by D. I. Telbat
Eric studied the second man, taller than the first. He was dark-haired with a cautious look to him. The flag-stick in his hand shook with what Eric read as nervous energy.
"I've heard of Mad Man," Eric said. "They say he's a carrier of the virus. He foams at the mouth and eats hunters raw. Of course, it could all just be rumors."
"You know him," the smirker said. "The judge wants an audience. Tomorrow night at sundown at the bridge south of town."
"I can tell Mad Man, but I doubt he'll want to walk into a trap." Eric looked past the two soldiers. Gretchen moved like a ghost across the trail and disappeared into the woods to the west. "What would Judge Grayport want to talk to Mad Man about?"
Eric remembered vividly the four who'd been hung on the judge's gallows in Mastover. One had been a child. A child! His anger rose, but he prayed that God in His justice would avenge the terrors of evil men.
"Commander Kelly Morris of the Lib-Org returned to Mastover for a visit," said the blond, his eyes fierce with accusation. "He's heard about the resistance fighting here. His supply lines have been disrupted, so he rounded up five and burned them at the stake."
"Five what?" Eric asked.
"Mastover men. My friends. Men who'd served the judge."
Eric felt a foreboding dread wash over his soul. Burning at the stake in America? It was sickening, but he wanted to show himself firm with the visitors, so he tried not to react visibly. Commander Morris was the Lib-Org's head, a man who fancied himself as a freedom fighter, but so far, he'd only dominated others by force. Killing Christians had become one of his hobbies, radio broadcasters had even joked.
"The judge joined Commander Morris and his troops," Eric said. "The commander has charged across America, killing civilians. Are you really surprised he's turned on you?"
"It's the fault of the resistance that those five men were burned at the stake!" The short one eyed the bushes suspiciously. "They died because the judge can't suppress Mad Man's resistance efforts. And Commander Morris will return from the front lines up north to execute more of us if the judge doesn't put an end to the resistance. The resistance needs to end, or more will die. It could be us next!"
Eric's knees felt weak.
"Mad Man isn't a resistance fighter. He's just a survivalist."
"The judge wants a meeting. That's all."
Eric didn't believe that was all, but he nodded anyway.
"I'll tell Mad Man, but I can't promise he'll show."
"Then more innocent people in Mastover will be burned at the stake!"
"There's hardly any innocent people in Mastover if you've all joined the Lib-Org," Eric said. "Go back to Mastover. You've delivered your message. Go on now."
The men hesitated, perhaps expecting a little hospitality after their long trek into the mountains. But Eric couldn't risk exposing the camp to spies. Finally, the two visitors turned away, their weariness apparent as they trudged down the trail—a long ten miles back to the highway.
Eric sighed once they were out of sight, and held his bleeding side. He wondered if he had compromised his faith in God by joining the resistance even in a passive role. Obviously, the enemy believed he was actively part of the resistance now, or they wouldn't have come and asked for him specifically. Someone had singled him out. Someone had lied, and now he was implicated.
Gretchen returned a few minutes later, reporting there was no one else on the trail for a couple miles, at least. They joined Hank on Lookout Ridge to watch the trail as they talked.
"Why talk with you?" Hank asked after Eric repeated the conversation. "Why not Major Milton? He's the leader of the resistance in this region."
"Maybe Milt was captured again," Eric said. "Or they can't find him. Or he's dead."
"But how do they know about Mad Man being in charge out here?" Gretchen asked. "That's why we freed Milt and the prisoners three months ago—to keep this place a secret. All we have is women and children, except for you two men."
"No one from River Camp talked." Eric turned and looked down at the mourners. "I don't think anyone has a transmitter we don't know about, and no one's left camp long enough to get a message outside. It had to be a resistance fighter who talked, maybe someone who was captured and tortured, or who's defected."
