by Rusty Ellis
“I’m sorry,” she stammered and stood from her crouching position on the ground.
She tried to back away, but the man stepped forward, shadowing her every move. Megan raised her hands in front of her face and chest to defend herself.
The man gave a muffled laugh before squeezing and talking into the mic on his chest, “I’ve got a female outside the Garden.”
“Roger that, be right there,” a deep voice responded.
The man dropped his hand from his mic and said, “Let’s go. He’ll want to see you.”
“Who, who want’s to see me?” Megan asked.
“I said let’s go,” the man stepped uncomfortably closer and pointed to the clearing in front of the cabin.
Megan turned and began to head toward the light of the clearing. She used her hands and forearms to push away the branches as she walked. The presence of the man following closely behind pushed her pace. As she reached the last row of trees, she could see a man standing in front of her, waiting for her to exit the trees.
She emerged and raised a hand to shade her eyes. As her eyes adjusted to the sunlight, Megan could make out the man in front of her. The man from the porch. The same man from the path at the Enlightenment Circle.
The man was broad shouldered, his face menacing and taut. The man’s presence was daunting. Without a word, the man demanded respect, if for nothing else but his ability to control the world around him with his size and demeanor. The firearm on his waist completed the intimidating package.
“I’ve got it from here,” the man spoke in a low tone while looking directly at her.
Megan could hear the snap of branches. She looked back to see the man behind her disappearing back into the cover of the woods. She turned forward to look at the man in front of her. He stood staring, sizing her up and down, as if deciding what to do with her. A demeaning look in his eye, matched by a look of irritation on his face.
“Well?” he asked.
“Well, what?” Megan said as if volleying a tennis serve. A quick, thoughtless response.
He looked less than amused at her meager attempt to sound confident.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. This time she could hear a thick accent in his voice.
“I was just curious.”
“I saw you this morning at the sermon,” he stated.
Megan thought it curious the man didn’t call it the Enlightenment or Enlightenment Circle. The statement wasn’t a question. The man was stating facts and laying obvious cards on the table in front of Megan. No cat-and-mouse game. He was playing his version of the game, more like tiger-and-sheep.
“Yes, I was at the Enlightenment Circle,” Megan kept to protocol, weary that it could be some type of a test of whether she had bought-in to the Community and Adam.
The answer satisfied the man momentarily, “So why are you here now?”
“Like I said, I was curious, and jealous,” Megan added.
The man raised his eyebrow at the addition of the word ‘jealous’.
“I was jealous Adam didn’t pick me to join him at the Garden.”
The right corner of his mouth raised into a controlled grin, “Yet, you didn’t stand up to be chosen like the other women. Adam even went down your aisle. You just sat and watched.”
The man didn’t miss a beat recounting the morning and the events surrounding Adam. She hadn’t stood. In fact, if she were to do anything, it would have been to grab Anna and pull her back down to her seat.
“Well.”
The short break gave Megan time to think.
“I was ashamed and didn’t feel worthy. Others had been there longer and worked harder to prepare themselves for the honor of being chosen by Adam.”
He wouldn’t buy it. No way the limp explanation would sound real. Her response felt more like a cheesy line in an 80’s soap opera.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Megan. Megan King.”
No use lying. They had her identification, somewhere. She forfeited it after reaching the Community. They took it for emergency purposes only. After all, she was now a sister of the Community. Names didn't matter, other than brother or sister. Your worldly name existed for the sole purpose of glorifying yourself to the world. It was the Community’s first move in disconnecting you from the influence outside the safety they offered and provided.
Asking for her name showed the man’s thoughts on the ideology of the Community. He was not interested in the world and its evils; he wanted facts to control the world around him. He wanted the information necessary to fulfill his job. His job was clear, signified by his black polo, his black pants and boots, his walkie-talkie, and punctuated by the black firearm at his side.
Where the ideology belonged to Adam, the safety and policing of the Community belonged to this man.
“Miss King, this area is off limits, unless Adam invites you here. We save it for those few followers worthy to enter, specifically chosen and invited by Adam. He hasn't invited you. Please do not return unless you’re invited.”
Before Megan could respond, the man reached for the mic on his chest, “Popov, escort one from garden to circle.”
“Copy that. En route.”
The man let go of the mic and pointed to the path leading back to the Enlightenment Circle.
“Wait for an escort at the path over there.”
Megan dropped her head and turned to face the trail and follow the man’s orders.
“And Miss King, do not let this happen again or we could remove you,” the man paused, “excommunicated from the Community. Understand?”
Megan nodded and took a step in the trailhead's direction. As she began to walk, she could see movement through the picture window above the porch. Faces of girls looking out the window, curious about the commotion in front of their home. And Haley was one of them.
Megan battled to stop her thoughts from drifting to Haley and what was happening in the cabin. That wouldn’t help. Locating Haley was Megan’s goal. Everything else would come later. The only danger was Megan getting caught. She’d burned her one-time pass to verify Haley was there.
