by LeVar Burton
But the old Indian didn’t seem to be buying the story. He stared at Leon, a slight smile touching the corners of his mouth.
He knows I’m lying.
“Maybe you could take a look at her,” Leon continued, stalling for time, trying desperately to come up with a plan. “I don’t know what to do.”
The driver opened his door and started to climb out of the truck, but his companion laid a hand on his arm and stopped him.
“The girl is not sick,” said the Indian.
Leon felt his stomach tighten. “What do you mean not sick? Of course she’s sick. Real sick, maybe even dying. Go see for yourself.”
The old man studied him for a moment, glanced at Amy, and then turned his head and looked back down the road. It was the break Leon was hoping for. Before either of them could react, he reached in through the open window and snatched the revolver from the Indian’s belt.
“Put your hands up,” Leon ordered, stepping back from the truck. The men hesitated until he cocked the revolver’s hammer. “I just want your truck. Keep your hands where I can see them and nobody will get hurt.
“Okay, old man, climb out of there and walk around to the back of the pickup.” The Indian did as he was told. Leon pointed the revolver at the driver. “Now you.”
The young driver climbed out of the truck, livid with anger. “I can’t believe this is happening!” he yelled. “Hijacked twice in one trip—and with the same damn gun! I’ll get fired for sure.” He turned and glared at the Indian. “This is all your fault; I never should have given you a ride. I suppose he also wants to go to Chicago to rescue the White Buffalo Woman. I guess he hears voices too.”
Leon’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Voices? Chicago?
Ignoring the complaints of his companion, the old Indian continued to stare down the road. He finally turned around and looked at the driver, and then at Leon.
“He hears the voice,” the Indian said. “And so does the little girl. But the White Buffalo Woman is no longer in Chicago; she is in the truck we just passed.”
Leon was shocked. “You hear a woman’s voice too?”
The old man nodded. “It is the voice of the White Buffalo Woman. She has come here to save us. But we can talk of these things while we drive”—he smiled—“if you don’t shoot us first.”
Leon stared at the old Indian for a moment longer, then slowly uncocked the pistol and handed it back. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt he could trust the man. Maybe it was because he also heard the voice.
“I’m sorry,” Leon said. “I was desperate.”
“I would have done the same,” replied the Indian. “Let’s go.”
Leon called Amy and the four of them squeezed into the pickup truck. Once they were in, the driver turned the pickup around and chased after the cargo truck.
As they sped down the road, each of them explained their side of the story. The old Indian’s name was Jacob Fire Cloud; he was a Lakota medicine man. He had come all the way from South Dakota, following what he claimed to be the voice of the White Buffalo Woman—a sacred prophet of the Indian people, or something like that. Jacob said that the Buffalo Woman had been reincarnated to stop the third shaking from happening. As Leon understood it, this Great Shaking was some kind of Armageddon.
Amy still insisted it was her mother she heard. But as the men continued to talk about the voice, she grew strangely quiet. And when Leon asked her if she ever saw a face with the voice, she refused to answer. He suspected she was having doubts about whose voice it really was, but he didn’t want to push the issue.
Of the four of them only Danny Santos did not hear the voice, which was probably a good thing. While the others urged him to drive faster, anxious to catch up with the cargo truck, Danny used his wits and stuck to a safe speed limit. Realizing that something pretty amazing was going on, he quit complaining about being hijacked and focused his attention on figuring out the phenomenon.
“I understand why Jacob might be picking up this woman’s thoughts,” Danny said, slowing to take a curve. “Indians are all the time meditating, going on vision quests, things like that. Strange voices are a part of their culture. But why do the rest of you hear her and I don’t?”
Leon tapped the computer disks in his shirt pocket. “I think I hear her because she physically touched me. Amy probably hears her because she’s young. Experts say children are often more sensitive to things than adults.”
Jacob nodded in agreement and patted Amy on the head. “Little ones can see and hear things their elders cannot.”
“If that’s true there might be hundreds of kids who hear the voice,” Danny said.