The three were silent for a moment. Eric hadn't sensed the heavy weight of leadership as much as he did now. As busy as they'd been in River Camp, Eric had felt lonely for weeks. Though he'd been sharing the gospel of Jesus Christ openly whenever an opportunity presented itself in conversation, little ground had been gained. The sentiments of the camp mostly reflected what Hank felt: he didn't want "religion" pressing in on his choices to live and think as he wanted. He was among those who'd been part of the Christian persecutions and Bible burnings a year earlier. What Eric couldn't get through to him was that Christ sets free the soul from the bondage of bad choices. Hank's anger, cursing, and even cheating on his wife with a woman in camp, were the choices from which he couldn't liberate himself.
Andy was the only one Eric felt a true kinship to in the things of Christ. After their small Sunday fellowship in camp each time, the two hiked alone into the mountains, exploring, fishing, and throwing rocks. At hidden lakes and beside pristine glaciers, they sat and talked and prayed. They'd even prayed for Judge Grayport, but that kind of compassion for the enemy was completely foreign to Hank and even to Gretchen. Eric hated to think what the death of Willy could ignite if the people insisted on hating Joel because of his father.
Standing on Lookout Ridge, Eric suddenly wished he and Andy were back at their mountain cabin, away from the threat of invading armies and violent townsfolk.
"If my nickname is attached to the resistance," Eric said, "then I'll go to the bridge tomorrow and set the record straight. Whatever's going on with this latest burning at the stake, it's got to end."
"Don't sell us out just to make peace with Judge Grayport!" Hank growled. "You already brought his son here!"
"Hank," Eric held back the fire on his tongue, "has there ever been any indication whatsoever that I haven't sought for the greatest good for our people? Just because I'm interested in peace doesn't mean I'm trying to harm them."
"Like I said, you brought Joel here."
"And he's brought in more meat than me, remember? For everyone."
"Joel caused the death of that boy this morning," Gretchen said, then looked down at the ground. She opened her mouth again to say something, but chose not to.
"Thanks, Gretchen." Eric felt like she'd just betrayed him, but she'd spoken her heart, and now her feelings were out. "That's really helpful."
He marched away down the trail to camp. Gretchen had chosen to oppose him and instigate more bitterness. Eric sensed that all of their closeness had vanished in a single morning of testing.
Weepy and fearful faces of women and children peered up at him.
"Eric," a young mother asked, "what are we going to do?"
Unable to speak at the moment, he held up his hand, then passed her and the others without a word. He reached Lodge One and went to his pack, which was always stocked and ready for travel. But he wasn't leaving just yet. From a side pocket of the pack, he drew a sewing kit. Outside, he went to the bank of the river, sat on a log, and took off his shirt. Painfully, he cleaned his wound and started stitching his own skin. Inwardly, he grumbled about the discontentment of the people and the impossible situations he somehow had to find solutions for. Though he tried to place the problems into God's hands, the personal pain he felt for being alone in seeking what was right, made the problems seem too large to think about clearly. And he felt he'd all but lost Gretchen.
Using his knife, he cut the thread and poked at his sensitive flesh. The blood had ceased, but a scar would remain, he guessed, to add to his others collected over the years since Pan-Day. Shrugging into his shirt, he looked at the sky.
"I may or may not be acting like a spoiled child, Lord." He scoffed at himself. "You've taken care of me and shown Yours
elf mighty before. I can trust You through the chaos again, even now."
He turned around and was startled to find the entire camp gathered behind him, only thirty paces away, sitting or standing, watching him. They were waiting on him. No one else could be depended on for these decisions. The whole camp had been arranged according to his specifications. They were still alive because of him, and they knew it. If he showed himself defeated by hardship or even by their own criticism, then the camp's morale would be defeated and their ability to prepare for the hard winter ahead would cease. Ultimately, Eric knew he was there to prepare their hearts to believe in Jesus Christ before He returned for His Church. And these people were far from prepared for winter, or for the coming of the Lord.
Andy walked forward and stood next to Eric. Eric set his hand on his adopted son's shoulder, and together they approached the people. The people hushed themselves for what he would say. Gretchen stood at the back with Hank. Her arms were crossed and she wouldn't meet his gaze.
