“Okay, Pioneer, then.” The interviewer gives him an indulgent half smile. “If we could, I’d like to start by having you tell us what the Community is all about.” He leans forward until his elbows rest on the table, steeples his fingers beneath his chin, and stares at Pioneer. It makes him look concerned. I wonder if he really does care, or if he’s watching the clock while Pioneer talks. Are Outsiders immune to Pioneer in a way that everyone in the Community isn’t?
“Well, first off, let me say that I am grateful that you gave me an opportunity to tell my side of things. Up until now the police and the government have done all the talking, and I think folks have giant misconceptions about me and my family,” Pioneer says with more country twang to his voice than usual … than ever.
“We built Mandrodage Meadows just after 9/11. I met a fine group of people around that time who were as fearful about the direction that the world seemed to be heading in as I was. Every single one of us was concerned about bringing up our children in a place so rife with violence and destruction. We wanted to feel safe again. It wasn’t long before we figured out that if we pooled our resources we could make our dreams come true. We could build a place where we could depend on one another, grow our own food, bring our children up in the sort of wholesome atmosphere that didn’t exist at that time—or in this one, for that matter. It’s that simple. I think most people fantasize about doing something similar, but for whatever reason never follow through. I was just lucky enough to find others as committed as I was. I have always felt blessed to have them.”
“But isn’t it true that you yourself don’t have a family? You were an only child.” The interviewer peers at a stack of cards in front of him. “Born to a mom, one Annabelle Cross, who neglected you enough that the authorities were called on multiple occasions? She was a dancer in a gentlemen’s club and left you alone at night? Your father wasn’t around?” He asks his questions in a pleasant, curious voice that contradicts their bluntness.
I didn’t know Pioneer’s mom was like that. Weirdly, I’ve never even considered that he had parents, though obviously he did. He never, ever talked about them, but I never saw it as strange, because none of us talked about the people we left behind when we moved to Mandrodage Meadows. If you weren’t part of the Community, you didn’t exist.
Pioneer tilts his head a bit. He stares at the man for a full minute without answering. He’s smiling, but it’s forced. I know that look. It’s the one he always got whenever one of us stepped out of line and needed to be punished. I lean forward and hold my breath.
“I don’t have blood relations in the Community, that’s true, but friends can become one’s family over time, can’t they? The people of Mandrodage Meadows are my family, blood or not. Our shared destinies bind us together.” He doesn’t respond to the bit about his mom.
“And did your family know that you had a criminal record when they moved out west with you?”
Pioneer’s smile is frozen. He had to know that the interviewer would bring it up. Isn’t it a reporter’s job to get the whole story? But it doesn’t look like he did. It looks like he expected this interview to go in an entirely different direction.
“My record is irrelevant. The truth is we wanted to be alone. We were content to be alone. We impacted the towns nearby as little as possible with our presence. Not once in all the years that we lived in Mandrodage Meadows did we take government assistance or sponge off of anyone else. So to have the government, and everyone else for that matter, target us—me—in the manner they have is just … well, terrifying.” He hangs his head a bit, his mouth drooping downward. When he looks up again, his eyes are shimmering with tears.
“But if you are so peaceful, why all the guns? The police report says that following the raid they recovered over eighty rifles and the materials needed to convert at least a third of those rifles into fully automatic weapons.”
Pioneer’s sad look slips just a little. “The rifles were used mainly for hunting. We were never going to convert them to automatics. We had the necessary permits. You have to understand that twenty families lived out there. Most of those made up of at least four people. We wanted to have at least one gun for every person. This way everyone learns to protect themselves from wild animals and such … and to provide for each other equally. There’s a measure of security that being comfortable handling guns can give a person.”
“So having all of those guns made all of you feel safer?” the interviewer prompts.
Pioneer glares at him. “Every family out there was touched by tragedy in some way. Tragedy perpetrated by someone else, tragedy that could have been avoided if they’d only known how to defend themselves. So yes, feeling safer was part of it. And it should be obvious after what the police and ATF did—taking our children for a time, raiding our homes—that their fears for their safety weren’t unwarranted.”
“And being led by a man with a criminal record for assault helped them to feel safer too?” the interviewer asks.
“That was a long time ago. I am not that man anymore. I found my purpose, to care for these people, and it changed me.” He leans forward and I can actually hear his chains scrape across the small table.
“And the additional parts for the fully automatic weapons? Where did they fit in?”
“Several of the men in the Community attended gun shows from time to time, and one of the ways we made a living was buying used gun components, fixing them up, and reselling them online.” He moves closer to the camera until his face takes up most of the screen. “We had nothing to hide. We still don’t. Lots of people make a living that way.”
“But that wasn’t the only charge against you. There were the allegations of child endangerment and abuse. Can you speak to that?”
The sheriff looks over at me, but I keep my eyes glued to the TV. I don’t want to miss what they say by trying to reassure the sheriff that I’m holding up okay.
Pioneer scooches back in his chair again and runs a hand across his heart. “There wasn’t any child endangerment.”
“Really?”
