0300 Book 1 - 11. Chapter 11: The Funeral

Chapter 11: The Funeral

Although Saturdays were “free,” we had a few duties. After a late breakfast, Matthew and I cleaned our barracks room and then helped the rest of the squad clean the common areas. It never took more than a couple of hours, and we were able to spend the afternoon at play. We learned to play soccer and baseball. I liked soccer better, because I liked the running. Matthew was very good for a little kid at the batting part of baseball, but he couldn’t run very fast. If the weather was good, and it almost always was, we would have a picnic supper at the ball field.

On the Sabbath, which they called Domingo, we could catch up on studies or to play. Matthew and I worked harder than we had in Las Vegas but not nearly as hard as we had at the Sheriff’s Ranch. And we were ever so much happier than we had been at either place. In fact, I was happier than I remembered ever being, even at home. At first, I felt a little guilty about that until I realized that it was the Reverends and what they taught us that had poisoned everything.

Marty had told us that he was not just our squad leader, but that he wanted to be our friend. “I know it takes time to become friends,” he told us. “It takes even more time to know someone well enough to trust them. Do you understand what I mean?”

“I think so,” I said. “Just before we left, Andrew, who was the leader of the boys, talked about trust, and about sharing secret things with people we trusted.”

“You and Matthew are very important to us,” Marty said. “You’re the first boys to escape the Reverends since Artie did. That was more than five years ago.”

“But we still don’t know what the men ask us,” Matthew said. “You must think we’re really stupid!”

“Oh, no,” Marty said. “The Don said you probably know much more than you think you do. If you don’t know the answers, then we’re not asking the right questions!” He giggled when he said that, then repeated it without the giggles. “I mean that. We’re just not asking the right questions.”

It was a few days later that I found the courage to ask Marty a question that had been bothering me since the first time Matthew and I had sex. “Deacon Jerome told us that men created seed that was evil. He said that we would create evil seed when we got older. He said that Matthew and I, and the rest of the boys, and the girls, were holy vessels that purified the seed of the Reverends. Since Matthew and I left, we’re probably not holy vessels any longer. I’m afraid that when I start to make seed, I’ll poison Matthew.”

“Oh, Hamish!” Marty said. “Such lies! Please do not be afraid. The seed you will produce is normal, natural, and not evil. I think I’d like one of the teachers to explain it to you, though. Would that be okay?”

The teacher was one of the men who sometimes watched the televisor with us, and asked us questions about what we had seen. He came to our room, knocked, and asked if he might come in. I was surprised. No adult, anywhere, had ever asked that question.

“Marty thought I could help you understand something,” he explained.

I gestured, and he came in and sat on the other bunk, facing Matthew and me.

“I am Dr. Furman,” he said. “ I will try to answer your questions.”

I explained about evil seed, holy vessels, and my fear that I would poison Matthew.

I was afraid he would laugh, but Dr. Furman simply nodded. “I understand. Someday, when you are more comfortable with me, I would like to talk more about what the Reverends taught you. For now, I will tell you that poisoned seed is a lie. There is nothing poisonous or evil about the seed you will produce. What is evil is that the Reverends told you that. Oh, and no one is a holy vessel; no one can purify that which does not need to be purified. The Reverends told you that to make you more submissive to them, and to fear them.”

He explained that the seed was produced naturally and normally by the body when a boy reached sexual maturity.

I told him the story of the beloved boy-servant, and what I’d figured out about that. He smiled. “You’re a very bright boy, Hamish. And thank you for asking this question. Artie had told us a little about what the Reverends taught the boys, but he didn’t tell us that story. You’ve brought us something completely new to think about.”

I felt a little better, then, about being able to contribute, and a lot better to know that I wasn’t going to poison Matthew.

Things settled into a routine, and I had lost count of the weeks, when one of the teachers asked Matthew and me to leave our class, and took us to a room where the Don was waiting. Marty was already there, and Dr. Furman, as well as a handful of boys I’d seen before, and men I didn’t recognize. There was a televisor in the room.

