Astray (Gated Sequel)

by Amy Christine Parker

  Still.

  Beside Mom, my dad looks a bit lost and confused. There’s something sure in my mom’s expression that’s lacking in his, but his eyes are trained on the doors too. Beyond them I can see my Intended, Will, and my old friends Brian, Heather, and Julie. Will’s eyes pass over me without stopping. I let out a breath for what feels like the first time since I saw everyone. If my best friend—the boy I was supposed to marry—doesn’t know it’s me, no one else will either. Brian glares in my direction and my heart squeezes a bit in my chest, but then I realize that he’s glaring at everyone, not me specifically. He’s lost the most out of all of us. His Intended, Marie, and his dad both died the day of the raid—Marie inside the Silo and his dad outside on the development wall defending it. Brian doesn’t blame Pioneer for their deaths. He blames me and the sheriff and every single Outsider that was at the raid.

  Brian’s eyes settle on the people just in front of him now. I follow his gaze to a group of people standing there. They’ve got their hands up around their mouths, barely disguising the smirks on their faces as they stare at Brian and the others. I watch as Brian gets off his knees and puffs out his chest. I move forward to get a better look. He says something and the deputy closest to where he is turns around, shakes his head at him. The smirkers start to laugh and I see another deputy move in to flank the group. Brian’s chin juts out and his eyes narrow even more. He’s always had a temper, but now it’s like he’s about to blow. What if he loses it and tries something? If the deputy has to subdue him, the rest of the Community will rush to Brian’s defense. This could get bad fast. I clear my throat and prepare to yell, but then I don’t know who to warn—the deputy, the smirkers, or Brian.

  Before I can make a sound, a guy a little older than Brian steps up behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder. Even though he isn’t from the Community, Brian doesn’t shrug him off. I study the man a little closer. He seems to know Brian and the others. None of them seem very concerned that he’s standing with them. I don’t understand it. They’ve shunned all of the Outsiders as much as possible, even the counselors. Who is he?

  He’s dressed in camouflage pants and a thick black coat. His hair is close-cropped. Everything about him says military to me. Is he somehow with the deputies? But then I notice the way he’s looking at them, his body squared off like he’s expecting them to attack Brian too. He doesn’t like the deputies either.

  Cody follows my gaze and stares at the guy next to Brian and the five or so other guys also dressed in camo who are now beside him. “Those Freedom Rangers are kind of an intense-looking bunch, aren’t they?”

  I nod. They certainly look more hardcore than I thought they would.

  The sheriff’s mentioned this militia group several times, and every time his face looked pinched like he swallowed something bitter. They call themselves a civil liberties group, but the sheriff said most of them are “nothing more than a bunch of cowboy wannabes,” big on guns and making their own rules. I’m not sure if he’s right. I also heard that when they showed up after the raid on our development made national headlines, they came armed with both laptops and guns. They spent the first few days setting up a web page and blog for the Community where they asked people to donate what they could to help get the group back on its feet. They managed to raise enough money in the first four weeks after the raid hit the papers to rent a large section of farmland on the outskirts of town, put a bunch of used mobile homes on it for everyone to live in, hire a lawyer to help get Brian, Julie, Will, and the others out of the foster homes that the state put them in, and raise some money for Pioneer’s defense.

  I’m surprised that Pioneer and the others would let Outsiders support them. We were always taught to avoid Outsiders at all costs. Now my friends and family are standing shoulder to shoulder with some.

  “Wonder how comfortable your, um, group is with having them camp out with them on the same land … since they’re Outsiders and all.” Cody keeps studying them, his eyes squinting against the sunrise. It’s funny how closely his thoughts echo mine.

  Cody’s never once used the word “cult” to describe the Community, even though every other Outsider I’ve met has. I’ve never told him that I don’t like the term, that just saying it makes me feel like my throat is closing up, but somehow he must sense it. Whenever I notice him being careful with his words, it makes me want to kiss him. He doesn’t manage it all the time—like earlier when he called Julie an idiot, but he tries and that’s enough. I lean into him, then remember my manly disguise and smile at him instead, but I’m not sure he can see it through my beard.

