A Girl Called Fearless (37 page)

“Are you okay, Jonas?”

“Hector said the soldiers are going to kill Emmeline and Pluto and eat them.”

“No, no,” I said, easing his hat off his face. “They won't hurt the goats.”
Or will they?
I thought.
You don't know what they'll do.

A woman rocked on the next cot, breastfeeding a tiny, tiny baby. She looked stunned like she'd barely slept in days.

And just beyond her, I saw Luke and Yates hauling guns out of the locked cabinet. They were flat tan like a desert tank, and the muzzles and barrels and all the other parts had a brutal, no-shit, we're-at-war look.

Salvation's going to war
. And it was my fault for sending out Sparrow's message so everyone could see the Vegas Strip behind me. The phone weighed down my pocket like a stone and I felt helpless, not seeing any job I could do or way I could help.

Back up in the church hall, Barnabas outlined how he thought things would play out. “These agents have probably been told we're antigovernment extremists hoarding a stockpile of arms. They'll search our houses and the other buildings and conclude we're in here. They won't storm the building immediately, but they'll look for vulnerabilities to exploit. Meanwhile, we will observe how they operate. We've got eight cameras under the eaves and another half dozen in the trees. Most important, we will not fire first. We will only fire in self-defense.”

Barnabas stepped back from the podium.

83

We turned off the lanterns and waited silently in the dark. Men and women stood on the balcony in pairs, keeping watch through the narrow windows, Yates and I along with them.

Until then I hadn't noticed that the thick walls were angled so a person could fit comfortably against the windows or that the windows were positioned at chest height on both levels. Now I saw how every window had an inset that could be raised to accommodate a gun. I flipped the little panel up and realized it was inch-thick acrylic. The Bunker, the bulletproof windows, the balcony that circled the room. The entire building was designed to withstand an attack.

The moon lingered on the snow, casting long shadows that reached for the church.

The big room hummed as the boiler cranked out a pitiful heat and the ventilation fan turned. Yates and I huddled together, shivering through our clothes.

The feds showed up barely a half hour after we'd taken our places. The vehicle Barnabas had spotted on the surveillance camera crawled over the snow, looking like a kid's toy, not a transport carrying enough troops and assault weapons to blast some serious holes through these concrete walls.

“It stopped,” Yates whispered.

The troops got out, and even though they were wearing snow camouflage, their dark weapons stood out in the moonlight against their white suits.

“Let's get a count, people,” Barnabas said quietly.

The troops jogged over the snow. I caught whispers. “I count eighteen.” “My count's twenty.”

Yates and I watched them fan out to the houses along the road. Four would disappear inside a house, then a few minutes later, come out and wave signals to the others. They headed up the valley toward the houses on the outskirts.

“I'd better get to the control room,” Yates said. “Barnabas asked me to help monitor.”

I crept down the balcony behind Yates and stepped into the control room. Two rows of monitors displayed images caught by the cameras rigged near the roof and in nearby trees. Everything within a hundred feet around the church appeared in at least one screen, and Barnabas sat watching them.

“I don't believe this,” I said. “Nobody up here even has a radio, but—” I waved my hand at the screens and wires snaking everywhere.

“We
choose
not to let the outside world interfere in our daily lives,” Barnabas said, “but we're not fools.”

Something struck me then. “Beattie told me phone reception's spotty up here, so how did Maggie reach you when we were in trouble?”

He didn't even blink. “We have a micro cell tower, but we turned it off once you two arrived. We didn't want to make it easier for them to track you down.” He got up from his stool and left Yates and me with the flickering screens.

For an hour, we watched the figures on the screen get smaller and disappear from view. Yates wrapped his arms across me, but no matter how tightly he held me I couldn't get warm. He buried his face in my hair.

“What did Luke say to you?” I asked. “To make you leave Ramos alone?”

“He told me Ramos would gut me like a trout and I was no good to you dead.”

I was about to say I preferred him alive, when I saw troops converging in the road and heading right for the church. “They're back.”

