by Erin Lorence
The night rushed around us while the tires hummed. He shook his head. “I don’t buy it. What you’re saying is the total opposite of the garbage that fanatic, Reed, spouted. Stuff about a war between radicals and normal people?”
I chopped my hands in an X. “Forget all that. No war—not now. That’s sort of what I meant that night when I told you I had to get where I was going to save lives. I’m God’s messenger...for peace.”
He whistled slowly.
“Think, if I’d had you arrested?” He side-glanced at me. “I caught that—no war now. Emphasis on now. So. What’s up with that? Or is that secret, inside radical intel?”
I chewed my bottom lip. “No, and I don’t think God’s ever going to give Christians the OK to hurt others—at least not until the end-of-days battle. And when that happens, it’ll be God’s side versus Satan’s—and spoiler alert, Satan’s isn’t going to win.”
“Well, I’m on neither side, Dove, so you all can leave me out of that fun.”
“By refusing Jesus Christ, you make your choice.”
“Well, that’s not fair.”
“Then make a better choice, Wolfe. Be on the winning side, and then you won’t have to whine.”
“Wow. As easy as that? Just choose to be a fanatic like you?”
I ignored his sarcasm and ducked so low in my seat my nose barely cleared the glass window. “That’s it.”
We’d rushed past the painted Welcome to Sisters sign. Lines of wooden buildings with huge, staring windows replaced the trees. There were so many lights and flowers and colors. And people.
My fingernails stopped burrowing into my chair when he turned us out of the creeping line of cars and onto an unlit piece of pavement.
But I tensed again. The Enemy had been too quiet on this drive. Was he sitting back and letting me roll into this godless town like a worm crawling into a bird’s nest?
I tried not to see the tilted, burned-out barrel in front of the boxy home we stopped at. Before the engine died, the home’s light blared and its door opened. A lanky, black-haired woman charged at us.
“I got this. Wait here.” He slid out with arms wide. “Grandma! Funny story…”
The woman threw open the car door behind me and stooped to unlatch the strap from around Jezebel. “And how do you expect to graduate when you’re truant a full week of school? And you pull her out without telling me? No note. You don’t return my calls...”
Wolfe maneuvered his grandma out of the way and eased the sleeping girl over his own shoulder. He dropped a kiss on the high cheekbone.
“You know why I love you most, Grandma? Because you forgive. And because you always know why your perfect angels should be excused from classes. You won’t have any trouble with our unimaginative school system. They’ll believe you. They always do.”
She shook her head but unexpected dimples showed.
“Search and rescue.” She spoke to his back that moved up the short cement path. “You joined up because a cousin of yours went missing in the Willamette.”
Wolfe’s shoulders shook. “Good news. He’s been found.”
I leaned forward for my last glimpse. One bare arm dangled against his white shirt.
Going, going...gone.
The moonbeams seemed to brighten, illuminating the two of us. I couldn’t move. Held captive in the woman’s dark-eyed stare.
She knows, I thought. She knows I’m a radical. I fingered my braid laying in a tangled mess over my shoulder and braced myself for her disgust…for her yell that’d bring Diamond and the others.
My eyes slid from hers—Jezebel’s eyes—and located the tops of the forest over the roof.
A door slammed and Wolfe vaulted into the car next to me. “Sister of a lacrosse friend, Grandma. Ran into her camping and needed a lift. Be back in a few.”
We bumped down the pavement backwards.
His grandma spoke again. “Did Jezzy get her meds?”
“As if I’d forget.” He rolled his eyes. “The rest are in her Minnie Mouse bag on her floor.”
At an empty stretch of trees away from city lights, we skidded to a stop next to the road. I reached for my pack behind me.
“Show me. Where?” He shoved his glowing electronic rectangle at me, and I gazed down at the bright map’s lines on its screen.
I’m only relieved because I made it out of that godless town. And because I’m so dead tired and my feet ache and I don’t have to walk yet. That’s why I’m smiling.
