Sins of the Mother

by August Norman

  “Yes, sir. How can I be of service?”

  “That sarcastic tone’s what got you thrown out of the Army. I’ve paid you double what they did ever since the Battle of Baghdad, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you talk to me like that.”

  Johnny took a step toward his father. “How are you gonna stop me?”

  Inheritance be damned. It’d feel good to knock the endless gripe out of the old man’s mouth.

  Anders took a step back but didn’t soften. “I’ll stop the payment on your bail, you ungrateful shit, and Boz Martin will throw your ass back in county lockup. Hell, maybe that’s where you belong. I sent Dana by your place to fetch you, and she said your missus looked like she got hit by a Trakloader.”

  Johnny took another step closer. “You gonna tell me how to handle my wife, Daddy? I learned from the master, after all.”

  Married three times, the old asshole wasn’t walking the high road. The first wife, John’s mother, had died on his eighth birthday after a nasty fall down the stairs of the Larsens’ single-story ranch. Wives two and three had left on their own after a few rounds each, both too scared to go after the man’s money. Johnny was about to throw that in his face when Anders sat back into an open booth.

  “I’m trying to figure out what the hell’s going on with you, son. Sit down and talk this out.”

  Johnny squeezed the cue one last time, then tossed it onto the table, grabbed his beer, and joined Anders in the booth.

  Hazel delivered his burger and a Scotch for the old man, and Johnny caught Anders up on the day’s events.

  Anders ran his hand through his remaining hair. “And what were you gonna do if you caught up with the reporter?”

  Johnny chewed the last bite of his burger. Usually he liked the food at the Lumberjack, but something about this meal made him feel like someone had wiped their ass with his bun.

  “It’s not the reporter. Well, it might be, but not just her. Tom said the woman driving the truck out of the casino had long gray hair. Sounds like the bitch who jacked up my arm and took Promise.”

  Anders sipped the last of his J&B. “Answer my question. What were you gonna do?”

  “Whatever it took to get Promise back.”

  The old man shook his head. “In the middle of Bandon, where any tourist on their way to the Dunes could stop by at any second, and only one day after you spent the night in jail for publicly threatening Caitlin Bergman. Shit, son. That’s no kind of plan.”

  Johnny finished his beer. “It is what it is.”

  “It’s murder, you simpleton, and that’s a one-way ticket to life in prison.”

  “Nobody’s gonna give a shit about one more dead Dog.”

  “Don’t be stupid. That reporter is known, nationally. She’s got ties to law enforcement, including the feds. Dana told me as much before the interview, and she learned all that just from a web search.” Anders stopped and stifled a cough. “Of course, if our big-city friend was to be caught in some kind of accident … Hell, if they all were, I doubt Martin would look too close. Especially if his people were tied up with wildfire evacuation notices.”

  “Wildfires? In Coos County?”

  Anders nodded. “If you’d have come to work today, you’d know that the BLM issued a cease-work order for the Powers ridge project. Whole area’s basically a tinderbox.”

  “But that’s down southwest, other end of the county from the Dogs’ compound.”

  Anders finished his drink. “And a fire down there would threaten a lot of homes. If you and a few boys you trust with your life happened to find Promise right before a second fire were to start up north—”

  Johnny chimed in. “Away from any major structures—”

  “—somebody’d have to prioritize.”

  Nodding, Johnny thought about the area around the Dogs’ compound. Most of the surrounding land was government owned, some tribal, no schools or churches, none of his people. “We go in, find Promise, set a fire to take their attention, and get out quick. Without anyone coming to their rescue, the Dayans would be fucked. Assuming Promise is still there.”

  “Even if she’s not,” Anders said, sliding out of the booth. “Still far enough from any decent folk to matter.” He stood. “Wind’s picking up and there’s a full moon tonight. I’d better get home.”

  Love wasn’t a word that came to mind, but Johnny smiled at his father’s weathered face and felt as close to the man as he ever had.

  “Good-night, sir. You drive carefully.”

