The Inside Battle

by Melanie Sumrow

  Outside the building, there’s an assembly line of men and kids loading a U-Haul. “I’ll take it,” one of the guys says, pulling the crate from my hands and placing it in line for the truck. I rub my biceps and take a look inside the cargo space. It’s full of enough survival kits, gas masks, and unmarked boxes of weapons to start World War III.

  I have to find Dad. I scan the groupings of Flag Bearers when I spot Morgan and Wade, standing next to another U-Haul. She’s crying, her face red and snotty.

  I slowly walk a little closer and stop, pretending to fiddle with my bootlaces as I crane my neck to hear what on earth could make this girl cry.

  “I can’t take you with me, sweetie,” Wade says, attempting to dry her tears with his scarred hand.

  She pushes his hand away and sniffles. “You’re going to miss my birthday.”

  “I know.” He pulls her into his arms. “But I’m doing this for you.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” she mumbles.

  He kisses the top of her head. “Bravery requires selflessness.”

  She nods and buries her ruddy face in his chest.

  “It kind of sucks for her, doesn’t it?” Justin says as he approaches from behind.

  I pretend to finish tying my laces before I stand. “What?”

  He gestures at Morgan. “She’s one of the best shooters, and she doesn’t even get to go.”

  So Karl was right: Wade’s not letting any of the kids come with us. “Surprises me,” I lie.

  Justin shakes his head, eyeing me with something like jealousy. “You’re the only kid going.” Then he puffs his chest. “At least I get to stay and help our dads with the special mission, which is probably more dangerous anyway.”

  Dangerous? Did he include my dad in that? “Special mission?”

  Justin nods, like he’s expecting me to be impressed. But I have no idea what he’s talking about. “I thought you knew about it,” he said.

  “Oh, yeah. That,” I say, hoping he’ll now think I’m the one who’s jealous.

  He laughs. “Yeah, it’s going to be awesome.” Justin slaps my arm. “Did you see the blueprints your dad got?”

  I shake my head.

  “Oh, you should ask him to show them to you. He got them from the city records department so Wade could pinpoint the best places to start the shooting.”

  Shooting? It feels like an invisible pair of hands is squeezing my throat. I can’t speak.

  Justin laughs. “He even called the church to figure out what time the service begins—can you believe it?”

  I cough, forcing myself to swallow. “Church?”

  “Yeah, the place should be full, too.“ Justin grins. “Remind me never to cross your dad, okay?”

  My knees buckle. It can’t be. But it’s the only thing that fits. There’s only one place he could be talking about: Josiah’s church.

  No, that can’t be right. There has to be some kind of mistake. Karl didn’t mention anything about a special mission, or a church shooting. He said we’re going to Washington, D.C. The mission is there, not here.

  My gaze spins around the camp. “Have you seen my dad?” I ask, frantic, searching the men moving around the grounds, the ones finishing with the trucks and saying goodbye to their kids. “He said he needed to give me something.”

  Justin looks for a moment. “There,” he says, pointing at the watchtower on the far side of the clearing. “But you better hurry. Everyone’s about to leave.”

  Dad is already halfway up the ladder, climbing to the top.

  I run toward him, jostling between the moving men and kids, the grenades and the guns.

  When I reach the ladder, my hands grasp the metal rails. My heart pounds harder as I climb, my boots striking each step with a bong, bong, bong.

  “Oh, hey, Rebs,” Dad says, his voice calm as he leans out the open side window. He disappears and, within seconds, slides open the floor hatch.

  From the top of the ladder, I stretch my arms overhead, clutching the sides of the rectangular opening with my fingertips and pull myself into the gray tower. The floor is about the size of four robotics tables smushed together and smells of sawdust.

  Dad is on one knee on the plywood floor. He pulls three pairs of binoculars off a low shelf before placing them inside an olive-green knapsack I’ve never seen before. One of our bug-out bags sits on the floor next to the knapsack.

  “You wanted to give me something?” I ask.

