Lost

by Laura K. Curtis

  “It’s not dark yet,” Jake coaxed. “Just a few minutes. We’ll take the scenic route back to your bunk.”

  “Well, okay.” She let him tug her along after him out into the gloaming.

  “They’re going to put me to work on the website,” Jake said as soon as they were clear of the building and sure no one would overhear. Even so, he kept his voice low and glanced around, deliberately taking a rambling path that kept them in the open, away from buildings, lampposts, or fences where listening devices might be installed.

  “With Internet access, I’ll be able to get rudimentary messages out to Lucy and Ethan. I won’t get into detail because I don’t know what kind of computer skills anyone else here has, and it’s virtually

  impossible to completely erase electronic tracks.”

  “What if they installed a keystroke tracker on it?”

  “Oh, I fully expect they have. I have no intention of sending e-mail or the like. I’ll be accessing a protected server site. Ethan and I have a code system that depends on the day, date, and time of access. The password changes the same way. If it’s Monday, even date, odd hour, the code works one way. If the hour is even, it’s different. A keystroke recorder will record what looks like gibberish.”

  “And what if they confront you about the gibberish?”

  “That’s why I want to keep the message short. I can blame failed code attempts for short strings of gibberish, but long documents attract more attention and are harder to explain away. The real advantage to the system is that Ethan and Lucy have been using all their contacts—and mine—to dig into the Chosen. So with a little luck, there will be fresh intel on the server. I can pick it up as long as there aren’t any eyes on me.”

  “Eyes? You think there are cameras?” Tara’s stomach clenched.

  “I’ve seen three for certain: one in a knot in the oldest of the trees by the dining hall, one inside that big room where the women were cleaning, and one in the dash of the Jeep Francis and I took out to the greenhouses.”

  “I scoured the laundry and my bunkhouse pretty thoroughly and didn’t find anything. I figured there might be ears I couldn’t see, so I’ve been careful about what I said, but I didn’t find any video in the actual rooms, just outside for surveillance.”

  “They probably only have cams in places they consider high risk. But you can bet they will either have a camera or a human in the room with me when I have Internet access. Even with whatever kind of firewall they’ve set up.”

  “You think giving you access is a test?”

  “Wish I knew. I can’t figure these people out. Owen is crazy. You can see it in his eyes. You

  gave me your assessment of Jonas, and I’m sure you’re right. Samuel’s a thug, but a smart one—I’d like

  to know what he’s getting out of this. Likewise Aaron. What keeps them here? Surely they don’t buy into the religious crap. And Francis . . . Francis seems completely dedicated to his plants.”

  “Francis has been here a long time. Since he was a child, I think.” They were pushing the time, so Tara turned in the direction of her bunk.

  “That may be why he’s more interested in farming than in Owen’s agenda. That could work in our favor, if we can be certain.”

  “It would be nice if that were true. For all the creepy cultness, there are a lot of people living here who probably couldn’t function in the real world. I can’t imagine some of them paying bills, keeping a normal job, coping with the distractions and stresses of daily life. That’s what Andrea found so attractive. Well, that and the built-in sense of community. She once told me that she felt out of step with life. John was the last of her family left alive, and she didn’t have many friends.”

  “She had you.” The sincerity in his voice warmed her. “You’re a good friend. You always have been.”

  Back in Dobbs Hollow, he’d accused her of being a bad friend and a bad cop. She wished she could ask him what had changed his mind, but they’d reached the bunkhouse. To her surprise, Jake stopped by the door and pulled her into his arms.

  “I can’t wait until Sunday when we can begin our lives together.”

  Just an act, Tara Jean. Don’t lose your head. “It’s only two more days.”

  “It’s not the days that worry me, it’s the nights.” He slid one hand over her cheek and tilted her face up. Her breath caught and her heart skipped a beat.

  “Jake—”

  He kissed her, and her mind shut down. Logic, plans, all sense of time and place deserted her. Her world consisted of the heat of his mouth, the scent of his skin, the hard, masculine strength of his body against hers. His tongue traced the seam of her lips and she opened to him eagerly, desperate to taste him. And, God, he tasted good. Better than burgers, better than chocolate, better than any of the luxuries she’d been denied since joining the Chosen.

  “Ahem.” The cough from behind her startled Tara out of the moment, and she pulled away from Jake.

  “Sorry,” said Aurora, who’d appeared at the door. “I thought you might appreciate the reminder that you had an audience.”

  Indeed, through the bunkhouse windows, several women watched. And when Tara remembered the cameras, a blush crawled up her cheeks.

  “Thanks, Aurora.”

  “Nice kid,” Jake said as Aurora popped back inside and shut the door.

  “She thinks you’re hot.”

  “Yeah?” In the semidarkness, Jake’s teeth gleamed as he grinned. “She’s got good taste.”

  Tara laughed. “Nothing wrong with your ego.”

  “Nope. But you like that about me.” His smile faded. “But cute or not, there’s only you for me, baby.”

  Tara’s throat went dry, and she reminded herself once more that Jake was just acting. “Get back to your own bunk,” she said, giving him a little shove. “I need to shower and get my beauty sleep.” Without waiting for a reply, she escaped into the bunkhouse.

