by Tarah Benner
While Gideon and the rest of the cult remained free to grow their flock by whatever means necessary, keeping their corner of the world off the feds’ radar was a good thing. Lark knew that neither GreenSeed nor Homeland Security had abandoned their search completely, but the more time passed without them being found, the less likely it was that they would be.
Still, it was much harder to hit a moving target. Lark felt safe in their decision to leave, even though it meant saying goodbye to the Baileys.
Since the Southwest had been hit hardest by the drought, they had decided to head west and then chart a course north through New Mexico and Colorado. They’d harvested more than enough grains, potatoes, and legumes to get the Baileys through the winter, and they had plenty of seed left to distribute to the farmers they encountered along the way.
With any luck, they would be able to drop Conrad and the supercrops off in New Vail by the middle of October. Portia was due near the end of December, so they would have to wait out the winter until she and the baby were strong enough to travel.
Because there were so many of them, they decided to caravan with the Subaru and the old pickup that Soren, Axel, and Portia had found. They didn’t have much to pack. The few things Lark owned weren’t hers to begin with but were rather the old clothes that Katrina had loaned her. She was still wearing the same old pair of boots she’d escaped prison in, and they were so worn that the soles were beginning to separate from the uppers.
Part of Lark was sad that she didn’t have much to call her own, but another part of her found it freeing. As they left New Mexico behind and ventured north, there was no reason that she couldn’t start over and build a new life for herself — a life free from prison, Homeland Security, and crazy trad-life cults.
Walt was unemotional as they loaded the last few crates of seed potatoes into the bed of the pickup. Things had been tense between him and Soren for the past few days, but they shook hands one last time, and Katrina gave them each a big hug.
Lark knew the Baileys were sad to see them go, but it was too dangerous for them to stay with Gideon on the loose. She wished that one of Thompson’s police friends would be able to track him down and make him pay for his crimes, but she wasn’t hopeful. The Sons of David were like a hurricane — blowing out of town as quickly as they had come and leaving a path of destruction in their wake.
Unlike the last time, Lark didn’t have a bad feeling when they left the Baileys’ farm behind. After being abducted and having the Millers staying under the same roof, Lark felt a greater sense of security out on the open road.
Soren, Simjay, and Conrad drove the truck, while Lark, Bernie, Portia, and Axel took the Subaru. Lark knew that Axel would much rather have been riding in the truck with Soren, but there simply wasn’t room. Instead, he was sitting in the back seat with Lark and Denali while Bernie drove and Portia road shotgun. Her belly was expanding at an alarming rate, and she had proclaimed herself too much of a whale to be crammed into the back seat.
The first place they stopped was a small farm outside of Artesia, New Mexico. The tiny town was like another world altogether. The land was an arid blanket of dirt and desert grass superimposed against the anemic blue sky.
From the looks of things, the local economy had depended primarily on the oil and gas industry, and the enormous refinery in the middle of town had long since shut its doors. In fact, all of the businesses along the main drag had closed. Both gas stations on the corner of First and Main were out of fuel, and the windows of the all-night pancake house were dark.
As far as they could tell, most of the residents had up and moved to wherever they could find basic aid, but as they were leaving town, Axel had spotted a man walking along the road with a tattered army backpack.
The man, as it turned out, was Frank Douglas McCowin, a farmer who had lived in Eddy County for forty-seven years. He’d quit his job at the old refinery, gotten a loan for his dairy farm, and went bankrupt nearly twenty years later when he could no longer find enough land on which to graze his cattle.
The drought combined with overgrazing had reduced his land to a dust bowl, but he and his wife Maria had nowhere else to go. They’d sold off their water rights to pay their mortgage but had ended up defaulting just before the crash.
They were squatting on the land that the bank technically owned in a house that no longer had electricity or running water. Nobody had come to run them off, but their land was barren, and they had no hope of growing enough to feed themselves — let alone getting their farm back.
Frank was skeptical that the supercrops would grow on acreage that was so dry and inhospitable, but that didn’t stop him from offering them a place to stay and all the fuel he had to get them where they needed to go. Frank and Maria had been scrounging food wherever they could find it, but they fed Lark, Soren, and the others and tried to give them more for the road.
It startled Lark to see what desperate straits the McCowins were in. She had heard the story of farmers like them from Walt, but to see it playing out before her eyes almost exactly as he’d described was disturbing. It made her believe even more in what they were doing.
After their stint in Artesia, they moved on to Alamogordo, which Lark knew had been a major tourist destination before everything had gone to hell. It had the White Sands National Monument to the west, and they’d driven through a rugged range of desolate peaks known as the Sacramento Mountains.
She’d expected Alamogordo to look like a ghost town, but as they approached the main road, she was shocked to see people milling around.
“Holy shit,” said Bernie, leaning forward to take in the view.
The town looked just like any other town before the crash, only there were no vehicles and no working street lights. Half a dozen men and women were walking along the road, and all of them were dressed in military fatigues.
