Dove Strong

by Erin Lorence

  He swallowed. “You had to have felt it. Bad. And you sat there. You never made a sound. You even had this lofty whatever look on your face the entire time. That’s what made them so crazy, you know?

  “Why didn’t you cover your head. Or defend yourself? I saw you angry about your clothes earlier, and you didn’t look like that at all this time. I don’t get it. Why do you do that? React wrong, so different from normal people?”

  Different? Not normal? Wrong?

  I hashed this over half a millisecond.

  No, I decided. He was wrong and had it backwards. I’d done it right—accepting what the puppets dished out—but not because I was so tough or anything. Gilead didn’t honey coat his words. I’d believed him when he called me “a day-old cottontail.”

  I’d acted the way I had because that’s what my Lord wanted me to do. He’d allowed the attack tonight, and He’d kept me strong enough to bear it. Without fighting back.

  I’d done it His way because my thoughts, my movements, my heartbeats—they were all for Him. My life was for Him.

  Even now, at this moment, unexplained energy and an urgency commanded me to keep going. Now, when I should be dropping from exhaustion, hunger, and pain.

  That was because of Him.

  How could I explain to this godless creature blocking my path what God meant to me—and what He’d done for me?

  Could I find words for His extreme love—the reason He’d sent His only Son to suffer on earth to teach me? Or His passion to keep me forever, though it meant allowing His Son Jesus—both human and God—to die a painful death on the cross? And that His Son’s life and love was so perfect that He’d conquered death while making way for the Spirit—the Holy Spirit who protected and never abandoned me or led me astray.

  Lightning flashed overhead. The electric sky illuminated Wolfe’s eager stance and the curiosity plastered across his beardless, drenched face. How could I say any of that?

  I pictured his white teeth flashing when he threw his head back and laughed. When he told his friends tomorrow about what that Jesus-freak, radical girl had said. I heard their shrieks.

  “Wolfegang?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Tie up the dog.”

  Whether he did or not, I didn’t know. Because I never glanced back.

  Melody and I took off around the corner of his home, escaping back into the woods we’d been led through as captives.

  The moment the home’s lights faded behind the trees, hail fell through the thin branch canopy that did nothing to protect us. Icy pellets slammed down with enough violence to wake up anybody out in it—no matter what they’d drunk.

  Lightning flashed simultaneous with thunder. I pounded the ball of my hand against my ear, clearing my hearing in time to catch the sound of a tree splintering. Jagged wood slammed into the bushes in front of us, forcing us to change direction.

  I hadn’t much noticed the wind gusts before, but now they whipped around me—driving the rain and hail straight into my eyes and mouth, gathering around my ears with an eerie scream that rose and fell.

  I heard the rage—Satan’s howls of frustration that we holy messengers had slipped from his grasp. Melody’s face lit up in the next flash, and I read the terror of the threat. I’d have had to be in a coma not to feel it myself.

  Satan wasn’t giving us up.

  We ran blind through the storm that blocked the moonlight. So when the attack came, I couldn’t see it. But I sensed movement that wasn’t Melody or me or the wind or the hail.

  She went down with a yelp, and at the same moment I landed hard on my outstretched hands. Something had grabbed my ankle.

  Under my palms, the rough, solid tree roots sank back into the ice-covered ground where they belonged.

  I shouted. And next to me, Melody screamed.

  ~*~

  We didn’t run. We were forced to feel out each step. Twice I stumbled but didn’t fall again. But Melody did.

  As I waited for her again, an odd shiver ran under my soles. Short, dragging sounds rustled from nearby—from all around—almost masked by the storm. Something poked through my pant leg.

  I swatted wildly. My hand knocked against bare sticks of half-dead bushes. With sudden, tremendous pressure, the sticks jabbed harder against my shins and calves, boxing me in. They climbed up to my thighs.

  The groundcover—plants and bushes I’d crushed under my soles moments ago—was attacking.

  I yanked Melody to her feet before it closed over her head and ripped my leg out of the clinging foliage. “Not even any thorns. Only weak, brittle stuff. I’ll break a path through. Stay close.”

