Marching As to War: A Post-Apocalyptic Novel (5 page)

I looked for Riley and saw him standing apart. He didn’t
look happy. I went over to him.

“Good news,” I said.

“Great news,” he said.

“So why don’t you look like
it’s
great?”

He squinted and scratched his beard. “Can’t help thinking of
something my mama used to say.”

“What’s that?”

“‘Be careful what you wish for,
cause
you might get it.’”

I turned back to the crowd. The golden light had faded.

Everyone in camp knew we were going to see Winslow. Silent
and curious, they lined the path and stared at Jane as she walked up the hill.
Riley and I followed along a step or two behind.

Campbell was
waiting at the entrance to the building and greeted her. Then he told Riley and
me, “You’ll wait here.”

Jane pointed at me and said, “No. He has to come.”

I’m not sure who was more surprised, Campbell or me.

“Why?” Campbell
said.

“He has to come,” she said.

Campbell paused
and seemed to make some sort of calculation. He said, “All right, Jane.”

After Jane and I handed our rifles to the guards, Campbell
took us inside. We went through an anteroom and down a hallway to a set of
double doors. As we went in, Campbell
turned to me and pointed to a spot just to the left of the doorway. I
understood he wanted me to stand there and say nothing, do nothing. That was
fine with me. I had no business being there.

The room was square and had a nice rug on the floor. There
were maps hanging on the walls and shelves filled with books. The
room made me think
of how dirty I was and how bad I smelled.
In the corner nearest me, a Lieutenant sat at a small writing desk. Campbell
turned and started speaking with him. On the other side of the room, six men
were standing, talking to one another. One man was taller than the others,
thick through the middle, and balding. His back was to the door, and as we came
in, he let out a booming laugh that filled the room. I guessed he must be
Charles Winslow.

In the time it took me to take all this in, Jane had crossed
the room and come up behind a short man standing with the others. I couldn’t
see his face and didn’t know who he was. Jane put a hand on his shoulder. When
he turned around and Jane put a hand over her heart and said loudly, “Charles
Winslow, I am Jane Darcy. I have a message from the Lord. He will protect our
people and drive out the enemy. Let me fight and He will give us victory.”

Jane bowed her head and went to her knees, praying. Everyone
was still. After a long moment, the short man said to her, “Um . . . please,
please stand up. Please.” He sounded embarrassed, unsure of himself. Jane stood
up, and I realized I had been holding my breath.

“How did you know who I was?” he said to her. It was a good
question. He was clean-shaven and had a fat little belly. He didn’t resemble
his father, who had been tall and hard-looking with a long full beard. Charles
Winslow was the softest-looking man in the room.

“The Spirit led me to you,” Jane said. Then she turned to
the rest of us. “We must speak alone. Leave us.” It was a command.

No one moved. Everyone was waiting to see what Winslow would
do. After a long moment, he nodded. The men moved slowly toward the door,
glancing back at Jane and Winslow. I was the last out, shutting it behind me.

Outside, I stood next to the door, trying my best to be
invisible. Campbell and his Lieutenant, both looking miserable, stood together
in the hallway. The other men waited in the anteroom. The tall man looked very
angry. His arms were across his chest, and his face was red. He wasn’t an
officer, but I had the feeling he was used to giving orders.

A minute passed.
Then five.
The
tall man paced around the anteroom and up and down the hallway. The other men
made way for him.

He had passed me a few times when he stopped in front of me,
and looked me up and down. He turned to Campbell
and said, “Just who the hell is he?”

“He brought the girl here,” Campbell
said. “She insisted he come with her.”

“Insisted?! Insisted?!” the tall man said. “Who is she to
insist on anything?” He stared hard at Campbell.
But Campbell stared back. Just as hard.

The tall man started pacing again. Another five minutes.
Then ten.

I wondered why I was there. Why had she wanted me here? What
was I supposed to be doing?

The door opened. Jane and Winslow came out. Winslow was
smiling. He appeared happy as he touched Jane’s shoulder and said to Campbell,
“Please make sure this remarkable young woman is taken care of.” Campbell
told his Lieutenant to see to it.

Winslow turned to Jane. “We’ll speak again soon.”

Jane nodded slowly.