“Hamish, Matthew, please come sit with me,” the Don said. “Last night, something was on the televisor that the Reverends did not put there. I want you to watch, and tell me what you think of it.” When we were seated, someone turned on the televisor.

The picture was much more clear than I’d ever seen before. The voice was not scratchy and the image didn’t flicker. A young man faced us. He wore the black and gray of the California Army, which we’d seen in the televisor images of the Battle of Las Vegas. There were three silver diamonds on each side of his collar. As soon as he appeared, some of the boys started whispering. He spoke. Matthew and I gasped when we realized who he was.

“My name is Artie. I was born in Las Vegas. I never knew my father. At the age of twelve, I was taken from my mother and made a servant of the Reverends. I escaped. You have seen on the televisor the Battle of Las Vegas. In that battle, I was a battalion commander. At seventeen years of age, I was one of the oldest. Some of our members were as young as eight years old. As we approached Las Vegas, the Reverends called in their army.

“Many of us were killed before the rest of us were rescued by those we thought to be angels in boxy aeroplanes without wings. You have seen on the televisor that the Reverends called them demons. They were not demons and they were not marked with the number of the beast. Those are nothing more than lies—some of the Reverends’ many lies.

“Today, I am Artie Stewart, the adopted son of Commodore Paul Stewart, Commander of Task Force Rift. I am the Colonel in Chief of an Army in Exile. You don’t know what that means. You cannot know what that means.

“Our rescuers brought us to a place of safety. They brought as well the bodies of fifty-four of our dead. Despite the best efforts of our rescuers’ doctors, fourteen more children died of wounds inflicted by the Reverends’ army. That which made these sixty-eight boys alive has long ago left their bodies. However, to honor their sacrifice, we will send their bodies from the heavens back to Earth. They will fall through the air above Earth. The speed of their fall will cause them to burn. You will see that over the skies of Las Vegas on the night of the next Sabbath.

“What you will see is what we will create. It will not be a creation of the Reverends. It will not be a sign from the Lord God. It will not be a sign from Satan. It will not be a miracle passed by The Scudder. It will be a creation of the surviving members of the Army in Exile and of our allies. It will not be a miracle but a natural event.”

The picture faded to black. Someone turned off the televisor. The Don looked at me. “What do you make of it?” he asked.

I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say. “Some of the boys in Las Vegas knew Artie,” I said. “You know that. One said that a Reverend had said Artie was in the battle and had been seen on the televisor. We saw the battle on the televisor. I wondered why they didn’t show the demons being destroyed. I wondered why Deacon Jerome was afraid.”

I caught my breath, and added, “I believe the ones the Reverends called demons are Artie’s allies, and they were not destroyed.”

Matthew broke in. “How did he get a last name? He said he was adopted. What does that mean?”

“It means that someone has taken Artie into his family, made Artie his son,” the Don said.

Artie said he didn’t know who his father was. I have nearly forgotten my family. Will I ever see them again? What about Matthew’s family? He’s never spoken of them . . . and I’ve never asked.

“He was a major when he left; he was wearing colonel’s diamonds, and said he was the Colonel in Chief of an exile army,” Marty said.

“Apparently, he is the surviving senior officer,” the Don said. “My guess is that his father, this Commodore Paul Stewart who commands a task force, did not believe he could return Artie and the others to this place—or at least not for a long time—and has put Artie in charge of the others to ensure order and discipline. I would like to meet this Commodore. I think we think alike. I think we could become good friends.”

“Why didn’t he say Army of the Free Republic of California,” one of the older boys asked.

“Caution,” one of the men said. “A bunch of kids, even if they did come from California, attacking Las Vegas is one thing. A sanctioned army bearing the name of California is quite another. The Reverends can ignore the one. They could not easily ignore the other.”

He looked around the room. “You must never speak of this outside this room, do you understand?”

Matthew and I nodded. I guess all the others did, too, because the man kept talking.

