Seeds

by Chris Mandeville

  “Put away your weapons, everyone,” Garcia continued. “These men are our guests. We will have a feast in their honor! But first, we give thanks to the Lord.”

  The men murmured to each other, shrugging and shaking their heads, then they started filing out. Reid stared, not quite believing it.

  “Domingo, go tell your mother and your uncle,” Garcia said. “They’ll need time to cook the pozole.”

  Reid leaned close to Tinker. “Is this for real?”

  Tinker shrugged. “It’s what I was praying for.”

  “Please, come with me,” Garcia said.

  Reid and Tinker followed him out. It still felt like they were under guard, but at least the abundant weapons were holstered or pointed at the ground.

  They climbed the stairs at the front of the building. From the yawning double doorway of the church, women and children stared out at them. Feet scuffed on stone tile as the crowd pushed back to let them enter. Inside, the large room was cool, and Reid shivered as the sweat evaporated from his skin. He noted the colorful mural on the vaulted ceiling, the statues and stained glass windows lining the walls—he’d never seen a more beautiful room. He was surprised to find himself thinking it felt holy.

  He’d expected to see people sitting or kneeling with their heads bowed, but the rows of carved wooden pews were empty. Instead, everyone walked up the main aisle in a kind of processional. After pausing briefly in front of an altar, each person exited through a side door.

  Reid and Tinker joined the silent ranks, flanked by Garcia and Domingo. Garcia clapped a meaty hand on Reid’s shoulder. Reid looked into his face and was inclined to believe the broad smile was genuine. As genuine as the distrust in Domingo’s scowl. He locked eyes with Domingo and the hair on the back of his neck prickled.

  When they stopped at the altar, Garcia bowed his head and pressed his hands together, whispering words in a language Reid didn’t understand. Tinker bowed his head, too, and shot Reid a look to do the same.

  After a moment, Garcia looked up. “Come. There are many people for you to meet.”

  Domingo stayed close as they followed Garcia through the side door. They passed an opening to a kitchen and entered a large room crowded with tables and benches made from wood so dark it looked black. There were dozens of people inside, and more pouring in from the church.

  “Meet our new friends!” Garcia announced.

  The room broke out in applause and cheers, and people started making their way over to them. Garcia steered Tinker to a chair at the head of a long table. Clearly it was a spot of importance. If Tinker was uncomfortable with this, he sure didn’t look it. He was waving, saying hello, and shaking hands with people like he did it every day. Though he didn’t appear to be seriously injured, Reid wanted to be sure.

  “Excuse me,” Reid said, getting Garcia’s attention. “I’d like to take a look at my grandfather’s injuries, if that’s okay. My medical supplies were in the car.”

  “Yes, of course. We’ll bring your things.” Garcia spoke to another man who then left.

  “You feeling okay, Pops?” Reid tried to get a closer look amidst the crush of people.

  “Fine, don’t worry,” Tinker said. “Say hello to the nice folks, will ya?”

  Reid smiled, saying hello more times than he could count, until finally people started claiming seats at the tables. The mood was boisterous and the noise level was high with people talking and laughing. Still, Reid felt uneasy. Tinker seemed to be having a grand time, trading stories with two men who looked about his age. But no one had brought Reid’s belongings yet.

  A woman set glasses of water and bowls of nuts on the table, and Reid’s stomach growled. He figured the nuts weren’t poisoned since everyone else was eating them. Besides, if they’d wanted to kill them, they’d simply have shot them.

  He took a handful of nuts and tossed them in his mouth. After a moment, his tongue was on fire with a potent spice. He grabbed his glass and took a big gulp. Too late he realized it wasn’t water. Somehow he managed to swallow, but his throat burned, and he coughed like he might hack up his lungs. The room went quiet, and everyone stared at him.

  “Water,” he managed to say.

  The room erupted with laughter. Someone brought him a second glass of clear liquid, which he made sure to smell before drinking.

  “I apologize,” Garcia said. “For special guests we offer our finest tequila. I should have realized you would not know this.”

