When they were just a few feet away, they stopped and sank to one knee in unison, their heads bowed. Wow, she thought, suddenly impressed. That was…serious. The child in the center rose and approached Fi, holding out a scrap of fabric and a piece of paper. “These are for you, from the Army of Eden.”
The Army of Eden? She took the items and thanked him. He scurried back into place. She turned the strip of fabric over and saw that it was an armband with the symbol of Eve.
“May I?” Julius asked, stepping forward. At her nod, he tied the band around her left arm. He handed another armband to Asher, and then he nodded to the note still clutched in Fi’s hand. “Read it.”
Fi’s mind raced as she began to piece the scene together: a gathering of people, including soldiers, all bearing a single symbol and calling themselves the Army of Eden. Sean had said these people had come for them, had come to help… Was it possible? She unfolded the paper and gasped when she saw the name at the top - General Michael Zelinski.
Her hands shook as she read the letter aloud.
“To the People of Eden. For too long the rest of us have sat idly by while your colony has taken all of the risks essential to the recovery of our great society. Our inaction has led to the loss of your colony, for which we are deeply sorry. It is clear that we can no longer afford to stay on the sidelines.
It is time for every able-bodied person who owes Eden their lives and their hope to come forward and fight. The Army of Eden is rising, and we won’t stop until we’ve rescued all of those who were taken and have restored the Eden colony. This is our promise to you, to ourselves, and to all of humanity.”
A cheer rose from the crowd as she finished reading, and Fi felt hot tears spring to her eyes.
“To Eden! To Eden!”
She stared, speechless, as the cheer rose and fell in waves. Just two weeks ago she’d felt entirely alone, and now…
“Can you believe it?” Sean’s hand found hers. There were tears in his eyes as well. “They’re coming from everywhere, Fi. It will take some longer than others to get where we’re going, but they’re all coming. All of them.”
“What do you mean, ‘all of them’?”
“He means all of us,” Julius interjected, as the crowd quieted. “Diaspora is coming. Lakeland is coming. And all of the Nets are coming. Those gathered here are just from the New England and upper New York Nets. We still have many more to come.” He put his hand on her shoulder and turned to the crowd. “We won’t let them do this alone, will we?”
“No!” The cries erupted, along with hoots and hollers, as cheers of “To Eden” rose anew.
Fi stared at the Army in shock, her eyes bleary with tears of relief. They’re all coming. For us. She turned to Sean and said the only thing that came to mind. “You’re right, Sean. You do have a plan.”
Dissonance
------------ Carter --------------
Carter rubbed his eyes as he turned the dial on the radio. Only one more progression and he’d be done.
Every day he listened to the broadcasts with his heart in his throat, waiting for someone to say, “Let’s go find out what happened to Eden.” It was excruciating listening to them. All of the Liars breathing in and out and living to see another day. Nauseating. Despite this, he knew he had to listen to keep an eye on them. So far, he’d been pleased to find that his foes were all cowards.
“…nothing we can do…”
“…but we haven’t heard from them in weeks. What if something happened? Shouldn’t we do something?”
“…too hard…yes, of course we’re worried. We’re worried sick, but that’s the reason for caution.”
Ha! Carter thought. Diaspora was afraid of him. They’d always been afraid…hiding in their little hole. To be honest, Carter had more respect for Eden. At least they’d put their money where their mouth was instead of keeping everything for themselves.
“…when winter eases, we’ll send out a search party. We promise…”
Yes, Diaspora’s promises meant so very much, Carter fumed. He felt the familiar pulse of rage push its way into his throat. For a moment, he couldn’t draw breath. If it were possible for concrete to burn, that would best describe his chest in these moments. The first time the rage had choked his throat, he’d panicked and passed out, awakening later in a puddle of his own drool.
But by now he was an old hand at swallowing his rage. He waited, fixed, until his chest loosened and he could draw breath. The first few were always ragged, acid. He gulped like a fish. It doesn’t matter, he thought. So Diaspora was up to their old tricks, hiding and lying. So what else was new? It was their mistake…waiting on him.
