A Children's Bible

by Lydia Millet

  We waited up in the crow’s nest, tense. All of us except Sukey, who was down at the bottom with the baby, and the angels, lying in the barn nursing their wounds. We crowded each other so much on the platform I was afraid someone would fall off.

  Then familiar cars were coming up from the gate, their tires crunching on gravel. Three of them, three cars we knew. One of them was my parents’.

  There was always debris on the floor of our car. Empty chip bags and crushed seltzer cans and flecks of white-cheddar popcorn. It used to annoy me every time I stepped on it. Now I felt almost fond, remembering that trash. The remains of plentiful snacks.

  It hadn’t occurred to me to pick it up. I always waited for my parents to take care of it.

  Once we had let them do everything for us—assumed they would. Then came the day we didn’t want them to.

  Still later we found out that they hadn’t done everything at all. They’d left out the important part.

  And it was known as: the future.

  “What did you tell them?” I asked David.

  “We said the soldiers had rifles.”

  “Maybe they’ve got something we don’t know about,” said Juicy, hopeful. “A secret weapon.”

  We mulled it over. I had a drifting feeling as we watched the parents get out of their cars, saw the doors slam behind them. Drifting or floating.

  I was high above the action and I wished I could stay there. Forever. Up in the silo or even flying. I could glide over everything, the farm and the fields, watching what happened below but never needing to act.

  I could stay up in the air for all time, as long as Jack was floating beside me.

  “Who are we kidding,” said Rafe.

  EIGHT PARENTS HAD come, including mine. Newly thin. Chaos had slimmed them down. Like a movie star’s personal trainer.

  But if they had secret weapons, those weapons were well hidden.

  We watched them walk over to Mattie’s tree and stop, standing around it in the drizzle.

  They didn’t know anything about him, I thought. They had no idea how good he was.

  I wished I could see their faces. Darkness was gathering.

  Sunset, the governor had said. We were anxious.

  We thought we should go out, then wondered if our presence would distract them. I was heading down the stairs when Burl called up from below.

  “Stay put,” he said. “You’re liabilities. I’ll tell them what the deal is.”

  He should hurry, I thought. Before the soldiers surprised them, or they surprised the soldiers.

  “Get out there then,” said Juicy. He had no problem being rude.

  “It’s going to be sunset soon,” said Rafe, apologetic.

  “I’m going now,” said Burl.

  “I want to come with you,” said Val.

  “Are your parents out there?”

  “Not out there. No parents.”

  They walked out the silo door, and the rest of us stayed in the crow’s nest.

  We saw Burl talking to the parents at the tree, and one split off—a father, but not mine. Mine was kneeling beside my mother. Apparently, tying the laces on her shoe.

  Sometimes she had back pain, so he’d do her bending-down for her. Her back must be hurting, now.

  He wasn’t all bad, my father.

  The other father jogged to his car and came back carrying a kit. He took something out and clipped the razor wire. It fell, and they untied Mattie.

  Juicy tried to high-five Rafe, but Rafe was too cool for high-fiving. Burl led a couple of fathers toward the barn—they were carrying Mattie, his arms around their shoulders and his head lolling back.

  The loud music from the cottage stopped. A whining country-type voice was cut off in mid-note.

  We peered over, craning our necks, squeezed tight beside each other at the rail. The governor came out the door and behind him the two fat guards, unslinging their weapons. There was talk, raised voices, but we couldn’t make out the words.

  Then someone pushed someone. We weren’t clear who. There were too many people standing close. A gun went off. Two screams. We stared at each other’s faces.

  But it looked like the shot had been into the air, because no one staggered. The parents fell back.

  There were guns held to fathers’ backs. Mothers were saying panicky things in high voices. The last soldiers came out of the cottage. Their weapons were gesturing—even the crossbow, jerking toward the barn. The group was walking.

  “Should we go down?” asked Jen.

  “We’re wusses if we stay here,” said Juice.

  “Burl told us to,” said Low.

  “Respect to Burl,” said Rafe. “Remember? It’s a rule.”

