No Pit So Deep: The Cody Musket Story

by James Nathaniel Miller II

  "Okay, okay. Two weeks," Cody grumbled.

  Brandi was amused as she overheard a conversation between the intern — a baby-faced young woman named Lilly — and the doctors as they departed.

  "Wow! I never saw a famous person's butt before," the starry-eyed intern declared. "He's lucky he didn't lose his hip."

  One of the doctors, a tiny woman with dark hair and thick glasses, spoke up. “His hip? Lucky he didn’t lose his life. They said one of the walls in that apartment was almost destroyed by bullets.”

  The other doctor, a tall man with a booming voice, answered back. "I heard Wyatt Earp was involved in numerous gunfights and never even got a scratch."

  "Guess he'll get pretty antsy not playing baseball for two weeks."

  “Are you kidding me, Lilly?” the tall doctor spouted. “He'll just get a couple of buddies to slap some pine tar on it, and he’ll be back in the lineup again tomorrow night.”

  Brandi chuckled as she came to check on Cody. He was motionless with his eyes shut, still lying on his stomach. No! He would not be playing ball any time soon. She would make certain of that!

  In the other room, Knoxi whimpered again. Brandi went to her, but the distraught child would not be comforted. Moments later, Cody appeared in the doorway. When Knoxi saw him, she reached out. Brandi handed her off.

  Ray asked the ladies to give him a few moments with Cody. The two women went into the other room.

  Knoxi finally caught her breath. She was now quiet and content. It was 4:15 a.m.

  “That baby girl really loves you, son. I guess you know that.”

  “I know. Feeling’s mutual.” He wrapped his arms even tighter around the child. “How’s the shoulder?”

  “I’ve been hit worse.” Ray’s voice was crackly but unwavering.

  “Roger that. You saved my life. Your hunch was right. Good thing you brought the .45.”

  “You saved my girls," Ray answered back. "But I think we should give God the credit.”

  “Is that one of your Top Five?”

  “Oh. Brandi told you about that?” He chuckled.

  “How many are there now?” Cody inquired.

  “Fourteen.”

  “If I may ask, what principle is number one on your list?”

  “You will learn that on your own, Cody. When you do, I’ll tell you and we’ll compare notes.”

  “Fair enough.” Cody took a deep breath. “I’ve invited Brandi to come to Houston with me. I want to pull a surprise and propose to her Saturday night during the seventh-inning stretch at Minute Maid Park. If you aren’t able to travel by then, I’ll wait, but I want to marry your daughter, and I am asking your blessing.”

  “That’s my girl, Lieutenant. It would take at least ten divisions to keep me away.” He chuckled, and then his voice deepened.

  “I want to ask you a question, Cody. Do you believe in the devil?”

  “The devil?”

  “Affirmative. Satan. Lucifer. Do you believe in the devil?”

  Cody answered without hesitation. “Any man who’s been to hell believes in the devil, sir.”

  “We are soldiers, Cody. That’ll never change. What we’ve been through will always be part of who we are. That’s why you gotta remember you were created in God’s image, not the devil’s image. If you’re gonna marry my daughter and be a father to my granddaughter, you will remember that.”

  “Loud and clear, Captain. I read you loud and clear.”

  “Son, until five days ago, I didn’t believe there was a man on earth good enough for my girl. I know your old man would be proud of who you’ve become.” Then Ray shut his eyes. “Prove me wrong, Marine, and I’ll fan your butt…” He drifted off.

  Cody looked at Knoxi staring him in the face. “Aren’t you sleepy, little girl?”

  He held her on his right arm and waltzed her gently, floating around the room hoping she would fall asleep, but her pearlescent blue eyes would not give up. He gruffed out a familiar tune, humming at first, and then trying to sing. Knoxi curled her fingers inside his bottom lip again, like when he had read his poem to her.

  Brandi and Whitney appeared in the doorway when they heard Cody’s attempt to carry a tune. Despite his gritty monotone, something about it was heavenly at that hour. Brandi decided to video record the event with her smartphone, but the reluctant hero and the willing princess never noticed. Locked in a visual bond, they were oblivious to all else.

