Learning to Spy (Behind the Stars Book 2)

by Moore, Leigh Talbert

  “Learning to Spy”

  (Behind the Stars, Vol. 2)

  by Leigh Talbert Moore

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  LEARNING TO SPY

  First edition. November 9, 2014.

  Copyright © 2014 Leigh Talbert Moore.

  ISBN: 978-1502202574

  Written by Leigh Talbert Moore.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Your opinion counts!

  Further Reading: Harvest Moon

  Also By Leigh Talbert Moore

  About the Author

  Chapter 6

  Star McLain shouted like a drill sergeant. “Stop draggin’ ass, Flora!”

  She stalked back and forth in front of our line straightening shoulders and lifting chins. “Get those kicks up! Homecoming has the most fans, and our job is to get them on their feet!”

  She went back to her place in the center of the line. “Now from the top. GET! FIRED! UP!” She shouted, signaling the start of our performance.

  We went through the motions and ended with me standing on top of a pyramid made entirely of girls with my arms stretched overhead. My dismount was supposed to be a front flip, but I’d never been much of a gymnast. Instead, I used the height to pull my legs into the toe touch I’d finally mastered.

  “Better, Prentiss,” Star said. “I’d still like something more... razzle-dazzle. Sure you can’t do a somersault or something?”

  I looked up at her wondering if she hoped I’d break my neck. “I never took gymnastics or nothing.”

  “You learned a toe touch quick enough.”

  “Jackson taught me that.” I hoped my answer would shut her mouth. Instead admiration filled her eyes.

  “Is he good at everything?”

  I didn’t like her implication. “He likes to read about stuff. And he figures out most things.”

  “I can believe it.” A dirty flicker hit her eye, and she sighed, twirling back to where Flora was sitting on the grass. “Is it quitting time for you, Magee? Get up and show me your hurkey!”

  Flora wore a pained expression, and I swallowed my anger and called her back. “Hey, Star, I need some help with my hurkey. See if this looks right.”

  I did the jump, and she slowly walked back to where I stood.

  “Back heel’s good. Try and get that front leg higher. You know, as little as you are, I’d think these jumps would come easier.”

  I decided against kicking her in the tush and remembered I was doing this for my friend. “Right. I probably need more practice. You know. Just getting started and all.”

  “Yeah. If it weren’t for Jackson...” her voice trailed off, but I knew the rest.

  If it weren’t for Jackson being such a natural on the field and his sweet-talking the cheer coach into making an exception for me, my butt would be on those silver bleachers watching. I’d never have been let on the cheer squad.

  “Being small does help me climb, though,” I said, hoping to hold our slave-driving captain’s attention. Practice would be over in less than five minutes, and I was worried about Flora.

  “Let’s call it a day,” Star said, tossing her thick black ponytail. “Remember, mandatory uniforms tomorrow. Pep rally starts at two-thirty sharp.”

  I walked over to Flora, who was taking a long drink of something pink. She was so pale I could see her brown freckles like beacons from across the field.

  “You feeling okay?” I asked as I helped her up. I gave her a little squeeze, and she melted into my side.

  “I’ve been better.” Her voice was weak. “You’re doing great, Pren. I’d never know it was only your first semester cheering.”

  I shrugged. “Except for the jumps, it’s not that hard to Get. Fired. UP!”

  She grinned and even laughed a little. “Everybody’s so taken with Jackson, but I think you hold up against him pretty good.”

  I glanced at Flora. She did look faint, and I figured she’d just gotten too much sun.

  “I’m no Jackson,” I muttered as we walked back toward the stands.

  * * *

  For several long moments, I couldn’t stop shaking as I sat with my back against the wall in the dining hall. Two guards dragged Cleve’s lifeless body out, and nobody said a word or even moved. It seemed the guards weren’t sure what should happen next either.

  Ovett broke the silence with one word. “Hydration.”

  He nodded at the remaining guards, who split into two lines. Half went to the tables where we all sat silently freaking out, the other half went to the front counter where the female workers arranged little paper cups onto trays in rapid succession.

  Just as fast, the guards moved among us, placing dentist-office Dixie cups of what looked like water in front of everyone. A separate guard came to where I sat on the floor, clutching my knees. She lightly took my arm.