That was something to think about. If Amy heard the woman’s voice, how many others also heard it? There could be hundreds, maybe even thousands. Leon turned and looked out the window, almost expecting to see an army of children marching across the countryside, following the voice of an invisible Pied Piper.
Even though Leon was convinced they all heard the same voice, he still couldn’t figure out how the woman got into their heads. Was she an Indian goddess, as Jacob claimed, someone with superhuman powers, or just the mother of a lonely little girl? Unfortunately, all arguments and theories would have to wait; they had finally caught up with the cargo truck.
“Slow down!” Leon warned, leaning forward in his seat.
Danny eased off the accelerator. “Speed up. Slow down. Make up your mind.”
“He’s right,” Jacob agreed. “There is danger here. It is best to stay back and not be seen.” Danny dropped back, keeping the truck in sight but trying not to appear as if they were chasing it.
They followed the truck for several hours, eventually crossing the Mississippi River into Iowa. Just across the border, the truck turned into a long driveway, which led up to what looked like a sizeable farming operation. But as the pickup drove closer, they could tell this was no ordinary farm. For one thing there was no equipment to be seen, or livestock of any kind. And the half-dozen large white buildings that sat on the property were surrounded by a tall cyclone fence topped with razor wire. In addition to the fence, they spotted several armed men patrolling the grounds.
Danny drove past the farm and turned off onto a narrow gravel lane. He brought the truck to a stop in the shade of an oak tree and switched off the engine. “Doesn’t look like a farm to me,” he said.
Leon nodded. “Looks more like a prison.”
“Now what?”
Leon sat and stared out the window. The cargo truck had disappeared behind one of the buildings, so he focused his attention on the fence and the guards. He counted close to a dozen armed men moving about the property. No telling how many more were inside the buildings. A dozen guards, maybe more. No way he could sneak past them and locate his mystery woman, at least not in the daytime.
“Well?” Danny asked.
“We wait until dark, and then I’ll try to sneak in there,” Leon said.
Danny looked at him with genuine surprise. “Are you out of your mind? You’ll get yourself killed for sure. I don’t know what that place is, but it sure isn’t a farm. You get caught sneaking in there and they’ll be serving your balls for dinner.”
“I didn’t come all the way from Atlanta just to give up now,” Leon replied.
“I didn’t say give up,” Danny argued. “But it’s suicide going in there alone. Wait until we can come up with a better plan, or get some help.”
“There isn’t time to wait!” Leon jabbed a finger against his forehead. “You don’t hear the woman’s voice, so you don’t know what kind of danger she’s in. But I hear her voice; it’s like a scream of pain. Her time is running out. If we wait too long she could die.”
“If you don’t wait, then you could die,” Danny said.
Leon turned to face the young man. “I died a long time ago my friend. A very long time ago. I have nothing to lose.”
Danny shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
He took a deep breath. �
�Two people I loved very much were killed because of something I did, something I said. When they died part of me also died—the part that makes me a man, makes life worth living. Two people died because of something I did; I will not allow this woman to die because of something I didn’t do.”
Leon leaned forward and picked up the .45 automatic that was lying on the truck’s floorboard. “You mind if I borrow this?”
“Won’t do you much good.” Danny nodded toward Jacob Fire Cloud. “The old man took the bullets out.”
Leon turned and looked at Jacob. “You really did hijack him, didn’t you?”
Jacob smiled and dug into his pants pockets, fishing out a handful of bullets. He sorted out the .45 cartridges and gave them to Leon. “I will go with you.”
“Oh, no you won’t,” Leon said, loading the pistol.
“But it is the White Buffalo Woman. I must go.”
Leon understood Jacob’s desire to accompany him, but one person had a much better chance than two of slipping in unnoticed. Armed guards meant serious business. Leon would be signing his own death warrant if he got caught. He could not allow the old Indian to do the same.
“Listen, if she’s in there I’ll find her. I promise,” Leon said. “But I have to go alone.”
