Blood of the Faithful Page 19

  Ezekiel slowed the truck when he reached the top of the cliffs. He flashed the truck lights and inched up the highway. He honked his horn. Gunmen would be watching; if they thought he was a threat, they might open fire.

  A few minutes later, when the headlights illuminated the gate across the highway, he slowed even further, until he was traveling at a creep. He honked and flashed, and rolled down his window to wave. Figures came out of the darkness armed with rifles and shotguns. They surrounded the truck, some twenty or thirty men and women in all.

  A figure stepped forward from the pack. He was filthy and bedraggled, but with a straight back and strong arms. It was McQueen.

  “It’s only me,” Ezekiel said, relieved. Of any of the squatters, McQueen seemed the most practical. Some of these people were survivalist fanatics, and they scared him.

  McQueen looked past him into the empty passenger seat. “Where’s Chambers?”

  “Dead. Sister Miriam shot him.”

  The man’s face hardened. Chambers and McQueen had enjoyed a good rapport. Had almost been friends. They were both gentiles and former military men, and would think of nothing holy or sacred, only how to survive, how to take.

  That hard look made Ezekiel anxious. He wasn’t sorry about Chambers’s death. The man had disgusted him, was nothing but a tool to get what he wanted. But he’d been useful for protecting Ezekiel from these savages.

  “I brought you some stuff,” Ezekiel said nervously. “Look in the back.”

  McQueen glanced in the back, then ripped open the door, seized Ezekiel’s shirt, and dragged him out of the truck. He threw him to the ground, where Ezekiel lay, terrified of all the people now surrounding him, their sneers showing how badly they wanted to smash in his face with their rifle butts.

  “Don’t kill me! I brought you guns.”

  “Screw guns,” McQueen said. “Where the hell is our food?”

  Sister Lillian served as nurse and Jacob’s two wives managed the patient flow, with Jessie Lyn triaging the patients according to their severity of their injuries. Fernie calmed family members, found beds for postoperative patients, and did everything else to keep the external environment orderly.

  Nellie Haws was Jacob’s most serious patient, suffering a savage abdominal wound that cut all the way through the transverse abdominis. Doubling the risk, Nellie was thirty-five weeks pregnant. There were a few anxious minutes trying to stanch the blood flow when he thought he should perform an emergency C-section, but he got her stabilized.

  After that, he gave morphine to two children screaming in pain from deep gashes across their arms, then helped an older man, one of Jacob’s neighbors from down the street, who’d suffered an ugly slash that had taken off his left ear and broken his jaw. An inch lower and the blow would have severed the artery in his neck. Jacob reattached the ear, then reduced the fracture by realigning the shattered bone into its original anatomical position, before fixing it in place with surgical pins. This was more like carpentry than the delicate work he’d performed reattaching the ear. After that, he returned to the children to whom he’d given morphine. They were now quiet and whimpering. He sutured their wounds and sent them home with their mothers.

  It was morning before he’d finished his work. He was less than satisfied with the results. He was saving his remaining 4-0 sutures for facial injuries, and so had stitched a woman’s palm with larger 3-0s, which would leave a noticeable scar. He’d set a fractured ulna in homemade plaster, judging the severity and manner of the break not by X-ray, but after painfully kneading at the poor kid’s arm. His X-ray machine had broken, and its repair had proven beyond his brother’s mechanical skills.

  A bucket held the bloody tools of his trade, and he sent these off with Jessie Lyn to be washed and sterilized. Everything must be reused, even the blood-soaked gauze. He took off his mask, removed and folded up his gown to be washed, and scrubbed his hands in the sink with soap to get rid of the smell of latex that would otherwise cling to them for hours.

  The clinic was mostly empty, but one of the children was still there, lying on the hospital bed next to the garage door, moaning while her mother dabbed at her forehead with a wet cloth. She was the kid with the broken arm.

