The Valley of Dry Bones (12 page)

“‘Suspect' is a little strong,” Pastor Bob said. “Wouldn't you say?”

“Maybe so, but you know Doc will have an opinion.”

Alexis clucked. “He'll have someone charged and convicted. It'll be interesting to find out who. When's the meeting?”

“After lunch,” Zeke said. “We've got a meeting with the Nuwuwu Tribe in the morning, and we're sending Raoul and Danley to Parker for supplies and the mail.”

“Is Danley going to want to leave Cristelle?” Alexis said.

Zeke shrugged. “I'll check with Doc, but unless she's critical, I don't want to start making exceptions. We're too small for that. Too many dominos could start to fall.”

Z
EKE ROSE BEFORE
dawn Monday, but of course that was impossible to know underground except by his digital clock, which read 5:00.

He sat on the edge of his bed, mapping the day—distracted, edgy, wondering when or if the voice of God might invade his mind. If yesterday was only a test, it would be counter to everything he knew about Him. The One he served would never make a promise and not fulfill it.

Zeke was grateful the Lord hadn't begun this day with some dramatic, audible proclamation. He had always been a quick starter, eager to get rolling, and had to remind himself to move stealthily and keep lights low so Alexis could sleep while he showered, shaved, and dressed head to toe in black, loose-fitting, breathable garb. Yes, black. Even his wide-brimmed hat. Zeke knew wearing black in the sun in temperatures that hovered in the 120-degree range and often reached 130 flew in the face of conventional wisdom—and persuading his teammates of the same had been no small task.

He had learned the trick by researching why so many sheiks and Bedouins in the deserts of Saudi Arabia dressed that way. Though it is true that white reflects light, it can also divert body heat directly back at you. While black absorbs sunlight, it also absorbs heat from the body. Zeke experimented with both and found that on a 120-degree day, wearing
white cooled him by about ten degrees, while wearing black cooled him almost twice as much.

Ever the contrarian, Doc Xavier stuck with all white “because one, I don't want to look like a villain, two, doctors wear white, and three, when it's that hot, what difference does ten degrees make?”

As a rule, other than those on periscope duty, Doc would be the only other person up at that time of the morning. So as Zeke headed to the shower, he planned on dropping in on Doc first. Xavier would be tending to Cristelle Muscadin, as her progress during the first twenty-four hours after her injury would be the most telling. Zeke hoped Doc would have her treatment well in hand so the two men could talk. There was much to discuss, so Zeke would make a short list in a few minutes while he consumed the same breakfast he had enjoyed—in a manner of speaking—for the last several years.

Ever since he, Doc, and Mahir had perfected the aquaponics food growing and sustainability system, Zeke had begun his day—after praying in the shower—by sitting down to four ounces of protein jerky made of some variety of desert meat, a piece of fruit or vegetable (today's would be a sweetened carrot), and coffee, one delicacy the holdouts afforded themselves from the monthly supply runs to Parker, Arizona.

The group had agreed that all other treats or gifts sent from friends, relatives, and supporters would be pooled and parceled out to the people to whom they had been called to minister. This had been a prayerful choice ostensibly designed to prevent materialism, distraction, and even the petty jealousies that could arise from some having relatives or friends able to send them nicer things than others received.

The agreement didn't stop some from suspecting that others were somehow skirting the rule, of course, but for the most part, it seemed to be working. The Native American tribes and several impoverished individuals enjoyed things they wouldn't have otherwise. Personal items, like Sasha's teen magazines, had to be shared with the Xavier kids, but beyond that, elaborate toys were gifted to outsiders.

At breakfast Zeke also either read from his Bible or a devotional.
This month he was reading through
The Valley of Vision: A Collection of Puritan Prayers & Devotions
. He enjoyed that quiet time alone, but as he prayed in the shower for what was shaping up to be a busy and potentially contentious day, he thought he heard noises close by and hoped he hadn't wakened Alexis. One drawback of the efficient, space-saving design of the complex was that not one inch of space was wasted, so the bathroom was no bigger than that of one in a stateroom on a cruise ship, and even the sound of a water-saving shower was impossible to muffle.

