by Erin Lorence
I was no Gilead. And I’d be more hunted than any other messenger in Oregon.
I’d scooted over on my mat so she wouldn’t have to lie in the dirt, and after a while her irregular sniffing morphed into steadier breathing. It lulled me into a sense of security I’d never thought possible—not in this home that smelled like nature’s decay. A home where a loose piece of bedrock could snuff me out. But since I’d never in my life slept where I couldn’t hear others, I was glad not to start tonight. Back home, my hammock hung sandwiched between my cousins’.
My thoughts drifted to them. To Trinity. If only Trinity instead of Melody could come with me...or even Jovie who was seven...or was she eight now? Either way, she had loads more guts than this Brae mouse who was what? Sixteen?
Her, God? I’m assuming You know she’s weak, gutless, and, if possible, more clueless than I am about what’s out there. She’ll be such a...a burden.
You truly want me to help her get to the Council, though, huh? You think I can handle this? Because I feel like I’ve got more than enough to handle. You know, what with staying alive...and making it to Mount Jefferson, which, for whatever reason, will keep my brother and family from dying—and all those other Christians. At least that’s what Gran said. And You haven’t said anything otherwise.
I feel like I’m drowning here again. Could You help me not mess up too much while I try to do what You’ve asked? I love You. You know that. I want to make You proud. To the end. Help me stay strong even if the end hurts. Even if it hurts a lot.
My skin tingled, and the little hairs on my cheeks and neck lifted.
He was here—had never left. A surge of joy that contradicted every circumstance in my life coursed through me. I surrendered to it and closed my eyes, able to relax. I drifted.
You are mine.
He sounded so fierce and protective. Though I was half asleep, my heart ached in response.
I love you more than you can ever understand.
6
I thought I’d fallen asleep in a black hole that stunk like a grave. But I opened my eyes to home. Home, where the air was bark and pine needles and the morning sun warmed my face.
Glancing down, my toes skimmed the tops of familiar maples. The fragile parts where birds perch a second before taking off. Not branches I’d ever climb.
I shrugged and peered through the leafy gaps at my home below. I needed to find my family I’d thought I’d already said goodbye to.
Our hammocks on the sleeping porches hung limp, the woven folds swaying in the breeze.
So, they were awake too.
I widened my search, hunting out my grandma’s willow chair.
It rocked lonely, without its usual occupant. And the high platform where my grandpa acted as sentinel twenty-four seven was empty too.
My gaze skimmed to the kitchen. The eating decks. The garden. The beehives. The row of catapults. The junk piles. The zip lines...all the way out to the Joyner’s platforms. And still not a single mother, brother, grandparent, cousin, or neighbor in sight.
Impossible. Because my family had nowhere else to go.
I blinked. Where else would they be? Where else?
The forest’s usual summertime mix of bright deciduous leaves, evergreen needles, and brown bark blurred under my scrutiny. Then, with my next blink, the forest changed.
The brown won, as it did during a scorcher summer season that burned every living green to a faded sienna. Only, the scorch took just seconds this time.
The sienna grew warmer, brightening to a rust color, then to red, in the end deciding on a deep, glossy maroon. Each leaf and needle was so heavy with the richness, it began to drip.
Plop. Plip plop. Patter, patter.
Below, the ground dewed up red too. I gagged on the gust carrying the metallic tang of blood into my nostrils.
Pinching them, I rose higher to escape the dripping twigs.
I stopped when a solar flare shot down from the heavens. The beam spotlighted a corner of my home’s roof, illuminating a speck of pure white in the sea of dark red.
I held my breath and moved closer.
The white formed a bird. A pigeon? No. A dove. I must have startled it, because as soon as I named it, the dove extended its wings and took off to the west.
Red flowed behind in the dove’s wake, so the blood no longer contaminated only my family’s land. It extended to every horizon. It engulfed a mountain range. Fifty ranges.
Particular tree canopies dripped black with maroon. And certain isolated areas of land formed deep burgundy pools.
