by Sandra Smith
Clare looked behind her; she could still see the grassy fields.
“Further in. I don’t want to be seen from out there,” she said, pointing back toward the clearing. Dante kept moving without complaint.
Finally when she turned, the fields were no longer visible.
“Okay,” she told Dante, who was trudging ahead like a robot, the large vacant eyes of someone half-asleep, “we can stop now.”
Dramatically, he let the bike fall where it was, and he let himself fall onto a small bush.
Clare laughed.
Dante fake snored loudly.
“Okay, silly,” she said. “Time to camp. Why don’t I set up the tent, while you get our food out?”
“Oh sure, we’ll have meat and fresh vegetables, followed by blueberries and melon.”
“Sounds lovely, my dear,” she answered in her best mock British accent.
Clare carefully put the bikes down low. She placed a pack under Dante’s head and one under her own. “Goodnight,” she said, yawning.
Dante was already asleep.
The children awoke ten hours later, the sun still poking brightly through the tree branches. It was only just late afternoon. They would have to stay hidden for many more hours. It was now Clare realized the importance of the playing cards Gruff had insisted they pack.
In the days before departure, Gruff had shown the children many games that could be played with a simple deck of cards. When she had questioned the wisdom in bringing them, he’d told her she would understand later—just trust him and carry them along. “After all,” he’d said, “they don’t take up much space. And they help pass the time.” She hadn’t realized then just how much time would be spent waiting. They played rummy, and poker, and crazy eights; they took turns playing solitaire. Clare nearly always won, but sometimes she lost on purpose.
When darkness finally approached, the children began walking out of the woods. After they’d crossed through the field and reached the road, it wasn’t yet completely dark.
“Helmets,” Clare said, fastening hers onto her head. “Keep your head down.”
They pedaled down the lonesome highway toward nightfall.
Midway through the night, the children crawled into a large dry ditch to rest their legs and eat. After riding for six hours the night before, their legs were tremendously sore. Both children realized that once their muscles got used to it, they’d feel better, but for now it hurt badly.
“Can I have more food?” Dante asked. They were eating Carbos, Vitees, and Protein. They drank a high energy juice, along with water.
“We need to ration carefully,” Clare answered gently. “We don’t know when we’ll find friends.”
“I was wondering,” Dante said slowly, “whether we might find real food out here somewhere. Oh yeah, it’s hard in the dark,” he muttered.
Clare knew he was wondering again about how to see the sign of the flowers in the darkness. Neither of them had thought to ask Gruff. She prayed a silent little prayer. Her prayers these days were like breathing. Short and frequent, almost without thinking, no real beginning or ending.
They ate without speaking.
The children’s ability to ride in the dark improved steadily. They used their bike lights when needed, but found that with even the smallest moonlight or hint of dawn they were able to ride with no light at all.
As she pedaled, Clare thought about what Dante had said. Should they be watching the fields for food? Surely the government farms were out here somewhere. The food from the Stores had to start from real food.
Maybe the crops wouldn’t be on a main highway. Maybe they would be along the back roads. She knew dawn would be here in another couple of hours; she didn’t see how they could possibly find friends. They had passed so few houses, and those barely noticeable, set back from the road and enveloped in darkness.
Clare made up her mind to take the first side road they came to. Surely a little detour would be okay. And if they found a field of food it would be worth it.
“Dante,” she said as she pedaled ahead of him, “I might turn if I see another road. I’ll explain later; just follow me.”
Clare found the anticipated road twenty minutes later. They turned right. After riding a fair distance, they dismounted and pulled out their flashlights. They beamed the light around, searching the fields.
“Do you see anything?” Dante asked, his stomach growling.
“No,” she said, “it just looks like tall grass. Maybe we need to go farther.”
They got back on their bikes and pedaled on, shining their lights around as they rode.
“Clare?”
“What?”
“What’s that up ahead?”
Just over a small rise in the road, a glow intruded on the darkness. Clare hopped off her bicycle. Dante did the same. They turned off their flashlights and walked cautiously up the road toward the brightness, uncertain of what to expect. As they crested the hill, they saw it—a large farm operation. Several big buildings and a grassy field illuminated by lights on tall poles surrounded a grand home with large beautiful windows. And in front of the windows grew a lovely flower garden: a mass of purple flowers planted in the shape of a double ring.
The children stopped in their tracks, taking it in. Clare caught her breath when she saw the flowers.
“You were right, Clare. You were right,” said Dante.
She looked at him, her face a question mark.
“The Lord will watch over us,” he whispered.
30
FRIENDS
The children didn’t know what to do. It was the middle of the night, but they weren’t tired since they were used to sleeping in the daytime. On the other hand, they didn’t want to knock on someone’s door at that hour. Ultimately, they decided to enter the property and wait in one of the outbuildings until they saw someone stirring.
They were sleepier than they had supposed.
“Hey, wake up, sweetie.”
Clare opened her eyes. It was completely light. A stocky man about thirty years old was watching her. She looked quickly for Dante and her bike. Both were close; Dante still sleeping. The man saw her glance around.
