by D. I. Telbat
"Oh, I'm killing you, for the good of us all. And you'll keep your mouth shut when Commander Morris gets here, or I'll make it worse for you!"
"Worse than death?" Eric chuckled, enjoying the closeness he felt to God with eternity so near. "Don't worry. One of my motivations to meet with you yesterday was to stop Commander Morris from burning more of your people at the stake. If you need a life to sacrifice so no others are killed, I'm okay with being that sacrifice. Death holds no terror for me."
The judge stared at Eric for a moment, his eyes actually showing sympathy. Eric imagined a tiny seed of love growing in the soil of the judge's heart. But then, he waved his hand.
"You're a mad man. Take him downstairs. I don't want to look at him again. Insane, that's what you are! Pure madness. Nobody dies for other people like this! You hear me? Nobody!"
Eric's escorts pulled him roughly from the room.
#######
Two days passed in the basement cell. Eric spent them pacing, praying, and sleeping. There were only the same two guards who rotated outside his cell. He tried to engage them in conversation, but their orders not to communicate must've come with threats.
One day, after being served a particularly watered-down broth and dry biscuit, Eric tried a new tactic.
"How come we eat this starvation diet when there's a whole herd of cattle not far away?" He waited, watching Josh Hicks read a dime novel outside his cell. The man didn't look up. "Can you imagine a full stomach of beef? Look at us. Eating nothing but flavored water, while I know where the cattle are. What, did Commander Morris order Mastover to starve itself to death? I guess so."
Hicks didn't respond, but at his shift change that afternoon, Newman arrived and both men unlocked his cell door and marched Eric upstairs to the judge's office.
"You know where a herd of cattle is?" the judge asked, acting disinterested as he stood again at the window that faced west. Eric wondered if he could see the highway far away—the route Commander Morris would take to return from the front lines when he visited Mastover again.
Eric considered his words carefully. Just because the American economy had collapsed didn't mean there wasn't still such a thing called leverage.
"I haven't kept my weight and strength up for six years by eating biscuits and water."
No one in the room moved. Eric believed he heard Newman's stomach growl. Since Eric did indeed have meat on his bones, and they were malnourished, his words carried weight.
"Nothing will delay your execution in a few days." The judge turned, sat down, and folded his hands. His eyes were hard as they bore into Eric. "But being burned at the stake can be less painful if we give you something to dull the pain beforehand. A narcotic. You also have my word that I'll offer asylum to whomever is left out in the woods who wishes to return to Mastover. All that depends on what you know that'll help the people here. Today."
"I don't need mercy from you." Eric smiled peacefully, confidently. "If I die soon, or not, it's really in God's hands, not yours. My choice to help you and the people of Mastover is because I don't want to see people suffer. If I tell you where the cattle are, it's because I care about you, Judge. The love of Christ Jesus compels me to help you. If you choose to treat me well or not, that's entirely on your own conscience. But how I live or die is not in your hands."
"Oh, you will die, you arrogant little gnat! You'll writhe and scream in the flames as they climb up your body! Your Jesus can't move the mountains necessary to stop that. Right now, I am god of your life and death!"
"The only reason you're killing me is because you're being pressured by the Lib-Org's commander. You're not in as much control as you say, and all your men know it. A puppet leader is what you are, too afraid of Morris to do what's best for the people. I'm your captive, but my conscience is free. Sure, you're a leader, but you're a captive to an evil man's vision. And your people are suffering for it."
"The more you say, the more you'll suffer." The judge spoke calmly now, the truth hopefully wounding him, perhaps making him reconsider. "Take him back to his cell."
The men didn't move.
"But, the cattle, Your Honor." Hicks glanced at Newman. "I think he's telling the truth about the herd."
"I am," Eric said. "All you have to do is ask."
"Shut up! All of you!" Judge Grayport rose to his feet and leaned on his hands over his desk. "Mastover doesn't negotiate with traitors! Especially not Jesus freaks! I will never beg, not even for the lives of my own people! Get out!"