  Jacob turned away, frustrated he couldn’t give her more morphine. But he was running low on analgesics, and even when he’d seen the collapse coming, hadn’t thought to acquire seeds to cultivate his own poppies. One of several mistakes that were obvious in retrospect. What he wouldn’t give to send a message back in time a couple of years. He looked around the room, noting each and every deficit of his clinic.

  Fernie wheeled into the room. Her eyes were bloodshot, and wisps of hair had come loose from her thick braid. But from her sympathetic look, he knew he must appear even more haggard. She glanced around his operating room and sighed.

  “How many times will we suffer this?” she asked. “Will the Lord show us no mercy?”

  It was an unusual statement of doubt from Fernie, who was usually the one comforting him, urging him to faith and patience, and not the other way around.

  “Hundreds of millions are dead around the world. Maybe billions. We’re the lucky ones.”

  “I don’t feel lucky,” she said. “I feel miserable.”

  He gave her a hug. She leaned her head against his arm.

  “Don’t give up faith,” he said.

  “You’re one to talk. What faith do you have?”

  “I have faith in our people. Our preparation, our community. The love we have for each other.”

  “Jacob, that’s what I don’t understand. This attack came from our own people. Not gentiles, not outsiders. Our own people. Again. Why?”

  “The scriptures say even the elect will be deceived.”

  She looked up at him with a hopeful expression. “Do you believe that?”

  “I do. I don’t know why or what it means, but people do terrible evil and claim they’re obeying the will of the Lord.”

  Fernie kissed his hand. “Go up to bed. You look exhausted. I’ll handle things here.”

  “The children are okay? The rest of the family?”

  “Yes. Everyone else is accounted for. Nobody is missing across the entire valley.”

  “I didn’t think they would be. It was clear we’d found our enemy. How about Ezekiel? Has he turned up?”

  Fernie shook her head. “David and Miriam radioed from the bunker while you were in surgery. Ezekiel got away. And he apparently stopped at the bunker to steal the .50-caliber machine gun and the ammunition on his way out.”

  Jacob rubbed his temples to relieve his throbbing headache. Of course the gun would be missing. By the time Ezekiel reached the cliffs, he’d have been able to look back and see that pursuit was lagging. That had given him time to loot the bunker. The .50-cal would end up guarding the squatter camp. Imagine trying to assault it now.

  “I’ve got to go to the bunker,” he said.

  “No, you don’t. Stephen Paul already drove up with the Humvee to replace the gun. He swung by the house about fifteen minutes ago, told me you didn’t need to worry.”

  “It’s not just arming the bunker that has me worried. Miriam will be on the warpath.”

  “You told her not to leave the valley. Everyone heard you say it.”

  “All that was before we knew Ezekiel had stolen the machine gun. She’ll be itching to snatch it back or destroy it before the enemy has a chance to dig it into some fortified spot. Then Stephen Paul will show up with the Humvee. Gassed up and ready to go. Miriam, David, Stephen Paul—a full crew. She might see that as divine sanction.”

  “Call her on the radio. Tell her.”

  “You call her. Tell her I’m on my way and not to move a muscle until I arrive.”

  Fernie started to protest, but he put a hand on her shoulder and cut her off. “I can’t risk that she’ll start mor
e bloodshed. This clinic can’t handle it. This doctor can’t.”

  Jacob was outside, blinking against the sharp morning light, before he remembered that Ezekiel had stolen his truck. Fortunately, several other vehicles were parked in the street in front of the house. Men stood around, discussing the evening’s events in animated terms. They were the ones who had driven around the valley looking for anyone who might be missing. Now they wanted information from him. He didn’t have anything to give them.

  Instead, he commandeered a truck, resisted offers to ride with him, and drove off through the streets of Blister Creek. Soon, he was passing the chapel and temple on his way north toward the bunker.

  Most of the Smoot family was gathered out front of the temple. People were crying, hugging. Few of them bothered to look up as Jacob drove past.

  A figure lay on the grass in front of the temple. A bloody sheet covered it. Grover Smoot.

  Jacob’s worries were assuaged when he arrived to find the Humvee parked in the road outside the bunker, while David and Stephen Paul were up top of the vehicle, unscrewing the machine gun from where it was fixed behind the gun shield.