"We're a community in turmoil, but we're not broken," he said loudly, more boldly than he felt inside. "Willy was our friend, brother, and son. First, we'll have a funeral for him. Then, the hunters will go after the bear that killed him. The bear is just a wild animal, but it's killed one of us now, and it needs to be put down. After that, I'll be going to Mastover to meet with Judge Grayport. He's sent word that he wants to end the strife between us. I need to find out what his intentions are."
A murmur passed through the hundred souls. Eric raised his hands.
"Quiet now. I keep telling you people to trust in God through our difficulties, and that's exactly what we need to do. We have a chance to rise from the pain and fear, but only if we rely on the Creator. That includes right now. Let's see to our brother, Willy, and we'll consider the things of faith as we go forward. Come on, Barb."
Eric held out his hand. The grieving mother stepped forward to accept it, and the two walked together to the cemetery that already held the dead. The crowd followed after, weeping. Joel carried Willy. Gretchen remained distant, whispering with her father. They were already planning to rid the camp of Joel and his family, Eric guessed. Though their anger ran deep toward the Grayports, from long past, Eric couldn't go against what he knew was right in his heart. He would stand with Joel, even if the others didn't. And in the midst of the strife, he had to go to Mastover.
He was going to meet Judge Grayport. And by the grace of God, there would be peace.
*~*
Chapter 2
"Two bears!" Joel Grayport said to Eric in a harsh whisper. They were eight miles southwest of River Camp. "Have you ever heard of such a thing?"
Eric shook his head at the man who'd become the unofficial scout within the hunting troop. Joel's stealth of foot and ability to read sign rivaled Eric's own skills, if not surpassed him. The camp would certainly be weaker now that they were losing Joel the next day. He was leaving with his wife and infant. The people had spoken after the funeral the night before, and their decision had been unanimous. Even Gretchen had opposed him, siding with the mob and her father to send the judge's son away. Only Eric had objected to the bowman's departure. As the son of the judge, Joel had already been viewed as a threat. The accident with the bear and Willy's death had caused the people to make the irrational decision. They didn't see it as an accident, but as murder, and Eric couldn't sway them. It could mean their own deaths, though, if the four other hunters couldn't bring in enough meat to feed the whole camp through the winter.
"The trail continues to the west," Eric whispered to Joel and Gretchen as they examined the bear tracks together. Their heads were just inches apart, and Gretchen was breathing heavily since the three hunters had been traveling fast with only canteens and rifles. Gretchen hadn't mentioned the night before, or even spoken to Eric flirtatiously as she'd done for months. "I have to pull out of the hunt. It's already mid-morning, and I have to get to the bridge meeting."
"We can't get the bear without you!" Gretchen said with a bite to her words. Joel frowned. He carried a rifle, but he was a bowman, not a marksman, and Gretchen obviously didn't trust him. "And now we know there are two bears. What are we supposed to do?"
"Get back to River Camp," Eric said to her. "Protect the people. Keep them close to camp until the bears can be killed. One of these bears is a man-killer. That's dangerous, but two of them together is twice the threat."
"It's not natural," Joel said. Eric thought he seemed especially sad when he spoke. First, Joel had left Mastover. Now, he was about to leave all of the people he'd come to join. In River Camp, he'd served a purpose, even if he'd been scorned. The campers' words the night before hadn't been friendly. "Maybe the virus is affecting animals to act aggressively and out-of-sync. Maybe the bears are siblings. But normally, even siblings are territorial. They don't usually terrorize the same range and travel together."
"When I get back from the bridge meeting—"
"If you come back," Gretchen said, scowling.
"—we can continue the hunt," Eric finished.
"I wanted to kill the bear before I left River Camp," Joel said. "But I'm not willing to stay another day where I'm not welcome, even to fix what I may have started with this bear."
"We don't need your help," Gretchen spat, looking away. "You got Willy killed. You might just get more of us killed."
