Sowing Season

by Brian Patrick Edwards

  “Well, we can go somewhere else. I’ll grab us some to-go bags.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “Oh, now I get it.” Stone whined, closing his box of food, “It’s me that you don’t trust.”

  “Stone-”

  “Nah, it’s aight. Don’t worry about it…brother.”

  Without a word, Cole stood and walked over to a nearby table that had piles of recycled bags on it, grabbed two of them, and returned to his brother. Each packed his own food away and stood waiting to file out.

  “You gonna talk?”

  “I’ll say what I can,” Cole mumbled with a sigh.

  …

  Stone stood to follow his brother out of the cafe in hopes that Cole would feel safe to share his secrets elsewhere. They walked along the sidewalk for several minutes, still not discussing anything of real importance. The scenery occupied their minds with majestic black-barked trees inflamed with the golden leaves of autumn that quivered on the massive branches. Stone also gazed at the STORK tower. It still taunted him, but he now found humor in its continued existence. Only a matter of time was the theme that hovered in his thoughts.

  “So, you look like you’ve been working out a bit,” Cole mentioned this hoping to distract his brother into forgetting to press him for information.

  “Yeah, just from work mostly. It’s been really busy.”

  “You’ve got a job?”

  “Well, not exactly.” Stone laughed at the idea. He enjoyed being the one playing with riddles. With the tables turned, the hypocrite’s eyes pried his younger brother for information, scanning for clues. None were readily apparent to him.

  “Well?”

  “You know what, Cole? I’ll be a good brother and trust you with something. I’ll show you, hang on…’cause I know you won’t betray me or anything.” Stone shifted his bag to the other hand and pulled his hoodie’s right sleeve back. “It’s official, bro.”

  Cole’s eyes quickly found the Jerusalem cross; its image scarred and crimson on his brother’s flesh. The symbol meant nothing to him. He had never seen it before, but he instinctively knew its explanation wouldn’t be good news.

  “What is that?”

  “It’s the mark,” Stone whispered, looking over his shoulder for followers, “the mark of a true Zealot.”

  The words made Cole’s internals spin and he became dizzy. His head felt light and filled with air. He found he could no longer walk straight. The sight of the symbol and Stone’s words came together to confirm his worst fears -- that his brother was beyond redemption.

  If he knew anything about Stone, he knew his big brother would never repent -- that he had finally found the one thing that would truly destroy him -- just as everyone else in his life seemed to do. No matter what anyone had to say about it, Stone would see his mission through. The permanent brand marked him as property -- property of the Zealots, just as cattle are property of the rancher.

  “What do you think?” Stone noted that his brother’s expression didn’t show even the slightest noticeable reaction to the brand and its implications.

  “Looks like it hurt,” Cole observed with honest conviction.

  Oblivious to the pain he had just caused his brother, the lackluster response irked Stone. He wanted to hear some form of praise or congratulations from his brother.

  “Yeah, so you gonna tell me about John and Maria, now?”

  “They’re just moving that’s all”

  “Moving? Thought you said leaving earlier?”

  “They may come back, not sure. You should really think about saying goodbye.” The two brothers jaywalked across the street just as a disparate fleet of cars blew past them.

  “Why are they leaving? Stop playing games.”

  Cole didn’t respond immediately, taking the time to carefully choose his wording, “They’re movin’ south to some farms, apparently.”

  “But why?”

  “If you come by, they may tell you.”

  “Whatever, dude. I can’t believe you right now.” Rage coursed through his body and he gritted his teeth, flexing his jaw in frustration.

  “Don’t be upset. Please understand. It’s just not my place to say.”

  “Don’t worry about it, man. I’m done with all y’all.” Stone threw his arm up and gestured with each word, “Cast me out of the house, and now, even my own brother treats me like a freaking stranger.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “It’s exactly like that! Go home to your family. Don’t worry about me. Don’t tell me anything. Not like we ever been in it together, like we ever depended on each other.”