Yates looked up. “We've got to tell Barnabas.”

I forced myself to breathe before I reached for the gun jammed in my pants.

“I wish I knew how to shoot,” Yates said, watching me check the clip and shove it in place.

“No, you really don't.”

84

Yates stood behind me at the window. The sky was ash grey, but there was enough light to see that the men in snow camo had retreated to the edge of the woods.

“What do you think they're waiting for?” I whispered.

“Dawn, maybe? They thought they'd surprise us, but now they've got to rethink their plan.”

Tension was tying everyone in the hall like taut strings crisscrossing the room. Across from us, Luke and Rogan framed a window, guns propped beside them. Sunlight struck the window, glaring like a spotlight on the thick acrylic.

“I can't see a thing,” I said.

“Let's check the cameras,” Yates replied. We kept low and scurried to the back room where Barnabas was fixed on the center screen.

“They're approaching on the east,” he said.

“With their bayonets out?” Yates said. “What the hell? Do they think they're going to cut through the walls?”

“No, they're doing what I would do,” Barnabas muttered.

Cameras captured every thrust as a dozen men stabbed the solarskin and jerked their weapons back. The sparkling black fabric tore into ragged pieces that fluttered onto the brilliant white snow.

“They're trying to cut off our electricity,” I said.

Barnabas nodded. “They're sending us a message, letting us know that they're going to eliminate our energy sources. First, the solarskin, then the windmills. They'll force us to use our generator, and burn up our fuel. They know we're not going anywhere and no one's going to show up to save us.”

“But we've got computers, a cell tower. We could call for help,” I said.

“The minute we turn on that tower, they'll jam the signal.”

“So we don't even try!”

“No, we wait until they're not paying attention.”

A bullhorn bored through the church's thick walls and bulletproof glass as if they didn't exist. “Margaret Stanton and Aveline Reveare.”

My stomach plunged, hearing the distorted voice utter my name. Maggie and I crept toward the southern wall, keeping out of sight of the windows and the faceless, nameless agent demanding our presence.

“You are wanted on charges of sedition against the United States Government for violating the Patriot Act. We ask that you surrender into our custody.”

Oh, my God
. I crossed my arms and pressed them to my chest as my body started to shake.

Barnabas appeared over Maggie's shoulder. “Hard to resist a polite request like that.”

“What's sedition?” I said.

Yates came up beside me. “It's treason.”

“Not exactly,” Barnabas said. “It's attempting to overthrow the government by force. It's one way they prosecute terrorists.”

My heart pounded in my ears so hard I almost missed what Maggie said next. “Yeah. After they torture them.”

Images flashed in my brain like shuffled cards. Agents holding me underwater. Electrodes ripping my body. A needle plunging into my arm.

I started to laugh. This was unreal. I was pinned down by a federal death squad, and suddenly, my best option was to die in a hurricane of bullets.

I could feel myself losing control and the laughter running away with me, and I wanted to stop, but I couldn't, even as I heard my laughs turn jerky and hysterical like the barks of an injured dog. Yates tried to put his arms around me, but I slapped them away.

Then my breath was gone like someone had shoved a wad of cotton down my throat. “I can't breathe, I can't breathe,” I gasped.

Yates grabbed my arms and held on. “Stop! Look at me!”

My lungs screamed for air, and I tried to pull away.

Yates swept my feet out from under me. I fell to the floor and he pinned me with his knees, and clamped a hand over my mouth. I twisted under him, but he pressed down harder.

Get off me! Get off me!

“Avie. Avie! You're hyperventilating. You need to quiet down—breathe through your nose.”

I strained to push him off. Yates' blue eyes were dark as deep water. “You have to trust me,” he said, and pressed his thumb over my nostril.

Trust you? Get off!

“Stop fighting me and breathe!” he ordered.

I hate you, I thought, pulling in hard through my one open nostril. It wasn't enough. It was like trying to breathe through a straw.