Lark’s heart beat a little faster. She slowed to a crawl and parked along the side of the road. Soren pulled the truck up behind her, and she sat motionless for several seconds, watching the people on the street.
Something wasn’t right. The two men closest to them had stopped to stare at their vehicles. Lark hurried to kill the engine, but one of them turned to say something to the other, and Lark felt a faint prickle of unease. So much for flying under the radar.
Clearly cars and trucks weren’t common in downtown Alamogordo, but the town still seemed to be functioning. People were walking down the sidewalk with sacks full of supplies, and one of the restaurants even looked open. A couple was sitting on the veranda drinking beer, and Lark wondered how the town could still be operational.
Lark saw Soren flash his brights. He pulled around, and she followed him down to the corner, where he turned off the main street. He pulled up alongside a building that had once been a dry cleaner’s and climbed out of the truck.
“What’s going on?” she asked as soon as he was within earshot.
Lark knew that they had a job to do, but being somewhere where there was clearly a military presence set her on edge.
“Conrad says we’re close to Holloman Air Force Base,” said Soren. “He thinks the military might have set up an emergency relief center there.”
No wonder the place was swimming in camo, Lark thought. “So that’s why the place isn’t dead like everywhere else?”
“Right.”
“What should we do?” she asked. “Move on?”
Soren hesitated. “I’m not sure. Conrad wants to visit the base and find out what’s going on. He says they might already be experimenting with new methods of growing food here. He seemed pretty excited.”
“I think we should git the hell outta here,” said Axel, climbing out of the Subaru and slamming the door behind him. “All these military people cain’t be a good thing. What if they’re in cahoots with Homeland Security? I ain’t gittin’ arrested just ’cause ya’ll wanna save the world.”
Soren ignored him. “Conrad still has connections in the air force. If he can get
a meeting with some of the higher-ups, we might be able to make a big impact here.”
“Clearly they’re doing all right without us!” said Axel, not taking kindly to being ignored.
“You don’t know that,” said Bernie, getting out to weigh in on the issue.
Ordinarily, Lark was sure that Portia would have had something to say, but she was fast asleep in the front seat, snoring like a chain saw.
“What if they remember him a little too well?” Lark asked, glancing back at the truck.
Simjay and Conrad got out to stretch their legs. Conrad seemed energized at the prospect of throwing his weight around at the air force base, and Simjay looked excited.
“What if they heard about Cheyenne Mountain?” Lark asked in a low voice.
Soren shrugged. “It’s always a possibility. I’m not sure how much oversight the air force has over Cheyenne Mountain now that Homeland Security has set up shop there.”
“I say we go for it,” said Bernie. “If anything seems fishy, we can always bolt.”
“You wanna try an’ outrun the air force?” said Axel. “That is the stupidest thing I ever heard.”
Lark hesitated. On the one hand, she knew that getting some face time with a high-ranking air force officer could make a huge impact on crop distribution. On the other, she knew that getting that close to a branch of the US military put them all at risk.
She could tell that Axel and Bernie were gearing up for a fight, so she pulled Soren off to the side to talk to him alone.
“What do you think?” she asked, glancing around at the deserted buildings to her right. There was an abandoned auto shop, a title company, and what looked like an antique store, but just around the corner, the town was still thriving.
“Honestly?” said Soren. “I think it’s worth a shot.”
Lark stared at him. She couldn’t tell if Soren was just doing this for her benefit or if he was really that enthusiastic about getting their crops to as many people as possible.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Because I don’t want you doing this all on my account.”
“Why not?” asked Soren, sounding genuinely surprised.
“It’s too risky.”
“It’s important to you,” said Soren. “That makes it worth the risk.”
Lark frowned.
“Besides . . . Conrad’s just as much a part of the group as any of us. I say if he wants to take point on this one, we should let him.”
Lark sighed. She’d gotten to know Conrad a little better over the past few months, and what she’d learned didn’t put her mind at ease. Conrad was brilliant, loyal, and had a good heart, but part of her still thought of him as the slightly unhinged ex-pilot with a death wish.
Lark hated the thought of Conrad exposing himself to all the higher-ups in the air force, but that was his choice. If he was willing to take the risk, she wasn’t going to stop him.
“All right,” she said finally, meeting Soren’s gaze. “But if anything seems off, we get the hell out of there.”
19
Lark
Lark’s anxiety ratcheted up a notch as they drove down I-70 toward Holloman Air Force Base. She, Soren, Simjay, and Conrad were driving the truck. Axel, Bernie, and Portia had decided to stay behind in the Subaru. Lark had left Denali in Bernie’s care — much to Denali’s displeasure. She would have felt better bringing him along, but she didn’t know if he would be allowed inside.
They passed a brick sign that told them they were entering a United States Air Force base, and a moment later, the main gate came into view. A small brick building was positioned to the left of the drive-up lanes, which were covered by a beige overhang. Threatening signs warned them that they would be detained if they failed to surrender their contraband, and Lark’s mind flashed to the handgun she had stashed under the seat.
“Shit,” said Soren, slowing to a crawl as they approached the drive-up. A man dressed in air force fatigues had just stepped out from the building, and he was signaling them to stop.