“Where the other Christian tree and earth dwellers live,” I whispered against the hand clasping my mouth. How did I know that?
My fingers reached after the dove, and I made my vow. I would catch it. Contain it. And make it take back what it’d done to my home and family.
I hurled myself after, gluing my eyes to the dazzling tail feathers.
For days I followed. Long days full of blistering sun. The night’s moon gave me frostbite. Still, I wasn’t able to touch that mocking white.
The dove landed on Mount Washington—a craggy peak I’d never seen but knew as well as my own name. But it only rested a moment, ruffling its wings over the oozy red before taking off again and slipping through my fingers. This time it flew north.
Again I followed, closer now. But I was exhausted. Ready to go home and search for my missing family.
Yet I gained. An inch. Two inches.
I was on top of the creature when at last it settled on Mount Jefferson’s snowy peak. I lunged forward before the color spilled here too, but I stopped short.
With a gasp I stared down.
My hands and fingers had disappeared, and in their place were feathers. Long, snowy feathers. The blood...the red...everywhere was gone. And the dove I’d been reaching for—vanished.
~*~
I awoke next to the Brae girl, my body stretched out on the bare ground. Fumbling, I aimed the flashlight’s beam at my hand, examining each tanned finger.
Had this been a dream from Heaven? Or my muggy intellect piecing together what I knew from my grandma and filling in the cracks?
I couldn’t stay here any longer. Or go home.
I was God’s dove and would stop that red by getting to Mount Jefferson before it was too late.
I was ready to fly.
7
This is what Hell will be like.
I eyed the snaking, claustrophobic, two-foot diameter tunnel I needed to plunge into. It was pitch black inside. I wouldn’t be able to sit up or even raise my arms much.
But the Braes agreed this was the only way out of their home since someone from the enemy’s side had guessed at the Brae family’s existence. That was the reason their front entrance had become a poisonous-water deathtrap.
Quit it! I demanded of my heart-turned-woodpecker. Mr. Brae continued his run-down on the tunnel procedure. It was all about how I’d need to hold my body on the skateboard—an object I recognized since we’d had a few show up in the trash heaps— and pull myself through using the tunnel’s side ropes. As if tunnel travel was no big deal.
Yeah. This was a big deal. For a girl who’d only known open sky and spent almost zero time under a roof, rolling through tunnels on my belly while deep in the earth placed me one hundred percent outside my comfort zone. But I picked away at a hangnail because the Braes watched me. They were probably curious to see if the neighbor girl who’d drowned and poisoned herself on arrival would do any better on exit.
Of course, they were also gathered to say goodbye—everyone but Micah. He was probably off sulking somewhere.
One thing sparked real hope. This mouse called Melody didn’t act as if this tunnel traveling was dangerous. Of course, she was used to it since this was her home and all. But it was more than that.
Apparently, Melody had a “special gift” of being able to predict danger and evil. At least, Mr. Brae told me so this morning between weird jokes. I didn’t listen to them be
cause I’d been too amped to get going.
Melody had a gift? Sure. It could be. Since life had gotten tougher for us Christians these last few decades, it seemed like God handed out spiritual gifts with more of an open hand. Or, it could be we believers were more in tune with noticing them.
Either way, it came down to more recognized gifts. Things like my own clear connection with the Spirit. And Gran with her dreams. And Gilead with his fierceness and natural ability to conquer anything physical. Even my fifteen-year-old cousin Trinity had one, although it wasn’t so useful.
But Mr. Brae could be wrong about his daughter. Most likely, Melody feared everything—her dad, strangers, dogs, decision making—to list a few I had already witnessed. And since life stayed iffy at best for us believers, she was bound to be right sometimes when she cried out “danger.”
Mr. Brae finished his farewell song about a clock that kept popping up to say “cuckoo,” and Melody flattened herself on her own skateboard. No, that wasn’t right. Her ginormous pack flattened her. Crushed her. Like an ant trying to lug a potato.