  * * *

  Half an hour later, he met Gunner in the parking lot.

  “We’re taking your truck,” Johnny said, walking around to the passenger side.

  Gunner raised an eyebrow, then shut his half-open door when Johnny got in. “If you say so. Where to?”

  “Just past Powers. You bring your kit?”

  Gunner backed the truck up and took off out of the parking lot. “Got both my Armalite and the Rock River.”

  “How many rounds?”

  “Case of two twenty-three for the Rock River, and five boxes of five fifty-six. Of course, the Rock will shoot both.”

  Johnny popped his Zippo and lit a cigarette. “What about the tracers?”

  Gunner shook his head. “Shit, I only got a box of twenty left. Are we going to war or something? ’Cause I would have brought my vest.”

  “Not yet, and twenty tracers will be more than enough.”

  Almost forty minutes later, the pair parked Gunner’s truck off a logging road one mile from the ridge Larsen Timber hadn’t been able to log. They left one of the AR-15s and most of the ammo locked in his cab and humped through the woods in the dark, lit only by the moon.

  “This is good enough,” Johnny said, stopping just before a dry drainage ditch that marked the edge of the plot. “Give me that thing.”

  Gunner pulled back, offended. “Hold on, John. This is my rifle and my ammo. I feel like I ought to do the shooting.”

  “I didn’t want to dirty your hands.”

  Gunner laughed. “You told me to bring an assload of firepower to a bar in the middle of the night. I figured my hands were gonna get wrist-deep in shit.”

  Johnny didn’t really care as long as the job got done. “Well said, brother. See if you can hit that clump of fir, midway up. But only two rounds.”

  Gunner flicked the laser scope on and raised his rifle.

  Johnny covered his ears with his hands. “Burn that shit, Gunner.”

  Gunner pulled the trigger for a single shot.

  A bright red arc of glowing phosphorus streaked through the night sky and landed close to the point Johnny had pointed out. Within seconds, a larger glow burned from the landing point.

  “Hit it again.”

  Gunner repeated the motion, hitting twenty feet farther. The round struck a tree, then fell sideways into the brush, still bright red, until seconds later when the red turned white and orange.

  “Shit,” Gunner said. “Look at those fuckers burn.”

  Johnny slapped him on the shoulder. “Send two more a hundred yards to the left, then let’s get out of here.”

  “Yes, sir.” Gunner swung the rifle to his left. “So what is this, an insurance thing?”

  Johnny was already five steps down the path. “That’s exactly what it is.”

  CHAPTER

  43

  MAGDA WOULDN’T EAT anything from Caitlin’s favorite fast-food spots, so Caitlin bought sub sandwiches for herself and Promise and a salad for her mother at a shop built into a gas station outside Coquille.

  Mother.

  The word felt so awkward in her mouth, foreign in her thoughts.

  My mother eats only organic non-GMO foods.

  My mother grows her own produce.

  Well, she does. My mom and her kooky woodland friends live off the grid on top of a mountain.

  She checked the gas station parking lot. No sign of trouble. The attendant, a bearded man in his forties, waited by her truck. She handed him her cre
dit card and hopped in. Since all of the gas stations in Oregon were full-service, Magda and Promise waited on a bench in a dark city park two blocks away. The attendant handed Caitlin her card and receipt without incident or even a second glance.

  She pulled to the side of the lot and tried Lakshmi’s phone but got voice mail again. This time she left a message with the highlights: “Mother alive. Missing runaway found. Driving the pair back to compound. If you don’t hear from me by tomorrow morning, call Sheriff Martin and tell him everything.”

  She considered calling Martin herself, but Promise’s earlier fears still carried a fair amount of weight. If Caitlin took Promise to the cops, they’d either put her in the system or return the girl to her parents. Neither option sounded like the right choice at the moment, nor did the equally possible third outcome—being accused of kidnapping a minor. Caitlin decided to get Magda back to the hill; then they’d have a realistic talk about Promise’s choices.

  She pulled into traffic and returned to the edge of the dark park where she’d left the pair. Seconds later, Magda and Promise climbed in.

