The Last Pilgrims (28 page)

When the mounted officers intercepted them,
several of them dismounted and proceeded to greet Pano in Spanish.
They then nodded their heads toward English in greeting, removing
their hats.

“We are pleased to meet you Sir Kerr of
Aztlan. We hope that your subterranean journey was not unpleasant,”
one of the officers, who seemed to be the highest in rank,
addressed him. “I am General Rodrigo Loya, Commander of the armed
forces of the Kingdom of Mexico. I am told that you prefer to be
called ‘English’; thus, I do hope you will not find it
disrespectful for me to refer to you in this way.”

English shook his head, indicating that he
was not offended, but remained silent, waiting for the General to
continue.

“English… We intended, all along, to remove
you from your… situation… at the castle, but we were forced to move
faster than we had originally planned. Apparently, the Duke desired
to terminate the charade of your employment with him sooner than we
expected. That, and another providential series of events has
necessitated that our attack on La Chimenea be moved forward
significantly.”

English was taken aback. “Your
attack
on La Chimenea?”

Pano leaned over to him and whispered,
pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. “Perhaps, boss, you
didn’t see the huge Mexican army hiding over there behind the
General?”

English scowled at Pano, before turning back
to the General. “I apologize, Your Grace, but would you mind
filling me in on the details of the ‘providential series of events’
you mentioned?”

“I would not mind at all. We have learned
that your friend, the man they call
The Ghost
, recently
delivered a stunning defeat to an army of several thousand men near
the Vallensian village of Bethany.”

The General paused, looking intently at
English, and seemed to be examining his face as he watched the
information sink in.

“That victory, as unexpected as it was to
almost everyone, has caused that ridiculous man who calls himself
‘The Duke of El Paso’ to make a horrible strategic error.”

The General paused again and moved a step
closer to English before continuing. “In his rage, and in order to
save face with the King of Aztlan, he has sent the remainder of his
forces—except for a few hundred men left behind to guard his
castle—an army of almost 6,000 men, to attack and annihilate the
Ghost militia and all of the Vallensian people.

“We intend to, as you English say, ‘seize
the day.’ By order of our King, we are going to capture La Chimenea
Castle and kill the Duke of El Paso… and you are going to help us
do it.”

Nothing in her life had ever been more
devastating to her than the news that Jonathan had been captured,
not even the violent death of her husband Hamish. She knew that
this was true, but she really didn’t know what that knowledge meant
to her, or how she should interpret those feelings. She only knew
that, no matter what the outcome of the war might be, she could not
imagine her life without Jonathan in it.

She was barely hanging on emotionally, and
her work around the ranch, though hectic, kept her from breaking
down in grief and despair.

The aftermath of the battle of the Penateka
Dam was traumatic and difficult to handle. Since the battle had
culminated at the Wall Ranch, there were many wounded to attend to,
and some of the militiamen had died within the first few days from
their wounds, or from subsequent infections.

The hay barn had served as the original
triage area, and in the blazing summer heat, it soon stunk of death
and decay—a scent she knew she would never get used to and never
forget. Those who were treatable, and who had a high probability of
recovery, were moved into the house or to other suitable lodgings
in other buildings on the ranch.

Those who were still dying in the hay barn
were given whatever care and comfort could be offered them. Most of
those who were left in the barn soon realized that they were still
there because they were not expected to live. She was strengthened
and heartened by how well the men accepted their destiny, and their
strength made it easier for her to cope with the grim situation.
She may not have been able to handle it if there had been hysterics
and constant wailing in the barn. Perhaps that was her own
selfishness, but she did have a grasp on the precariousness of her
own emotional condition.

She had seen to it that Prince Gareth was
returned to his former room in the Wall’s home. So far, he had been
spared the ravages of infection, and it seemed that he would
recover fully with treatment and a sufficient amount of rest. He
made constant jokes about his need for beer and garlic, and his
levity and wit did help make things easier for her.

Ruth being gone had been one of the more
difficult realities for her, especially since she was now worried
sick over the absence of the rest of the Walls from the ranch.
David was busy with Phillip and was away most of the time, so she
was left in charge of both the hospital duties and the regular
running of the place. Betsy and her family were still up north, and
until she returned, there was no Wall presence at the ranch.

Daily she made her regular rounds, and Wally
was very helpful in keeping everyone well fed and as happy as he
could. The cook was one of the bright spots in Ana’s rather
depressing days. Wally kept the food coming, and the Wall’s ample
storage of grains, vegetables, and meats made serving so many
people much easier than it might have been otherwise.

On the third day after the battle, Phillip
and David arrived and reported that most of the Vallenses that had
fled northward would be returning to the area around the ranch and
should begin arriving soon. To her, the presence of the refugees
would be a welcome sign, and with Betsy and Paul around, she knew
that life on the ranch might soon return to some semblance of
‘normal’.

The Vallenses, by their nature, were a very
resourceful and helpful people. Most of them knew how to forage and
hunt, and how to provide for themselves, as well as for any of
their people who were weak or needy, in an ample way.

The peach crop from the orchard was a few
days past being ready to harvest, so she intended on recruiting
some of the returning Vallenses to bring in that harvest, which
would add to the available food on the ranch.

With all of these thoughts running through
her head, and as she busied herself with her duties, she was
reminded of how thankful she was for God’s providence in bringing
her to the Walls’ homestead in the first place. She had no just
cause to be depressed. Not after what God had done for her thus far
in her life.

Her mind wondered back once more to the time
she lost her husband and barely escaped with her life. She
remembered walking south—away, she hoped, from the devastating
reality of death and mayhem she had left behind in Albany, almost
exactly a week after the collapse. All she carried with her was a
plastic grocery bag with three bottles of water and three tins of
tuna. She had found a survival pocketknife with a can opener on it
in the Haltoms’ silverware drawer, and she was pretty sure she
could make it work.