Down in the basement again, Eric lay on his bunk and listened to the indiscernible whispers of Hicks and Newman outside the door. After a few minutes, the door opened and both men crowded the doorway. Eric sat up.
"You really know where cattle are?" Newman asked. His narrow eyes and smirk now appeared as pleading, even desperate. Hunger had broken through the man's cold heart. "If you tell us, Hicks and I will make sure you die quickly. We both have families. We can't keep living off what the scavengers bring in. They haven't even found any antelope in a month."
"I'll tell you two where the cattle are," Eric said, "but first, you're going to listen to me."
"Sure." Newman shrugged, moved deeper into the cell, and leaned against the wall. Hicks remained at the door.
"Hardship always shows who we really are." Eric nodded solemnly, thinking of River Camp as well as the people of Mastover. "We don't know what's really in us until we're tested by difficulties. We like to think of ourselves as honest and caring, or courageous and steadfast. But in the heat of the fire, like we've witnessed since the virus, most of us have realized we're selfish, proud, and cowardly. We've hoarded secretly, and maybe stolen and killed, for another desperate day. For what? We're in the middle of a garbage dump here, serving a man who thinks he's a god."
"You don't know Judge Grayport. He's ruthless." Hicks looked away. "He'll kill my whole family if I betray him. We shouldn't even be talking to him, Newman."
"I think we're past that." Eric took a deep breath. "The judge is already killing your families, and you've both clearly considered the consequences of talking to me about this."
"Just tell us where the cattle are," Newman pleaded.
"In a minute." Eric bowed his head. His only bargaining chip didn't seem to be the leverage he'd hoped. Rather than withhold the truth for his own sake, he had to help these starving people. "There comes a time when a man's loyalties must be questioned. Let's just look at the facts and measure them. You're starving in a town full of filth, serving a man who threatens your families to keep you loyal. And then there's me. I've eaten healthy for years, bathed in crystal-clear water, and served a God who provides for me. You still want to put your faith in the judge?"
"Your God got you caught," Newman said, "and now He's about to get you killed."
"I'm not dead yet." Eric smiled. "I'm here to speak to you two about putting your faith in the God who looks at our hearts. I may die in a few days, sure. I'm content with that. We all die. But I know where I'm going when I die, and you don't. You and your families will die a little slower, and every individual will stand before God. What will your excuse be then? You'll tell Him you sided with a tyrant out of fear, rather than cared for your neighbor out of love?"
"I've never seen any God do anything for me and my family," Hicks said, his face downcast.
"He's using me right now to speak to you. This is often how He works. If it's goodness and kindness—it's coming from God. Now, Judge Grayport is only as strong as his men agree to do what he says."
"The Lib-Org troops will demolish Mastover if we defect as a whole town." Newman shook his head, but Eric could see his words had penetrated his mind. "Just tell us where the cattle are."
Eric bit his lip. He'd be dead soon, anyway. Mastover didn't deserve to discover the cattle, but exercising grace was just that—offering favor that the recipients didn't deserve.
"I'll tell you, but only because you need to see God's hand of deliverance for something this simple." He t
ook a deep breath. "About twenty miles south of here is a town called Adderthorn. It sits below the last mountain peak of the Sharrock Range. To the east is rangeland, all the way to the Mississippi. You with me so far?"
"Yeah. The rangeland." Newman nodded. "We follow."
"About ten miles east of Adderthorn, there's a wash or spring, with a small stand of oak trees." Eric didn't tell them he'd discovered the water source on a clear day using his telescope while sitting on top of his mountain. "A whole herd of cattle have used that place as a watering hole for years. They graze on the range around them, but they return to the water each day."
"You've seen this for yourself?" Newman asked. "That's a long way from Mastover, but if it's a guarantee, the judge will let us take a couple vehicles."
"It's a guarantee," Eric said, "but depending on how you manage the slaughter, you may or may not kill off the whole herd this year, and be back to starving to death next year."
"We know how to manage a herd," Hicks said. The quiet man seemed to have replaced the sharpness his partner once had.