  “Stone, it’s really not like that at all,” Cole implored as he reached for his brother’s shoulder and gripped him tightly.

  “Just remembering all those times mom was too strung out to feed us anything. She’d spend entire days laid out on the couch,” Stone said bitterly, lowering his shoulder to shrug off his brother’s hand, “Remember how I would feed us? I was the only one that could reach the stove. You know before you grew so tall. I’d heat us up some cans and we’d sit on the couch next to mother dearest, watching cartoons all day. Was tough, I’ll admit, but I made sure we had full bellies and that you never went hungry.”

  “Sto-”

  “Nah, man. I see now. Michael’s your provider. Don’t need me anymore. Here, you can have my leftovers too, so you don’t go hungry. It’ll be just like old times.” Stone tossed the bag at Cole who failed to catch it. It fell to the ground spilling everywhere. He stood over the mess and watched the bug that already made its way to the dropped potato. He bent to clean it up and his angry brother continued to walk away.

  “Stone, hold up!” His brother’s back only grew smaller as the distance continued to increase between the two of them. By the time Cole threw the spoiled food into a trashcan, his brother was out of sight. He stood there, a dark depression descending on him and his entire being filling with grief. But, this all happened interiorly, absolutely undetectable by other people. He kept a peaceful expression displayed upon his face.

  …

  Stone, on the other hand, made no effort to conceal his emotion. He walked furiously, leaning forward and craning his neck so that his head hung out and over his marching feet. Every now and then, as he made the journey home, he’d stop to ensure Cole hadn’t pursued him. He definitely didn’t want to give away the location of his temporary home. When he reached the house, he greedily inhaled the surrounding fresh air -- the air of his new home -- his new family.

  Once he entered the shared downstairs apartment, he heard voices indicating the presence of visitors. A woman’s voice, clearly troubled, sounded down the hallway as she spoke to Jeremy. He recognized the voice. It was Debra. Her perfume filled the entrance, its feminine fragrance chased his anger away. He followed the flowery scent to its place of greatest intensity, which led to the living room where she sat, her legs crossed and perched upon the couch.

  “Hey Debs, what brings you to our humble abode?” She didn’t answer and he quickly realized that something was far from right.

  “Are you sure no one followed you?” Jeremy flung the question from the other room, searching through drawers and closets, ripping out the contents like a madman.

  “I’m positi-” Stone started to answer, then realized the question wasn’t intended for him.

  “No one followed me, Jeremy. As I’ve said a dozen times now.”

  “You shouldn’t have come here. Should have called for us to meet somewhere else, that’s not…you know…my damn home?”

  Stone’s eyebrows raised in shock, his forehead revealing a preview of the future wrinkles he would one day have. Regret washed over him as he wished he were still with Cole rather than listening to whatever was transpiring between Jeremy and Debra. But, now that he was there, he strived to hear what he could, searching every word for a clue about what might have happened while he was out.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she barked back at him wit
h overt sarcasm, “that as I escaped, I heard the last noises of our dying friends’ struggle to save our cause. Forgive me if I found it difficult to think clearly, since my ears rang with the sounds of gunshots and bones cracking.”

  “Huh?” Stone was shocked by the news. Up until that moment, making bombs as a Zealot was nothing if not peaceful.

  “Debra’s workshop got raided this morning,” Jeremy yelled to him from the other room.

  “Huh?” he said again, still dumbfounded.

  “Steve is likely dead. I’m not sure about Terry or Lamarcus. I ran away just as the shots rang out,” Debra confessed, her voice still shaky.

  “What did you leave behind?”

  “Nothing. We keep the shop spotless of everything. I only had my Scroll there, but I grabbed it before I bolted.”

  “What about your apartment? Anything incriminating, or I guess we’re beyond that now. Can you think of anything that could link the rest of us to operations there?” Jeremy’s line of questioning betrayed an underlying fear.

  “Sentiments are weaknesses, Jeremy,” she shared wisdom inherited from her father. “I don’t have anything at home other than my cat, sheets, clothes, and food.”

