The Valley of Dry Bones (6 page)

Zeke remembered clearly that Pastor Bob had often referred to the “miracle” of God's selection process when He called the original holdouts, having impressed on the hearts of three scientists (two hydrologists and an MD) that they should be among those who would stay—and giving them the strength to persevere when others did not.

Zeke had begun rendezvousing weekly with his friend and co-worker Mahir Sy as well as Dr. Adam Xavier soon after that providential Sunday evening meeting eight years before. And that hadn't been easy for any of them. With the state already in grave condition, Zeke and Mahir were logging twelve-hour days at the Department of Water Resources. Zeke and Alexis were just seeing the light at the end of a two-year tunnel of grief and were desperate for more time with each other and five-year-old Sasha. And Adam Xavier was a twenty-eight-year-old resident at Torrance Memorial, sometimes working around the clock, his wife, Gabrielle, at home with a toddler and a newborn.

All that sacrifice and training proved invaluable now, and to Zeke just eight years before already seemed like the good old days. Doc's experience in all the areas of the hospital, especially the ER, seemed to come into play every day. And Zeke had to admit that, as with most everybody, Doc's weaknesses were also his strengths.

Zeke and Alexis had not really known the Xaviers until they joined those who answered the call that night at church so long ago. Zeke had noticed the striking black couple with the two infants, of course, and knew the young husband was a doctor.

It had been Pastor Bob's idea that the three most educated young men among the respondents should get better acquainted—“That is, if you're serious about this and it isn't just an emotional thing that'll wear off in a week or two.”

Zeke had recognized the pastor's subtle way of solidifying a man's resolve, but it was clear Pastor Bob had flipped Adam Xavier's umbrage switch. “If that's what you think, you don't know me,” Doc said. “Number one in my class, file full of top references, destined for big things. The brass at Memorial tells me they're already sizing me up for an executive office down the road. This state goes under, I could go anywhere and land the same kind of deal.”

“Not if you stay,” Pastor Bob said.

“My point exactly. You see what I'm giving up. This is no small commitment. I expect to play a leadership role in this holdout effort. Eager to prove myself worthy.”

“We'll all be tested,” Pastor Bob said. “I'm sure you're familiar with Mark 10:44.”

“I've taught in every church I've ever attended but this one, Pastor, but remind me.”

“It's where Jesus says, ‘Whoever of you desires to be first shall be slave of all.'”

“Yes, sir. I'm familiar with it.”

These days, Zeke couldn't deny that Doc's compulsion to be the alpha male also drove him to be on top of every detail all the time. Despite that he found Doc's personality repellant from the beginning and that it caused Mahir to retreat even further into his shell—if that were possible—Zeke also believed the trade-off was worth it. Whatever those weaknesses cost him and the team, they paid off in Zeke's knowing he could always count on Doc to perform at the highest level. That driven, overachiever side made Doc remarkably astute and analytical, and he could immediately size up a situation and see the big picture. That had proved valuable from the day he had answered Pastor Bob's call from the pulpit eight years before.

Regardless of how swamped Zeke and Mahir were back then, trying to save California from disaster, it was obvious Doc was the busiest of the three. Yet he had been able to carve out an hour a week for the three of them to meet. And if ever Zeke and Mahir announced that meeting the next week would be impossible due to some undeniable schedule conflict, Doc would find a way to accommodate them.

He was also the first to recognize the magnitude of the task before them. He began compiling lists of what they would need. Zeke finally determined that Doc lacked only two things that would have made him the complete Renaissance man: self-awareness—that ability to see how he came across to others—and a sense of humor. That was borne out when Zeke tried to pay him a compliment. Doc had proved prescient in predicting that when the California economy would collapse, the ecosystem would be obliterated beyond repair, and the US president would announce the government's official abandonment of the state. Zeke said, “You were all over those from day one, man. How do you do it?”

Without a hint of irony—or humility—Doc said, “I'm brilliant.”

