by Erin Lorence
“Stone and I were aware of this army the moment they entered our foothills. That first day we gave them clear warnings to leave. Warnings they chose to ignore. We even separated them in hopes that on their own, each man’s vile desire would weaken. But every heart was so possessed that each chose to chase our tracks into the heart of the inferno you’ve seen evidence of.
“They could’ve walked away and lived when they smelled smoke and felt the heat. Their hunger to catch and destroy me and Stone and our family overpowered their self-preservation. Now tell me. How does that make us murderers?”
“You set the fires.” I ticked off on my fingers. “You created false trails for them to track. And you knew what would happen. That they’d die.”
A sudden flash of insight dredged up Gilead’s reminder. A ruthless offense is the best defense. The pieces began to fall into place.
“You had to get rid of them. You knew you had to kill them before you could leave with us. How else than by ensuring they died could you be confident in your family’s safety when you’re away? Your attack was premeditated. Premeditated murder.”
“Not murder, but yes, yes. Of course. I plan out everything I do.” Reed waved my accusation off like a mosquito. “But you’re not understanding, Dove. I’m not the General in command. I’m only a foot soldier, a private—”
His brother sniffed.
Reed’s teeth flashed. “OK, Stone. Fine. A lieutenant, then. I’m a lieutenant who receives the orders and carries them out. My point is, I don’t make the orders.
“My connection to the Lord is similar to yours, Dove. You hear the Holy Spirit? Me too. You obey always, every time? So do I. We’re the same. Only, my God-given gifts happen to be crafted for winning battles—in defensive strategy and offensive maneuvers to keep His people protected from Satan’s attacks.”
Wow, Melody, I grumbled. She must’ve spilled her guts if he knew about my unique ability to hear God.
“Now let’s drop this for tonight, girls. Before Stone here starts to weep. You’re hungry and tired.” Reed tossed a brown pouch at my feet. “Deer jerky. Eat some. Not to point fingers, but you girls took so long getting here we’ll have to start at dawn to get to the Council in time. So get some sleep.”
Stone lifted the edge of another warm-looking pelt blanket in a mute offer.
His brother yawned. “Might as well get comfortable since no one’s leaving this blind tonight.”
Even Melody sat up straighter at this.
Reed switched to an apologetic tone. “You both know way too much about us. You get captured anywhere near this place and my family’s as good as dead.”
While the others settled down under their pelts, I pulled my metallic sheets from my belongings and tucked them around myself. With my wet shoe, I nudged Reed’s leather satchel my way.
Once the others slept, I shoved a huge chunk of meat into my mouth. It was wonderful. Tough. Salty.
I leaned my head against the rough bark and chewed. Sleep was out of the question. The uneven boards purposely pressed upwards into my tired bones. I missed my hammock. Missed my spot next to Trinity under my maple branch.
A thunderstorm of loneliness descended and soaked me to my core. With a frenzy of rustling, I curled in on myself.
But I’m not alone. You’re here. What do I do? Give me wisdom, God. Was Reed's story true? Was it Your will that those men died? Were these Bender brothers carrying out Your vengeance? I know nothing about strategy and battles.
Oh, God. I feel sick. I’ve been captured again, except this feels worse than before with the Heathen. I never feared them. I knew You’d rescue me. But now I don’t know. I don’t want to be here.
I waited, feeling more alone than I had since I’d left home.
Lord? Where are You? Why are You so far away?
Still, I received nothing. But He hadn’t left me. God didn’t abandon. So why the silence?
He did everything for a purpose, I forced myself to remember. Fine. So what’s the reason, then? Did He want me to draw closer to the other humans for comfort?
Sorry, God. Not tonight. Not even for You. Unless, OK. Here’s the deal. I won’t, unless You let me hear You say, ‘Dove, you can trust them.’ OK? Say that. Let me hear Your voice, and I’ll believe You.
God doesn’t allow people to bribe Him—or call the shots like that. I knew it. But I’m human. So I gave it a shot anyhow.
