Jabil’s face remains blank, his hands knotted at his sides. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks. And then, more quietly, more gently, he adds, “We can’t talk here.”
Only now do I feel I am standing on a platform; only now do I feel the full gravity and unsteadiness of the stage. Jabil gives me a hand, but tension radiates from his skin. We step down together and walk away from the crowd. Once we pass through the gate, Jabil lets go.
Jabil is standing on the edge of the compound, near where I used to wait for Moses’s return. Even then, I sensed Jabil in the woods, waiting until he knew I was safe inside the gates before closing them behind me. I would see his torch sometimes, glimmering through the trees. But he never revealed himself, probably sensing I did not want found out. I have been cruel to him; I am aware of this, and yet I’m not sure I can convince him I will change. Or that, this time, I want to. “Jabil,” I say, as I approach. “I’m sorry.” But the space between us is so incalculable, the few words might as well be communicated across a void.
He doesn’t turn but wipes a hand over his face. “It’s not as much about what you did,” he says. “It’s about the fact you didn’t tell me. That you didn’t trust me enough to tell me.”
“I was scared you wouldn’t want me if you knew.”
Jabil looks over, his expression pained. “I could never not want you, Leora. It’s just—”
“What?” I interrupt.
“Marriage is hard enough without secrets.”
“But that’s it,” I say, pulse pounding. “There’s nothing else.”
Jabil sets his jaw, as if trying to keep from speaking rather than preparing to. “My brother saw you last night, with Moses.” He stops before adding, “Did you tell him what you did?”
“About the soldier?” Jabil nods, and I swallow hard. “I—I told him weeks ago, back before you and I had an understanding.”
“There clearly is no understanding, Leora,” Jabil says. “You trusted Moses with the darkest part of your heart. You trusted him with something you weren’t willing to entrust to me.”
“I was scared, Jabil,” I again reply, my tears falling unchecked.
“I understand.” He turns. “But that’s not the point. The point is, marriage is supposed to be built on honesty, on revealing our best and our worst and knowing we’ll still be loved.”
“But am I still loved?” I ask. “I can already feel you pulling away from me.”
“Of course you’re loved, Leora. That’s not in question. What is in question is if you truly want to be with me. I think I need to take some time. To seek the Lord and see if we’re truly meant to be together.” He smiles sadly, touching my cheek. “Maybe you just need time too.”
The sky is lapis, studded with clouds, but watching Jabil walk away, shock falls around me as palpably as a sheet of rain. I continue standing here while thinking of Elizabeth, crying out in her sleep: the fluency of her dreams so contradictory to the mute state she assumes when awake. I think of the other Lost Children, of my own family, of everyone who needs me to remain. But then, drawing upon my vadder’s example, or upon my own genetic predilection to escape, I forgo these responsibilities to pursue my own wants, and I want to get away from Jabil: another man who’s promised to love me without condition, and yet finds that promise too hard to keep.
With my palms, I angrily smudge tears away and head down the mountain. My rapid stride soon accelerates into a sprint. I cover acres of forest in an adrenaline-fueled blur of motion—slapping at regrowth and ducking beneath trees. The ground, pillowed with pine needles, becomes aromatic as I crush the foliage beneath my feet. I hear someone call my name. I stop running long enough to see who is following. Expecting Jabil, I instead see my vadder, running just as hard as I despite his bad back. I don’t want him to catch me because I don’t want to explain. I especially don’t want to explain to him: the man who left me first. But it’s foolish, even juvenile, to run. I force myself to stop and slump against a trunk, breathing heavily. The strips of bark grate my spine; the branches around me have turned copper with disease or age.
My vadder gasps, hands on his knees. “Why—are—you—running?” His hair is hanging loose. It’s grown a little longer since he’s been here.
“Why did you tell them you did it?” The words fly out of my mouth, laced with venom.
He straightens slightly and looks at me, confused. “Our family needs you.”
I laugh. “The community wouldn’t cast me out.”
“You have no idea what they might do.”
“I have some idea.” I stand from beneath the pine and face my vadder. “I’m engaged to the new bishop, Jabil.” I pause, heart constricting. “Or at least I was.”
His confusion deepens. “I didn’t know you loved him.”
I reply, “You haven’t been around long enough to know.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I realize a lot can change.”
My entire body tenses. He lets go and steps back, and only then do I dare glance up. “For years,” I say, “I wouldn’t give in to a relationship with Jabil because he was who Mamm wanted for me. But the EMP forced me to grow up, Daed. To surrender such childish rebellion.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” he says, “but is it right to have to ‘give in’ or ‘surrender’ to love?”
“Proverbs tells us he who trusts his heart is a fool.”
“Jah,” my vadder says, his familiar inflection returning. “It also says God will give you the desires of your heart.” He pauses, smiling sadly at me. “What does your heart desire?”
“More and more, I find it desires peace.” I cradle my arms, holding myself together. “Besides, I love him—Jabil—in my own way.”
My vadder lifts my chin to meet his eyes, a troubled version of my own. “If you really did, Leora, ‘I love him’ would’ve been enough.”