  Darkness. Rain. Wind. Mud. Roots. Branches.

  These were our enemies now.

  Then, I heard the dog.

  At the first bark, I lifted my knees higher, breaking into a bouncing jog. My feet smashed down the tangled bracken without hesitation, rising up for the next step before I’d fully touched down.

  Faint barking. But the dog could be closer, its pursuit masked by the wind, rain, and my own crashing progress through the bushes. Had Wolfe forgotten to tie it up? Or had he changed his mind?

  Or the others. Had they woken in the hailstorm and put it on our trail?

  Or this could be a different dog.

  Maybe this canine wasn’t chasing us. Maybe it was only a coincidence.

  Right. A coincidence.

  My foot crunched down on a bush. Too late I identified its false position. A trick. Nothing solid existed below its scraggly branches. Only air.

  14

  As I plummeted the first few feet, I glimpsed the boggy ledge I’d stepped off. Then my hip slammed onto what felt like ice-covered mud.

  I lost Melody’s hand as I hurtled down the slippery slope. The black outlines of trees shot past, always out of reach. Within seconds they opened up to a flat sea of black.

  Blacktop. My hate for this stuff hit an all-time high when it peeled the last layer of skin off my palms.

  Melody fastened her fingers around me before I scraped to a stop. I struggled out of her chokehold, rubbing my smarting hands against the backside of my drenched pants.

  “What is this place?” I took a few steps further out into the gigantic clearing of wet concrete. I whipped around, trying to see everywhere at once. On super high alert.

  Whose authority had driven us down here? God’s or Satan’s? I guessed the latter’s...although the fact that Melody wasn’t catatonic with fear kept me from trying to fly up this steep wall of mud back into the trees.

  I stumbled toward a lone pole stuck in the concrete—world’s biggest lamppost I guessed—and wrapped my palms against the metal’s coolness.

  We stood in the dark, but at the far edge of the clearing a hundred yards away, an identical giant post burned orange at the top. Around it the pavement glittered with puddles. And farther away I made out the black, feathery curve of the woods, its slope way gentler than ours.

  The glow also illuminated a couple of large shapes in the middle of the clearing, marring the flat emptiness of the space. Only silhouettes since the light came from behind them.

  The largest reminded me of Wolfe’s home, yet it was more massive. Near it, off to the side, a much smaller, roundish object reflected weirdly in the light.

  I didn’t realize I was transfixed on it until Melody interrupted. “You think that thing will help hide us from the dog? If it comes down here?”

  “Nope.” I missed seeing the puddle, stepped into it, and soaked everything up to my ankle. “We’re getting out of here. Now. Head to the slope on the far side—over there where we can enter the woods without killing ourselves. We’ll keep to the trees tonight—”

  “No.”

  I tore my eyes away from the glimmering ball. She was standing hunched over. Her arms dangling. Defeated.

  “What?”

  “I’m done. I’m not going back into the woods. The trees, they’re not helping us. They’re fighting us. I can feel it. And I’m...I�
��m too...I can’t fight back anymore. Not tonight. Sorry.” The worthless apology died out in a whisper.

  “One good, sturdy tree to hang our tent, Melody.” I ignored the icy chill creeping up from my stomach. “I can make do with one. I promise after that we’ll stop, and you can sleep as long as you want. I’ll keep watch all night, and if anyone comes I’ll—”

  Through the heavy darkness I struggled to make out her slow, methodical head shake. I knew she hadn’t heard any of my words after “tree.”

  I grew numb and tense. Watching her shrink farther into herself.

  The dog bayed again, almost on top of us. The wind picked up too, screaming in triumph. Its rise and fall wound through the dog’s frantic howling, an evil duet.

  Your end is near. Your end is near.

  I lifted my face to meet the storm. “Come on, God! You want me at the Council? Then fine! Get me there. And her too since I can’t go without her!”

  With a gasp, I cowered. I’d yelled at God.

  The drops splatted against my bowed head and neck, the rain slower now. Heavier.