“No. There was just one very confused girl and an extremely inept sheriff who didn’t like us and who was looking for any excuse to get rid of us. Do you know that he made several trips to our development before that raid ever took place? There were only two visits from deputies to our Community over the first seven years that we lived out there, before the current sheriff was elected into office. Two. After he was elected, there was at least one every year. The last two occurring within the same year. He brought his son out on that last one—whom he has been grooming to become a deputy himself and who is about the same age as every kid in our Community. It’s odd that after his son came around, one of our girls suddenly started to doubt our way of life. If the sheriff truly thought we were dangerous, why on earth would he bring his son anywhere near us? Does that sound like good parenting to you?”
I look over at the sheriff. His jaw is clenched, and the muscles in his neck are taut. If he could attack the television and somehow hurt Pioneer, I think he would.
“Then, at just about that same time our girl goes into town, the sheriff’s son shows up again to follow her around and—here’s where it really gets suspicious—she’s hit by a car just after he finds her and ends up in the hospital overnight, where both the sheriff and his boy visit her several times. I believe that they used that moment, when she was vulnerable and scared and away from home, to convince her that somehow her own family was out to harm her. I had my family do a little digging and have found out that the woman that hit our girl was the grandmother of one of the sheriff’s most loyal deputies. Now, don’t that just seem like the mother of all coincidences?”
The sheriff practically leaps out of his chair. “You sorry sack of—” Cody’s mom puts a hand on his arm and he remembers where he is. “Dog crap. Everyone’s related to someone else around here. No way to avoid it in a town this small,” he finishes irritably, and Cody’s mom relaxes. She’s big on keepi
ng everyone’s language toned down because she knows I’m not used to hearing it. This is usually most challenging for Cody’s dad.
The lady that hit me was related to one of his deputies? No one told me this. Is Pioneer lying?
“Is what he said—about the lady that hit me—true?” I ask. They turn to look at me, their faces somehow guilty, and I regret asking, because it’s obvious Pioneer is telling the truth. Why didn’t they tell me this? I thought that bad language was the extent of what they hid from me, but now I’m not so sure.
“He questions our poor girl in spite of her concussion,” Pioneer says. “Then he asks her mother to leave them alone to talk. Doesn’t take a genius to see what he was up to.”
“I see. So why did he decide to target you, do you think?”
“Because he doesn’t understand us or our way of life, and like a lot of people in this country, he wants to control what he doesn’t understand. Freedom of speech and religion are fine as long as it’s a speech and religion that everybody’s okay with. We know that the way we choose to live is not the way most of you out there would commit to living. We aren’t asking for your blessing, just your tolerance. Isn’t that what this country’s supposed to be about? Tolerating a variety of ideas and beliefs? I don’t keep you from sending your children to public school or going to the church of your choice. But I’m supposed to just lie down and let the sheriff and people like him decide that I am a threat with evidence so flimsy that no person in their right mind would believe it? I’m supposed to watch these men march on my home and my family with guns in hand and not feel the need to defend them? I’m supposed to believe that my family will be safe in their custody when the actual act of entering into their custody means that we’ll be separated from each other by people we don’t even recognize as having any authority over us?”
A man’s hand appears on-screen next to Pioneer and taps his shoulder. Pioneer looks up at him, his eyes wild. I can hear the man murmur something but can’t make it out. Pioneer takes a measured breath.
“That’s all I’ll say about that.” I think he looks like he’d love to say much, much more. His lips are pressed so tight that they turn white.
The interviewer looks at his notes once more. “You just mentioned your beliefs. Is it true that you and your family—as you call them—felt that the end of the world was near? And that you were planning to seal yourselves underground around the time that the raid occurred, with the hope that an alien race you call the Brethren would be coming to help you rebuild the earth after they destroyed it?”
Pioneer looks off-camera a minute, then answers. “Along with many, many other people around the world, yes, we felt—and continue to feel—that the end of the world is at hand.”
“But the date you gave your people wasn’t correct, was it?”
“On the contrary, it signaled the end of peaceful times for us and the beginning of a period of extreme persecution that will precede the genuine end. And as you can see, that is indeed taking place.”
“Very convenient, don’t you think?” the interviewer asks half under his breath.
Pioneer’s glare is deadly. “No, I don’t. I think our version of time is very different from the kind of time that the Brethren experience.”
“Well then, have your Brethren given you a new date?”
Pioneer’s smile stretches the way an alligator’s does right before it clamps down on its prey. “It won’t matter if you know the date. You won’t survive it. Not if you don’t repent and believe me.”
“But you believe that your Community will?”
“Of course.”
“You’ve lost a member since the raid, right? The girl that helped capture you? What about her? Is she still Chosen, or is she in danger like the rest of us?”
“She’s in danger,” Pioneer says directly to the camera, to me. “I don’t want her to be, but when she left, she forfeited her safety. The Brethren will only spare believers. The truth is that I’m hoping that she’ll be watching this interview. In fact, it’s the only reason I decided to do it. I want her to know that she can still come home. I want her to come home.” His eyes seem to bore into mine. It makes my skin crawl. “Before it’s too late.” He hums the song the others sang to me at the hospital. I can hear it plain as day. My heart beats faster. My brain supplies the words, sung in Julie’s cheerily empty voice.