Jacob looked at him for a moment, then nodded. He reached beneath his shirt and pulled out a necklace, slipping it off over his head. The necklace was a simple leather cord, adorned with turquoise beads and a bear claw. He handed the necklace to Leon.
“The bear is strong medicine,” Jacob said. “He will keep you safe.”
Leon accepted the necklace, slipping it over his head. He didn’t really believe in Jacob’s magic, but he was willing to accept any help offered, spiritual or otherwise. Slipping the pistol into his belt, he climbed out of the pickup. The others followed.
Danny had chosen a good place to park. They were far enough away from the farm that it was doubtful anyone would spot them, not unless someone just happened to be looking their way with a pair of binoculars. As an added precaution they stayed in the shadows beneath the oak tree, sitting quietly as they waited for the arrival of darkness.
Jacob Fire Cloud sat by himself, chewing on the end of his unlit pipe, while Danny kept Amy occupied by telling her fairy tales and playing games of tic-tac-toe with her in the dirt. Leon watched them as they played, amused at how quickly they had taken to each other, relieved that there was now someone who could look after the little girl in case something happened to him. It was one fewer thing for his mind to be troubled with.
Sitting with his back against the pickup’s right rear tire, Leon thought about what dangers lay ahead for him. For the others the hours seemed to pass by slowly, but for Leon the night came much too fast.
Chapter 28
Every second was an eternity of mind-numbing horror, every moment an endless nightmare. Cast into the steamy hot darkness, Rene Reynolds gasped for air, struggling against the nausea that racked her body, fighting to keep from vomiting. With every breath she took her nose filled with the wretched stench of death and sickness. The odor plugged her nostrils and sent wet tentacles slithering down her throat, twisting her guts into tiny knots. She had gotten sick, drenching her clothing with the curdled contents of her stomach, adding to her misery and the foul odors that choked the air.
And in the inky depths of darkness and despair, she had prayed for death to come take her life. But no winged messenger of the apocalypse came to answer her beckoning call. No angel of mercy, with grinning skull and sharpened sickle, appeared to end her suffering. Even death would not set foot in such a miserable place as that which existed in the back of the cargo truck. So Rene was doomed to linger among the living, aware of every sway of the truck, each tiny bump in the road, and the continuous passage of time. Slowly. Slowly. Almost stopped. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
Overcome by sickness, stifling heat and the hopelessness of her situation, she felt barely alive when the truck slowed and finally came to a screeching stop. A few minutes later the doors opened and fresh air rushed in.
Air, blessed air, cool and sweet, breath of the gods. The air washed over her, smothering the fire in her skin and reviving her. Rene breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the first clean breath she had taken for hours. Voices reached her ears, pushing through the fogginess that clouded her mind, pushing back the darkness. She raised her head and looked around.
She was on a farm. What farm and where she could not say, but a farm nonetheless. Rene saw several large live-stock buildings, and a tall grain silo that rose above the ground like a giant penis. Beyond the buildings, open fields stretched as far as she could see.
Those golden fields were unreachable, however, for separating them from the farm was a cyclone fence topped with razor wire. Inside the fence walked men armed with automatic weapons. Several more armed men stood at the back of the truck, staring at her. Rene saw no warmth in any of their eyes, only the cold, uncaring gaze of a guard.
The armed men watched, weapons at the ready, as the driver of the truck climbed into the trailer and began removing the manacles of the prisoners. Since Rene was the closest to the door, her shackles were removed first. The plastic tie binding her wrists together was also cut. She was told to jump down out of the trailer, but the long time spent in a cramped position had taken its toll on her. She could not feel her legs, and when she tried to jump down she fell sprawling to the ground.
Rene wanted only to lie there until the circulation returned to her legs, but she was grabbed by the arms and yanked to her feet. Staggering, about to fall, she was led away from the truck and made to stand, waiting while the other prisoners were unloaded. Once everyone was out of the trailer, they were forced to huddle in a group while several men rinsed them off with garden hoses. Rene welcomed the crude shower, washing the vomit from her clothes and drinking as much water as she could catch in her hands and mouth.
