by Erin Lorence
The man had been pedaling without a single tire wobble, but he now lost control. The orange metal frame skidded across the tar, dumping the rider. He continued to kneel where he landed next to his bicycle, as surprised as a bird who’s flown into a screen.
I tensed but didn’t gasp in surprise at the badly timed accident. During my stay in Sisters, cars routinely broke down next to the sidewalk I traveled and residents became locked out of homes I passed. These events were Satan’s doings, as he hand-selected his worst-tempered puppets and then nudged them into my path.
The female companion, shaped like a butternut squash, abandoned her own mount and searched for scratches on the fallen man’s body and then on his bicycle’s frame. With a sigh of relief, she thrust a beverage container at his shoulder.
He accepted and pointed the cylinder at me. “Her!”
It would take me three seconds—four tops—to reach the haybale formation stacked to my right. From the top bales, I could reach the barn’s roof no problem. Yet I stayed like a paint fleck against the barn wall. For now.
Tell me when to move, Lord.
The woman continued to brush invisible dirt from her companion’s too-tight shirt. “What, honey bun?”
“Her. She’s the reason I fell.” He chucked his plastic bottle. Its pink contents sloshed to a stop at my toes.
Wolfe chuckled.
The bottle’s owner took a step toward me. “I’ve got zero tolerance for fanatics who—”
Wolfe threw his head back and let loose, laughter racking his frame.
The man’s head swiveled. His eyebrows shot up. In a hurry, he tripped before he mounted his bicycle and pedaled away.
“Hon!” the woman called after. She glanced at Wolfe, flung herself onto her ride, and sped off. “Hon!”
Wolfe’s shoulders quit shaking. He leaned his head back against the pine. “Later, Honey Bun. Trash talkers are such cowards, Dove.”
I sank onto a low haybale. “Especially when you turn into a psycho each time one of them doesn’t like me.”
His eyebrows went up. “Psycho? All I did was stand there—”
“Like a maniac. Your body all angry. Your face lit up like you saw your first zip line.” I shrugged. I’d seen his bizarre reaction to keep threatening people away from me a hundred times since I’d become Sent, so I’d gotten used to it.
“My body—and especially my face—do not do what you said. Anyway, since there’s no sign of any government visitors or their tightened security, we should start hiking. Or head back to Sisters. Unless...”
My chin raised from my sweaty palm. Unless?
“Unless I get into the main lodge, steal a look at the village’s reservation calendar for their rentals, and find out which days they’ve scheduled extra security. Then we’ll know what days there might be trouble.”
“That, Wolfe. Let’s do exactly that.”
32
We squatted at the leafy backside of a horse-shaped bush next to a granite sign. Village at the Butte. A family exiting the main building’s front doors moved past without noticing us, except for the shirtless toddler on his dad’s shoulder. He held up his toy pistol and took aim. Then waved bye-bye.
“I’ll be right back, Dove.”
I latched onto Wolfe’s hem. “Liar.”
“Huh?”
“You’re a liar. You said ‘be right back’ when you went into the CTDC, and you never came out. I’m going in with you this time.”
He grinned. “Shatters your world, don’t it?”
“What?”
“Being separated from me.”
I kicked moist village dirt onto his favorite shoes and stepped around the western-themed foliage.
He paused at the glass doors. “Let me do the talking.”
“Obviously.”
The lone woman behind the long cedar counter wore a warm, wide smile...until she saw us. “Yes...sir?”
Wolfe smoothed his hair but missed dislodging the stray piece of hay. “Good afternoon. My—er...wife—and I were interested in staying in a villa. Not today, of course.”
Her cool green eyes rooted me to the stone floor. “Oh?”
“Tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Our rooms are full tomorrow.
“The next day?”
“I’m sorry. Full.”
“That’s OK. I meant next week.”
“Still full.”
Wolfe drummed his fingers against the countertop. He pointed at the electronic in front of her. “You could, you know, check for reservations on your calendar. It’s the professional thing to do.”
“I don’t need to check. Sir.”