White knuckles gripped the side ropes at the tunnel’s mouth while she craned to see her mom.
Their tears made me shuffle my foot back and forth. I couldn’t pretend not to see them much longer. I stepped forward. “Fine. OK. I’ll go first—”
She kicked off, propelling herself into the tunnel.
I lowered myself onto the other wheeled board—black with faded crossbones on it. Perfect. My own pack rested lightly against my spine, worth the offense I’d given Mr. Brae by refusing the basic provisions he insisted I take.
I copied Melody, bending my leg in an unnatural angle and grabbing the ropes. My eyes squeezed shut.
Lord, protect and guide—
“Well, Dovie Bird. You and my Melody are going to make a fine team up there!”
I wrenched my gaze upwards to discover white teeth grimacing through a black beard.
“Yes, a fine team you’ll make. Although...” he cupped his hand around his mouth, his shoulders shaking, “never trust a fifteen-year-old with your secrets. My Melody told me what you revealed about yourself and your gift. So! It’s perfect. She’ll recognize the threat, and then you can talk to God...about it.”
The last part fell flat. He obviously would have loved to have cried “and you can defeat it!” or at least “escape it.”
I muttered, “Yes, sir. Shalom,” to his toes and rolled headfirst into the yawning tunnel.
A few wheel revolutions later, darkness blinded me. By feel, I took small grabs at the ropes and walked my toes against the ground. My kneecaps jammed against loose pebbles. Any grooves that might’ve existed were too shallow to guide my wheels. I inched forward. My arm and leg muscles twitched to propel me upright so I could pummel the walls with my fists until I reached daylight.
Four times I couldn’t stand it and picked up the pace.
Four times I ended up smacking into the tunnel’s wall, which felt like smacking face first into a boulder. My heart would knock, and I’d have to pause and take deep breaths.
I was feeling my nose again for breaks when Melody’s voice echoed, “Dove? Dove? Are you back there?”
No doubt Melody had made it to the end, miles ahead. She called down the tunnel once more but then stopped. My wheels bumping and my hyper breathing marked the minutes.
Keep moving forward. There’s enough oxygen. Yeah, sure there is. Keep moving forward.
With my next grab and pull, my fingers stood out pale against the charcoal walls. I was so close to the end. I yanked both ropes, planning to free myself of the tunnel in one last victorious pull. Sluggishly, I bumped forward. And stopped.
I squinted at the ropes—slack lines in my clenched fists. Again I gave another hard jerk. That was a mistake.
A faint, scratchy noise grew as the ropes dislodged from the walls. Then a hiss started from the packed soil coming loose and slithering down. Chrisssstian. Chrissssssssssssstian.
My shout went nowhere, swallowed up like the rest of me. I craned my neck to stay above the growing rubble while a total eclipse slammed down.
Inhaling what oxygen I could find in the dirt cloud, I tucked my head and squeezed my lips and eyes shut.
As I tried to burrow through the avalanche, my heartbeat thundered in my clogged ears. I couldn’t breathe. My arms were trapped straight out in front of me.
Yet somehow, my body scraped forward, the soil sliding backwards against my stomach and over my neck.
8
I came gasping into the light. Bright light. Natural light. The kind I love. White hands locked around my wrists, still hauling me forward.
I shook them off and collapsed on my back, panting. Snatches of blue filtered through the elaborate root system making up the roof a couple feet above. I tasted sunshine through the grit.
“That’s twice now. Twice I’ve saved your life just in time.”
I ripped my stare away from a blue patch and found Micah. He was squatting next to me, still touching my sleeve. Worry lines pulled down his heavy brows. Behind him, Melody crouched with her knuckle in her mouth.
“Man, Satan’s got it in for you.” He swiped his face on his sleeve, smearing dust. “Those cables have never come loose before. Right, Mel? Dove, think what would’ve happened if I hadn’t pulled you out in time. Whoa...too close.”
He grasped the tree root ceiling as if for support and exhaled. His brown eyes peeped at me.