"Just don't forget about me." Eric forced a smile, thinking of Joseph and the cupbearer. "When you're eating and filling your bellies in a couple days, it was a follower of Jesus Christ who guided you to the food."
"Yeah." Newman scoffed as he backed out the door. "Like we're telling the judge that!"
Once they were gone, Eric lay back and sighed contentedly. Maybe that was the last of his work on earth—to use his knowledge to keep the town alive for a little longer. He'd never gone after the cattle himself since the rangeland to the east had no cover, and he didn't want to be attacked by bandits or a military unit on the open plain. However, only someone from the mountaintop heights would be able to discover the thousand or so cattle grazing out there.
From thoughts of contentment, Eric's mind gradually drifted back to being burned at the stake. It was a harsh reality. Major Milton, the man he was dying for, was surely back at River Camp by now. Andy was probably up at the cabin with Joel and his wife. While Eric died in the midst of flames, the refugees of war would probably not even grieve for him. After all, they hadn't been too happy about his leadership. Gretchen hadn't been pleased with him, either. But Eric's conscience was clear, since he'd sought the inspiration of the Lord to make his decisions for the people.
A clear conscience, he considered, was more valuable than all the comfort in the world—when it came to standing before Jesus Christ. And he would certainly be facing the eternal realm sooner rather than later, so it was just as well he'd already been striving to live faithfully and pleasing in the sight of God. Yes, he was about to meet his Savior!
*~*
Chapter 4
The morning of his execution, Eric was fed a slim piece of salted beef and a mug of weak tea. Beef! So, they'd found the cattle he'd told them about, he thought somberly. He'd delivered them from starvation, so now they would deliver him to the fire.
On his knees, Eric prayed. He felt a gentle joy in his heart. The prospect of meeting God gave him a peace that transcended any fear of excruciating pain. The pain would last but a few minutes. Eternity would last—forever!
Even with the meat in his stomach, he hadn't been fed well for a week. He prayed he would remain strong enough to die with honor for God, and not in shame or defeat. His cell door suddenly opened and he stood up.
"The judge wants you to wear this." Hicks tossed Eric a red, white, and blue armband that the resistance fighters wore. "Put it on."
"I'm dying as a resistance fighter, so why not be clothed like one, huh?" Eric said, as he pulled the band up to his biceps.
"Keep your mouth shut about the resistance, or this'll go much worse for you." Newman looked at the floor. "That's what Judge Grayport said."
"So, Commander Morris is here?" Eric presented his wrists to be cuffed in front of him. Instead, Hicks turned him around and roughly cuffed his hands behind his back.
"He's here—with two squads of his best men." Newman took hold of Eric's left arm. "They thought they might be coming to burn five Mastover people at the stake, if we hadn't resolved the resistance problem. Nothing will interrupt that now."
"Good thing you're resolving it, huh?" Eric joked as they led him upstairs. "How disappointing it'll be for you all when the resistance reignites since you're not killing its actual leader."
"Shut up!" Hicks jabbed him in the ribs. "No talking now."
When they emerged into the sunshine, Eric squinted at the charred earth near the side of the courthouse where it had been cleared for executions. The hanging platform Eric had seen months earlier was gone now, and the platform wood was piled for feeding the fire. Around the courtyard, the gray town stood like something from a black and white movie. Its streets were choked by trash, and the tallest buildings seemed haunted by silence, tensed for more death.
A crowd was gathered—voluntarily or forced, Eric wasn't sure—with Commander Morris seated on a metal chair at the front. Eric was marched over to him, and Judge Grayport walked up with his private security guard of five local soldiers. Twenty of Commander Morris' troops wore the gray and black insignia of a lightning bolt on the shoulders of their uniforms, distinguishing them as the Lib-Org's elite forces—apart from the rag-tag and recently-starved militia of Mastover. About one hundred Mastover soldiers were present, and all eyes were on the visitors and Eric.
"This is the resistance leader." Judge Grayport presented Eric, and gestured at his armband. Eric noticed the judge averted his gaze often, like he didn't want to make eye contact with anyone for too long. "They call him Mad Man, like I wrote to you in the report. Sergeant?"
