Marching As to War: A Post-Apocalyptic Novel (10 page)

“There’s no figuring kin,” Riley said.
“Hard
to understand your own.
Damn near impossible to understand anybody
else’s.”

In the middle of the night, I woke up. Someone was standing
over us holding a lantern. It was Jane’s father.

“Mr. Darcy?” I said. “What’s wrong?”

He did not say anything at first. Then he swallowed hard and
said, “Got something to say to you boys.” I woke Riley.

“I reckon I need to thank you for taking care of my little
girl,” Mr. Darcy said.

Riley and I nodded.

“I sure would like to see her come home for good. Safe.” He
looked close to tears. Then he walked away.

We were quiet for a while until Riley spoke.

“Like I said.
No figuring kin.”

Just as we reached the door, someone on the other side
pulled it open. There was just enough light to see a man with a pistol, aimed
at us.

We froze. Riley and I were on either side of Jane, holding
her up. Her left shoulder was bleeding.

The man said nothing, and we didn’t move.

“Please,” Jane said.

He motioned us inside and closed the door behind us.

“Come back here,” he said.

We carried Jane down a hallway to another room. The man
pulled on one side of a tall set of bookshelves. It swung open like a door on
hinges to reveal a chamber about three feet deep, four wide, and six high. He
motioned for us to go in.

The man gave us pieces of cloth for bandages and a blanket.
He almost had the door closed when he said, “What’s your name girl?”

“Jane,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Thank me later, Jane. If this door starts to open, and I
haven’t called you by name, it’ll be soldiers. Start shooting.”

He closed the door.
Darkness.
The fading sound of his steps.

We stuck the cloth under Jane’s coat where she was bleeding
and draped the blanket over her. I used one hand to put pressure on the wound
and held my rifle with the other. I heard the sounds of Riley checking his
rifle. Once our breathing slowed down, there was complete silence.

Standing in the dark, I couldn’t quite believe this was
happening. After a week of hard travel, we had reached the edge of Canton
at twilight. From a hill, we still could see the whole town and the camp full
of soldiers. Jane was all set just to walk straight into town as soon as it got
dark. But I balked.

“
This don’t
make any sense. What
are we doing here?” I said, determined not to go anywhere until she gave me a
straight answer.

“Have faith,” she said.

“We do,” I said, “but--”

Riley interrupted. “If you’d tell us what we’re supposed to
do, then we can do it.”

She frowned, seeming to consider this. “I’m looking for
someone,” she said.

“Someone?”
I said.

“Or something.”

“Something?”
Riley said.

She nodded, and for a moment, I thought it was all she would
tell us. But she added, “There’s someone in that town, someone who knows
something, something that will make the difference.”

“You shouldn’t go,” I said. “Tell us what to look for.”

“I can’t. The Spirit has to lead me.”

“There’s hundreds of soldiers and only three of us,” I said.
“We’re alone. This is too dangerous.”

She paused a long time before taking a folded piece of paper
from inside her coat. Then she held it out to me. “Remember this?”

I remembered. It was the paper from the mouth of the dead
woman. The woman’s dried blood was on it. I didn’t want to touch it, but
couldn’t help staring at it. The memory of that day made me feel sick.

“Take it,” she said. “Take it.” There was
a
hardness
in her voice that surprised me. I obeyed. But I didn’t open it.

She pointed at the paper and said, “I’ll do whatever it
takes to stop the soldiers.
Whatever it takes.”

I looked up from the paper into her eyes.

“Will you?” she said.

The question made me angry. After all this time, and all we
had been through, how could she ask me that? But I didn’t say anything. I just
nodded.

Then she took the paper from my hand.

Once it got good and dark, we worked our way into town along
overgrown back streets, past abandoned houses collapsing with neglect. Here and
there, you could see a house still in use, a lamp glowing in the window. Jane
didn’t go toward the center of town—where the most soldiers were bound to be. I
was beginning to hope we wouldn’t run into any trouble, when we turned a corner
and saw two soldiers walking toward us. For a second, they were surprised and
stopped. Then one shouted, “Hey!”

We turned and ran back the way we had come. Just before we
got around the corner, one of the soldiers fired a burst at us. Jane screamed.
But she managed to stagger around the corner before going down.

