by Tarah Benner
“I didn’t want to worry you,” said Walt. “’Specially after Abraham came ’round askin’ about the water. You know that’s never good news. And I’d just heard rumors.”
“Who are the Sons of David?” asked Lark.
“Some kind of religious cult. Before everything went to hell, they stayed underground to avoid drawing attention to themselves,” said Walt. “I don’t think they care much about that anymore.”
“A few branches were shut down by the federal government years ago,” Thompson added. “Some of the leaders were charged with tax evasion, child endangerment, kidnapping . . . I just don’t know if they ever got those charges to stick.”
“With law and order dryin’ up in these parts, Bob says they see it as their calling to expand,” Walt continued. “They want to grow as big as they can as quickly as they can, and the best way to do that is by impregnating their wives as often as humanly possible.”
“That’s crazy,” said Lark.
“You think they’re dangerous?” asked Bernie.
“Bob seemed to think so. Personally, I thought a lot of those stories were just talk. I thought Gideon had just found himself a harmless bunch of weirdos until they showed up here this mornin’.”
“What changed your mind?” asked Lark.
“It was what he said about ‘ways in which we can help each other prosper,’” said Walt. “He’s got our water on his mind. That we know for sure. One of the Millers’ wells dried up two years ago, so they must be getting desperate. But I don’t think that’s all.”
“What else could he want?” asked Bernie.
Walt sighed. “I think they’re looking to recruit new members.”
That thought sent a chill down Lark’s spine. Clearly the cult’s efforts had been successful so far. After all, they’d managed to grow their numbers to twenty-seven people.
“What they want is to see all the gays wiped out,” said Thompson bitterly.
“Yes, there’s that, too,” said Walt. “Until we get this sorted out, I don’t want Katrina going off on her own. It’s not Gideon’s beliefs that worry me . . . It’s Gideon himself.”
Bernie and Lark exchanged an uneasy look.
“I’ve known a lot of people in my lifetime but only a handful who were as dangerous as him. People like Gideon are charming and ruthless, and they’ll stop at nothing to get what they want.”
They all fell silent as they digested what that meant, and Lark’s gaze drifted over to the burned spot on the kitchen floor. It was from a Molotov cocktail the biker gang had hurled through the window the night Starlight had been killed, and it was just one of many scars their attack had left on the house.
A moment later, Simjay came stumbling down the stairs wiping sleep from his eyes.
“Morning,” he yawned, oblivious to the bleak mood hanging over the room. “What’s goin’ on?”
“Looks like you’ve got some competition, Birapaar,” said Bernie, arching an eyebrow. “There’s a new cult leader in town.”
10
Lark
Lark spent most of the day keeping a lookout in the watch tower. She could see the Baileys’ entire farm from there, as well as anyone encroaching from the road. Gideon’s unexpected visit had set her on edge, and she wasn’t the only one.
After breakfast, Thompson made it her mission to clean and load every firearm in the house. She assigned a weapon to each of them and established a separate arsenal in the guesthouse in case of a break-in. Her theory was that in the event of an ambush, they had to be ready to defend the farm.
Katrina accepted Thompson’s proposed changes without much pushback, though Lark could tell she was wondering what had brought on the sudden burst of paranoia. Lark knew it was only a matter of time before Katrina found out about the creepy cult next door, and she couldn’t see the sense in keeping it from her.
Perhaps Walt thought that Katrina was so stricken with grief over losing Starlight that she might overreact and try to take out the cult singlehandedly. Personally, Lark thought that they weren’t giving Katrina enough credit. She’d been through a lot in the past few weeks, and she seemed to be holding it together well — much better than Lark would have after losing both her brother and her partner.
Katrina’s brother Mitch hadn’t died, but he’d abandoned his family after a bad falling out. Nobody had seen or heard from him since, and there was no way to know whether he and his family were still alive or not.
From her perch, Lark could see Katrina showing Bernie the goat pen. Simjay was already working in the greenhouse with Walt, planting the seeds that Lark had stolen from San Judas.
Suddenly, Lark felt the ladder beneath her perch tremble. Thompson was climbing up to meet her, and she was moving more slowly than usual. Lark guessed that her shoulder was still bothering her. She’d been grazed by a bullet during the shootout with the bikers, and it had probably only begun to heal.
A few minutes later, Thompson’s head appeared at the top of the ladder, and Lark offered her a strained smile.
“How’s it going?” asked Thompson, heaving herself through the opening with a pained expression.
“Not bad,” said Lark. “No new developments to report.”
“Well, no news is good news,” said Thompson, squinting down the road as if she expected to see an invading army on the horizon.
“Do you really think they’re going to come after us?” asked Lark.
She’d witnessed the entire interaction that morning, and Gideon didn’t strike her as an aggressive, take-a-farm-by-siege sort of person.
“I don’t know,” said Thompson. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
She paused for a moment, and Lark thought back to the biker attack. The gang had ambushed them in the middle of the night, and Starlight had been killed in the crossfire.
“The bikers weren’t the first to ambush us,” said Thompson, as if she’d read Lark’s mind. “We’ve had to fend off all kinds of attacks in the past few years — people who were after our land and our water . . .”
