sight picture with this thing?"

  "You fire when the outline of the stock, or the whatchamacallit, lines up with the bead on the front of the barrel. Father taught us that, but in the fight, I just pointed and squeezed the trigger and worked the pump back and forth."

  Charles handed the rifle back to her. "Well, your father wants me to start organizing and drilling a defense force starting tomorrow. But I'm going to start tonight. I'm going with you. Who's watch master tonight?"

  "Reuben Stoughton."

  "Let's go."

  "Charles," Reuben Stoughton exclaimed in surprise as Charles and Comfort walked into the meeting hall. "What are you doing here?"

  "I'm Zechariah's ‘military’ adviser, Reuben, and tonight I'm starting off my new duty by observing your guard mount."

  "Well, we don't need any advice, Charles, we've all done this before." He glanced suspiciously at Comfort, remembering the innuendos Spencer Maynard had made against Charles and Comfort earlier in the evening. Charles noted the look but said nothing.

  "That's fine, Reuben. I'm sure you're an excellent watch master. But when the rest of your people arrive, I want to talk to them."

  Soon the others—Joab Flood, twelve; Lela Stoughton, seventeen; and Kezia Sewell, twenty—arrived. They were also surprised to find Charles there. He explained his presence in a few terse sentences.

  "Effective tonight, we're putting all of our defensive measures on an organized, military footing," Charles told them. "Tomorrow we're having a meeting of everyone in New Salem and we'll go over the details. But tonight I'm going to show you how to mount a proper guard detail—not that Reuben hasn't been doing it right, but I have a better way, and you'll learn it."

  Reuben frowned but said nothing; the others looked expectantly back at Charles.

  "First, the watch master will inspect your weapons. I know most of you are ‘armed’ with cudgels, but he'll make sure you have them and that they're serviceable. Comfort has a shot rifle." He took it from her and held it up for all of them to see. "You will all be trained on how to operate this weapon—you may have to in an emergency. But observe how it is now, action open, breech empty. Reuben will make sure, every night, that when Comfort brings this with her, it is in the same condition as it is now—rounds in the magazine but breech empty. She will load it at her post and make sure it's safe. When she goes off duty in the morning, Reuben will ensure that the weapon is made safe before she is relieved."

  Joab Flood grinned and looked hungrily at the weapon. He'll make a good gunner, Charles thought. "The watch master each night will make sure you remember which signals you are to give in case of alarm. I know, they're very simple, but in an emergency anyone can forget and give the wrong one. But you won't do that because we're going to drill over and over again. Your first order on watch is to take charge of your post. The second is to remain alert, and so on, and each time you go on duty you will be reminded of these things." He pointed at Lela Stoughton. "Miss, what do you do if you see something coming on the air?"

  "You hit the gong, bong—pause—bong—pause—bong," she answered immediately.

  "No!" Charles snapped, and immediately felt sorry for it when he saw how embarrassed the young woman was. "The signal for an air attack is a quick and vigorous 'Bong, bong, bong!' over and over again!" he said gently, and laughed. "See what I mean?" He patted the young woman on the shoulder to reassure her that he wasn't angry with her. "I know you won't forget that again, Miss, er...?"

  "Stoughton," Reuben said.

  "Stoughton. But you see what I mean? We go over and over even the simplest things so that when you are scared to death and every fiber in your body screams that you should run to safety, you'll do your duty. You watchers have the safety of this whole village on your shoulders and we're all depending on you to keep alert out there." He turned to Reuben. "How do you post your people to their watch stations?"

  Reuben shrugged. "When I see they're all here, I just let them go. They all know where the posts are."

  "Tonight we go in a group, watch master. We'll drop them off one by one, and in the morning your replacement will relieve your men in the same way. No more wandering around by yourself out there, especially after dark. I'll stay with you for part of the night. You will check each post every hour. How would you do that?"

  "I've been starting with post number one and walking around the perimeter to number four."

  "Don't do that. All of you listen to me. Any of you could be a watch master. Never establish a pattern. Vary your route to and from the posts. The watch master is the backup to our system, and he may be the one to discover an infiltrator before anyone else is aware of him." Charles heaved a sigh. "Okay? Now, what are the passwords for tonight?"

  "They are ‘Night’ and ‘Day.’ When someone unidentified approaches a post, the watcher challenges with ‘Night’ and the other person answers with ‘Day.’"

  Charles suppressed a sigh. He had discussed the need for signs and countersigns at night with Zechariah but apparently he hadn't been very clear. "When you approach a post in the dark, especially when the watcher is armed with a rifle, you need some way to let him know you're not the enemy, and for sure you don't want the enemy to learn what your passwords are. So you don't want to pick a sign and countersign that're easy for anybody to figure out, like ‘Night’ and ‘Day.’ It's logical one follows the other. All right, I know we're just getting started. We'll work all this out in the coming days. For tonight, can you think of passwords that nobody else can figure out?"

