Marching As to War: A Post-Apocalyptic Novel by Justin Watson Read Free Book Online Page A

anything, let me know.
I’m Colonel Campbell, General Winslow’s Chief of Staff.”
    “Yes, Sir,” I said, and I watched him head back into camp.
    Riley came up. “What happened?”
    “Not sure,” I said, “but I think Jane just found her first
friend up on the hill.”
    “About damn time,” he said.
    People kept arriving in twos and threes all through the
afternoon. When Jane left them, perhaps seventy people were camped for the
night in the field. As we walked to our campsite, I could tell she was worn
out. So I didn’t bother to ask what Campbell
had said to her. She went right into her lean-to without saying goodnight.
    Riley and I got a fire going and talked quietly so as not to
disturb Jane.
    “So,” Riley said, “ whatcha think?”
    “Don’t know.”
    “Still think she’s crazy?”
    “Don’t know.”
    “Don’t know? After what we saw today? You still don’t know?”
    “That’s right. I still don’t know. Yeah, she took good care
of these folks, but it’s got nothing to do with a war with the Government, now
does it?”
    “Come on. If Jane hadn’t healed that little girl, none of
them would be here. We’d still be waiting on that Lieutenant Gordon.”
    “So you reckon she can do miracles?” I said.
    “Yes, I reckon she can.”
    “You ain’t gone Jesusy on me, have you?”
    “No, I ain’t gone Jesusy. But partner, comes a time when you
shit or get off the pot.”
    I felt pulled toward what Riley wanted me to say, but
something in me just wouldn’t do it. I said, “Well, I don’t know.”
    He stood up, snatched his rifle, and walked off into the
darkness. After a while, I got my bedroll and lay down for the night. But, of
course, I didn’t go to sleep for a long time. I lay thinking, fighting the
things Riley had said.
    The dream of the blue-eyed man started the way it always
did. We fought until I had him down. While he struggled to get free, I tried to
slam his head against the rock. And then everything changed. The blue-eye man
looked up at me and spoke, even though my hands squeezed his throat. He said, “Let
me go.” His voice was calm.
    “No!” I said.
    “Let me go.”
    “No!” I tried to slam his head against the rock. But I
couldn’t move him. I felt weak.
    “Let me go.”
    I cried out, terrified of what he would do to me. Yet part
of was glad to be done, glad to die. Maybe there would be some peace in it. So
I let go of his throat, ready to take whatever came next.
    Then I was awake, lying in the twisted blankets of my
bedroll. It was dawn.
    I jumped a little when Jane spoke, just a few feet away.
    “He’s gone,” she said.
    She couldn’t know about the blue-eyed man. I had never told
anyone. But somehow, she did. I turned and looked at her, squatting next to the
ashes of our fire, holding her rifle with both hands. My mouth was very dry.
    “You let him go,” she said.
    “What’s it mean?” My voice was shaky.
    I wanted to know what she was going to say. But I also
wanted to run from her, from my bad dreams, from the militia, from my family
and Maggie, from the future itself. Yet she held me.
    “It means you’re free,” she said. “If you
want to be.” She stood up and walked away, disappearing into the trees.
Shivering, I sat up and watched her go. Then I wiped my tears away with the
sleeve of my coat.
    That morning, when Jane got to the field in front of the
camp, at least a hundred people were waiting for her, with more arriving all
day. Riley and I worked as before, settling the newcomers and making sure the
water and food kept coming. Several times, I saw Campbell
watching from a distance, but he didn’t come down to speak to Jane.
    She listened to folks and prayed, laid hands upon the sick
and suffering, but there were no sudden healings, no miracles. If those folks
were disappointed, I didn’t see it. They prayed and sang, shared the food and
water, and watched Jane with eyes full of hope.
    During a quiet stretch in the afternoon, when no new