Transcontinental

by Brad Cook

  “Remember,” shouted the Pastor, “let your tongues go!”

  Gradually, the rest of the seekers joined the action in their own way—swaying back and forth, mumbling to themselves, clapping with the beat. Leroy, transfixed on his knees, didn’t know what to do. When the Pastor’s eyes landed on him, he leaned forward and touched his forehead and palms to the mat as if he was praying. Beside him a woman repeatedly sang “Hallelujah, hallelujah!”

  He kept his head down as long as he could. The drum beat seemed to seep into his bones, making him restless.

  “The Holy Ghost is not present,” hollered the Pastor. “Repent!”

  Leroy looked up. Chantel was still bouncing around the front of the room. The musicians had their eyes closed and heads lolled, but the beat was immaculate. He checked Tasha, who glanced around nervously, wobbling back and forth. The younger boy beside him looked entranced, staring at the ground. Then, Leroy saw the Pastor wearing a gaze harder than diamond.

  “Beg for Him!” he bellowed, his glasses perched in front of his beady eyes, wide and intense and trained directly on Leroy.

  Mouth agape, Leroy looked to the Pastor and gave his head the slightest shake in an attempt to impart that he didn’t understand.

  But Pastor Mercer said it again, louder: “Beg for His mercy!”

  The boy next to him, head down, said “please, God, please!”

  “Fill me with light, Lord!” Chantel spun, waiving her arms. “I’ve waited so long,” she cried, her voice breaking. “I’ve waited so long!”

  The woman to his other side was still singing “Hallelujah,” but it’d turned into anguished wailing. Others muttered and hummed and chanted. The sounds disturbed Leroy, sending a shudder through him.

  “YOU!” Pastor Mercer shouted, pointing at him. “Beg for His holy forgiveness, lest you be cast into the fires of hell for eternity!”

  The child next to him sobbed, his tears falling to the mat, hunched over as if he was going to vomit. “I’m sorry! Please!”

  Leroy was nearly on the verge of breaking down, himself, when the wailing of the woman next to him swelled. He turned and saw her doubled back, laying on her legs in what looked like a very painful position. She belted out a powerful note for nearly thirty seconds as she convulsed from head to toe. Her eyes darted and blinked wildly, just like Ant’s had in Leroy’s dream. And, just like in the dream, he wanted badly to look away, but he couldn’t. Her cheeks twitched, her mouth opened and closed and formed bizarre sounds, and her frazzled hair quivered as her body shook. He watched, shaken.

  As the others took notice of the woman, the tone in the room changed entirely. People with fresh tear tracks on their faces gathered around her, clapping and cheering. The child beside Leroy observed with a wet post-cry stare, clearly happy to have some of the pressure off him. The drums grew louder and faster as the men pounded harder and harder. He could see red welts along the tambourine player’s palm, but if the man even noticed, he couldn’t tell.

  Jumping, shouting, they circled the woman, and she let out a hair-raising shriek so horrifying Leroy jammed a finger in each ear. The shriek turned into a jumble of nonsensical sounds and quasi-words that electrified the other seekers, but were enough to give Leroy nightmares, even through plugged ears.

  “Feel it, feel Him flowing through you, sister!” said the Pastor, who stood before her, his hands and eyes pointed to the heavens as the music intensified. “The Lord has chosen dear Bettina to join his flock, today!”

  Chantel fell to her knees. “Why not me?” she drawled, spit dripping from her crackled lips. “What did I do?!” She pounded the mat.

  This was too much to handle. Leroy’s mind was shot; he couldn’t even form a thought. All he could do was take in the incredible, awful sideshow playing out before his eyes, and hope poor Bettina’s health wasn’t in jeopardy.

  Amid the chaos, Pastor Mercer turned to him with a twisted you’re-next grin and a fire in his eyes that seemed anything but holy.

  * * *

  Every cell in Leroy’s body was weary by the time Pastor let them go to dinner. Two others—an old man and a child—had found the Holy Ghost in equally freakish displays of speaking in tongues, ululation, and body spasms, and each time the rest of the seekers cheered them on like they were athletes making great plays. He had tried his best. What else could he do for the eight hours they’d held him? Still, he’d come up short. He’d felt many things—confusion, repulsion, humiliation—but not the Holy Ghost.