  “You stay right here,” called up Sukey.

  “Look what I found!” called a second voice. Also from down­stairs.

  I ducked inside and looked. Val stood at the silo door. She beckoned behind her.

  It took me a second to recognize Dee. Was she thinner, like the parents? Had they run out of food at the house? Or was it just that her face seemed old?

  “Well, looky there,” said Low.

  “She was hiding in a car,” said Val.

  “They needed help getting here,” said Dee weakly. “And it was you who wanted them. You said you needed their help.”

  “Only because they called us,” said Low.

  “You called them first,” said Dee.

  “Did not,” said Low, indignant.

  “Well, someone did,” said Dee. “That’s how they knew where you were. And why they all called you. At the same time.”

  “Bull,” said Rafe. “None of us called them.”

  We shook heads.

  “Did not call,” said Jen.

  “Nope,” said Low. “We wouldn’t ever.”

  “I called.”

  We looked down. Sukey, bouncing the baby. She didn’t even raise her face. She didn’t meet our gaze.

  We were silent.

  I could barely believe it.

  But she’d said it. She’d said it herself.

  “So yeah,” said Dee. “I’m right. I win.”

  “You don’t win shit,” said Jen.

  But she looked defeated. She’d been closer to Sukey than any of us.

  “Fan-fucking-tastic,” said Rafe, after a minute. “Useless. And now those psychos have eight new hostages.”

  “What’s our next move?” asked Juicy.

  He looked to Rafe, and Rafe looked to me.

  I thought of Jack and Shel, hiding out undetected. Part of me still wanted us to take off and join them. Leave the elders to fight it out.

  But I couldn’t.

  So we talked. And we voted.

  THE DELEGATION WAS me and Rafe and Terry. Sukey and Dee tagged along—Dee insisted on it, and Sukey had the baby. David stayed in the silo.

  The rest rappelled down on Val’s climbing rope and set out for the woods in the dark. Our group crossed to the barn, where the guy with the crossbow was guarding the door.

  Inside it was dim, a few camp lanterns hanging from beams. The parents were stuck in a stall, with the door pad­locked. I wasn’t sure what the padlock was for, since the stall had a half-wall. They could have climbed out. But whatever.

  In another stall were Burl and the angels, bent over taking care of Mattie.

  The soldiers seemed to have forgotten him. Or maybe they’d finally taken pity.

  I doubted it.

  “Eve!” said my mother.

  “Eve!” said my father.

  There was a strange aspect to them, beyond their gaunt frames and faces. It hit me: they were stone-cold sober.

  “Aw. Family reunion,” jeered the crossbow guy.

  “Oh my God,” said my mother. “You’re OK. And Jack. Where’s Jack?”

  “He’s safe,” I said. “For now.”

  “Eve. We were so worried.”

  “We told you they had guns,” I hissed. “And you came here with absolutely nothing?” />
  “We have the law on our side, Eve,” said my father, drawing himself up straight, his eyes meant to be blazing. “The power of the law!”

  Maybe he was drunk, after all.

  “We threatened litigation,” said a father next to him.

  The father must have been Rafe’s, because Rafe buried his face in one hand and shook his head.

  “We’re going to sue the pants off these bastards,” muttered another father. “When things get back to normal.”

  “A baby! The baby!” crooned a mother, and the mothers clustered at the stall door, trying to touch her. Sukey held up the baby and let them.

  We turned away from the baby-petting.

  TERRY WAS OUR spokesperson, as usual, though with­out his glasses he looked less scholarly. A dumpy little guy, Terry.

  “Excuse me. Where’s the governor?” he asked the crossbow man.

  The crossbow pointed.

  The other soldiers were up in the hayloft, sitting on bales and our piled-up bedding. Smoking. The smell of pot wafted.

  I didn’t like their greasy asses on my sleeping bag. Not one bit.

  “Sir,” called Terry. “May we have your attention?”

  “Sure, kid,” said the governor, and took a joint from one of the fatties. “Nothing better to do.”