As Megan neared the path another man wearing the same security uniform stepped from the tree line and waited for her. Megan neared and noticed he didn’t have a firearm on his hip. Popov—she assumed the man’s name from his radio call—was in control. That meant he controlled every inch of the Community, including carrying a firearm and protecting Adam.
The polo shirt stepped to one side and gestured for Megan to start down the path in front of him. She complied with his direction and began down the path.
Haley was at the cabin—for now. Megan had to get to her. The only way to get to her was through Popov. She would stay at the Community and play the game as long as it took. She would prefer to find a way around Popov, but ultimately she would find a way to go through him to get to Haley.
19
Chase froze at first, then opted to turn his head slowly to find the voice. Directly behind him the barrel of a rifle poked out from behind a tree, its owner concealed by the tree’s trunk.
“I said, don’t move!” the voice demanded again and cocked the hammer on the rifle. “Now stand up slowly and put your hands on your head, then face me.”
The voice had the advantage. Chase could feel the grip of his Glock 32 in the middle of his back. His first thought was to step behind a tree and draw his gun. His second thought was to follow his father’s advice—pick your battles.
If the man would have wanted him dead, he would have shot him in the back. Problem solved. Either the man didn’t want him dead or he watched too many westerns and was unwilling to shoot a man in the back. Either way, Chase was still alive.
Chase raised his hands and placed them on his head, one on top of the other.
“Now what?” Chase asked.
“That depends on what you're doing here,” the voice answered.
“So, if you don’t like my answer, you’re going to sho
ot me?”
“What’s the matter with you youngsters? Always thinking violence is the answer. It’s that television and video games I tell ya’. Worthless crap polluting your minds.”
Chase stood and listened, interested in what the man had to say, as long as he was pointing a rifle at him. The man’s reference to his generation added a slight amusement to the precarious situation.
“Well, I haven’t got all day. What’re you doing up here sneaking around with binoculars and a pistol on your waist?”
Chase laughed, “You saw that, huh?”
“Of course I did. I’m not blind. It looks like a tumor of some sort on your back. Uh, sorry if you really have a tumor somewhere.”
Chase laughed again, “Is it okay if I put my hands down now. I’m not looking for any trouble. I tried to make a wide path around your property so I didn’t disturb you. I assume that’s your place back there and all this is yours. Anyway, I’m just trying to get some information about your neighbors over there.”
“First of all, you are on my property right now. I don’t have to clear all 450 acres of my land just to build a house on it. I just prefer my neighbors at a bit of a distance, that’s all.”
“And my hands?”
“I can’t fault you for that. Been trying to figure them out myself for the past couple of years. But hey, they keep to their side of the property line and I keep to mine.”
“My hands?”
“Oh yeah, sorry. Go ahead and put them down.”
The man dropped the barrel of his gun and stepped from behind the tree.
Chase dropped his arms back to his sides, “Thanks.”
The man looked like a throw-back to the California Gold Rush era. He was about five-feet six-inches tall and slightly bent over at the shoulders, as if the world’s weight had taken its toll over the years. His beard was wavy and covered his face, hanging down about six inches from where his chin was hiding behind it. He wore a grey cowboy hat with a black leather band at the base. The hat had a two-inch stain under the band surrounding the oblong base, proving the man wasn’t afraid of hard work, nor concerned about replacing his old hat with a new one, sweaty band or not.
He wore a pair of faded jeans and cowboy boots with a long-sleeved western patterned shirt tucked into his pants. This was not a weekend cowboy on a country retreat, he was the real deal. If there were any doubt, the scarf tied around his neck and the 30-30 rifle in his hand cleared it up.
“What type of information are you looking for?”
“Name’s Chase, Chase Harper.”
The man lowered his rifle further down; the barrel pointing next to his feet and his grip changing to a single hand. “Henry Giles. That’s my property over there.” Henry nodded toward the house. “Coffee?”
“Excuse me?”
“Would you like to head back to the house for a cup of coffee and talk about it? If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s being a little more discreet with those people. The middle of the day with a pair of binoculars pointed at them is not, well, discreet.”
Point taken.
“Sure, coffee sounds great.”
Henry hiked the short distance back to his house with Chase in tow. He didn’t speak, which was fine with Chase. Not that he didn’t want to talk with the man, but he was trying to put a few things together as he walked. Henry reminded Chase of the locals back home, especially the farmers. When it was time to work—or in this case hike—it was time to work. They could chit-chat after they reached their destination.
Reaching the house, Henry climbed the porch-steps to the front door. He opened the screen and flipped open the door without looking back and continued into the living room. Chase was close enough to catch the screen door before the hinges snapped it shut in his face.
Henry headed into the kitchen and left Chase standing in the middle of the living room. The room looked familiar. Functional furniture. Pictures covering the walls, smartly arranged in groups representing trips and family units. Chase grinned. It looked like Henry had hired Chase’s mother to decorate. He was confident he could close his eyes and find his way around the Henry’s home.