  By the disconcerted look on his friends’ faces when he arrived in the cafeteria, it seemed they knew where he’d been, which made the situation that much more embarrassing. Starving, he filled a plate and took a seat with a huff.

  Clayvon picked at his food, head hanging low.

  “Seeking, huh?” Darius said, crunching on toast. “Told ya it sucks.”

  “It does not!” cried Sherman.

  “I assume you didn’t find what you were looking for?” Whatson asked.

  “I found plenty. Like I found out I’m scared of Pastor Mercer.”

  “He’s certainly good at what he does,” Whatson agreed.

  “Hey, how you been?” Leroy asked Clayvon.

  He glanced up from his food long enough to nod.

  His depression made Leroy feel worse than seeking ever could.

  * * *

  The next day in the fields was the hottest yet. The sun’s rays pummeled Leroy as he churned the dirt, but not as hard as his conscience did. Beside him, Clayvon worked in silence with a disheartened lag.

  Leroy couldn’t take it anymore. “It’s my fault she’s gone.”

  Clayvon chopped at the ground. “You, her, me — we all to blame.”

  “No, really. The Pastor said it was my fault.”

  He stopped working, seeming to absorb that.

  “I should’a hung out with you guys, not her.”

  “Ain’t gon’ matter soon, anyway.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothin’.” Clayvon turned slightly and continued digging.

  Not wanting to push him, Leroy did the same. Soon, though, he couldn’t hold back anymore. “Really, what are you talking about?”

  “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

  “Don’t gimme that. Something’s up.”

  Clayvon eyed the supervisor off to the side, then said in a low voice, “Look, I’m ‘bout done with this place. I’ma bail. Don’t tell the others.”

  Leroy went from shocked to exhilarated in a moment flat.

  “Don’t try to talk me outta it, neither. Ain’t a damn thing here for me. Not ma, not Misha, and sure as hell not God. He somewhere out there, but he ain’t at SpiritWood. Eight years and I never felt nothin’.”

  “I don’t wanna stop you. I’ma come with you.”

  Clayvon’s expression was unsure. “Dunno. Easier to go alone.”

  “Say no if you want, I’ll just follow you. I got somewhere to go.”

  “Sure you up for it? Can’t have you wussin’ out last minute.”

  “I’ve done it before, I can do it again.”

  “A’ight. Cool. I been over this a thousand times. Here’s what’s up…”

  * * *

  One night after work, Leroy lathered his hair in the shower faster than normal. He rinsed off, threw on an evening outfit, and followed Clayvon out of the bathroom early. At the back of the room, Carl watched them leave.

  Outside, the air turned crisp as the sun retired. Adults and children flooded into the main building for the Wednesday dinner sermon. The boys followed the stragglers, but instead of going inside, darted around the corner and hid.

  “Few more minutes, we’ll be good,” Clayvon whispered.

  “Remember, we gotta get my bag.”

  “How many times you gotta remind me? That’s why we goin’ tonight.”

  After a time, Clayvon peered around the edge of the building, then motioned for Leroy to follow. He peeked into a window, and again gestu
red to Leroy before they headed inside. The atrium was vacant.

  “You ever been in his office?”

  “Nah. He probably got some kinda bat-cave.”

  Leroy busted out laughing, then silenced himself.

  Clayvon navigated the hallways much more efficiently than Leroy had on his visit to the Bishop’s office. It was probably a familiar destination. That’s not where they were going this time, though.

  “How you know where it is if you haven’t been there?”

  “I been at it, but not in it. Nobody know this place better’n me.”

  “You think they’ll have it?”

  “What’s that?”

  “My bag.”

  “Yeah, they slow as hell ‘round here. Don’t get shit done.”

  “Even if they do, why would it be—”

  “Yo, just trust me.”

  They turned a corner that Leroy recognized, and stood before the door to the Bishop’s office. As they walked a hallway to the left, shadow welcomed them. Sight was limited, but along the wall, he could see a door ajar. Leroy nudged it and with a creak it opened, revealing a vacuum, a cleaning cart, and other housekeeping supplies.