  I go back to studying the Rangers. I’ll get to see them up close this week when I go visit my parents. Mrs. Rosen scheduled our next session in their new “home” to see if I can start to feel comfortable there. Her goal is to have me begin living with my parents again before next summer. Will and all the other kids from the Community were given back to their parents right after the Rangers hired that lawyer and the foster-care people determined that the only immediate threat to them was Pioneer. I’m the only one who didn’t want to go back. I still don’t.

  I shift from one foot to the other. Cody glances at his watch. “They’re running late. Probably because of the crowd,” he says. I blow on my frozen fingers and nod.

  In the space between the Community and where Cody and I are standing is a crowd of news people. So far most of them have been wandering around, talking on phones and sipping at Styrofoam cups full of coffee, but all at once they start rushing around. The cameramen hoist cameras over their shoulders.

  The deputies in front of them put their hands up. “Stay behind the barricades!” they shout almost in unison.

  From behind the reporters there’s a short burst of sirens as an ambulance pulls up to the sidewalk. Pioneer will have to go right by the press and us to get to it. I’ll be almost close enough to reach out and touch him if I want to. My heart starts beating a little faster and I clench my teeth to keep them from chattering. He’ll be brought out any minute now.

  Across from us my friends and family stand in unison and burst into a chant, the one we said just before every meal and meeting in Mandrodage Meadows.

  The Brethren will save us.

  Pioneer guides and protects us.

  We will look to them alone

  In all that we do

  In all that we say

  In all that we believe.

  Their faces are upturned toward the hospital doors and I realize mine is too. My lips are mouthing the words with them. Cody gapes at me. I joined in without even knowing I was doing it. I dip my chin and glance around to make sure that no one else saw me, but all eyes are on the Community. Several people shake their heads, give the Community lots of space like maybe if they touch them they’ll catch whatever it is that they have and start chanting too; others start to laugh. From somewhere close by I hear two women talking.

  “They’re certifiably insane. Didn’t I tell you? And we’re supposed to allow our kids to be exposed to that?” She makes a disgusted sound. “They won’t get within five feet of our boys if I can help it.”

  I turn around to see who’s talking. It’s a woman in a brown quilted coat with a white knit scarf wound tightly around her neck. Her face is red from cold, anger, lack of air, or all three. The woman with her is nodding absently, her eyes still glued to the Community. She looks scared to death.

  I grimace. All of the kids from the Community—me included—are set to begin Outsider school tomorrow. Culver Creek High. I’d been wondering why no one tried to make us go earlier. Now I guess I know. The Outsiders don’t like us either. Interesting.

  As soon as the Community members say the last line, they start the chant over again. The news crews train their cameras on them, and several reporters start talking into their microphones in hushed tones I can’t quite make out. By the time the chant gets repeated for a third time, the air feels charged in the same way it does before a wicked thunderstorm.


  The hospital doors open and Cody’s dad, Sheriff Crowley, appears, surrounded by five deputies. They linger in the doorway a minute eyeing the crowd. Finally two of the deputies trot up to join the ones holding the news people and everyone else at bay. The crowd presses into them. The Freedom Rangers start shouting.

  “No raid without cause!”

  “Owning firearms is American, police brutality is not!”

  They seem to have their own chants too.

  “Deluded—the bunch of them,” Cody says under his breath. “Dad didn’t open fire, their so-called victims did.”

  I don’t know what to say to this. Part of me still has this knee-jerk need to defend my Community. We weren’t trying to hurt people. We were trying to protect ourselves. But then I think about our target practices, about the men destroying all of our animals—my horse Indy—before we went into the Silo, about Pioneer locking me in the Silo’s cell and murdering Marie, and I wish they’d raided us sooner. How long before I stop having to remind myself of all this? How long before I’ll be free?