As Zeke shaved and dressed in the tiny chamber, he smelled coffee and knew he had failed in his effort not to disturb. He emerged to find not Alexis but Sasha in her robe at the tiny table that also served as countertop, dining table, homework space, and whatever else was needed, depending on the time of day.

“So sorry, sweetie,” Zeke whispered. “Didn't mean to wake you.”

“You didn't,” she said. “Just wanted to talk to you, but I'll wait. I know you've got your ritual.”

He cocked his head and grinned. He gestured toward his plate, which bore his usual fare. “How did you know?”

“Easy. What does Mom call you? A something of something—”

“A creature of—”

“Habit, yeah. Eat, drink, do your thing so we can talk before you go.”

Zeke scribbled on a notepad:
Doc, Cristelle, Nuwuwus, Danley, elder meeting, car
.

Then he read a page in his devotional while he ate though distracted, aware Sasha was waiting. “Okay,” he said finally, “shoot.”

“What's in that book anyway? Would I like it?”

“Probably not. Mostly prayers from hundreds of years ago. Lots of
thees
and
thous
, that kind of thing.”

“Eew. Why do you like it?”

“The Puritans really knew how to pray. And the archaic language forces me to slow down and think. Sometimes when I read modern stuff, I fly past important parts.”

Sasha nodded. “What I want to talk to you about, I mean, what I really
wanna ask you and I shoulda last night but I forgot—well, I just didn't know how to say it, I guess . . .”

“Sasha, you gonna land this plane sometime soon? I really have to get going. Don't worry about wording it right.”

“I'm just wondering if you're thankful.”

“Sorry?”

“Thankful for this—this new thing, whatever it is.”

Zeke sat back. “Hmph. That is a really good question. I'm scared, I know that. I'm puzzled. Really curious. Feel unworthy. I guess you know all that. I'm wondering what God is up to. Pastor Bob kind of walked me through getting humbled by it—really humbled. And your mom—you know she is a wise woman—helped me see that I'm not
supposed
to feel qualified, you know what I mean?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So, this whole thing isn't even twenty-four hours old yet and I'm trying to get used to it, not knowing what shape it's going to take. I get the feeling something's coming and I'm not sure what. So it's scary and exciting and only the four of us know about it—us and Pastor Bob—and I'm not answering your question, am I?”

“Nope.”

“Am I thankful for it?”

“Yep.”

Zeke sat staring at her. “I'm guessing you think I should be.”

She nodded.

He folded his arms and studied the ceiling. “I'm thankful for a lot of things. Salvation. You. Mom. My health. A purpose. A calling. A mission. The people we work with. But this? I don't know, to be honest. Maybe because I don't really know what it is yet.”

“But we're s'posed to be thankful in everything, right?”

“Sure. And I'm thankful generally. But that's not what you asked. You asked if I was thankful for
this
.”

“Yeah. That's what I want to know.”

“Let me ask you, Sash. Why do you want to know? Are
you
thankful for it? Even though we don't know how it's going to play out, it could be very
weird. If I'm supposed to emerge as some voice, some person who speaks boldly to leaders, maybe even leaders of nations, what would that look like? Do you think people are going to admire and respect that? I could look like a real jerk.

“Now I'm already humbled and willing to do whatever God wants me to do, for whatever reason. But will
you
be thankful if your dad becomes, I'll just say it, famous for looking like an idiot? I believe I can handle that, but can you?”

Zeke thought he was shedding some new light on the whole thing for Sasha until she sat there with a knowing look, smiling at him and nodding.

“What are you saying?” he said. “You could deal with that? You could be thankful for that?”

“I could, and I already am.”

“Whoo. All right, I'm listening. Explain.”

“It's just that it hit me last night while we were talking. Hardly anybody knows we're here. Just the people from our church and our relatives, and most of them, even if they're praying for us or sending money or other stuff, or even if they admire what we're doing, you know down deep they think we've got to be a little crazy. I mean really, admit it.”

“I'm sure that's true.”

“I know it's true, Dad. I don't show you everything I get from my cousins. Emily told me her mom thinks you havin' me out here is a crime. I mean, I know she's exaggerating, but that's Aunt Lynette, your own sister! And she's a Christian!”