  They’d given up on the sunset deadline, anyway. The parents had distracted them, at least.

  “In private,” said Terry.

  “Come on up,” said the governor, inhaling deeply. And holding it in.

  So we climbed the ladder, first Terry, then Rafe, then me.

  “You gonna tell us where the rest of the stash is?” said the governor. “Or do we have to torture those parents?”

  Beside him a fatty brandished a small black thing that looked like my father’s shaving clippers.

  “Taser. Delivers fifty thousand volts,” bragged the fatty. “Open-air arc. Twelve hundred to the body.”

  “There is no other stash,” said Terry. “Regrettably.”

  “You know, kid,” said the governor pensively, “I may be starting to believe it.”

  “Listen,” said Terry, and knelt down politely in front of them. That part was improv. We never told him to kneel. “The parents are assholes. Morons. We know it. Why do you think we ran away? They’re living in a fantasy. But we have something real to offer.”

  “As good as food?” asked the governor.

  “Maybe better,” said Terry.

  “Shoot, then,” said the governor.

  “You saw their cars, right?” said Terry. “The Mercedes, the Volvo SUV, and the old Model S?”

  “Yeah,” said the governor. “Crap clearance, but good resale. We’ll be taking those.”

  “Of course,” said Terry. “We’d expect nothing less.”

  The fatties laughed. The governor smiled.

  “I only mention the cars,” said Terry, “for what they indicate. And what we can give you, if you promise to leave.”

  “What’s that, kid?”

  “Their money.”

  This was met with silence. But interest.

  Our parents weren’t the yacht parents. Not by a long shot. But they did have some resources.

  “Is that right,” said the governor slowly.

  “We can get access to the bank accounts,” said Rafe. “We have a guy who’s a techie. A hacker, basically. And their laptops. Also a mobile hotspot, if we get up on a hill near here where we happen to know there’s a cell tower. If you agree to leave, we’ll transfer the cash to you.”

  Silence again.

  “Huh,” said the governor. He was nodding slowly. “How much are we talking?”

  “We don’t have the exact figures yet,” said Terry. “But we’ll find out. There are some ETFs, sir. And money-market funds.”

  “Huh,” said the governor again. Waffling.

  “Worth a shot,” said one of the fat ones.

  “OK, kid. Give us a few minutes. We’ll, uh. Take this into consideration.”

  He seemed sleepy. His eyes were slits.

  Very stoned, I realized.

  “All we ask,” said Terry. “And thank you.”

  “You really went all out,” said Rafe, when we were down the ladder again. “With the ass-kissing.”

  “They’re not the sharpest knives in the drawer,” said Terry. “I had to make it obvious.”

  “Mission accomplished,” I said.

  “Now we wait,” said Rafe.

  THE CROSSBOW MAN didn’t seem to care what we did. I took off with a hoodie and a headlamp to check on Jack. The rain had let up a bit.

  When I found him and Shel and the rest, sitting under a tarp stretched over the lean-to they’d built, the redhead was with them. Not carrying his gun anymore: Jen was holding it.

  His leg was bandaged with cloth, and he was eating from a bowl, using his fingers as scoops.

  “That’s a pretty nice way to treat the kid who killed the best goat ever,” I said to Jack.

  “He was hungry,” said Jack. “And thirsty. And his leg hurts a lot. So we let him toss his gun up. And then we pulled him out.”

  “I like macaroni,” said the kid, mouth full.

  “He was pretty much starving,” said Jen.

  “Against the Geneva Convention,” said Low.

  “Plus he’s a mental defective,” said Juicy. It wasn’t quiet, but if the redhead heard he didn’t voice an objection.

  Jack tugged at the sleeve of my hoodie to pull me aside.

  “Evie, we want to come back,” he said. “Jen said the parents are here. Are they going to fix it all, Evie?”

  “I don’t know, Jack,” I said. “Not so far. So far they’ve only made it worse.”

