Carried Away (Montana Miracles Book 1)

by Grace Walton

  “Miss Smith said to stay here until the principal came,” insisted the little girl’s voice. “You aren’t the principal.”

  That was a fact he couldn’t refute. But he was very interested in finding out more about Miss Smith.

  “Where is Miss Smith?” he asked in what he hoped was a non-threatening tone.

  “She went after the bad guys who were stealing the big girls,” the little girl answered.

  Gage groaned under his breath. He knew that already. He needed more information from the kids. Something wasn’t quite right. He could feel it nagging at the back of his skull.

  “What does Miss Smith look like?” he asked quietly.

  “She’s real tall,” piped up one brave little boy. “And she wears these great big glasses.” The kids around him nodded in agreement.

  “She has real long hair. But she always braids it and pulls it back,” added a girl as she wiped her nose.

  Gage dropped his head in defeat. There was no way he was ever going to believe the bag woman from the jury was actually Caroline the world famous model. No way, at all. The colonel must have lost more than the use of his legs in that stroke he’d had. Caroline was a glorious woman, all long legs and full curves. Not somebody like the bag lady from Hell. But the old man didn’t need to lie about his friend’s daughter to get Gage’s help. She must be Caroline. This was getting more complicated by the moment. He groaned and realized he’d been tricked by a civilian, and by a woman at that.

  “How long ago did she leave?” he asked, mentally calculating how he would follow and what he would do once he caught up with them.

  “We haven’t learned how to tell time yet Mister,” answered the little girl in a matter of fact voice.

  Gage scowled. All of his intensive training had not prepared him for getting vital information from a five year old. He thought for a moment. “Has it been as long as a movie?”

  There was some whispering from the shadow of the trees. Then an answer was given. “No, it’s been about as long as a cartoon show.”

  That made sense. He’d felt like they could only have a 15 or 20 minute lead on him, 30 at most.

  “Ok, you all stay put until your principal comes to get you, just like Miss Smith told you.”

  “Mister?” the little girl called.

  “Yeah.” He didn’t have time to chat. He needed to be finding their trail through the woods.

  “We know you aren’t a bad guy,” she said by way of apology.

  “Thanks Sweetie, you still need to stay put until your principal gets here.” If she only knew who he really was, what he’d done. She’d run from him screaming in terror. And it wouldn’t be the first time someone had fled his presence screaming. But he had a thing for kids so he asked a question. “Is Dylan in there with you?”

  “I’m right here,” sang out a high little boy’s voice.

  “You ok Sport?”

  “I’m fine.” Dylan sounded happy to be singled out, “Just fine.”

  “Great. Now stay put.” Gage pushed one arm through the shoulder strap of the backpack. He began looking for evidence of a large group moving through the brush. It only took him a few moments to find the trail. It was obvious by the wide trampled path strewn with broken branches and bruised grass. He moved in an energy- conserving trot, the one he’d used countless times before as a Ranger.

  He’d gone about five miles when he caught sight of the group. They were getting ready to cross a creek. Gage was positioned above them on a bluff. He watched and listened carefully. The students were milling around on the creek’s edge. A few girls were crying, but most seemed almost in shock. Then he spotted her. The bag lady was up in one kidnapper’s face. She was giving him her opinion of his behavior. It didn’t look like it was pleasant.

  “Listen you no-good, low life scum.” She jammed a finger in his chest. “I don’t know who you are and I don’t care. I just want you to leave us alone. Why don’t you and your friends go crawl back under whatever rock you came out from and let us go?”

  The big man grinned and showed his brown teeth. “Sister, you better back off. Give me that purty cross.” He grabbed it and jerked her closer.

  “I’m not your sister,” she huffed up at him. His fetid breath washed over her in a nasty wave. She kept her fist tight on the GPS. It might be their only hope.

  “No, but you could be my wife.” He sneered. “I like my women feisty. I wouldn’t care how you look, if you put up a good fight.” His piggy eyes moved over her body. “I bet you’d put up a real good fight.” He pushed her hands from the necklace and jerked it over her head. Looking at it carefully, he smiled. “I could tie your hands with this thing.”