A treasure trove of sunlight tumbles down through the forest. The golden warmth reminds me of the months we have left to store up food for our families, and that the addition of ten hungry mouths shouldn’t wreak havoc on our community like Charlie claims. Courage renewed, I pass through the entrance gate only to see Malachi standing behind it.
“Leora,” he says.
I nod at him tersely. “How’s your shoulder?”
He touches the place where he was shot. “Healing.”
“Good.” I pause to scan the space behind him. “Did Jabil come back?”
He shakes his head.
The awkwardness undergirding our mundane exchange confirms that he was the Snyder brother who told Jabil about me and Moses talking in the garden last night. I say nothing else, but go inside to find Moses with the men. They have begun dismantling a portion of the perimeter so they can expand it around the schoolhouse and church they are going to build, along with four other cabins. Seeing how little effort it takes to destroy the perimeter causes me to realize that, all this time, we’ve been using the gate and walls for our own sense of security, not because they actually protect. I walk over to the group and call for Moses.
He turns, the string of a plumb line trailing behind him. “How you doing?”
I can’t give him an honest answer here, in front of all these men. “Fine.”
“Well—” Moses falters, clearly wanting to say more. “I can’t believe he did that.”
I unthinkingly ask, “Jabil?”
He scans my face, concern saturating the blue of his eyes. “No, I was talking about Charlie. What did Jabil do to you?”
“Nothing,” I quickly reply. “I just need to get away, and I thought of the fairgrounds.”
He glances at Josh, who is watching us, like he always seems to be watching everything. Moses says, “Do you think that’s a good idea, considering the ARC could be looking for you?”
I reply, “Probably not, but I have to warn Sal about what’s coming.”
“I told her,” Moses reminds me. “She already knows.”
“Yes,” I say. “But
for Colton’s sake, I have to try again.”
Moses
Leora and I arrive at the base of the mountain, where the blacktop begins, each twist and turn framed with precise yellow lines. I’ve walked this highway more often than I would like, but the sight still catches me off guard. Paved roads, airports, banks, post offices, and schools—even the smoke-stained, concrete facades of the small businesses parading down Liberty’s Main Street—hark back to a first-world civilization that has become a figment from another time.
We pass another mile marker, leading us toward town. The soundtrack of our journey is the uneven slap of our rubber soles on pavement, since even the military boots I took from that soldier are beginning to fall apart. I say, “If only we would’ve stored up some shoes.”
Leora glances over. “Jah, and socks.”
I stop walking after a moment. I pull out my knife and untie one boot, sawing the black lace in half. I call to Leora, “Let me see your foot a minute.”
Bewildered by my request, she doesn’t move. I walk over and kneel in front of her, picking up the booted foot that was giving her trouble, resting the sole on my knee. I glance at her face, which is vivid red. I wrap my severed lace over the middle of the shoe and press my finger on the spot where the lace crosses, trying to double-knot it as tightly as I can. Finished, I hold my hand over that small, worn boot and look down at it, thinking of all those miles this strong woman has had to walk, and knowing she’s soon going to be walking so many miles without me because I don’t have the gall or the heartlessness to ask Leora to leave him.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
I don’t reply, but just squeeze Leora’s foot before setting it down. We continue walking, each of us taking our time. After a while, we come upon an older woman—or maybe she just appears old—wearing the ragged layers of a wanderer. She is gathering dandelion from the gullies alongside the road and putting the greens in a basket hanging over her arm, which is as sun-browned as a piece of old leather. The woman glances up as we pass. Her eyes beneath the brim of an oversize straw hat are chillingly blank. She says nothing, and we say nothing to her. I don’t care to leave our backs exposed as we walk away, so I slow my step even more and walk directly behind Leora. She is still hobbling slightly because of the boot.
To our right, we come upon the old cast-iron tub, continually filled by a spring running out of the side of the mountain. Water spills out of the hole where the drain catch used to be. Like the highway, I’ve seen this spring numerous times—a watering hole that draws bipeds and quadrupeds alike—but Leora has not. She stops and leans over the rusty rim. She cups her hands in the tub and laughs, splashing her face and then splashing me with what’s left.
“Running water!” she cries, as if we’ve uncovered the fountain of youth. Droplets cling to her eyelashes and highlight the wisps of hair twining out of her bun. I can’t help but laugh with her as she cups more water and drinks.
She leans back and sighs. “Least the EMP’s taught us not to take anything for granted.”
I stand beside Leora, drinking her in. “Isn’t that the truth.”
We pass beneath the bridge supporting the railroad tracks, and a shadow moves above us. I step to the side, drawing my gun. Pigeons screech, beating their wings against the cages the city once set to contain them. Now I am sure those traps are set for entirely different reasons. I wish I had a flashlight. The screeching goes quiet, and the silence is more disturbing than the noise had been. A small person—perhaps a teenager?—jumps from the ledge of the bridge down onto the road. The tails of his khaki trench coat sweep the ground, and the cage with the dead pigeons clangs in his hand. He sees us then—this boy, wearing as much dirt as he is clothes—and then he sees my gun. I lower it, and he runs off with the soles of his sneakers flashing in the gathering dark. Leora and I are both too invulnerable to surprise to make a fuss about a teenager eating pigeons, but I notice she walks a little closer to me, in case. Above us, on the hillside to the right, is government housing, each of the slapdash, one-story buildings made from tan brick. Behind them are the factories: nothing but empty boxes punctured by smokestacks.
