The Exodus Strategy

by Barbara Winkes

  A woman like her, with an extremist group—of mostly men, Celeste assumed—thinking that no woman deserved absolute autonomy over her body and was a slut by default, spelled disaster. She hadn’t noticed she was crying until she felt the warm wetness on her face. No.

  “I might have something,” Ophelia said. “Check out these fellows.”

  Already feeling dizzy, Celeste didn’t dare click on the link for long moments. She had to remember that while she needed to protect herself, she was safe at this moment, in her apartment, with friends only a few key strokes away. Unlike Vivien Collins. The site Ophelia had turned up was the usual homophobic sexist crap you could find all over the internet and was so hard to get rid of. She didn’t look any further, knowing that going any deeper meant walking onto a minefield of triggers.

  “I can see they are idiots and locally based, but what makes you think they are involved?” Gladys asked. They all knew that Gladys had lost her son, a smart and gentle teenager, to merciless anti-gay bullying.

  “Because some of the idiots were stupid enough to brag about it in an email,” Ophelia responded. “Okay, girls, what are we going to do?”

  “We need to help her,” Celeste typed.

  * * * *

  Emily had stayed in her office a long time after the news of the explosion first hit, and she’d probably spend the night. She’d been running on caffeine since noon, so it was no surprise the sudden apparition nearly made her jump to the ceiling. Probably, the black-haired woman wasn’t even real, a hallucination caused by tiredness.

  However, the vision spoke.

  “Congresswoman Camden. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

  “How the hell did you get in here?” Emily snapped, wondering if the twenty-something year old punk was going to shoot her. What a stupid way to go.

  “I traded sexual favors with your secretary,” the woman said, grinning when Emily’s jaw dropped at the choice of words—and the images evoked.

  “Okay, not really. Look, I don’t have a lot of time, so I’m telling you this straight. Come tomorrow, Miller and his buddies will likely be in deep trouble. I’m offering you a chance out, a choice—even if you’re so fond of denying the same to women you don’t even know.”

  “What are you, a terrorist?”

  The woman shook her head. “I’m a concerned citizen. Currently, I’m concerned about Vivien Collins. You met her.”

  Emily remembered vividly how Collins had exploded at her at the women’s center. There had been some rumors going around about her disappearing, but she hadn’t paid close attention.

  “So? What about her?” Why wasn’t security already here? What a messed up day at the office, she thought wryly. At this point, she’d refuse to accept Miller’s endorsement. He was becoming a political liability.

  “You could be a hero. Help save her from some people who are driven by ideology in a way that should scare even you. Draw whatever political capital you like from it.”

  Emily didn’t understand a thing. “Why are you coming to me with this? Who are you?”

  “I’d rather not say, but this has to go to the police. I want you to call, then I’ll leave.”

  With some hesitation, Emily picked up the phone, wondering if she should call security instead.

  “Now,” the young woman urged.

  Emily punched in the numbers 911.

  “Thank you for your service, Congresswoman.” If only it hadn’t sounded so sarcastic. “Nice talking to you.”

  A moment later, she was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The man who hit her in the face, calling her a murdering slut, was wearing a mask. He hadn’t come down to the cellar for the first time. The first time, he had removed her blindfold, probably in order to have the visual scare her a bit more when she was already terrified. Vivien told herself that as long as he did nothing but slap her around, the baby wasn’t in so much danger. Right? She needed to stay calm, until someone had the opportunity to kick him in a place where it really hurt. Kerry, or Vivien herself.

  “Look at me, bitch!”

  She cowered, wondering if he was aware of her pregnancy, and the irony that he would have liked to have seen her convicted of murder, because of her work, while he was endangering the family she dreamed of having.

  “What is that going to do?” she asked, sounding calmer than she felt. “This whole setup—you’re not going to turn back the clock. Exodus is happening. It’s been happening for years. There is nothing you can do about it.”

  “Shut up!” His voice boomed in the small confines of the basement. “We will succeed. There will come a time when the tables turn and your kind of trash will be no longer accepted.”

  Vivien thought of Lee, saying that they weren’t all bad. Maybe those who weren’t, didn’t raise their voices loudly enough—and she never wanted to be accused of that.

  “Oh, speak for yourself!” She’d get out of here and have a happy, healthy baby wanted by both of her or his parents, and they would teach them well.

  For a moment, the man seemed baffled by her response. Fury won. He grabbed her hair in a painful grip. Vivien was scared he was going to ram her head into the wall, and that might have been his intention if it hadn’t been for the woman showing up behind him, holding a gun to his head.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Briefly, irrationally, Vivien almost thought Kerry had found the place. It wasn’t her, but a complete stranger. With a gun. At least, she seemed to be a benevolent stranger with a gun. Her demeanor was familiar. Ex law enforcement or military, Vivien assumed. The tight grip on her hair loosened.

  “Nice,” the woman said sarcastically, addressing the kidnapper. “Get on your knees. Don’t try anything.”

  “What are you gonna do, shoot me? Like the murderers you already are?”

  “Don’t overestimate yourself.”

