Pedestals of Ash (7 page)

Terri shook her finger
at
Nick and playfully scolded him. “You and Bishop seem to have a way about you. Both of you seem to have this bad habit of pissing people off. Bishop
is lucky I happen to like the a
lpha male type – not everyone does.”

Nick laughed hard at Te
rri’s remark. “So, speaking of M
ister Bishop, where would that old dog have wandered off to? You didn’t finally get enough of that cornball humor and do him in
,
did ya?”

Ter
ri giggled and shook her head
. “No, I did not
‘
do him in,
’
although his jokes sometimes make me want to sma
ck him
a bit
.” It took Terri about 10
minutes to explain that Bishop was on a mission for his old boss
,
who had literally just dropped in from the sky. Wh
en Terri got to the part about t
he Independents and the President of th
e United States, Nick’s eyes grew
wide with disbelief.

“Terri, you let hi
m go do that by himself? Oh my G
od
,
girl! Does he really think he can make it all the way to Fort Bliss
and
convince the p
resident to negotiate with this new group? Wow! I thought I lead an exciting life.”

Terri went on to explain that t
he Colonel, Bisho
p’s old boss and friend of the p
resident, believed there would be civil war between m
ilitary units loyal to the p
reside
nt and those having sided with t
he Independents. The Colonel was worried any conflict would go nuclear and perhaps destroy what was left of the country.

Nick took a bit to digest all of this information. He finally looked up and nodded, “I understand now. After thinking about it, I don’t blame this Colonel guy. I’ve never met a bette
r man for the job than Bishop. Still, y
ou have to be worried sick about him. Has there been any word?”

Terri explained what little she knew aft
er t
he Colonel’s grandson had returned with the medical equ
ipment. It wasn’t much
information, but the last time anyone
saw Bishop,
he was headed off into the desert north of Alpha. Terri tried to cheer herself up, “You know Bishop - he’s like a cat with all those lives. He knows the desert
,
and I’m sure he’ll be just fine.”

Deacon Brown r
ealized the survivors of the morning’s skirmish were
more important at the moment than her grieving over the loss of her son. Promising herself she would
take the time to properly
mourn his death later, she set about earning her reputation as a strong leader. She moved around the perimeter of the church, calmly issuing commands, reassuring the frightened
,
and generally taking control of the chaos that followed in the aftermath of the attack. The hardest
part was cons
oling
the heartsick
family members who had just lost loved ones. Diana knew all of them well, and she counted most as friends. None of these people had signed up to fight a war or do battle. Many were near or at r
etirement and
until recently had planne
d to finish out their days in the quiet, peaceful life
a small western community
affords
.
 

Even though the congregation had held its
ground, they had taken quite a few casualties.
It would take days
just
to dig enough graves to bury everyone they had lost.
Out of the 50 able-
bodied men defending the compound, there were now 21 dead or badly wounded. The fight had expended over half of their remaining ammunition
,
and by the end of the day
,
their limited medical supplies would be exhausted.

Even though Dian
a worked tirelessly
,
t
rying to recover and regroup
, the grim reality of the situation could not be ignored. It
b
ecame more and more obvious the church followers
wouldn’t be able to hold out if attacked again. After making sure she had done everything possible in the parking lot
, both to console and secure
, she retired to her office and sat at her desk
pondering the future. The sheer
number of sick and wounded made evacuation practically impossible. Even if they did have the gasoline and transportati
on available to vacate the compound, the group had
no place to go. No town or organized group of people would welcome 120 hungry, sick
,
and injured lodger
s.

While she had risen to the immediate challenge of the situation, the physical and emotional stress of the day clouded her mind, making long-term planning difficult, if not impossible. She had no doubt the
“
skinnies
”
would kill most of the congregation if she gave up. The women and children would suffer the most. She briefly entertained thoughts of
surrender, but she might as well imitate Moses and lead her flock out into
the desert. Thank
heavens;
she
had
not received instructions from G
od to lead her people into the wilderness.

A knock on her office door interrupted her train of thought. A young man reported that one of the wounded attackers was talking. It seemed that Bishop ha
d successfully made off with some
precious medical equipment
,
and that had caused the leader of the skinnies to lose his temper and attack. The
prisoner indicated
the skinnies had marshaled over 100 men
and commanded
a large cache of ammunition and food stored at the county courthouse.

The mention of Bishop’s name caused Deacon Brown to recall a conversation sh
e had had with him before he exited
the compound. “Reach out to the
people of Meraton,” he advised her. Deacon Brown
strode
to
the main assembly area and located
one of her
key people
. “Do we have a vehicle that could make it to Meraton and back? I think I can go there and get help. Is there anything left that can make it?”

The confidant
thought about his leader
’s request for a moment and responded
, “Yes ma’am, my truck is in the maintenance shed
,
and it has enough gas in it to get to Meraton and back. It’s nothing fancy ma’am, but it’ll get you there.”

Deacon Brown thanked the man and headed to her office to pack a bag. W
hile she was gathering her essentials,
she informed her lieutenants of her plans. A couple of them were skeptical of her return, but she reassured them that she would indeed come back, hopefully with help of some kind. She planned on leaving for Meraton at first light.

Smok
ey paced back and forth in the c
hief’s office waiting on Hawk’s report. When his second in command
finally arrived, the look on Hawk’s
face told the boss what he already knew. Hawk reported the bad news, “We lost 39 men and have another 14 wounded.”

Smokey tried to minimize their losses.
“We hurt them
,
too. I
know we killed a bunch of them.”

Hawk nodded and continued, “Look at the bright side – we have fewer mouths to feed. It will take us a bit to regroup
though
. Do you want to hit them again tonight?”

Smokey had anticipated that question and surprised his man. “No, let’s take a day or so and make sur
e we put an end to this thing, once and for all
. We should’ve taken more time to teach everyone the plan today. We were too slow
,
and it cost us. We can’t afford to fuck up like that again.”

“You got it
,
boss. It ain’t like they
’re
going anywhere.”

Bishop’s watch alarm beeped in his ear
,
and he groggily located
and pressed the tiny button. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and gingerly stretched his body. He was stiff and very
sore, but the few hours of shuteye had helped.
The few mouthfuls of water he had pulled from the sand were all but forgotten; his mouth feeling gritty and parched once again.

After checking the perimeter of his bivouac, he quickly dressed and slung his rifle. He was full of anticipation as he approached the solar still and his bush traps. He decided the still would probably produce the most water, so he checked the bushes first.

Bishop bent down by the first bagged plant and felt the tip of the plastic bag. There was water in there! It wasn’t much, perhaps a finger’s worth in his cup, but still he would get a drink. The second bush was a bit of a disappointment
,
as it had produced less
of the valuable fluid
.

He took a
knee beside the still and gentl
y
removed
the plastic
cover
.
Inside, his cup was about
half-full
of water. Bishop fought t
he urge to immediately snatch
the cup
to his parched lips
and down the liquid
. He carefully picked up the vessel with both hands and slowly took one sip and then another.
The water tasted pure and cool, a more palatable experience than his last drink.
He sat the cup back down in the sand and looked at the plastic bag that had been the lid o
f his still. A few beads
of water remained
,
and he bent over an
d licked up each and every one.

The next task was to retrieve the water from the bush traps
,
and that took a bit of work so as not to spill a single
,
precious drop. After he ad
ded their small amounts of liquid
into his cup, it was almost three quarters full. I
t wasn’t enough to survive long-
term, but hopefully, it would suffice
until he could find more.