Against the Storm: A Fortress Farm Novel

by G. R. Carter

  “With all due respect, sir, you fired on us first. We’ve got three critically wounded of our own. And you put one of our boats completely out of commission.”

  “We thought you were pirates. What’s Mt. Horab doing this far north? You’re not supposed to be this side of Grand Tower Island.” Oliver said, feeling rage being replaced by exhaustion. At least five men dead over a simple case of mistaken identity? he wondered to himself. Just doesn’t make any sense.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I’m not authorized to talk about those things. Above my pay grade, I’m told,” the soldier said with a kind smile. “But I’m sure Senior Elector Huffman will be happy to answer those questions. You’ll really like him, I think he knows every person in Mt. Horab. Rest assured, sir, you will be treated with all the hospitality and compassion befitting your rank. Your men, also, I’ve been told to relay to you that they all fought with skill and bravery. They’re a credit to your people,” he said.

  Oliver felt nausea creep in with the realization he had been trapped. “I’m sorry, son. What do you mean about meeting your Elector Huffman? Is he on board your ship?”

  The soldier looked at Oliver with a confused face, then realization. “Oh no, sir. I don’t think you understand. My orders are to escort you to our base on Grand Tower. Your ships will be docked there, then you'll be transported back to Mt. Horab. I’m afraid you’re going to remain our guests for a little while.”

  *****

  Oliver felt the boat rock back and forth, making him doze off periodically. The muffled engine vibration told him they weren’t in a big hurry to get where they were going, so he allowed the pain medication to ease his mind into dozing. The meds seemed to dull the busted shoulder and cuts all over his body, but left him chilled despite the warmth of the engines just on the other side of the firewall. Through droopy eyes he looked at his men, huddled under a blanket and staring out with blank eyes. A range of emotions went through his head: embarrassment at losing his boat, sadness at the loss of his men, worry at what might happen to the ones that still lived.

  So far they had all been treated with perfect dignity. He had never heard anything about the Buckles torturing anyone. Not that this situation had ever happened to his knowledge, either. They weren’t at war with Mt. Horab, even though there had been a few tense run-ins.

  A brief stop at Grand Tower Island—a Buckle pilot had brought his ship into dock there while he was blindfolded, a precaution against seeing their facilities—allowed Oliver to see to the dead and prepare the ships for an indeterminate stay. No one had asked him to divulge secrets of the craft, just a simple understanding of how to care for the engines while they were gone. McClain gave a Buckle sailor the tour of the power plants while the base medic tended to the wounded.

  The blindfold returned until they were placed down here, surrounded by warm blankets and plenty of food and water. It would still be a couple hours at least before they reached their next destination, hopefully not their last.

  Bisso caught his stare with a surprising look of resolve that struck Oliver. They’d be okay. He wasn’t a praying man, but he sent a little note up above. He let his mind drift back to drowsy, no sense in worrying about what was out of his control right now. He’d wait, get a good look at the situation, and then make a plan. With any luck the only thing he’d lose after today was his commission in the ARK Navy.

  Chapter Four

  Mt. Horab

  Former City of Cape Girardeau, Missouri

  Year 12.09 A.G.R. (After the Great Reset)

  The smell of human activity and river mud struck Oliver’s nose as he stepped off the boat onto a solid wood dock. His leather-soled boots held tight to some sort of grip material attached, but his legs didn’t return to normal until the second or third step he had taken on solid ground for the first time in almost two days. A strong hand gripped his arm, not with ill intention but to help stabilize his walk.

  “Thank you, soldier,” Oliver said. “My balance seems to be thrown off without use of my eyes.”

  “I’m sorry for the blindfold, Captain. I’m afraid we can’t let you see everything we’ve got going here. I promise it will be off in just a moment. Once we’ve stepped up past the floodwall you’ll get a chance to see the City of Roses.”

  “I hope you won’t take this as an insult, but it doesn’t smell too much like roses today,” Oliver said.