“We are not ready to go to war with the Reverends. We are not strong enough, and we are not numerous enough. Further, we depend on trade between the Reverends and the Pan-Asians for part of our economy. We—”

“That’s not right!” one of the boys exclaimed. “Kids died! And California is in business with the Reverends? That’s not right!”

I expected the man to become angry, but he spoke softly. “Please let me finish.”

The boy blushed, and nodded. The man continued. “We also depend on that trade to tell us what the Reverends have, and what they need. It’s an important source of information—intelligence.”

“Is that why the Reverends don’t attack California? They need the trade?” I asked.

“That’s a large part of it. The pass through which you came here appears to be undefended, but that appearance is deceiving. It is narrow, especially at the summit where the waters divide, so that twenty men side by side could hold it. And we keep watch.

“The Reverends depend on what they can get from the Pan-Asians and, in some cases, the Muslims, although most of their trade with the Muslims goes through Europe.

“If they ever thought they could gain control of even one of the Pacific ports, they’d attack. We make sure they never think that. The roads to the ports, and the ports themselves are heavily guarded. The few representatives of the Reverends we allow to come here are deliberately and systematically shown those defenses.”

The man shuddered as if he were cold, and then said, “Artie and the boys who fought the battle of Las Vegas weren’t only doing it to try to kill Reverends. They were also trying to find out more about them, and about their army. If we had known how strong the Reverends’ army was and how quickly they could respond, we would never have allowed those boys to make that attack. That was a horrible mistake on our part, and would have been worse except for those boxy aeroplanes, and whoever it was Artie said were angels.”

“Artie doesn’t believe they are angels,” I said.

“But Artie said—”

I interrupted the man. “Artie said those we thought to be angels. He only said that once, and he didn’t talk about it, again. He also said the bodies of the dead would be sent from the heavens. He didn’t say ‘the sky.’ I think he knows they weren’t angels but wants people to think they were without actually lying.”

There was a long silence. Then the Don said, “Hamish is right. He saw something we didn’t.”

He turned to me. “Thank you, Hamish.”

“Commodore is a naval rank,” one of the men said. “Boxy aeroplanes and navy don’t go together in my mind.”

“You mean, two different military forces?” someone asked.

“Probably, not positive. Something to keep in mind, though.”

“But whose? Neither the Pan-Asians nor the Muslims have aeroplanes like that. Do they?” The man who asked the question looked at the Don.

“We don’t know. At least, I don’t know. Do the people in Monterrey know? If they did, would they tell those of us in this remote outpost? I don’t know. Everything we know, everything we will talk about, will go to them. What they decide to share with us will probably be a lot less. That’s the way of things. They tell us only what we need to know.”

The Don forestalled argument by raising his hand and adding, “That’s right and proper, and you know it.”

“Artie wasn’t a servant, either,” one of the boys said. “He was a slave, and he had been forced into sex by the Reverends. Why did ne say nothing about that?”

“Too much for the first message,” one of the men said. “As it was, he said almost too much to be believed.”

“First message. Will there be more?” I asked.

“I guarantee it!” another man said. “But knowing Artie, I’ll bet it’s all true.”

“Conclusions?” the Don asked.

“Invasion. They’re getting ready for an invasion.”

“How soon? Can we be ready?”

“Artie is smart. He’s also loyal. He will ensure that this mysterious task force commander—his father—contacts us.”

“Where is Artie, now?” One of the men asked.

“And the rest of them!” one of the boys demanded. “There were nearly 1,200 boys . . . and according to what Artie said, 68 dead. But how many survived? We saw some . . . in the televisor, we saw some of the little ones die. We saw others crushed, shot. How many are there in this Army in Exile?”

“Who were the people in the boxy aeroplanes, and where were they from? I cannot believe either the Pan-Asians or the Muslims can make an aeroplane fly without wings. And the Reverends damn sure can’t,” someone else said.

“How can they pre-empt the Reverends’ televisor signal? Are they also sending their signal to the Pan-Asians and the Muslims?” Marty asked.

