Sent Rising (Dove Strong)

by Erin Lorence

  Brooke continued to drive. She must’ve been a decent driver since no more boxes or books toppled, but the churning in my middle worsened with each snore and page turn.

  Cold chicken. Thick, greasy skin.

  I should have stuck to eating leftover oranges.

  Trinity looked as horrid as I felt. She focused on the van’s lichen-colored ceiling and, after a while, she buried her pale face in her knees. A sheen of sweat plastered her rainbow shirt against her spine.

  Hours passed. Nothing changed. We slept. Rocked. Drove. Read. Breathed deep. Until finally the never-ending engine cut off.

  I crawled into the van’s front and over top of Brooke. “Coming through.”

  I spilled onto the Pickett’s sharp grass. Trinity dropped onto the weeds behind me. There must have been another, secret door at the back of the van because Wolfe already approached his home’s front door.

  It opened. Jezebel leaped and dangled from her brother’s neck like one of those clingy baby animals that are too lazy to walk. She released, pivoted, and chose me as her next human to climb. “What took you so long to get him home, Dove?”

  Boom. The home’s door flung open again, crashing against the wall’s tan paint. Her grandma poised in the doorway. She tugged a fringed, sand-colored towel through a small opening in her fist. Pull, flick. Pull, flick.

  “Grandma! Wow, do you look great. You’ll never guess—”

  “No lies, Wolfegang Pickett. Because I know exactly what you’ve been up to.”

  His smile faltered. “You do?”

  The other passengers had their heads down. Stomachs sucked in. Trying to slink past the angry woman and enter her home without being noticed.

  I pointed at the van. “Hey, Jez. Jackelope. In the back.”

  “Whoa! Freaky.” She released her grip on my ribs and raced for the van’s open door in her bare feet.

  Trinity and I backed toward the sidewalk but not fast enough.

  “Hold it, everyone!” The towel continued to snap through the white-knuckled fist. “No one’s going anywhere until I ask my grandson one question. Wolfe, did you make your apologies?”

  Wolfe relaxed his tanned shoulders. A real grin replaced his tense one. “I’m sorry, Grandma.”

  “Not to me, you oaf.” The beige cloth whipped in my direction. “To her. You owe that nice Christian girl a busload of sorry for all the trouble you caused. You went and got yourself missing—without a word to anyone where you were headed. No doubt she had to locate you without any help from you. Didn’t bother to call or send her a message, did you? Hmph! I figured. I swear, grandson, someday every female in your life is going to quit wasting time and breath on you. Now stop trying to hug me and start telling me who these people moving in with us are. And how many frozen pizzas will they want for dinner?”

  Trinity tugged, unsticking me from my spot on the sidewalk. Still, my mouth dangled open.

  His grandma had called me nice. A nice Christian girl.

  29

  The swags of old man’s beard moss still drooped around the top of our bushy enclosure. Except now the swags were shriveled, like a real old man on his deathbed. Even the branches of our tree ring were brown and brittle. But what did it matter? The earth was firm and motionless against my stomach. And not a hint of chicken for miles.

  “She told Wolfe you’re nice,” said Trinity.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Your ribs OK? That kid could out-hug a bear.”

  I grunted, inhaling the fresh scent of dried grass under my nose. Each of Jezebel’s skinny fingers had forged a tiny bruise. I turned my cheek so it rested on the ground’s scratchy cover. “His grandma...do you think she’ll let the others stay for a while?”

  Trinity grunted an affirmative and lifted her face. The queasy pallor had faded. “Not a single thing thrown at you in town this time.”

  “Mmm.”

  “And tons of the godless were out. They saw us.”

  “Mmm. Sisters missed me.”

  “Or got used to us Sent.”

  I was too worn to mention the real miracle that happened during our trek from the Pickett household to our tree shelter—that Trinity had forgotten to cringe and stare at the trees for escape. She’d lost her suspicion and fear of all godless people, no doubt a result from embracing her true gift. I closed my eyes to the filtered sunlight.

  When I opened them, the sunlight had vanished, but Trinity still sprawled on her stomach next to me. The moon, with its usual red blush, hovered in the chill air near the eastern wall of my shelter.