  I shivered. This could almost be from my dream—it sounded like it. The red plopping onto the forest floor while I toiled on. Except for the darkness—that wasn’t supposed to be part of it. Or the wind. Or dog.

  I filled my lungs to shout again, then froze.

  I breathed in another gust. I’d caught a whiff of something rotten—stomach turning. But at the same time, familiar.

  Garbage. That single smell carried a thousand memories of home. Of Trinity made speechless by a piece of bent wire in the dump pile. The trill of my mom’s voice, as pure as the birds’ she commanded, while my cousins and I worked the organic material into our garden plot. And a recent one of Gilead, creating a hidey-hole bunker from pieces of a rusty, skunked-out camper.

  The garbage smell wasn’t only God’s comfort. It was His clue.

  I abandoned Melody long enough to locate the huge metal bin in the inkiest corner of pavement. I cracked open the heavy plastic lid but didn’t need light to know what waited inside.

  The warm stench doubled me over, and I gagged. Worse than the skunked camper. Something for sure rotted in there.

  I found my partner huddled where I’d left her. “OK. Good news. I got us shelter for the night.”

  Her eyes stayed shut. “I can’t...sorry...not going up a tree.”

  “I heard you. We’re not. And where I’ve found will even keep us out of the rain.”

  I didn’t mention the smell. I didn’t have to because in the few moments it took me to drag her to our shelter, smell was the most obvious part.

  “What is this?” Her question came out muffled by the fur of her sleeve.

  “I dunno. I’m guessing it’s where someone keeps his trash pile. Here. Help me get this all the way open, and then I’ll give you a boost over the side.”

  She didn’t seem to understand, so I uncovered the bin myself. Then I reached over and squashed her hands against the top of the metal side. With a sigh, I gripped her around the legs and shoved up.

  “Watch out for any sharp stuff.”

  With a crunch she came down hard on whatever was on the other side.

  “Melody?”

  “Ohhh nooo.”

  Oh good. She was fine.

  I grasped the square, slippery edge and pulled myself up and over onto bulging bags.

  Melody huddled against the wall with her shirt up over her nose, making little retching noises. But she’d find a way to let me know if she was hurt.

  I hunted through the trash, avoiding anything sharp or squishy, rummaging for something durable and thin. I wanted wire to thread through the finger-width holes on the outside edge of the plastic top. That way I could keep it closed in case anyone tracking us decided to check inside here.

  It was unlikely they’d get that far. In my experience, most humans tried to stay away from trash. Plus, if the dog got near, its owner would assume it had hit on the rotten food—not people—and call it off.

  Yeah, we were as safe as we could be since normal people didn’t like spending time in smelly places.

  “Ah ha!”

  I peeled the wide tape off large pieces of cardboard, tied and twisted them, and threaded them through the holes in the thick lid above. The tape cord spanned long enough to secure around the metal pole of a solid object at my feet—the leg of a chair I guessed. Last, I dragged the pieces of cardboard to the surface to sleep.

  Melody ignored hers. I climbed onto mine and leaned against the rough wall, sticky and warm against my back.

  The powerful smell made me lightheaded. But I wasn’t hungry anymore—kind of nice for a change.

  I leaned back and closed my eyes. The rain drummed steadily overhead.

  Thank You, Lord, for hiding me from my hunters. For sheltering me from the evil. Thank You for freeing me from Satan’s grasp. I thought he’d captured us back there, but You are unfailing. Wonderful and mighty. I love You.

  In my mind I saw Him. A massive lion, crouched over this garbage bin, furiously protective. At the same time, I felt wrapped in His protective arms that cradled me like a father would a small child. He’d never let me go. Love so iron strong didn’t let go.

  Joy unfurled in my stomach like moths excited to fly. The fluttery feeling spread until even my toenails and lashes warmed under the cloak of shimmering comfort. Without opening my eyes, I sensed that a golden, pulsating glow surrounded me. Its sparkling warmth drove away every terrifying memory. Every fear. Every ache.

  I didn’t notice Melody’s crying until it got noisy.