  Carrie turned pale as Gage watched. He fingered the pistol in his palm. He hoped no one decided to try and kill her. That wouldn’t be good for anybody.

  “You so much as put one of your slimy fingers on me or one of these girls and I’ll make sure you never touch another woman.” She looked the kidnapper straight in the eye.

  “Sister, I’m going to put a lot more than one finger on you. And I’m keeping this gee-gaw. Nothing makes a woman more vain than a fancy gew-gaw.” He shoved it into his pocket and spit a dark stream of tobacco juice into the creek. “Now quit your whining and get along. We got a long way to go before we reach the Conclave.”

  “The Conclave?” Carrie asked dully.

  “Yeah, home sweet home, Sister. It’s where all the folks in The Promised Nation live.” He laughed and threw down his head, sending a curtain of matted yellow hair over his face. “Hey Troy?” he yelled to one of the others.

  “Huh?” answered the other man. “What you want?”

  “Sister here, cain’t wait to get to the Conclave,” he bragged.

  “That so?” Troy scratched at his groin while he stared at Carrie. “Why’s that?”

  “She cain’t wait to wed up with me,” the first man hooted with glee.

  “You better find out if she’s been tried before,” Troy advised. “You know the Prophet says all the wives has to be fresh.”

  “Sister, you ever been with a man?” He poked her chest with his rifle. Carrie promptly spit on his boot.

  “She’s fresh all right Troy.” He laughed obscenely. “Lord have mercy, she’s fresh and feisty. God has done answered my prayers.”

  “Yeah, well, you better be sure you don’t break her like you did your last wife.” Troy was still giving advice. “The Prophet said if you cut another woman up like that, he’d never let you marry again.”

  “That last one was too soft. She was afeered of everything,” he scoffed.

  “She wasn’t afeered of everything, just that big ole hunting knife you keep up in your shack,” Troy allowed.

  “Well, the truth is, I had to cut her face to ruin her vanity Troy.” He nodded sagely. “That vanity, it was a sin, you know. And it sure put a stop to all the lusting you other boys was doing after her. It was a pure ‘tee’ act of mercy and goodness.”

  “I don’t know about goodness and mercy, but you’re right about the lust part. It put a stop to that right off. Cause Brother, I like my women with a nose. When you was done with her, she didn’t have nothing but those two little bitty holes to breathe through.” Both men screamed with laughter.

  “Shut up!” a harsh command came from one of the men halfway across the creek. “We don’t have time for you two to stop and have a picnic. The Prophet expects us back. We won’t make it if you two don’t keep your minds on business.”

  “Yes sir.” They both snapped to attention. The leader turned around to keep going.

  “Come on, girl.” Carrie was shoved toward the water. “You just got a few days before you’re wed. So you better look us over careful like. There’s men aplenty for you to choose from at the Conclave. But you’re seeing the five best right here.”

  “Aww Troy,” the first man complained. “You leave her alone, I done picked her.”

  “I ain’t saying I want her,” Troy defend
ed himself. “Long tall bag of bones she is. You’re welcome to her.”

  They were still mumbling arguments between them as they followed Carrie and the last of the girls across the creek. Gage watched silently as they marched over the next ridge and out of sight. After hearing them, he had the germination of a plan. He knew how he was going to get to the woman. He could do it. But it wasn’t going to be easy.

  That night he slept in a cold camp within sight of the kidnappers and the girls. Carrie had all the students with her away from the men. They lay shivering on the rough ground. The fire the men had built was big and warm. But it was also directly in front of their dirty and tattered sleeping bags. Gage heard the men taunt Carrie and the girls.

  “Come over here and get warm darlin’,” coaxed one of the younger kidnappers. From the glow of the fire, he looked barely old enough to shave. “We’re gonna be married the day after tomorrow anyway. You can share my sleeping bag. I’ll keep you warm all night long.” His voice turned into a leer.

  Another man elbowed him in the ribs. “You stop that.”