We walk past this sketchy section of Liberty, and then past the gas stations and pawn shops with bars bolted over the windows, old motels with marquees hawking everything from hot breakfasts to outdoor pools. The fairgrounds are across from Motel 6, and as soon as I see the grounds themselves, I know that everything in town looks deserted because it is. The tents are here; the families are here; but the fence and gates are locked down tight.
Leora asks, “This the right place?”
I look over, not sure what to say. “Yes.”
Panic lurches through her voice. “How do we get in?”
Even from this distance, I can see the ominous shape of the guards standing in watchtowers overlooking the land, and more guards standing in front of the gates—which I entered and exited just two weeks ago—prepared to open fire with one wrong move.
I tell Leora, “The main trouble is that it looks like nobody can get out.”
We stand on Main Street, looking right and left, but everything looks abandoned. Leora points out Friendly’s Garage, and I see it: the barrel of a rifle nosing through the broken front window. “I’ll talk to him,” I say. The owner, Snake, lunges forward as I approach, reminding me of the reptile for whom he’s nicknamed, striking against the confines of his crate.
“I come in peace,” I say, hands up.
“Hey.” He lifts his chin. “I know you. You’re from the warehouse.”
“I was.” I look around. “You know where everybody’s at?”
“Depends,” he says. “Who’s asking?”
I glance at him. “Probably depends more on who’s offering.”
A smile moves across his face. “That too.”
The currency of commerce has changed. Where before I would’ve offered cash, I now can offer just about anything but. I reach into my boot and pull out the hunting knife I’ve been carrying with me since I was a kid. I give it to Snake. He turns and tosses it on his desk, piled with items, maybe all confiscated from people like me, searching for someone.
“Got anything else?” he says.
“That’s all I have.”
He nods. Waits. When I don’t budge, he says, “They rounded them up.”
“Who did they round up? The people?”
“Who else?”
“They put them in the fairgrounds?”
“Yeah.”
“Who moved them?”
He spreads his hands. “I don’t know that either. All I know’s they came in a line. At night. Army trucks, back to back.”
“Like . . . a convoy?”
He nods. “I watched it all from here.”
“Who were they?”
“I already told you. I don’t know.”
“Were they old trucks? New trucks?”
“They looked like regular, tan Army trucks. Our Army trucks.”
I stare at Snake, trying to comprehend how a fleet of military vehicles could be running if the electromagnetic pulse affected our entire nation. “Sounds like martial law.”
He shakes his head. “There didn’t sound much lawful about it.”
Leora
Moses and I wait on the warehouse’s front stoop. The town of Liberty spreads before us like a black canvas, clouds erasing moon and stars, making it hard to gauge the depth of anything.
“Just think,” I murmur. “Somewhere out there, a family could be eating supper. With a fruit salad and vegetables on the table. Tap water in clean glasses. The entire room lit by electricity.” I pause, the fantasy fading. “But if life’s good somewhere, why aren’t we hearing anything?”
Moses says, “Maybe they don’t want us to. Desperate people are easier to control.”
Before I can reply, the dead bolts click. Moses and I turn. The door opens. Sal’s grandmother, Papina, steps out carrying a prayer candle, earrings swaying in her stretched lobes. She loo
ks between Moses and me, and then reaches out as if to touch his face. He flinches but holds steady until she withdraws her hand. “Papina,” he begins, “I know you’ve taken a vow of silence. But can you please break it this once to tell us what’s going on at the fairgrounds?”
For a full minute, Papina says nothing—just stares out at the dark—and I am certain she will refuse to answer, even though there is so much at stake.
Then she coughs dryly into her fist and surprises me by speaking. “All I know’s the soldiers didn’t want me and Colton ’cause we can’t work.”
“Who are they?” Moses asks.
Papina shrugs.
He continues, “Were they wearing any kind of uniform?”
“They were wearing a uniform like my grandson’s,” she replies. “Black.”
Moses and I look at each other. He says, “The ARC.”
Papina looks between us, her wrinkles deepening. “Who’s that?”
I hold her gaze and catch a glimpse of the scared woman beneath the eccentric guise, meant to keep people at bay. “I wouldn’t stay around here, Papina, or you’re bound to find out.”
Leora
WE PREPARE TO LEAVE the warehouse before it is even light: Moses, to leave for the airport; I, for the compound. Papina won’t let me take Colton. I won’t fight her for him, though the separation makes me physically ache as if Colton were also mine. But, I remind myself, he’s not. Therefore I pass the sleep-warm child to Papina. She nods at me, cradling his head against her. I ask, the same as I asked my vadder all those months ago, “You sure you won’t come with us?”
The Divide Page 18