“Long, slow, deep breaths,” Yates whispered, looking me in the eyes as he held me down.

My lungs began to fill and my breathing steadied. Yates took his hand away from my face and fell off me, his expression tender and scared. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

I lay there for a moment, grateful Yates would never know what went through my mind when he was on top of me. I reached for his hand. “It's okay. I'm fine now.”

Slowly, I sat up and let my head fall back against the wall. I was sure everyone would be staring at me after my breakdown, but they weren't. They were too busy watching the movements out in the snow.

85

For the next three hours, we watched the agents hitch a windmill to their vehicle and either pull it down or mow it down. After each one crashed, the bullhorn demanded that Maggie and I come out. After the fifth or sixth windmill went down, I heard a door slam and people yelling in the control room. Later, Mrs. Gomez came out, her face crimson as she glared up at me on the balcony.

But at the same time, I thought I was seeing a miracle as Luke wandered over to Maggie. They stood together, talking in a way that shut out the rest of the room, and their faces were thoughtful and a little pained. Luke was asking her questions, and Maggie was steeling herself to answer. A part of me was glad they were taking down the walls, even if they were doing it because they realized time had run out.

The Council kept telling us to sit tight and wait to see what happened next, but by midafternoon, everything changed.

“Y'all are going to want to see this,” a man called from his post.

Beattie took one look out the window and bolted for the Bunker. “We can't let Jemima witness this,” I heard her say as she flew past.

Yates and I pressed into a window niche. Two agents had dragged a nanny goat from the barn. People whispered all around us, speculating on what the feds were up to. The nanny was fighting hard. The men probably outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds, but she bucked and reared and threw them down the whole distance from the barn to right outside the church.

I recognized her. It was Emmeline.

The two men positioned her as if they wanted us to have a clear view. Emmeline struggled and stomped as a third man walked up. The two held her tight, and the third pulled a knife from a belt at his waist.

A gasp swept through the church like a gust of wind. The man thrust the knife under Emmeline's jaw and drew the blade down her neck. She bucked and fell, forcing the men to their knees.

“He cut her jugular,” someone said.

Blood spurted from her neck, brilliant red on the blue-white snow. Emmeline jerked and the men let go. Her legs churned and then she collapsed.

I gagged and had to turn away.

Behind me, I heard footsteps, and Jemima threw herself against a window. She screamed, and pounded the thick acrylic with her fist until Caleb pulled her away. Her family surrounded her as she sobbed.

“It's over,” Yates said.

Outside, Emmeline lay, a dark heap in the blood-splattered snow.

“Sadists.” I turned my back on the scene, and my eyes swept over Jesus up on the cross. I felt a rush of anger at how pointless he looked, hanging there.

The bullhorn squealed and we all looked toward the sound.

“Come out if you care about your children.”

My body went cold. For a moment, the church was chillingly silent.

“Screw you!” a man yelled back.

“You can burn in hell,” yelled another.

Ramos marched over to the American flag and tore it from the wall. Furious Spanish spewed from his mouth as he strode to the center of the room and climbed on one of the long tables. His wife grabbed for his hand. “Get down, Ramos. You want to be a target?”

He shook her off. “This is our country! Ours! We fought for it!” He waved the flag in the air defiantly and began to sing. “‘My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty—'”

My heartbeat quickened as a dozen voices joined his. “‘Of thee I sing.'”

The flag whipped over our heads, and for the first time I got that this song was about people like us here tonight who'd been pushed down and attacked by the government that was supposed to keep them safe. My voice rose up with Yates' and merged with the others.

“‘Land where my fathers died! Land of the pilgrim's pride!'”

One by one people joined in until we all sang as one, “‘From every mountainside, let freedom ring!'”

The room resonated with righteous anger as people sang six more verses I didn't know. Their anger was a presence I could almost touch, and when Ramos climbed down from the table and hung the flag back in its place, I told Yates, “I'm not scared anymore. Is that insane?”