He opened his worn Bible and pulled out the small photograph, the edges tattered and peeling. His finger rubbed over the image out of habit as he read, "Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?”
The tears came, as they always did, when he got to the word “you.” It was an exhausting ritual, a rinse cycle that left him wiped. If only he could resist its pull. The photograph was starting to fade. He knew that he should keep it tucked away, that if he wanted it to last, he shouldn’t rub it with his fingers. But it was all he had left. He kissed it and inhaled, sucking back the tears. “You’re worth all of them put together, baby.”
The door opened and he startled, tucking the photo back into its place. Nona’s head poked through the door. “Ready, Father?”
He noted the daylight streaming into the room behind her. Goodness, he’d lost track of time. He pasted a smile on his face. “Ah, yes, Nona. Do come in.”
As Nona settled into the morning report, Carter’s mind wandered, still drawn back into its usual ruts. Diaspora. Eden. He closed his eyes and opened them slowly, determined to focus on Nona.
“And the Tithe has been fully collected,” she was saying, “as you no doubt heard from Silas, but I just wanted to confirm for you...”
Carter eyed Nona as she prattled on. She was the first “Truther” he’d ever baptized. She had a penchant for devotion anyway, but there was nothing like being saved from starvation to make one loyal. Her family had stumbled into Great Times River Camp only a few months after he did.
The little camp by the river had been peaceful, and he’d grown tired of the nomad’s life: scraping by, living the grind of daily survival by sticking to rivers and keeping on the move. He’d expected his triumph over Diaspora I to lessen the sting of his anger, but it hadn’t. Nothing had, until he’d found this place.
But finding this camp itself wasn’t the lucky part…wasn’t the sign. It was finding the camp storage shed filled to the brim with dried food. That miracle, that Hallelujah, had saved him. It was the moment he’d known that he was right to destroy Diaspora and to seek a new way. God had rewarded him.
When Nona wandered into Camp with the patience of a saint and the fervor of a missionary, he’d found his true calling. In the evenings, he would read the Bible to her family and they would sit, enraptured. It hadn’t taken much doing for him to shift from reading to preaching. And it hadn’t taken much time for others to find Camp Truth.
Within two months, he had grown the Truther movement to thirty people, and begun his radio broadcasts. Between his own radio searches and the reports of the followers, he knew he’d find the remaining Diaspora colony eventually. Eden’s existence had come as a complete surprise, an unfortunate thorn in his side.
Still, he smiled, now he was only months away from finishing his 1-2-3 strike. Once all the colonies were eliminated, he’d leave Camp. It wouldn’t matter to him at that point whether he lived or died…as long as he knew that those who betrayed him were in the same boat.
“Father?” Nona said. “Is something wrong?”
“Uh, no,” he smiled. “Sorry, just lost in thought.”
“There is much to think about,” she said quietly, “with the new initiates.”
Carter
inhaled to cover his frustration. Nona was one of the Truthers who actually believed the Eden colonists might consider converting. It was why she insisted on calling them initiates. He also knew that she was one of the many Truthers who disapproved of his current plan. If she hadn’t intervened, he would only have given them thirty days before he kicked them out, but she’d insisted that they couldn’t put children out in the dead of winter, no matter what the sins of their parents.
“So what, Nona?” he responded. “Tell me. What would you have me do? I’m sheltering them, I’m feeding them, I’m keeping them safe from marauders, and most importantly, I’m exposing them to the Word.”
“I know, Father. But…”
“But?”
“But it just seems like it will be hard for them to even consider converting when they’re being treated like prisoners. Maybe we could provide more shelter, or a little more food.” She folded her fingers primly, a gesture of nerves.
“You know that I wish that we could show more kindness, but we can’t. First of all, we don’t have enough food to spare. We’ve already asked too much of the followers in the double Tithe. Second of all, even though I know that many of our kindest-hearted Truthers feel the same way you do...”
She nodded, her lips curling up in encouragement.
“…there are also many who don’t.”