  There’s more movement by the hospital’s doors. I can see a group of people silhouetted behind the glass now.

  It’s time.

  The doors open wide one more time and a line of deputies comes out. The sheriff watches as they pass him and then he falls into step behind them. As they get closer, I get my first glimpse of Pioneer. He’s in a wheelchair. His hair has gone from salt and pepper to almost completely white in only a few months. He’s thinner than he used to be, almost skeletal. It should make him look frail, but instead it makes him look fierce. His eyes are flashes of fire against the gray of his skin, which is stretched so tight across his face and neck that it makes him seem over-alert. He smiles when he sees Will and the others.

  I study Pioneer’s chest. I can’t see the bandages underneath the blankets wrapped around him. I wish that I could. I shot him twice. In the chest. At close range. The bullets missed his heart by only millimeters. He should be dead. He should have died before he ever made it to the hospital. Every doctor and nurse said so. They wouldn’t come right out and call it a miracle, but I think sometimes even they wonder if it was. I want to see the wound, to place my fingers on it and feel the puckering skin and stitches. I need to prove to myself that he’s every bit as human as I am. But instead I’m trying to imagine the wounds, trying to see past the robe-like effect of the blankets that have him looking exactly like a prophet should.

  “Pioneer!” A chorus of calls goes up from the reporters. I wish they wouldn’t call him that too.

  Pioneer looks directly at the cameras. He smiles softly, almost shyly. He folds his hands in his lap and nods as if giving them the okay to ask him questions. His hands are cuffed. I hadn’t noticed at first. Pioneer fiddles with the metal around his wrists.

  I watch as Cody’s dad tries to hurry Pioneer’s wheelchair forward. The wheel has caught on the sidewalk and they have to tilt the chair to maneuver it forward. I can tell by the set of the sheriff’s jaw that he wants this transfer over with.

  “Pioneer!” a woman in a long black coat yells from beside a line of cameramen and deputies. “Your deadline for the end of the world passed over a month ago. What happened?” There’s laughter from the crowd now, mocking grins.

  Pioneer’s smile slips just a little. It’s so slight a change that I’m not sure anyone else has noticed. He stares the woman down for a half second longer than is comfortable for her—or anyone else—before he speaks. “Precisely what should have happened.”

  This isn’t the answer anyone was expecting, I think, because suddenly it’s quiet.

  “The end began. The betrayal of one of my own, the raid, the deaths that followed, all of this was part of the Brethren’s plan.” He chuckles a little as if he can’t believe how stupid she is. “My family is about to face a time of great persecution. I’m about to be thrown in their jail. They’ve labeled all of us as crazy.” He turns so that he’s looking at my parents and the others. “So they can bury the truth with their lies. They’re trying to take me from you. They think it will make you weak. They think you’ll be easier to corrupt. The Brethren are letting it happen. They’re waiting to see what you’ll do. But I can see that you still believe. I’ve all but risen from the dead, haven’t I? I’m a bona fide miracle.”

  The sheriff starts rolling him forward again, but Pioneer plants both feet on the ground, stopping the chair. “Family, keep your faith in me! Cling to the truth. Don’t let them deceive you like they did our Little Owl.”

  The sheriff and two deputies get in Pioneer’s face and yell at him to put his feet up. The Community presses closer to the deputies who are trying to keep a space between them and Pioneer. The deputies hold their ground, but barely. Most of the Community is crying and reaching for Pioneer. I see more than one of the deputies put their hands on their guns.

  Cody puts his hand on my back. Around us people start jostling to the left, moving in toward Pioneer for a closer look. From somewhere behind me a woman protests loudly. “Hey! Stop pushing. Back up!”

  “Don’t listen to the lies they feed you about me, brothers and sisters! Stay strong in your beliefs. Lean on one another.” Pioneer settles back into his chair as if he’s the one who’s decided that it’s time to move forward.

  I’m closer to him now, pressed up against the deputy in front of me, my chin resting just above his outstretched arm. I didn’t mean to get this close, but the people behind me keep squishing me forward. Once again, the deputy yells at them to get back.