  It was a gorgeous morning across the valley. A brilliant sun rose in a blue sky unmarred by cloud or contrail. The mountain ranges rimming the valley to the east and west still had snow on their highest peaks, but in the valley itself, the fields had taken on a patchwork of various shades of green. The fields contrasted with the red sands of the desert and the vast swath of bare sandstone formations of Witch’s Warts that ran from the Ghost Cliffs down the center of the valley.

  While the men worked, Miriam was scanning the cliffs above them with a pair of binoculars. A sniper rifle with scope jutted out of the bunker, but there didn’t appear to be anyone inside manning it. It looked like just these three plus Jacob.

  Miriam lowered the binoculars as Jacob shut the truck door. “Fernie called. She seems to think you should be in bed.”

  “We all should be. I’m inclined to radio and have different people sent up. Someone who actually got some sleep last night.”

  “Can’t guess who that would be. Nobody slept much last night, I’ll bet.” She returned to studying the cliffs.

  “Did surgery go okay?” David asked as he and Stephen Paul walked past carrying the machine gun and toolbox toward the bunker.

  “I don’t know about okay, but everyone survived.” Jacob thought about the figure beneath the bloody sheet. “Except Grover Smoot.”

  “Well,” Miriam said, when the other two men were inside the bunker with the gun and tools. “Grover served his purpose.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jacob demanded.

  Miriam’s expression softened. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”

  “Grover did nothing to deserve this.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I didn’t mean it that way. Grover almost died on the road to Las Vegas last year. He was supposed to be manning that rifle to keep that sniper off our butt. Then Officer Trost took the gun out of his hands. And was killed. I was angry about that—Trost was more useful to our needs. It should have been Grover who died.”

  Again, so little compassion in his sister-in-law. Was everyone a tool to Miriam?

  “But later I started thinking,” she continued. “The Lord must have saved Grover for some purpose. Now he has served that purpose.”

  “Please tell me you’re not claiming that Grover died so we’d know Ezekiel was a killer.”

  “Of course not.” She gave Jacob a look. “I collared Elder Smoot after you went in to surgery. I thought he might have an idea of what Ezekiel was thinking. Smoot told me it was Grover who stood up to Ezekiel. That’s why he was killed.”

  Miriam explained how Ezekiel had convinced his father that he’d retrieved the sword and breastplate from the Holy of Holies, that he’d been called as the new prophet. Only when Grover convinced his father to dig up the supposed relics had Smoot realized he’d been duped. The two brothers had struggled, and in killing Grover, Ezekiel seemed to lose his mind. He set off on a mad charge to the Christianson compound. Grover’s death had shocked Elder Smoot out of his stupor, and he raised the alarm.

  “So you see,” she added, “Grover saved your life. That was why the Lord preserved him outside Las Vegas last year.”

  “Grover had more purpose in life than to save me from an assassin.”

  “Of course he did. That wasn’t his only purpose—I never claimed it was. And he’ll receive his reward in the world to come.”

  “I sincerely hope so.” Jacob’s anger deflated. “But his death is still a tragedy in the here and now.”

  “Eliza will be devastated. She liked that kid.” Miriam looked sorrowful. “Come on, let’s get inside and out of the open.”

  Jacob followed her toward the bunker. “Thanks for obeying. I was worried I’d get up here to discover you’d gone tearing off in the Humvee.”

  “You gave me a direct order,” she said. “I’d never go against that. Besides, I’ve got a better idea now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The interior of the bunker still smelled vaguely of body odor. Jacob’s eye fell on Ezekiel’s sleeping bag where it lay partially unzipped in the middle of the floor. Boots had left their dusty prints on the glossy nylon surface.

  Jacob knew he was lucky. If he’d come to the bunker alone, Ezekiel might have murdered him then and there. Maybe even with David at his side. But Miriam’s ruthless reputation was well known. He glanced at her as she opened the filing cabinet and realized he was lucky to have her on his side, and not as an enemy. His own destroying angel.