Her smile froze and reversed. “I know. Things are definitely harder on us this winter, having to support them. I just don’t know why it has to be this way. It seems…” She stopped and huffed. “It’s just that we all fought so hard to survive, and now we’re fighting each other.”
Carter reached across the table and took her hand in his. “Nona, if all the world were as kind as you, we wouldn’t have to fight each other.”
Sorrow pooled from her forced smile, soaking its way to her edges. “Maybe someday, Father.”
Yes, he thought, the fight will end. Someday.
----------- Darryl-------------
Most people wouldn’t think it possible to pace in a ten by ten cabin, but then, Darryl had never put much stock in what other people thought was possible. Which was what got the world into this mess in the first place, he thought angrily. By now, he’d practically worn his way through the boards of the cabin. Even though it drove his cabin-mates nuts, they tolerated it.
At least they had the luxury of going outside and wandering the prison yard in the daytime. He could only sneak in and out in the deep, dark night, when he’d spirit his way to the riverfront and beg the universe for signs of their rescuers. He knew that it would still be weeks before they arrived, and he had no idea how many people Sean would be able to convince to help them, but still, he had to get out. He had to do something with his thoughts and his energy.
He spun on his heel and turned back, took four strides and spun again. Waiting. Stride, stride, stride, stride, spin. Waiting. Stride, stride, stride, stride, spin.
“For Pete’s sakes, Darryl, please!” Lucy sighed. “I need a break. I’ll head back outside in a bit to beat the blankets and you can go back to being a whirling dervish, ok?”
Darryl settled onto a nearby bunk, stripped of its bedclothes by the industrious Mrs. Skillman. His feet tapped and jiggled and he kept reaching to bite his nails and then remembering that he wore gloves. Waiting. Every day was more painful. Every hour. Every minute. He wondered absently if prison was worse when you were waiting for something…or when you weren’t. He jumped as Lucy plopped beside him with a huff.
“Out with it, Darryl.”
He snorted, a half-laugh. Abrupt was Lucy’s version of “loving.” But then, no one could accuse the woman of being passive-aggressive. A song rose like a bird on the breeze from the prison yard. Rachel Skillman. She was singing to the children again. The “Angels” had determined mid-trip that the noise of a young girl’s song was worth the risk, given that they were stuck with screaming, terrified toddlers as their alternative. She’d been singing to calm them ever since.
Her voice twisted and spiraled upward, a silken prayer. Tears came to his eyes. “What’s there to say, Lucy? You know what I want.”
He tried to make eye contact. His logical mind registered that Lucy was staring at him with concern, but lately he seemed to spend most of his time drifting in the back of his mind. At first the dreams had only come at night, but now they came by day, sliding before his eyes like a film, blotting out the daylight.
Rachel’s song grew deeper, sinking and rolling in slow waves. It drew him into the darkness. He was slipping through the forest at dusk, nipping up the rock fall that frowned down on the prison like a totem. He passed through the settlement, a spirit fluttering by as brown-clad Truthers bedded down on cue like monks. Shadow Angels appeared, but he took each one down with single slash to the throat. His fingers tightened on the blade strapped to his belt.
“Darryl?” Lucy’s brow was furrowed. “Are you ok? I’m starting to worry about you.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, we’re all going a little stir crazy.”
He shook his head. “’M ok.” His mind was fixed on the slashing, the Angels falling. They were lined up, row after row of them. He would slash, slash, slash, until he got through the rows, until he forced his way through…to her. Something bit his fingertip and he jumped, startled. He looked down and blinked. His finger was bleeding. He’d cut himself on his knife.
Lucy took his hand gently. “You’re not ok, Darryl,” she murmured, dabbing at the blood with the corner of a blanket. “None of us is ok.”
He slumped against the bunk frame, deflated. Lucy never said things like that. She was always saying, “Everything is going to be fine. The Seeders will rescue us.”
He took a deep, shuddering breath. “What do you think he’s doing to her?”