Then Winslow said, “Gentlemen,” and gestured for the others
to come back into the room. Jane stepped aside and stood watching until the
door closed.

We went out, got our rifles back, and found Riley. Campbell’s
Lieutenant had someone take us to a cabin. We went in and discovered Jane had a
bed with real sheets, and a table and chairs for meals. Riley and I went back
to our campsite for our bedrolls and the makings of Jane’s lean-to. Just as we
returned, two men showed up with some hot food for us.

When the men had cleared out, and it was just the three of
us again, Riley let out a low whistle and started dishing out big plates of
food.

Over dinner, I told Riley how Jane had just walked in and
taken over. Jane smiled as I told the story. I also told what went on in the
hallway and had them both laughing with an imitation of the tall man asking,
“Just who the hell is he?”

Then I asked Jane, “Why’d you want me in there? It’s not
like I could help.”

“I wanted someone on my side,” she said.

“Ain’t Campbell
on your side?” Riley said.

Jane shook her head.

Riley and I exchanged a look. I turned back to Jane and
said, “Well, why me?
Why not Riley?”

She shrugged. “The Spirit chose you.”

Riley and I exchanged another look. That was all the answer
we were going to get. We were quiet for a bit.

“Jane, what did you and Winslow say?” I said.

She smiled, stood up, and said good night.

Riley and I went out, put out our bedrolls, and built a
fire. We sat for a long time warming ourselves without talking. Finally, I
said, “Leaves a lot unsaid, don’t she?”

“That she does.”

“Wonder why.”

“Maybe God don’t explain. Just tells her what to do.”

“Maybe,” I said, even though I suspected there was more to
it than that.

We sat for a while and then Riley said he was going to turn
in. Soon, I could hear him snoring. I sat at the fire and thought about all
that had happened since morning. I thought about my dream with the blue-eyed
man. It was strange, but I knew, knew for a fact, I would not dream of him
again, at least not the way I used to. That felt good.

And I thought about how Jane would not tell us what she and
Winslow had said. I realized then she would never tell. By tomorrow everyone in
camp, and in a week or two all of our people, would know she had spoken with
Winslow alone, but no one would know what they had said.

The secret is power
,
I thought.
It makes her Winslow’s equal
.

In the morning, Jane got word Winslow wanted to talk to her
again. Campbell’s Lieutenant
brought us to the same room as the night before.

Campbell, the tall man, and another man I hadn’t seen
before, sat at a table in the center of the room. Winslow sat at the head of
the table, but the smile of the night before was gone. Instead, he looked
nervous and glanced back and forth between Campbell and the tall man.

Jane took the empty seat. I stood to the left of the door.

The tall man cleared his throat and thanked Jane for coming.
He said he was David Jackson, Chairman of General Winslow’s Council of Advisors,
and the other man was Reverend William Maxwell. “And, of course, you know
General Winslow and Colonel Campbell.”

Jackson wasn’t
angry anymore. He looked like a cat about to jump on a mouse.

“We wanted to talk with you,” Jackson
continued, “to ask a few questions about you and the . . . the claims that
you’ve been making. Would that be all right?”

Jane said nothing.
A nod.

“Perhaps you could tell us about yourself, your family, your
upbringing?” Reverend Maxwell said.

Jane told them about her family and her farm. She said she
was about 17 years old, and all she had ever done was clean, cook, sew, and
work on the farm. Until this journey, she had never been more than a few miles
from home. I couldn’t see Jane’s face, but her voice was calm and even.

“Do you know how to read and write?” Jackson
said.

“No. Don’t know A from B,” she said.

Maxwell smiled and said, “Is Jesus Christ your personal Lord
and Savior?”

“Yes,” Jane said.

“And you believe the Bible is the Word of God?”

“Yes.”

“And you keep the Commandments?”

“Yes.”

Jackson said,
“But you dress in men’s clothes?”

“Yes,” Jane said.

Jackson smiled
and reached for a Bible that lay open on the table. “Well, the Bible says in
Deuteronomy, Chapter 22,
verse
5.” He paused and
cleared his throat before reading, “The woman shall not wear that which
pertaineth
unto a man, neither shall a man put on a woman’s
garment: for all that do so
are abomination
unto the
LORD thy God.”

