Apocalypse Burning (42 page)

“My daddy,” Delroy said.

“My father used to go there when Josiah preached.” The counterman smiled at the memory. “As I recall, there wasn’t a lot of white faces in that church.”

“They were always welcome,” Delroy said, remembering there had been a few white people in the congregation, and wondering which one of them might have been the counterman’s daddy.

“I know. I remember my father taking me there. He always said that that church was one of the best when it came to singing the gospel. And he loved to listen to your father pound that pulpit. He always said he’d never met a preacher that could bring a man to meet Jesus faster or more sure than Josiah.”

Delroy smiled and felt tightness in his chest. “I appreciate your kindness.” He held his hand out and shook the counterman’s.

“Not a problem.”

Delroy turned to go. The counterman called to him before he stepped through the door. “Preacher … uh … Chaplain,” the counterman said, looking a little nervous.

“Aye,” Delroy said.

“People I’ve seen in here this morning, some of them say you’re going to be at the church today.”

“I am.”

The counterman shrugged. “I was thinking, I get off here about eleven, and I was wondering if it would be okay if I came by. Thought maybe I’d bring my wife and a couple of my teenagers.” He rubbed his chin. “Things that are going on around here, not much of them are making any sense. People I talked to, they said you had some good words to say.”

Delroy smiled in wonderment.

“You see, Son,” Josiah had told him so many times, “it ain’t so much that a preacher has to go out an’ find him a congregation, or even work on buildin’ hisself one. God, well, He just knows when people’s right for one another. You only gotta listen to Him. You take it upon yourself to serve the Lord as a shepherd, Son, why God will give you the sheep.”

“What’s your name?” Delroy asked.

“Eddie,” the counterman replied. “Eddie Fikes.”

“Well, Eddie Fikes,” Delroy said, “when you get time, you come on down to the Church of the Word. Bring your family. You’ll be welcome.”

Eddie smiled. “I’ll do that, Chaplain. I know some other people that might like to drop by, too.”

“Well, then, bring them on.” But a small part of Delroy was wondering if he wasn’t biting off more than he could chew. The ride to the church was mostly silent as Delroy continued to wonder what he was going to do, what he was going to say.

“You want my opinion?” Walter said when they were within blocks of the church.

“Is there any force in this world that’s going to keep you from giving it to me?”

Walter appeared to consider the question for a moment; then he shook his head. “Nope.”

“Well, as my daddy would say, I guess you’d best let that dog run.”

“Well, sir, you’re overthinkin’ things. You just need to relax. Go with the flow.” Walter looked over at him. “Your daddy an’ God have prepared you for this place an’ this time, Delroy.” He shook his head. “What I saw yesterday in that church, well … it’s just meant to be, Delroy. That’s all I gotta say. It’s just flat meant to be. You just listen to your heart an’ to your faith. You’ll do just fine.”

“There’s a danger in being too prideful,” Delroy said.

“An’ if you get there,” Walter said, “I’ll thump a knot on your skull myself.”

In spite of the tension he felt, Delroy laughed. “You probably would.”

Walter laughed with him.

Only minutes later, they pulled up to the church. The sight took Delroy’s breath away.

At least two hundred people—men, women, and children—stood in the churchyard. Many of them were painting the church’s exterior, some standing on the ground, some up on scaffolds and ladders. The early morning sunlight glinted off the church’s new windowpanes. The sign in front of the old place had been rehung and repainted.

Church of The Word

A Gathering Place of God’s Faithful

Stunned, Delroy stepped from Walter’s truck. The church wasn’t as pristine it had been all those years ago, but it was a monumental change for the better from yesterday.

Phyllis, looking more chipper and less worried than she had yesterday, came forward. “Good morning, Chaplain.”

“The church,” Delroy said, unable to say anything further for the moment.

“I know,” Phyllis said. “Nobody wanted to leave after what you got started yesterday, so we up an’ divided our ownselves into shifts. Some gettin’ materials, an’ them what was handy usin’ ‘em.” She shrugged. “’Course, they ain’t nobody in this neighborhood what don’t fit a paintbrush to they hand. So we got paint.” She smiled brightly. “We even got pews.”

“Pews?” Delroy repeated.

“One of the men knew where some was. Locked up in a storage business what he works at. He cut a deal with the owner, got them pews for a song, and trucked them over here in the dead of night. Come on in an’ see for yourself.”

Dazed, knowing that he was looking on the work of the Lord, Delroy followed the woman into the church.

The walls all sported a new coat of paint. The floors had been shined. They still showed several scars and rough places, but all the litter and dirt were gone. A pulpit stood at the front of the church. A scarred piano stood to the left of the pulpit.

And in the center of what had appeared as a cavernous empty room only yesterday, pews covered the floor. Bibles and hymnals filled the slots. They didn’t match and they weren’t new, but they were there.

Overcome, Delroy knelt and clasped his hands. There were some things that had to be said that way. “Thank You, God, for this place and these people. Work Your best through me that I might give them what they need and what You want them to have. You know their needs, Lord. You know their needs are strong. Let them lean on You for a little while, so that others may lean on them and bring them to know more of You. In Jesus’ sweet name, I pray.”

When he opened his eyes, he was astounded to see that all of the people—inside the church as well as outside—had knelt to pray with him.

He stood, and the church stood with him.

