The Final Trade

by Joe Hart

  The boy stands his ground for a long second, then bolts away from the highway, feet kicking up puffs of dust.

  They watch him run until he vanishes over a small rise in the road.

  “Should we follow him?” Chelsea asks.

  “Yes,” Zoey says at once. Without another comment, Merrill turns the wheel of the machine and guides it slowly down the drive. They come over the rise where they lost sight of the boy and drop down into a narrow gully with steep sides. Far ahead the path rises again before opening up into a vast field populated by a low stand of brush, dying grass, and a solitary tree holding on to its last few leaves. Beside the tree is a small stone house and garage.

  The boy stands on the front porch and as soon as he sees them, ducks inside the building.

  “The hell is going on?” Eli says.

  “Don’t know if I like this,” Tia says, holding on to the back of Chelsea’s seat.

  Zoey looks for cover that could conceal someone on either side of the drive but it is an open expanse of nothing but wilting grass, barely knee-high. Beyond the house is a twisting stream that flows out of sight into a larger brace of trees.

  “Think it’s a trap?” Eli asks, already picking up his rifle from the seat beside him.

  “No. It doesn’t feel like one,” Merrill says. “I think he’s scared.”

  They idle up to an overgrown turnaround, white rocks set in a circle that have gone mossy with time. “I’m keeping this running until it’s clear,” Merrill says. “Eli and I will check it out.”

  “I want to—”

  “Zoey. No. Let us at least make sure it’s safe. This was your plan, remember?”

  “Yes,” she says begrudgingly.

  “We’ll be quick.” He slaps Eli on the shoulder and hoists a rifle sling over his head.

  “Be careful,” Chelsea says.

  “Always. And if anyone comes out of that house besides us, you drive away and don’t look back.”

  With that, he and Eli open the ASV’s door and step into the evening light. Their boots puff dust up just as the boy’s had while he ran. Tia yanks the door shut behind them and Zoey stands, peering through the windshield, watching their progress.

  Merrill and Eli move well together, one leapfrogging while the other covers him. After they gain the porch they stand to either side of the door. Merrill reaches out and knocks with one fist. Zoey waits, the anticipation of gunfire as an answer bringing her heart rate up. After several seconds Merrill nods and Eli swings in, opening the door before going inside low. Merrill follows, standing high, rifle pivoting back and forth. They move out of sight leaving the door wide open.

  Minutes tick by.

  The interior of the vehicle is quiet save for everyone’s shallow breathing and the idling of the machine itself. Just as Zoey is about to insist that they go in after the men, Merrill reappears with Eli behind him and trailing them is the boy they followed to the house. He steps out onto the porch and stares at the ASV with a look of wonder. Zoey is about to reach for the door handle when another child appears. He is several years younger but has the same characteristic blond hair as what can only be his brother.

  “Two kids?” Tia says.

  But then two more boys step into the light, the youngest no older than five. Behind them two taller figures appear. One is a slender man with dark, shaggy hair and a goatee who walks with a slight hunch, while the other is a heavyset woman with long, reddish-blonde hair. In her arms is another boy, much smaller than the rest, who wears only a long-sleeved shirt and a diaper. He has a mop of hair matching the man’s.

  “My God,” Ian says.

  Merrill waves toward the vehicle and nods. Tia shuts the ASV off and the others climb out. Zoey hears the man say something in an awed voice, words that are lost to her but whose meaning is clear. He is as surprised to see them as they are to see his family.

  The dark-haired man blinks, mouth opening and closing several times before taking a step forward, his hand reaching out toward Zoey. Tia steps in front of him, pulling her handgun free of its holster.

  “It’s okay, Tia. We checked them. They’re clean,” Merrill says. Tia reholsters her weapon and lets the man step past her. All the while his gaze hasn’t left Zoey’s face. He continues to blink and stops several feet away, both hands now palms up in supplication.

  “Thanks be to God,” he says, smiling widely. “Unless I’m dreaming.”