One of the judge's men stepped forward with rehearsed precision and drew a polished dagger. The knife slid roughly against Eric's arm, cutting him through his jacket, but slicing away the armband. The red, white, and blue band fell to the ground. With the pageantry completed, the judge nodded to Hicks and Newman. It was burning time.
"Wait." Commander Morris stood and stepped up to look into Eric's eyes. The commander was a balding man with broad shoulders and a thin waist. He portrayed a fighting man with daring eyes and hands at his sides that seemed frozen in mid-grip. "You're Mad Man?"
Shorter than the leader of the Lib-Org, Eric's head tilted up. Though the judge's bluff depended on Eric keeping his mouth shut, Eric also had a commitment to River Camp to continue the facade. If he didn't, the judge's troops would be forced to clear the woods of the remnants of the resistance—which were the women and children still living in safety.
"I am."
"This dog scared us from hunting for game in the woods to the south?" He turned and smiled at his men, drawing laughter. "Did you ever have the virus, like they said you did?"
"Not that I know of."
"How can we be sure he's the last of the resistance?" he asked the judge.
"No one else is left." The judge chuckled, but it came out as a nervous cackle. "The dump is filled with their bodies. He's the last threat."
"Hardly the last threat." Morris took out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead from the mid-morning heat. "The Christians are still out there, even living among us. They don't wear armbands or wave flags, but they hate the freedom the Liberation Organization seeks to reinstall across this fine land."
"We've executed our share of noncompliant citizens as well, Commander," Judge Grayport said. "Take him away, men."
As Eric was escorted from the commander's company, the judge's face showed relief that Eric had remained silent regarding his charges.
Hicks took Eric by the throat and forced his back against the tall stake posted in the ground. A simple cord was lashed around his neck. His hands remained cuffed behind him. Hicks and Newman commenced to tie his legs to the post as well. Then, the wood stacked nearby was moved, piece by piece, to lean against Eric's legs.
Eric was saddened by the silent stares of the people as they watched, their faces blank. Perhaps their hearts had become desensitized from the other execut
ions. They seemed emotionless.
Above the people, the buildings around the courthouse square stood just as silently, their dark windows mostly absent of glass due to bullets and grenade concussions from past conflicts. The marks of fighting and turmoil scarred the structures. So much violence and pain. And loneliness.
Focusing his eyes above the buildings, Eric looked at the clouds. God was watching, and Eric was ready to go to Him. He'd lived a selfish life, until six years earlier. Then, Eric had taken God's side against his own sinfulness. Because he'd trusted in the sacrifice of Jesus, physical death didn't hold any great sting. Life would come from his death.
The wood was sufficiently piled around his legs. Eric did his best not to think about how the flames would leap up his body. Depending on where they started the wood on fire, he might even be unconscious from the smoke before the flames reached him. The thought made him crane his neck even more against the collar to see more of the sky. The tears on his cheeks weren't from sadness. But perhaps there was some sadness since he'd not been able to bring more of the River Camp people to see the gospel truth.
Thump!
Eric heard a murmur course through the gathering. Several people pointed at Eric in fear. But it wasn't at Eric they were pointing, he suddenly realized. Hicks and Newman backed away from an aluminum arrow shaft that had thudded deeply into the ground near the pile of wood. Its angle was nearly vertical, as if it had been sent from heaven.
Thunk!
A second arrow stabbed into a board close to Eric's feet. Hicks dropped a box of matches and backed away from starting the fire. The Lib-Org troops and the commander swung rifles against their shoulders. But where was the unseen archer?
Staring at the aluminum arrows, Eric gasped. He might still die that day, but he wouldn't die anonymously. Those were Joel Grayport's arrows! Probably all of Mastover knew of the bow hunter's skill and trade. Eric prayed Joel didn't show himself and get caught. Who else would take care of Andy?
The eyes of Eric and the judge met. Yes, the man knew those were arrows belonging to his son. The judge's face showed confusion, but curiosity as well.