  “Ow! What in the—” The wall shuddered. A few dead evergreen needles trickled onto my arm.

  I sighed. No wonder I’d woken before sunrise.

  I contorted to get around the intertwined spikes protecting our entrance. On hands and knees, I avoided Gilead’s strategic piles of burrs.

  The cows weren’t out and about in the field yet. Only Wolfe. With crossed arms, he leaned against one of my enclosure’s half-dead arborvitae tree, his motionless body between spikes.

  He glanced away from the meteor shower above. “Good morning. Lots of stars moving up there.”

  “You’ve got burrs on your shirt.”

  “Do I? Well, I might’ve stepped on something that made a bunch fly up and get me.”

  “It’s called a booby trap. Gil made it. I can untangle them. I’ve had practice.”

  “Leave them. They don’t hurt. I’ll just throw the shirt away when I get home.”

  “Wolfe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re stuck to the side of my shelter. Don’t lie.”

  He let his arms drop and shifted. A chunk of his shirt stretched to the tree like a squirrel-sized hammock. “Um. Yeah.”

  I picked my way over and untangled the white cloth from the barbed end of the spike. Since he was junking the shirt anyway, I didn’t mention the rip I made in the process.

  “Thanks.”

  “Right. Now go away. I want to be alone.”

  “Ha! Then you should’ve left me stuck to your hideout. Now that I’m free, you can’t stop me from coming with you. I know you’re dying to find out what’s going on at Black Butte. You were planning to slip away by yourself this morning to scout it out. So, I figured I’d meet you before dawn and let you know too bad, I’m coming, too.”

  I scowled. How had he read my mind and guessed my plans? And worse, why did he continue to show up, eager to help? Scouting out a possible government retreat, looking for signs of other Christians...this stuff affected my world. Not his.

  “You’re wrong, Wolfe. I was going to pray about going first.”

  “Then pray. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

  The blushing moon still hovered in the same spot when I dusted off my knees at a burr-free section of grass. I strode in the direction of the black hump on the horizon that was Black Butte. God was silent—for now. But I didn’t hear Him say no to exploring that village.

  “Where’d you park the Jeep?” I squinted through the dim light. “I don’t see it on the road.”

  “It’s not. Grandma took out a piece of my engine to make sure I stick around for a few days.”

  I faltered but continued to plow through the field. A half day’s walk to Black Butte—or even a whole day’s—was nothing.

  “Just joking about no ride. Ta da! And you thought we’d have to walk!”

  I blinked at the expanse of weeds with the wire fence border. Beyond these stretched the manicured backyards that ran smack against boxy homes. No white Jeep.

  “What are you babbling about?”

  He vaulted over the cow barrier and patted the object I’d assumed was backyard junk. He patted its seat again and grinned.

  “You stole Diamond’s motorized bicycle?”

  “Motorcycle. And we’re borrowing, not stealing. Christians are allowed to borrow. Remember? Rebecca does it.”

  “Diamond will murder us. Correction, murder you. Because I’m not touching her motorcyc
le.”

  He cocked his head. “You won’t ride the transportation I provided us—to save your legs and feet—because you’re afraid of Diamond?”

  “I’m not scared of her.”

  “I see. Then it’s because you’re afraid of motorcycles in general? This one’s self balancing. It can’t tip.”

  I squared my shoulders. “No.”

  “Well it can’t be because of my driving skills. Because you know I can drive anything.”

  My eyes narrowed.

  “Fantastic. I risked myself on your zip lines. But you’re too chicken to try my way of traveling? Wow. I mean...wow.”

  “There’s only one seat. And I am not riding the handlebars this time.”

  He laughed and threw a leg over the motorcycle’s curved frame. “It’s a big seat. Just sit tight, hold onto me, and we’ll be at the rich-people village in time for breakfast.”

  30

  Cool gusts of pine air slapped me between waves of heat from Wolfe.

  Wolfe, too close.

  Wolfe, the only thing I could anchor myself to in a world that tilted and blurred at high speeds.