  “Mmm,” Tinker said, sipping. “Smooth. I haven’t had tequila like this, well, I don’t think ever. Try sipping next time, Reid.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” Reid croaked. “Mr. Garcia, you said I could have my medical kit?”

  “I’m fine,” Tinker said. “No need for the kit. I’m anxious to talk with these folks about their community, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Garcia said. “Everyone wants to hear about you, too. Where you are from, what sorts of food you have, but there’s no rush. That’s not how we do things. We take our time with food, with drink, with conversation. My wife and my brother are preparing a meal. What do you say we eat and drink and talk into the night?”

  “We’d be honored,” Tinker said.

  Reid didn’t like it, but he didn’t see how they could get out of it, and the smell of food had his mouth watering.

  “Excellent,” Garcia said, leaving Tinker at the head of the table and seating himself on the adjacent bench. “More tequila?”

  Thirty-Five

  Albuquerque, New Mexico

  All the food had been delicious, but Reid’s favorite was the thin, warm bread called tortillas. He’d stuffed himself with so many—plain, with beans wrapped in them, with meat and tomatoes and chili peppers—he was sure he couldn’t fit another bite. Then someone had brought a crispy version flavored with cinnamon, and he managed to eat more.

  But in the end, the meal had been a disappointment. There was no grown food in Albuquerque. Only rats, canned food, and preserved grains for making tortillas. It was pretty much the same as back home, except here the resources were divided into two halves. In fact, the city itself was divided across the middle with McClellan’s people on one side and Garcia’s on the other. The warring factions were experiencing an uneasy peace, but preparing for the likelihood of war.

  “So, I’m wondering,” Tinker said, pushing back from the table. “Just how did you folks end up enemies with McClellan and his people?”

  Uh oh. Reid suspected that was ground Tinker shouldn’t be treading. But it was too late now.

  Garcia frowned and shook his head. “A fundamental difference in belief. We believe the apocalypse was God’s doing, a punishment, a message for man to heed. They do not.”

  “Oh?” Tinker said. “What do they believe?”

  “That it was caused by the sun interacting with the North Pole, or some such nonsense,” Garcia said. “What do your people believe?”

  “There’s a split at home, too,” Reid injected. He looked pointedly at Tinker, hoping he’d catch a clue that this wasn’t the right audience for his lecture about the magnetic poles swapping places.

  “That’s right,” Tinker said. “Our religious folks say God sent the solar storm to punish mankind, and that another storm’s coming. The military and scientists say a geomagnetic reversal weakened the magnetosphere, exposing the earth to massive amounts of radiation from the CME.”

  “The what?” Garcia asked.

  “CME?” Tinker said. “Coronal Mass Ejection. A really big solar storm. Usually not a problem, but with the poles down, it fried the communications satellites, computers, the power grid—basically everything electronic.”

  “That’s just what the scientists believe, right, Pops?” Reid asked, trying to keep Tinker on course.

  “And you,” Garcia said, scowling. “What do you believe, Mr. Tinker Landers?”

  “Like I told you earlier,” Tinker said. “My son was the bishop, the head of our church.”

  “He was
killed recently,” Reid said, trying to steer the conversation away from science, even if that meant talking about his father.

  “You say he was killed?” Garcia asked.

  “Yes,” Tinker said. “By our military leader over a difference in beliefs. I guess things aren’t that different between your people and ours.”

  “I am truly sorry for your loss,” Garcia said.

  Reid nodded, not having to act to put a grieving look on his face.

  “Let’s raise our glasses to my son,” Tinker said, holding up his tequila. “To Bishop Peregrine Landers, God rest his soul.”

  “To their bishop.” Garcia lifted his glass. “Amen.”

  “Amen” sounded around the table, then everyone quickly tossed back their tequila. Most people set down empty glasses, regardless of how full they’d been to start with, but Reid just took a small sip.

  “Drink up!” Garcia said, topping off Reid’s glass, and refilling the others.

