Though the rapids were falling behind, the boat was still moving fast. The river still had purpose, was still hurrying to get somewhere.
Jason was too tired to wonder what the river had on its mind. He nodded over the wheel and let exhaustion claim him.
Until a few hours later, when he woke to the sound of another rapid ahead.
The sound of the human voice, raised in praise of God, floated toward Frankland through the broken windows of the church. Sheryl had everyone there singing, children and adults both, to keep them occupied and out of trouble. What they lacked in harmony they made up in enthusiasm. But Frankland had visitors. Sheriff Gorton was a lean, slit-eyed man of sixty who had been the town’s mortician until his business had failed. There weren’t enough people left in the county to keep the burying business profitable. He’d run for sheriff and got elected because his neighbors felt sorry for the way he’d lost his business after working hard all his life.
Gorton was also, Frankland knew, one of Dr. Calhoun’s parishioners.
“I heard your message on the radio for people to come here if they was in trouble,” Gorton said. “I wanted to see for myself what kind of facilities you had here.”
Frankland explained that his church, house, and radio station had all been specially reinforced against earthquake, and that he had food supplies enough to last for weeks, maybe months. He had a big tent left over from his days as a traveling preacher, and a number of large surplus Army tents. All these would be set up if the church began to overflow. “This is the safest place you’re going to find in Rails Bluff,” he said.
Gorton nodded. “Can I send people here from town? We’ve got so many homeless…”
“I will provide for them,” Frankland said. “Dr. Calhoun, Reverend Garb, and I have been conferring on how best to care for the people, and we are organizing everything now.”
He hadn’t actually talked to Garb yet, but he knew that Garb was perfectly reliable on the subject of the Tribulation and how to handle it.
Gorton looked anxious. “You don’t have any doctors or nurses, do you? We don’t have anyone who can take care of the injured except for old Maggie Swensen, who used to be a nurse before she retired. But she’s in her seventies, and she’s completely overwhelmed. We’re putting the injured in the old Bijoux, but it’s a real nightmare in there.”
Frankland gave him a serious look. The county had lacked a doctor ever since old Sam Haraldsen had died—there wasn’t enough money in Rails Bluff to attract a doctor. “No,” Frankland said, “I regret to say that we have no one with any formal medical training. The boys and girls in the Christian Gun Club learned first aid, though, and I will send some of them to you. Maggie can give them some work, and teach them how to do some things, and they can help take a load off her that way.” Gorton seemed relieved. “I thought I’d seen it all, you know,” he said. “Korea, working around bodies. But this…” He leaned close to Frankland, lowered his voice. “Do you really think this is the end?” Frankland nodded. “Earthquake, brimstone, fire from heaven,” he said. “It’s all in the Book.” Gorton was solemn. “That’s what I thought, first thing. When the ground started to shake. Dr. Calhoun told us the signs.”
“It’s clear enough to those who can see,” Frankland said. “And I’ll tell you frankly—the odds of a person surviving the next seven years of Tribulation is not good. The Antichrist will rise, and the world will burn with fire. There is not any part of the planet that will not be consumed with war. The comet Wormwood alone will poison a third of the world’s water. But what happens to their bodies doesn’t matter, we need to prepare the souls of everyone here, so that they can survive the Judgment of God. That’s the important thing now, whether they survive in the flesh or not.”
Gorton tilted his hat back, wiped his forehead. “I’ve been worrying about that, pastor. You know, I think there are people down at the Bijoux who are dying. I would hate for them to die without the Word. And Pete Swenson’s been killed, you know—buried in his church.”
The Lutheran Church of the Good Shepherd, the graceful nineteenth-century brick building that had been greatly envied by those parsons in the vicinity who had not been blessed by such well-established congregations, had not been built with earthquake in mind. Frankland had taken one look at it, when he’d first moved to the district, and known it wouldn’t survive the End Times.
He closed his eyes, said a little blessing for Pete Swenson.
Frankland opened his eyes. “His entire flock will be needing consolation and guidance. I will go there directly. With you, if that’s all right.”
“That’s good, Brother Frankland, that’s good.”
“I will round up some of the Gun Club members,” Frankland said. “And they’ll follow us down.” Hilkiah brought some of the Gun Club kids in his pickup truck to act as nurses, while Frankland rode with Gorton in his cruiser. On the way he told Gorton his plan to send out people to scavenge food and other supplies from fallen buildings, and bring injured people from outlying areas into the town. Gorton said that it all sounded fine to him.
“Only thing is, my people could be mistaken for looters,” Frankland said. “We want you to be able to identify ’em, so that your deputies won’t make any bad mistakes and people get hurt.”
“I’ll depitize ’em, if you like.”
“That’ll be good. That’ll be good. But maybe I should just put white armbands on ’em, like I did with the Family Values Campaign.”
“That’ll work. I’ll tell my deputies.”
“We’ll send them out tomorrow morning, then.”
Frankland leaned back in the seat and smiled.
Things were going to work out.
The Old Man’s voice sounded faintly in Jessica’s headphones. “Have you been able to contact the St. Louis District or the Memphis District?”
“No, sir,” Jessica said.
“How ’bout Rock Island?”
Jessica took a breath. “Not so far, sir.”
“And your own headquarters has suffered considerable damage, especially in regard to its communications.”
“Yes, sir.”
There was a pause as Jessica’s superior considered his next step. Jessica bit her lip. She had a suspicion that right in the middle of the worst natural disaster the United States had ever faced, she might find herself taken out of the loop.
Communications with other military and Corps of Engineer units had finally been restored through use of Jessica’s lone satellite radio. But no word had come from the Corps of Engineers’ St. Louis and Memphis district, those closest to the New Madrid fault system. It had been anticipated that these districts might fall victim to a major quake, unable to carry out their assigned tasks, and the Kansas City and Vicksburg districts were the selected backups. But Vicksburg itself had been hard hit, and no one had expected the Rock Island Division, north of St. Louis, to fall victim as well.
With all four of USACE’s Mississippi Valley districts either victims or potential victims, the earthquake had seriously compromised the Corps of Engineers’ ability to respond effectively in the crisis.