United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 1047 Hours

“State your name for the record,” Major Augustus Trimble said from the opposing counsel’s table.

Seated in the witness chair, Megan Gander looked out at the faces gathered in the military courtroom. A knot of congealed, greasy fear rolled in her stomach. Out of all those faces, most of them in army uniforms, she was surprised at how few of them she knew. Working in Joint Services, she’d met a number of people here on the base, but almost none of them were in the courtroom today.

She did have her few supporters. Jenny McGrath sat in the back in the audience seats. Lieutenant Doug Benbow sat at the defense table with his notes and portfolio in front of him.

Boyd and Tonya Fletcher sat just behind the opposing counsel’s table. Boyd looked stern and angry, like some prophet from the Old Testament come down from the mountain to deliver a message of God’s wrath about to be visited upon someone. In this case, Megan knew who Boyd Fletcher’s wrath would be visited on if he had his way.

A well-dressed man wearing an impatient look sat beside the Fletchers. From time to time, he spoke on a cell phone, always in a whisper that never reached Colonel Henry Erickson’s ears where he sat as judge. However, the constant calls had drawn the colonel’s attention all the same. Megan supposed the man was Arthur Flynn, Boyd Fletcher’s civil attorney.

She swallowed hard and leaned forward to speak into the microphone. “My name is Megan Gander.” Her voice boomed over the court, followed by feedback from the equipment, embarrassing her.

“Mrs. Gander,” Trimble said, covering one ear with one hand, “you don’t have to lean into the microphone like that. The audio pickup is quite good enough to do the job.”

“I’m sorry,” Megan whispered.

“Now, Mrs. Gander, you will have to speak up louder than that. That is not spy equipment.” Trimble paced in front of his table.

Lieutenant Benbow stood. “Colonel, Major Trimble is badgering the witness.”

Erickson held up a hand. He was a grimly efficient man approaching fifty. He was dark haired but with silver at the temples. “Lieutenant, I’ll be the judge of whether or not someone is being badgered in this courtroom.”

“Yes, sir,” Benbow said. He sat back down.

“Major Trimble,” Erickson said, “you’ll please refrain from continuing your comments about the court equipment.”

“Yes, sir.” Trimble appeared untouched by the judge’s caution. He came forward and stood in front of Megan, his hands clasped behind his back. “Now, Mrs. Gander, you’ve heard testimony from several other people in the courtroom this morning about how you treated Gerry Fletcher. That testimony proves that you failed to notify either of his parents of his whereabouts.”

Megan didn’t respond. He wasn’t asking a question.

“Mrs. Gander, you did hear that testimony, didn’t you?” Trimble asked.

Benbow stood again. “Colonel, I don’t believe the major’s attempt to test Mrs. Gander’s memory or her hearing is what we’re here for.”

Trimble spoke quickly and smoothly. “I beg to differ, Lieutenant. It seems to me that Mrs. Gander’s memory of the time in question is very important.”

“Colonel,” Benbow pleaded.

“Lieutenant,” Erickson said. “Sit down.”

Benbow sat.

Megan felt naked and vulnerable in the witness chair. So far this morning, she’d sat at the defense table and listened to her behavior being pummeled by witness after witness. Trimble had had officers reading from the codebook regarding dereliction of duty, emphasizing that civilians fell under the military court system during times of martial law, just as it had been declared at the fort since the disappearances. He’d had nurses who had been on duty that night, who’d checked Gerry Fletcher into the ER. He’d built up an ironclad case that she’d not called the Fletchers to let them know where Gerry was.

The case had started out against her from the beginning, and Trimble had taken little time in getting to her and boxing her in.

“Major,” Erickson said, “get to the questions you have relevant to the proceedings.”

“Yes, sir.” Trimble stared at Megan as if he could break her.

Megan remembered how angry he had gotten when she’d been in his office, how vindictive and petty, and how … afraid. Now that she thought back, she could clearly remember his fear that she was right. She took a deep breath.

“Mrs. Gander,” Trimble said, “do you have any history of psychological impairment?”

“If I did,” Megan said as plainly as she could without getting emotional, “I’m sure you would have dug it up and trotted it out for the court.”

Angry red fire lit up Trimble’s face. He burst into motion, turning toward the judge’s bench. “Colonel, I must object to this kind of treatment. It’s egregious.”

“It also,” Megan snapped, “happens to be the truth. If you could have found something like that against me, you would have had a witness up here testifying to that.”

“Mrs. Gander,” Erickson said, “I will have order in the courtroom.”

“Yes, sir,” she said but stared at Trimble.

“Major, continue your questioning.”

Trimble pulled at the bottom of his uniform jacket and gathered himself. “Mrs. Gander, do you have a history of psychological impairment?”

“No.”

“Have you ever had a coworker, another counselor, mention that you were under a lot of stress?”

Megan thought about that one for a moment, then realized that any interview with any of her coworkers who knew her would have turned up only one answer. “Yes,” she said.

“Has that been mentioned on more than one occasion?”

“Yes.”

“By more than one coworker?”

“Yes.”

Trimble nodded as if he were completely satisfied. He turned and faced the jury of twelve army personnel—officers and enlisted men and women. “Have you ever been treated for stress?”

“No.”

“Oh really?” Trimble turned on her. “Have you never taken part of the day off after a particularly unsavory encounter with a teen in your charge?”