Emergence (Eden's Root Trilogy Book 3)

by Rachel Fisher

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  The next morning Sean tried to concentrate on his Commander, but his mind kept drifting. All he could hear in his mind was ticking. The girls hadn’t found a way yet to stall Carter, and Diaspora’s arrival was still a week off. His mind was going all Telltale Heart on him. With each new dawn it grew louder…tick, tick, TICK! Even if they managed to stall long enough for Diaspora to arrive, it was almost worse, because then it meant that the day had finally come.

  “So with Asher’s platoon taking the armory and releasing the ‘hostiles,’ we would have our heaviest fighting force here.” Julius marked his makeshift map, a battered whiteboard they’d found in the office building above the parking garage where the Army was sheltered. Too bad we can’t really be meeting in the offices, Sean thought, his eyes traveling over the Army ranks, “parked” in the dank garage, their small fires filling the musty air with a permanent smell of soot.

  Zykeem had been the one to find this space, to Julius’ great relief. The problem of hiding several hundred people for weeks had been a major concern for their Commander. The Wal-mart had been too far from Camp Truth and was too conspicuous. Any stores were still likely to draw marauders. But an enormous underground parking garage…that was relatively safe and easy to defend.

  That’s what goes for luck these days, Sean thought wearily. He turned his attention back to the strategy meeting. The leaders of Lakeland’s security, and the Seeders’ closest friends, Trill, Sadik, and Jack had joined them to get up to speed on the plan. They’d seemed pleased with the Army’s goals of preserving life, though everyone had their doubts about the realism of such a plan.

  “So your sniper thinks he can take out all the cliff guards without raising the alarm?” Trill asked, incredulous. “Who is this guy, uh, Commander?”

  Sean noted both Trill and Julius’ discomfort with the title. Julius never seemed to have gotten used to it and Trill wasn’t really a formality kind of gal. Though she had been a cop, he thought. A good soldier. Probably better than me.

  “Well, the General didn’t exactly have a way to give me his dossier,” Julius said, deflecting as he often did, with humor. “But I gather that Rasmussen was a top flight sniper. And if he does it right, the alarm won’t be raised until the Seals make it over the cliff.” He tapped the board with his marker. “Here.”

  If, Sean thought. Everything was “if this” and “if that.” Nothing was sure. If the girls got the colonists out…if the sniper was as good as he claimed…if the alarm wasn’t sounded until the last second…

  “Sean?” Julius broke into his thoughts. “Are you ok?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drift off.” I’ve just been freaking out since Lakeland arrived, is all. Now this whole thing was getting really…real.

  Julius scrubbed a corner of the map. He liked to redraw it each time. Said it would help them all to commit it to memory when it counted. “That’s ok, Sean. We’ve been over this stuff enough. For now. But you can never…”

  “…Go over it too many times,” Sean finished. “We know, Julius. And we know that we need to go over it again for Diaspora when they get here too.”

  “All right,” Julius said. “I get it. I’m a broken record. I just want to make sure we’re as prepared as possible for the big day.”

  “The big day,” Sean repeated. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

  All heads turned toward him at once.

  Julius frowned. “What the hell’s your problem, Sean?”

  “I don’t know, Commander.” Sean frowned, running his hands through his thick hair in frustration. “Somehow I was hoping that the ‘big day’ in my life would be college graduation, or getting married, or the day my child was born…you know, something like that. Not this, not…”

  “War?” Asher filled in the blank quietly.

  Sean nodded.

  “Oh.” Julius startled. “That.”

  “Yes, that.”

  “Maybe it would help,” Asher said, “if you told us something about it.” His eyes flew to Sadik, who seemed to have curled in on himself, just slightly. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. Maybe we shouldn’t ask.”

  Julius’ frown deepened. “But you guys already know about war. You’ve fought.

  “No,” Sean said quietly, his head down. “We don’t know. We’ve had fights. And of the two of us, Asher’s had the worst of them, but we don’t really know war.”

  “So you want me to tell you what war’s like?” Julius rubbed his forehead, pressing his index finger between his eyebrows until it left a mark. “Shit.”

