Exodia (14 page)

“
So with the scrolls proving
that Executive President Truslow doesn’t have the governors in his
pocket we won’t have to launch the rebellion.” Lydia clapped her
hands twice, interlaced her fingers, and dropped her chin onto her
knuckles.

“
Don’t get too thrilled.
Teague will present the scrolls and Truslow will no doubt toss him
in prison and then it will be war.”

Lydia closed her eyes. “But we don’t
want war,” she whispered. She was as ready to fight as anyone else
in the Red slum. Enough was enough. Battista had been a monster but
their lives had only gotten worse under Truslow. He made them work
until dark. He no longer supplied them with equipment or even the
raw materials. Those who had to lay bricks now had to work twice as
hard and make the bricks, too. The carpenters had to lumber the
forest first. The miners had to build their pulleys and carts.
Women who used to mind the younger children so mothers could work,
now found themselves teaching the youngsters to sew and cook, and
made them hike out to the fields to help plant, water, weed, and
harvest. Schools were non-existent; homeschooling was dying out,
too.

Lydia groaned. These people couldn’t go
to war and win. They were hungry, weak, and tired.

Barrett slipped his arm around her
shoulders. He didn’t want to say it because he knew where her heart
was, but he also knew that a little bit of encouragement was all
she needed. “There’s still a chance that Dalton will return,” he
said. He felt her shoulder muscles slacken. “There’s a
rumor–”

Lydia raised her head.

“–
that Dalton has been
living in a secret town. I heard it from Vinn.”

Lydia dropped her gaze again. When she
didn’t shrug herself out from under his arm Barrett took a
chance.

“
Lydia,” he breathed in
through his nose, took his time, “I think you’re the prettiest girl
that ever–”

“
Bear, stop. We have to work
together.” She twisted out from under his shoulder and stood up.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Barrett listened to the door slam and
pushed a shock of hair out of his face. The futility of his
devotion was like hammering nails with a pillow. Feathery shafts of
moonlight turned his face blue.

* * *

Kassandra wanted to scream, but she
choked down her hysteria instead and jiggled the baby, clutching
him a little too tightly to her chest. When the spotter plane flew
over and Dalton told her they were finally leaving the ranch she
hadn’t been able to stop the tears. For years she had longed for
someone to rescue her, to take her away, and then Dalton had come
along. After they were married she tried her best to be a good
wife, but she would have left him behind too if the chance
occurred.

Dalton stood rigid beside her, casting
his eyes right and left, but not moving as the soldier advanced
toward them. The young officer held Sana with one hand and kept his
gun pointed at her head.

“
Is it me you want?” Dalton
spoke with a calm authority, his head high. “Let her go. Take me.”
He offered up his hands and the soldier pushed Sana to the
ground.

Sana lifted herself to one elbow and
looked to her family and Dalton, whispering, “Altogether meek.” Her
mom and sisters clustered around her. Dalton immediately dropped
his head, bent forward, and assumed the meek attitude that Sana’s
gemfry gift had advised.

“
I’m the grandson of the
last Executive President.” He willed himself to speak an even
longer sentence. “I have an inheritance which I’ll give to you if
you let these girls go.”

The soldier said nothing. His face was
round but his eyes were narrow; his lips curled downward as if he
never smiled. He took a step backwards and motioned with his gun
for Dalton to move left and join the line of men being marched out
of town.

Two more soldiers, their uniforms
tattered and faded, stepped up with clubs and ropes. One bound the
girls together in pairs at their ankles while the other one slowly
looked each girl over. Mrs. Luna, linked to her youngest daughter,
retrieved the backpack before their captors jabbed at them to move.
Araceli picked up the sling that had fallen to the ground and
helped Kassandra settle the baby into it. The soldier had left
about two feet of rope between their legs so they weren’t
completely hobbled. The Luna family took reluctant steps
forward.

