Blood of the Faithful

by Michael Wallace

  Instead, she carried an LED penlight that could be shaken in her hand to recharge. Thanks to some forward thinking, these were common in Blister Creek. The only problem was the poor quality of light. Upon hand charging, hers would cast a thin, rapidly fading beam. As weak as it was, she didn’t dare use the flashlight while she was in the open, out of fear that someone would spot her.

  It took a good hour or more to hook around to the Smoot ranch from the northeast. She bypassed the house and barns, then came onto the hundred acres or so of grazing land that abutted Smoot’s fields. Here she tied her horse to a rock behind a sagebrush-covered knoll, then checked her pistol in its holster and slung her rifle over her shoulder. She used the moonlight to find her way to the fenced-in silos, turning on the penlight only when clouds swept in front of the moon.

  Once she was sure there was nobody about and the silos couldn’t be seen from the Smoot house, she shook the penlight until it had a good charge. Then she walked carefully around the fenced enclosure, looking at footprints.

  Boot prints came and went from the dry wash. She presumed these belonged to Stephen Paul and Jacob, who had come through yesterday to inspect the silos. These were visible only where the dirt was soft and sandy, not on the slickrock that penetrated the surface here and there. Unfortunately, they’d walked around so much that she was having a hard time picking out individual prints, or spotting any older prints that might have indicated a third party at the scene. She made her way to the gate. It was chained with a padlock.

  A sound behind her caught her ear, something like the scrape of a boot on stone. Then a hiss of a man’s breath as she started to move, dropping the flashlight and lifting the rifle in one movement. She groped for the bolt.

  Even as she did so, she heard a telltale metallic snick. The sound of a hammer being drawn on a revolver. She had no chance. Someone had come up behind her and already had her in his sights. If she turned, he’d kill her. With that realization, she hesitated, and that hesitation was doubly deadly.

  “Don’t do it!” a man’s voice ordered. He sounded about twenty feet away. “Put down the gun and lift your hands.”

  She almost gasped with relief as she recognized the voice. “Jacob, it’s me. Miriam.”

  Jacob grunted. “Miriam!”

  Miriam turned around, but she couldn’t see him. She picked up the light, its beam flickering through the dust kicked up by her shoes. He had to be close, but where?

  “Come over here,” he said. “You’re too exposed.”

  “I can’t see you.” Her heart was still pounding.

  “Down here, in the wash.”

  Ah, of course. She found a place where livestock had cut a path down so they could drink when the spring runoff filled the wash. There he was, about ten feet farther down the sandy bottom, where he could peer over the edge toward the silo.

  “Now turn off the light before someone sees us.”

  They were out of view of the Smoot house, so she doubted the light was a risk, but she obeyed anyway. Jacob was a few inches taller than her and so she kicked her foot into the embankment until she’d formed a little place to stand on and get up to his height. She looked over the top of the wash back at the silos, but couldn’t see much from this distance with the poor light of the sliver moon.

  “How did you know I was here?” he asked in a low voice.

  “I heard you, your boots scuffing together or hitting a stone.”

  “You’ve got good ears.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Still, I got the drop on you for once,” he said, a measure of satisfaction in his voice.

  His tone was friendly, and she didn’t take it as an insult. Still, she couldn’t help defending herself.

  “Only because you were watching for me,” she said. “Why aren’t you back at the house? I thought you were talking to David.”

  “He came over to the house to chat about solar panels. My son had saddled up my horse and—” Jacob paused, chuckled. “Oh, I see. You sent David over to distract me so you could sneak out without me seeing you. Only I was trying to get rid of him so I could come here myself.”

  “How did you get rid of him?”

  “I didn’t, not really. David went on for about twenty minutes. But I rode straight here. You must have gone the long way, based on where you came out.”

  “Weren’t you worried Smoot would spot you?” she asked.

  “I had an excuse if I ran into anyone. A bit of minor Quorum business to discuss with Elder Smoot. I didn’t, so I came straight back here.”

  “Clever.” She wished she’d come up with her own ready pretext so she could have gotten here first.

  “So why are you here?” he asked.

  “Checking things out,” she said vaguely. “Like you.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” Jacob’s voice hardened into suspicion. “How did you know to come here, specifically? Who told you?”

  There was no use pretending she didn’t know what he was talking about. The only reason to come to these silos was if she already knew about the missing grain. Still, she couldn’t exactly blurt out what had happened at last night’s secret meeting at Sister Rebecca’s cabin.

  “Someone told me,” she said. “Steve and Eliza are gone, so that left me to investigate.”

  “Who told you?”

  “You know, the usual gossipers.”

  “I don’t believe you. Was it Stephen Paul?”

  “No, someone else,” she lied. “I only found out last night.”

  “I only found out last night too,” Jacob said. “And Stephen Paul was the only one with me. I haven’t told anyone. So unless you knew already . . . you’re not mixed up in this, are you?”

  “No!”

  “Shh. Keep your voice down.”

  “I’m not, and I didn’t know already.”

  “Miriam, tell me the truth.”