I touched the edge of throbbing green labeled Ochoco National Forest near the Prineville dot. The corners of my mouth drooped. “It’s too far. And you’ve worried your grandma way too much as it is. I’m walking.”
He tapped my hair with his map. “Release the door and calm yourself. I’m not taking you to Kansas or nothing. Your home’s like an hour away. I’ll have you there by midnight.”
That couldn’t be right. It’d been a three-day hike. But, instead of arguing, I leaned back. “You should’ve told her the truth. She knows what I am.”
“Grandma? Of course she knows. She’s not a blind senile.”
“Then why that lie about being a friend’s sister? And camping?”
He moved us back onto the empty road. “I figured none of us wanted to get into all the Q and A right then. I know she didn’t want to. She’s much happier pretending you’re a normal girl. And you hate personal questions, so...you’re welcome.”
The black pole pines flew by, and I shuddered.
“Thinking about those personal questions we avoided?”
I shook my head. Then nodded. “I’ve moved on to my own grandma’s questions...if I do tell her about you. My answers are worse.”
He cracked up, with his head all the way back and his mouth opened to the sky. When finished being an idiot, he reached in front of my knees and pulled open a hidden compartment. It was jammed with papers. One of these he threw on my lap, plus a fat pen.
“Then let’s work on those answers. Write this down in caps and underline it, ’Wolfegang Pickett, a good person for your grandkid to know and why you shouldn’t hurt him.’”
I shrugged but went along with it—at least scribbling down the first part— his name. Then, while I struggled to keep the flapping paper from flying, he threw out fluff like “chivalrous feminist” and “modestly witty.” My own list remained solid earth.
“A nonbeliever. An older brother. Can drive. Decent whistler.”
When I finished reading, he knocked his forehead against the wheel.
“Pitiful. And where’s the argument for not dismantling me like how your boyfriend tried?” But his grin was back. “Decent whistler?”
I jammed the folded list into my shoe and tossed the pen. “Well, it’s crow’s cawing compared to my mom’s, but...”
~*~
Wolfe’s whistling lasted until he whispered, “You think we’re getting close?”
I got why he whispered. I should’ve said “shalom” and started walking as soon as we left Prineville—even if I didn’t recognize the terrain yet. I could only imagine the nightmare if he drove me too far.
The bell. The spotlight. The buckets of water. The bees. The big brother.
Our lights picked up something white ahead. It was the barkless pole of a tree with the eagle’s nest on top.
He’d been right. Less than an hour.
“Stop. Stop, stop. Kill the lights. And noise.”
He obeyed and craned forward to see. “So this is where you live, huh? I don’t see a house. Should I take you a little further?”
“No.” I pointed. “That white tree. It marks the corner of our property, so I’m good from here. And, uh...thanks.”
“Yep.”
My closing the car’s door sounded like a hunter’s shot. Wolfe had followed me out and put a stop to my objection. “Wild cats around, you know. Could be some pretty suspicious-acting squirrels around too, I’m thinking. I’ll watch your back until you’re closer.”
Wild cats
...Melody. I’d almost forgotten I got to deliver the news to her family that she wasn’t coming home.
I strode forward. “Walk quieter.”
“Should I quit breathing too? You’re ridiculous. It’s impossible to see where to step.”
Then go. As fast as you can, get out of here and drive home.
“Grab onto my bag, Wolfe.” I felt him take hold.
If we continued straight, we’d be at my front door in minutes. I led him off the rutted path and headed for the back of our property where trespassers never think to go and my grandpa doesn’t watch.
My hands brushed familiar trees. I’m crazy. Why haven’t I demanded he leave?
Because you want him to see what your life is like, the truth replied. And so he’ll be able to find you again.
The truth was annoying. I quit asking dumb questions and focused on not tripping on tree roots.
~*~
I counted twelve purple cans up on the giant, tin-can rainbow. From the can’s cutout side, I fished out the concealed lighter. Then I lit the lanterns on either side of the garden’s entrance arch.
In the flash and glow, Wolfe’s eyes bugged as he took in our garden’s outer perimeter walls made from garbage.