  The young boy scowled. “Why should I?” There was a rebellious curl to his downy lips.

  “Cause you’re polluting the purity of the brides, that’s why,” the older man explained. “If we’d wanted fast women and spoiled goods, we could have gotten that on any street corner. We went to all the trouble to get girls we know are pure and here you are trying to pollute them.”

  The older man huffed. Several others nodded their heads in agreement. “Now you pipe down and leave the brides alone. Like you said, you’ll be getting married day after tomorrow anyway. You can do like the rest of us and sleep alone till then.”

  The boy was chastised and laid down quickly. He drew the edge of his sleeping bag over his red face and hid. Carrie had watched and listened. She was starting to piece together what she thought was going on. Obviously they had been taken by members of a religious cult. That had been the easy part to figure out. She had no idea what cult or what exactly they believed. She was relieved they hadn’t been raped. But she was afraid when they all reached the Conclave, as they called it, the situation would worsen considerably.

  The men all seemed brutish and dirty, and they spoke of marriage in archaic terms. It was clear in their culture women were chattel. Yes chattel, to be used as they willed and disposed of as they willed. She’d heard all the men except the boy make references to their ‘last wives’. She shuddered to think of how those women had fared. Were they even alive? She wondered at their fate before being distracted by the conversation of the men.

  “All’s I want is a good breeder,” whined one of the men. It was the one called Troy. He was small with a rat like face. “I’ve had to put away three wives already because they couldn’t start a baby.”

  One of the other men by the fire snickered. “Troy you got it all wrong. You’re supposed to start the baby. All the woman does is receive the seed. That’s how a man gets sons.”

  “Maybe that’s Troy’s problem,” Donnie mocked. “Maybe he ain’t got no seed.” The others laughed at this.

  “Or maybe he’s got the seed he just don’t know how to get it where it needs to be to start a young’un,” hooted one of the men.

  Troy punched his sleeping bag and rolled up one end as a pillow before answering. “I got seed aplenty. And I know where to put it. I just ain’t never had a good woman. They’s all been barren. That’s why I want the older one as a wife.” He nodded toward where Carrie was sitting.

  “Troy, I done called dibs on that one,” protested one of the men. Carrie saw it was Donnie’s friend from the creek.

  “Yes Sir, he sure did,” Donnie defended his friend.

  “You can’t call dibs on a bride Zack Hill,” Troy instructed. “If you’d been with the Prophet for longer than a year, you’d know that. You got to woo a bride.”

  “I didn’t woo my first wife,” Zack argued. “I just told the Prophet I wanted her. He married us right up.”

  “You idiot,” scoffed Troy. “The prophet married you to that well used gal cause none of us would have her after we’d tried her. And we couldn’t very well take her back to the honky-tonk we plucked her out of. She’d tell the law where the Conclave is.” Several men nodded at that. “Gal like her, I’m surprised she didn’t give you some kind of wasting disease.”

  The man in question turned a distinct shade of green at the thought of contracting a social disease. He suddenly wanted to rush out into the darkness and check his member for signs of rot and decay.

  “So I’m telling you Zack Hill, and all you others. I intend to woo the old one.” Troy had thrown down a gauntlet. Carrie hoped somebody would fight him.

  “Troy, you don’t want her,” said another one of the men. “Woman’s got no hips- to speak of- nor teats neither, for that matter. And she’s as plain as an outhouse door.”

  Troy defended her, “You really cain’t tell about her shape with that bag she’s wearing. Besides, she’s tall. She’ll give a man big,in tall boys.”

  At 5’4” that was important to Troy. “And if she’s plain, well, she won’t have been tried before now will she?” That remark made sense to the others and they grunted their approval of his thinking.

  On the hill above their camp Gage soaked in every word as he worked on his plan to get the bag lady. He knew he needed to stop thinking of her that way, but over the course of the day it had become a habit. He was amazed at how the men in the kidnapping squad seemed drawn to her. And even he had to admire the way she stood up to them. And somehow she’d managed to herd the girls out of their way as much as possible. She hadn’t let one of the students have contact of any kind with the kidnappers. That by itself was a monumental feat. Yeah, Gage was thinking there was a lot more to the bag lady than met the eye. He was looking forward to meeting her, in a twisted sort of way.