  The forest quit moving around me, and the motorcycle’s throbbing engine cut off. We balanced at the edge of a thin, paved road.

  “Let’s walk the rest of the way. OK, Dove? Dove?”

  I forced my stiff arms and hands to unclamp, and then I slid off. A blob of blood oozed from the inside of my healing wrist. No doubt an extra injury from a shirt burr I’d mashed myself against.

  Wolfe turned his back to the road. He dropped into a valley of trees that led away from the nearby massive Black Butte.

  “I figured we’d explore the village first while people are asleep. We’ll scope out the retreat and look for a possible hostage situation. We’ll hike Black Butte to check for Christians later.”

  “Sure.”

  After a trek that took a few minutes, the rain-starved wilderness ended. At my toes began the smoothest expanse of grass ever. Even in the weak morning light, I could make out its vivid, maple-leaves-in-June color. Emerald green.

  The lazy, rolling terrain reached most of the way to the horizon. Then buildings began. These were larger than Wolfe’s and his neighbors’ in Sisters and boasted extravagant windows and lanterns. Beyond the structures, the earth stretched in a flat, treeless line. I squinted. A field?

  Wolfe readjusted his dark blue backpack and stepped forward. My feet sank into the springy softness, so different than the tough tufts and clumps of the cow pasture. Within seconds, a cold dew drenched the tops of my feet.

  “Typical. Even in a severe drought where the rest of us only get one-minute showers, rich people get to water their golf courses.”

  “Are the government people here, Wolfe? Can you tell?”

  “Nah, still too far away to tell. We’ll check the vehicles parked in the lot and see if we can get close to the main lodge and villas. If officials in uniforms chase us away, then we’ll know the retreat’s begun.”

  We continued over the terrain of manmade perfection. There were no signs of a hostile Christian presence—no bullet-riddled targets or bald patches worn down by Christian soldiers training for battle.

  FIGHT. WIN RECLAIM.

  Maybe Reed’s message I’d taken didn’t matter. Maybe all Christians had refused to heed it...or else the Council had vetoed Reed’s plan to fight, replacing it with the wiser decision to come together and pray. That made the most sense since Rebecca and Hunter and the rest hadn’t heard about ransoming government officials over the radio.

  Trees continued to border the grassy clearing, but no one moved between trunks. There were no shelters or tents that meant Danny D, Rahab Rae, or any Christian travelers headed east to pray on Black Butte.

  “Let’s go this way first.” Wolfe steered us away from the buildings and parking lots I thought we’d headed for. Suddenly, three yards ahead, the grass ended. An expanse of dark water started up.

  “I figured you’d want to wash, Dove, and this lake is a good one.”

  My hands moved to my hips.

  He fumbled his pack under my cold stare, picked it up, and began to paw through. An aluminum can and book spilled out. He thrust them back in and continued to root. “I mean the first thing I did when I got home was shower, and you don’t have one, so I figured you might want to....um...anyway, here are some clean clothes for you. I’ll be over there.”

  He broke into a jog. “I’ll be waiting in the sandpit!”

  I let the offered wad of earth-tone garments flop onto the grass. Without removing my thrift store ones, I waded into the water.

  My breathing hitched. He was right—this lake was a good one. Better than the ocean at least. Warmer, and it didn’t pull me off my feet.

  The sky gleamed pastel when I slogged my way back to the empty grass bank. No doubt Wolfe was hunkered in a pit of sand somewhere. I wrung out my hair and held up the new shirt. My dripping arms stayed frozen in place.

  “Oh, Mom,” I whispered. “Grandma.”

  The tunic and pants were factory made and soft, but even so they were an echo of the outfit my mom, grandma, and aunt had created for me a year ago—the one I’d worn the first time I’d left home. The one Wolfe had ruined.

  Tears welled up. A strange sickness twisted my gut—different from being chicken sick or van sick.

  I was family sick.

  I buried my damp face in the tunic but still saw my grandma in her willow chair. And my mom stood just behind her, holding her surprise for me. My surprise gift. The clothes with the Armor of God she’d made from the plants grown on our property.