"Gretchen, you volunteered to come today, remember? Try to be constructive." Eric offered Joel his hand, and the two shook. "The cabin will be a nice place for a small family, and I'll be glad to have someone looking after the place. Andy and I will visit you before winter to see how things are going."
"You're not returning with us to River Camp?" Gretchen asked Eric.
"No." Eric took a drink from his canteen, holding back thoughts he didn't have words for. "I'll need to hike straight to the bridge to arrive on time."
"What if the judge takes you prisoner?" She looked pained, but Eric didn't know how to help her through her hatred of the Grayports, which he didn't share. "What do we do then?"
"River Camp made its decision last night. You can't have the security of me and Joel while pushing us away at the same time." Eric retied his boots as Gretchen stared speechlessly. "There's a reason why I'm insisting on going to the bridge alone."
"You're talking about us kicking Joel out of camp?" She looked like she was about to cry, like she knew that their months of growing friendship had been disrupted. "What? Now we can't disagree with you or have our own opinions?"
Joel took a step back, obviously uncomfortable at being the continuing source of division.
"This is more than an opinion," Eric said. "This is siding against what is right. The camp made a decision based on fear, not compassion. We've become like the people we're hiding from."
"How dare you!" She stomped her foot. "I thought you and I had something special!"
She turned away and headed toward camp.
"Wow. Things went bad fast, huh?" Joel frowned. Eric could only imagine the weight he felt from Willy's death, and now being set aside by the camp. "I'll make sure she gets back okay."
"It's their hearts, Joel," Eric said, hoping to soften any anger the man might feel toward Gretchen or the others. "Conflict always shows what's real inside of us. Without God, we're all doomed."
"That sounds like something from your Bible." Joel smiled. "See? I'm catching on."
"God is the only stability in this life, Joel. There's a Bible on the shelf in the cabin. I hope you check it out, and never forget what God did at the bridge."
"I'm sorry you're catching so much grief for bringing me to River Camp, and now for standing beside me through Willy's death."
"Joel, when you head to the cabin tomorrow morning, you'd better take Andy with you." As Eric looked after Gretchen, she turned back as if to say something more, perhaps to apologize for her words, but she continued her walk to camp. "Since the rest of the camp shares her attitude, Andy won't be any more welcome in camp than you or me."
"Tell him I said David needs to run from Saul to safety. He knows the story. It's from—"
"The Bible." Joel chuckled. "I get it. Stay safe at the bridge."
Eric saluted Joel as they parted ways. Once alone in the forest, Eric was immensely overwhelmed by the presence of God and the emotions from the last two days. The death of Willy had brought out the worst in River Camp. But Eric understood it was all that could be expected from people who weren't guided by God in their inner lives. Their worldly lives would naturally rule, and cause damage as they thought primarily about themselves.
Kneeling next to a small brook of water, Eric prayed for strength. In Gretchen, he'd seen a potential wife, but not when she opposed the things of God that inspired him to act accordingly. So, he opened his soul that late morning, desperate for the clear comfort of God to embrace him. There was also a measure of self-pity inside, which he needed to repent from—as he walked into the unknown, perhaps even into death itself. And for what? For River Camp and one hundred souls who'd turned against him.
While at the brook, he topped off his canteen, then headed north. He stripped off his outer layer, a buckskin shirt he'd worn that morning to ward off the coolness and to guard against scraping branches. The summer day was warming quickly, but he left on his flannel shirt since he was barging through thickets and wanted no more wounds than he already carried.
By midafternoon, he reached the tree line a half-mile south of the bridge. He chewed on jerky and drank from his canteen as he prayed for wisdom in dealing with Judge Grayport and whatever deal was to be proposed. Eric had never intended to speak for the resistance, but he couldn't turn down the opportunity to somehow influence the peace process locally.
He left the trees and used his binoculars to study the bridge where he'd trusted God three months earlier. God had preserved him then. Celebrating that memory in his heart encouraged him to trust in God's preservation again. Or, if he were captured, he hoped God still allowed him to testify of Christ, even as he died.