Lark nodded. Walt had told her that the farm was situated on one of the richest aquifers in the region, which had allowed the Baileys to survive while others had starved or moved away. Walt also owned a plot of land that abutted the Millers’, which was where they were wanting water access. Walt farmed that plot intermittently, but, according to him, its well was much less reliable.
“Someone’s coming,” said Thompson suddenly, straightening up and pointing her rifle down the road.
Lark gave a start and followed her gaze to the end of the driveway. Thompson was right.
She didn’t recognize the vehicle, but it was difficult to see clearly. It looked like an old red pickup, but it was too far away to distinguish the passengers.
Thompson was already primed for battle. Lark snatched up the old binoculars hanging from a rusty nail and peered out toward the swirling mass of gravel dust headed their way.
The vehicle was an old red Ford truck that Lark had never seen before. It seemed to be sitting a little low, and Lark realized that the bed was loaded down with half a dozen gray crates.
She squinted through the binoculars to get a better look at the passengers, and her heart leapt into her throat. Soren was sitting in the driver’s seat, and Portia was riding shotgun.
“It’s Soren,” she said excitedly, hanging up the binoculars and starting down the ladder.
“Are you sure?” asked Thompson.
“Yes! Don’t shoot them!”
Thompson seemed relieved, if a little disappointed, and followed Lark down to greet them. Lark jogged toward the dusty pickup, her heart hammering wildly in her chest.
The truck stopped just a few yards from the house, and Soren climbed out looking exhausted. The second his feet touched the ground, Lark’s jog turned into a sprint, and she hurled herself into his chest.
Soren caught her with a grunt of surprise, and Lark sighed as his familiar woodsy scent washed over her. She wrapped her arms aro
und his waist and tilted her head up for a kiss, but Soren was already pulling away, back toward the truck.
“Come inside . . . We’ll unload in a minute,” he called to Axel.
“Are you okay?” Lark asked, grabbing Soren’s arm and scanning his body for any new injuries. It wasn’t like him to be so curt, and it made her think that something was wrong.
“I’m fine,” said Soren without looking at her. He was scanning the fields for Walt.
“Is your arm better or worse?”
“Better, I think,” said Soren, though his tone was not convincing. Lark made a mental note to change his dressing as soon as she had the chance and looked back at Axel and Portia.
“What took you so long?” she asked. “What’s in the truck?”
“We paid our old friend Griffin a little visit,” said Soren, still not meeting her gaze.
“What?”
“Motherfucker tried to screw us over again!” grumbled Axel.
“Ugh, where are we?” asked Portia, her eyes narrowing as they drifted over the farm.
“This is the place,” called Soren. “The Baileys helped us out a while ago. This is their farm.”
“As long as there’s a shower,” Portia muttered, glaring over at Axel. “Some of us could really use one.”
“Soren, good to see you,” said Thompson, striding up behind Lark and giving his hand a firm shake.
Lark saw her eyes flicker over Axel in disapproval, but her gaze landed on Portia, who looked as though she’d been air-dropped onto another planet.
“Jacqueline Thompson,” said Thompson, extending a hand.
Portia took it, and Lark heard her knuckles crack. Judging by Portia’s startled wince, Thompson had given her the trademark tough-cop handshake.
“Portia Wong,” said Portia through gritted teeth.
“Nice to meet you,” said Thompson, though her tone suggested otherwise.
“Is Walt around?” asked Soren. “There’s something we want to tell you guys, and I really think he should hear it.”
“I’ll go find him,” said Thompson.
Lark let out a sigh of dread. She hadn’t yet come to terms with the fact that she and Portia would be forced to coexist indefinitely. Portia was a snotty, entitled bitch, and Lark had no reason to think that escaping San Judas had done anything to change that. But since Bernie had made it clear that she and Portia were friends, Lark had no choice but to tolerate her.
“Where’s Sim?” asked Axel. “I ain’t gonna unload all this seed myself.”
“You got seed?” said Lark excitedly.
“Yeah,” said Soren. “It wasn’t easy, but we got it.”
“And Griffin?”
Soren shook his head. “He ran off after he tried to get us arrested . . . again.”
Lark definitely wanted to hear more about that, but for the moment, she was content to just walk up to the house with Soren. After everything they had been through, part of her still couldn’t believe that they’d managed to keep their little gang intact.
It only took a few minutes for Thompson to round up Walt, Simjay, Bernie, and Katrina. To Lark’s amazement, Bernie limped right over to Portia and gave her a big hug, which Portia returned with a stiff one-armed embrace.
Lark pursed her lips, trying hard not to laugh. Clearly Portia wasn’t used to Bernie’s open displays of warmth, but that was just Bernie’s way. It was one of the things Lark loved about her, but it took some getting used to.
After the initial surprise of their sudden reunion had worn off, they piled into the living room to hear what had happened in Texas. The Baileys listened in thoughtful silence as Soren launched into the story of how Griffin had tried to blow them up and trapped them in his office and how Portia had saved the day. He told them about breaking into the university’s seed bank, which happened to be a donation from GreenSeed International, and the ancient seed varieties they’d managed to procure.