  Zoey shifts her gaze from the man to the rest of the group, uncertain of what to do. “Hello,” she finally says, holding out her hand. “My name is Zoey.”

  The man takes her hand and squeezes it. “I’m Travis. And we are so glad to see you.”

  Firelight dances across the gray stone hearth. Shadows, from the simple furniture in the room, elongate on the close-set walls. Zoey sits in the closest chair to the fire, chewing the last piece of bread slathered with rich butter. She savors the taste, similar to the flavor of butter she had at the ARC, but wholly different as well. It is richer, saltier, more . . . real. She drinks cold water from a chipped glass painted with flowers on one side, their yellow petals delicate and outlined in black.

  “It was part of my mother’s set.” Zoey turns to see Travis’s wife, Anniel, standing in the doorway that leads to the small kitchen beyond. “There’s only two glasses, three plates, and one bowl left. Everything else has been broken or lost over the years.”

  Zoey turns the cup around in her hands. “It’s beautiful.”

  Anniel smiles. “Would you like more food? There’s still some soup left.”

  “No. Thank you. It was delicious.”

  Footsteps approach from outside and a second later Travis enters the room followed by Merrill, Chelsea, and Ian.

  “The ASV is pretty well hidden behind a stand of trees to the east. Should be fine overnight,” Merrill says.

  “Are Eli and Tia still outside?” Zoey asks.

  “Yeah. They’re entertaining the young ones.” Merrill smiles at Travis who shakes his head.

  “I’m sorry, they’re probably bothering them.”

  “No. I’m pretty sure they’re enjoying the attention.”

  “They’ve led pretty sheltered lives up until now,” Travis says. “None of them have ever met a black man before. That’s probably part of the fascination.”

  The baby, whose name Zoey learned is Isaac, squeals somewhere in the kitchen and Anniel leaves to tend to him while the others all find a place to sit in the cramped living room.

  “On that note,” Ian says, “tell us how it is you came to live here with your family.”

  Travis smiles and gazes at the fire. “Anniel and I met through our church years before the Dearth. It was a nice little congregation maybe a hundred miles west of here. I was studying to become a pastor and she worked as a consultant for a railroad. When the Dearth came we went to stay with my parents on their farm but it soon became clear it wasn’t safe. Anniel and I were terrified of what was happening, so we decided to go into hiding.”

  “Smart choice,” Chelsea says.

  “It turned out to be, yes. We searched for a remote area along with several other families from our church, thinking there was strength in numbers. We settled here along with our pastor at the time. There’s around forty of us, counting the kids, scattered in the area. We have a regular commune every Sunday after service, each household taking turns hosting it. We try to keep traditions close even though it’s hard to do in these times.”

  “Staying alive is hard, let alone traditions,” Merrill says, glancing out a window.

  “Amen to that,” Travis says. “When John, our oldest, was born, we knew God had blessed us and that we would be safe in this place. And for the last fourteen years, we have been. We have worship, community, plenty of food from the river and surrounding land, and, of course, the children, which are the most important.”

  Travis’s eyes grow distant and Zoey studies him. “You said earlier that you were so glad to see me,” she says. “What did you
mean by that?”

  “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but are you not by far the youngest of your group?”

  “Yes,” she says, still hesitant to mention Rita and Sherell.

  “Well, we are of the Quiverfull belief.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We believe that each child is a gift directly from God and that it is our duty as Christians to multiply, to fill the Earth with mankind. These last decades have proven to us how important our mission is. The world is growing sparser and sparser of man, and we will vanish without the effort to fulfill God’s will.”

  “I still don’t understand what that has to do with me.”

  “My wife is forty-four now, and I am nearly fifty years old. You are by far the youngest woman we’ve seen in over twenty years.” Travis leans forward, the firelight splashing against his features. “You are a symbol of hope, Zoey. A living, breathing testament of God’s plan. Just sitting here with you fills me with a divine wonder and renewed vigor of spirit.” Tears shine in his eyes. “When I look at you, I know that everything will be all right.”