  "How 'bout ‘Genesis’ and ‘Revelations’?" Joab Flood volunteered. "The first and last books in the Bible. We're all big on Bible readings, we know all the books by heart, but I doubt the devils do."

  "Good man!" Charles enthused. He turned to Reuben. "There's officer material in that lad, Mr. Stoughton. Okay, if the person doesn't answer immediately with the countersign, ‘Revelations,’ you give the emergency signal..." He looked again at Lela.

  "Two quick bangs, as distinguished from aerial, ground, and muster signals," she answered immediately.

  "And run like hell," he added, and Lela grinned triumphantly. "If the weather is bad and the sound won't carry, you run straight for the village to warn the rest of us. And be ready to defend yourself with those sticks. Make as much noise as you can." Charles sighed. "In the future these signs and countersigns will be given to you at the beginning of each watch. Now, one final thing: Why have we laid lines along the ground connecting all the posts?"

  "To detect infiltrators and to warn the other posts if we spot anything," Kezia Sewell answered.

  "Right. A lone infiltrator may not trip the lines. They'll be just above the ground, and if an infiltrator knows what he's doing, he'll be very careful. Let's face it, if we're being watched, they'll know where the posts are and they may also know we've laid the wire. I d
oubt it, but it's possible. But you do the best you can in these circumstances. But any sizable force, one big enough to give us trouble, will hopefully stumble over them. And that's another reason the watch master keeps moving between posts all night long." They had carefully strung thin wire cable at about mid-calf to an average man's leg above the ground between all the posts. At close intervals they had hung tin cans containing one or two stones so that when tripped they'd cause a rattling noise at the nearest watch station.

  "Hey, it could be a stray cow," Charles continued, "but you react as if it's a whole herd of devils, right?" The watchers all nodded enthusiastically. Charles had their attention and their confidence. "Reuben? You ready? Let's go."

  Reuben posted the watchers well, and Charles congratulated him. "You go to your post in the meetinghouse," Charles told him, "and rest for an hour. I'm going to stay out here and check on things. Then the rest of the night is yours. Reuben, I'm not trying to embarrass you or make you feel small. I'm taking my new responsibility seriously and I'm only doing what I think is best for the safety of everyone in New Salem. You do understand that, don't you?"

  Reuben Stoughton looked at Charles in the darkness. If this man is a spy, he thought, he sure doesn't act like it. "Yes, Charles, I do, and I appreciate what you're doing for us." They shook hands and Reuben walked back to the village.

  "Genesis!" Comfort Brattle challenged when she heard someone approaching.

  "Revelations," someone answered in a very soft voice.

  "Charles! I knew it was you by the sound of your voice!"

  Charles came up to her. He could just barely see the outline of her face in the darkness. "Suppose I was a ventriloquist hiding out there in the dark, listening to the challenges?"

  "Oh, Charles! Aren't you taking all this too seriously?" Comfort did not expect to be examined that way, and despite the fact that she was ashamed of herself for it, she still burned with jealousy over his close relationship with Colleen. Comfort Brattle considered Charles her man. She'd nursed him back to health and he belonged to her!

  "Maybe, but we're in a serious position, Comfy. We can't—where's your rifle?"

  "Leaning up against the wall. It got too heavy to carry."

  "Comfort, never, but never get away from your weapon when you're on guard duty." Charles could tell from Comfort's voice she was near tears with frustration. He had been carrying on his side of the conversation in a whisper, which Comfort automatically imitated. He leaned forward and put his lips close to her ear. "You have a big responsibility, and I know you're up to it. Just keep your mind on—" She turned her head and kissed him full on the mouth.

  Charles stepped back immediately. "Now listen to me, Comfort. You ever do anything like that again on duty and you're off the watch, you'll turn in your weapon, and your little ass'll be in the kitchen with Mama." He placed both hands on her shoulders and shook her none too gently.

  What is going on? Comfort asked herself. He'd kissed that Colleen woman, she'd seen it! And now he objects to me kissing him? Conflicting emotions of rejection and jealousy welled up within her. She began to cry. "Nobody's ever talked to me like that before and—and—Charles, I—I—love you!"

  "Now listen to me again: when you're on watch you watch, you got that? You don't sit up here and moon about your lover or your dead brother or your goddamned period!" Charles paused to catch his breath. The kiss, he admitted, had been wonderful. He continued in a calmer tone of voice. "Comfort, you have to be able to separate your duty from your personal concerns. Now look, everybody in the village thinks we're soft on one another. I know they're talking about us. I'm twice your age, Comfort! What do you think people are saying about us? And we can't have that anymore, now that I'm responsible for the defense of New Salem and have to make up duty rosters and order people around. Nothing I can do will ever convince the other men that I'm not being soft on you, sparing you the rough duty because we're lovers. That is going to destroy morale and undercut my authority."