  In a few minutes, Cody paused. “Baby girl, I got a secret. You’re not the only blue-eyed lady I’ve fallen hard for in this town lately, so what do you think of that?"

  Ray awakened just in time to see the corners of Knoxi’s lips turn upward, her playful eyes twinkling back at Cody. “You never know,” she answered.

  The toddler’s first spoken words had arrived with perfect diction. Whitney fell to her knees, but Brandi tossed her phone onto Ray’s bed, scooted to Cody’s side, and wrapped her arms tight around him. Her squeaky voice hoarsened her response. “Something I’ve wanted to tell you; I would be so honored if you would take me to the beach with you.”

  “Hmmm. With me? Well, I been told there are no beaches around here.”

  “Well, I been told there are plenty of beaches near Houston.” She moved her lips next to his and closed her eyes. “Oh, I’m so totally going to cry all over you. I’m so sorry.”

  Despite her meltdown, he clutched her with his free arm and kissed her with an ardor that dispelled any notion of subtlety. Afterward, Knoxi, who still occupied his other arm, clapped her hands and let it fly, “Yaaaaaay!”

  Cody tossed Ray a glance. The wounded old warrior shut his eyes and nodded as if he had just seen heaven. "Principle number one," he said quietly. “The ability to bring healing to others is granted in deepest measure to those who carry scars.”

  He drifted into a dreamy, restful sleep.

  * * *

  At dawn, news of the attack at Mayfield Tower sent repercussions around the world. War had been declared on America’s darling duo.

  Brandi and the Babe had captured the imagination of a country weary of violence. The valiant couple had made bad guys pay a dear price, and it was to the delight of a nation desperately in need of heroes.

  Cody wanted to get them all out of Pittsburgh as quickly as possible. He would take his Tyler Rose and his little princess home to familiar surroundings. They would be more secure in Houston, wouldn’t they? Would his agent’s strategy finally pay off? Could they ever just get back to baseball? And love?

  Hate in The Wind

  Everyone slept all day Thursday. The shootings of Wednesday night had left them depleted.

  Cody woke up Thursday evening when Lilly, the intern, returned. She had been assigned to change Cody’s bandage and check for infection. She was alone this time — no doctors. Her hands were shaking, and she kept apologizing for interrupting his evening.

  “I will try to not hurt you. If anything doesn’t look right, I’ll call a doctor. I promise.”

  Lilly was a nervous wreck. Brandi didn’t like it. “If it’s okay with you and Cody, I can stay here and assist you. I’ve had some experience with wounds and changing bandages.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I’m nearly through with nursing school, but I’m always afraid I’m gonna hurt someone. This is the first time I’ve seen a real bullet wound since I was ten years old. Guns make me nervous. My little brother shot himself.”

  “Well, I am so sorry to hear that, Lilly. So, what happened?”

  “He died, ma’am. He was seven. I didn’t know what to do. We were in the woods behind our house and found the gun. When it went off, there was blood everywhere. My back porch was just fifty yards away, but I couldn’t find my way home. The next day — Never mind, I can’t talk about it. I want to be a doctor someday, but sometimes when I look at my hands, I still see my brother’s blood on them. Even a simple task like changing a bloody bandage…”

  “I had to change my own bandages when I was stabbed several year
s ago,” Brandi offered. “It’s a piece of cake.” Then she looked at Cody. “Uh, you’re gonna have to turn over, sweetie.”

  Lilly removed the bandage. “The doctor said these older scars were from the war. I read that you were a hero, Mr. Musket.”

  Brandi bit her lip. “Uh, Lilly, Cody is sensitive and doesn’t like to talk about his —”

  Cody cleared his throat. “What kinda hands do you have, Lilly?”

  “What kind of hands? I guess just regular hands. I don’t quite get your meaning.”

  “May I see ‘em?”

  She stepped forward and showed him her hands. He reached out with his left palm and asked her to take hold. Her hands were cold and shaky.

  “Hmmm. Just as I thought, young lady. These aren’t regular hands. These are healing hands.”

  “They are?” she asked, studying her hands. “Well, how can you tell?”

