Out of Exodia (9 page)

He reached the tower and sliced at the
legs of two men who were attacking the women. When they fell
forward he didn’t hesitate to end their lives. The women, drenched
and weary, nodded their thanks and went back to blocking the
entrance.

“
I need to reach Bram,”
Herb shouted. He handed off his weapon to the woman on Lydia’s left
and vaulted through the window behind her. He charged up the stairs
and entered the control room. Harmon and Bram were struggling to
keep the rod pointing straight heavenward. Beyond them the clearing
skies held a melting sun ready to set; it would be dark again soon
and this time it would stay that way for a long bloody night if
this battle didn’t end now. Herb helped Harmon prop up Bram’s
tiring limbs and immediately heard the groans below transform into
challenging growls. There was something supernatural going on and
the lifted rod was the key to their victory.

Chapter 7 Unexpected
Visitors

From the ninth page of the
second Ledger:

They encamped there in the
open in the desert-like field, battle-worn, fatigued, but
victorious. They counted their numbers and were
gladdened.

Then the brother of his son
appeared.

WE DESCEND THE steps and cut across the
guarded room. A tired Lydia leans against the far wall, fists
clenched to a bloodless white and crossed over her chest. I give
her a hug and see her anxiety dissolve. We climb through the
window. The acrid stink of gunpowder assaults my nose. The stench
of blood, the wormy scent of wet earth, the odor of fear and
exertion all balance heavily with the sensations I feel: wet grass
against my legs, chilled air along my throat. I hear the final
thuds of bones against the gravelly road.

A great wind follows the few surviving
cave-dwellers as they run west, chased only by the darkness the
setting sun allows. Mira appears, salutes, and leads a short
victory dance which swirls in serpentine orbits around us. Her
whole body, shoulders bent forward, twists and shakes in a
rapturous dance. No need for the beat and clang of instruments, she
whirls in clipped steps. Those behind her mimic her disjointed
movements. When she stops I suck in my breath and swing the rod in
a wide arc over everyone. A blessing. Yet at this triumphant moment
a finger of dread draws icy lines up my spine.

The solemn burial of seventeen
casualties and then the ransacking of the dead bodies of hundreds
of our attackers must precede any other celebration. Women and
children carry flickering torches that spill otherworldly shadows
on the dead. The spoils include a few guns, flasks of fermented
cider, coins, rings, jackets, and several curious items no one can
identify. Dozens of horses mill around and are quickly claimed as
pack animals.

“
Man,” Josh exclaims when
finally we gather in smaller groups, his voice hoarse from battle
screams, “that was something fierce. Did anyone else notice how the
rain seemed to make our swords heat up?”

Herb nods vigorously and adds, “Not
only that, but as long as Bram kept the rod straight up everything
went in our favor.”

Harmon smiles and throws me a look that
apologizes. Softly he quotes, “Raise the rod and win.”

The letters spin in my head
first to
risen town head raid
and then reform into
sword heated in rain
. I’m awed by
the mysterious connection; reverence prickles the hairs on my arms.
I want to share my humbled thoughts, but my tongue stays thick
against the roof of my mouth.

Lydia claims my attention and loosens
my tongue with a question about food and shelter.

“
Break into the hangars,” I
say. “We can sleep there or here in the tower. It won’t be
comfortable, but it’ll be dry.”

“
And food?”

I have nothing but confidence in my
pronouncement. “There’ll be bread on the runways in the
morning.”

Mira’s friend Onita motions two fingers
to speak and I give her a simple nod.

“
I’d like to make a
banner,” she says, “to commemorate this victory.”

The other women don’t wait for my
response; they offer to help. Josh moves off to break down hangar
doors. The women walk away with their heads together, beams of
first moonlight whitewashing their bowed heads. They won’t sleep
tonight.

I think a better thanks
would be to build an altar. The Lord is
my
banner. My whole life I’ve heard
about Ronel and come to believe that he was like a god, but he is
no more God than I am. I held that fantastical rod up high
tonight—lifted my hands to the throne of God even. How can I ever
make these people understand?

* * *

Bram left the airfield on a simple
mission of his own. With the rod for protection and some basic
tools in his belt sacks he was gone for two hours and back before
dawn. No one rose early enough to catch his return or to see the
bread land like tiny helicopters all across the paved and grassy
areas of the derelict airstrip. When the Reds at last awoke from
fitful dreams they neither competed nor raced to gather their
sustenance. Like sleepwalkers they strode aimlessly, passing two or
three fresh loaves before stopping at a random loaf, eating there,
maybe sharing, maybe devouring the entire round mass alone without
a thought for family or friend. The shock of yesterday’s battle
upset all the more their already disjointed lives, their status as
a free people still not fully understood.

Lydia left the hangar and looked up to
where Bram had spent the night. She could see him watching from the
tower. She raised a hand to wave, sending her long morning shadow
toward the base of the looming building to cover several loaves
that lay along the path. She gathered as many as she could carry
and took them in to the children and parents who had stayed in the
lower level. After a second and third collection she had served
them all. She went back for a fourth harvest then climbed the steps
to see Bram.