  Sean sat back, feeling guilty. But his guilt was quickly assuaged by his need. They needed something to get through what was coming.

  Julius put his foot up on a nearby milk crate and stretched his neck. He gestured, a half-hearted wave in Sadik’s direction. “I’m not sure how to describe it. That’s why vets don’t talk about it with anyone but each other, if at all.”

  Sadik nodded, his eyes sliding away. “It’s...hard to explain. In some ways, this part, the part leading up to it, this is almost the worst. Almost.”

  “You mean the waiting?” Asher asked.

  Sean was surprised by the tremor in his voice. Asher never seemed to be scared of much of anything except something happening to Fi.

  “Yes, the waiting,” Julius replied. “And the ‘what ifs.’”

  Sean was incredulous. His Commander felt it too! So he wasn’t an action-figure after all. It always seemed like he was planning, planning, planning, but without any fear. “So what’s the worst part?”

  The group was silent. A wisp of smoke fluttered and curled above them, hanging Sean’s question in the air. Sadik shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, putting his head in his hands. “I’m no good with words.”

  Sean’s eyes shifted to Julius, pleading.

  Julius closed his eyes, the twitch in his jaw the only sign that he had registered the question. “The fear.” His voice was barely a whisper. “You’ll think you’ve felt it before. The fear of death. The fear of pain. While you’re waiting for the hammer to fall, you might even feel bored. And then BAM, it changes.”

  He swallowed, his eyes still closed. “Bombs and bullets are everywhere and guys you thought were brave shit their pants and puke their guts out. You think you’ll be brave, but when it’s real, when the shit hits the fan… You just want to hide in your foxhole and cry…or run out there, gun blazing, and take your death quick…or both.”

  He breathed hard, his eyes twitching behind closed lids. Seeing. Sean’s stomach turned.

  “Dying people are everywhere, some trying to scoop their own guts back into their bodies. Your best friends and your worst enemies melt away and your mind is screaming…screaming, ‘What are we doing? Why are we doing this?’” He stopped, his breath ragged. “Goddammit,” he growled, kicking the milk crate. He flung his marker against the board and it snapped, leaving a black splotch like a bloodstain. Sadik’s fingers wound into his hair again and again, drawing it on end. Trill squeezed his shoulder.

  Sean thought he’d felt guilty before, for pushing his Commander, but now his remorse was bottomless. He was sinking, dragging into the blackness…the blackness that Julius was trying to keep at bay. “Julius,” Sean said. “I’m sorry.”

  “No.” Julius stood with his back turned, his shoulders sagging. “You’ve got a right to know. You wanna know what war is like? It’s like staring into the gates of hell and making the decision to walk right through.” He paused, his jaw working. “And that’s without the shit you didn’t see coming.” He stalked away in silence.

  As he disappeared into the maze of tents, Sean turned to Asher. “Shit you didn’t see coming?”

  “Guess that’s why your fearless Commander likes to plan so much,” Trill said, sighing. “Because there’s always shit you didn’t see coming.”

  Tick, Tick, Tick

  ------------- Fi -------------

&nb
sp; Time, time, time. It dominated her thoughts. Fi cursed as freezing water sloshed over her shoes. She leapt back and finished passing Sara the empty water bucket. They were at the end of their shift and everyone was preparing the Main Cabin for the evening’s festivities.

  So much was going according to plan except for one thing…time. They had only days left before Carter scattered their families and Diaspora still hadn’t arrived. They needed more time. She stared out the kitchen pass-through window at the bustling Truthers moving chairs and tables around the Main Cabin and chatting excitedly. Nona passed, calling out directions.

  Fi stuck her head out. “Hey, Nona. What’s this thing called again?”

  Nona stopped and approached with her usual warm smile. “A Sew-n-Swap. We have ‘em twice a month and they’re a lot of fun.”

  “So it’s like a sewing circle then, to repair old clothes and linens?” Fi glanced over her shoulder at Sara, who rolled her eyes.