“He’s here,” he said. “Your stuff’s okay. Would you like to come in for breakfast?”
Clare looked again at her sleeping brother.
“Him, too,” the man added.
She was coming to her senses now.
“Is this your place?” she asked.
He smiled. “My family lives over there,” he said, nodding to another house, just south of the larger home. “The big house belongs to my parents. We farm together.”
Clare bit her lip. “Um, can I meet your parents?”
At first the man looked puzzled, but then he nodded. “Sure, I’ll see if Mom is around.” He turned and walked toward the house.
In his absence, Clare shook Dante awake and explained what had happened. They were a little afraid, but the signs had been clear. However, it felt strange to be out in the light, and a large operation like this had to be government-sanctioned. The purple circles of flowers might just be a sorry coincidence.
It wasn’t long before the man came loping back, a middle-aged woman trailing behind.
“Mom,” he said, as she caught up, “This young lady insisted on meeting you before accepting my invitation for breakfast.”
Clare was standing now. Though embarrassed by the introduction, she plowed ahead. “Hi,” she said. She bit her lip. “Can I ask you a question?”
“You just did,” said the woman, smiling.
“Um. Well, I was wondering if you know where Amber Jenson lives?”
“Certainly, you must be Clare. And, Dante?” she said, turning and smiling at the young boy.
“But—if—” Clare faltered.
“If I knew who you were, why didn’t I just say so right away? I wasn’t one hundred percent sure it was you,” she explained, “so it was still important that we follow procedure.” Sh
e saw the curious look on Clare’s face.
“It is out on the Network,” she said, “for Seed Savers to be on the lookout for two children traveling alone. Only we didn’t think it would be our pleasure to meet you. What are you doing this far off your main route and heading east rather than north?”
Clare, still standing, was speechless.
“Oh, but where are my manners,” the woman said. “I believe you were about to accept our offer for breakfast. Enough questions for now. Come! Come!”
Maryanne was a gracious host and fed Dante and Clare a superb breakfast of homegrown food. She explained that although they were prohibited from growing and saving large amounts of plants and seeds, the government allowed them a private garden for their own use. Commercially, they grew a government-approved monoculture genetically engineered to be the most suitable for shipping and processing. GRIM had no idea that while working within the sanctioned perimeters, they also were part of the Seed Savers Network. They had to be very careful.
“Which is why,” Maryanne finished, “we can’t enjoy your company for very long. GRIM representatives drop in unexpectedly—it’s how they keep us in line. I wouldn’t want to explain your presence. But,” she added, “if they happen to stop in while you are here and see you, we will go with the story that you are relatives visiting from the city—Mary and John—got that?” She looked sternly at the children. They nodded. “But that’s not likely to happen,” she said with a smile, noting the worried looks of the children. “Jesse, my son, the one who found you, will drive you into town and out the other side when it’s dark. It’ll cut a lot of hard pedaling off your trip, and get you through the city. You can sleep in a soft bed today, and I’ll pack some food for you.”
Clare and Dante listened in disbelief. They could hardly believe what was happening.
“You all right?”
“Oh yes,” answered Clare. “I’m, I’m just so surprised. We came down this road thinking we might find some food growing, and we found you—the lupines, friends, food, and a ride. We’re just . . . amazed.”
“God provides.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
31
A CLOSE CALL
Everything went as planned. GRIM did not come by. The children seized six more hours of sleep and a tour of the farm. Although the government-sanctioned crop and its harvest seemed efficient, it lacked the beauty of the bootlegged family garden. Here, the children captured a glimpse of the Eden for which they searched. Ten times the size of Gruff’s balcony, the garden overflowed with all kinds of vegetables and several varieties of berries, some of which—to the children’s delight—were currently ripe.
“Do you have any fruit trees?” Dante asked.
“No, son, I wish we did,” Jesse answered. “It’s not allowed.”
Clare and Dante wished they could stay longer but understood the reasons for leaving. They also felt an urgency to reach the border and find a place with food freedom. Maryanne packed food for them—mostly the standard processed food, “it does last longer,” she had said—but some of the good stuff as well.
“Just make sure no one sees you eating it,” she warned.
“Mom,” Jesse complained, “they’re staying out of sight completely, you don’t need to tell them not to be seen eating!”
Around 8:30 p.m. the kids piled into the back of Jesse’s truck. It would be a ninety-minute trip and dark by the time they crossed the city. “Try to sleep,” he ordered as they climbed in.
The ride was smooth once they hit the main road. The children, however, weren’t used to passively riding such long distances. Like their bus ride away from their former lives, this ride felt unending. Despite their doubts about being able to sleep, eventually they nodded off. When they awoke, it was dark and they were stopped. Jesse was gently shaking Clare.
“Clare, wake up. You, too,” he nudged Dante. It took a few moments for Clare to realize where she was—a feeling she’d experienced all too often lately.