19
I must’ve slept. I opened my eyes to bright moonlight…and scratching. And…was that an animal’s snuffling?
I’d fallen over. My cheek rested against the platform. Now I shifted my head to peer down through the wide cracks between the uneven boards.
Brown fur on a sleek body. Too small for a bear.
The animal moved, and a head flashed into view. I recognized the familiar square snout and the pointy ears. A frayed piece of rope trailed behind.
Go away, I pleaded with the boxer—the same dog we’d run into yesterday when it was still tied up. I swallowed hard as it reared up against the trunk.
The dog itself didn’t scare me—not much. But where was its owner?
I strained to listen for footsteps over the clawing sounds. Now I understood why having a Darcy cat might come in handy. Every dog I’d ever met—including this one—would hightail it if it stumbled upon a bobcat’s predator scent. And take its unwelcome owner far away with it.
I glared at Reed’s dark, motionless form in the opposite corner between the others.
Would it have killed you to keep your dumb cat for one more night?
As if he’d heard me, Reed rose into a crouch. I slammed my eyes shut and listened to him limp his way over to the platform’s edge.
Then I peeked.
He still knelt, but his back faced me now, all bent over at an awkward angle. Even so, I still made out his outstretched arm. He leveled an object at the dog below.
I recognized the object—a weapon so forbidden back home even Gilead never asked for one.
I pressed my eyeball against the wide crack and braced myself for the gun’s loud retort. Mentally, I cringed. The dog’s body would crumple, fall, and life would drain away.
I heard a quiet hissing. Through the space, I saw the stream of water—a gossamer line— that ended in the hollow of the dog’s up-pointed ear.
The boxer yelped in surprise, and the sleek body vanished from my line of vision. I closed my eyes. It was probably making its panicked exit down the wooded slope through the undergrowth and trees.
“I don’t kill dogs for fun, Dove.” I heard Reed limp back over and settle on the planks near my feet. “Quit pretending. I know you’re awake.”
I abandoned my fake slow breathing and crackled into a sitting position, clutching my blankets tight. The rough bark chilled my still-damp back. I shivered while he set down the water pistol and picked up his bag of deer meat where I’d left it.
He spoke around his mouthful. “I’m not a monster. Stone and I rarely kill God’s creations. Ninety-nine percent of the time there’s a more creative solution for a problem.”
“A creative solution, like letting Darcy loose on the problem.” I remembered the sick expression on Stone’s face earlier and shivered again.
He nodded and swallowed. “Yes. Rare as well, but yes. Though I do think it’s hypocritical of you to bring that up since you wished for my pet a few moments ago.”
My breath stuck. I had wished for Darcy. Was that part of his warrior gift? The ability to read minds?
“Whatever you want to believe, Reed.”
He offered me a piece of meat before upending the bag over his face. “It’s only natural. My bobcat was still fresh in your mind. The boxer made an appearance. And from what Melody told me, the last few run-ins you’ve had with dogs was bound to make you feel a little over reactive.”
“Well, I’m not hypocritical, so don’t call me that.” I eyed the water pistol. “I am not the pretender.”
“Oh? And I am? How so?”
“When we met, you pretended to be, well, you should’ve told us what you did to the nonbelievers that died. That you were responsible.”
“When? As you lay in the ashes at my feet? Is that when I should’ve said, ‘Oh, hello there. I’m Reed. This is Stone. Sorry about all the smoke, but we just finished destroying four men with fire. No worries, though, because it’s God’s will. Enjoying your journey so far?’”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, right. In any case, I didn’t pretend. I have it straight from your mouth you knew I’d be a warrior. The word warrior in itself implies something.”
“OK, but—”
“And—” Reed gave me a lazy-lidded smirk I already hated “—I think you’re the one not being real. You’re pretty judgey about me defending my home turf. But you’re telling me you and your family do nothing—nothing at all—to protect yourselves when enemies show up? A tree dweller, right? You can’t be hidden that well in the canopy. So, what do you do when unwanted trespassers visit?”