“Even if they’re not, the Pan-Asians and the Muslims almost certainly have spies . . . they’ll know,” the Don said.

“Are they people?” one of the boys said. “What must they be like if they can defeat the Reverends’ Army?”

“Did anything Artie said suggest his father, his allies weren’t people?” the Don asked.

No one was sure how to answer that, so we watched it again. I noticed that Marty was crying. Not sobbing, but I saw tears roll down his cheeks. I don’t think anyone else saw.

“How could they get the bodies so high in the air? What would make them burn?” I asked.

“Those boxy aeroplanes must be able to fly a lot higher than the Reverends aeroplanes,” someone said. “But why would the bodies burn?”

“Friction, air friction,” one of the men said. “Like meteorites.” Some of the folks nodded, and I resolved to find out later what that meant.

“Why would they burn the bodies, anyway?” someone asked.

“Perhaps it is their custom,” the Don said. “We know it is the Reverends’ custom to bury bodies for they believe we were made from the dust of the Earth. Perhaps these people think we were made from the fire of the sun.”

“Marty? You were crying,” I said. I had managed to get him alone after lunch.

His nose flared, and I thought he was going to lash out at me, but he took a deep breath, and his face relaxed.

“Artie was my friend,” he said. “He was five years older than me, but he was my friend—and my boyfriend. I never told him how much I loved him. When he volunteered to join the battle, I ran from him and hid. I was afraid. I didn’t tell him goodbye. I’m crying now because I’m afraid when he comes back, he will hate me.”

I was stunned, but not too stunned to feel how bad Marty felt. I grabbed him and hugged him. He was older than I was and he was my corporal, so it seemed funny for me to try to comfort him, but I could feel his hurt. At first, he stiffened. I thought he would push away, but then I felt him relax in my hug.

“Marty? Could you love someone who was a bad person?” I asked.

“Huh? Of course not,” Marty said.

“Only a bad person could ever hate you for being afraid. Artie isn’t a bad person, or you wouldn’t have loved him. Artie isn’t a bad person, or he wouldn’t have been brave enough to take the risks he had to take. Artie will not hate you.” I said these things with a confidence I wasn’t entirely sure of. I hoped I was right, and swore that if this Artie person ever hurt Marty, I’d hurt him right back!

Marty sniffled once, and then thanked me for what I’d said—and for the hug. I guess it was okay for a private to hug his squad leader sometimes!

Matthew and I didn’t do fellatio every night. Some nights we just cuddled. On the night after we saw Artie on the televisor, we cuddled. And we whispered.

“Hamish? I want there to be angels.”

I was pretty sure, by now, that there were neither angels nor demons. I had to tell him. “Matthew, everything the Reverends taught us was a lie. Holy vessels, poisoned seed, beloved boy-servants, the rod that brings wisdom . . . they’re all lies. Angels and demons are lies, too.

“Please don’t hate me for telling you this!” I had felt him stiffen and pull away from my arms. I pulled him back, and hugged him tightly as he cried. When he stopped crying, I kissed the tears from his cheeks.

“I love you, Matthew. I don’t want to hurt you. The Reverends taught us to believe wrong things, and it hurt. I think believing the wrong thing will hurt you more than the truth.”

“I know,” Matthew said. “I love you. And there are angels.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You are my angel.” He kissed me lightly, and fell asleep.

I did not sleep as easily as did Matthew. He had appointed me as his angel. I guess I understood the difference between a “real” guardian angel, and being the friend who would protect Matthew. Still, I knew it was something that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

Sabbath evening was clear, and supper was served early. All the lights of the camp were turned off. We sat, cross-legged on the ball field watching and waiting. Matthew and I sat together, and hugged one another. We faced east, where the sky was like a purple-gray. The last of the setting sun turned the tops of the mountains pink, and then darkness fell. In the last of the twilight, we had seen other couples holding each other as we were.

“Moon won’t rise until midnight,” someone said. They picked a perfect night.”

“Look!” Someone said.