He said he had no appetite, but when
Lydia held the bread out he broke off a crusty edge, savored the
yeasty aroma, and consumed the entire loaf. Lydia watched him with
a hint of a smile obscuring her relief that Bram had not fought in
the battle. She’d been so scared last night that he would charge
out to save her and be captured. She’d tangled with one
cave-dweller who’d recognized her and threatened to use her to
seize the Red leader, but who fell dead at the hand of
Blake.

“
Malcolm’s ready to leave,”
she said. “He found an old map in the hangar, but he said it
wouldn’t help. The cloud will lead us.”

“
Did you look at the
map?”

“
I didn’t understand it.
There were a lot of numbers and lines marking air routes and there
were color codes on the cities. Exodia is black.”

“
I think I’d like to see
it.”

They walked the short distance to the
hangar, passing bewildered Reds still numb from lack of sleep. The
outside air was warm, but the cooler temperature in the hangar made
Lydia rub some warmth into her arms. She led Bram to an office
where old maps lined the walls.

“
We’re here.” She pointed
to a faded plastic chart of flight routes, but Bram stepped past
her and examined another map, one of a former thriving state. He
stared at the legend, found the airport, and noted the surrounding
symbols.

“
Usala’s Rock,” he
breathed, tapping his index finger on the monument’s icon. “It’s
east of here. We haven’t gone as far as I thought.”

Lydia gripped Bram’s arm and briefly
pressed her face against his biceps. She rubbed a new chill from
her arms, held her jealous thoughts in check, and with measured
calm asked a difficult question. “Bram, are we close to Kassandra’s
ranch?” She barely perceived his affirmative gesture. “Do you want
to send for … for your son?”

* * *

Send for my son? Lydia’s gentle inquiry
strikes me hard. I stare at her. She looks like she’s ready to cry.
Her eyes are puffy and red, matching some welts and bruises from
the fight that I only just now noticed. She shivers.

“
Come closer.” I wrap my
arms around her, feel her shudder. Because she’s nearly as tall as
I am I only need to drop my head a bit and our cheeks enjoy a
warmth that spreads throughout my body. Her breath tingles along my
neck, little hurricanes of heat that roll along my skin.

“
I was so afraid I was
going to lose you,” she whispers.

I pull back and look into
her eyes. I frown my question
why?
and she responds, “Because they wanted to capture
you.”

I bring her back into a tight embrace,
try to squeeze my unspoken words of love and comfort into her
heart. “You don’t need to worry about me,” I whisper into her hair.
“Not ever.”

We stand together, glued, joined, and
perhaps too rigid. I loosen my grip, relax.

“
And your son?” she asks
again.

I absolutely want to see him. I would
have sent Barrett to fetch him along with Raul and Katie and
Kassandra, but Barrett is gone.

Now I’m the only one who could find the
ranch. Maybe it would be all right to let the people camp here a
day or two while I go.

“
I would like to see
Gresham.” I don’t mention Kassandra; I’ve never missed
her.

“
I could go with you,” she
says with a question in her tone. She leans back, not to break our
embrace, but to see my reaction. There’s no right answer. If I tell
her no because the journey is dangerous she’d be insulted or doubt
my devotion. If I tell her she can come along she’d see the
hesitation in my eyes and read it wrong.

“
I’d like to see my son,
but I have a job to do here. I have to lead these people to the
place that is prepared for us.” I watch her face brighten. “I can
search him out later.”

* * *

Most of the day was spent loitering
around the fields waiting for the cloud to move. Malcolm was
stymied as to why it didn’t lead them north. The box hummed, the
people were packed, Bram was anxious to journey on, but nothing
happened. By evening the cloud spread itself wider over the airport
obscuring the skies. Packages of meat pelted through the silver
puffs landing neatly at the feet of all the travelers. But they
didn’t travel that day, nor the next. By the third day Eugene’s men
were devising ways to build a city right where they were. They
ignored Bram’s commands and scoffed at Korzon’s blunt advice. They
even shunned Teague whose wise words they’d always heeded before.
Instead, they sent out runners to scout for farmland or salvage
supplies from the old neighborhoods that flanked the airport. They
had no success. They returned with upsetting stories of feeling
watched by human eyes or stalked by animals. Some came back with
injuries, skin rashes, or fits of vomiting from eating wild berries
or plants.

On the fourth day the cloud rose
higher, like a helicopter ready to ascend straight up and then take
off. The people cheered. Some had grown fearful that the
cave-dwellers who survived would return with reinforcements. They
ran to the front of the line only to change their cheers into
disappointed groans when the cloud sank back into a shape like a
pillar. Bram held up the rod and calmed the people. Despite their
noise he faintly heard something he thought he’d never hear again:
a certain melody sung in the clear tones of his former wife’s
voice.

Many scowled at him as he turned back
to the control tower. He raced through the crowd leaving Lydia and
Harmon to wonder what he was up to. Mira, though, had seen the look
on his face and knew.

He climbed the stairs two at a time,
dropped the rod, and pressed himself against the eastern windows.
The sun stabbed gold and red daggers in his eyes, but he shielded
them with his right hand and steadied his body against the console
with his left. It took a moment but he spotted three sheep carts
led by two women and a man. It had to be Kassandra and her father
and sister. Gresham could be riding in one of the carts. His heart
caught in his throat at the excitement of seeing his son again. His
boy. Walking? Talking?

* * *