He put the Bible down and smiled. The cat had pounced.

Jane said, “God didn’t call me to be a man, but to go to
war. So I dress for fighting.”

“But the Bible calls it ‘abomination.’”

“Jesus said to the Pharisees, you ‘strain at a gnat and swallow
a camel.’ My britches don’t matter. What matters is what God wants us to do
about the Government’s army. Let’s talk about that.”

Jackson didn’t
answer, but his face was getting red again. Winslow and Campbell sat silent,
watching. Maxwell, looking uncomfortable, cleared his throat and said, “You say
God has given you messages?”

“Yes,” she said.

“And God has given you a mission?”

“Yes.”

“Now, please don’t take offense, but I think we’ve all heard
of folks who claim God spoke to them. Then they’ve gone out and done some
terrible things.
Wicked things.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“I’d say those folks were listening to the Devil, not God.”

“Yes, I agree.”

“So how do you know that your mission is from God rather
than Devil?”

“God sent me to save our people from our enemies. And that’s
what this militia’s for. You ever asked if this militia is doing God’s work or
the
Devil’s?
Of course not.
Foolish question.”

Maxwell opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I
reckon he wasn’t used to 17-year-old girls calling him a fool.

Then I noticed that Jackson
was looking hard at the minister, disgusted. He turned to Jane. “You claim to
have healed a little girl?”

“Only God can heal,” Jane said. “I prayed with Mrs. Baker
for the child. God saw fit to heed our prayers.”

“What about the people who came to this camp?” Jackson
said. “Didn’t you tell them you could heal the sick?”

“No. I only talked and prayed with them. Should I turn them
away without a little kindness word after they’d come so far?”

Jackson sat back
in his chair and folded his arms. His face was very red.

Maxwell drew a deep breath and tried again. “Jane, please
look at this our way. In a time of danger, you tell us God has told you to save
our people. Don’t you see this is difficult to believe?”

“Yes,” Jane said, “if I didn’t know it to be true, I’d find
it hard to believe.”

“So help us!” Jackson said. “Give us a sign so we can
believe too!”

“Send me to fight and you’ll get a sign,” Jane said.
“Victory.”

“So if God will provide this victory, then there’s no need
for our men. Perhaps we can just send you!”

“No. Our men must fight, and God will give them victory.”

Jackson now
looked as angry as the night before.

Maxwell said, “Jane, I’m sure you believe . . . all this,
but ask yourself: If God wanted someone to fight the Government, wouldn’t He
choose someone who already knows how to do that?”

“Don’t know,” she said. “God didn’t explain. I sure wouldn’t
have picked me. So maybe He wants us to turn to Him for strength.”

“May I ask a question?” Campbell
said. Jackson glared at him.
Maxwell sat back, looking relieved. Winslow just stared at the table.

“Jane, if you were to lead our men,” Campbell
said, “what would you do with them?”

“Attack.
Attack now,” she said.
“Better today than tomorrow.
Better
tomorrow than the next day.”

Jackson narrowed
his eyes and shouted, “Attack, attack, attack! This sounds like the Gospel
according to Colonel John Campbell. Can’t you see that we can’t fight the
Government? They are too strong. We have to negotiate.”

“The Government doesn’t negotiate,” Campbell
said. “It conquers. We need to hit them before--”

“Please!” Winslow said, “Please, gentlemen. We’ve had this
argument too many times.” He looked ill and rubbed the sides of his head with
his fingertips. “This is a very difficult matter.
Very
difficult.
I have to think . . .”

Jane stood up, leaned forward, her hands flat on the table,
and said, “You must decide. We must act now. Do not lose this chance.”

As Winslow stared at her, he hunched down in his chair. He
looked as though he wanted to be anywhere else but here. To be anyone else than
who
he was. What we had suspected was true. He was nothing
like his father. I was frightened.

After a long moment, Winslow gathered himself and sat up in
his chair. He thanked Jane for coming and told her they would be talking again
soon. He nodded to Campbell and Jackson and left the room. Maxwell followed
him.

Jane stood at the table and, turning, watched Winslow until
he was out the door. Then she looked at me. I could feel her disappointment. We
went out of the room, leaving Campbell and Jackson still at the table, still
glaring at one another.