“We rely on God to protect us.” Despite my truthful response, my fingers fiddled with a frayed edge of my belt.
“No physical force? Not ever?”
“Well, sometimes we’ll use a bucket or two of water—but only to put out their fires.”
He held up his pistol. “Water. Like I used now.”
I released the belt’s ragged strings and leaned forward. “I’ve no problem with how you dealt with the dog. My problem is with you creating an inferno to—”
“Distracted. You’re getting distracted. What else do you do?”
I settled back against the trunk with my arms tight. “Fine. Light. My grandpa shines this huge spotlight rigged up in one of our maples on trespassers. They prefer the dark and take off when the light touches them.” Except not on Dead Nights. No protective illuminating beam then. Only darkness. And fire.
Reed seemed to be waiting for more. I still wasn’t sure if he was mind reading me—if that was even a thing—so I tried to be careful to not remember our other more dramatic defenses.
Like the huge fans twenty feet up in the trees closest to our home that could blow a climber right out. We’d never had to use the fans in my lifetime, but they’re there. In case. And we’d never had to electrify the zip line cables for real, either. But Gilead always kept the device to charge them in place and in running order.
Another one I avoided thinking about was our bees.
This defense we did use. A lot. Mostly because using bees didn’t depend on an intruder’s specific location like some of our other defenses. Anyone showing skin on our property got stung. Day or night, anytime we summoned, the swarms came to our aid.
But the result was only painful for our enemies. Not lethal.
Similar to our bee defense, my mom and aunt could get the flocks of birds going at the right time of day. I’d seen men as old as my grandpa howl like toddlers and dive for their trucks while dodging the clouds of starlings that swooped around them. My mom and aunt orchestrated the whole thing with their whistled commands from a platform set high above the chaos.
As Reed’s pupils bored into mine, I struggled not to think of Gilead. But failed, since my brother epitomized homeland defense.
When a threat entered our land, you’d find my brother lurking nearby. His face wearing that concentrated glower. His whole being fixated on his enemy target.
He could hit anything—moving or still. Whatever at-hand object became an effective weapon to stun or wound. But a glimpse of him in the shadows encouraged vandals to change their minds and take off.
I’d warned Gilead not to rely too much on this fear factor. God had gifted my dad, Jonah, with fierceness too. And Jonah Strong was dead.
“A bell.”
“A...a bell?’
“Yeah. When my grandpa rings this giant metal bell on our roof, they assume we’re calling for backup and take off super-fast.” I snorted at their stupidity. As if we had backup.
Reed didn’t blink.
My grin faded. “What?” I flung up my hands. “That’s it.”
“Hmm.” He tucked the water pistol into his pants. “If you say so. Well, let’s take those things—water, light, and...bell ringing. And we’ll dismiss the water since, according to you, that’s for putting out fires.”
I nodded. Wary.
“Spectacular. That leaves us with light and noise—Old Testament stuff, right? Like from the Bible how God’s people terrified their enemies in Jericho with lanterns and trumpets—which led to the collapse of the city and God’s victory?”
I nodded again. Super wary.
“Stupendous. OK, Dove. Then I’ll keep my points to the Old Testament. Think about King David, Jesus’ own true-blood ancestor, defeating the ‘tens of thousands’ in battle. Even Abraham—God’s chosen man in the beginning—rode out to save his nephew Lot. And killed quite a few enemies before returning home—”
“Yeah, Reed. That’s Old Testament. All before Jesus. Jesus’ life changed everything. Jesus revealed our new priorities. He didn’t wipe out everyone who didn’t obey God. He made it clear the adversary is Satan.”
My lips and tongue continued to form words—unplanned sentences I’d never string together in a million years. I’d lost control. “And to win the ‘battle’ on earth is to bring as many people to God—to get as many people to believe in Him and love Him—”
I clamped a hand over my lips to check the flow.