“So long.” I gave him a shove in the direction of his Jeep. “Keep the tallest firs on your left and you’ll make it back fine.” I didn’t mind being called “radical” and “fanatic.” But “freak” always stung a little.
“Are you kidding?” He shook me off. “I’m seeing this.”
I threw up my arms. Then I folded them and waited for him to hurry and finish gawking.
Holding up the little light on his keys he examined the sculptures in the wall. His light loitered the longest at the front half of a black mustang poised in a full gallop. You could tell by the way its mane flew back in gusts—hundreds of jet black wires that had taken my cousin a week to hand bend.
“Are these all CDs? There must be a thousand.” His light swung at an eight-foot-high tidal wave made out of blue and white colored discs. Under its crest, a miniature dolphin balanced on its tail.
Without warning, Wolfe shoved past me and the rows of googly-eyed tin owls perched at the wall’s top. “The other side.” He plunged through the rainbow arc. “I’ve gotta see the other side of this.”
“Stop!” I ran after. Passing under the arch, I sank up to my ankles in soil and stopped. “And get off our bean plant.” I lifted the lantern from its hook so he could see the green stalk he crushed.
He pointed at me instead of looking. “That’s made of bike chains. You have a chandelier lantern made of bike chains.” He began to laugh but stopped when he saw my anger.
“No—no. This is all so...so...cool, Dove. But I can’t see it all. It’s too dark. Tell me about where we are.”
After a long moment, I held the lantern higher. “Since you’re still murdering a bean plant, you won’t be surprised that this is our garden. Our hives are along that wall over there—near the flowers.” I shoved the light at the pitch blackness where a couple bees sounded awake. “The catapults for organic waste are on the other side of the wall, and my home’s up in those maples ahead. You’d better go.”
“Dove?” A hopeful but cautious voice called from the maples. “Dove girl? Is that you?”
“Mom!” I let the lantern fall with a clatter. Instinctively I dashed between vegetable beds to where she waited in the tree canopy.
Ringing thundered. Familiar voices shouted my name, swallowed in the bell’s call. I scrambled up maple limbs, too impatient to climb up the normal way.
I swung myself onto the platform but never touched the planks. Gilead had me. My ribs creaked in his squeeze while my mother imprisoned my hands in hers. Smaller fingers dragged at my clothes and hair. Even my shoes. Each cousin found a part of me to hang onto.
Under the platform’s covered area, my grandma sat straight-backed in her rocking chair. So impatiently patient.
She coughed. In two strides, Gilead set me down in front of her.
She eyed my messy shoulder braid. “Took you long enough.”
“I was the first to leave, Gran. I promise.” I ripped the plastic bag with the Council’s decision papers from my belt and handed it over. My bag, with its radio, I flung at my brother.
Now unburdened, I leaned down and hugged her, feeling huge like Stone. I’d forgotten how tiny she was. I let go. “Gran, I have to tell you, he’s not dead! S—”
I pitched backwards as Trinity grabbed me from behind.
“Get off, idiot.” I tried to shake Trinity off my back. I laughed, struggling in a circle until she released my neck.
She hugged me like a sane person. “Was it beautiful out there, Dove? Tell me.”
The ringing died. My grandpa now stood behind my grandma, his gray beard hiding his mouth, his eye creases crinkled. “Well, now. It seemed like we were short a blonde. You’ll do.”
My mom squeezed my fingers. Happy tears trickled down her tanned cheeks like I’d known they would. After another squeeze, she melted away with my aunt, down the ladder to get my dinner. I could taste my pie and squash.
Squash. From the garden.
My heart lurched, and I took a ho-hum step nearer the platform’s edge. I forced my lips to hold their smile. “I...I’m going to make sure Mom—”
“Let her go,” Grandpa said as I reached the second limb down.
I paused on the last and held my breath. My mom’s and aunt’s silhouettes approached the bed where squash grew. Behind them, the two lanterns glowed symmetrically from either side of the rainbow arch—including the one I’d dropped.