  The sun had gone down while they were eating, and the skylights were black with the night sky. The dining room was lit only by a fire in a stone fireplace and a smattering of candles on the tables, but even in the flickering light, Reid could tell Tinker was drunk. Throughout the meal, the tequila had never stopped coming, and Tinker’d kept drinking it. Reid had tried to refuse it, but they wouldn’t take “no” for an answer, so he spit the tequila into his water glass whenever he could, and managed to remain mostly sober.

  The conversation turned to the Humvee, and the way a few of the men were asking Tinker questions made Reid suspicious, so he pretended to drink his tequila while listening. When Tinker mentioned their plans to go to Ellay, the men at the table exchanged glances. Something wasn’t right.

  Finally, talk turned to “the good old days,” and Tinker and the older men and women laughed and joked about music and concerts and things they did in their youth. Garcia seemed happily inebriated and relatively harmless, but his son, Domingo, struck Reid as calculating and deadly. So when Domingo signaled for some men to follow him outside, Reid wanted to know what they were up to.

  Reid eyed the girl who’d been flirting with him all night and gestured her closer. “Hey,” he whispered loudly in her ear. “Wanna go outside?” He made a point of slurring, and hoped he sounded drunk.

  The girl smiled and led him toward the same door Domingo had used.

  Reid looked over his shoulder, trying to make eye contact with Tinker, but the old man was too busy reminiscing with his peers to notice. Hopefully, he wouldn’t get into too much trouble while Reid was outside.

  “What’s your name again?” Reid asked the girl as they exited the church.

  “Irma. You’re Reid, right?”

  She led him across a patio to an iron bench. They sat, thighs touching.

  “What d’you wanna do, Irma?” Reid asked.

  Irma kissed him, and he kissed back while trying to look and listen for the men.

  “Hey,” he said, coming up for air.

  She looked at him. “Something wrong?”

  “No, I was thinking about those guys that came out here before us. Are any of them your boyfriend or brother or something? I mean, should I be worried about them seeing us?”

  “Domingo is my uncle. He wouldn’t like it.”

  “Uh oh. Do you know where they went?”

  “Probably out by the old school. That’s where they go to smoke.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “It’s okay. They can’t see us.”

  “I gotta, you know, I need to take a pee, but I don’t want to stumble across them.”

  “I can show you where our facilities are.”

  “I’d better stay in the fresh air. I’m not feeling so great.” Reid covered his mouth.

  “Then stay away from that fat building over there.” Irma pointed. “That’s the school. You can go out behind one of the sheds.”

  “Will you do me a favor and stay here? I’m kinda embarrassed I drank too much.”

  “That’s okay, it happens. But I’ll wait for you inside, if you don’t mind.”

  “Thanks, Irma.”

  He watched her go. She seemed nice. He felt bad for deceiving her.

  Quietly, he headed for the school, choosing his steps as best he could in the moonlight. Thank goodness he wasn’t actually drunk.

  He sneaked to the corner of the building and stopped when he heard voices.

  “Was good luck brought them here,” a man said.

  “God’s grace,” said another.

  “I need to make that car work.” Domingo’s voice. “The old guy’s tongue is so loose, he told us everything, but I couldn’t turn it on.”

  Reid hadn’t heard Tinker give them the code, and he hoped his grandfather would have enough sense not to, even as drunk as he was.

  “I guess we shouldn’t kill them until we can work the thing,” Domingo continued.

  “You think they might join us?” someone asked. “Your father seems to have accepted them already.”

  “No.” Domingo’s voice again. “They’ve got people back home to feed.”

  “Then for sure we can’t trust them. They’ll be gone the first chance they get. If we kill them now, at least we have the car.”

  Reid considered making a break for it. He was pretty sure he could get to the car without anyone seeing him, but there was no way he could get Tinker without provoking a shitstorm of gunfire.

  “We can’t kill them yet,” Domingo said. “We don’t know how to work that car.”

  “We can figure it out later. Don’t take a chance, man. Dust ’em now.”