  “Well, you won’t be able to return home,” he pointed out, shaking his head in what approached disgust.

  “Obviously, I know that, Jay,” she choked and began to cry, wiping away tears as soon as they started to roll down her cheeks. “Chichi is still there -- probably curled up at the door waiting for me.”

  “I’m sorry, Debra. That really sucks,” Stone broke in as he sat down next to her on the couch. He placed his hand timidly on her shoulder in an effort to comfort her and continued, “Are you going to stay here for now?”

  “Yeah, let’s all be here together when they come for us,” interjected Jeremy with more than a little resentment.

  “Where else would I go?”

  “Nowhere. In fact, you can’t leave this apartment for as long as their manhunt continues.” Jeremy’s harshness hung in the air like a thick, cold fog.

  Debra wept wretchedly and tucked her head into her arms as her sobs became louder. The sound made Stone uncomfortable as everything started to click into place within his mind’s eye. He saw himself in a basement populated by enemies of the state. Logic told him that he was likely a person of interest, since he willingly associated with them. The black crosses on his arm began to lose their coolness and instead became permanent identifiers, veritable targets, for Unity and the inevitable hunt.

  “The news!” Jeremy shouted, reentering the living room. “How’ve you not even checked the news? How long is it you’ve been here?” He didn’t wait for her response before flipping on the wall-colored screen mounted above the fireplace. The paper-thin screen immediately became visible, blinding their eyes, still adjusted to the dim basement lighting.

  Aerial footage, likely shown from a helicopter, hovering above what used to be Debra’s workshop. Swarms of personnel passed to and fro between the large metal doors in the front of the building. Two body bags lay in the sunlight, zippered up, the bodies inside unidentifiable. Debra crossed her heart at the sight and once again started to cry, but silently this time. Jeremy stood close to the screen, analyzing its every pixel for signs or any clues they may have found, if any at all. He noticed some sort of inspectors in the back alley measuring muddy footprints and others snooping through the dumpsters, looking for anything incriminating.

  “This isn’t good.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “No, really Debra, we’ve never had anything like this happen before. I’m not sure what to do.” Jeremy crossed his tattooed arms, still studying the screen.

  …

  Stone watched everything unfold on the screen silently, his heart faintly beating what seemed like chilled blood through his body. His stomach wrenched into a tangle of knots and spiraling sensations. The experts on the screen discussed next steps and the likelihood that this raid would lead to the rest of them. Stone almost felt as if they spoke directly to him; teasing him, upsetting his entire world and future.

  “Yes, Janet,” one of the talking heads started, “these criminals are often very, very messy and, with modern technology, there isn’t a mess the investigators can’t detect and use. We haven’t received word yet of what lies in store based on their findings within the perimeter of the workshop. I’ve spoken to the department captain and he says they’re only days away from busting these savages.”

  “Wonderful, wonderful news, Horatio. It’s always a pleasure when you come onto the show.” The two journalists giggled like children, just before the footage started to play again.

  The screen then revealed close-ups of the crime scene from the ground level. Personnel stacked boxes upon boxes of evidence, filled with papers and trinkets left behind. The screen played footage of the gigantic five red crosses that the group painted on the wood-paneled walls in the upstairs office. A headline beneath the recording read, “Two radicals slain, one in intensive care, and a possible evader. Be sure to lock your doors and report anything you find suspicious.”

  Jeremy lowered the volume, took a deep breath and held it as he firmly sat down in the chair adjacent to the sofa. He held his hands to his head as it pounded with information and possibilities. “We need to hold a meeting with the other knights; the brothers and Eddie, hell, bring Nelson up as well.”

  “Do you need me to do anything?” Stone asked Jeremy, secretly hoping there wasn’t anything at all for him to do. The creeping suspicion that he was utterly useless made its way into him again, just as it did at his initiation. He didn’t see anything he could offer to help the situation; nothing he could do to throw off the pursuit of the detectives. Anxiety ripped through him silently, unleashing hell upon his emotions as he tried to keep his inner turmoil subdued.