Jesse lifted Dante up and out of the truck into the infinite darkness. Clare pushed the bikes and their packs close to the tailgate and climbed out. Jesse unloaded their things. He reminded them how to proceed.
“If you ride your bikes the remainder of the way, it will take three, maybe four nights. It’s best to stay away from the larger cities where people might be on the lookout for you. Here’s an updated map,” he said, handing it to Clare. “It shows how to skirt the urban areas, and the best places to cross the border.” Her eyes flicked up at his face. “Sorry,” he said, reading her thoughts, “we can’t plot the safe places. It’s too risky. But you know the signs. You found us.” He smiled genuinely at the children.
Clare nodded. She thought about Ana’s list, and Gruff. It was enough.
“Well,” he said, his hands stuffed in his pockets, “guess it’s time to say goodbye.”
Dante charged him and hugged him tightly.
Jesse patted his back. “You’ll be okay, little guy,” he said. “You’ll be fine.”
Clare thanked Jesse and hugged him. They watched as he climbed into the truck, did a U-turn, and drove back toward the farm that had been a safe harbor. Once again, Clare and Dante felt tiny and alone under the vast night sky.
Wordlessly, the children mounted their bikes and rode into the darkness. They were used to it, now, riding for a couple of hours without stopping or talking.
Around midnight they stopped, traffic all but nonexistent. It was a darker night than usual, with a late summer’s cloud cover. They tucked themselves into a dry culvert. Clare took out the lunches Maryanne had packed: a “sandwich,” she had called it, some Carbo Crispies, fresh carrots, and Energy Juice. It was a nice combination of modern food and fresh food.
After thirty minutes they were ready to ride. Dante, who had once readily whined about the grueling schedule, no longer complained; he had resigned himself to the necessity of the task, and had gained the spiritual and physical strength to keep going.
As the children pedaled on, they noticed more and more houses, then sprawling suburbs. Clare, in the lead, showed no signs of changing course.
“Clare,” Dante called from behind, “shouldn’t we go around?”
“It’s faster this way,” she said. “It’s the middle of the night.”
He quietly followed. It wasn’t long until other buildings appeared. And with them, large lights.
“Clare?”
“Keep riding,” she insisted. It was 2:30 a.m. She had checked her watch and felt secure.
Soon, they were inside city limits. It wasn’t a major city, one with roads that stretched forever blending town after town together, but it wasn’t a one-stop town either. Traffic lights glowed every couple of blocks, though few cars were out this time of night. The children rode on, looking both ways at intersections, but never stopping and barely slowing.
Movement from behind, flashing lights, shook the children from their trancelike state. A night patrol officer had seen them and was creeping along behind. He rolled his window down and called to them.
“Quick,” said Clare, “follow me and don’t look back!”
She turned sharply and cut through a parking lot, Dante close behind. They pedaled with all their might. The lights followed. Her eyes searched for any dark place, some place too small for a car to follow. A rundown trailer court to their left caught her eye.
“Over there!” She pointed the way.
They zoomed into the drive and through the court; they took a sharp right onto what had once been a grassy play area but was now overgrown. They kept riding.
A car door slammed behind them but they did not look back. They sped into an open shamble of a carport crammed full of someone’s treasure-junk, including half a dozen well-used bicycles. Adding theirs to the collection, they stripped off their saddles, and ducked back out the other side, dropping to the ground. This place was not well-lit, thank God. They crawled on their bellies to some brambles. The footsteps of the officer drew ne
arer.
“Children?”
It hurt, but they inched under the brambles, thorns scratching their heads and pulling at their hair.
He shined his light around the carport.
“Hello? Are you all right?”
He kept talking, as if he knew they could hear him. His voice grew lower, gentle and tender, but they couldn’t make out his words. Then, knocking on a door. Suddenly, lights in the trailer flew on. A woman’s scornful voice shattered the relative quiet.
“I don’t need no cops ‘round here!” she said. “Waking us up in the middle of the night. No, I haven’t seen no children. And what if I did? Is that what it’s got to now—arresting children in the middle of the night?!”
Clare and Dante felt a little sorry for the policeman. Clare worried that their bicycles might be noticed. Finally, the woman stopped yelling, and a door slammed. The police officer flashed his light around a little longer, but then the footsteps grew distant; the car door shut; and the nearly imperceptible sound of an electric car driving away was all they heard.
They stayed flat on their faces under the brambles for what seemed like hours. Eventually, they decided the angry woman must be asleep, and they slipped back to retrieve their bikes.
They were in a bind as to what to do next. The last thing they needed was to be spotted by the cop again, but on the other hand, would daylight in town be much better? Walking their bikes slowly through the dark trailer park, just enough light allowed them to see a burned-out shell of an abandoned mobile home. They went inside and lay their bikes down. Daylight it would be.
Waiting out the remainder of the night wasn’t easy. The children weren’t at all tired. They really wanted to play cards, but were afraid of attracting attention with their lights. So they lay still in the darkness of the vacant shelter, talking quietly at times, and remaining silent at others.
It was a good time to hatch a plan about how to get out of town.