The chaos of the day was punctuated
with screams and bullets, but by nightfall the CC militia had
complete control of the townspeople. Every man and boy was laden
with food supplies and blankets which were lashed to their backs
and chests as if they were pack mules; every woman and girl was
given as much as she could carry as the soldiers looted each house
they passed.

There was no sleeping that night or the
next day as they trudged down the middle of the silent highway,
through woods and fields, straight for Exodia.

* * *

Pretending to be meek is no problem for
me now. My back, shoulders, thighs, and feet alternate between
blinding pain and brief bouts of numbness. I started out near the
front of the line, but I walk slowly on purpose. I keep my head
down when the whips start cracking, and I persist in lengthening my
distance from the front of this crowd of captives. I’m now
surrounded by old men and young boys, and nearer to the group of
women and children lagging behind. I hear them many yards back. I
concentrate on listening, convinced that I have Barrett’s intense
hearing. I curse under my breath when I identify the nagging cries
of a newborn among the children’s bawling.

I step over a clump of steaming horse
manure, already punched flat with the prints of human prisoners
pressing onward. The trail is wide here with luxuriant green hills
on both sides and an intensely bright blue sky above. Clear enough
for God to see the pain in every face.

I haven’t seen my father-in-law since
the start of the march and I pray that he wasn’t one of the
“examples”, whipped and shot and left for dead before the journey
began.

A mosquito buzzes my ear. I almost like
the sound; it masks the sobs of full grown men … and infant
sons.

The few cars that come into view have
just as quickly veered away, smartly choosing woods or median or
racing back the way they came. I wonder if the soldiers would even
want a car. I doubt it since we seem to travel a rugged yet true
southern line over stream and hill and rough road, through forest,
field, and abandoned towns. Horse and human legs work better on
this course.

I have a plan.

“
We camp here,” shouts the
highest ranking officer.

We’re close to Exodia. I can smell its
stink. I collapse to my knees and wait for one of the soldiers to
reach me. He unties my burden so that I can lie upon the ground.
We’re docile prisoners now, too tired and weak to run away. The men
relieve themselves where they are. I rest a few moments then force
myself to sit up and look back.

“
Stay down or you’ll be
shot,” another soldier yells. He cracks his whip for emphasis and
moves around the outside of our group, yelling and snapping, but
never unholstering his gun.

For my plan to work I need those last
four coins from Gresham’s diaper bag to use as a bribe. I’ve
watched the round-faced soldier all day. He has given me
inscrutable looks, impossible to interpret, and looked my way
often, but I’m sure he can be bought. If this new army of my
grandfather’s successor is made up of drafted Reds who outnumber
the officers I’m certain I can at least free myself and Kassandra
and run away.

* * *

By sunset the soldiers let them camp on
the hard-scrabble surface of a parking lot which hadn’t held a car
in half a century.

Kassandra and her sisters and mother
were still tethered to one another though some of the soldiers had
released other women, taking them into the woods one by
one.

They knotted themselves into a tight,
warm nest with Kassandra, the baby, Flor, and Sana in the middle.
Flor pestered her mother with questions about their father, their
home, and their helpless sheep. Kassandra rocked the baby and
scrutinized the townspeople around her. She had known them her
entire life and thought they were defiant and rebellious, not
subservient. Except for a few brave souls who stood up to the
soldiers at first, everyone had acquiesced. Including her
husband.

She looked to the far side of the
encampment where it seemed the men had dropped where they stood.
She couldn’t see Dalton or her father. If she had she would’ve
screamed angry words at them. They’d been meek and passive when
they should’ve fought.

The twins begged extra water from their
guards and passed it all to Kassandra who needed to keep up her
milk for the baby.

“
Hush, it’s all right,” she
soothed her tiny son. She leaned against Katie and wrestled the
baby out of the sling. She caught the eye of a nearby guard and
gave him a withering stare. When he looked away she lifted her
shirt and tucked the newborn in for a feeding.

“
How’s Gresham doing?” her
mother asked. She tried to smile as she spoke the baby’s name. Her
son-in-law honored her by using her maiden name for his first born.
She had grown to love Dalton as the son she never had.