  “And a swap. If you have something you’re sick of, or you want to trade, we do that too. Sometimes you get multiple bidders on a trade and it gets to be like a real live auction.”

  “That does sound like fun,” Fi said. When you don’t have a deadline hanging over your head…

  “Yeah, a real humdinger,” Sara muttered.

  “You’ll have to forgive my sister,” Fi said, noting Nona’s raised eyebrow.

  “Sorry, Nona,” Sara said, scraping plates into an empty bucket. “I just detest sewing. I end up pricking my own fingers a million times and I’ve never sewn an even stitch in my life.”

  Nona chuckled. “Well, we always have a big pile of socks to darn. Stitches don’t have to be perfect on those.”

  “Great,” Sara said. “That sounds awesome.”

  “Cheer up, missy,” Nona chided her. “I promise it’s going to be fun. Now finish up your compost run and hurry back!”

  The girls rushed through the last bit of their work and then returned to the Main Cabin. By now, all the tables and chairs had been pulled together around several large piles of fabric. The room was lit primarily by the roaring fire in the large central fire pit, though a few of the colony’s precious light bulbs swung from the rafters as well.

  Greeting friends at all turns, Nona herded the girls toward a nearby picnic bench. She grabbed projects for them both, and Fi found herself beneath a pile of worn linens within seconds. “Let’s see what you can do.” Nona handed her a threaded needle. “You said you could sew.”

  Fi took the needle and made a face at Sara, who mouthed, “Ha, ha!” though she was clearly underwhelmed by the limp pile of socks in her own lap.

  “Don’t worry, girls,” Nona chirped. “You’ll get better at it and then you’ll get better projects.”

  Resigned, Fi bent over her work. The Truthers chatted and laughed in low tones around her, but she couldn’t find comfort in the white noise. Instead the same dogged thought came roaring back, running its torturous circles around her brain. We need time! it screamed. How do we get more time?

  “Ow!” The needle slipped and drove into her fingertip. “Oooooh!” She sucked on it, tasting the blood. Man, that was a rough one. She squinted at the pinprick. Right in the end of her finger where it’d be sore for weeks. Her stomach clenched. Oh God, they didn’t have weeks. But they only needed one more week. Just one more week, she was sure of it…

  “You ok, Marie?” Nona didn’t look up. She was hunched over her work, an intricate seam in the lining of a winter coat. “You gotta do it this way, see? That keeps it sealed better.”

  Nona held out the seam. It turned in on itself, hiding the needlework. Fi blinked, but for a moment she couldn’t help seeing Lucy in Nona’s place, teaching her the basic stitches when they’d made the pack to carry Rachel…Rachel, who had been so sick. Fi gulped, rattled. She couldn’t afford fuzzy feelings about Nona. More time, Fi. Focus on getting more time.

  “So, Nona,” she blurted, and then dropped her voice when several heads turned. “I’m sorry to say this because I know it will upset you, but I must tell the Truth.”

  “Of course, child. I always want you to tell me the Truth.”

  Sara’s eyes bored into Fi, her curiosity burning.

  “I have prayed on it,” Fi began, pretending reluctance, “and…I know that Father won’t like it, but my heart tells me that it’s wrong to turn the Liars out on Sunday, as we’d planned.”

  Sara coughed and when Nona turned, she shrugged. “Me too. I’m sorry. We don’t want to seem ungrateful. It’s just that with our ministry…” she let her voice trail off.

  Nona nodded. “You’ve grown attached.”

  Attached. Fi nearly laughed. If only they knew. Before she could answer, another Truther in their circle spoke up.

  “If you want my opinion, I agree with them.” This came from Frances, a close friend of Nona’s. “Sorry to eavesdrop, but I’ve been seeking my heart on this very same issue.”

  “As have I.” A frail old woman who’d been introduced only as “Old Nan” spoke without looking up from her work.

  Nona exhaled and shook her head, clucking, “Lord, have mercy. Have mercy.”

  She was silent for a moment, her hands pressed together. Fi waited, jamming her feet against the floor to stop their nervous jiggling.

  “As have I,” Nona finally admitted.