I wasn’t dumb. He probably hoped this scare had changed my mind. That I’d declare I wouldn’t travel unless he came with me for protection.
I jerked up, losing his hand. “Amazing how God provided you at the perfect moment. A mysterious disaster with a real miracle. Not something a person could ever stage.”
“Yeah...yeah, that’s right.” The correct response. Too bad he couldn’t hold my gaze.
“Yeah. God provides. Like He’ll provide later if—OK, when—we run into more trouble. Micah, you’d better figure out a way back to your parents. You know better than I do whether they’ll have sensed the cave-in and be worried. Shalom.”
I knocked the silt and pebbles off my pack while Melody laid her forehead against her brother’s frozen shoulder.
“Keep it quick.” I crawled until stopped by the vertical wall of crumbling clay. Again I focused on the sky, poking my fingers up into sunshine pockets.
“Sorry, Micah. You tried. Love you. Maybe pray for me? It might help. She seems to think—”
“Whatever. Sure. Just go.”
A grunt and scrape of a board through clay clumps faded while I ran my fingers over the network of entwined roots. Shafts of light broke through the hundreds of cracks between the smooth ribbons. Just like winter back home, gazing up at the crisscrossed, leafless branches that covered the sky.
Melody reached up so the sun poured through the spaces between her fingers like mine. “I wish he could go as messenger. Don’t you?”
I turned my hands over, letting the light warm the backs.
She flipped hers over too. “You should’ve seen this sky room before it got all small. I still come here, even if it isn’t so safe now. I don’t know why, but it’s easier to feel like God’s close when I can see the sky.”
I nodded. At last she’d said something I could relate to.
But having a traveling partner with a common interest in the sky wouldn’t keep me alive. I needed trust. And to know without a doubt she had my back. No secrets.
I studied her half-shadowed face. “Did he do it? Micah? Did he make the ropes come loose so I’d need his help?”
“Yeah.”
I waited to hear her excuses for her brother. For her to say he loved her and wanted to spare her the dangerous journey. But she didn’t. I liked her more for it.
“Well. Yay, Melody.”
Her eyes went all baby deer again. The white patches between shadow lines on her cheeks flushed—probably with the realization of what she’d let slip.
I
shrugged. “You know, the devil wasn’t trying to kill me back there—only your brother. Much better. Now you lead the way out of this place. Can’t be much worse out there.”
9
I smashed against the boulder’s baking contour. Sun-blinded, my eyes darted back and forth uselessly as I attempted to see any hunters. At Melody’s nudge, I shifted to the boulder’s edge and dangled my feet off while she inched the heavy-sounding shard back into its place to conceal her family’s secret exit.
“From now on, we’re always on our guard, Melody. Every step. Every sound you make. It may be the reason you live or die. Until you get the hang of being above ground, follow my lead. Do exactly what I do.”
I wiggled off the boulder. The drop lasted longer than expected, and the landing jarred me, heel to spine.
Stunned, I blinked around at the unexpected mammoth pit I’d landed in. Then I leaped to my feet and flung myself against the pit’s crumbly side.
Using an exposed tree root, I was able to haul myself over the lip in time to see Melody’s descent. She went off a different side of the boulder and avoided the pit. But she landed sprawled like an upended turtle on its shell.
After struggling up, she joined me at the edge of the man-made pit. We panted, hands on our thighs, next to a hole at least forty-feet long and almost as wide. Its depth was jagged and varied. The place where I’d landed reached only a couple of yards down.
I pointed at a neck-breaking drop in the middle. “This was part of your home once.”
Now it made sense—her explanation about coming here to watch the sky...even if it wasn’t safe.
I followed her gaze to where the enthusiastic hunters had started digging for the underground Christian home at the heap of broken pine trees. Ripped-up stumps with mud-caked roots were scattered about. Another giant boulder—half the size of the cracked one we’d exited—rested at the pit’s bottom nearest us, the exact point where they’d given up. And all around, bulldozer tracks etched deep in the baked mud.