  • • •

  Jake tossed in his bed, the loud discomfort only partially feigned. Kissing Tara had been a terrible idea. A wonderful, terrible idea. He’d wanted her on a purely physical level from the moment he’d first seen her, which had shocked him—lust had gone the way of every other strong feeling in the months after his FBI flameout. And she was just as beautiful inside. At the age of thirteen, she’d gone up against her own bullying brother to rescue a school friend, and that strength of character had never wavered. Here she was again, taking on forces far greater than herself in defense of a friend.

  But that kiss . . . it had been more than he could possibly have imagined. Hot, sweet, as energizing as pure electricity shooting through his body. He could get lost in her, forget his purpose entirely. Hell, he’d been damned close to taking her up against the wall of the bunkhouse with God alone knew how many people watching.

  And he hadn’t been able to give himself any relief in the shower, either, not with a half dozen guys in the next room.

  He sat up and stretched, deliberately making noise so others in his cabin would notice.

  “Chill, man,” said one.

  “Too antsy. Is it against the rules for me to take a walk?”

  “Do what you gotta do. But the morning horn sounds early, so do it quietly.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Outside, he did some stretches and a few calisthenics for the cameras, then began a Tai Chi routine. Owen’s sentinels needed to become accustomed to seeing Jake wandering around the grounds after hours. Programmers had a rep for being night owls and insomniacs that would work in his favor. The trick would be to maintain his insomniac status while getting up at the crack of dawn every day to work in the sheds.

  He lay on his back on the hard, cooling ground and stared up at the sky. The moon, the stars, the tiny extra-bright glow at the base of each of the lamps lighting the night, showing where the cameras hid.


  Yeah, exploring this place was going to be a bitch, no matter how much at ease he tried to put the guards.

  Jake rose and walked for a bit, keeping to the obviously “safe” areas of the compound so as not to set off any alarms. Just your basic sleepless dude wandering around.

  Still, he wasn’t surprised when Jonas appeared from the shadows.

  “Trouble sleeping?” The man might have been aiming for friendly, but the words came out as a challenge.

  “Yeah, well . . . I’ve never been good at resting. My mind just keeps going until I pass out.” That much was true. “At home, I used to get a little . . . chemical assistance . . . when I needed to close my eyes. But I gather that’s not going to happen here, so I’m just trying to work off a little excess energy.”

  “After a few days with the Chosen, your body will no longer need drugs. Fresh air, hard work, they contain transformative properties.” In direct conflict to Francis’s enthusiasm for the greenhouse work, Jonas sounded as if he were reciting a lesson. And beneath the recitation, Jake could swear he heard a smirk. An “I know something you don’t know” taunt. Was Jonas on something? None of the disciples had the skinny, strung-out look of junkies, but Jake had seen plenty of functional users in his life, indistinguishable from the general population except via blood or urine tests.

  “But you can’t sleep either?” he asked Jonas.

  “I am assigned to this shift. The Leader knows that in the darkness doubt can assail even the Chosen, so he makes sure someone is always walking the grounds should they need to talk. Just as there are always guards at the gates in case Outsiders should try to interrupt our peace, so must we be alert to the needs of our people inside.”

  “Does that happen often? The Outsiders thing?”

  Jonas shrugged. “Occasionally. People misunderstand us. They send in their ‘deprogrammers’ to kidnap the Chosen, as if we were brainwashing them. They cannot understand that for the Chosen, this is the best way. They are miserable taken from us and return as soon as possible.

  “You should go to bed. At least rest if you cannot sleep. After lunch, Samuel will take you up to the computer room.”

  Jake trotted off like an obedient child, but he lay awake for a long time mulling over Jonas’s words.

  Chapter Six

  MORNING WAS A serious drag, and Jake’s lack of sleep didn’t help. There was nothing to do while tying off the blasted plants but think, and his thoughts were not productive. He needed to get a message out to Ethan and find out what information the man had for him.

  After lunch, Samuel led him to an office off the large central room in the main house. Nowhere near as elegant as Owen’s office, this room held a small desk, probably four feet long and two feet deep, that could have come from any online office supply company. A Macintosh computer sat on the desk. Not ideal—Jake was far more comfortable programming on a PC, but luckily the newer Macs allowed you to get down to a command-line interface, which he could handle—and a combination printer, scanner, and fax machine rested on a stand in the corner. A pad of paper and a pencil lay next to the computer. On the top sheet, someone had scrawled three websites.

  Samuel pulled out the chair for Jake and then leaned against the wall next to him.

  “That top one, thechosen.org, that’s our main website. It tells about who we are, some basic tenets of our beliefs, and it has products for sale on it. The server we host that site on is right below it. We also sell through the online outlet Etsy. That’s the last address there. You’ll have to keep renewing stock as it falls off their listing system.”

  “What about orders?”

  “For the moment, you don’t need to worry about those. Eventually, once you get comfortable with the sites, we’ll move you into billing and shipping, too. But for now, we need this taken care of. I had the hosting site and Etsy send us the passwords for the two log-ins.” He handed Jake a slip of paper out of his wallet.

