Rachel broke the ice and said, “Hi,”
“The gazebo is nice, isn’t it?” said Janie.
“Yes, I like to go there and read.”
The girls exchanged glances, and Rachel said, “We saw you there yesterday. Were you reading something by the Prophet?”
Justin took a breath. “I don’t read books by the Prophet.”
6
Hyenas
In the presence of the assembled elders, the Prophet lavishly praised Seth Lemon for his loyalty to God. “You will be rewarded for your service, both here and in the world to come.”
Seth lowered his head and basked in his leader’s approbation. He still felt a degree of residual guilt for calling security on the night he discovered his twin daughters were not in the house and that many of their significant belongings were gone. But his guilt was fast disappearing in the glow of the Prophet’s words. Seth’s wife Esther had suggested they handle the situation themselves and there was no need to involve the Sheba Hill authorities. She and Seth could go out and find the girls, lecture them on their foolishness in trying to leave the compound, and bring them home safely and quietly with no one the wiser. But he had balked. What if the Prophet found out and interpreted their actions as disloyalty. That would spoil everything; and he would be shunned, degraded. And now he knew he’d done the right thing, for as the Prophet spoke, the intent of his words was becoming increasingly clear.
“As most of you know, we have an opening for a new elder, and I can’t think of a better candidate than Brother Seth Lemon.”
Seth reddened. It was what he had dreamed about for the past ten years. His power and authority would skyrocket, and he would no longer be limited in the number of young wives he could acquire. And because the Prophet himself had made the proposal, the vote would be a mere formality. None of the current elders would dare oppose a candidate put forth personally by the Prophet. Seth nodded humbly, acknowledging the honor; and after a brief moment of concern about what might now happen to his twin daughters, he continued to daydream about his bright future.
Elder Hank Biggars shifted his bulk on the chapel’s wooden bench and made a short, positive comment regarding Seth’s proposed elevation. Biggars then moved on to what was really on his mind. With his jaw set and his eyes narrowed, he said, “Maybe the girls will attempt another run one of these days because their marriage to me was so abruptly cancelled. Young women don’t appreciate having their wedding plans tampered with.” He was about to make an additional comment regarding the Prophet’s decision to step in as the girls’ new bridegroom, but a glance at his leader’s stern expression convinced him to remain silent about the matter. As far as he knew, only he and the Prophet were aware of the new arrangement.
The other men in the group reacted to Biggars’ remarks with astonished smiles and restrained snickers. To hear that the twins might attempt another escape from the compound because of their terrible disappointment in losing the rotund Hank Biggars was almost too ludicrous to consider. Elder Tate put his hand on Biggars’ shoulder. “An interesting thought, brother. But maybe the girls can survive the blow and find some way to live with their loss.”
The Prophet regained the group’s attention by tapping on the lectern with his fingers. “Our primary concern today is to prevent another escape attempt by the Lemon girls or by anyone else so inclined. But more than that, we must recapture the loyalty of these young people…so they become solid, productive members of our community. With this in mind I’ve spoken to God about this situation, and He has instructed me to send the girls along with Elder Riggs’ rebellious wife to Bitterroot Camp for the winter. By the time Spring arrives they should all be thoroughly submissive. When they return to the compound, I’m certain we’ll be delighted with their metamorphosis.”
“Won’t they try to leave the camp?” asked Hank Biggars.
The Prophet smiled. “Elder Mobly and his wives have established some effective security procedures. Besides, as those of you who helped me set up the retraining camp know, it stands deep in the Bitterroots, miles from the nearest neighbor. It would be an impossible trek to get out—especially in sub-zero weather. Enough to discourage even the hardiest rebels.”
Seth Lemon took a deep breath and asked, “What kind of retraining do we do there? What’s our success rate? Do we have examples…here at the compound?”
“Too new,” said the Prophet. “Right now we’re still learning. There have been some early failures, I’ll admit, but we’ve changed some things and soon we’ll be on the right track?”
“Failures?” said Seth, “What kind of failures?”
“Don’t worry Elder Lemon, we’re not running a concentration camp.”
Seth blushed at the use of his prospective title. “I didn’t mean to question—”
The Prophet held up his hand. “I know. Just keep in mind that we follow God’s lead in these matters, and what I carelessly referred to as failures are really part of God’s overall plan.”
Elder Tate said, “I believe my new stepson Justin Patrick should also be sent to Bitterroot. He tries to hide it, but he’s filled with antagonism and disrespect. I don’t believe he’s fully recovered from the death of his father. He could develop into a problem if we don’t act now. If anyone needs retraining, it’s Justin.”
“So be it,” said the Prophet.
7
Bitterroot Camp
After the long drive across the prairie and through the Northern Rocky Mountain passes, the van left I-90 at Missoula and turned south on Route 93 through the Bitterroot Valley. To the west stood Trapper Peak, the highest point in the Bitterroots, and farther south was Lost Trail Pass where Lewis and Clark crossed the mountains in 1805 on their way back from the Snake River. After about an hour and a half, the van left the highway and headed west toward the Idaho border on a series of gravel and dirt roads upward into the range that formed Montana’s western spine.