  “I cooked,” Caitlin said, pointing to the supplies.

  After they agreed on basic directions, Promise dug into her dinner, taking down a bottle of Coke in feverish gulps. Magda gave the plastic fork that came with the salad a dirty glance but still single-used the single-use polystyrene to shovel in sustenance.

  “How’d you become Sharon Sugar?” Caitlin said, taking a left onto a dark country road, her mouth finishing a bite of turkey sandwich.

  Magda almost choked on her salad. “Sharon Sugar is dead.”

  “Not to me. She’s been with me my whole life. My mother, the porn star. How’d that happen?”

  “The past is unimportant. All that matters is our presence in the present.”

  Caitlin felt her anger bubbling up again. “Are you saying I’m unimportant? Because your past is driving your ass around right now, in the presence of the present.”

  Magda closed the top of her salad container. “I’m talking about the salvation of the world and the souls of those on God’s Hill. That’s a little more important than how Maya got into porn.”

  “Well, according to your directions, we’ve got more than half an hour in the present where you can’t do anything about that.”

  “Fine.” Magda shoved her to-go container down next to her feet. “Maya Aronson had a father, Daniel Aronson.”

  “Wow, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone talk about my grandfather.”

  “And you should thank the Light for that. Daniel Aronson had too much in common with Promise’s father. Do I need to say more?”

  Caitlin shook her head no.

  “Maya was lost at the end of high school and turned to substances and older men. First came the dancing, then the tricks, then the offers to do both at the same time for more money, just in front of a camera.”

  Magda shuddered and turned back toward Promise. The teenager had fallen asleep in the back seat seconds after finishing her sandwich. “Look at her, out cold already.”

  Caitlin studied the way her mother watched over the young woman. Her first reaction, jealousy. But looking again, she didn’t think she was seeing a mother’s gaze but rather the reflection of hindsight.

  “Tell me about Promise.”

  Magda took a sip of water. “To tell you about her, I have to start with the Five.”

  Caitlin sighed. “Fine, tell me about the Five.”

  Magda started her story. Two of the Five had barely been Daughters. Maybe four years total between them, both under thirty; both had run from abusive men. The other three were key players over the age of fifty: a clothing designer, a construction engineer, and a doctor who’d been with the group from the beginning.

  Caitlin jumped in with something she’d heard Desmond say.

  “‘Doubts, every one of them.’ What did they have doubts about?”

  Magda’s eyes snapped open. “The Cataclysm, of course.”

  “The one that didn’t happen.”

  “I don’t know if you can imagine that day, Caitlin. All of us huddled around the fire, preparing to meet God, to finally be called up. Desmond walked among us, passing out the Calm, trying to keep us from running into the fire.”

  “Wait, what’s the Calm?”

  “An enhancer,” Magda said, like that would make sense. “Those who were anxious took a cup of the Calm.”

  Newsreel images of Jonestown played in Caitlin’s head. “Christ, it wasn’t Kool-Aid, was it?”

  Magda waved Caitlin off like she was the one spouting nonsense. “An herbal mixture of chamomile, lemon balm, and valerian root. Daya made it from our gardens. It’s what Promise gave you last night.”

  Caitlin slowed for an otherwise carless four-way stop. “But the world wasn’t on fire. Didn’t that bother anyone?”

  “The world was on fire,” Magda answered with a frown, her eleven lines deep and distinct enough to make Caitlin steal a quick glance in the mirror and check the area above her own eyes. “Years of drought, almost two decades of war in Iraq and Afghanistan, hurricanes, tornadoes, flooding, coral bleaching, melting ice caps, ocean gyres of plastic waste, class warfare, refugee crises in Syria, Africa, South and Central America—”

  Caitlin couldn’t help herself. “The presidential election?”

  Magda nodded. “To us, the world sat ready to burn.”

  Caitlin hated that every word of their logic made sense. She continued down the asphalt road, her headlights the only source of light besides the full moon.