  In the morning he would begin. The plan had really made itself as he’d watched the men and listened to their conversations. It was as if a puzzle was solving itself right before him. Each piece being laid out exactly as soon and when it was needed, nothing out of time or place.

  Yes, in the morning he’d join up with the men from the Conclave. It always fascinated Gage that cults could take rational, though mainly uneducated, people and turn them into lock stepping monsters. It usually involved folks who were truly searching for a deeper spiritual life. Too easily they often found themselves under the spell of someone who claimed to ‘know’ it all or have a ‘new revelation’ of scripture. It was so tragic when people turned their lives over to a man making him, in effect, their god.

  Gage wasn’t familiar with the Conclave, but he’d dealt with similar religious fanatics before. He knew exactly what to do. Tonight he needed sleep. It might not be possible to sleep over the course of the next few days. So he took his window of opportunity. He buried his big body down in the pile of leaves he’d raked up with his hands and he fell instantly into a deep dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Four

  Gage woke up as he always did, completely alert and perfectly still. It was a talent that had saved his life more than once in the past. Nobody could see him in his camouflaged nest under the brush. In fact, he’d managed to bed down within sight of the girls and Miss Smith. A small smile cracked his lips. Even now he could see her giving the kidnappers a hard time. The more he watched, the more he was coming to admire her.

  “What do you mean we can’t stop to wash?” she asked in disgust. “I thought you poor men needed wives? Who wants a woman who looks like she hasn’t seen the inside of a bathroom for two days?” Gage noticed her hands were propped on her hips. It was a pose he’d come to expect from the feisty woman.

  “She’s got a point there, Donnie. You know how the Prophet feels about bathing and such,” whined one of the men.

  Donnie nodded and stretched. He casually scratched his armpit before replying. “Yes, I know how the Prophet feels about being clean. But this here gal.” He pointed an accusing fin
ger at Carrie. “She’s up to something. Mark my words Boys, she’s smart. She has to be to be a teacher and all. You cain’t trust them smart ones. They’ll trick you every time.”

  Carrie sniffed and threw her tangled braid over her shoulder. “Then we certainly don’t need to worry about you, do we?” Donnie frowned as the others guffawed at Carrie’s comment.

  “Now Ma’am, if I was you I’d keep a civil tongue in my mouth. More than one woman’s been known to turn up with her sassy tongue cut out. I’d sure hate to see that happen to you. I surely would.

  Gage swore softly as Carrie paled at the innuendo. He needed to get down there and fast. He carefully crept from his hiding place in the scrub and moved out of sight of the camp. With quick workman like skill he unzipped the backpack and began his transformation. The knife in his boot hacked roughly through his hair, leaving a tangle of uneven cut ends. He buried the hair and continued to work. He unbuttoned the plaid flannel shirt he was wearing, eased it off his shoulders, and ripped the cuffs off. Putting it back on, he rolled the raw edged sleeves up to his muscular forearms.

  He searched around in the backpack and fished out a small package. He flipped open one compartment and shook out a temporary tattoo. Licking it, he applied the small symbol to his throat, right above his jugular vein. That done, he fished through the backpack, this time finding a round tin. Twisting the top off of it, he dipped his finger inside and withdrew a black tar like gel. This was applied to his teeth.

  Done with the contents of the pack, he rubbed earth between his hands. When they were sufficiently dirty, he coated his face, arms, and hair with as much of the gummy dirt as possible. Gage didn’t have a mirror, but he didn’t need one to know how he looked. He’d masqueraded as a Brother of the Aryan Nation before, more times that he wanted to remember. He could be whoever he needed to be. That’s why the backpack and its magic contents were always available. For one last measure, he checked the pistol he’d tucked in his jeans at the small of his back. With the tail of his shirt hanging out the gun was hidden. A few more handfuls of dirt rubbed on his clothes and he strode off.