Riley went to Jane, and I took cover at the corner of the
building. I fired a few wild shots at the soldiers, trying to keep them back.
Then I heard Riley shout, “Let’s go!” I turned, expecting to see Jane dead,
expecting it all to be over, expecting the world to slam to a halt. But she was
moving, grimacing. She had one hand on a shoulder, blood showing between her
fingers. In the other hand, she still held her rifle.

The world kept turning.

There was no time for anything but getting away. Riley
grabbed Jane, got her on her feet, and dragged her toward an alley between two
buildings to our left. I followed, looking behind us for the soldiers.

We reached the end of the alley, turned a corner, crossed a
street, and went down another alley. As we got to another street, we heard the
sound of a government truck, tires squealing to a stop.
Then
the shouts of many soldiers.
Close.

Riley whispered, “We
gotta
hide.”

We headed for some houses. Riley led her toward the nearest
one, but Jane said, “No. There.” She pointed to the next. I couldn’t see why,
but there was no time to argue.

Now we were hiding inside that house, in the dark,
listening. After a few minutes, we heard heavy footsteps.
Soldiers.
I took my hand off Jane’s shoulder to have two for my rifle. I felt her move.
Her rifle had come up toward the door.

The footsteps were almost right in front of us. The
floorboards creaked. A short murmur of voices, and then the footsteps went
away.

We waited in the dark silence. I put one hand back on Jane’s
bandage. Then we heard footsteps again. One set. Moving
slow
.

“Jane?” a voice said. “Jane, it’s safe. Do you hear me?
Jane?”

“Yes, I hear you,” she said. “It’s safe.”

“I’m going to open the door now.”

I felt the door move, saw dim lamp light, and felt the
fresher air.

Riley went out first, weapon ready. After a moment, he said,
“Come on out.”

We got Jane into a chair. She looked pale and sweaty, but
she smiled at us. Her eyes smiled too.

The man turned up the lamp. He looked old and tired.

“Welcome to my home,” he said.

When I woke up the next morning, light showed around a heavy
covering on the windows. I guessed Riley was out in the front room, still on
watch. I was propped up against the wall. Jane lay on a pallet. She was looking
at me.

“Hey,” I said, “How are you?”

“Good,” she said.
“You?”
Her voice
sounded weak.

“Better than last night.
We should
change that dressing.”

She had been lucky with the wound. The bullet had passed
straight through, missing bone. With rest, food, and clean bandages, I hoped
she would be fine.

She seemed to be waiting for something.

So I went ahead and said, “I told you this was too
dangerous.”

She just looked at me in that way of hers.

“Don’t give me that look, Jane,” I said. “You were almost
killed last night, killed for nothing. You shouldn’t take risks like this.”

“You need to understand, my life is in God’s hands,” she
said. “If He wants my life, He will take it. If He has work for me, He will
protect me. He did last night.”

“Just barely.
Doesn’t the Bible
say, ‘Thou
shalt
not tempt the Lord thy God?’ I
thought that meant ‘Don’t take stupid chances and expect God to save you.’”

“Why shouldn’t I risk my life? You risk yours. So does
Riley. Every man in our militia risks his life.”

“It’s different.”

“Why?
Cause
I’m a girl?”

“No, because you’re important.
I’m
not. I’m just one more rifle. But if we lose you . . .”

It was a good argument, but it wasn’t my real reason. I
wanted to protect her.

“I understand,” she said, “but God has a plan.”

Just then, the man walked in with plates of food.

“I thought you’d be hungry,” he said.

Jane thanked him and said that she was very hungry. The man
and I helped her sit up so she could eat. As we ate, she asked about him.

He sat in a chair. His name was Carl
Degler
.
Just before the Plague, he, his wife, and daughter had moved to Canton
and rented this house.

“Good deal,” Carl said, “only paid one month of rent for 26
years.” They had come through the Plague and the bad times that followed. But
both his wife and his daughter were now dead.
Sickness.
Carl was alone.

“How did you survive all these years?” Jane said.

“I have tools. I can fix or build most anything. I dug
wells.
Repaired roofs.
Sharpened
knives.
Traded work for food. That and our vegetable garden got us
through. Just barely sometimes, but with God’s help, we always did.”

“But what did you do before the Plague?”

“I was in construction.
Roads mostly.
My specialty was using explosives.”

“Explosives?”
Jane said, leaning
forward.