  “Everything’s wet. And I’m so cold,” he said. He wasn’t exaggerating: his lips were blue and his hands were trembling. “The stove fuel’s gone. And our water containers are just catching rain. Plus I miss you.”

  “But those men are dangerous,” I told him. “It’s not worth getting shot, is it?”

  “And Red needs a doctor.”

  “Red? Now you’re friends with him?”

  “Not friends. Just, someone has to fix his leg. Shel says he’ll always walk wrong if it doesn’t get fixed. He needs help.”

  “He should have thought of that before he held me at gunpoint,” I said.

  “He doesn’t think so good. He wouldn’t have shot you.”

  “How do you know that, Jack? Maybe he would have shot you. You saw what happened to Dilly.”

  “Shel wrapped his leg up in his shirt. But you should see it. It looks bad under there.”

  I sent him back to the campfire and consulted with Jen. We weren’t sure how to proceed. The soldiers seemed to be sticking to the barn and cottage. The governor was stoned and pretty out of it. For now, at least.

  And the silo, at least, was warm and dry.

  Maybe the little boys would be just as safe there.

  Red was the wild card, said Jen. Would he throw in his lot with the soldiers again? Get us into deep shit over the leg?

  “Hey, Red,” I said. “Is one of the men back there your father?”

  Red was licking out his bowl. He shook his head.

  “Don’t have a father.”

  “So how do you know them?”

  “Work at the restaurant.”

  “The restaurant?”

  “McDonald’s,” explained Jack.

  “I clean there. They came there in the trucks. I let them in,” said Red. “They have the keys now. They’re the boss.”

  “I see,” I said.

  And I did.

  BUT WHEN WE emerged from the trees we saw bright light over the field. We stopped and stared. It had been a while since we’d seen lights so bright. Blinding. They got brighter and nearer fast, lower and lower, and there was loud noise. It was the noise of a rotor.

  A helicopter.

  “They must have called the cops!” shouted Juice.

  “Is it the cops?” sh
outed Rafe.

  We had to give up shouting over the noise. Had the parents brought firepower after all? We couldn’t believe it.

  We saw no signs of movement around the barn.

  The governor was asleep at the wheel.

  We grinned at each other. I felt the madness of hope. A crazy uplift. Everyone felt it. It was contagious.

  The blades whipped up a wind, and our hair blew around as the lights descended. We huddled in the wet and dark. Then it landed. It looked huge.

  Men jumped out onto the grass. Guys in black, like a SWAT team. They had their own guns. They rushed toward the barn with those guns at their shoulders, in formation. They clearly had a game plan.

  The chopper’s blades whirred to a halt. We went toward it.

  A figure in a long coat and tall boots stepped out last. A woman. In the light I saw her face was calm. She was slight and old.

  She glanced at us. Beckoned. And started to walk away.

  “There are kids in the barn with the soldiers,” I called out to her back, following her as the noise and lights faded behind us. “A baby. Our parents. And the trail angels and Burl. They haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “I know,” I think was what she said.

  I couldn’t be sure, because she didn’t turn around. Her words soared out ahead of her.

  SHE REACHED THE silo and we followed her in. Crossed the room at a businesslike pace and sat herself down in one of the two armchairs.

  David, bent over in the other chair tapping on a laptop, uncurled himself. His face was a question.

  “Are you the owner?” asked Jen.

  The woman barely nodded. She slipped a phone from her coat pocket and hit a button. “Clear out the civilians,” she said into it. “Put the parents in the cottage. And send the children to me.” Then she slipped out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Lit one up, took a drag on it.

  My impulse was to say she shouldn’t smoke in here, but I kept my mouth shut.

  “What’s gonna happen to those guys?” asked Juicy.

  “Well,” said the owner. “I’m afraid they broke the rules.”

  “Noise on the weekend,” ventured Jack. He stood beside me, still wet and shaking.

  “That’s right, dear,” said the owner. Maybe I was inventing it, but I thought her expression was tender. “Among others. Go over there by the space heater, Jack. You’re freezing.”

  Had I said his name? When?