Chase stepped further into the room and noticed the heavily worn chair facing the television.
Henry’s spot. Creatures of habit.
We migrate to what makes us comfortable. For Henry, it was a worn chair facing an archaic television that required you to stand up and change the channels by hand. The dust on the television and knobs showed Henry didn’t find much worth watching, or he didn’t get service this far out from the ‘real world’. Chase put his money on the former.
Chase stepped closer to the Henry’s chair and looked at the end table between the chair and the sofa. A stack of worn paperbacks littered the surface. A single picture was propped up on the table and angled toward the chair. Chase stepped around and picked it up.
The photo was of a couple in their 20s. The corners of the photo had yellowed inside the frame. The couple were smiling as if they owned the world. Chase’s parents had the same photo, same smiles, same look of bliss, same yellowing corners.
“Handsome devil, isn’t he?” Henry laughed from behind Chase.
“Sorry about that,” Chase felt caught and put the picture back as close to its original spot as he could.
Chase turned to see Henry standing with two cups of coffee in his hand. He offered one to Chase.
“Had to be a hundred years ago when we took that,” Henry said and took a sip. “Cream and sugar?”
“No, I prefer it black,” Chase said.
“I knew I liked you,” Henry laughed and gestured for Chase to take a seat on the sofa. Henry stepped to the worn chair and slowly dropped into the cushion. “So where were we? Oh yeah, what’s your interest in the Community?”
Chase leaned back into the sofa and took a drink of the strong brew.
“I think my sister and niece are in there.”
“Sorry to hear that. You’re not sure though?”
Chase cradled the cup in his lap, “I followed two guys from my sister’s place to the front gates of their compound.”
Henry smiled, “Compound. I like that. It’s a better description than calling it the Community. The Community is a little too welcoming to me. Not that I feel any ill-will against the people. You know, freedom of speech and religion and all that. There’s just something unsettling about the place. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“You’ve had problems with them?” Chase asked.
“No, can’t say I have. But the secrecy of the place gives me the heebie-jeebies,” Henry set his cup on the end table and stroked his beard. “Like when they put all those sensors in the ground.”
“Sensors?”
“When they first purchased the property, they had a company come out and put sensors along their property line.”
Chase set his cup on the coffee table in front of him and scooted to the edge of the sofa.
“Underground seismic sensors,” Henry continued.
The explanation raised an eyebrow on Chase’s face.
“I had the same look when I heard what they were called. When I saw the trucks rolling along the property line and digging holes every 40 feet or so, I threw my rifle over my shoulder and went to find out what they were up to.”
“What did they say?”
“The first guy I talked to pointed me to another guy, who pointed me to another guy, who called on the radio and another guy in a black polo shirt with a pistol on his hip showed up,” Henry took a sip from his coffee cup. “The guy told me they were working on the HLC Limited side of the property and asked if there were any problems. He wasn’t interested in explaining what they were up to. I said there weren’t any problems and he just left.”
“He just left?”
“Yep.”
“How did you find out they were installing sensors?”
“Underground seismic sensors,” Henry clarified. “After the guy left, one of the installers comment
ed on the polo guy’s attitude. I chatted him up, and he said that this was the biggest private installation they’d ever done. He told me what the sensors were called and tried to explain how they worked. A bunch of technical mumbo-jumbo. Basically, they installed the sensors around the entire perimeter of the property line. Each sensor covers about a 40 foot radius. They installed them so that they overlapped, super-secure I guess.”
“That’s a pretty good investment versus just putting up a fence,” Chase said.
Henry hit his knee and leaned forward, “That’s what I said! The guy told me that the owner, not the polo guy, didn’t want a fence around the place. The owner worried it would look like some type of prison or something.”
“Knowing about the sensors makes it sound like a prison to me, anyway.”
“My thoughts, exactly. Kind of like a high-tech religious prison,” Henry said.
“But they say anyone can leave at any time.”
Henry shook his head, “They say that. But why do they have a bunch of those black polo shirt guys wandering around the edge of the property?”
Chase smiled at the mention of the guys in the polo shirts. The residents of this little town were definitely not fans of the polo shirts. Either they were anti-polo shirt from long ago or they became that way after the HLC moved in. One thing was for sure, anyone wearing a polo shirt was viewed as an outsider.
“Anyway, how do you intend on finding your sister and niece?”
“Well, now I know I’m not going to be able to walk across the property line and track them down.”
Henry shook his head in agreement, “Nope.”
“That leaves me with two options,” Chase said. “Join the religion or become a polo shirt guy.”
20
“Is there a problem?”
Viktor looked up to see Adam standing with a hand on the back of the empty chair by the bedroom door, the chair where Viktor was normally posted.
“No problem.”
“I came out, and you were outside instead of by the door. You were gone several minutes,” Adam said.