  A brief chuckle came from the guide. The laugh suggested the voice was older, definitely not the young soldier who escorted him onto Grand Island. “No offense taken, Captain. This time of year brings out the worst in human smells without the cover of Nature’s perfume.”

  The wood path turned to stone, or concrete, then he stumbled a bit as his boot caught on a railroad track sitting nearly flush to the path below. They stopped and Oliver was allowed to take off the blindfold. His eyes adjusted for a moment, he finally realized it was nighttime, the second-worst day of his life finally coming to a close. He stared up a long sloped street ascending to a twenty-foot-high clock tower in the first intersection ahead. Well past that loomed a large building, with a tower that stretched up above. Lights shining up on the building made it seem to hover in the sky, though a series of lampposts showed that there must be some stairway capable of reaching it. Yellow light drifted out from windows all along the street ahead, illuminating the faces of a large crowd of people gathered along sidewalks.

  A man standing on a platform raised his hand, quieting the crowd. Then in unison they all began to sing, a harmonious tune that reverberated off the paved street and then from building to building. Oliver had seldom heard such a chorus, not even the professional symphony he once attended as part of an ARK anniversary party. No one sang from a book or a sheet, each seemed to know every word and note by heart, and sang with the earnestness of belief.

  A mighty fortress is our God, a trusty shield and weapon;

  He helps us free from every need that hath us now overtaken.

  The old evil foe now means deadly woe; deep guile and great might

  Are his dread arms in fight; on Earth is not his equal.

  At a pause, Oliver thought the song was complete, but it continued on. He thought he had heard the tune before, probably from when he was a kid and attended a funeral. But the words were unfamiliar.

  With might of ours can naught be done, soon were our loss effected;

  But for us fights the Valiant One, whom God Himself elected.

  Ask ye, who is this? Jesus Christ it is.

  Of Sabbath Lord, and there’s none other God;

  He holds the field forever.

  Though devils all the world should fill, all eager to devour us.

  We tremble not, we fear no ill, they shall not overpower us.

  This world’s prince may still scowl fierce as he will,

  He can harm us none, he’s judged; the deed is done;

  One little word can fell him.

  Again they paused, and again they sang:

  The Word they still shall let remain nor any thanks have for it;

  He’s by our side upon the plain with His good gifts and Spirit.

  And take they our life, goods, fame, child and wife,

  Let these all be gone, they yet have nothing won;

  The Kingdom ours remaineth.

  There was a final pause. Oliver looked at the faces surrounding him; many seemed meditative, and others as though they would burst into tears at any moment.

  The song leader on the elevated platform spoke with a booming voice. “Brothers and sisters. We come together at sundown each night to remember those already taken into God’s care, and to pray that we hold to the Truth until such time as God calls us Home. May each of us become like a stone in the fortress wall, providing shelter to the innocent and judgment to the wicked. In unison the crowd spoke:

  “I thank You, my heavenly Father, through Jesus Christ, Your dear Son, that You have graciously kept me this day; and I pray that You would forgive me all my sins where I have
done wrong, and graciously keep me this night. For into Your hands I commend myself, my body and soul, and all things. Let Your holy angel be with me, that the evil foe may have no power over me. Amen”

  At the “Amen” each man, woman and child crossed themselves, then began to move about in a hurried bustle. Oliver stood stunned. Each night in the City Center of ARK, there was music and a quick recorded message from Tony Diamante, but most didn’t stop to notice. That ceremony was automatic; perhaps once it held meaning, probably the Premier actually spoke the words and conducted the ceremony himself back in the beginning. Oliver couldn’t even begin to recite what the message said or even what was being celebrated. But here he could actually feel it. Maybe the service was new, but he guessed not.

  “Every night, Captain,” his guide said. “If that’s what you’re wondering? We celebrate every night at sunset. We’re running a little behind tonight, they were waiting on us, bless their hearts. You’ll see something similar at sunrise—a slightly different prayer and ‘Amazing Grace’ instead of ‘A Mighty Fortress.’”