A streak of fire shot across the sky. Just before it disappeared behind the mountains, it exploded into a shower of stars. Then another, and another. They came in ones, twos, and threes, never more than that. They all came from the same place, but they took different directions. Some were close enough that we thought we could hear a “bang” minutes after they exploded.

“ . . . sixty four, sixty five . . . sixty seven . . . sixty eight.” Someone counted, and the streaks of light stopped. I heard boys crying, unashamedly sobbing. They believe what Artie said in the televisor; those streaks of light were their friends, I thought. Will they ever know their names? Will they ever know who besides Artie survived?

It wasn’t until the next morning that we learned that the shower of fire over Las Vegas had been transmitted over every televisor in the land. It wasn’t hard to understand that it wasn’t the Reverends who had done that.

The next night, the televisor images from the Reverends were much longer than usual. The Scudder, himself—a new one, not Deacon Jerome’s father—was shown for nearly half an hour. We watched it over and over again with the men who questioned us. They seemed pleased with the answers to our questions, and I felt that Matthew and I were truly helping.

“Satan came unto Eve as a lying serpent,” the Scudder said. “He was able to enter the paradise only by the permission of the Lord God. The Lord God worked in a mysterious way when he allowed Satan to tempt Eve. The Lord God gave Abraham a chance to show how strong was his faith when He commanded Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac, as a burnt offering to the Lord God. Once again, the Lord God gives us a chance to show how strong is our faith. He has allowed Satan, the lying spirit, again to enter this world. The person you saw on the televisor claiming to be a soldier is a soldier of Satan; what you saw in the skies over Las Vegas was a lie from the Prince of Lies.”

There was a lot more like that. I no longer believed anything the Reverends said was true. There was no Lord God; there was no evil seed. Reverend? Meaning revered? No way! So I listened to the words, and tried to think about what they were hiding.

They probably know who Artie is. So that’s one thing they are hiding. They must know he was their sex slave, and wondered why he didn’t say anything about that. They must know that Artie was part of the California Army, and that he didn’t say anything about that. They probably know why. What they don’t know is who Artie’s allies are—who is his father the Commodore, and how big is his fleet; who are the people—they must know they are people and not demons—in the boxy aeroplanes.

After we watched a second time, I told the Don and the men what I thought. The Don seemed pleased with what I said. Later, Marty told me how glad he was that Matthew and I were in his squad.

“I wouldn’t get to be in those meetings if it weren’t for you,” he said. And then he kissed me on the cheek. It was just a “good friends” kiss, I felt, but it made me feel really good.

Two nights later, Matthew and I reached a crisis. Matthew had done fellatio on me, and I was about to take him in my mouth, but he pulled away.

“Hamish? Are you going to join the Army?” Matthew’s voice trembled. We were cuddled in the dark. I felt his body shaking and I saw what he was thinking.

“You’re afraid I will leave you,” I said.

“Hamish! I love you so much! Please don’t leave me. I’m too young for the Army. I’ll always be too young for what you can do. Please . . .”

“Matthew . . . I hadn’t thought about it that way. I thought we would always be together.”

Then I thought really hard. I’d always wanted to join the Army, but why? At first, it was because I thought their uniforms looked sharp, and everyone said they ate well, and were warm in winter. That was the Reverend’s Army. I guess I knew they fought. I guess I knew I could get killed. But I didn’t really think about that. I didn’t think about getting killed until I saw in the televisor the battle of Las Vegas. Even then, it wasn’t something that would happen to me; these were people I didn’t know.

Then when Artie talked about boys being killed, and I saw boys in our squad crying because it was their friends burning up and exploding in the air, and when I saw Marty crying, I guess I understood that people in the Army could get killed.

Before I could say anything, Matthew spoke. “Artie said some of the boys were as young as eight. I’m eight, now. If they can join, why can’t I?”

Something cold and dark ran from my head to my toes, and then seemed to settle in my tummy. What if Matthew dies? What if I die? Even if everything the Reverends said was a lie, what will happen when we die?