“But there’s still a long way to go.”
“Sure. At least we don’t seem to have run into any more of the groups of traveling killers that are loose in the country. Probably all busy putting up their Christmas decorations.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The high, thin little voice of General Zelig had a strange majesty and resonance to it.
He had called all of his men and women together a few minutes after nine in the morning, everyone except the six perimeter guards and the single radio operator.
The tracked vehicles stood silent in the lee of a ruined cafeteria on the outskirts of a small, deserted township south of Yakima.
“Today is the birthday of Our Lord, Jesus Christ,” he began. “I know that not all of us are practicing members of the Christian faith.”
The snow had stopped, and the sun, dark orange, peered through some fragile wisps of white clouds. South of them was a more menacing bank of darker cloud, with thunder tops, promising dirtier weather.
“Indeed,” continued Zelig, “I imagine that some of us have no notable religious beliefs. Considering the mess that God seems to have made of our planet in the last year or so, that wouldn’t surprise me one bit.”
A flock of crows, stark against the sky, circled a thousand feet above the congregation, cawing noisily.
“But let us join our hearts here in this bleak and inhospitable place in the wilderness. Let us look to a meeting with some old and trusted friends from way back when, and let us look to the confusion and destruction of our enemies from the dark land of Mordor. The Hunters of the Sun.”
Somehow it was as though even the mention of the hated name had cast a heavy shadow across the feeble sun, making the land seem colder.
Zelig coughed, patting himself on the chest. “Well, we won’t have any chestnuts roasting on an open fire or sleigh bells jingling in the snow. Although we have the snow.” A few smiles and muted laughter greeted his words. “But we have each other—loyalty and friendship—and we have good memories and the hopes of a good future. Let’s just stand together in a minute’s silence to think about those two things. Loved ones who have gone before, and the prospect of better days to come.”
The sixty seconds dragged their feet across the harsh, wintry land so slowly that a number of the men and women were glancing surreptitiously down at their watches before General Zelig clapped his hands.
“That’s it, my friends. Oh, and a very merry Christmas to you all.”
THEY HAD ALL AGREED that nobody would even try to give any sort of present to anyone else for Christmas.
As they assembled to eat a satisfying hot breakfast, there were handshakes and embraces. Jim even found himself hugging Jeff Thomas and wishing him all the very best for the festive season.
Sly went around and kissed everyone, his broad face wreathed in the widest smile any of them had ever seen.
“Me dreamed about Dad last night,” he told the others. “He had a big white beard like God does and he laughed and me and him went out for a burger and soda in Heaven.”
They had risked a small fire and they delayed their departure from the overnight campsite while they sat around, drinking an extra mug of coffee.
Heather squeezed her father’s hand. “Is it wrong to remember the good Christmases we used to have when Andrea and Mom were still alive?”
“Of course not. The older you get, the more you come to realize that much of life is the memories.”
“I remember when Andrea had that rabbit, Mr. Twitch, and she got all emotional on Christmas afternoon and went and let it go into the wasteland above the reservoir. You said that the coyotes would eat it in five minutes flat.”
“Well,” Jim said defensively, “they probably did.”
“I guess my strongest memory is how you and Mom always did a reading from that old Dickens book each year.”
“A Christmas Carol?”
“Yeah. You were Ebeneezer Scrooge and you kept snarling ‘humbug’ all the time. Mom did all the other parts. She was real good at acting, wasn’t she?”