  He nods as a truck’s engine turns, followed by another.

  Dad stands, leaving the knapsack on the floor, and looks out the main window of the watchtower. He rubs the stubble along his cheek. “Not much time now.”

  I near the window.

  From our bird’s-eye view, I can see the unmarked bus sitting where the training grounds used to be. Morgan is wiping her tears in the front row by herself and, one by one, the other kids salute Wade before boarding the bus.

  Dwight stands at attention next to Wade, while Justin is like a statue next to his dad. My stomach takes another turn. What if there really is a “special mission”?

  The rest of the men are getting inside their trucks, ready to leave.

  “Karl and I have been talking,” Dad says, still looking outside. He lifts a hand in a short wave.

  My shoulders tighten as I wonder if Dad knows Karl is an FBI agent. Would Dad really kill him? And if he doesn’t know, should I tell him so he doesn’t get into any more trouble than he already is?

  “Talking about what?” I ask as Karl waves back at Dad.

  The U-Hauls rumble and disappear along the bumpy road between the trees. Dad inches away from the window and grabs the bug-out bag. “You’re going to ride with Karl to our next location.”

  I shake my head. “I want to be with you.”

  He hands me the bag. “I put extra packets of dried strawberries in here for the road.” He gives me a small smile. “I know how much you like them.”

  Is he really talking about strawberries at a time like this? “Why can’t we ride together?”

  “I’ve been given a special mission,” he says.

  I drop the bag with a heavy thud.

  Dad jumps at the sound and begins pacing. He’s not looking at me anymore.

  “Special mission?”

  “I’ll need to hang back for a few days.”

  “But why?” I ask. “What are you going to be doing?”

  He stops. “I need you to go ahead with the others, and I’ll meet you there when I’m done.”

  “And what if I say no?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Dad says. He moves over to the same shelf with the binoculars and grabs a flashlight. He clicks it on—making a bright circle of light on the wall—and then off. Seeming satisfied, he lifts the green knapsack from the floor and props it on the windowsill in front of me.

  Now’s my chance to tell him. Karl’s an FBI agent, I say in my head, practicing as I open my mouth to tell him.

  He drops the flashlight into a loop on the side of the bag; the weight pulls the knapsack open slightly, revealing the corner of something I could swear looks like . . . a blueprint.

  No, it can’t be.

  “What’s wrong?” Dad asks.

  I blink once, twice, trying to clear my vision when I spot the letters AME scribbled in the corner of the wrinkled paper. My heart stops.

  Dad seems to follow my gaze and immediately cinches the knapsack closed before I can read the rest.

  Wasn’t Josiah’s church called the “AME Zion Church”?

  “Rebel?” Dad asks.

  I wipe my hands on my pants, staring at Dad’s hardened face. Karl was right: He isn’t a hero anymore. Not if he’s planning to attack a church full of innocent people. I think of Calliope and snatch my bug-out bag.

  “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I nod, biting the inside of my cheek and forcing back the tears. “I’ve got to—go,” I mumble before slinging the bug-out bag over my shoulder
and hurrying to the hole in the floor. My foot reaches for the ladder.

  “Wait,” Dad orders, and for some reason, my body still obeys. My foot comes off the ladder as he slowly approaches. To my surprise, he immediately pulls me against his strong chest. “Too old to give me a hug now?”

  My arms mechanically swing around him; I breathe in his familiar woodsy scent. Wrapped inside his strong arms, I feel like a little boy again.

  I could still tell him. I could still save him from his own hate.

  But if I do, can I really trust he won’t hurt Karl? And even if he’s willing to leave right now, would he call off the special mission? Could I trust Wade and Dwight to leave Josiah and Calliope alone? Could I really stop their hate?

  Dad squeezes me tight. “Who watches the watchmen?”

  Disappointment floods every part of me. I quickly pull away and answer, “You do.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Dad closes my door and stands next to Karl’s truck, an assault rifle slung around his front. He didn’t hug me again, but now he gives me a slight wave. The engine rumbles. Or maybe the wave was for Karl.