“Nothing, Darryl,” Lucy said firmly, snapping back to her usual self. “Here, press on that.” She handed him back his finger, now wrapped in a tatter of sheet she’d ripped off for him. “What’s he going to do to Georgie with Gary there, hmmmm? And the Seekers? She’s with our strongest people. They can protect her better than any of us. He just wants them isolated to contain the truth.”
He nodded and stood, walking to the window and peeling back the corner of plastic so he could peer out. He wished he could believe her. The children flocked around Rachel as she walked the yard. She’d switched to an upbeat tune and the children clapped along. They turned the corner of the yard in formation, the band to her Majorette.
But how many strides before they came to the next barbed wire fence, he thought, his rage bubbling up once again. His finger throbbed and his eyes wandered, against his will, up the rockfall, into the deep pines and then…somewhere. She was somewhere up there in the darkness of the forest. So close. “I can’t stand it, Lucy. I can’t stand not knowing! I sneak out all the time. Why can’t I just slip up there and make sure she’s ok, like we’re ok?”
“No, Darryl! You can’t even think it!” Lucy swept to his side and slid the plastic from his fingers. “What happens if you get caught? What happens to our plans? And to everyone else? You can’t risk it. Not after everything we’ve done to protect these children.”
He frowned, unconvinced.
“Darryl.” Lucy’s voice was firm. “She wouldn’t want that.”
His shoulders dropped. Lucy was right. Georgie would be furious if she were the reason that their rescue plans were foiled. “Fine!” he hissed, turning away and beginning his clump back and forth across the boards. “Then let me pace in peace.”
Lucy dropped her head and nodded. She gathered the rest of the blankets and slipped past him and out the door without another word.
Darryl ignored her and went back to his rut. Stride, stride, stride, stride, spin Waiting. Stride, stride, stride, stride, spin. Waiting. Stride, stride, stride, stride, spin.
Letting Go
---------------- Asher ------------------
Even though they were dying to know the plans to get the colonists back, Fi and Asher had to
spend time greeting the Army of Eden first. The children and older folks had only come to meet “the Seeders” and offer support anyhow. They were too weak to actually fight and would be heading home.
Not that the ones staying were much better. Asher eyed the crowds with skepticism. It was a rag-tag group at best and there weren’t enough weapons. Most carried clubs or knives of some kind, but they were a pretty pitiful militia. Even the Minutemen all had guns, he thought grimly.
To keep his mind off his worries, he watched Fi, as always, with a sense of amazement. Despite the fact that the woman hated attention like the plague, she moved among the Army members with ease and humor. She asked about families and marveled at babies and bumped fists with teenagers. She was so delightful that he could almost forget their purpose in coming.
At the moment she was enraptured by the stories of Zykeem, an African-American boy about their age who’d worked as one of the mail carriers this past summer. “So you really go out there all by yourself, then?” she was saying.
Zykeem’s response was interrupted by shrieks of laughter and…barking. Asher spun and saw a giant black dog streaking right for them. Fi screamed and draw her .22
“No!” Zykeem shouted.
Julius jumped in front of her. “Stop, Fi!”
She lowered her weapon just as the dog slowed and trotted up to her, a handful of happy toddlers in his wake.
“Is…is he…a pet?” Fi’s voice was shaking.
Asher understood. His own heart was pounding. There were no such things as pets anymore. Now there were just snapping, slavering, starving wild beasts. Fi eyed the dog’s wagging tail and conceded, holstering her weapon.
“Yes,” Julius said, exhaling. “He’s kind of a pet. His name’s Titan. Zykeem can explain really, but he’s not dangerous.”
“I’m sorry,” Fi said, her eyes still locked on the dog. She crouched and Titan leapt up and ran to her. Asher held his breath, suppressing the urge to jump between them like Julius. But when Titan reached Fi, he sat, still wagging, and licked her fingers. Asher exhaled. Fi giggled and the dog wagged harder, pushing forward to lick her face as she laughed and tried to hold him at bay.
Emergence (Eden's Root Trilogy Book 3) Page 11