  “We sang and danced, disrobed and presented our naked bodies to heaven, spent the day rejoicing. Then, as the sun set, we readied ourselves with prayer and meditation.”

  Part of Maya’s journal came back to Caitlin. “Linda’s wedding night, right? You were waiting for night to fall and the world to end.”

  “That’s right. Hand in hand, we circled the fire, waiting for the clouds to part and let God’s pure light shine down. Then, Daya fell.”

  “As in, fell down, physically?”

  “It wasn’t uncommon in our circles, though I couldn’t remember Daya ever stumbling, let alone collapsing. We rushed to help her, but she got up quickly and yelled for Desmond.”

  The road took them through a stretch of flat land where someone had wedged a tiny cattle ranch up against a stream. Magda stopped talking, her eyes glued to the possibility of confrontation. Two trucks sat in the driveway of a trailer home, the only light coming from a TV visible in an unshaded window. Seconds later, heavy trees surrounded the road and took back the night.

  Caitlin prompted her mother. “Daya asked for Desmond, you were saying?”

  Magda relaxed and continued, “ ‘The Knowing,’ Daya yelled. ‘I need the Knowing.’ This was unusual. Those of us who’d had the Knowing experience with Desmond knew that the ceremony was only done in private, often alone in nature. But Desmond stepped forward and placed his hands on Daya’s temples.”

  Magda took another sip of water. “She started shaking so hard she almost fell again, then froze in place and started speaking. The high-pitched words from her mouth sounded different than the low, husky voice I’d known for over twenty years, but familiar. After three or four words, I knew it was Linda, speaking through her, to all of us present.”

  Caitlin’s eyes rolled so hard she was afraid she’d pull the truck off the road. For the last two minutes, Magda had presented herself as a rational human being. Now she was talking about spiritual possession with a straight face.

  Magda continued, oblivious. “ ‘My lovely Dayan voyagers,’ she called out. ‘I see you and know you.’ And then she named us, Caitlin, every one of us, without hesitation, even those who’d joined after her ascension. ‘The Spirit has seen your sacrifice and good deeds. God sees your naked bodies, your gorgeous, clean souls, and the acts you have performed. Rejoice now, for you have done the impossible. You have stayed the Cataclysm. Desmond, the Guide, has brought you here. D
aya, the Future, has become the Seer. Cling to them. Continue your labors, for every task you complete saves the world from the fire for one more day.’ ”

  Caitlin glanced over to gauge Magda’s seriousness. The tear rolling down the woman’s cheek said she believed every word of her story.

  “Daya collapsed again, falling into Desmond’s arms, sound asleep. We took her back to her quarters, and she slept for two full days.”

  “Her speech ended the party?”

  Magda smiled. “Oh no, her speech started the party. Have you ever known true ecstasy, Caitlin?”

  A blush formed on her cheeks. Was this the moment her birth mother was going to give her the talk?

  “I don’t lay back and take it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Magda shook her head. “I’m talking about loving with the full force of the maker coursing through every fiber of your body. We’d saved the world. We did. One man and one hundred women, naked and penitent and penniless. After years of sacrifice and dedication, the fate of the world had been decided by misfits, mess-ups, and even ex–porn stars. Do you believe in God?”

  If Caitlin had to choose between talking about sex or God with Magda, she’d prefer sex. “I pop into temple for funerals and weddings.”

  “I don’t mean organized, western God. I mean the one true source, the answer in the dark to every question, the eternal. The voice that’s there in the flowers and the soil and the breeze.”

  Again, Magda seemed headed for nonsense. Caitlin needed to know why the woman had dragged her into this mess after years of silence. “Yeah, I’ve heard the wind in the willows whisper Mary and seen the one set of footprints. How does your glorious God orgy involve Promise and her father?”

  If Magda was annoyed, she didn’t let it show. “Months went by, and people started leaving. One at a time, no problems. A week later, three of the younger women left quietly in the night. While this was sad, it wasn’t unheard of. We prayed for them but accepted that they must follow their own paths.”