A Cry from the Dust

by Carrie Stuart Parks

  I tugged on the shirt and overalls, stuffed the cash in my pocket, then rolled my old clothing around the bra and wig. Tucking everything under my arm, I trotted in the direction the fresh group of men had gone. No one carried any bundles in their arms, just the lanterns. I’d have to dispose of my things first chance I got.

  Fortunately the dirt road held few rocks to stub against my bare feet. I padded silently for about fifteen minutes, passing large, candlelit houses set back slightly from the road.

  I crested a rise. A slight echo carried in the wind and I broke into a limping trot. The road curved right around a stand of pines. Now I could see lights pulsate between the branches and tree trunks, and hear the low growl of car engines.

  I left the road and advanced to the tree line, gingerly placing my bare feet on the rough ground.

  A line of cars inched along the track leading to the compound. Headlights outlined an overall-clad, silver-haired man in the center of the road waving a lantern and pointing right. The cars turned on a dirt path, churning up thick powdery dust, and slowly passed my hiding spot. A number of young men dressed like me acted like parking-lot attendants, guiding the moving vehicles.

  Everyone was singing.

  I couldn’t catch the words. They floated on the breeze, rising and falling in the slight shifts of wind.

  The tiny hairs on my arms prickled.

  A pine snag provided a hiding spot for the parcel containing Lucy and Ethel. I pushed them as far under as I could reach. “Good-bye, girls,” I whispered. Hopefully I’d be far away before somebody discovered them.

  After watching the parade of vehicles for a few moments, one of the clan suddenly peeled off and dashed in my direction. I melted farther into the shadows. He pushed through the branches until he was so close I could’ve reached over and touched him.

  I held my breath.

  The sound of a zipper, followed by a stream of liquid and the scent of urine, started my giggle reflex. I pinched my nose and covered my mouth to keep the sounds in. He finished before I could explode. In one part of my brain I recognized the tension release of laughter, but the analytical thoughts did nothing to stop my mirth.

  Jane, or someone, would soon discover I’d escaped.

  My hilarity evaporated. The young man’s impromptu woodland toilet gave me an idea. I cleared my throat, then sauntered from the trees, making it a point to double-check my zipper. After a quick glance, none of the young men paid me any attention. They kept singing. I didn’t know the tune, but recognized a few words. And has made us into Gods and kings: and we shall reign on the earth.

  I stopped abruptly. The words were from Revelation, but had been changed. I remembered Dave’s dad giving me my first Bible. My first book, really. Painful memories of my life before that time threatened to surface and I shoved them back. Several young men directing traffic noticed my pause. Trotting again, now in the direction of the cars, I thought about the words. And has made us unto our God kings and priests. Not into Gods and kings.

  I pretended to sing as I paced alongside a garnet-colored van driven by a smiling man in his thirties. The animated blond woman beside him waved her hands to illustrate some point, then touched his arm. Four matching children were in the back, eyes wide in wonder. A tiny, curly-haired girl wiggled her fingers at me. I smiled back. The entire rear of the van seemed to be loaded to the roof with containers.

  Moving faster, I mimicked the arm gestures I’d observed; a cross between a traffic cop at a busy intersection and ground crew directing a commercial jet into a terminal. I caught up to the next car in line, a black Suburban. The couple in this car was movie-star beautiful, with the obligatory passel of towheaded kids in the back. They also seemed to be filled to the gills with boxes. Stopping, I allowed several cars to creep past. All the occupants were young, attractive, Caucasian, with numerous children, and loaded down with what might be luggage.

  The dirt road dropped into a large valley surrounded by towering mountains. Ponderosas fringed the natural amphitheater, giving way to knee-high prairie grass, dried to pale yellow.

  I jerked to a halt. The cars and trucks split, forming lines, each waiting their turn to enter one of four long, low buildings buried in the earth like potato cellars. The mountains echoed the drum of powerful generators. Electric lights blazed with Steven Spielberg intensity from oversized doors big enough for a semi to pull through.

  “You there,” a voice called from behind me.