I almost toppled from my perch in relief. The replaced lantern was Wolfe’s signal. Goodbye, Dove.
With a glance up at the home I’d spent months dreaming about, I made my decision. I slipped off and headed away from the garden, onto the washed-out path. The Jeep, if it was still there, was a five-minute walk away.
I walked, and then ran, past black masses in the darkness—monstrous piles of rust still holding their identities as cars and trucks. Other piles had grown too while I’d been gone.
Somewhere between the skunked-out camper and the smallest maple on our property, a silhouette detached itself from the maple’s shadow. In the dim light, Wolfe surveyed the mounds of garbage.
He gave a dry chuckle. “My people dump this junk on your doorstep to annoy you...but you use it. So, in fact, we’re delivering you radicals everything you need for a comfortable, money-free existence. Which is funny. And nauseating. But still funny.
Funny? Sure. Whatever.
“Of course, God has an amazing sense of humor.” He seemed in no hurry, so I tried to shove him toward his vehicle.
He planted his feet. “I don’t get why you talk about God that way. Like you love Him? Or are in love with Him? I have to be honest, it’s a little freaky.”
“I do love Him.”
“You love Him...like how you love people? Or more than people? More than Jezebel? I know you love her. Don’t lie.”
“Yes, yes, she’s great. You need to go, Wolfe. It’s not safe.”
He let me bulldoze him another few steps. “But you think Jezebel’s a lot better person than what you expected a normal person—a Heathen—to be, right?”
“Yes, yes. Of course. Move it. My mom—”
“You are, too.” He seemed oblivious I was using my last ounce of exhausted muscle strength to move him. “You’re a way better person than what Jezebel thought a Christian would be. I mean, you haven’t attacked or set fire to a single person.”
I paused to wipe my brow. “Because your—her— assumptions were ridiculous. Move your feet. I don’t think you understand my whole family is—”
“I’m not an idiot, Dove. I get I’m not welcome here. I’m going.”
He hugged me.
My family doesn’t hug much. I’ve been carried over my brother’s shoulder plenty, and squeezed a few times until my ribs cracked. But this hug was differ
ent. My body instinctively went rigid.
His breath touched my ear. “Thanks. For letting me into your world. You’ve blown mine apart. And I will be back. Argh...”
His arms spasmed while he lurched forward, taking me to the ground with him.
Too surprised to shout, I struggled out from under.
“Dove!”
I turned toward Gilead’s bark from the camper, where another familiar voice shouted, “You’re OK now, Dove Strong. We’re here. You hit him, Gil, but I don’t think he’s dead. See? He’s moving. What now?”
“No!”
My brother breathed too hard to hear my muted cry.
“Finish him, Micah. Then we find his family and finish them too. We end this vile line of—”
“Gilead! Micah! Sons, that’s enough. Don’t move.”
I groped for my grandpa’s shout. His light, the force of the sun, times ten, hit me square in the eyeballs.
I peered through finger cracks. Wolfe’s body lay twisted in the leaves, one hand clawing at his shoulder blade. Gilead and Melody’s brother flinched in the brightness behind him. Micah’s skinny blade reflected in his upraised hand, but Gilead’s hands were empty. His knife glinted from the back of Wolfe’s jacket.
“Now, Brae!” My brother darted to my side and lifted me. “Now! Quick. Finish him. Before my grandpa...”
As I struggled, I saw Micah’s eyes mirror Gilead’s excitement. He fingered his knife.
“Hurt, little sister?” My brother’s arm tightened and held me in place.
I twisted and kicked.
Oh God! Intercede! Save him! He can’t die. Please, oh please. He can’t die. Not him. I love him!
God must have heard my prayer and answered. Micah froze, his knife hovering inches from Wolfe’s Adam’s apple. Suddenly breaking free of my brother’s hold, I ran over, grabbed Micah’s knife, and chucked it to the ground.
God hadn’t stopped their attack—I had. My silent prayer still rang loud, not silent. Stunning Gilead and Micah.