  I roll down the passenger window. “Bye.”

  “See you in a few days,” Dad says before turning the opposite direction.

  My insides churn, knowing what he plans to do between now and then.

  Leaves and branches crunch beneath the tires as Karl drives us toward the narrow road between the trees. I spot Dad’s reflection in the truck’s side-view mirror. He’s talking with Wade and Dwight and Justin. Probably about their special mission. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

  We hit the first rut; the truck’s shocks squeak. “Ready to see your aunt?” Karl asks.

  I wipe the sweat from my forehead.

  “We’re going into town first thing. There’s an officer there, ready to take you to Amarillo.”

  Home. I could go home.

  I roll up the window, sealing out the smell of dirt and trees.

  “This time tomorrow, you’ll be in your own room.”

  It would be so easy to go. I could keep all the thoughts inside my head like always. I could go home and forget about the paranoia and guns and hate. But what about Josiah? Calliope?

  Karl nudges my arm as we go over another bump. “You okay, kid?” He returns his hand to the wheel so he can maneuver through the trees.

  I could nod. He wouldn’t ask me again. I could go home. I could forget.

  We bounce in another trench; the engine groans. But I know I couldn’t forget her. Not really. I don’t want to forget.

  I swallow hard before speaking. “I know what they’re planning.” It comes out louder than I expect.

  Karl’s eyes are on me, instead of the road where they should be.

  “Tree!” I yell, pointing.

  He jerks the wheel left, barely avoiding the wide trunk. The tree’s branches scratch the right side of his truck. When we’re clear, he nods. “Go on,” he says, keeping his eyes forward.

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “What?”

  “The mission,” I say and then shake my head. “It is, but it isn’t.”

  Karl shifts in his seat. I can sense him tensing next to me. “You’re going to have to help me out here.”

  I release a hard sigh, frustrated. Why am I so bad at this?

  “Why don’t you start from the beginning?” he reasons. “Baby steps.”

  “Okay,” I say and try to breathe, but it’s hard with all the bumps and ruts. I grab hold of the overhead bar. “There’s a special mission.”

  “In Washington?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Yes, there is a mission there. But there’s another one.”

  “Where?”

  “Here,” I say and then correct myself, “In Mercy.” I take another breath. “They’re planning to attack Josiah’s church. They’ve got blueprints. And guns. And probably bombs,” I say, the faucet of words opening wider with each confession. “We have to stop them. We have to tell Calliope. We can’t let them die. We—”

  “Slow down,” Karl says, his voice steady. “Do you know when?”

  We bounce; my fingers slip from the grab bar. “Tomorrow.”

  “Dammit,” Karl says. “I’m sorry, but that’s awfully fast.”

  “I know,” I say, my voice jittery. My hands are shaking. “After they attack the church, they’re meeting with the others in Washington for their next mission.”

  And suddenly, we’re out of the trees. Our tires run along the smooth pavement for a minute before Karl pulls over to the side of the road. “Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand?” he asks, monitoring his rearview mirror. “Because this is the first I’ve heard of an attack on a church.”

  My fingernails dig into his cloth seat. He doesn’t believe me. “You asked me to help you, and I am. You told me yourself Wade was paranoid, and he only tells those who are involved in the mission.”

  Karl seems to consider me for a second and then straightens behind the wheel. “I don’t want to redirect resources when we should be focusing on Washington.”

  “Can’t you focus on both? I thought you worked for the FBI.”

  The muscle below Karl’s right eye twitches. He faces forward again, dropping the gearshift. “I’ll take you into town,” he says, checking one more time before he pulls onto the empty road. “I’ll make some calls.” We move along the switchbacks, swaying down the mountain.

  I don’t think he believes me. “What about Josiah and Calliope? What about the church? We can’t leave them. We have to warn them.”