  “Have you seen how drunk they are?” Domingo asked. “The old man had a whole bottle, and the other one’s just a kid, can’t hold his liquor at all. They aren’t going anywhere any time soon.”

  “So in the morning?”

  “Yeah, we’ll let them sleep it off, then get them to take us for a ride so we can figure out how the car works. It’s no good to us against McClellan if we can’t use it.”

  “I don’t know, Domingo. Maybe we shouldn’t chance it.”

  “You actually believe they pose a threat?” Domingo’s voice boomed. “You saw how they drove up, no guns or anything. Didn’t even ask for their guns back. They wouldn’t have gotten so shit-faced if they suspected anything. I say we lay low, get what we want, then dust ’em.”

  Reid’s heart hammered in his chest, the sound pounding in his temples, no doubt amplified by the tequila. He had to warn Tinker. They had to get out of there before morning.

  He made it back to the church and slipped into the dining room unnoticed, as far as he could tell. He hoped he looked drunk and sick rather than scared sober. He slouched against the wall as he surveyed the room. The crowd had thinned, and most of the candles were out. Tinker was alone now, slumped over the table, his head cradled on his arms.

  Irma caught his eye and flashed her dazzling smile. He staggered over to her.

  “Shh. Don’t tell anyone I was gone,” he said in her ear. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m sick.”

  “Are you better now?” she asked, though she didn’t look hopeful.

  “The room’s spinning. I should lie down.”

  “I can find out where you’re supposed to sleep.”

  “I should lie down here,” Reid said, trying to look woozy. He couldn’t afford to get trapped in a room with a bunch of roommates or locked behind closed doors.

  “It’s not comfortable. I’m sure there’s a bed for you.”

  “Here’s fine. Look, my grandpa’s already passed out.”

  “If you insist. Let me get you a blanket at least.”

  “That would be nice.” He reached out to her and feigned losing his balance. “Do you think you could find where they put our stuff? I’d like my sleeping bag, and they were supposed to bring me my medical kit.” He didn’t dare ask for the guns.

  “Let me see what I can do. I’ll be right back.”

  He watched her leave, then ma
de a show of losing his balance again. He leaned against a table as a cover for checking out the people in the room. No one seemed to be paying attention to him. Several were passed out like Tinker. An older man lay flat on his back on a bench, snoring. There was a couple kissing. A woman rocking a baby. Garcia and his wife were gone, and Domingo hadn’t come back. Yet.

  Reid made his way to Tinker. “Pops,” he said, shaking his arm.

  No response.

  “You gotta wake up, Pops.” He shook him harder. He looked around, but no one was in earshot. “Wake up,” he said directly in Tinker’s ear.

  Tinker lifted his head a few inches and opened one eye, then passed out again.

  There was no way he was driving. There was no way he was walking. It’d be a couple of hours before he’d be good for anything. Would Domingo and his friends stay patient until morning?

  “Reid.” A touch on his shoulder.

  He jumped. Irma. He hadn’t heard her come up. “Hey, yeah, hi,” he said.

  “I startled you.” She was holding their sleeping bags.

  “Sorry, I guess I was dozing off. Thanks for bringing those. Can we put them on the ground here? My grandpa’s in no shape to walk anywhere.”

  “Tequila seems like it’s your friend at first,” she said. “But later . . .” She shook her head and laid a sleeping bag out on the ground.

  “I know what you mean,” Reid said, grateful he hadn’t ingested much. He’d feel sorry for Tinker in the morning. If they were still alive.

  Reid grabbed Tinker under the arms while Irma took his feet. Together, they got him more or less settled on top of a sleeping bag. He seemed completely oblivious to the process.

  Irma laid out the other bag. “I brought you a pillow,” she said, placing it at the top of the bag. “To make up for not finding your medical supplies.”

  “Thanks.” Reid wanted to ask about the rest of their gear, but was too scared he’d alert her. He assumed she’d been assigned to keep an eye on him. No one else was paying attention, at least as far as he could tell. Besides, most everything was replaceable, even the guns, though it would take some searching. The one thing he knew they couldn’t go long without was water.