  Zoey shifts in her chair, the weight of Travis’s stare and reverent smile pressing upon her. “Thank you, but I’m not sure I’m who you think I am.”

  “It doesn’t matter if you believe or not.”

  “Okay. Well, we did have a couple questions for you if you don’t mind?”

  “By all means.”

  “Have you ever heard of the Fae Trade?”

  Travis’s face instantly darkens, eyes flicking toward the floor. “I suppose that’s what they call themselves.”

  Zoey sits forward. “Who?”

  “The men that pass through every so often. It’s usually a little later in the season than this. We haven’t seen them in nearly three years now, thank God. They’re scouts, I believe, for the main body of the group. They come in vehicles looking for women. That’s why all of us have hidden root cellars outside our homes. We hide there the minute trouble appears, like today when you fine folks came up our drive. That’s where Merrill and Eli found us.”

  “I thought you said the cellars are hidden.”

  Travis looks somewhat sheepish. “Isaac wasn’t able to keep quiet like the rest of us. He’s only a year and a half. Merrill heard him. I didn’t see any other choice than to open the doors and accept our fate. You could’ve burned us out. That’s what happened to the Starks.”

  “Who are they?” Zoey asks.

  Travis sighs. “They were the oldest of our community. Got caught unawares six or seven years ago. There were four of them. Two sons, eighteen and twenty. All of them burnt up in their home by those you mentioned. I’m assuming Glenda wasn’t taken because of her age. She was past childbearing, you see.”

  Zoey traces the flowers on her glass with a fingertip. “You said they haven’t come through here in several years. Do you know their route?”

  Travis shakes his head. “No. But I heard rumor that they stop at the largest towns to draw in crowds of men. I can only imagine the unholy things that go on there.”

  “Where’s the next largest town?”

  “I suppose that would be Southland. It’s about a hundred miles to the west. Used to be a little ski resort town at the base of Scrimshaw Mountain.”

  “Tia’s been there before. She told me about it years ago. She’ll know the way,” Merrill says.

  Zoey shares a look with the others before returning her gaze to Travis. “Thank you. That helps a lot.”

  “You’re very welcome, but you’re not thinking of seeking this trade out, are you?”

  “Curious. That’s all.”

  “Well, be forewarned, they are brutal men. If you come across them your only hope is to run the other way.” A strained silence falls over them before Travis says, “In any case, please, by all means, consider staying with us as long as you’d like. We don’t have a lot of room, but the house is warm at night and there’s plenty of food.”

  “We appreciate your and your wife’s hospitality,” Merrill says.

  The fire crackles and spits a small ember out onto the tile that Travis moves back into the flames. “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. Hebrews 13:2.” He smiles again at Zoey and she tries to return it.

  “I’ll bring these in to Anniel,” she says, standing with the dishes. She moves past Ian, giving him a wide-eyed look, and sees the corner of his mouth quirk.

  In the kitchen she finds Anniel at a deep sink filled with steaming water. A woodstove in the corner throws waves of heat across the room, and Isaac holds a small, wooden hammer, banging it on the floor where he sits. Zoey places the dishes on the counter beside the sink.

  “You didn’t have to trouble yourself,” Anniel says. “I could’ve come got them.”

  “It’s fine.” Zoey stares at Isaac who begins inspecting a knot in the hardwood floor with acute interest. “Can I ask you something?”

  The older woman pauses in her washing. “Of course.”

  “Do you ever worry about bringing children into the world?”

  Anniel smiles broadly, her wide face lighting up. “No. I don’t.”

  “How can you not? Today you hid from us because you were afraid we were here to take you away and do something terrible to your family. How do you live in fear like that and ever in good conscience subject another life to the same thing?” She realizes she’s shaking now, voice sharp, rising in volume. Anniel stands placidly beside the sink, eyes soft and knowing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay, dear. I can understand what you’re saying. But our faith is something beyond the fears of life. God’s will transcends barriers we put around ourselves as well as those in the outside world. In the face of belief, all fear pales.”