  Vivien tensed as her rescuer came over to her, keeping the gun on the man though. She produced a knife to cut through the cloth that had been used to tie Vivian’s wrists and ankles.

  “Go,” she said. “There’s no one upstairs. The police will be here in a little bit.”

  “You’re lying,” the man scoffed.

  Vivien could see a smirk on the woman’s face. “You’re welcome to find out,” she said. Addressing Vivien, she asked, “Will you be okay to get upstairs?”

  Vivien nodded.

  “Okay. Go. I’ll deal with him.”

  She didn’t want to ask what that meant. Vivien stumbled up the stairs and to the front door which was unlocked. About two blocks away from the building, she found a coffee shop.

  Her appearance made patrons stare, but she couldn’t pay attention to that. “Please. I need to use your phone.”

  The barista’s wide-eyed look might mean she recognized her, but maybe Vivien did look that bad. Her face hurt.

  “Please?” She swayed a bit, gripping the counter for support. Someone behind her jumped up and brought her a chair.

  “No problem,” the barista said softly.

  * * * *

  Up until Elsa’s call, Kerry would have made a deal with God or the Devil if it meant that Vivien was safe. There were many riddles surrounding her abduction, but one of them was solved quickly: The man who had orchestrated the kidnapping had started an online group under a pseudonym, calling for actively sabotaging feminist campaigns, of which he considered Exodus to be one. In fact, the online activity in his closed group showed how he had become increasingly obsessed with Exodus in particular.

  Somebody had traced him and handed material over to Emily Camden who had no choice but to involve the authorities. His name was Martin Wheeler, and he was the son of Miller’s cousin.

  “Can’t you just feel their glee?” Morten Harris had asked. “That’s what they’ve been waiting for, to trash a peaceful movement with a longstanding tradition because of one nutcase.”

  Wheeler believed that women should be put in their place, and t
hat they were murderers or sluts or both for making their own reproductive choices. In some sinister areas of the internet, he was already painted a hero.

  At this point, waiting for the doctor to finish examining Vivien, Kerry was exhausted. She still believed everything they did was not only just, but necessary. Maybe when she and Hilary were young college students, eager to learn and change the world, they had underestimated how many people opposed a change for the better. Statistics prove it, sure, and they believed in the worth of numbers—it was different to be slapped in the face with that resistance. She winced at the mental image, helpless with the anger it produced, but she didn’t have a lot of time to consider the many ways she would have liked to get back at Wheeler.

  The door opened and Kerry jumped to her feet so quickly her head spun.

  The doctor smiled. “You can go inside. Both Vivien and the baby are fine.”

  For a few heartbeats, she saw the world through a blurry veil.

  “What about the drug?”

  “We’d like to keep her here for a few more hours to make sure it’s all gone from her system, but from what I can tell you, it was a harmless sedative.”

  Kerry nodded. Wheeler was a medical student. She’d make sure that drug charges would not be forgotten when he went to trial.

  Vivien sat propped up against the pillow, looking a bit worse for wear, but she smiled.

  Kerry embraced her and sent a silent prayer of gratitude to whoever might listen. It would be all right now.

  * * * *

  “Just take a moment trying to imagine what happened here, and why wouldn’t it happen again, time after time? This woman…we don’t know her, she might have made that whole story up. Is someone going back there and confirm it? I don’t think so.” The news seemed to have Morten Harris on the verge of a coronary, but that was his MO in the first place. Outrage. “Persecution? Political reasons? Did you know that the Greene’s daughter is studying in Paris? Next time, they find a man who has a mistress, they will ship the wife over to their little settlement to get a visa. Well, maybe we’re lucky to dodge that bullet, because she might go to the London Exodus.”

  The case that had him bristling with self-righteous anger, of course, couldn’t be farther from that. The woman he was talking about, a scared nineteen-year-old, couldn’t go home, because there was still a sentence out on her. She had been raped. She refused to marry the rapist. The people she’d grown up around would gather stones the moment she returned.

  “How do you think she got here in the first place?” Harris continued to rant. “Did she simply show up and ask for asylum? I don’t think so. What do you bet the Greene billions were a damn good argument for some of the officials involved? See what I mean? They will do it over and over again. Next, they might import gays from other countries that don’t like them.”

  “Always entertaining, Morten,” Hilary said, eliciting laughter from the group gathered in the beach house. “Not only are we involved, but we bribed officials. I wish he would at least get more creative.”

  “No you don’t,” Marc prompted, and she shook her head with a smile. Harris would go on about this until he found the next best thing to sell to his eager listeners, happy to blame the Greenes, Emily Camden, who had taken a turn to a more centrist approach he opposed, and, of course, the woman who was running for president.

  When Hilary looked around, she felt happy and serene. This was not the end of their efforts, but they had definitely arrived somewhere, with help from hoped for and unusual sources. Sunny and Jerome had joined them tonight, as well as Aimee, and Celeste who ran a flower shop close to the boundaries of the current stretch of Exodus.

  She and Marc had honestly no idea how the woman Harris talked about had made it anywhere near the border, let alone Exodus. Someone had helped her, that much was for sure. Hilary didn’t know, and although she had a suspicion, she thought that the outcome mattered more than anything.