  I scrubbed my lids, but my mom’s determined smile remained. How long would it be until I saw her smile again in real life?

  I bit the inside of my cheek while peeling off wet clothes. I pulled Wolfe’s gift over my undergarments.

  “Hey, Pickett!”

  His tousled head popped up molelike from the first green knoll. “Do they fit? I know the shirt doesn’t have a hood. And it’s short sleeved instead of the long ones you like to cover your skin—”

  “Wolfe, get over here...please.”

  He jogged toward me. “It looks like they fit. But if they don’t—”

  “How?”

  “How?” He approached slower—prey creeping toward a predator, ready to bolt if sharp teeth appeared.

  “How did you get these clothes? Look at the lines.” I tugged my tunic front. “That’s the shape of a breastplate. And this belt design is exactly like my old belt of truth.”

  A wide grin threatened to break his face. “You like them? Wait. I forgot your helmet. Warriors wear helmets, right?”

  He pulled out a brown, half-brimmed hat. The type Jezebel sometimes wore—baseball caps, she called them.

  He fitted the cap on my wet head. “Helmet of salvation.”

  I swallowed and kept my arms crossed tight. They wanted my mom, but they might fly out and squeeze him instead if I gave permission.

  “Hungry? How about breakfast before we scout around?”

  Food, too? My fingers gripped the sides of my new tunic, fighting off the impulse that rolled through me, strong as ocean swells.

  Since my feet weren’t tempted to act stupid, I allowed them free will. They followed Wolfe to the back of the clustered buildings from earlier.

  Up close the structures were huge, though not as tall or wide as some in Portland. But Trinity would appreciate their smooth cedar sides and copper lanterns. And she’d bury herself in the thatch of white, trumpet-like flowers that cascaded over a half-wall behind the closest structure.

  “All clear. Looks like the restaurant workers aren’t here yet.” He settled down behind the flowered wall. Yards away, the lake rippled with a warm breeze.

  He unearthed twin plastic sleeves with white-sugared contents. “Early bird special.”

  “Doughnuts!” I fell to my knees and grabbed one.

  Ker-click! Ker-click! He opened two juice cans and shoved one int
o my fingers.

  “To onion stew!” His can bumped mine.

  I chugged down the lemony sweetness and kept my eyes on my doughnuts. I was being paranoid—onion stew was a joke. It had nothing to do with the loaded conversation about our futures we’d had while eating that certain stew a couple weeks ago.

  “Well, Dove, at least this date is going better than most of ours.”

  I kept my pupils fixed on breakfast and shoved a whole doughnut into my mouth.

  “People our age go hiking together. And camping. And they hang out at the beach or go ziplining. But when we do those things, it’s not very relaxing. Half the time one of us is bleeding.”

  I crammed in another doughnut and chewed.

  “Wouldn’t it be something to stroll into that restaurant behind us with the white tablecloths...and eat breakfast off plates together?”

  He gestured at the restaurant that loomed behind me. A white table flanked by two stiff-backed chairs sat on the other side of the window.

  I swallowed and inhaled the scent of flowers. The lake glimmered with the sun’s first light. A blue jay called from the far-off trees.

  “Food tastes better outside.”

  He grinned. “You know what’s best? The trees. And that great setup the Joyners have. I wouldn’t mind living—”

  I crumpled the empty wrapper and stood up. “The parking lot is northeast. You said we’d check there first, and I don’t know what type of vehicles government people own, so come on. Quit stalling and show me.”

  31

  The whisper of approaching bicycle tires warned me to move.

  I retreated from the strip of snaking blacktop until the roughness of the horse barn pressed my spine. I stayed at the wall, though still in sight of the path.

  Since relocating to Sisters, I’d quit bolting for a hiding spot every time I sighted a nonbeliever. Yet I found it smart to keep a buffer between myself and any potential fists, weapons, or projectiles.

  “C’mon, Wolfe. Move away.”

  He folded his arms, positioned his stubborn self against a pine at the path, and waited. Sunburned legs and dark glasses appeared. The pair of bicyclists were the same type of godless we’d already spied occupying the village’s tennis courts, pools, and parking lots.