  I debated on continuing as if I hadn’t heard him.

  “Young man!”

  Plan B. It would look far more suspicious if I just kept walking. I’d have to take my chance that every face wasn’t familiar. I turned.

  “Have you been assigned?” he asked me as he caught up.

  “Um. Not yet.” I pitched my voice as low as I could.

  The man consulted a clipboard, then pointed with a pencil toward the nearest building. “Storage one. Help unload.”

  I nodded.

  The man frowned at my bare feet, then jerked his chin at the building. “Get on with you.”

  After shifting course, I gimped in the indicated direction. I followed a Land Cruiser into the building.

  I blinked at the brilliant lights, illuminating the vast interior. Perpendicular to the center unloading space, rows of shelving units reached to the rafters, with neat labels indicating the contents. A cluster of denim-clad men and boys surrounded the Land Cruiser. The driver, a studious man in his thirties with a receding hairline, got out of the SUV, leaving the engine running, and helped his wife from the car. She released six children from the backseat. They huddled next to their mother and stared at the strangely dressed clan. She gently rested her hand on each child’s head and gave them a reassuring smile. A local stepped forward and led them out of sight to the right, while another slipped into the driver’s seat and put the car into gear. It slowly moved forward, pacing behind five other vehicles in line.

  A gangly young man opened the rear compartment. Boxes and large plastic containers marked Food Supply filled the available space. Each man stepped forward and received a box or container that they promptly scurried off to the appropriate section of the warehouse. When my turn came, the young man handed me a beige, twenty-five-gallon container marked Entrées. I nearly dropped it. Using both hands, I humped the tub to the entrée aisle and jammed it onto a wide shelf.

  My lips felt raw, and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. There had to be a water storage area. I watched the action for a few moments, peering between the containers. Once the remnant clan unloaded the food, they returned for more. I slipped between the shelves to the next row, waited until the aisle was empty, then crossed again. I was now keeping pace with the van just in front of the Land Cruiser. Dashing toward the van, I joined a new group of young men. Once again a clan member handed me a container, this time a beige tub of freeze-dried vegetables. I glanced around seeking the correct aisle.

  My heart sank. The vegetable row was toward the front of the building. I shuffled in that direction, then ducked into the fruit section. Rotating the container so the contents were invisible, I waited until no one watched, then jammed the squash behind some dehydrated apples.

  This wasn’t working. Any load could send me in the wrong direction. And it appeared water wasn’t something they were storing. I’d spotted water bottles in most of the vehicles.

  I needed to drive one of the cars.

  No one looked in my direction. I dodged away from the center unloading area toward the outside wall. The bright lights of the center of the building gave way to shadows. Although the open doors kept the exhaust fumes moving, here on the outer wall the air was thick with the stench. Someone had overlooked the minor detail of poisonous vapors gathering in the unvented sides.

  That was good. A chink in their plans, an overlooked detail. There would be more.

  Dashing toward the front of the building, I soon reached the first row filled with baby food. My heart thumped and breath ca
me in short gasps. Moving food stuff, I was invisible. I grabbed a box filled with jars of split peas and calmly moved to the center of the building.

  A mineral-gray SUV pulled forward. I thrust the baby food onto an open shelf, then charged to the car. As the toothy, Donny Osmond clone stepped from the driver’s seat, I hopped in.

  A broad-shouldered, even-featured young man in his early twenties caught the door before I could shut it. “What do you think you’re doing? Who said you could be a driver?”

  “Um . . .” I lowered my voice. “Adam. He promised.” I held my breath as he glared at me.

  After a millennium, the man shrugged his shoulders and slammed the door. I started to breathe.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, I crawled forward as the young men emptied the car. An opened bottle of water in a cup holder helped alleviate my thirst. I’d worry about germs tomorrow.

  Yet another denizen of the community, holding a clipboard, seemed to be checking off the cars before they exited. I put my head down and watched him out of the corner of my eye.

  He didn’t even blink.