Without Doc, however, they never would have been ready. Among the three of them meeting weekly and including Pastor Bob about every six weeks, they fashioned an exhaustive plan that filled several megabytes of data backed by hard copies that filled multiple, thick, three-ring binders for each of the holdouts, most keyboarded by Jennie Gill. The plan outlined everything the group would need to survive and to minister in a worst-case scenario.

It began with a financial strategy based on what had been announced by the federal government, which would be working with the remnants of the California treasury in an attempt to compensate homeowners and mortgage holders as they relocated to other states. The holdouts, naturally, would have this money to invest in survival necessities. But of course that wouldn't prove nearly enough in the long run. Doc's idea was that Pastor Bob should prevail upon the consciences of those in the congregation who had not answered the call and persuade them that they could still play a role in this significant ministry by donating.

It was difficult to estimate the enormous cost to build a compound to house the holdouts, let alone to sustain them and provide what they needed in order to minister to the people they had been called to serve. They would need food, clothing, medical supplies, water, vehicles, fuel, power, and they would also need to make clandestine supply runs to the closest state—Arizona.

This proved the perfect opportunity, in Doc's opinion, for Pastor Bob to audition him as an alternate speaker/teacher. So Rev. Gill had Dr. Xavier make the pitch for the project in a morning service via a ten- minute devotional before the offering was taken. No surprise, Doc proved effective and helped raise a massive amount. And he became a frequent substitute speaker for Pastor Bob.

Most stimulating to Zeke about the weekly planning meetings was that Doc had a knack for asking the right questions. He mined Zeke and Mahir's brains for everything about surviving in desert-like conditions. Then they matched their needs and their budget to the available funds, scouted locations, and found the perfect spot: The navy had abandoned a former site at Seal Beach that had housed weapons bunkers. The installation sat in a dense suburban housing complex of adjoining communities that had been annihilated by a one-two punch of an earthquake-ignited wildfire.

The massive tremors had left cul-de-sacs and parched lawns mere repositories for debris, then the conflagrations swept through. That left nothing for the earthmoving equipment assigned to cart away the rubble, the area now endless square miles of ash that either drifted into the Pacific or served as a powdery base for a cadaverous wilderness.

Even vultures detoured around it.

But where Washington had bid adieu, Zeke's colleagues saw opportunity, particularly in the Seal Beach Naval Weapons Station. They rented earthmoving equipment and hired subcontractors to construct an entirely self-contained underground complex for up to forty people.

Why not more? Because atop everything they hoped to provide those they felt called to serve, God had simply not put on their hearts to shelter up to four hundred thousand people. Few would have chosen to remain unless they had somewhere to stay, especially with the federal government offering alternatives in bordering states.

The holdouts' priorities were to offer people the message of the Bible while ministering to their physical needs. They would trade with them, teach them to sustain themselves, and try to keep them healthy.

The holdouts themselves would learn through study and experience how people had survived in deserts for centuries. Their needs would be simple and basic, but not easy to meet. Their compound had to have room to store food, water, clothing, and vehicles, and it had to provide shelter, sanitation, and space to artificially produce what nature would no longer provide. In addition, it had to be sustainable, and no one knew for how long. The resulting facility—which took a year to build—was a hidden marvel.

Where naval personnel had looked out over miles of suburban houses, the holdouts' periscopes in each corner allowed unobstructed views seemingly all the way to the horizon. Inside was where the magic lay. Eight years into the experiment, Zeke still marveled at the design that somehow overcame claustrophobia.

Generators for power, light, and ventilation had been non-negotiables, as had strength and security against natural and man-made calamity. But the genius was in the sheer size and sense of space. Every room was larger than those in a normal house. Corridors were wider. Ceilings were taller. Every surface—floor, wall, and ceiling—consisted of easily washable white synthetic.