  Zoey feels something brush her leg and she nearly reaches for her handgun before seeing it is only Isaac balancing with one hand against her thigh. The little boy looks up at her, eyes very blue and clear, studying her with innocent curiosity.

  Abruptly he holds up his arms.

  “He wants you to hold him,” Anniel says.

  “What?”

  “He’s only been walking a few months and he gets tired. That’s his sign for wanting to be held.”

  “No, that’s okay, I really shouldn’t—”

  But Anniel cuts her off by picking Isaac up and placing him in her arms.

  The boy looks at her for another long second before flopping against her shoulder. One of his hands winds in her hair, tugging gently. He is warm, and soft, and there is no reservation about how he embraces her. His trust is complete.

  She feels a growing warmth in her chest that has nothing to do with Isaac’s body heat. Zoey places one hand against his back and he makes a sound that is between a giggle and a sigh.

  All at once the image of the mass grave returns to her.

  The stark whiteness of the bones.

  Scraps of withered clothing.

  The wristwatch still attached to the man who died trying to climb free of the pit.

  She sees him clambering over dead bodies and she knows each and every one of them. There are her best friends, Meeka and Lily, and those who were kind to her, like Simon and Crispin. Merrill and Chelsea lie intertwined, the backs of their heads broken and ruined. The man climbs over Ian’s lifeless body, paws past Tia and Sherell and Rita, who lie faceup, mouths open in breathless screams. He steps on Eli’s and Newton’s limp bodies, reaching the edge of the huge grave, and there is a concussive blast, a gunshot that takes him in his back. He falls, twisting over, blood spraying from his torn chest, and it is Lee who looks up at her then, Lee who is dying, the wristwatch shining with his blood.

  And she can feel the gun in her hand.

  Zoey presses Isaac into Anniel’s arms. She tries to say something but her tongue is a useless lump, too large behind her teeth. She stumbles out of the kitchen, through the living room past surprised faces, and into the open evening air.

>   Eli and Tia glance up at her as she rushes past them and three of the boys, who are cartwheeling in the driveway. She makes it to a skeletal thicket of bushes before vomiting. Bracing her hands against her knees, she tries to force away the image of Lee’s bloody face and torn body, but can’t and is sick again. Her hands shake and she rubs them against her pants, unable to rid the feeling of the gun in her palm. Slowly she straightens, head pounding, stomach still clenching like a fist.

  Footsteps sound behind her and she turns to see Ian approaching. He stops at her side, looking out over the darkening field behind the house that merges with the river and trees.

  “Are you all right?” he finally asks.

  She wipes her mouth, acid thick on her tongue, in her nostrils. “Yes.”

  “Whatever it is you’re carrying, the weight is too much, Zoey. You can tell me, no matter what.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No. No you’re not. Some things are too heavy to manage on your own. Certain burdens will break a person if they insist on bearing them alone.”

  The wind begins a gentle caress of the long grass, undulations of a great, unseen hand. The light fades further to a purple hue that blankets the east, sliding closer and closer toward them.

  She almost tells him then. Almost spews out the words as she did her dinner minutes ago. But she can’t. It is like the truth is locked solidly inside her. She is a prison of secrets.

  “I’m okay,” she says finally. Ian’s face is half-shrouded in shadow and she gives him only a quick smile before starting back toward the house. The three young boys round the house’s corner as she nears it, Eli in close pursuit behind them, playfully growling. The littlest trips and falls and Eli tickles his sides before standing the child upright once again.

  “Can we play tag again, Mr. Eli?”

  Eli winks at Zoey, his chest heaving. “I don’t know. You boys are wearing me out!”

  “Aww, you’re too big to get wore out,” the next oldest boy says. Zoey thinks his name is Michael. “Maybe when John gets back we’ll play more! He’s really fast. The fastest of us all.”