Zeke smiled. “She said that?”

“Don't say anything, Dad! Promise me!”

“Don't worry. I'm not surprised, Sash. But you're making my point. If my own sister thinks I'm crazy now, what do you think she'll say if it gets out that I'm worse than one of those guys who walks around city streets carrying a sign that says ‘The end is near'?”

“What?”

“Trust me, there are guys who do that. Some really believe it, and some are just nuts.”

“God's not gonna ask you to do that, is He?”

Zeke laughed. “Let's hope not.”

“Well, this morning I sat straight up in bed thinking how lucky I was and how thankful I should be. Of all the people in the world, God chose my dad for a really special important job. And then you included me when you talked about it last night.”

“That was Pastor Bob's idea, you know, including you.”

“Really?”

Zeke nodded.

“Well, anyway, it just made me thankful. I mean, Mom and I think you're great—and I don't mean to insult you, but you're not a preacher or anything and I don't know if you're even s'pose to replace Pastor Bob or anything, so I wouldn't have thought of this. Would you?”

“Thought of me being chosen by God, you mean? No! You know that!”

“So be thankful! That's all I mean. It must say something. God chose you for some reason. If it's not because you're anybody special, it must mean He either wants to do something big with you or for you.”

“Or both. I have to think that no matter what happens, I'm going to grow and be blessed.”

Sasha shrugged. “That's something to be thankful for.”

“It sure is.”

“So are you thankful?”

“I am now. Especially for you. Where do you come up with this stuff?”

Zeke found Doc in the infirmary, leafing through a notebook. A small plate of food that looked largely untouched lay before Cristelle, and she looked exhausted.

“How's our girl this morning?” Zeke said.

Doc just gave him a look. Cristelle appeared to try to smile but merely shook her head.

“Doc, if we go somewhere to talk, does someone need to sit with her?”

“Yes, and Danley was here most of the night, so he's sleeping.”

“Sasha is up. Can she do it?”

Doc shrugged. “Just need someone who has the maturity to know when to push the call button, right there on the wall, if—and only if—there's a crisis. It triggers a buzzer on my belt, and I drop everything and come running.”

“You'll clarify that for her?”

“Like I do with everyone else.”

Zeke jogged back to his quarters, told Sasha, and left a note for Alexis as Sasha changed.

Zeke checked his duty log and decided to give Benita Gutierrez a break from periscope duty in the southeast corner so he and Doc could talk there. At dawn the periscopes were lowered and one guard could patrol outside.

“
Bueno
,” she said. “I can get Raoul breakfast before he leaves for Arizona. Is Danley still goin' with him?”

“That was on my list to ask you, Doc. Any reason why we can't stick with the normal schedule?”

“Cristelle's not critical, if that's what you're asking,” Doc said. “He's not the only person who can fill in for me when I need a break, as you just proved.”

“Good.”

“When I gotta be back?” Benita said.

“Give us half an hour.”

“
Gracias
.”

“So what's up, Zeke?” Doc said. “I do something wrong? I know you like pretending to supervise me.”

“It's nothing like that, but there is a chain of command, and things work better when we all acknowledge that.”

“Oh, believe me, I know. Sir.”

“C'mon, Doc, I've never asked you to refer to me that way.”

“Get on with your agenda.”

“I just wanted to go over today's itinerary.”

“I have no itinerary. I know I was scheduled to go with you all to see
the Nuwuwus, and the council of elders wanted me to see some of the kids, but I'd rather not leave my patient that long.”

Benita's timer beeped. Zeke peered into the periscope and began the broad sweep of the horizon. “How is she?” he said.

“It's an acute injury,” Doc said. “The cleanup was the worst of it. And then I had to operate. I used more anesthetic on her than I've used total since we've been here. She had sand, rock, chrome, clothing fibers, and galvanized rubber embedded into her flesh and bone. I had to scrape all that away before I could even attempt to salvage healthy muscle, fat, ligaments, and tendons. It'll be weeks before I have any idea whether she'll regain use of that leg. Under normal circumstances I'd have had help, she probably would have been medevacked to an ER, and her leg might have been amputated below the knee.”