Come back to the fold. Come back to the fold,
There’s not much time before your body goes cold.…
The interviewer is silent for a moment; he seems to be surprised by the humming. “And what do you say to your Community about the murder you’re being charged with? Of the girl found in the shelter?”
He ignores this question. “This time is meant to be a season of purification for my family.” He leans closer to the camera so that his face is large on the screen. “Brothers and sisters, be strong. Don’t let them turn each of us against the other. Cling together. This is your chance to prove your worthiness for what’s to come. You’ve seen your sister fall. Do you see how easy it is to lose your faith? Little Owl lost it in a matter of weeks. Don’t be deceived and think that you aren’t in danger as well. You live among them now. Your children go to their schools. In the coming months your faith will be under constant attack. If you falter even just a little, you will be lost. For now, you are still under the Brethren’s protection, but it’s time to mark yourselves so the whole world will know that you won’t be misled. The Brethren demand it, and so do I.”
He puts his hands up to his face and then slowly, meaningfully rubs them across his scalp. “Show these Outsiders where your loyalties lie. Show them that we aren’t afraid of their sheriff and their government and their laws and all of their lies. We are beyond their rules. They do not govern us; I do. Give them a visible sign.”
He wants everyone to shave their heads like he has. My hand goes into my own hair. The women too? I can’t imagine it. Maybe I’m vain, but the thought of getting rid of my hair makes me sick to my stomach. I wonder if the rest of the Community is watching this interview right now. He obviously thinks they are. Will they do it? My parents? Will? Heather and Julie, who each carried brushes with them around the compound to make sure their hair was always silky? Will they give up their hair for him?
Pioneer’s voice is getting louder now and it interrupts my thoughts, snaps me back to the interview.
“You need to make it plain where your loyalties lie, because bad things are coming. Keep yourselves pure, family! Remember who you are! Show them. Show me that you believe.”
“They won’t do it. They can’t,” Cody says softly.
“Can you imagine them around town like that? Kate and the others will have a field day. And the trial …,” Cody’s mom says, her voice trailing off.
“Will become a circus,” the sheriff grumbles. He stands up. “We have just one more day to prepare for this mess, and after this, I’ll need to call in some extra guys to back us up.” He starts to walk from the room, but hesitates when he gets close to me. “We didn’t tell you about the lady that hit you and her connection to the office because it didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. It’s a small town. Practically everyone can claim some distant relation to everyone else around here. There was never any plan to have you hit. We don’t work like that, Lyla. I hope you can see that.” And then he does something unexpected. He hugs me. “All of this is going to get worse before it gets better, but you’re not alone. Don’t let him rattle you. You know who he is, and after you testify, everyone else will too.”
Everyone except the Community, I want to add. They won’t believe a word I say. And after what happened with Kate earlier, I’m not sure any other Outsiders will either. But I hug him back anyway and nod because I know he wants me to. He looks so tired. The last thing he needs on top of everything else is to be worried about me.
The normal life I was so sure was mine feels like it’s quickly slipping from my fingers. It’s as if there is an invisib
le chain still tethering me to Pioneer and the Community. If I don’t figure out a way to escape it soon, I might never be able to.
If you’re going to do something, do it well. And leave something witchy.
—Charles Manson, leader of the Manson Family
SIXTEEN
Cody’s walkie-talkie is lying on my pillow when I wake up the next morning. I don’t remember fishing it out from under the bed, but I do remember having the same nightmare about Pioneer again and screaming into my pillow just loud enough to wake Taylor and not the others. I look over at her empty bed. She moved down to the sofa again without saying a word. I’m not even sure she was all the way awake when she left. I stretch and hold the walkie-talkie up in front of me. Cody probably isn’t up yet—it’s too early still—but I switch it on anyway, hoping I’ll be wrong.
The static sound is still disconcerting. I press the button down. “FX? Are you there?” I hold it close to my ear. Wait. After a minute of silence, I try again. “Cody?” I take my finger off the button and the static softens, stops. I smile. He’s up.
Someone starts to sing. And it isn’t Cody.
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 I want my sheep home.
There’s no safe place for you to roam.…
A whimper escapes my mouth before I clamp my lips shut. Pioneer is on the other walkie-talkie, but how? It can’t be him unless … he escaped somehow?
I scramble out of bed. If he’s using the walkie-talkie, he’s somewhere close by. The others got into the house before, when they left the owl. They could be helping Pioneer do it again. Somebody made sure that the walkie-talkie was on my pillow. I walk over to the door and peer out into the hallway. It’s dark and quiet. I can’t tell if it’s because everyone’s still sleeping or because Pioneer’s already inside. I run over to the window, slowly lift the curtain and look outside. I almost scream when I see someone staring back at me before I realize that it’s just my reflection. I press my face to the glass. It’s still dark, but not so dark that I can’t see the yard below. No one’s there.
Astray (Gated Sequel) Page 14