The massive floor plan flowed from a central Commons—a multi-purpose area used for eating, meeting, learning, and recreation—that fed into wings containing residence quarters (with living and dining rooms, bedrooms, private baths, and kitchens), one with a fully stocked medical facility (with lab and infirmary), one with laboratories for growing food and producing synthetic fuels and even water, and another with a community kitchen and food storage area.

The largest single area was a garage that could house a dozen vehicles and accommodate miscellaneous storage, and which led to a hidden incline to the surface. Zeke and Doc and Mahir knew the single greatest threat would be desperate people wanting to live with them—which space forced them to limit. Attrition had seen them shrink to fourteen. The Muscadins had brought them back to sixteen.

Though they had room for up to forty, the more they allowed in, the
more difficult it would be to protect their hidden location. Danger from the Mongers alone could end their mission.

That could not happen.

It was time to move out. Zeke's team was to find Mahir and Danley and Cristelle Muscadin, get back to the compound even if they had to walk the eight miles, pick up at least two vehicles and some food, and determine what the Mongers were up to while steering clear of them. Doc's team was to lie low, stay safe, and protect the sanctuary. Worst-case scenario: The former tattoo parlor basement might become their new home.

Worst-case was right, Zeke thought. The best thing about their base was that fewer than half the number it was designed for actually lived there. After all he and Mahir and Doc had gone through to cover all the bases in the EOTWAWKI (End of the World as We Know It) literature and design the best underground bunker possible, the last thing he wanted was to abandon it.

If they really had to relocate to the Long Beach ghost town of crumbling office buildings and retail shop shells, they wouldn't survive long, let alone be able to help anyone else. Where else but in their own bunker could they control the climate, conduct their experiments, tend their own gardens, grow their own fish?

They had been able to plan strategic forays into settlements of Native American tribes where, because they had taught the people how to survive under the new reality without government assistance, the tribes were also open to hearing about Christ. The holdouts had also been able to minister and share the gospel with indigents, impoverished people without the means to relocate, regardless of how badly they wanted to.

Beyond sharing their faith and teaching people the Bible when they allowed it, the holdouts also taught the tribes better ways to survive and subsist off the land—which became more difficult by the day. Progress had been slow and not without suspicion and danger, but Zeke knew if their own compound were compromised they might never recover.

“Let's pace ourselves,” Zeke said as he, Katashi, Raoul, Benita, and Pastor Bob ventured out. He positioned the Gutierrezes at the rear, facing backward, as the five stayed tightly bunched and moved steadily. The plan was to follow the tracks of Mahir, Danley, and Cristelle's dirt bikes to see if they reached the base, or how close they got.

“You know I served in the military, right?” Pastor Bob said.

“You've mentioned that,” Zeke said.

“I mean, I didn't see combat or anything . . .”

“Something you want to say, Pastor?”

“I just have to ask. You've known Mahir a long time, but Danley and Cristelle . . .”

“They've been with us what, six months or so, right?” Katashi said. “You don't trust them?”

“I sure want to. I've heard their testimonies, but there just aren't that many Haitians who come to California. They weren't even here before the drought. But they said they got here when most people were leaving.”

Zeke shrugged. “And we stayed when most were leaving. People have their reasons.”

Pastor Bob nodded. “But you have to agree it's strange that all our vehicles were trashed but theirs.”

“What're you saying?” Benita said, her back still to the others. “They tip off the Mongers where we are, but for what? What do they get out of it? And is Mahir in on it?”

“No way,” Zeke said. “If there's anything to this, Mahir's a victim—and in big trouble.”

“That's my fear,” Pastor Bob said.

Zeke didn't give it any credence, but he realized he had unintentionally picked up the pace. When they reached where the three had parked their dirt bikes, the tracks were easy to follow on the cracked ground. Zeke and the others followed them east for several miles in a virtual straight line—three tracks for when they had come from the compound, and three for when they returned. That meant they hadn't been followed or didn't
think they had, so they had no reason to try to mislead anyone by taking another route back.