  Stephen Paul and David had finished mounting the machine gun from the Humvee and were testing its range of motion. When they finished, David went out to retrieve cans of .50-caliber ammunition from the vehicle.

  Miriam seemed to have found what she was looking for in the filing cabinet. She retrieved an unopened blister pack of batteries and set them onto the desk next to her night vision goggles.

  “I thought you didn’t have batteries,” Jacob said.

  “Not for personal use. We kept these up here as emergency backup for the flashlight. Don’t want to go stumbling around in the dark with one of those crappy LED flashlights you have to shake. They’ll work for the night vision.”

  “Dammit, I left mine in the truck,” Jacob said. “Now Ezekiel has them.”

  “Yeah, that’s a problem,” she said. “With any luck your batteries are almost dead. How long were they on?”

  “Hard to say. I lost track of time out there.” He stopped. “What do you mean, stumbling in the dark?”

  She shrugged. “It can’t be helped if he has them. I’ll have to take my chances.”

  David came in carrying two of the heavy cans by their handles. “Take your chances? I don’t like the sound of that. Jacob, what is she talking about?”

  “I have no idea,” Jacob said. Then, to Miriam, “Well?”

  “We’re lucky Ezekiel didn’t get the batteries,” she said, which didn’t answer the question. “He must have come through here so fast he didn’t have time to grab everything. Or he forgot. That Son of Perdition had a lot on his mind.” Miriam reached into the cabinet and fished out some flares. “He could have used these too.” She pulled open a lower drawer. “And the grenades are still here too. That’s lucky.”

  “What about these plans?” Jacob said. “What are you proposing we do?”

  “You won’t do anything. The three of you will stay here and man the bunker. I’m going to infiltrate and reconnoiter. Alone.”

  David straightened from feeding a belt of ammunition into the gun. He didn’t look happy. “I see no point in that.”

  “You can bet things are exciting up there,” she said. “A polygamist shows up covered with blood, carrying a machine gun. That will get them riled up.”

 
“They already know him,” Stephen Paul pointed out. “He and Chambers have been handing over our food for who knows how long.”

  Rather than argue with Miriam, Jacob pulled up a chair to listen.

  She glanced at him, as if waiting to see if he’d contradict her, then turned back to the other two men. “They’ll be scared of us, for one. Are we angry? Are we going to attack them again? And what will they do if we don’t? Sit up there and starve now that we’ve cut them off?”

  “Maybe they’ll pull out,” Stephen Paul said. “Give up.”

  “Be about time,” David said.

  “And go where?” she asked. “It was our stolen food that kept them alive. That’s all. They have no other options.”

  That was true, and yet that same food had kept the peace for almost a year. What now that the supply was cut off?

  “So they might come down demanding more food,” Miriam said. “Or try to take it by force.”

  “I have to ask,” Jacob said, “if it took us so long to miss the stolen food, how critical was it, anyway?”

  “Pretty damn critical,” David said. “Maybe not now, but soon.”

  “You don’t know that,” Jacob said. “Last year we nearly fed ourselves with what we grew. Barely dipped into our stores at all. I’ll bet this year we pull it off. The weather seems almost normal again.”

  “It’s the End of Days,” Stephen Paul said. “This is a lull.”

  “We’re all agreed on that,” David said.

  “No man knows the day nor hour,” Jacob reminded them. “That’s what the scriptures say.”

  “You’re not going to convince us,” Miriam said. “We all know this is the end.”

  She was right insofar as he wasn’t going to get anywhere arguing about the end of the world.

  “So what then, you’ll sneak into camp, have a look around?” Jacob asked. “Or are you going after Ezekiel specifically?”

  “Why not both? I can get into that camp easily enough, play my role. If I go at night, when it’s dark, I can pose as just another refugee. I’ll look around and see if they’re sheltering Ezekiel. Maybe they want nothing to do with him. Maybe he fled into the desert with whatever he could grab. But maybe he’s there. If he is, I’ll either drag him back if I can, or kill him if I can’t.”