Chapter 43

Thursday,
24 April, 2014
Temporary Clarke Residence,
Free City of Charlottesville

“And there she is, little Zillah Clarke! Seven pounds, six ounces!” I heard Bonnie exclaim as she held up Autumn’s baby girl born to me.

“And here is young Lamech Clarke. Clever dig at the Bible there, to name sons and daughters after the line of Cain rather than Seth,” Ryan remarked as he cut the umbilical cord for my son by Hannah.

“Well, it’s more my dig at those who use the Bible to condemn polygamy, even though it’s clearly not damned by any text of Scripture, Jewish or Christian. Not even Paul of Tarsus condemned it outright and he had no trouble judging people for other things. Even the passage about bishops only having one wife is arguably just a poor English translation from the Greek.

“It’s pretty obvious that, whatever one thinks of divorce, sodomy, etc., polygamy and concubinage were never disapproved or disallowed in the canon, so some religious people are being even more sanctimonious than Jehovah. The writers of the Midrash were clearly influenced by other religious traditions when they adopted such an anti-polygamy stance,” I smirked before holding my newest babies in my arms and then handing them back to their mothers.

“Yeah, Jesus not only never condemns it in the Gospels, he even uses it in a parable!” Leah didn’t take offense to my Midrash comment, at least, which was only a brief worry.

She might be Jewish, but she wasn’t a traditional, upright type. She left no doubt of that by now, having eagerly becoming one of my wives and gotten pregnant to me, heavily so by now. In fact, just then, she screamed as her water broke, signaling that yet another child would be born to me right there in Charlottesville. Little Naamah Clarke followed four hours later, though not without considerable fear for poor Leah’s life in the first difficult three hours of her delivery.

It was Marcy that helped ensure a clean and safe birth in the final hour, actively intervening to save Naamah’s life. Little did I realize until later that she was actively engaged in speeding up these births, so as to get all of my late-term brats born before my departure for Roanoke. Just before midnight, while still Thursday, in fact, the final newborn of the day entered this world. Jared Clarke was born to Bonnie and me, a son named in honor of the late Jared, of course, mortally wounded fighting our enemies.

I didn’t get any sleep, between witnessing so many births to helping plan the defenses and fortifications of Charlottesville, to bedding several horny and demanding young lovers, of course. Even with Schumacher Syndrome, there were physical limits to the stamina of even a half-mortal man, at least until the rejuvenation was complete. Certainly, I was exhausted, so I collapsed and was roused early Friday morning to the news of two more births. Sardha and Becca had both delivered daughters to me, the elder by Sardha, the younger by Becca. What to name them, of course? That was the question now.

“Let’s go with ... Jochebed and Miriam, just for fun. More Bible names, just to fuck with the fundies. I still like the idea that Auntie Jochebed just couldn’t resist her strapping nephew Amram, though they could have been closer in age than that. Next boys, in fact, should be named Amram and Aaron. Mind you, the numbers of fundies left who haven’t joined Eckart are dwindling, of course,” I proposed, getting wide grins from the new baby mamas.

“Okay, but next baby of mine is either Indra or Devi, depending on their sex. Deal?” Sardha urged me.

“Naturally. I’m just having fun with the names from Genesis and Exodus thing right now. Nothing wrong with good Hindu names, either. What about you, Becca? Next baby for you, male or female?” I teased her.

“Vanessa if it’s a girl, after Vanessa Williams, of course. Brian for a boy, after Brian McKnight,” Becca made it clear from her facial expressions that she was very much in earnest rather than in jest.

“That works, too. As many kids as I will have, we will have to find inspiration for names from many quarters, I dare say. In any case, I have some war and post-war plans to discuss with the other members of the new Chesapeake Covenant Council. Clever name for an alliance, that one. It probably really sticks in some Christians’ crawls, at least those of the Reconstructionist variety. Or Dominionist, but same principle.

“Speaking of which, it does appear that the numbers of the various churches continue to shrink, mostly due to the rise of our own religion, whatever you call it. The UCLC is now down to just one congregation and one building for just ninety-four parishioners here in town. It will soon be extinct, as will most other denominations of the Christian stripe. Probably at least half of the members have Schumacher Syndrome already and are struggling to reconcile it with the tenets of their church.