  “Everyone meets down here? What if they’re sick at home or out in the fields? Or on a boat, for that matter?’ Oliver asked, curious about the ritual. Captains were notoriously superstitious about breaking traditions for any reason.

  “Only if they can. But anywhere you’ll find a member of the Elect, you’ll see them stop at sundown and sing the song, then make the prayer. Keeps us bound together in spirit even if we’re separated in body. Same as in the morning.”

  “I remember something similar in school. Like praying to Mecca?” Oliver asked.

  “Not quite. The Elect pray to God, not to a place. But I suppose the idea of reminding oneself you are part of something bigger is similar,” the guide replied. Oliver couldn’t tell if the man was annoyed by the comparison. If he was aggravated, he didn’t readily show it.

  What Oliver did notice was that each man who walked by them tipped their hat or nodded their head to his guide. Likewise, each woman smiled and acknowledged him; there were no children younger than teens present that he could see. Finally one of the men stopped and greeted them formally.

  “Senior Elector Huffman, I was asked to come and retrieve you. Elector Lindstrom didn’t suppose you’d care to make the walk all the way up to the top of the hill.

  The same chuckle Oliver heard before greeted the driver. “That’s right, son. I’d very much appreciate you taking me up there. And though I’m sure he wouldn’t admit it, I bet Captain Oliver would rather not walk all that ways, he’s had a terrible day.”

  Oliver nodded to the man, finally taking the chance to get a good look at him. He wasn’t as old as he had imagined; for some reason he had in his head a seventy-year-old man with a long gray beard, suspenders and a black overcoat with matching hat. Instead, he saw before him a man in his late forties, still with a beard, close kept by post-Reset standards. His glasses and a brown sport coat made him look more like the college professor types he remembered from TV. Instead of an old-fashioned hat, Huffman instead had a slightly receding hairline, surrounded by a salt-and-pepper mix.

  Huffman seemed to sense the confusion and caught Oliver’s stare. “Not what you were expecting? Perhaps flowing white robes instead?”

  Oliver flushed and shook his head. “No, Mr. Huffman. I apologize, it just took me by surprise you would be the one to meet me down here.”

  “I hope you don’t think you’re here to be imprisoned or interrogated, Captain. In my mind today’s circumstances were a tragic mistake. You were no more at fault than my men. I only wish that brave young men didn’t have to die in the mistakes of those claiming to lead them.”

  Oliver cast his eyes downward, feeling the burden of the loss.

  Huffman stopped and turned to him; Oliver noticed he had yet to let go of his arm. “I’m sorry, Captain. I didn’t mean to infer you caused those deaths. It’s been a long day for me as well, and my language gets sloppy when I tire.”

  “I didn’t take it that way, Mr. Huffman.”

  Huffman let loose Oliver’s arm as they sat down on the rear facing back seat of a motorized golf cart with large turf tires. A high-pitched engine revved up and the vehicle lurched forward.

  “We’re producing ethanol,” Huffman offered to the unasked question. “We only allow vehicles like these in the downtown area, larger vehicles are kept out on the farms and for hauling supplies.”

  The cart rocked back and forth across uneven streets, past brick buildings brightly lit by the standards of the day. “Electricity comes from coal, which we used to import from Little Egypt. When Governor Olsen took over, he raised the prices dramatically, so we’ve been digging our own wherever we can find it,” Huffman continued.

  “That’s why you’ve been expanding out? Why we came across your boats today?” Oliver asked.

  “A good guess, Captain, but not exactly. We’re expanding because your government is becoming increasingly belligerent towards us. Causing our once-close allies to turn on us.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Huffman. I don’t follow your meaning.”

  “We—the ones you call the Buckles, I mean—were once the Red Hawk Republic’s closest allies. But when Founder Hamilton let Eric Olsen take over Little Egypt, the relationship became more complex. Republic ties with ARK also made things more difficult,” Huffman said.