“Religious profiler!” He slammed his sunglasses down. “You are religious profiling us! That’s illegal.”
Her green orbs shrank to the size of spit bugs. “Excuse me?”
“Refusing to help us because you suspect that she—my wife—is—”
“Sir. Lower your voice. I don’t need to check because we’re booked solid for the next three months—until October.”
“Oh. Popular place. Good for you.” He stuck his glasses on his hair and readopted his smile. His fingers drummed. “The reason we want a room is because we have a friend, a very well-known friend, and he’ll be renting a villa here in the next week...or two...maybe three. I misplaced his number and hoped you could tell me when he’ll arrive. We have plans to hit some golf balls around together at your village’s superior green.”
She made no move toward her electronic. “Your friend?”
“A hint. His name begins with ’Gov.’”
“The governor? You and the governor of Oregon are going to tee off together?” Now her eyes were as round as the oversized buttons on her tight shirt.
“No...of course not. I meant...Assistant Governor.”
I mopped my flow of cold sweat with my hat. Was “Assistant Governor” even a thing? The title sounded made up. But this was the stuff Wolfe knew, so I forced a smile onto my lips like an agreeing wife.
“Sir. You have thirty seconds to exit our premises. And then I’m calling the police.”
As my mouth fell open, Wolfe backed, his hands up. “Whoa, whoa! No need. We’re all friends. All friends...grab it, Dove.”
I started at his breathed instruction in my ear. “Wh—?”
He nodded at the electronic.
I gave a miniscule shake. No. Not stealing her electronic.
“Borrow.”
A man entered, wider than the side doorway he sauntered through. He was, I guessed, a village worker as well as a brother or cousin of the yard bull in Trinidad. Same purple-veined, unsmiling face. Same thick fists.
He tilted his battered leather hat at the green-eyed glarer. “A couple of strays, ma’am? May I assist them out?”
Wolfe quit hissing at me and retreated for real. “No need. Leaving. We’re already gone.”
The man’s boots clumped after us through the glass doors. With a grunt to follow, he led us across the pavement, walking with the swagger Micah sometimes adopts—except this guy wasn’t trying to impress me with his toughness. He was tough, the same way deer jerky just was.
He grunted disapproval when Wolfe and I made to slip away at the green grass. “Nope. You keep moseying along with me...my way.”
Did his way end in a secluded section of woods where no one could hear our shouts?
“Of course, sir.” Wolfe’s thoughts must’ve run a similar course to mine. He mimed hurling his pack at the large head, us sprinting across the grass, a motorcycle—
Not an enemy.
“No straggling. Keep up, girl.”
“Dove. I’m Dove. A Christian.” I shook off my shock as well as Wolfe’s wild jerk on my elbow.
“I know who you are, Dove.” Tiny eyes peeped sideways from under the hat’s brim. His gravelly voice lowered. “You came here? After you escaped Texas?”
“Eventually.”
The guy spat in the grass like my grandpa does and grunted ag
ain. This time, it was a signal for us to follow him into the pine-tree wilderness. These woods began at the far edge of the village’s grass, an area we hadn’t yet explored.
“Never did think the TV execs give you contestants a fair deal. I’d like to see one of them try and survive without their thousand-dollar bags of gear. It takes more than faith to get a human out of one of those hellholes. Like luck.” The eyes peeped again. “Or...for it to be the contestant’s god’s choice, too.”
He cleared his throat, and redness fanned across the purple cheeks.
I smiled at the sky overhead. “Not luck. But yeah, God’s decision.”
The hat bobbed. “And common sense tells me, since your God let you survive through so much—all those episodes of bugs, fire, and flash flooding—well it must be for a reason.”
“For a reason,” Wolfe agreed.
The slit eyes shifted to him. “You a Christian, too?”
His white teeth flashed. “Sure.”
My hands balled into fists. Always joking.