  “A blatant disrespect for a different culture,” Morten had called the story. Sometimes you had to stop arguing, and laugh at the ridiculousness. Like he had ever given a damn about culture and diversity. It was hard to argue against the benefits of being alive and not having another violent trauma heaped upon the primary one.

  You bet your ass there’ll be more, she thought grimly.

  Kerry and Vivien had a son. Since they were in the spotlight so often, they had preferred to get married in a quiet ceremony with only a few close friends attending. The Supreme Court had meanwhile voted in favor of equal marriage, making it the law of the land.

  Toby was almost a year old, a happy, active baby, currently sleeping in Kerry’s arms, undisturbed by the talk and laughter going on around him. They had persevered, all of them, and in doing so, they’d be able to help many others.

  Hilary was immensely proud of Frances who was taking part in an exchange program. The fact that they had established a European leg of Exodus gave her and Marc a good excuse to visit more often than Frances might like, but was there really any point against Paris?

  * * * *

  “Hey boss. Your wife is here,” Lee said.

  Vivien had expected Kerry to come and get her, but her heart still skipped a beat when she saw her leaning against the doorframe, casually holding a bouquet of roses. It was Valentine’s Day. She’d been able to get off early.

  Though much of the content of her work hadn’t changed, Vivien felt more confident and happy than she ever had in her life, with the woman she loved, her family, her job.

  Kerry continued to work with the local police force and the Exodus security staff, a job more challenging than they could have ever imagined, because they were growing daily. Five other states had initiated their own version, and there was a lot of information and experience to share. Lee had joined them after all, quitting her internship at Miller’s and resuming her work with the center. There had been a lot of ugliness coming from Wheeler and his friends during his trial, and at some point, she’d had a change of heart and mind.

  Annette LeBlanc had left them after she’d gotten back on her feet, living a quiet life somewhere on the East coast, away from the political spotlight and scrutiny.

  “We’re almost done, right, Toby?”

  This center came with a day care that he would eventually attend.

  “I have no date,” Gabe said with a sigh. “You guys go home already.”

  * * * *

  Celeste had long figured out, before Jessica told her, that those “jobs” always coincided with new victories for Exodus. Ophelia had found out about the illegal workings of the former governor’s Chief of Staff, and she had been able to locate Vivien Collins. Making the philosophies of Exodus global was on a whole different scale, and it came with different dangers.

  The Greenes, Rivers, and Collins might suspect, but they stayed clear of anything outside the boundaries of the law. Their connections and money helped, after the fact, anyway.

  At some point, Celeste insisted she deserved to know, given the fact one day, Jessica might not come back to her, so Jessica had relented.

  She unlocked her door, startled at the smell of something delicious cooking. In the dining room of her cozy apartment, the table was set for two.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day,” Jessica said, and Celeste was in her arms a moment later.

  * * * *

  Frances had insisted she had to go to a friend’s birthday party, and how lame would it be for a teenager to spend Valentine’s Day with her parents? Marc and Hilary had dinner at the 58 Tour Eiffel, looking down on the lights of the city, a beautiful, hopeful picture. Their trip was partly due to missing their baby, partly pleasure, and, of course, partly business. Tomorrow, they would meet with several government officials to discuss what Exodus in Paris could look like.

  Chad Miller was gone from the political stage, the recall election sound. Emily Camden had made it into the Senate, not exactly the greatest ally they could hope for, but she, unlike many of her peers, was smart enou
gh to see the tide turning.

  There was still bad news, people falling victims to prejudice and hate. They might not be able to save them all, but they were working on it.

  Epilogue

  “It’s about time. It’s long overdue.”

  Kerry remembered the words Hilary had said to her when they first embarked on this journey, taking the first baby steps to making their vision reality. They rang true once again when, for the first time, a woman was declared the winner of a Presidential election.

  Toby couldn’t quite understand that his mothers’ tears were tears of joy, so he started crying as well. For the next few minutes, she and Vivien had to concentrate on calming him down.

  Bloggers who were on par with Harris’s ideology had already pronounced this new reality an age of the persecution of men.

  Here at the Greene’s California mansion, the atmosphere was less gloomy. The numbers had been on their side almost from the start, but after everything they had learned, they didn’t want to jinx anything or get ahead of themselves. Their patience had been rewarded.

  Melodie Timmons was invited tonight as well. She was doing a documentary on the Greene empire and the changes it had helped inspire. In general, the press continued to be more interested in their lives than Kerry and Vivien’s. Kerry smiled to herself, thinking that they all liked it better that way.

  “You’ve been praised for your charity work, but you have also always faced some harsh critique for your political involvement, especially in this Presidential race. What does Johanna Dawson’s win mean to you?”

  Hilary was, as usual, dressed impeccably as she stood next to Marc. She had an answer for Melodie too.

  “Obviously, it means a lot to us, as we share the values and beliefs of our President. You have to understand it’s not just about electing a woman—which matters so much, don’t get me wrong—but someone who will move us forward.” She gestured for Kerry and Vivien to come over to them. “It means people care about the truth more than cheap political innuendo. They believe in fairness and equality, and that’s what we have always worked towards.”