  “I don’t understand how that affects you,” Oliver replied.

  “Because your boss Diamante hates us. Partially for religious reasons. But mostly because we didn’t agree to become a satellite of his. He wants this river to himself,” Huffman said with a wave back towards the seawall. “He’s expanded ARK for hundreds of miles west, and north all the way up to the Caliphate lands. But here we sit just a few hours south, sticking out like a sore thumb on his map.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know anything about all that. I thought I was hunting river pirates,” Oliver said.

  “I understand, Captain. You have to worry about being out on the water, surviving day to day. But let me ask you this, don’t you think your armored ships are a little expensive to be hunting pirates?” Huffman asked.

  “Not when the pirates have rifles that will take your head off. In fact, I think that armor’s just about right.”

  Huffman laughed and nodded his head. “Good point, Captain. Very true. Been a few years since I had to shoulder a weapon. Once we held off the mobs out of St. Louis right after the Reset, but I haven’t had to fight like you have. I apologize for taking the threats you face so lightly.”

  Oliver found himself disarmed by the Senior Elector’s sincere nature. Of all the stereotypes he possessed of who the Buckles’ leader might be, “snooty and righteous” would have topped the list.

  The cart slowly wound its way up the hill, finally reaching a courtyard surrounding a fountain. Light sparkled as the water danced, shooting up fifteen feet in the air. “Not quite as impressive as the one at Renaissance Place, I know,” Huffman said with a smile. “Though I daresay ours was here first. A bit of an indulgence, but we can’t live devoid of art. We’re made to appreciate beauty, both manmade and natural.”

  He stepped off the back of the cart holding out a hand for Oliver’s uninjured arm to grasp as he got up. Huffman paused for a moment. “Captain Oliver, inside are the Board of Electors who make up the leadership of Mt. Horab. One of the reasons I wanted to meet you at the river was so that I could get your measure, I’m sorry if you took it as deceptive. I know you’re smart, so my observation probably doesn’t come as a surprise to you,” he said, nodding his head to confirm the understanding.

  Oliver returned the nod.

  “Some of the men on the Elector Board are very angry with your boss—Premier, forgive me, I still have trouble calling ARK a nation—and the things he’s been doing. I have warned them not to take ARK’s actions out on you. I threatened to make them pray all day in St. Vincent’s Chapel if they broke their promise!” Oliver looked at the man to see if he was joking,
relieved Huffman was able to poke fun at the stereotypes of his people. “I guarantee there will be absolutely no physical harm that comes to you, but please know you will feel a distinct chill from some in the room.”

  “Not very Christian, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Oliver said. The pain medication was wearing off, leaving him sharper of wit but edgier from the aching.

  Huffman patted Oliver on his good shoulder. “My dear Captain, I think you may need to put aside some of the stereotypes of the Elect. The only way we’ve been able to save all these people is to be strong. Like the Teutonic knights, or the United States during World War II, we’ve had to kill bad people to keep the innocent from being killed.”

  “Sounds like you’ve practiced justifying your actions.”

  “That’s what I would have thought before the Tribulation. I was a non-believer, thought anyone religious was a hypocrite or an idiot. Someone to be scorned. I was a professor here at the college—”

  “I figured as much,” Oliver broke in.

  “Yeah I suppose that’s one stereotype I really do fit! I had it all, I thought. Big paycheck, great house and cars, nice boat. Able to afford all that and a healthy child support and alimony payment. Well respected by my peers and a big UNASA grant using satellite data to for climate study. Really on top of the world, you know?

  “One day I noticed a big bruise on my arm. Started losing energy. I got sick, really sick, and ended up in and out of the hospital. When they passed the Pullback bill everything started closing up in small towns like this one. We lost the university and I lost my job. I was too sick to try and get another position elsewhere. Then the local hospital closed. Instead of being able to transfer to a hospital in St. Louis, Health and Human Services cut me off, told me to go to hospice and make myself ‘comfortable’ in my final days.”