The Pious Few: Outside the Bulwark

Dearest Mary,

I doubt you could imagine the conditions from which I write you. In fact, were I not here myself, the level of squalor and filth, despair and blatant profanity, I would find a fantasy or a twisted man's description of Hell. Even now, it is easier for me to pretend this is a dream from which I am waiting to awaken.

Not long after I concluded my last note to you, the doctor was finally pried free of the gate officer's office and we dutifully moved up to the gate priest's office for our blessing. As you know, I am thankful to live in a place that has such respect for the one true God, but there are times when the government appointed clergy are handled with such sloppiness, I wonder if it wouldn't be better if no such appointments existed. Of course, men placed above me are making those decisions. Even before we made it to his office, we could smell the the sweet and bitter aroma of the sacramental wine. The office was only very dimly lit and the man who stumbled to the door seemed to be the source of the odor, given the level of its increase upon opening.   In addition to the usual vestments, he also had managed to imprint a wood grain mark from his forehead and down the right side of his face. Is suspect he had no idea, while it is true his face was red, it was not from the embarrassment he should have felt. As is required, I asked for the blessing for my team, which he stumbled through, missing whole phrases and slurring words. Had I not wanted to be out of there so badly, I might have chastised him.

Isaiah still has some of that sweetness and innocence you might remember. When were back In front of the mighty gate, he seemed completely oblivious to the crowd which was growing for the solstice celebration. He seemed not at all to here the refrains of Mighty Bulwark. He asked me straight out for a real blessing, I expect given the impact alchohol has had on his life he disliked our visit with the gate priest even more than I did. Anyway, I explained, in a brief way that I was not trained in these things, but the Almighy would certainly bless us. I said a short prayer, which seemed to please the boy, and we made our way out. I expect the Doc, Winn, the one from Red River, and Zed didn't have much use for any of it. If you would, pray for them.

We were ushered through a small door in the large gate and with little ceremony found ourselves out of West Ford, in fact out of all civilization. As we surveyed the wild ahead, the cross bar secured the door behind us. We stood in the shadow of the great wall for a few moments. One, than half dozen, then hundreds of silhouetted men, women and children seemed to be looking down upon us. Then the anthem, the anthem to God, anthem celebrating the barrier, which we stood on the wrong side of, began. The song, which brought the savages to allow them to be thinned, had begun. It felt like saddeling a steam engine. It felt so powerful and special and from so unique a perspective, it took me a minute to escape from the lure of it. Knowing what would happen next, I hurried my men and we made it away from the celebration before the first shot was taken. The voice of the one true God whispered protection on us for the first little bit.

It was in Old Ford that ptotection came to an end. We approached the community that years ago, before the withdrawing of the bulwark, would have been full of solstace celebration. Instead of singing and candy giving and joy overflowing, the buildings reminded me of rows of broken and dis colored teeth. Not only was the celebration missing, but the people and any thought of rightness, The wood of the buildings was exposed and not kept up, causing the boards to separate and in many cases roofs had fallen into the front rooms and bedrooms. The street we walked had recent signs of use, but any turn from it and you would find piles of waste, pieces of broken china and spent shell casings. It was a ghost town, but the not quite dead. Rotting.

Our conversation became hushed, like folks will do when they enter a graveyard, but, in spite of my personal bad feeling, we kept moving forward. Mary, it has always been your gut I've trusted, mine being prone to twist in fruitless knots, but I should have listened this time. A woman, from where we could not see her cried out for help. We could tell she was in the direction we were headed, but none of us ran to her. She though, did run to us, turning a corner and nearly falling into us. Actually, she did fall, but it was backwards, as she worked to skitter, not unlike a crab away from us. She was terrified. He clothes had been worn so thin and the edges so frayed, you would not have tried to make dust rag of their material. The color had bleached and then become so dirty they looked like lifeless smudges on her. As wretched as the buildings she crawled between. I instructed Winn to see about her, perhaps to assist, but it was too late. We could here a man yelling, cursing and calling names when a rifle was fired leaving the woman dead near our feet. The cursing and yelling continued and after we took just a couple more steps, he fired at us.

Now, why a lone gunman would kill a poor woman and why he would then try to take on five trained peacekeepers, I did not know, but I decided that now was not time for an interrogation. As you know, asking questions is not my favorite part of our work. Doc does enough asking for the both of us. Anyway, We moved off the road and worked to use the failing homes and businesses as cover for our approach. I pitied the man if Zed got to him first, but I lost track of Zed and Isaiah, as the hid behind the buildings across the road from the rest of us.

As it turned out, the man was not alone. In addition to the rifleman there was a second gunner in the building, which they were in the second story of. Also, much to our surprise a third man, a monster of a man popped out of an outhouse, which we were quite close to. He was a bald beast of muscle and blood. He wore a leather smock of gore and as he ran towards me he swung two enormous butchers blade. Except for the edges, shined with use, they were crusted over with brown scabs of blood. He was on me before I could even take a stance to fight. The blades hit, but turned, not quite doing their work, like his grip was made slick. This gave me the time I needed. I took this mans unprovoked anger, made it my own and hit him as hard as I have hit anyone in my life. How he stayed standing, I don't know, but he did. It struck a cold chill in me. I called for Doc Hartwell and Winn to assist me. They fired into this lunatic, but he had an infernal determination. I stepped back to hit him again, when heard the rifleman take another shot. My hip exploded with pain, a path of fire deep into my leg and I lost my balance. The damned gunman had shot me from behind, over the roof top of the butcher's outhouse. Mary, I know we have no money to replace them, but I am certain these pants are ruined.

My fellow peacekeepers finished the fight, but I expected the damage had been done. How I would continue on with a bum leg and no horse, I had no idea. The Doc assisted me to the home these men has been shooting from. As it turned out, though it was no home. The center of the place was a butchers table with an animal somewhat like a pig being carved. As I surveyed the gruesome place, the doc pushed on my leg, perhaps relocating me hip, or adjusting the position of the bullet. I can't say, but it felt a little better. Then, causally as you might mention what is for dinner, Doc said, "Those are human remains."

The woman in the road, us and whoever these people were being carved in this building, we were all meant to be food. The blood from my leg mingled with the blood on the floor until you couldn't tell where one started and the other began. We hadn't even seen a savage, but I felt infected.

There is more to tell but it is too far into twilight to see my scribbles anymore. Amy, who I will tell you about in my next letter, has advised us not to use candles because the light will draw the herds to us. If there is enough light and in the morning, I will continue.

Your Loving Husband,

Piermont