  “A good friend patched me up in Afghanistan. He blew up things and he was a sniper, but he was also a medic. When he dealt with wounds, he had to remind himself his hands were meant to heal, not hurt. He said it’s all about where you set your mind. He saved my life.”

  “Right now, I can’t stop my healing hands from shaking.”

  “Oh, well. I’d have never noticed,” Brandi teased. “I have an idea. You just change the bandage, and I’ll shake my hands so you won’t have to shake yours.”

  “Ha-ha! That’s funny. Nobody ever offered to do that.”

  Lilly managed to calm down, clean the wound and re-bandage it — no complications. After she had left, Brandi handed Cody the latest edition of the Gazette.

  “Here, read this.” She had circled a news article about the torture and murder of Sasha Williams.

  “I must say,” Brandi observed, “Lilly seemed relaxed when she left. Maybe she’ll —”

  “Did you actually read this?” he interrupted, slamming the paper down.

  Startled, Brandi wheeled around. “Shhh! You’re gonna wake everybody up.”

  He softened his voice but not his intensity. “Did you read about the things they did to her?” He clenched his fists.

  “Cody! Get hold of yourself. Yes, I read it.” She picked up the page. “I shouldn’t have handed it to you right now. What was I thinking?”

  “We should go.” He reached for the paper again.

  “Go? Where?”

  “The memorial service. It’s tomorrow, ‘bout two hours east of here.”

  “What about security?”

  “I have a team coming in tonight. They can take us. The police and press won’t even know we’re gone. These guys are good.”

  * * *

  The memorial service for Sasha Williams was scheduled for 10 a.m. Friday morning at Central City AME Church in Herronburg, Pennsylvania, a two-hundred-year-old community east of Pittsburgh.

  Cody and Brandi rode in the back seat of a dark green Hummer with bullet proof, tinted windows. Stan Knight, a former FBI agent, now ran his own security company. He was driving. Hunter Page, former Army Ranger, rode shotgun.

  They had used a clever ruse to fool the press into believing they were still holed up in the hospital. They managed to sneak out of town without alerting anyone, and they were not followed.

  Soon, Pittsburgh was in the rear view mirror. Cody gazed out at the grassy Pennsylvania countryside. The rolling hills, an occasional barn, and intermittent forests along the highway made it a welcome change from the industrial complexity.

  Cody picked up a folded tabloid that Brandi had brought along. “What’s this?”

  “Oh, you’ll love that.” She sounded like her mother when she wanted to be sarcastic. “That’s called the Renegade Brigade.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “You haven’t missed anything. One of the nurses gave it to me. Makes a big issue of the fact that the three guys who attacked me at the theater were black. Says it was racially motivated.”

  “No way,” Cody said. “Don’t they know about your parents?”

  “Probably, but it doesn’t matter to them. The piece quotes some militant group saying they want to kill all white people. Scary.”

  “Hate. It’s nothin’ but hate. Just when I think I’m gettin’ past it, I read about Sasha. I wanna kill ‘em — the three guys in custody. Sasha was so…so innocent.” He pounded his knee with his fist.

  “You have gotten past it, Cody. Don’t allow yourself to believe otherwise.” She put her hand on top of his.

  He relaxed his fist and gently clasped her fingers. “The pain of Afghanistan is gone. Since the other night in the shower, it has just disappeared — after four years. How do you figure it?" He leaned his head back.

  "Don't try to figure it out. I reminded you of who you are and that God had forgiven you. Somehow, in those moments, He took away your pain. That was a miracle. He did that part. It wasn’t me."

  “Yeah. I was startin’ to see that, but now, this funeral, more reminders. Where does it end — the killing, the hate? I can't help it. I wanna kill 'em. It's happening all over again."

  He took a long breath, looked out at the hills again, and exhaled slowly. “Stan, how much farther to the church?”

  “Just a few more miles, Cody. We're gonna make a drive-by for recon."

  “Roger that.” Cody was already fatigued, and his sore hip ached from riding in the vehicle.

  They crossed a railroad track and saw a large contingent of bikers — about fifty of them, all white — parked near a creek bed. It was not what they had expected to see in a predominantly African American community.