The driver and the security guard occupied the front seats and were carrying on a running lamentation regarding the rough roads and the constant bumping. Rachel and Janie Lemon, Justin Patrick, and Mrs. Riggs, the disenchanted Sheba Hill wife, sat in the back. Mrs. Riggs did little but stare mournfully out the window, but Justin and the girls were engaged in an animated conversation.
Janie said, “You mean you think you could walk out of this place?”
Justin nodded. “Of course I could.” He tapped the cover of his father’s survival book. My dad taught me a hundred ways to live in the woods. And I could take you girls with me, too.”
“In the winter?” asked Rachel.
“Winter, spring, summer, or fall. He taught me everything.”
Mrs. Riggs turned from the window and said, “Why don’t you stop giving these girls false hope. You’re not going anywhere, and you’re not taking them anywhere.”
“I could take you, too,” Justin said carefully. He lowered his voice. “Wouldn’t you like to get away, Mrs. Riggs?”
“Get away? To where? Who would want us? Who would take us in?”
“The authorities,” said Justin, “to start with. Then who knows? We could all start new lives.”
“My life is over,” she said. “Leave me alone.”
Bitterroot Camp stood at the end of a long, winding gravel road about fifteen miles from the Idaho border. The camp consisted of one sprawling two-story building and three smaller one-story buildings, two on the south side of the main structure and one in the rear.
Elder Mobly and two of his four wives met the van under the portico. He explained that his other two wives were busy in the kitchen and would introduce themselves when everyone went inside. He was a very tall, whippet thin man, and he seemed to be trying his best to appear grandfatherly and gracious.
Justin and the girls were still filled with excitement about the idea of escaping from the clutches of the Sheba Hill Temple, and Mobly apparently mistook their exuberance for submissiveness and willingness to change. He smiled warmly.
>
“Good, good,” he said. “We’re off to a good start. We’ll have a fine winter.”
Mrs. Riggs remained inside the van and sat motionless, without expression. Her eyes were red and her face tearstained, and she gave no indication she was aware the van had come to a stop. The driver and the guard began to pull the luggage through the van’s rear door, and the driver spoke to Mrs. Riggs. “Please get out.”
She shook her head.
“If you don’t get out, we’ll have to carry you. That wouldn’t be a very good beginning.”
“Beginning to what?” she said. “My so-called retraining, my brainwashing? I assure you it’s not going to work with me. Maybe with these children, but not with me.” But while she was speaking, she seemed to realize the futility of physical resistance and she stepped down from the van and went to stand by the front door.
Justin’s high spirits were crushed on his second day in camp when Elder Mobly stuck out his long bony hand and said, “Please give me that book.”
“Why?” said Justin.
“Because it’s distracting you from our lessons.”
They were in a small brightly-lit training room on the second floor of the main building. Justin was sitting behind Rachel, and while Elder Mobly had been writing maxims from the Prophet on the blackboard, Justin had been sneaking peaks at his survival guide. He had just begun to review the section on building shelters when Mobly whirled about, took a long step past Rachel, and snatched the book away.
“I’m not distracted,” said Justin. “I was listening.”
“Listening perhaps, but not concentrating,” said Mobly.
Mrs. Riggs, who had been staring blankly at the wall during most of the session, looked up at the elder and said, “Why don’t you leave the boy alone? Give him his book back and stop harassing him.”
“Well, good morning, Mrs. Riggs,” said Mobly, “it’s nice to hear from you. I thought you were in another country.”
“No, I’m here,” she said. “Unfortunately. But I assure you I’m not listening to the garbage you’re spewing about J.J. Flack.”
Mobly’s eyes narrowed. “Be very careful what you say, Mrs. Riggs.”
She laughed somewhat hysterically and said, “For seven years I lived with Elder Riggs, the cruelest, most hateful man in Montana, and you think I’m afraid of a pitiful scarecrow like you.”
Justin said, “If you give me back my book, I promise to put it away and not take it out again during training classes.”
Mobly thought for a moment and then returned the book. “Okay, Justin, I’ll take you at your word.”
Justin was pleased that at no point had the elder looked at the book’s title. He resolved that in the future he would leave it in his room and not give his jailers the slightest hint regarding what he was planning.
8
Suspicion
The van driver and the guard entered through the front door, stomping their feet and complaining about the snow. “At least a foot thick,” said the guard. “It was tough going all the way.”
Their arms were laden with supplies, and they headed for the kitchen where Rachel, Janie and Justin sat eating their dinner. Two of Elder Mobly’s wives were busy at the counter and both rushed to help the men with their bags and packages.
Rachel looked at her watch, whispered something to her sister and Justin, and then said loudly, “Where’s Mrs. Riggs?”
There was no immediate answer from either of the men; and then the guard, after disposing of his portion of the supplies, removed his coat and said slowly, “Missoula—we took her to Missoula…She’ll be going to Texas. The Prophet has a Temple in the Hill Country near Austin. Mrs. Riggs wanted a fresh start.”
The older of the two wives, a woman in her forties, turned from the cabinet she was restocking. She was frail and nervous, and she wiped her hands on her apron. “How about some nice peach cobbler, children? Maybe with some ice cream?”
