wolves the minute they hear him
trying to breathe.”
“ No reason
to bring him along?” Bo laid a thick finger along his nose and gave a solid
farmer’s hanky. “I think you’re wrong. Just hold on, and put up with it a
while. You’ll see. I’ve got plans for Preacher.”
Now, as much as I didn’t like
Preacher, I trusted Bo. He was the only good foreman we ever had; he listened
to us when we were telling the truth about needing a day off but busted your
balls when you called in with a hangover. You just couldn’t lie to him and make
it stick. He could tell just by the sound of your voice if you planned to spend
the day fishing and watching hockey, or if you really needed the time to look
in on your grandmother. After the first time I tried pulling something, and he
gave me the business for it, we never had any trouble.
He could fight, too. Only time I
ever saw Bo lose his temper was the day he found out his wife Jenny was
sleeping around with one of the regulars at the Riverside. Bo knocked him cold
inside of five minutes, and Jesus, even then we had to pull him off the guy. He
was cool about it the next day, filed for divorce and never looked back, but I
sure saw what he could do to someone in his way.
That’s why I called him up, once my
folks passed away from that flu. That was three months ago — back in July, when
the world started falling apart faster than a politician’s promise. I was low,
just like everyone else who was still standing. It was like the world had
ended, but you were left…and you were numb.
After a hell of a week spent trying
to get them buried, I tracked down Bo. Figured if he was still alive, he’d have
some kind of plan put together, and he’d need some guys watching his back to pull
it off. Hiking halfway across the states through a Great Plains winter wasn’t
what I had him pegged for planning. But if that was the way it was, then that
was the way it’d be. You pick your guys and stick with them.
So I kept my mouth shut and just watched
the river as we walked along. The Musselshell wasn’t much compared to the
Yellowstone, but skirting Billings had probably been a good idea. The last few
cities we tried getting through had been nothing but trouble. Even Miles City
wasn’t any kind of treat. Of course, that’s where we picked up Preacher.
We’d generally holed up in churches
along the way. They’d have been picked clean of everything worth a nickel long
before we came in, but like Bo says, it was still the safest place to spend a
night. It took a certain kind of coward to rob a church, and they weren’t the
kind to stick around once they’d finished. So Sarge and I, we took the sides
with our shotguns like usual, since you can’t be too careful, and Bo walked on
in.
It was the strangest damn thing to
see those candles going. First time I’d seen anyone praying in a church since
the fall. I guess it might be different other places, where folks could hunt
for their food or try and live off of canned goods from grocery stores and
warehouses. But travelling through farm country, most of the living were out
until dusk trying to get in as much of the seed as they could. There was plenty
of ground going fallow, but with autumn half over, those people that were left
were working like crazy to get the wheat and barley planted. Not a lot of time
to light candles — and not a lot of time to waste on your knees.
There he was, though, casting a long
shadow across the aisle, down before the altar. He was praying right out loud,
praying forgiveness for the folks of Miles City, for Montana, and all of
America for bringing down the wrath of God. Sarge gave me a look, and I gave it
to Bo, but Bo just stood there and listened until Preacher stopped. Then he
gave a cough, and walked forward a piece.
“ Excuse me,
preacher. We didn’t want to disturb your prayers, but I was wondering if we
could rest here the night. Been walking all day and it’d be a favor to us
trying to breathe.”
“ No reason
to bring him along?” Bo laid a thick finger along his nose and gave a solid
farmer’s hanky. “I think you’re wrong. Just hold on, and put up with it a
while. You’ll see. I’ve got plans for Preacher.”
Now, as much as I didn’t like
Preacher, I trusted Bo. He was the only good foreman we ever had; he listened
to us when we were telling the truth about needing a day off but busted your
balls when you called in with a hangover. You just couldn’t lie to him and make
it stick. He could tell just by the sound of your voice if you planned to spend
the day fishing and watching hockey, or if you really needed the time to look
in on your grandmother. After the first time I tried pulling something, and he
gave me the business for it, we never had any trouble.
He could fight, too. Only time I
ever saw Bo lose his temper was the day he found out his wife Jenny was
sleeping around with one of the regulars at the Riverside. Bo knocked him cold
inside of five minutes, and Jesus, even then we had to pull him off the guy. He
was cool about it the next day, filed for divorce and never looked back, but I
sure saw what he could do to someone in his way.
That’s why I called him up, once my
folks passed away from that flu. That was three months ago — back in July, when
the world started falling apart faster than a politician’s promise. I was low,
just like everyone else who was still standing. It was like the world had
ended, but you were left…and you were numb.
After a hell of a week spent trying
to get them buried, I tracked down Bo. Figured if he was still alive, he’d have
some kind of plan put together, and he’d need some guys watching his back to pull
it off. Hiking halfway across the states through a Great Plains winter wasn’t
what I had him pegged for planning. But if that was the way it was, then that
was the way it’d be. You pick your guys and stick with them.
So I kept my mouth shut and just watched
the river as we walked along. The Musselshell wasn’t much compared to the
Yellowstone, but skirting Billings had probably been a good idea. The last few
cities we tried getting through had been nothing but trouble. Even Miles City
wasn’t any kind of treat. Of course, that’s where we picked up Preacher.
We’d generally holed up in churches
along the way. They’d have been picked clean of everything worth a nickel long
before we came in, but like Bo says, it was still the safest place to spend a
night. It took a certain kind of coward to rob a church, and they weren’t the
kind to stick around once they’d finished. So Sarge and I, we took the sides
with our shotguns like usual, since you can’t be too careful, and Bo walked on
in.
It was the strangest damn thing to
see those candles going. First time I’d seen anyone praying in a church since
the fall. I guess it might be different other places, where folks could hunt
for their food or try and live off of canned goods from grocery stores and
warehouses. But travelling through farm country, most of the living were out
until dusk trying to get in as much of the seed as they could. There was plenty
of ground going fallow, but with autumn half over, those people that were left
were working like crazy to get the wheat and barley planted. Not a lot of time
to light candles — and not a lot of time to waste on your knees.
There he was, though, casting a long
shadow across the aisle, down before the altar. He was praying right out loud,
praying forgiveness for the folks of Miles City, for Montana, and all of
America for bringing down the wrath of God. Sarge gave me a look, and I gave it
to Bo, but Bo just stood there and listened until Preacher stopped. Then he
gave a cough, and walked forward a piece.
“ Excuse me,
preacher. We didn’t want to disturb your prayers, but I was wondering if we
could rest here the night. Been walking all day and it’d be a favor to us
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