  It was as if the room exhaled at once. Several of the women huddled closer.

  “So what do we do?” Frances eyed Fi. “Do we really believe that they’re going to convert?”

  “But they are,” Fi interrupted. “I promise you, we’ve been working with them everyday and there are many families on the verge of conversion. The Skillmans, the Reyes, the Harpers, the Coopers. And all of them have children. Please!” Her fear was genuine, and she felt the weight it gave to her plea. “We’re running out of time.”

  “Marie, your testimony weighs on me heavily.” Nona’s voice was grave. “Sara, is this your testimony as well?”

  “Yes.” Sara was quiet. “Marie is telling the truth about the families. Many are Christian, they’ve just been away from the Church for a while. If we turn them out, then we’re sentencing brothers and sisters to die.”

  Sara nearly choked on the word “sister.” Fi knew that the thought of Lily shivering in that prison drove her insane.

  A troubled ripple moved through the circle.

  “I was afraid of this,” Old Nan said, her hands now still. “As soon as we took them from their home, I thought, ‘How can this be the right way? Who converts beneath the whip?’”

  Right! So why didn’t you say “no”? Fi’s mind raged. It took everything in her not to scream aloud. Sara’s free hand found hers, pinning her anger within her. The bandage on Sara’s hand was a grim reminder. These people were not a bunch of sweet old ladies, for all they said. They all cut themselves, giving themselves the stigmata. Even sweet Old Nan. And they all sat back while women and children were imprisoned just yards away and did nothing. They had to be stopped.

  “Nona, all we need is time,” Fi said. “Just a little more time. Maybe a week or two. Then the ones who are sure will join us and the others will stand some chance of surviving. Surely we have enough food for a little while longer?”

  “Are you sure you aren’t just getting too close to the Liars?” Frances said, her brows knitting.

  Fi glared at her. “Of course not. This is about my Truth.” She threw her final plea to Nona. “If you talked to Father, I know you could help me to convince him. He trusts you. I don’t wish to overstep my position in the community.”

  This drew approving whispers and murmurs from the others.

  “He trusts your good heart, Nona,” Sara added, leaning in. “And let’s face it, even Father needs a woman’s guidance sometimes.”

  It was the cherry on top. The women’s eyes lit up. Damn, Fi thought, who knew that Sara was a born politician?

  Nona lowered her head. “I will do my best.”

  ---------- Carter ----
------

  Carter stared at Nona in sheer disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re asking this of me. I can’t believe you’d come to me in my home and suggest that I go back on my word.”

  “I’m sorry, Father,” Nona said, “but you encourage the Truth and this is my Testimony. We should have begun the Ministry earlier…”

  He slammed his hand on the table. “We should never have begun the Ministry at all!”

  Nona jumped, but then straightened, raising her chin. “And why is that, Father?”

  He stood, his chair clattering to the ground. “Because it’s a mistake to trust those Liars for a split Goddamned second!” He stared in shock, panting, as his stone paperweight hit the opposite wall and clattered to the ground. He hadn’t meant to raise his voice. And he certainly hadn’t meant to fling that stone across the room. The first stone, his mind thought, faltering.

  “Father?” Nona’s voice wobbled and her eyes were wide.

  Reluctantly, he turned back to his most faithful follower. Poor woman. Just another pawn. Like me. Like all of us.

  “Father, please tell me that you did plan to let the Li…” she stopped, and tears welled in her eyes. “…let these people convert?”

  He leaned over the table, his head hanging. “It started with conversion, Nona, I promise you that.”

  “But?”

  This was it, he thought, his heart skipping. The crossroads. One road led backward, to the man he was before. And the other road? The other road led straight to Hell. He gathered himself. “But…I realized when Silas described their sick vitriol on the march that they weren’t safe. That we would never be safe so long as they were within our bounds. We could never trust that they wouldn’t be working against us.”

  His heart settled as the lies began to flow again. It felt so much better to lie. He’d been wrong to think that there was a crossroads for him now, or ever again. He’d made his choice long ago.

  “But,” Nona said, wiping her eyes, “Marie and Sara said…”