Rachel looked at her and wondered why the woman was so uncomfortable. “No, thank you,” she said. And Janie and Justin said no as well.
The younger wife, a girl of fifteen or sixteen with a vacant expression said, “The cobbler’s good. You kids should try some.”
Rachel thought it seemed inappropriate for the girl to call them “kids” when she was no more than a kid herself. But maybe life here in the Bitterroot Mountains with Elder Mobly and his other three wives had caused her to grow up faster than she might have under other circumstances.
When the driver and the guard departed, Janie whispered to Justin and Rachel, “Why are the driver and the guard still here? Why didn’t they go back to Sheba Hill?”
“I don’t know, but I have my suspicions,” said Rachel. She looked at her watch again. “They didn’t have time to take Mrs. Riggs to Missoula. They’re lying.”
“Do you think they hurt her?” asked Janie.
Justin whispered, “Or worse, maybe. I watched when they left. They used the old road behind the complex. It might join the highway somewhere later on, but I don’t think so. I think it heads higher…deeper into the mountains.”
Janie started, “But why—”
Rachel put her hand on her sister’s arm. “Don’t you see? They must’ve decided Mrs. Riggs was untrainable. They don’t want her on the loose, telling the truth about the Prophet and his madhouse. Bad publicity and maybe jail time for the leaders….I think they took her on a one-way trip into the wilderness and disposed of her.”
Janie gasped. “You mean killed her?” She’d spoken a bit louder than she’d intended and both wives looked over sharply.
“What’re you kids talking about so seriously?” said the frail, older wife. “There’s no need for secrets around here.” She attempted a smile, but only her mouth was involved, and her eyes remained empty and devoid of warmth. “After all, we’re one big family here, and we share everything.”
Justin snickered. “Yes, you certainly do that.”
“Two thoughts,” said Rachel when they were in their classroom waiting for Elder Mobly to conduct their evening sessions. “One, we’d better start pretending we’re getting the message, coming around. If we don’t, Mobly might call the Prophet and we’ll find out for sure what happened to Mrs. Riggs, and I don’t think we’ll like it. Two, we need to figure out some way to get out of this place.”
Janie frowned. “But we’re in the Bitterroot Mountains, miles from anywhere. I didn’t see any houses on the way up here, and I doubt there’s anything above us either.”
“Maybe we could steal one of their cars or the van,” said Rachel.
“Do either of you know how to drive?” Justin asked.
Both shook their heads.
“Neither do I,” he said. “So we walk out.”
Rachel said, “It’d be better to die out there than to have to listen to any more of the Sheba Hill loyalty crud we’re hearing. Every time Mobly opens his mouth I want to smash him with an iron frying pan.”
“We won’t die,” Justin said, “not if we prepare properly. Remember, I told you I’m trained in this sort of thing. We could load up our rooms with the necessities—I can tell you what we need. We can do it little by little. I’m from Alaska, remember. My father and my uncle were survivalists. They rescued lost climbers, skiers, pilots—you name it—and they taught me a lot of what they knew. If we prepare right, we won’t die. It’ll be hard going if we’re forced up into the higher Bitterroots, but I promise you, we’ll survive.”
“Couldn’t we go down?” Janie asked.
“I don’t think so. That’s the first direction they’ll search. They’d be on us in no time, and –”
Elder Mobly strode into the room, his long face serious and filled with purpose. “Okay, children, let’s get down to business. We’ve got a lot to cover.”
“Where’s Mrs. Riggs?” asked Justin.
“She wanted to go to the Texas compound, so we accommodated her,” he said.
No one argued with him, and Rachel smiled
and said, “Let’s get into our lessons. I think we’re starting to get the point.”
Mobly said, “Good, good. I had hopes for all of you. I told them you’d come around. Perhaps I was correct.”
9
Grim Discovery
Rachel and Janie shared a double bed in a small sparsely furnished room on the second floor. The bed was no problem because the girls had always slept together. In fact, since the day they were born, they had not spent a single night in separate beds. Tonight Justin had plopped on their bed and the girls were sprawled on the floor looking up at him. He lay on his stomach with his head hanging over the side.
“Is there any way to find out for sure what happened to Mrs. Riggs?” asked Janie.
“I think so,” said Justin. “I’m going to sneak out later and see if I can track them—see where they went. But I might not be able to because of the fresh snow. My hope is the snow stopped before they got underway.
“Will you be okay?” asked Rachel. “Won’t you get lost?”
He laughed. “One time my father flew my uncle and me to a spot ninety miles from Anchorage and told us to find our way home. We made it, and we only had a knife and some fishhooks. I think I’ll be okay.”
There was always someone on duty during the night, watching the three exits from the central keep. The Moblys claimed the reason for the guard was to protect those inside, but Justin knew the real reason was to prevent anyone from escaping. It seemed to be a needless precaution, for even if someone managed to get outside, there was little chance for that person to survive the wilderness and find his way back to civilization. Justin smiled. Little chance unless that person was a trained survivalist.
RUNAWAY TWINS (Runaway Twins series #1) Page 3