  From the dark came the jiggling of a doorknob. Before Leroy knew what was happening, Clayvon had pulled him into the closet. Leroy squinted, trying to see through the crack in the doorway, when a shady figure sucked up what little light there was as it passed. Clayvon pulled the door open another inch slowly enough to avoid the creak, and as the man moved into the light, they saw Pastor Mercer.

  A shudder of fear rang through Leroy as he finally exhaled. This was it, though; they were one step away from leaving SpiritWood. His fear solidified into courage the more he thought about hitting the road.

  Clayvon was the first one through the door, with Leroy close behind. He put his hands up and felt for anything in the murkiness. Shortly, his fingertips made contact with a smooth steel door.

  “What now?”

  Clayvon didn’t answer. Instead, Leroy heard four faint beeps, then a click, then a doorknob turn as a desk light fought back the darkness.

  The boys hustled inside and shut the door.

  “How could you possibly know the code?”

  “Told ya, nobody know this place better’n me. Lived here half my life.”

  The walls were thunderstorm gray. It reminded Leroy of his old guidance counselor’s office, yet somehow much more drab, and slightly ominous. A computer emerged from the mess of papers and manilla folders on the desk. As Clayvon inspected the room, Leroy sat in the Pastor’s cushioned chair. It was more comfortable than the bed he slept on.

  “What it look like? The bag?”

  “It’s brown, with lots of straps.”

  “Ain’t they all?”

  One of the papers on the desktop caught Leroy’s eye. In the top right corner, there was a thumbnail image of a woman. His heart leapt into his throat, his skin crawling with tingles. It was her.

  He examined the paper. It was a scan of Rehema’s driver’s license. Beside her image, her name, address, height, date of birth, even eye color were listed. All he could see, though, was her face—that face he’d grown up loving, the face he’d seen in his dreams. And it was a Florida license, with a Tampa address. It was validation for everything he’d been through, and motivation for everything to come. He was overwhelmed with emotion.

  He was also in disbelief. They’d gone through his bag, found the address, and located its owner. But why? And how could they have gotten a copy of her driver’s license? He folded and pocketed the paper.

  “Sit forward,” Clayvon said.

  Leroy turned to face him. “Huh?”

  “Lean forward a sec.”

  He did, and Clayvon unwrapped the straps of Ant’s rucksack from the chair Leroy was sitting in and removed it, then opened it and held it upside down.

  “Empty.”

  Grinning despite his efforts, Leroy grabbed it. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Let’s split, then.”

  He shouldered the bag, much lighter than before, and felt a bit more whole. Clayvon cracked the door an inch and scoped out the hallway, then led Leroy back to the atrium, which was empty as the rucksack due to the dinner sermon. Leroy began to wonder if anybody would notice their absence.

  They left SpiritWood’s main building through a side entrance, in case any adults were in the yard, but it, too, was clear. Leroy was surprised more kids didn’t run away from SpiritWood, if this was all it took.

  The day had already forfeited most of its light as they neared the dorms. Leroy tromped through the grass beside Clayvon. “Gonna be dark soon.”

  “That ain’t the only reason we gotta hurry.”

  “What d’you mean?” Leroy asked Clayvon, then traced his gaze to the main building, where Carl screamed into a walkie-talkie. “Oh, God.”

  Clayvon broke into a sprint, and Leroy took off after. He was surprised to find he could outrun Clayvon, whose growth-spurt lankiness kept him from gaining speed. Glancing back, he saw Carl a few hundred feet out, tearing toward them at an alarming speed. Leroy ran harder. Clayvon fell further behind.

  By the time they reached the edge of the woods, Carl was rounding the dorms. Without hesitation, Leroy dashed into the trees, hoping Clayvon would do the same, and could tell from the commotion behind him that he had. But he knew they couldn’t outrun Carl. Their only chance would be to hide somehow.

  “Any ideas?”

  “Trees,” Clayvon wheezed from behind him.

  “What? Come on!”

  “In the trees,” he choked out, winded.

  It wasn’t perfect, but it was their best option. It wouldn’t be long until Carl caught up, and if he saw which tree they climbed, they’d be done for.