  “I’m absolutely not mixed up in this. Stealing our food and giving it to the squatters? How could you even think such a thing?”

  “I wouldn’t think it, but you claim Stephen Paul didn’t tell you. Yet somehow you knew already.”

  Miriam was struggling to think of a better lie that would appease him without implicating herself further. The problem was, Jacob knew her too well after all these years. The first time she’d met him, way back when she’d infiltrated the Zarahemla sect, she’d tried to deny that she was an FBI agent. He’d seen through that as well.

  Miriam dropped her voice to a whisper. “I told you this morning that I trust you. Now I need you to trust me. God chose you to be His prophet. He chose me to be His destroying angel.”

  “Don’t use that phrase. I don’t like it.”

  “Fine, then His enforcer. I protect this church and this valley. I protect you, Jacob.”

  “So you’re here to what?” he pressed. “Enforce? What does that even mean?”

  “I was going to use the penlight and walk around, see if I could figure out who is stealing from the silos. I have my suspicions, but I need to be sure. What are you doing?”

  “Waiting for the thief to steal food. He should be here soon.”

  Miriam stiffened. “What makes you think it will happen tonight?”

  “There’s a lot of missing food. Do you know how hard it is to ship it out of here? Unless you’ve got trucks, and I don’t see how that could happen.”

  “Or mule-drawn wagons,” she said.

  “That would be even more difficult. Wagons couldn’t cross the desert from here, they’d have to backtrack to the road. We’re talking dozens of shipments. Slow and noisy. Someone would have spotted them by now.”

  “Then how does the thief manage it?”

  “It’s like eating an elephant,” Jacob said. “One bite at time. In this case, one bite each and every night, or near enough. That’s what it
would take. I was going to wait to see who, if anyone, showed up.”

  “You must have suspicions.”

  “Everything points to Elder Smoot. This is his land, and the Smoots usually man the bunkers at the switchbacks up to the cliffs, since they’re the biggest family on the north end of town. It’s a shorter ride for them. That means they’d have the easiest job smuggling the food out of the valley.” Jacob hesitated. “But it seems too simple, too obvious. And too risky for him.”

  “Someone would check these silos sooner or later,” she agreed, “and then he’d have to answer. It would be a terrible chance to take.”

  “Besides, Smoot is hostile to the squatters,” Jacob said. “He’d rather burn the food than see it fall into their hands.”

  “Got to agree with him there.”

  “Then who do you think it is?”

  “Chambers,” Miriam said without hesitation.

  “Because he’s a gentile?”

  “Because he hates us, Jacob. He hates everything we stand for. And he resents that we’re still alive and kicking and the rest of the world has gone straight to hell.”

  “He needs a better motive than that.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s his ticket out of the valley.”

  “He had his chance this afternoon,” Jacob said, “and he refused to go north with Steve and Eliza.”

  “Maybe because he wanted to keep stealing our food.”

  “Again, for what purpose?”

  “Remember how Chambers was yawning this morning? How he drifted off to sleep in the truck? When’s the last time you saw him out and about during the middle of the day?”

  “Yesterday, patrolling with Steve, in fact.” Jacob shrugged. “But no, I don’t see him out and about much. That doesn’t prove anything, only that he’s lazy and disgruntled.”

  Miriam was growing exasperated with Jacob. Was he blind to the way the world worked? Chambers was stealing from them because he hated the church. And he was jealous.

  “Fine, since you’re so smart, who is stealing the food?” she asked. “If it’s not Smoot and it’s not Chambers, then who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  They fell silent. It was a clear, still night, growing colder as the thin desert air bled off the daytime heat. But the sand at their feet was still hot from the baking it had taken during the day. A coyote yipped to the east, answered moments later by another yipping, this one more distant. The coyote population had exploded in the surrounding deserts over the past three years, and it was a running battle to keep them from devouring entire flocks of sheep. A few more years and the wolves too, would return, and then things would get interesting.

  An hour passed and Miriam was getting tired from standing up. She was about to suggest taking turns watching while the other person sat, when her ears caught the sound of a high-pitched mechanical whine from the desert side. Like a two-stroke motorcycle engine. She hadn’t heard that sound in a long time.

  The engine was gradually growing closer, but cut out when it was still a half mile distant. Far enough from the Smoot compound, she thought, that the distance and the hillock would keep the sound from the house. Whoever it was must be walking the final distance.

  Something occurred to Miriam. She tugged on Jacob’s arm so she could whisper in his ear.

  “The padlock,” she said. “You cut the chain yesterday, so you must have replaced the lock. His key won’t work, and he’ll know we’re on to him.”

  Jacob whispered back. “I took the padlock to the shop and drilled out the tumblers. Any key will open it. Then I popped it and put it on a new chain. He’ll never know.”

  Good thinking. She settled down to wait.

  About fifteen minutes passed before the sound of bouncing tires and a rattling of wood on wood caught her ear. A shadow approached the silos, pulling another shadowy object. There was enough moonlight from the crescent overhead that she was fairly sure it was a man, but not enough light to pick out his features. And what was he pulling?