Once clean, they were marched several hundred yards to one of the large livestock buildings. No one spoke during the march; everyone was much too afraid to say anything. Even Rene was at a complete loss for words.
They entered the building through a door on the end, the harsh brightness of the afternoon replaced by a dark and gloomy interior. Her eyes adjusting to the sudden change in lighting, Rene was horrified to see that the building was already occupied by dozens of African-American prisoners. They lined the two longest walls, their legs shackled to the wall by short lengths of chain. Dressed in the tattered remnants of filthy clothing, they sat around, or slept, on a dirt floor covered with a thin layer of moldy straw.
None of those already imprisoned in the building showed any interest in the new arrivals. Most didn’t even bother to look up as Rene and the others were led past them to an empty place along the wall, an area obviously left open for new prisoners.
Prodded and threatened by the guards, they were ordered to sit against the wall while iron manacles were fastened around their right ankles. Rene would have asked to use the bathroom, just to keep from being chained up again, but she spotted several metal buckets stationed at strategic intervals along the wall and knew that’s what they were used for.
The guards left after chaining them, only to return a few minutes later carrying wooden trays loaded with bowls of food and cups of water. The bowls contained an almost flavorless, porridge-like substance. While it may not have been much in the way of taste, it was probably very high in calories judging by the obesity of some of the other prisoners.
Oh, my God.
Rene jammed a fist against her mouth to keep from gagging as she realized why such a high-calorie food would be on the menu in their prison camp. Fat people meant more skin, and more skin meant more money. The Skinners were deliberately fattening up the prisoners, like cattle before a slaughter.
Determined not to gain an ounce if she could help it, Rene decided to eat only a small portion of the porridge, just enough to keep up her strength. But in addition to being bland and flavorless, th
e porridge also left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. Suspecting the food might be drugged, she waited for the guards to look the other way and then quickly dug a hole in the ground and buried her serving. Less than an hour later, Rene’s suspicions proved correct when her fellow prisoners slipped into a catatonic state.
Knowing the guards would force-feed her if they found out she had not eaten the porridge, Rene pretended to be drugged too. She sat with her back against the wall and stared off into the space, observing the coming and going of the guards out the corner of her eye. Only when she was certain no one was watching did she allow herself to look around.
Later that afternoon, her act almost unraveled when three men entered the building. Two of the men she had never seen before, but the third looked familiar. Rene nearly cried out in surprise when she recognized the third man as Dr. Randall Sinclair.
Dressed in blue jeans and a dark green shirt, Dr. Sinclair walked down the center of the building, looking over the prisoners. Rene barely had time to slump and let her face drop into her hands before he looked in her direction. Her heart thudding madly in her chest, she held her breath and prayed she had not been recognized. She breathed a sigh of relief when the doctor walked on past.
Dr. Sinclair was already to the other end of the building, and about to go back outside, when she spotted a padded gray case tucked beneath his left arm. Her case. Inside was the Neuro-Enhancer.
Rene was in shock, stunned. Dr. Sinclair’s presence could only mean he was involved in the Skinners’ operation. Maybe this was the place where he obtained the materials for his numerous skin grafts. Then again, maybe he was running the farm. Either way, he was here and he had brought the Enhancer.
She glanced around. There were no guards in the building, though one might show up at any moment. Knowing she was putting herself at risk, Rene stood up and faced the wall. Above her was a small window, gray and grimy with years of accumulated dust. Standing on her tiptoes, she wiped a corner of the glass clean and peered out the window.
At first she didn’t see anything, only two of the other anonymous white buildings. Her heart sank. Dr. Sinclair must have gone the other way. But then he came into view. He was alone now, heading for the closest building. Rene watched as he entered the building; she was still watching when he came back out a few seconds later. When Randall Sinclair reemerged from the building he no longer carried the Neuro-Enhancer.
