Blood-Born

Chapter XIV - Part 2

Zachariah Pennington sadly found physical exhaustion had become the lesser equal of its mental counterpart.

When he drained the last lukewarm water of the day from the flask, he found it only partially slacked thirst parched well beyond repair from having tended spiritual needs of the survivors and those that he had found well beyond all care for his services one way or the other.

Upon arrival both the full scope of the failed attack and depth of the aftermath had caused Delilah to immediately separate their work plans and set up camp in the field tent graciously offered by the fort command.

Located just outside one of the fractured gates, it allowed a certain middle ground of sorts between cultures separated by blood and many times simply nothing more than mutual hatred alone.

Her instructions were to mend the wounded and tend the weak without provocation by questions that might otherwise alert their hosts to the true nature of their professions.

She had also pointed out that there was a time to report and a time to repair, with a chilled tone that was not hard to miss.

His skill at selection and application of limited biblical passages for healing used sparingly and spread thin across far too many had also appeared to work far better than even he would have thought or hoped.

Seated with eyes closed upon the long bench just outside their tent, he was not terribly surprised by the approach of boots upon gravel.

With a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, he was a bit surprised to have found Colonel Bonnet himself had come for a visit, rather than the usual fort people that they had dealt with.

Beneath his hat, olive skin features were marked with concern while his uniform appeared loose without the expected ironed crispness expected of an officer.

Even the normally unflappable military structure appeared to have suffered.

"Mr. Pennington, I would like a word with your companion, if I may ..." Bonnet informed him evenly, having held up the palm of his hand, "... and before you object, I am fully aware of your ruse ... well intended or not as it may have been."

Fortunately Delilah had foreseen this eventuality and planned accordingly to have saved Pennington the trouble of bothering to craft excuses while he simply swallowed nervously and nodded as he reached for the flap of the tent and held it open for their visitor.

He was still a bit surprised that the Colonel had come alone and not to arrest them with the armed guards as they had otherwise expected.

Thoughts of comfortable seats while heading east even in shackles had not sounded all that bad as each hour passed through the last few days amongst the wounded, dead and dying.

Inside, Delilah sat cross legged on a worn and frayed square of carpet facing a marbled bust of Joan D'Arc.

When Bonnet raised a brow, Pennington was quick to step forward.

"She was found in the ruins and the priests allowed me to secure and clean her up for them when I mentioned that she was my patron saint."

Bonnet simply nodded.

"I am aware of the need for certain ... focused study; we also employ agents with the same maladies as your friend."

He removed his hat and took a seat.

"That is actually how we discovered your real identities as quickly as we have."

"We assumed that it may have been ..." Pennington started with some confusion, "... that it surely would have been our editors back in New York ... a man by the name of Kilgore perhaps."