“
He’s okay, but I only have
two dry diapers left.” She lowered her voice and asked, “Do you
think our guards expect the money Dalton offered? Is that why we’re
getting special treatment?”

Her mother shrugged. “Did you know
about the inheritance?”

Kassandra studied the guard, sure he
was listening, and lied to her mother, “Yes, he is worth quite a
bit of money.” The truth was something different. Dalton had
confided his feelings for his grandfather, his indifference, and
his certainty that though his mother may have access to a fortune,
there would be nothing left in Dalton’s name. Definitely not if
there had been an execution order on him.

* * *

I lie back next to my pile of stolen
goods and stare up at a silvery half moon. I wonder what
Kassandra’s father would see in this night’s selection of stars. I
close my eyes for a moment. The moment stretches to an hour. I open
my eyes. The moon has moved across the sky. A stiff breeze whisks
the leaves in noisy breaths around us, echoing the snorts and
snores and whimpers on the ground. I risk a slow movement to my
knees and crawl in and out around the sleeping men. There’s no
angry shout, no shot, no crack of a whip to discipline my action. I
pause at the end of the men’s area and lie on my stomach for a
while. A boy lies spread eagle next to me, his face molding around
a pile of sharp gravel. I gently lift his head and brush the stones
away. I recognize him as the boy who has a crush on Deandra. He
doesn’t wake.

The darkness hides any sign of my
family so I’ll have to creep among the sleeping mass to find them.
I gamble on a bolder move. I rise. If I walk with shoulders back
and hands on my belt sacks as if they are weapons then in this
gloom I might appear to be a soldier.

I spot a single guard leaning back
against a tree, arms crossed, head lolling. A horse knickers and
the guard pops his head up straight, checks his prisoners, takes a
step in my direction. I wave him back as if I’m his superior.
Perhaps I would’ve been if things had turned out differently. He
returns to his tree and I intend to walk about as if I know what
I’m doing.

I step over piles of supposed treasure
and around sleeping bodies. I catch a glint of anger or fear, I
can’t tell which, off the open eyes of a woman who quickly closes
them against the specter of me. Most of the women are sleeping in
pairs, an arm slung over a child or young daughter. I see a larger
group a little way farther – my family I hope. I take a cautious
step in that direction.

There are more sounds near the string
of horses. I glance back to see the guard whispering to another
soldier before exchanging places with him. This new watchman takes
up his post at the tree and waves me over. There are at least
fifteen dark yards between us and maybe only five yards to the
eight sleeping Lunas.

There’s nothing I can do but
obey.

And remember my combat training. A
quick series of moves will disarm and silence this soldier. I can
quietly put him to sleep. Or do worse. I had to practice a
technique of hand over mouth, arm around neck, twisting and raking
the jugular vein with a battle knife. But we also rehearsed with
shards of glass, broken plates, whatever we could find. We were
fitted with sand-filled collars that spewed the grains like rivers
of blood.

I quicken my pace. I’m strong from
working on the ranch. I’ll have to surprise him. He cocks his head,
moves his hand to his whip, squints in the low light. I have maybe
three seconds to act.

* * *

Kassandra lifted her head and stared
toward the line of old trees that were evenly spaced across the
expanse. There were guards posted at some of them. She saw a new
soldier come up and replace the one who seemed to watch her a
little too closely. Another guard was checking the sleeping women,
striding over and around the bodies. No, it wasn’t a soldier. She
blinked and strained her eyes and watched the familiar figure
advance. She blinked again and prayed Gresham wouldn’t pick this
moment to cry out; he was sound asleep, cradled in the crook of her
arm. Despite her desire to see her husband act bravely, she wished
he would duck down low, creep to her side, and gently rescue her.
She noticed the guard wave Dalton over. She held her breath. Dalton
turned like an obedient pup and took his long strides toward the
soldier. The guard, tall and thin and ghostlike in the dark, took a
wide-legged stance in front of the tree and fixed his attention on
Dalton.