  “Well, don’t sit there blubbering.” I lifted my arm up in an invitation to come closer. “Come on. Scoot over here.”

  After a couple seconds she crunched from her garbage bag onto my cardboard. I draped my arm loosely around her, listening to the rhythmic plopping of the drops from the cracks overhead as they fell on the piles around us.

  “Oh! I can feel...what is it?” Melody pulled away experimentally and leaned back in. “Feathers? No, it’s heavier...and alive. Like a silent purr...but...wonderful. Are you doing that? Show me, Dove. I want it too.”

  “Shh.” What if she ruined the comfort for both of us? But I relented. “It’s not hard. Think of what God’s done for you. Thank Him for it and mean it. That’s it.”

  The steady tapping continued.

  “Rain.”

  I couldn’t believe it took her so long to think of a blessing. And such an obvious one. I let my arm drop. “You can say them in your head, you know. A secure place to rest tonight.”

  “A secure place, not in a tree.”

  I shook my head at that. “No broken bones.”

  “Escape from that Heathen boy, those wicked people, and the dog.” I felt her shudder.

  “Escape from the real Adversary.”

  “Our warrior. Waiting for us.”

  When she fell asleep mid-hum, I discovered my wet cheeks.

  I reached up and felt around on the plastic roof for a leak. But I couldn’t discover one.

  Huh. I don’t cry, avoiding thoughts and emotions that bring on tears the way I avoid defensive mama opossums.

  So what was wrong with me? Exhaustion? A mental breakdown brought on by the pungent garbage fumes?

  Then in a flash, I was lost in a memory from five years ago.

  My mom whispered to me as I curled on my hammock. It was a Dead Night and my dad was in prison. I was scared and wanted him so badly I hurt like there was a bee sting in my gut.

  “Now you listen to me good, Dove Strong. You’ve gone and forgot about hope. And hope always brings comfort. Always. It’s hope’s job. So stop dwelling on the what-ifs and have-nots and have faith—have hope.”

  Oh. That was what I had. Hope. Hope so potent I sagged with relief and was crying. For the first time since my call to deliver my family’s result, I believed I might survive this journey and make it home.

  Home.

  The earliest I’d return
to my house in the canopy would be mid fall—more realistically early winter. A foggy guess.

  Both my family and the Braes weren’t sure about the timing of this journey since our most up-to-date information was from fourteen years ago, when the Councils made their decision about the Rumor—aka the Reclaim—September fifteenth. So our agreed goal for Melody and me was to get to Mount Jefferson before that date. Before September fifteenth.

  The hiccup was that since my uncle and Melody’s brother didn’t make it home seven years prior, we’d had no way of knowing for sure the dates hadn’t changed.

  I doubted they had. But if they had, that information would’ve been carried home by the last messengers. The missing messengers.

  Quit it! I rejected the train of thought leading to the inevitable—why didn’t my uncle return? Could my journey be for nothing?

  With determination, I imagined the fuzzy white frost—or even snow—that would cover the bare branches and pines near Prineville. The frozen ground would shift and crunch under my shoes as I neared our property. But my grandpa would see me long before he heard me.

  At his post in the crow’s nest, he’d be watching for me with eyes sharper than a hawk’s. Before I caught sight of a single familiar tree, the bell would ring—the one he used to alert the family of an emergency or a visitor—or in my case a granddaughter returning home.

  Who would I see first?

  Trinity or Gilead. They both spent their days in our ground-level garden and garbage plots, so they’d have a head start on the rest of the family when the bell started up.

  But even if Trinity reached me first, she’d have two seconds to say, ‘Cousin! What’s the most amazing thing you saw?’ Because Gilead would have tossed me over his shoulder, having appointed himself to deliver me to my grandma who couldn’t make the climb down anymore.

  I hugged my legs, hearing her worn voice alternatively shrieking out praises and scolding me to stop dawdling and what took me so long? Was I out becoming a worldly woman?

  That’s my grandma’s harshest judgment. Calling someone a worldly man or woman.