At the mention of the ancient grains, Lark saw a tremor of excitement flash across Walt’s face. After learning about his potato field, Lark wasn’t surprised that he was enthusiastic about growing the crops and passing them on to other farmers in the area.
They still needed a plan for distributing the seed, but the first step was to plant their own crop and see how it performed. Although the seeds that they’d stolen from the seed bank were nearly identical to the crops GreenSeed had been trying to patent, they lacked the mechanism designed to kill pests. The crops would need extra attention to keep the bugs and worms at bay, and the Baileys’ plants would be their test crop.
After Soren had finished his story, they all dispersed to get back to work. Or, rather, everyone else went back to work while Portia went upstairs to take a nap. Lark followed Soren out to the truck to finish unloading the crates, but once they were alone, she couldn’t contain herself any longer.
As Soren walked around to the back of the truck, Lark grabbed his good arm and pulled him around to face her. A confused look flashed through Soren’s eyes, but it disappeared as soon as Lark pushed him against the bed of the truck.
Standing on her tiptoes, she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. She found his lips and nearly shuddered with pleasure when she tasted him. All the running and fighting had definitely put a damper on her and Soren’s reunion, but since they were back at the Baileys’ farm, Lark felt a fresh surge of freedom.
Soren returned her kiss hungrily, his mouth and tongue rough on hers. His hands worked their way down to her hips and butt, squeezing and tugging her closer to his body. Lark deepened the kiss with a low moan, but then Soren paused and began to pull away.
“Not here,” he said in a low voice.
“I don’t care if anyone sees.”
“I just . . .”
“You what?” she whispered, feeling her way up his hard muscular chest.
“I’m just tired . . . from the drive.”
“It’s okay,” murmured Lark, running her fingers along the back of his neck and planting a trail of soft kisses down his jaw. “I’ll do all the work.”
But the pressure of Soren’s hands on her waist had disappeared. He was no longer holding her as if he wanted to rip all her clothes off. He was standing frozen like a statue, and Lark got the impression that he was not enjoying this.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I just don’t think we should . . . Someone could see us.”
“I’m sorry,” snapped Lark, suddenly annoyed. “Are you tired, or are you worried someone is going to see?”
“I just — don’t want to,” Soren stammered.
In an instant, Lark’s irritation evaporated. A tidal wave of embarrassment hit her, and she felt a hot flush scorch across her cheeks.
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered.
Soren had never shut her down before. In fact, he was usually the one to initiate their intimate moments.
“Did I . . . Did I do something wrong?” she asked quietly.
“No,” said Soren, letting out a heavy sigh. He wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“Then what is it?”
“I just don’t want to!”
Suddenly, Lark felt an invisible wall rise up between them, and she was immediately bombarded by a flurry of emotions. She felt hurt and embarrassed but equally angry. She felt that Soren owed her some kind of explanation, but she didn’t know how to ask.
“I’m sorry,” said Soren roughly. “It’s just not the time.”
Lark opened and closed her mouth, struggling to put her thoughts into words. “Is it me?” she asked finally.
“No,” said Soren, shaking his head. He still wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Well, yes. But not in the way I think you mean.”
In that instant, the space between them seemed to double, and that distance — both physical and emotional — hurt Lark the most.
“It’s mostly me,” Soren finished.
“It’s not you; it’s me,” Lark choked, rolling her eyes to stave off her tears. “What
a fucking cliché.”
“It’s a cliché for a reason,” said Soren. “I’m just not in a good place right now.”
“Yeah . . . me either,” Lark shot back. She hadn’t exactly been in a good place when Soren had made contact in San Judas. She hadn’t been in good place when they’d escaped prison and she’d thought that her best friend was dead. She’d felt completely shattered inside, but that hadn’t made her want to pull away. If anything, she’d needed him more.
“I just found out my brother is dead,” he said through gritted teeth. “Can you give me a minute?”
That shut Lark up.
She closed her eyes and dragged in a deep breath. She felt like an asshole.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t think —”
“I know,” said Soren.
“I didn’t, and I should have,” she finished, meeting his gaze with fresh understanding. “If you need time or space . . .”
“That isn’t going to fix everything!” he snapped.
“I know —”
“Lark . . . My brother is dead. My mother is dead. Homeland Security is up our asses, and all you can think about is your stupid seed!”
“What?” Lark spluttered.
“You didn’t think about me at all.”
“How can you say that?” Lark cried. “I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me, but you just keep pushing me away! I know Micah —”
“It’s not about Micah,” said Soren shortly. “I mean, I thought it was, but that was just the start of it.” He rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I’m fucked up, Lark. I am really fucked up.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“You should.”
“I’m fucked up, too.”
“It’s not the same,” said Soren. “And honestly, this isn’t fair to either one of us.”
“What are you talking about?”
Soren took a deep breath and stared off into space. Lark could tell that he was trying to find a way to express himself coherently, but she took his protracted silence with a dose of dread.
“Losing Micah made me realize . . . I glom on to the people I love. I try to protect them, but it just makes things worse.”