  He rattled the chain link as he felt for the gate. Then came the unmistakable sound of a rechargeable flashlight magnet shaking up and down in its solenoid. He turned on the light so he could fit the key into the lock. It was only on for a second, but that was enough. The light reflected off his face and his immediate surroundings.

  And then she knew.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Miriam watched with righteous fury rising triumphantly in her breast. She was right!

  Larry Chambers. The bastard. He was pulling a handcart with an aluminum scoop shovel in it. The handcart had a hitch on the end.

  She reached slowly for her rifle, which she’d propped against the bank to her right. Jacob grabbed her wrist and held it. She relented rather than struggle. But not without frustration. She hadn’t planned to shoot Chambers. Not if he surrendered.

  In a moment, Chambers was inside the chain link and she lost the opportunity for a good shot, anyway. But as he moved to the nearest silo, she saw also that he was trapped. No doubt he was armed, but they could hold him at the gate. He’d be unable to get through the chain link or over the coiled razor wire up top.

  Again she tried to pick up her gun. And again Jacob stopped her. What was wrong with him?

  She grabbed his head and dragged it down so she could whisper fiercely in his ear. “I won’t kill him,” she promised, pleading. “I swear.”

  “No. We’re letting him go.”

  Dammit!

  Chambers was messing around with a door or hinge of some sort. Miriam wasn’t a farm girl; she didn’t know how these silos worked. It seemed there was a way to get out foodstuffs for testing or simply to remove a small portion without using one of those big hoppers to fill a truck or wagon. He scooped a shovelful of what sounded like dried beans into his cart. The first scoop rattled like pebbles in a can, then it was quieter as he worked.

  It took three or four minutes to fill the cart. When he was done, he shut the panel on the silo, hauled the cart through the gate, and locked it again. He moved slowly, his breath loud, the cart crunching now over the ground with its heavy load, instead of bouncing.

  Miriam waited, teeth clenched, while Jacob held out an arm to keep her from snatching her rifle. She felt coiled like a rattlesnake, ready to strike. It was all she could do to keep from scrambling out of the wash, saying the hell with the rifle, and going after Chambers with her pistol instead. But as the minutes passed, the tension eased from her body, and she trembled when the adrenaline had drained away. The cold air raised goose pimples on her arms.

  The engine started up again and disappeared east into the desert.

  The instant it was gone, she wheeled on Jacob. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Cool down,” he said.

  “That’s what I’ve been doing, cooling. For the last twenty minutes. Pointlessly. I could have taken him at any point. What are we doing, letting him rob us? Don’t you care?”

  “Miriam, will you calm down?” He sounded so even and measured, but his tone only made her more irritated. “Chambers isn’t going anywhere. He’ll come back tomorrow. And the day after that. A few more bushels of wheat and beans isn’t going to make a difference.”

  “Are you crazy? It makes a huge difference. That food is life and death.”

  “Not for us, it’s not. He’s been doing it for months and we never noticed. That means we can take our time while we figure out what he’s up to.”

  “We know what he’s up to. We saw it with our own eyes. And we know he’s trading or giving it to our enemies. What more do we need?”

  “We need the big missing piece in the middle between the stealing and the giving,” Jacob said.

  Miriam turned it over in her mind and shortly saw what he was driving at.

  Some of the pieces were easy enough to put together. What Miriam had taken for a
motorcycle was undoubtedly one of the ATVs that had been used among the farms and ranches but were now gathering dust in barns and sheds for lack of fuel. That meant Chambers had found a place to steal gas too. Where? It was so precious, every liter was rationed and measured.

  More likely grain ethanol, she thought. He probably had a still hidden somewhere on his property, and he had a ready supply of wheat right here.

  Chambers would drive onto Smoot’s land from the desert, hauling the cart by hand the last half mile so he wouldn’t be heard. Once he filled it with stolen grains or beans, he’d hitch it to the ATV and drive it . . . where, exactly? South, west, and east would take him nowhere but mountains or desert, even if he could get past the bunkers guarding the approaches to the valley.

  That left only a direct approach to the Ghost Cliffs, but it was well protected and in the open. Even if Chambers wasn’t spotted getting to the road, the highway would take his vehicle past Yellow Flats. Sister Rebecca would hear him driving past every night. Twice—coming and going. She could practically snipe him from the porch of her cabin. Then he’d still have to get past the bunker guarding the switchbacks up the reservoir.

  “Now do you see?” Jacob asked. “We don’t know how Chambers is moving the food out of the valley. And we don’t know why he’s doing it either.”

  “It doesn’t matter how or why. We only need to stop it from happening again. The rest of it is not important.”

  “It’s important to me,” Jacob said firmly. “If this goes beyond Chambers, if there’s a conspiracy, I need to know. And if there’s a secret path in and out of the valley, I want to find it.”

  “Chambers will tell us. We’ll ride out to his cabin tomorrow and take him at gunpoint. Then we take him back to the chapel and interrogate him. If we need to be rough to make him talk, all the better. He deserves what he gets.”

  “And after that?”