  Without warning, Pioneer’s face swivels in my direction. He stares straight at me and I forget to breathe. I can’t move. The whole world disappears and it’s just his face, those eyes staring directly into mine.

  “Little Owl,” he says.

  Oh, please, no.

  “Clear the path. Now!” the sheriff shouts, oblivious to what’s happening between Pioneer and me. I bite my lip and try to wiggle away from the deputy’s arm, try to find a way to blend back into the crowd before Pioneer can do anything.

  “I see you, Lyla Hamilton! Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you? I’d know you anywhere, child,” Pioneer calls out, and I freeze. “I forgive you for what you did to me. Someday soon you will realize your error and I will take you back into the circle of my arms. You’re mine, Little Owl. It’s not too late to ask for my forgiveness. Your family won’t give up on you. I won’t give up on you. We love you and love never gives up.” His chair is moving forward now, but he’s turned slightly so he can keep looking at me.

  The cameramen sweep their cameras across the crowd in an attempt to find me. The sheriff’s managed to keep my name out of the papers until now. I look over at him. He’s searching the crowd too, his face white with anger, his mouth pressed in a tight line.

  This was a mistake. I need to leave. Right now.

  Pioneer raises both arms in my direction and opens his bound hands, palms up. He curls his fingers, motioning me forward, his face radiant with the promise of forgiveness. The people around me follow the path his arms suggest and their eyes land on me.

  “Is that her? The girl who shot him?”

  “That’s not a guy.”

  “He said ‘Little Owl.’ That’s what he called her, right?”

  People are murmuring all around me.

  I might not have been recognized after Pioneer called me out, but sometime between Pioneer mouthing my name and his speech I started whimpering.

  “Lyla …,” someone calls from across the sidewalk. I don’t look over at my family and friends, but I can feel them staring at me.

  The sheriff gives one grim look in my direction before he pushes Pioneer forward and barrels toward the waiting cavalcade of vehicles ready to escort Pioneer to the jail. The crowd around me starts to press in closer. I lean into Cody to keep from falling and he grabs my elbow and tries to move me so that he’s between me and most of the crowd. I can see some of the cameramen and reporters fighting at the edges, making
their way over. The deputy in front of me tilts his head and listens to a voice coming from the black thing attached to his shoulder. He grabs my hand. “This way. Quick!”

  He pulls me out onto the sidewalk where Pioneer just was. We head for the hospital at a run. Cody follows. From behind me I can hear my name being called, shouted from every direction like an accusation.

  Believe in me and live. Those who don’t are surely lost and doomed to death.

  —Pioneer

  THREE

  Once we’re safely inside the hospital, Cody wraps me in his arms. I bury my face in his chest. It’s only when several people walk by with raised eyebrows and one of them gives us the thumbs-up sign that I remember that I still look like a guy. I take a step away from Cody and pull off my beard. Cody’s face goes red all over as he helps me.

  “What were you thinking?” the deputy who brought us in asks Cody. He’s breathing hard.

  “Take it easy, Chad,” Cody says, but he looks rattled too.

  “Yeah, well, your dad’s gonna hit the roof over this one.” Chad shakes his head. He puts his hands on his hips and walks to the doors to look out at the crowd. The vehicle that took Pioneer to jail is gone. It must have left as soon as we ran inside. But it seems as if the crowd outside hasn’t thinned at all. It’s like they’re waiting for something. Then it hits me. They’re waiting to see if I’ll come back out. I can’t see Will or my parents, but I feel like they’re looking for me, studying the building.

  The doors open again to let in another deputy. The sound of people singing follows him in. The tune is childlike and campfire-sing-along cheery, but it makes me shiver. We all fall silent at the same time and listen.

  Come back to the fold. Come back to the fold.

  There’s not much time before your body goes cold.

  The end is here, and he wants his sheep home.

  There’s no safe place for you to roam.

  Come back to the fold. Come back to the fold.