  “Great. First, though, I think I am going to try to clean this computer. This room is kind of dusty. Do you have any canned air? And some tools so I can crack the shell?”

  “That won’t be necessary. The computer is fine.”

  “It’s not good for them to get all dusty inside. And that reminds me, do you have any kind of backup going?”

  “We don’t need backups. The computer doesn’t serve a purpose to us except to access records maintained on external sites.”

  “Really? Wow. That’s so . . . retro. Do you do your accounting by hand? Or, like, with an abacus?” No fucking way was Jake buying that they didn’t have digital records. And Owen was far too paranoid to store everything in the cloud somewhere. No, they kept their information on a local computer; it just wasn’t this one.

  “The Chosen have what they need.”

  “Well, uh . . . okay. If you’re sure.”

  Samuel nodded.

  Jake turned on the computer and logged on to the first site. His first thought was that they couldn’t possibly be doing serious business from it. The user interface was not just butt ugly but a complete clusterfuck. He could see why Francis thought it needed updating. Plus, John, or whoever had written the copy, skated the edges of literacy.

  He pulled the pad toward him and began making swift notes.

  “Whatcha doing?”

  “Making a list of the things I’m going to have to change and fix. I know you say the Chosen have what they need, but with this website, I am not sure how. It could bring so much more business, so many more people your way. You could get the word out about what kind of place this is, bring others into the fold.”

  “So you’re going to rebuild the whole thing from the bottom up?”

  “Well, yeah. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” And it’s going to take forever, so get out of here and leave me to it.

  “Of course.”

  Samuel pushed off the wall and headed for the door. “I’ll be back later.” His eyes flicked up to the corner of the ceiling as he spoke and, though Jake carefully didn’t let his own follow, he knew there was at least one camera on him. That was fine. He could work around a camera.

  He started by accessing the Chosen’s main site, logging on to the back end just as they would expect and downloading the index file. Then he printed it out and brought it back to the desk to give himself an excuse to get up and walk around the room. A couple of big stretches gave him a full view of every corner and hidden camera.

  He opened several documents on the computer screen and began typing a bit into each. Whoever was watching the camera pointed at the monitor was going to get pages and pages shuffled through. With any luck they wouldn’t notice an extra when Jake downloaded it from the server he and Ethan had set up.

  He left a bunch of the pages open while he worked on paper with notes for CSS code for a bit. Then he came back to the screen and brought up the password window to allow him to access the server. It appeared, as it was designed to, in the lower right corner of the screen. Small. Unobtrusive. Hardly noticeable among the profusion of windows Jake already had open. He checked the time and entered the appropriate password. Another tiny window popped up. It had an up arrow, the letter O, and a down arrow. Next to the down arrow was the number 1.

  Ethan had information. But Jake didn’t dare download it, so he hit the O instead. The little window disappeared. The window with the information Ethan had coded would appear beneath everything else on the screen.

  Jake stretched again and sat back in the chair, waiting for any indication that someone had noticed anything odd on the computer screen, but no one came. He looked back at the pad of paper and made a couple more notations before popping the window with Ethan’s document to the front on the screen. He made it small and kept it down in the corner where it could be hidden or closed in an instant.

  Something is seriously off there. Couldn’t find anyone who had left. DEA sent someone in u
ndercover last year. He came out after nine months, said he couldn’t find anything wrong, then ate his gun. Likewise, two young women in the past five years who were brought out by deprogrammers took their own lives.

  Jake remembered Owen’s words about Tara: This is the only place she will ever be content. What the fuck were they doing here? The DEA agent’s death had to be why Reasoner was on the property.

  Not much on the various members. We talked about Owen and Samuel. The one who calls himself Aaron did time for armed robbery and meth dealing. Jonas has a sheet for possession of oxy. Haven’t been able to find anything on Francis, though there’s a good possibility he was actually born on the property. A couple who left when Hal died remembered him as a baby.

  Coding the words in his head, putting the date and time at the top so Ethan would know which code to use, Jake replied.

  There’s a DEA guy here. Kevin Reasoner. See if you can find out what he’s looking for. Tara and I are okay. Staying until we can figure out what’s going on. Chosen swallowed a friend of hers.

  He closed the window, automatically logging him out of their server, and turned his attention back to the Chosen’s web presence.

  • • •

  In the sewing room, Tara deliberately sat next to Joy. Until Jake could get in touch with Ethan, they were on their own and needed to find out as much history of the Chosen as possible.

  “You’ve been a member of the Chosen for a long time, haven’t you?” she asked, squinting as she held up a needle to thread.

  “Oh, yes,” answered Joy. “This is where I belong. I hardly remember the time before this land and this work.”

  “Have you ever been—I hope this isn’t too rude—have you been part of a couple? Like a blessed union?”

  Joy laughed. “In my day, we didn’t bother with such things. If you wanted to be with a man, you were.”

  “Where did you live, then?”

  “If you wanted to make it permanent, or semi-permanent anyway, you moved into an empty house. If none of the houses were empty, you could wait for one to open up or you could move into one of the rooms in the main house if one was available.”