  “Yeah, go stand watch at the entrance to our street.”

  Debra took the opportunity to interrupt and say rather sternly, “I’m telling you, Jeremy, no one followed me. He’s just going to catch a cold out there.”

  Stone stood ready to leave, waiting for Jeremy’s final decision. He hoped he wouldn’t have to leave and miss everything happening on the news. As long as he had eyes on the aerial footage, he felt safer.

  “Stone, stay here. Just call the others over here immediately, please.”

  “Yes sir.” He walked to a quieter corner away from the television and the continuing discussion between Debra and Jeremy.

  Jeremy rose from the chair and began walking around the room in circles, thinking and talking aloud, “How the hell did they even find you, Deb? Did Nelson rat us out? I knew we shouldn’t have trusted him.”

  “No, it wasn’t Nelson.” She quickly defended her creation, frustrated by the accusation. “I know you’d love to blame him, but it wasn’t him. He’s been working very hard for us.”

  “Well, if it wasn’t your digital boyfriend, then who was it?”

  “I’m not sure.” She shook her head, allowing her eyes and frown to droop low and added, “It could have been one of the rumblers from the protest. A couple of them were arrested and could have been interrogated.”

  “Traitor!” Jeremy punched the wall in front of him, knocking an old painting of a farm to the ground. “These peons shouldn’t know anything about us. How would they learn about the workshop anyway?”

  “Traitor? Jeremy, calm down. One of those brutal officers could have tortured him (or her) for all you know.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Dumb kid should’ve kept his stupid mouth shut.”

  Stone reentered the living room, “I can’t get ahold of Eddie, but the brothers are on their way over.”

  “Lord have mercy, what now? Eddie’s missing?” Jeremy screamed, his voice rattling the water in a nearby cup, ripples passing from the center outwards.

  “You need to calm down or the freaking neighbors are going to report us.”

  “Everything we’ve worked for is on the line. Everything is rui
ned. Our fight’s over before it ever started.”

  “Nothing is going to happen. They caught a scent. That’s all. We’re going to be okay.”

  “Are you kidding?” Jeremy’s face looked like a lunatic’s as he pointed towards the television. “They have your Asian face on the screen!”

  “Well, everybody around here thinks we all look alike, so I’ll be fine,” she joked dryly.

  “A joke, really? Of all the times, now you joke? You have got to be kidding me.”

  Stone continued to remain silent, tempted to sit in another room away from the fight. Now he regretted not taking Jeremy up on the order to stand guard. The freezing weather sounded nice to him; a pleasant escape from the heat building in the room.

  “I’ma go outside and watch for the others.”

  “Great idea, Stone,” Jeremy snarled, “thanks for getting to something I told you to do an hour ago.” It had only been a few minutes and Jeremy had told him not to go, but Stone was relieved to get out of the chaotic drama in the apartment. The sound of dishes breaking and blasphemies bid him farewell as he closed the door swiftly behind him.

  …

  Stone stood in the cold, on a grassless hill overlooking the street, beautifully colored in autumnal shades of red and orange; the foliage departed like small birds from its branches when the wind picked up. He brought a pack of cigarettes from the chest pocket of his coat, along with a zippo lighter with a golden fleur-de-lis engraved into its side. It was a new habit he picked up recently; the buzz of nicotine still unfamiliar to his bloodstream. It made him feel like he was floating and the situation momentarily fled from his thoughts, allowing him a moment of serenity.

  He had never seen Jeremy behave in such a way; the man had always been like steel, giving way to nothing. Stress had never been an issue for Jeremy and Stone never heard complaints pass his lips. This made him realize that working as a Zealot had been an easy ride so far with no real danger looming around them -- at least not until this very day. Seeing his boss lose it like that made him fear Jeremy wasn’t the leader he originally thought him to be. For the first time, Stone considered the possibility that Jeremy might give in under the weight of being pursued by Unity.