  “There’s no we. You’re going home,” he says and nods. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

  “But they won’t trust you,” I say, shifting in my seat to face him. I’m not sure I completely trust him. I pull the seat belt from my throat. “You saw how Calliope reacted when she saw you coming.” Even though I know he’s FBI, he still looks like one of them. “She thinks you’re one of them.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Let me tell them.”

  “You?” he says with a laugh.

  But I’m not laughing.

  “Forget it. You’re going home.”

  Heat flashes along my skin. “You forget it,” I say, my voice rising. “You’re too busy worrying about whatever’s happening in Washington to worry about my friends. If you don’t tell them, I will. I’ll jump from this truck and run back if I have to.”

  Karl shoots me a hard look. “You don’t understand.”

  “I understand plenty,” I say, every muscle tightening. “There’s not much time, you said so yourself.”

  We sway across the final switchback; Karl releases a long sigh. “You know what, kid? I think I liked it better when you didn’t talk so much.”

  ***

  My boots move swiftly, brushing through the red flowers. “There,” I say, pointing to Josiah and Calliope’s cabin. The logs glow like amber in the fading sunlight. I glance over my shoulder at Karl. His face is focused, scary. “We still look like them. We probably should’ve changed clothes first.”

  “No time, remember?” he says dryly. We couldn’t go through camp, or the Flag Bearers would see us, so we had to take the long way to their cabin. All the way over, Karl was calling and trying to gather area law enforcement, trying to convince them a kid was a trustworthy informant. I wanted to ask him how he got such good service out here but figured it was an FBI thing.

  We hurry up the ramps, our heavy boots thumping all the way to the porch. I stop in front of the wide red door.

  Karl gestures. “Aren’t you going to knock?” he says, impatiently standing behind me. “You’re the one who had to come, remember?”

  My knuckles strike the door. Once. Twice. Three times.

  “Who’s there?” Calliope asks.

  I can hear her approaching footfalls. “Me,” I answer, trying to keep my voice from sounding strange.

  She swings the door open, wearing her socce
r clothes and a smile. And then she sees who’s standing behind me. Her smile immediately disappears; her eyes go wide with fear.

  “Please,” I say, holding up a hand. “Wait.”

  The door starts swinging; Karl lodges his foot in the threshold so she can’t close it.

  She backs away.

  Tires squeak against the floor as Josiah rolls into the room. “Who is it, Peanut?”

  Calliope grabs his wheelchair. “He led them here,” she says, looking at me.

  I hurry inside, shaking my head. “It’s not what you think.”

  “I’m with the FBI,” Karl says, strolling in behind me. He flashes a badge, so cheesy, like they do in the movies.

  Calliope looks skeptical, and I don’t blame her.

  “He’s an undercover agent,” I hurry to explain. “He’s been living with the Flag Bearers for several months, building a case against them.”

  Her eyes narrow with disbelief, like I told her Karl is the long-lost descendant of the tooth fairy.

  Josiah gently touches Calliope’s hand, signaling her to release his chair. He rolls it forward. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what any of this has to do with us.”

  Karl puts his badge away. “We have reason to believe your church is the subject of a planned attack.”

  “Attack?” Calliope says.

  Josiah gestures to the plaid sofa. “Please.”

  “Thank you,” Karl says and then sits.

  I edge toward the stone fireplace. Too anxious to sit, I stand next to the mantel. Calliope moves to the other side.

  With all of us facing one another, Karl continues, “Our informant tells us it’s scheduled for tomorrow’s service.”

  Josiah squeezes the arms of his wheelchair. “So soon?”

  “I’m sorry,” Karl says. “We came as soon as we found out.”

  “You told him,” Calliope deducts, staring at me, seeing right through me. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

  I nod.

  “How long have you known?”

  “I didn’t know until a few hours ago.”

  She looks like she’s trying to decide whether to believe me or not.

  “Rebel insisted we come warn you first,” Karl says, an edge of irritation to his voice.

  “Grab my directory,” Josiah says with a new sense of urgency. “We need to go into town and call the congregation. They need to know they shouldn’t come to church tomorrow.”