Our guide grunted and led us past a cluster of cedar-paneled homes, no doubt the villas where rich guests slept. “Well, if your God’s got a purpose getting you through all that Fanatic Surviving mess in Texas, then don’t you go wasting yourself getting arrested here at Black Butte. You get my point?”
“You mean, don’t come back here. Or I’m going to jail.”
“And if I was you, girl, I’d quit that fool show. Or did you already film the next location?”
“Not...not yet.” I bit my lip. Swamps. Werewolves. And Lobo and Jessica, who would kill me if they caught up with me. Or most likely have me thrown into a CTDC.
“You remember what I say. You’ve got a purpose, kid. Don’t waste it.”
“Are you a Christian, sir?”
“Watch your mouth. A man could lose a decent-paying job because of such a rumor.” The small eyes crinkled. “But if a man ever chose to become radical, would he be able to survive like you? Not much flooding in these parts, but we get plenty of wildfires.”
I squinted up at the sky. Would he?
I shrugged. “If God chose so. Being a Christian isn’t about using God for His miracles. It’s about being in a relationship—a friendship with Him. You talk to God...and try to recognize what He says back. Sometimes yes. Sometimes no. Sometimes He’s silent for a while. No matter what, you stay close and trust Him. Understand?”
He snorted. “Understand? About as much as that boulder does, plus needing answers to a few million more questions that would make a man’s head split.”
“Hey, I got something that helps.” Wolfe dug in his backpack—probably to offer him a plastic-wrapped cheese or can of juice.
I focused on a dip in the terrain ahead where an unexpected cement building appeared among the sparse pines. The structure was twice as big as the main lodge and a hundred times uglier with chipped, beige paint. Graying boards covered each square pane of scummy glass.
Wolfe fell silent, and our guide’s boots clumped slower.
The brimmed hat nodded. “Old employee lodgings. Abandoned now. Village hasn’t torn it down yet.”
My heart thumped. From fear? Or excitement? I squinted at the relic for a clue that would tell me which.
Wolfe whistled. “Creepy. A thousand workers could live in that haunted mansion. But who’d want to?”
“Most we ever had living in there was a-hundred-fifty. Could’ve housed double, no problem. It’s not haunted but not a good place. Village spent their money building the quarters grand-sized, and then they did the rest too cheap. Air conditioner broke most summers. Electrical was wonky, so we lost power every winter. And the backup generator was junk.”
He toed a plastic pipe running between a shoulder-high metal box and the concrete wall. “That was mostly the chipmunks’ fault, see there? Teeth marks. They mess with the generator’s connections. Don’t know why they’re so eager to chew through the conduit and sever the cords inside. After that the dang power won’t work.”
Plastic rustled, and a chipmunk scampered around the building’s far side. Plastic rustled again.
I froze. Silence fell. An expectant silence...as if something—or someone—waited. Hidden.
I dashed to the end of the building, rounded the corner...and faced garbage.
Bags of it sprawled against a section of the wall mixed with loose food item containers. The pile towered so high that it blocked two bottom windows. I swatted at flies and leaned away, studying the boarded-up state of the windows.
“Someone must live here. Someone who eats...” I nudged an empty box with my toe until it fell over. “Fruity-Funflakes.”
“Naw. That’s just illegally dumped trash from skinflints too lazy to drive the mile to the transfer station.”
“Dove understands about trespassers with trash.”
Was that why my throat tightened—because my brain associated this trash-bag mess with home? Then why did my pulse continue to race?
A bullet casing glinted in the sunshine at my feet. I palmed the hot metal and nudged a long, grimy piece of gray duct tape plastered with pine needles. I refaced the building and all of its boarded-up windows. Where was a door?
“Now, I got to get back and saddle some horses up for the next trail ride. You keep walking straight down the slope, and you’ll get to the main road.”
I followed Wolfe’s whistling three strides down a slope with dead ferns that looked like they’d been trampled. I turned.
“Your name? Sir?”
“It’s Bull. Remember, don’t waste yourselves. I don’t wanta see you here again.”