  They continued two blocks and saw the church on their left. The parking lot was full. Stan slowed as they approached. It was his job to be suspicious. No one knew they were coming — no security detail waiting to protect them.

  Hunter looked at his watch. “You sure the start time’s ten o’clock? We’re an hour early, but looks like the church is full.”

  Sasha had been popular. Her uncle, Dr. Jonathan Williams, was the senior pastor. His son, Johnny, a former Army specialist, was his associate pastor.

  They had hoped to avoid walking in after others were seated, but most of the seats were already filled with mourners humming the familiar tune of “Amazing Grace.”

  The couple squeezed into a pew on the back row near the door. Brandi sat next to the aisle, with Cody crunched in beside her. No one had recognized them.

  The building was a modern A-frame with sleek wooden beams that began at floor level, extended upward, and then curved gracefully into bold rafters angling overhead. Seating capacity appeared to be about two hundred. The architecture, simple but magnificent, reflected a harmony between man and nature.

  Skylights invited healing radiance into the midst. Sweet, natural fragrances of magnolia and northern red oak filled the air, blending the sanctuary seamlessly into the lush Pennsylvania landscape. On such a day as this, it reminded one of realms brilliant and balmy where Sasha now reveled in her glorious eternal future.

  Cody was surprised to see smiles on the faces of those who had known Sasha. It was not like military funerals he had attended. This meeting was more like a celebration.

  After several lively presentations by the Central City AME Dancing Choir, a local rapper performed a number he had just written in tribute to Sasha. It brought tears to Brandi’s eyes.

  Next, the pastor introduced his son, Johnny Williams, who stepped up to the pulpit.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Sasha’s cousin. She lived with us for the past eight years since her mother died. She was a sister to me and like a daughter to my mom and dad.

  “Four years ago in Afghanistan, I was one of eight survivors of a helicopter crash. I was captured by the enemy. Sasha prayed for my freedom for several days without eating or sleeping. My release seemed impossible at the time, but —” He stopped suddenly.

  Brandi whispered to Cody. “Was he one of the guys on that Chinook?”

  But Cody ignored her question. Somethin
g was wrong. Johnny was frozen at the pulpit. His eyes were focused on an individual who had just entered the building from the back.

  Next, a chilling voice called out. “We will cleanse the earth!”

  The shrill interruption stunned everyone. Cody turned to his left. What he saw sent tremors down his spine and brought his protective instincts to full alert. Standing in the aisle next to Brandi was a white male, about five feet six inches tall, brandishing a semiautomatic handgun. How did they find us?

  The individual with the gun fixed his gaze upon Brandi and pointed the weapon toward her head at point-blank range. “Traitor!” He pulled the trigger.

  But Cody had already become airborne, flying horizontally across Brandi and stretching his right hand toward the weapon. He managed to get two fingers around the muzzle, deflecting the gun the instant it fired.

  Hunter Page, who had ridden shotgun, fired his weapon and struck the shooter in the chest, but Page took a shot in the leg during the process.

  Screams and panic — everything was chaos. Then, more shots rang out. Cody looked toward the opposite side of the church. A second individual standing over six feet tall was discharging another handgun, firing blindly into the crowd. Bullets found targets.

  “Everybody down! Everybody get down!” But Cody’s voice could not be heard over the crying and screaming. He pulled the handgun away from the wounded first shooter in hopes of stopping the second one, but too many people were in his line of sight.

  “Everybody down!” This time, people heard and jumped out of his way.

  Stan Knight then fired a kill shot through the heart of the second gunman. The shooting stopped.

  At first, Cody was disoriented and could not remember where he had left Brandi. When he turned around, he saw her lying on the bench, her face and dress covered with blood.

  “Brandi! Brandi!” He screamed above the noise and knelt beside her.

  Brandi covered her face. “Oh, Cody!” She coughed. Blood came from her nose and mouth. “My nose!” She was panting. “My face! Uggggh. It hurts.”

  “What? How?”

  “When you jumped over me your elbow caught me in the nose.” She struggled to catch her breath.