“Take it easy there,” said Carl. “You don’t want to open
that wound again. Now that I think of it, we should change that bandage.” He
started out to fetch a clean cloth.

“No!” Jane said. “Tell me about what you did with
explosives.”

Carl hesitated, puzzled by Jane’s excitement. “Well, to build
a road you sometimes have to move a lot of rock and earth. So you set off a
small charge and then it’s easier to--”

“Could you destroy a road or bridge?”

Carl still did not see what she was thinking, but I did.

“Yeah,” said Carl. “When I was young, I learned how to do
that in the Army.”

“Could you still do that?”

“Well, I suppose. But those explosives don’t exist anymore.”

“How about what’s in the Government’s bombs?”

He was quiet for a moment.

“We’d best change that bandage,” he said and left the room.

We waited in silence for him to come back.

He knelt next to Jane and began to remove the old dressing.

“Last night,” he said, “I was going to turn you away. I
didn’t want trouble.”

“Why’d you help us?” Jane said.

“Because my wife would’ve helped you.
Because you said please.
Maybe I was just tired of
being alone and afraid.”

“God brought me to your door, Carl. I was sent here to find
someone.
You.”

He was still for a long moment, looking at her. I couldn’t
tell if he believed her or not. Then he nodded and started in on the dressing
again.

When we were done, he stood up slowly.

“I’m too old to fight,” he said, “but I can teach someone
smart, someone who has steady nerves. Do you have someone like that?”

“We do,” Jane said. “We have many.”

“Can you get the things I need? They’ll be difficult to
find.
Maybe impossible.”

“We will. We’ll find a way.”

“All right then,” he said as though he had just agreed to
fix a roof or dig a well. “I’d better get some food for your other man.” He
went out.

Jane looked at me, waiting for me to say something. But I
said nothing. I got up and went to the front room. It was my turn to be on
watch.

She wanted to leave that night. Riley and I refused. She
needed to heal up before traveling. But she wouldn’t listen.

“Go on then,” Riley said. “Stand up.”

Grimacing with the effort, she got to her feet. Putting one
hand against the wall, she said, “Don’t worry about me. We should leave at
dark. Carl’s the key. We need to get him to Winslow.”

Riley and I exchanged a look.

“Then take your hand off the wall,” he said.

She glared at him and took her hand down. For a moment, she
managed to stand. Then her knees buckled, and she sat down, her back against
the wall.

Standing up had taken a lot out of her. Her voice wasn’t
much more than a whisper.
“Get Carl to Winslow.
Don’t
waste time.”

“And we just leave you here?” I said.

“Yes,” she
said,
her voice louder.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Riley said. “We ain’t leaving you.”

The next few days were strange. It was dangerous to be in
that house.
Dangerous for us.
Dangerous
for Carl.
Several times we had to hide behind the bookcase because
soldiers were nearby. They didn’t come into the house, but Carl said you could
never tell when they might. Other than that, it was quiet--the quietest time we
had had since the war had begun. Riley and I took turns keeping watch and
sitting with Jane. And Carl fed us real well, emptying his pantry.

“Eat up boys,” he said. “Don’t let it to go to waste.”

Carl knew he was leaving that house for good. He spent hours
going through his possessions, deciding what to bring. Mostly, he had tools.
But he said he only needed a few of them for working with explosives. The rest,
a room full of fine saws, wrenches, hammers, and such, he would have to leave.
And then there were personal things—pictures of his family, letters, and other
keepsakes. He couldn’t bring much. The rest, like the tools, had to be left
behind.

It was strange that he would just up and go off with
strangers. While he was cleaning up after supper, I asked him about that.

“Yeah,” he said, “don’t make much sense. Sitting around
here, waiting to die alone, makes even less.”

“But why get mixed up in our fight?” I said. “I mean, the
Government’s not doing anything to you, is it?”

“No. Not yet. They’ll even make some things better around
here. It used to be pretty dangerous around here. That’s why I built that
hiding place. It was for my wife and daughter in case anyone got in the house
when I wasn’t here. Now the soldiers have run off the thieves and other scum
that used to hang about. Because the Army is here, the local traders already
have food I haven’t seen since before the Plague. And someday, the Government
might bring back indoor plumbing and electricity.
Telephones.
Maybe even radio.”