  I drove from the building. I wanted to sing, jump up and down, let out a hearty woo-hoo. Instead, I followed the van in front of me up a gravel road. It gradually climbed, then crested.

  My mouth dropped. Ahead, lit by headlights, was what looked like three football fields of parked cars. Not just parked, but jammed together, leaving no room in between to drive out. To my right was a sea of tents.

  The Gathering.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-TWO

  I PARKED IN THE INDICATED SPOT AND STEPPED out, but before I could make a run for it, another clipboard-toting, gray-haired man spotted me and started strolling in my direction. I didn’t fancy being assigned to unload again. He raised his arm and waved at me, and I casually waved back. His wave became an impatient gesture for me to come to him.

  A piercing siren from one of the buildings sent him running in that direction, and I used the opportunity to dash between the parked cars. I dove on my stomach between a Trooper and a Dodge Caravan. Prickly field grass jabbed me in the stomach. Dust burned my nose, and I pinched it to keep from sneezing. The horn ceased bellowing. Soon a pair of denim legs and a swinging clipboard marched in my direction. I ducked, slithered under the Trooper, and held my breath. The legs hesitated, then tramped closer.

  I clutched the earth and tugged my body between the rear tires. The chilly sod seeped through my clothing, and I clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering. My feet were numb. I inched forward until I could slide my hands into my armpits to warm my frozen fingers.

  The legs paused next to the front of the vehicle. If he bent down, he’d see me.

  Everything ached: My jaw hurt, hip pounded, and fingers remained icy. My whole body now shivered uncontrollably. He didn’t have to find me. I’d freeze to death hiding here.

  Finally, an eternity later, the legs strolled off.

  I wasn’t sure I could move. I wiggled, then blew on my fingers to warm them. On elbows, I slithered from under the Trooper, then used the door handle to stand. My feet seemed to belong to someone else.

  After checking for any lurking remnant, with or without clipboards, I peered inside the nearest vehicles. Good news and bad news. The keys were left in the ignitions on most, but they were parked so tightly that only the outer rim of cars and trucks could move, and then only by tiny increments. The first row and corner vehicles held the most promise.

  Keeping a lookout for anyone paying undue interest in my snooping, I crouched and limped down the row. Unfortunately, this bunch seemed prone to large families and even larger vehicles. I’d almost given up hope when I spotted an older Toyota Prius.

  I slipped into the car. The icy, plastic bucket seat started the shivering again. Pulling my frozen feet up, I chafed them until pain replaced the numbness.

  Now I just needed a good story to get out of here, an important reason to be heading away from, not toward, the Gathering. Okay. What if I said I had an urgent package for Adam? But who the heck was Adam?

  What if I said that, unknowingly, to Adam? Or Adam was one of the clipboard-crew? I chewed my lip, watching the stream of cars.

  Wait. What if someone couldn’t make it? Their car broke down? I could be heading out to pick them up.

  As long as a clipboard Nazi doesn’t stop me and ask for a name.

  I could say Smith. Or Young. Not very creative, but it just might work. I started the engine, put the car into gear, and drove forward. I wanted to twist the heat to high, but it would only blast cold air until the engine warmed. I didn’t put on the headlights until I was clear of the parking area. The kicked-up dust covered part of my escape. To my right, I spotted a dirt track swerving around the buildings. I aimed the car in that direction and turned on the headlights.

  I made it as far as the waiting line of vehicles on the far side of the buildings before a middle-aged man in a quasi-police uniform stepped in front of the car. I rolled down my window. “Yes?”

  He swaggered over and stared intently at my face. “Out of the car.”

  The pit of my stomach felt hollow. I could gun the engine and try to make a run for it, but I had no idea where to run. I got out.

  “Stand there.” He pointed between the headlights. I stood.

  Taking a flashlight off his belt, the officer carefully examined the car’s interior, then popped the trunk and did the same.

  I thought about Esther’s odd speech pattern. “There be a problem?” I kept my voice lower and worked to keep it from cracking.

  “Maybe. Got a possible runaway. Woman. Short, blond hair. Wearing pants.”