  "But—But Charles! I can fight! I have! I'm as brave and as smart as any man, braver and smarter than most of them! And I love you. I can't help it, Charles! I do!"

  "I know," Charles answered, so softly Comfort could hardly hear him. "But you have to understand, there are big differences between men and women. I don't mean that men are stronger and more warlike or anything like that. But Comfort, there's a—a ‘chemistry’ that works between the sexes, and it gets in the way of everything if you can't control it, and the younger you are, the harder it is to control. And here we are now, all of us thrown together into small groups, working together day in and day out, relationships are bound to form and somebody's got to keep an eye on that or when a crisis comes, someone will not make that single most important sacrifice to save the rest of us from disaster. Do you know what I'm saying to you?"

  Comfort leaned forward in the dark, kissed him again, turned and ran off toward the village. Charles could hear her crying all the way back down the ridge. He sighed, slung the shot rifle over his shoulder and took her post. When Reuben Stoughton came by an hour later, he explained that Comfort had taken ill and he'd relieved her.

  "Women!" was all Reuben said, and moved on about his rounds.

  Charles stayed on watch the rest of the night.

  "Comfort!" Charles bellowed as he came through the front door of the Brattles' home the next morning. "Front and center, girl!"

  Consort Brattle emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "Charles, whatever is the matter?"

  "Where is Comfort?"

  "In her room, I think. But Charles—"

  "Get Zechariah, will you?"

  Zechariah Brattle came out of his room, cinching his belt about his waist. "What is it, Charles? Are you forming up for training?"

  "Not quite yet, Zechariah. I want Comfort out here. Now." He walked back to her room and pounded on her door. After a few moments it opened and Comfort, eyes puffy from weeping, peered out at him. Charles reached inside, caught her arm, and dragged her into the living room, where her parents stood goggle-eyed with astonishment.

  "How dare you handle my daughter that way, Charles!" Consort shouted, and started forward.

  "What is the matter?" Zechariah asked, laying a restraining hand on his wife. He did understand.

  "Comfort deserted her post last night. I will have no one on the defense force who can't follow orders and do his or her duty. She is relieved." He let go of her arm. "I wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for your daughter. She took care of me like my mother would have. But that was then. This is now. You find other duties for her, Zechariah, but she is not serving with my force anymore."

  "She's a young woman, Charles! You can't expect her to act like a soldier!" Consort protested.

  "It's hard enough as it is to keep your people attentive to their duties without someone just walking off her post because—because—" Charles left the thought unfinished.

  "Daughter?" Zechariah turned to Comfort.

  "Yes, Father, I understand. May I return to my room now?" Comfort looked very small and frail, standing there, childlike, totally devastated. Charles felt a surge of pity so strong he almost cried out, I'm sorry! I take it all back! but he suppressed it and kept the stony visage, cruel and harsh, that overlay the utter remorse he felt at having hurt her. How can I ever make this up to her? he asked himself, and then mentally kicked his own behind for even thinking he had anything to apologize for.

  "No, you may not," Zechariah told her. "All of us are going to the meetinghouse. The black woman wishes to speak to us."

  The black woman, Emwanna Haramu, stood demurely at the pulpit in the meetinghouse, looking completely restored after her ordeal in the desert.

  When everyone except the watchers was present, Zechariah Brattle called for order. "Friends, our guest from far away has something important to tell us." He gestured toward Emwanna and indicated she should speak.

  Emwanna cleared her throat nervously. "I thank you," she began halti
ngly, "for taking my son and me into your home and saving us." Her voice was low and well-modulated, but people had to lean forward to hear her words. As she continued, her voice became stronger. "I know we see gods different. Mrs. Flood"—she pronounced the name Flooud—"she tell me much about your God and how you have suffered from the things that destroyed our villages and kill many of our people." Hannah Flood had told her how the Skinks had descended upon their land and devastated it, how the survivors had fled to the mountains for safety and a chance to recover their lives.

  "Our gods do not protect us from things," Emwanna continued. "We pray, sacrifice, do all to seek their help. No good. But things they leave. We think we are safe. Then men from the city come." Here she was overcome with emotion and tears coursed down her brown cheeks. She wiped them away with a sleeve. The meetinghouse was engulfed in a dead silence as everyone waited for her to continue. "All dead now," she whispered. Then in a stronger voice she told them what had happened. "One man, he find us, Chisi and me, in cave. He give us food and drink and let us live. All men from the city not bad." She paused. "I speak to you to thank you and to warn you." She caught Hannah Flood's eyes, and Hannah nodded. "God bless you all," Emwanna said, concluding her speech. She stepped out of the pulpit. The people arose then and surged forward to embrace her.

  Charles called Zechariah aside. "Things or men, Zechariah, we have to be ready at an instant's notice to react. Our position is now even more perilous. We may have to abandon New Salem."