Wolfe and I didn’t pass any other shelters as we followed his directions to the road. My head kept whipping around toward the village, but my feet continued forward. I would not race back to the abandoned building right now and explore. I would not ask Bull questions about scheduled horse rides that required extra security. Because I would come back for those things tomorrow.
Wolfe, imitating the high buzzing of a sparrow’s trill, ended with his seven-note “Jesus Loves Me” song. “You’re probably wondering about that thing I gave Bull back there—”
“What thing?”
“You didn’t see? Then never mind...hey look. The cowhand’s shortcut worked. Up ahead is where we parked.”
“But then...” The strip of pavement shimmered empty in the late afternoon heat. I snatched my hat off in case its brim interfered with my ability to see Diamond’s motorcycle.
He sighed. “Yep. It’s gone. Stolen. Diamond is going to kill me.”
33
Wolfe and I trudged through the empty field. The cows must’ve abandoned it for the barn hours ago. Not a bad idea. My own body moved as if sleepwalking, too worn to notice obstacles or boobytraps.
There was a sting at my ankle—maybe I’d upset a burr pile? No matter.
“Uh, Dove? Does Trinity have a lantern with her?”
“Of course not.”
I screwed the heels of my hands into both eye sockets. Chinks of weak light filtered through the cracks between dying foliage of the tree copse where we lived. I sped up until a murmur of Amhebran met me...familiar voices. I exhaled and dropped, crawling through the entrance and scraping against sharp sticks.
“Lamebrain!” Trinity’s face loomed out from the half dozen others crowded in the lantern’s cool glow. “I woke, and you were gone. Look at how many fingernails I’ve ruined worrying about you.”
Before I glimpsed the bodily damage I’d caused, Jezebel—the one person not glaring—shoved her way through and hugged me. “I told you all she and Woof were together. Dove’s always OK. She knows what she’s doing. You shouldn’t have worried.”
The tallest figure drew herself up—either that, or everyone else shrank a few inches. “Wolfe, you do realize you’re wanted by the government as an escaped Christian terrorist? Why would you even think about moving around in the open? So close to home?”
“You’re right, Rebecca. I didn’t th
ink...maybe I can explain—”
“Save it.” She pointed an accusatory finger at me. “And you, Dove. Not only have you broken your contract so that Lobo has every right to take legal action against you, but what was the point of getting Reed to believe that you’re out of the picture? If word gets out that you’re making appearances around Black Butte…”
My head, hanging with exhaustion, jerked up. “How’d you know we were near Black Butte today?”
“Diamond was stomping around town, growling about her wheels getting stolen. Jezebel gave us a description, and Brooke and Hunter located her missing motorcycle at the road next to a certain Cascade land formation.” Her brow arched. “Off doing some recreational hiking on Black Butte?”
“Diamond has her bike back.” Wolfe let out a shaky note of relief.
“Yeah, but she says she’s still going to punch your face.” Jezebel unglued herself from me and rummaged through her brother’s bag for snacks.
I swayed in the doorway where I kneeled. Somewhere in this crowd of bodies must be a clear patch of weeds where I could curl up.
Rebecca eyed me. “You’ll have plenty of time to rest. Because you understand you’ve got to stay inside your shelter, unseen by anyone but us, until after the first of August?”
I counted on my fingers—twice since they were blurry. “That’s more than a week away.”
“Eight days. August first is the prayer rally at Black Butte. Too many Christians will be camping around these parts up until then, which, no doubt, will include Reed and his weapon-yielding groupies. Plus, eight days will give me time to hash out a new deal with our friends at Fanatic Surviving.”
I nodded my head. Then shook it. “No need to hide. I didn’t see a single Christian today.”
“Dove, Hunter and Brooke didn’t just hunt a missing bike today. They hunted for—and found—believers. Ten groups of Christians spread out and camped nearby in the foothills.”
I closed my eyes. “Ten? That’s not so many. I can stay away from them. No need—”
“It’ll be a hundred groups before the week is out.”
I shrugged. No doubt she was right. But believers...nonbelievers...Reed...I was through hiding from any of them.