  As they ran, though, Leroy realized most of the trees were either too thin, or too short. He looked back. With the sun down, he could see only than a few feet ahead of him. He couldn’t see the tree line, but he couldn’t see Carl, yet, either. Then, as he ran, he spotted a lavender, bell-shaped flower on the ground, then another, and another, until he was walking on a bed of purple. Leroy looked up and beheld a lone Jacaranda tree, twice as tall and thick as the one by the lake. If ever he’d received a sign from a higher power, surely this was it.

  Without saying a word, the boys converged at the base of the tree. Clayvon lifted Leroy up to the nearest limb, then used his lankiness to his benefit and pulled himself up. As they shinnied toward the higher branches, Leroy was glad he’d chosen to work the farm.

  Once frightening height met lack of limb stability, they ceased climbing. Leroy glanced down, but night was nearly in place, and the tree’s flowers obscured his view further. He could, however, hear who he assumed was Carl, thrashing around not far off. All he could do was hope he and Clayvon were out of sight.

  In the distance, a pair of lights illuminated a path through the trees. The rumble of an engine overpowered Carl’s blind foot search.

  “Must be Pastor,” Clayvon whispered with a hint of fear.

  Leroy shushed him. Carl drew closer as the vehicle drove off.

  “Come on, kids,” Carl said, chilling Leroy. It sounded like he was right below them. “We’re not mad. You’re not in trouble. Just come back.”

  Leroy squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he gripped the branch. There was no way Carl wouldn’t find them. They’d probably make him go seeking as soon as he got back. And, again, it’d be his fault someone else’s life got screwed up.

  Then, the van’s headlights pierced the darkness again, traveling the opposite direction. The horn honked, and shortly after, Carl stomped back toward SpiritWood. “Kids deserve a good whipping,” he muttered, his voice trailing off. “What did I just step in?”

  Light-headed, fingers aching, Leroy pulled in a long breath. “Think we should wait till it gets light?” Leroy asked in a whisper.

  “Hell no. We go now.”

  “I can’t see anything. Don’t even think there’s a moon, tonight.�
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  “I know the way.”

  Leroy feared for his life every inch of the way down the tree, his legs dangling as he lowered himself from branch to branch, but he couldn’t let Clayvon know. He wanted to hug the ground when he got down, but Clayvon started forward as soon as he set foot.

  “Go slow. Hands up,” Clayvon warned. “Trees hurt.”

  Leroy wanted to boast his experience traversing a forest in the dark, but then again, it wasn’t really something one could master. He did his best to stay right behind Clayvon. “How d’you know we’re going the right way?”

  “Keep it down.”

  “We could be walking right toward them.”

  Clayvon’s footsteps stopped, then Leroy bumped into him. “Quiet.”

  He was glad Clayvon was in front. Let him get spider-webbed.

  The density of the forest evolved as they walked. At times, Leroy had to squeeze between trees; other times, he couldn’t find even find one.

  Suddenly, a light darted across the trees in front of him. He looked back and nearly cried out at the straight line of flashlights headed toward him, bouncing with the gait of running men.

  “Forget safety,” Clayvon said, next to him. “Go!”

  Leroy set out at a jog, the fastest he was willing to go, with his arms splayed out in front of him. “How much further?” he gasped.

  “When you feel grass, we there. Can’t be much longer…”

  He could hear the men behind them shouting to each other, which meant they weren’t far behind. The lights bobbled and danced, giving them some idea of where they were headed, but also likely revealing their location to the men. Leroy sped up.

  Though he anticipated it, the crunch of dead leaves and twigs beneath his feet giving way to soft, springy grass took him by surprise. He waited a few seconds for Clayvon to catch up, as the men’s flashlights illuminated the ten-foot wrought iron fence.

  “You first,” Clayvon said, kneeling at the base of the fence.

  Leroy climbed onto his shoulders and Clayvon struggled to stand tall, but managed to get Leroy up to the top. The spikes at the top of the bars didn’t make it easy, but Leroy got a foot planted and hopped the long way down, rolling like Ant had taught him, albeit accidentally.