Lark could practically feel the tension radiating from Soren as he rolled down the window to speak to the guard. The man was wearing a pair of wraparound sunglasses that accentuated his square-shaped head, and Lark saw the name “Reyes” stitched along his chest. He was Hispanic, muscular, and built like a tank.
“Morning,” said Soren, trying his best to sound casual.
The man tipped his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and fixed them all with a suspicious glare.
“I.D.”
Soren hesitated. Lark knew that he didn’t have his driver’s license. None of them did.
“I’m sorry,” Soren choked. “I don’t have one.”
“Can’t let you in without an I.D.”
There was a brief pause, and Lark wanted to laugh. The world seemed to have ended, and they still needed to present I.D.?
“Seriously?” said Soren, looking around at the deserted buildings and desolate roads.
“This is a restricted area,” said Reyes. “What’s your business here?”
“Excuse me, Staff Sergeant Reyes,” said Conrad, leaning over the center console to get the man’s attention. “Colonel Kelly. I was last stationed at Peterson Air Force Base.”
“Good to meet you, Colonel,” said Reyes, his tone a touch more respectful than before.
“We’ve been through quite the ordeal,” Conrad continued. “A few of us lost everything, including our I.D.s, but we have information that could prove useful to you and your superiors.”
There was a long pause as Reyes considered Conrad’s words. He frowned and glanced over his shoulder as if looking for a colleague to consult, but they were alone at the gate.
Lark’s heart sank. He wasn’t going to let them through. This guy was the real deal — a rule-follower to the core.
“I can’t let you through without I.D.,” he said finally. “If you’re seeking refuge, we hold open registration every Tuesday and Thursday, but otherwise I can’t just let you in. This is a restricted area.”
“We aren’t seeking refuge,” said Conrad quickly. “We just need to speak to your commanding officers. I know you have to follow protocol, but this is urgent.”
Reyes hesitated, his eyes lingering on Soren’s burns before gliding over Lark and Simjay in the back. She could tell his curiosity was piqued and that he was torn between following orders and giving them a chance out of respect for Conrad.
“Tell you what,” he said. “I can’t let you through unsupervised, but I can escort you to the military personnel building to speak to Lieutenant Colonel Perry.”
“That would be wonderful,” said Conrad.
Reyes’s eyes bored into Simjay’s for a moment, and then he nodded. “Let me pull around.”
He gave Conrad a stiff salute, and Conrad returned it automatically.
Lark watched Reyes walk around the building with an inescapable sense of unease. She knew he was only doing his job, but she wasn’t sure that they could trust him. His orders were to protect the base. If he determined that he needed to protect it from them, there was no telling what he would do.
Reyes climbed into a white truck parked on the other side of the gate, and Lark saw the words “Security Forces” printed in blue letters along the bed. He picked up a radio and spoke to someone on the other end, frowning at whatever they said in return.
Lark’s anxiety intensified. This felt like a trap.
Soren pulled through the gate behind the truck, and every nerve in Lark’s body seemed to come alive. The four-lane road that wound around the base was utterly deserted. Dozens of staid red-and-tan buildings loomed in the distance, but the parking lots were mostly empty.
They followed Reyes to the military personnel building, where he pulled over and signaled for them to stop. Soren threw the truck into park, surveying the area with an uneasy expression. There was no one else around.
Lark felt self-conscious as s
he climbed out of the truck. She, Soren, and Simjay were all wearing long sleeves to hide their tattoos, and she’d let her hair down to soften her appearance. They figured the less they looked like a bunch of escaped convicts, the better.
“I wasn’t sure that the base would still be open,” said Conrad as Staff Sergeant Reyes led them toward the building. Clearly he didn’t feel intimidated in the presence of a fellow airman. Either that or he was really good at faking it.
Reyes nodded. “We shut down there for a while, but we’ve reopened as a federal relief center. The base is home to twice as many civilians as military personnel these days, but we’ve managed to keep it going.”
Conrad made a note of interest in the back of his throat, and neither Soren nor Simjay said a word. They, like Lark, seemed content to let Conrad do the talking.
“You all military?” Reyes asked, as if he’d just noticed their silence.
“No,” said Soren.
Lark and Simjay shook their heads.
“What brings you here?” That note of suspicion was back in full force. It set Lark on edge and made her regret their decision to place their trust in Reyes.
“Conrad is helping me find my family,” Simjay lied.
Reyes’s brows shot up, and he nodded in understanding. Clearly it wasn’t uncommon for people to be looking for their missing relatives.
“Same,” said Lark.
Reyes cleared his throat and turned to look at Soren. “What about you?”
“I don’t have any family,” Soren replied.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Reyes. And he genuinely sounded sorry.
A moment later, he pulled the door open, and they all filed inside. The interior of the building was just as stark and plain as the outside. The walls were all a dull tan color and were covered with a dozen or so framed pictures of air force generals. The floor was a speckled industrial tile, and a few rows of padded tan chairs were situated around the room.
