Dress us in your armor
Father Becker executed 14 people this morning for the crime of disobedience and lack of religious zeal. That was how the crime was charged on the death sentence.
The killings took place in the old jail yard.
Some of them cried.
No one spoke.
A young trembling boy wet his pants. Everyone in Stovall watched the bodies drop.
No one stayed until the bodies stopped moving.
Becker said thanks be to God.
The bastard.
*
My name is Anne Rosen, a missionary sister of Saint John Bosco, and I found the woman who saved us during a sweep of the demon zone. The Salvation Council sent me and two young men named Nathan and Kevin, two good Christian brothers who grew up on a farm 10 miles west of Stovall, to sweep the few standing houses on 15th street. We started west of the 283, which cut Stovall in two and ran north to the I-70. We were looking for anything we could take back south of the 156.
A tornado demolished most of 15th street a month before the Tribulation began. But anything built solid with stone and brick still stood. The Barr house stood alone in the first block. The Kendall house stood two blocks west on the south side.
Nathan stood watch and began the prayer of protection.
“Strengthen us in the power of your might, O God. Dress us in your armor…”
Kevin painted a red cross on the front door and took up a spot on the porch that gave him a clear view of the street. If something tried to attack Nathan, he would warn him. If Nathan’s prayer was ever interrupted, we were at their mercy. But you’re reading this, so you knew that didn’t you?
I went inside and made my way to the kitchen, where I found two cans of peas, a butcher knife and a 5-pound bag of white rice behind a false wall inside the pantry. Then I found the basement door and went down. Leaving the food on the stairs, I waded into two feet of water. The cinder-block walls were covered with black mold. I could barely breathe. I found a locked steel cabinet which I broke into with a hammer. Inside was a machete, a box of .32 caliber bullets and a first-aid kit. I scooped it all up and was wading back to the stairs when Kevin called out for me. That meant there was a threat.
The demons had somehow sensed us, and they were coming.
I ran up the stairs and met Kevin on the porch. “What’s wrong? Where is it?”
It was just a trembling woman walking toward Nathan. “Why isn’t the prayer stopping her, sister?”
The prayer was useless.
Kevin pulled his pistol, but I stopped him. What if she was a refugee? What if she was one of us? I didn’t think anyone was left north of the 156. The last refugees came to us from Topeka more than a year ago. Nathan stopped praying and backed up to the house.
“Please stop. We don’t want to hurt you.” I called out to her as I walked down the stairs. I held my hands up and palms out to show I wasn’t a threat. She stopped and smiled at me. “What’s your name, honey?”
She was tall and thin and had long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked strong and her eyes were deep and black.
“My name is Sister Anne. What’s yours?”
She was wearing a black flak jacket and heavy gloves and combat boots. She looked and moved like a soldier - controlled, precise, ready to jump.
“Jahn Dilley. Where am I?”
“Stovall, Kansas. Where are you from? Fort Riley? Lebanon?”
“No. I’m not military. I was a cop. I lived in Seattle.”
“How long have you been here?”
“A week, I think.”
“How did you get here?”
“I don’t remember. But it seems like a good place.”
“Honey, this is a terrible place. I don’t mean to be blunt, but you should be dead.”
“I wish I was. But I don’t think I can…”
She was alone, unprotected. She wasn’t wearing a cross. I didn’t understand how she could survive in the demon zone for a week. Maybe I should’ve taken those as warning signs. But I felt sorry for her. She held out her hands and I took them and pulled her close. There was something in her grip and her touch that gave me the sense she suffered a great loss. Then the brothers called me away…