After the first day of walking, she had only
made it about six miles from the Haltoms’ house. She was slowed on
that first day because she spent most of the time hiding—afraid of
every shadow, every sound, and every movement.

She decided to avoid both of the highways
that went south out of Albany. Highway 6 went to the southeast, but
that would take her closer to Fort Worth and she wanted nothing to
do with any big cities. She realized that she didn’t want to go
near any small towns either. The other highway, Highway 283, would
take her straight south to the Interstate, avoiding any large
metropolitan areas. However, she was just too afraid that she would
run into the gang that had murdered her husband and the Haltoms.
Best to stay off any paved roads
.

She headed cross-country, which made
progress slow and difficult. Most of rural America was then
crisscrossed with barbed wire, and this part of Texas was also
pretty thick with brush, cactus, and mesquite trees, sometimes
growing so thickly that she would have to walk a half mile to the
east or west just to find a clear route back in order to keep
heading south.

Every so often, she would come upon a ranch
road that continued for several miles almost straight south. Still,
if she heard a sound or anything that might be construed as an
engine, she would flee into the brush and hide—sometimes for over
an hour—too afraid to move or to show herself.

She only drank half of the first bottle of
water on the first day, and she abstained from eating any of the
tuna.

The first night, she found an empty cattle
shed, and she slept—or tried to sleep—in an old 1940s era bathtub
that was evidently used as a seasonal cattle feeder. She didn’t
sleep much. Every animal sound frightened her, and every gust of
wind made her sit straight up in the tub; her heart would pound in
her chest and her imagination would create scenarios of horror that
she could not ignore or forget.

At last, not long before dawn, she drifted
off for an hour. She awoke more exhausted than she had ever been in
her life. The sun, streaming through a crack in the corrugated
steel of the shed roof, announced to her the coming of the new
day.

The second day of her walk went much better
as the ranches were large in this area, and she encountered fewer
fences. She found a ranch road running mostly southward, and at
some point, she estimated that she was about a half-mile from the
highway because she could hear an occasional car or truck pass
by.

She figured she had walked around 10 miles
when she suddenly heard loud gunfire from the direction of the
highway. She bolted into a copse of trees and stayed there until
the sounds faded away once again. She could not help herself from
wondering what had happened, and who—if anyone—had been killed by
the gunfire.

By midday on that second day, she noted that
she had never been so hungry or thirsty in all her life. She knew
that her water and food would not last long and that she had to
ration carefully. Eventually, she lost the self-control and drank
the second half of the opened bottle of water, as well as another
full one. Famished, she opened and ate one tin of tuna.

Towards the end of that day, she came upon
an abandoned hunting camp. Whoever had leased the land had placed
two campers and a picnic table there. She watched the area for a
long time, making certain that no one was around—or, at least, no
one
appeared
to be.

She didn’t want to steal any food or break
into the campers, but she found a well with a long garden hose
running from it to one of the campers. The well obviously wasn’t
working—probably from the lack of electricity—but there was still
water in the hose, so she used it to fill her empty bottles and she
took a long drink to satisfy her thirst.

She didn’t want to hang around too long for
fear that someone might be using the campers, perhaps as their
survival retreat. Maybe they were away hunting, or maybe they might
be arriving at any time, so she quickly decided to continue on her
way south, greatly refreshed in her mind and spirit by the
acquisition of more water. She was no
Survivorman
, but
neither was this the Serengeti. A spark of hope was enough to keep
her moving.

She spent the second night in a low hollow
in a copse of oak trees. Maybe it was because she was so tired, but
she slept for a good part of the night and awoke rather rested. She
ate her second tin of tuna, hoping that it would offer her enough
energy for the day. Starting her trek south, she noticed that the
early morning sun was still barely breaking above the horizon to
the east, and the sun glistened off the little bit of dew that had
collected on the tall grass.

After walking for only a few hours, she came
upon a shallow draw that ran to the south. It was lined with tall
oaks and pecan trees, so she walked along the side of the draw
until she came to State Highway 576, which ran east and west. She
took her time, just waiting and watching from the trees—making sure
that there were no people around—before sprinting across the
highway. After another quarter of a mile, she found another ranch
road heading southward.

It was on the third day that she arrived at
Interstate 20 and had to come up with a plan to cross it. It would
turn out to be the most frightening endeavor of her life. In such a
short time, she had already developed a survival instinct, and she
knew that being out in the open where people were likely to be
moving or traveling, was a very bad idea. She hadn’t heard any news
for almost a week, but everything that she had seen indicated to
her that, globally, the situation was not getting any better.

In just a single week, her most basic
instinct—her desire to avoid predators, especially the human
kind—had developed to the point that she automatically knew that
she needed to avoid any paths or patterns where “game animals”
(people like herself) would normally travel. Thus, crossing the
Interstate was, to her, a very dangerous prospect, but one that
could not be helped or avoided.

She found a place where she could remain
hidden, but where she could still command a good view of the
Interstate and, for the rest of the day, she just watched. What she
saw both sickened and saddened her.

That day, watching over the Interstate, she
learned what a thin and really imaginary veil of civility had
separated the bulk of “polite” society from the more deadly and
dangerous types of humanity. She was almost unable to tell the
predators from the prey, as groups of relatively normally dressed
people walking along the freeway would suddenly and violently
assault any individuals or smaller groups approaching them, in
order to rob from them whatever meager belongings they carried.
Sometimes these attacks would lead to gunfights, and only rarely
were those being attacked able to fight off and escape their
assailants.