“Even one of the pastors defected to us. It’s strange, isn’t it, how rapidly Christianity is being reduced in influence and scale. I wonder if the rest of them will simply skip town in time,” I told Becca with a kiss, followed by one for Sardha as I left their presence for more work.

“Hiya, boss!” Sarah greeted me and my companions, principally Stacy, Charity, Raquel, and Till, at the moment.

“Hiya, honeybuns!” I returned the greeting with a steamy soul kiss that left no doubt that we were lovers, not that it was a secret anywhere in town.

“Relax, your babies are in very good hands, loverboy,” Marcy whispered in my ear, obviously trying to take a load off my mind.

“There’s more coming, though, I can just tell,” a still half-drained me replied between sips of coffee laced with cream and sugar.

“Oh, of course! All of your babies conceived last year have to be born before May Day, when you’re supposed to already be en route to Roanoke. All of them. And they will be. Trust me. They will be. Mostly daughters, but a few more sons, too,” Marcy winked at me while I spoke by conference call with my counterparts on the CCC/ROCC.

“What’s the latest news?” I demanded.

“Well, at last count, due to refugees and all, our population here in Roanoke has doubled overnight. We’re a bit strained to keep them housed and fed, but we’re working on it, rest assured. More reports of atrocities in that whole corridor that Eckart has carved for himself between Salem, Blacksburg, Bedford, and Richmond. Powhatan County is now fully ‘cleansed’ of anyone not of the ‘white, Aryan master race.’ Not to mention people who aren’t either soldiers or camp followers of Eckart’s cohorts. It’s a nasty business, all around,” Austin Bryce warned me now.

“Make no mistake, I will be there before you know it. I have a few loose-ends to tie up here in Charlottesville, and then it’s on to Roanoke. Tell me, is it true that Eckart is also killing off lots of the elderly? That seems a bit odd, even for him. Does he reckon that they’re more likely to oppose him than the youth? Couldn’t it just as easily be the reverse?” I expressed my fair of astonishment at the image of even a Nazi like Eckart ordering the slaughter of senior citizens.

“Well, lots of them have died, but if they swear allegiance and agree to perform ‘restitution work’ for past offenses, they are spared. For the most part. Unless they’re believed to be Jews, Arabs, etc. Then they are simply executed at once. I think that he wants only avowed Nazis among the old to be able to reminisce about the past, hopefully not in such glowing terms as he sees it. Many elderly Virginians are former federal government workers, former school teachers, etc. Not exactly the demographic most likely to favor National Socialism,” Austin Bryce, just as I was handed a note.

The note read,”Caleb Clarke, born to Diana Clarke. Eight pounds, four ounces. Zipporah Clarke, born to Sarai Clarke. Six pounds, ten ounces. Jethro Clarke, born to Cassandra Clarke. Nine pounds, one ounce. You’re gonna be one helluva busy man! Love, Nancy Melton!”

“She’s not wrong, you know,” Sarah whispered seductively in my ear.

“That she isn’t, I agree. I can’t wait until you become a grandpa, in fact. Think of the brood! A regular patriarch, but looking as young as ever. Breeding your own daughters as well as granddaughters, too. You were born to sire many spawn, after all, among other things. Passing along Schumacher Syndrome to countless generations of lads and lasses in posterity! Family reunions should be a riot for you!” Marcy teased me while nibbling my other ear.

I looked down at the Polaroid pics of each child and was more than impressed with my newborn son and daughters. Still, how many kids would be born in the next few days before I left for Roanoke ... and how many per day? Would I get any more sleep done, between work, sex, and the sheer number of live births? Or would I just collapse again?

Preuss brought me back down to Earth with the news that Eckart’s forces had just taken the city of Buckingham in Buckingham County and the town of Appomattox in Appomattox County. The significance of the site of Lee’s surrender falling to the neo-Confederate/neo-Nazi coalition was not lost on any of us, as unnerving as it might be. Eckart was definitely feeling confident, but that was actually the good news. It might well make it easier to trap and surround him later.

The bad news was that every town that he seized witnessed the same pogroms as the others. More atrocities mounted, swelling the ranks of refugees and potentially altering forever entire cities and counties. On the plus side, fewer women got raped at his hand than at those of most such warlords. The bad news was that they tended to just be killed instead along with the menfolk.