Next to me, Reed became more excited, snatching at something I’d said and arguing with examples from the Bible to support his pro-violence ideas.
I didn’t hear any of it. With my knees drawn, my brain worked so hard my cheeks smoldered despite the low-forties temp.
Had I said out loud that Jesus’ purpose for believers was to bring others to Him? Why? I’d never believed that pertained to me. Or to my family. Or to any believer who lived nowadays. Because we were past all that now.
It was too late for persuasive conversions. The lines had been drawn. There was us—Jesus’ followers. There was them—Satan’s followers. And there were no crossing sides any more.
This wasn’t my own opinion either. Sixty years ago, my grandparents, along with every other true believer in the nation, had gone off the grid in order to survive. Back then, every attempt to share the truth about Jesus with nonbelievers had ended badly. As in, homes destroyed. Land “repossessed” by the government. Jail time for the outspoken. Whole families attacked.
And the pay off? Not a single conversion as far as Gran and Grandpa had known of. The Councils—Christian leaders who’d banded together in each state to support persecuted believers—were newly formed back then but still respected. So when the Councils had unanimously decided Christ’s followers needed to protect themselves, Gran, Grandpa, and the rest of America’s believers had listened and faithfully disappeared out of Heathen society.
The time of harvesting souls for Christ had ended years before I was born.
And Grandma Sarah wrong? Even considering this notion made me feel as if the deer meat had sprouted maggots in my stomach.
My grandma had never—and would never— purposefully make a decision against God’s will. Since babyhood I’ve been trying to copy her way of living for God one hundred ten percent, of recognizing His voice and obeying. Even when I didn’t have a clue why He asked me to do something.
So could Gran have been wrong when she and my grandpa went into hiding?
Impossible.
Wolfe and Jezebel, a voice in my head bleated.
Quit it, I reprimanded. Remembering them does you no good.
What was wrong with me? Thinking about them so much...it was sick. And I was sick and tired of this ache I’d carried—the one I’d been trying to ignore since my run-in with these two.
I recognized my flaw—my weakness bordering on sin. I stayed hung up on these two who didn’t belong to the Lord.
An epiphany struck—either that or a super-traitorous thought straight from the E
nemy’s quarters. But what if my obsession with them wasn’t a flaw? What if it wasn’t a sin?
Could it be a seed of something planted by the Holy Spirit? Something He wanted me to think, to feel?
I chewed on this idea, testing to see if it could be true.
Of course the rest of the world was lost, I knew. But was the Spirit telling me these two were special? That they were able to...what? Believe? Cross enemy lines to our side?
Was it possible? Could this brother and sister come to God’s side? Of course my Lord could make it happen, if He wanted to. But did He?
The thought of them becoming like me—becoming true believers—felt too huge. It left me breathless.
As I dragged in a ragged lungful, Reed was still babbling. “—so, you must prepare yourself, Dove. Because this time when the Councils declare open war to take back our country, it won’t be water pistols and ringing bells. Blood’s going to flow.”
“Perhaps in seven years.” I adopted the severity my grandma wore when she wouldn’t be argued with. “Though I doubt it. But not now. God wants peace now.”
He folded his arms. “You mean war.”
“Pray harder next time, warrior.”
In the moonlit stare-down, I burned with frustration at his wrongness.
I swatted at the air and the fluttering bat that clipped me. I curled my upper lip. “So I take it you’re a devout believer in the take-back-our-land Rumor?”
“You mean the Reclaim? What’s not to believe? How could you not know...oh wait. Dove of Peace.” He slapped his leg.
“What?”
“I understand now. Why you got labeled with the symbol of peace in that vision. You still don’t see it?”
“See. What?”
“This, Dove. If you have to believe in peace to feel secure, then you’re unable to grasp the reality of an upcoming war. So arguing with you is pointless. Your mental processes can’t handle the truth of a crusade. You’ll be in denial until it happens, and most likely even then. You’re handicapped.”