  He said it as if the pants were pasties. Great. Jane’s called out the dogs. “Uh, no, sir. Didn’t see nobody.”

  He slammed the trunk closed. “Where ya heading?”

  “A family be in trouble. Car’s broken down. I be picking them up.”

  “Name?”

  I wasn’t sure if he wanted my name, or the family’s name. “Smith.”

  He grunted.

  I wiped my hands on my overalls. He’d clearly see my bare feet if he moved any closer. I’d left one shoe in the room. Jane would’ve noted I was barefoot. Please, Lord, maybe You could smite the man right now?

  The officer waved me back to the car. I hesitated, unwilling to move. A truck pulled in behind the Prius, and the officer strolled over to speak to that driver. I sprinted to the car, slammed it into gear, and pulled out, turning the heater to high. I was the sole car going in the opposite direction.

  The line of vehicles waiting to unload ended just around the first corner. I drove a bit farther and passed under a lit banner. I paused and turned to read it.

  Welcome to Zion.

  Zion indeed. The families exiting the cars hadn’t been wearing the standard attire of The Remnant Latter Day Saints of Zion. They would blend in with ordinary folks. I wouldn’t know the good guys from the bad. Any car filled with a family could be clan members heading to Zion.

  I was under no illusions with this group. They weren’t a bunch of kindly religious folks retreating from society to practice their faith. One or more of them brutally murdered Mary Allen, George, and Ethan. They’d tried to kill Dave. They were behind the murders of the old men and Deputy Howell. They’d kidnapped me. I thought about the lonely old woman confined to her bed, and Mary Allen’s pregnancy at thirteen. As far as I could tell, they didn’t even treat their own members well.

  Safety lay as far away as I could get from them. The license plates of the parked cars represented most of the western states. That didn’t help me know my location.

  Remote.

  Wait. I lived in a remote location. How did all those cars, trucks, and SUVs pass unnoticed by the locals?

  The Prius bucked and rolled over the rutted track, then dropped down a series of hairpin turns. When I finally reached level ground, pines and aspen crowded the roadside.

  The lane ended.

  I stopped.


  A dense line of trees blocked the road. Tracks disappeared into their depths. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel.

  It took a moment to realize the trees were creeping toward me. They were attached to a gate, motion-activated from this side.

  I slammed the car into reverse. The gate swung to my right.

  I let out a breath and drove through. The trees swung back into place. I’d bet each of the Gathering families had some kind of keypad or identification system, as well as detailed directions, to their Zion retreat.

  Surveillance cameras?

  Ahead, the backside of six oversized Dumpsters crouched in a semicircle. I drove around them to a pull-out, with a dirt road disappearing in both directions. Which way? The stars told me to my right would be heading north.

  If there were security cameras, they’d see my hesitation. I was supposed to be picking up a family. I turned north. After a few ninety-degree turns, the dirt road ended at a four-lane highway. Again I turned right.

  Two signs brought me up-to-date. I was on Highway 89. Just outside Manti, Utah.

  The sun feathered the sky on my right with pale peaches-and-cream. An early-morning delivery truck signaled and turned ahead of me. A city police cruiser going in the other direction drifted past, the officer intent on the road ahead. I wanted to stop for directions, but in my strange outfit, barefoot, and lacking any identification, I’d draw attention.

  After breakfast, Beth drove Aynslee and Winston over to the dog park. At first Aynslee thought the stranger was watching Winston. After all, the dog looked like a spirited snowdrift. He was a massive thirty-two inches at the shoulder and weighed more than she did. He pranced around the dog park’s grassy open field looking for a pooch to play with. When a golden retriever engaged Winston in a game of tag, the man’s gaze remained in her direction. Maybe he’s one of those perverts.

  Mom told her to always be aware of anyone that made her uncomfortable, and he definitely brought goose pimples to her arms. He sat alone on a wooden bench next to the nearly deserted parking area. Aynslee put her theory to the test. She walked over to Beth, watching him out of the corner of her eye. When she reached her, Aynslee stood so she could see him over Beth’s shoulder.