  “Please return to the table.” Her voice was smooth. “You’ve had a shock. Have some water.”

  I wasn’t about to drink anything they gave us. It was Day One all over again, only this time, it was Guyana. We were all being served the Kool-Aid. Next stop, mass graves.

  Stupidly, my friends and fellow prisoners had no such qualms. Didn’t anybody watch the History channel? I stared as they all took shaky sips without hesitation.

  “Just take a small sip.” The female guard was still with me. “It’ll calm you.”

  My throat constricted. My whole body was on revolt. Shaking my head, I didn’t meet her eyes. I only stared at the white cup of water. Braxton was at my side, and he drained his. What the hell made him do that? Did he want to die?

  Seconds ticked past and nothing happened. Nobody passed out. Nobody did anything strange—except forget what we’d just witnessed here. Braxton picked up his fork to finish his lunch. They all did. Like one of us had not just been taken out “swiftly and finally.”

  Only he had, and I was reeling from the shock. I barely knew Cleve, but he represented hope to me. He was my backup, and now I was completely alone.

  I wanted to mourn him, but I knew I had to hide my feelings or risk suffering the same fate. I’d have to figure out my next steps, and I’d have to double up on the secrecy.

  * * *

  A week passed, and they moved us girls from pulling potatoes to gathering ears of corn. The guys were put in the barn, shoveling and cleaning the stalls or digging pits for burying garbage and waste. No more boxes were buried from what I’d heard, but I was tense, on edge after the showdown in the dining hall.

  Braxton was changing, I could tell it. He didn’t pray so much anymore, and he’d stopped talking about the end of the world. He just sat and watched and slowly became more and more withdrawn.

  The sun beat down hot as we walked among the cornfields, and sweat tickled little lines down the back of my neck and between my shoulder blades. As usual, I lowered the top of my coveralls and tied the sleeves around my waist to catch a little breeze as I walked through the rows.

  The familiarity, the knowing what to expect was somehow comforting. I still had to get out, but for a moment, I could be with the earth, the plants that never stopped growing, and catch my breath.

  Jackson’s daddy had taught me how to feel the ends of the ears to see if they were ready for harvest before twisting them down and off the stalk. The other girls would pull back the green husks and poke their fingernails into the kernels to see if the middles ran clear and watery or milky-white—the sign they were
ready to be harvested. The only problem with that was the ones that weren’t ready were now exposed to insects and birds and most likely wouldn’t survive to feed us.

  At lunch, I sat with Yolanda on my left and Flora on my right. After the watcher passed behind us, I slid half of my meat onto Flora’s tray hoping it would be enough to keep her blood healthy. Dr. Green said anemics could die of heart attack, but I’d made up my mind we weren’t losing another person.

  I was calm on the outside, placid, but a knot of anger and defiance ached in my chest. I was getting us out of here, and not another one of us was going in those boxes.

  Flora’s cheeks gained more color and her freckles weren’t as noticeable, but she was more lethargic as the days passed. I decided it was the additional calories combined with her easier work assignment. Or maybe it was because she believed even more she was never getting out of this camp alive.

  I on the other hand, felt my body getting stronger. My brain was clear, and what happened with Cleve forced me to reconsider my plans. Instead of a direct approach to escape, these days I decided to try and learn our captors’ ultimate goal. Maybe if I knew why they were holding us, I could figure out a timeline that included my escape, finding Jackson, and getting back here for the others. I didn’t want to be gone longer than necessary.

  Of course, there was also the problem of the supposed tracking devices. I’d studied my arm in the shower more than once, but other than a little purple spot like a pinprick, I didn’t see any signs of a chip. Either it was incredibly small, or it was the same color as my skin—or it was translucent.

  I thought of the time we’d studied microfibers in science class. They were thin as hair and clear. The memory made me hesitant. Who knew what technology these invaders had in their power?

  Every afternoon I walked the length of the fence, studying it and making mental notes. It was mostly unguarded, and there was a patch below the cabins that was almost completely obscured by shrubs. As luck would have it, when I dropped off my ears of corn that day, I saw the hand trowels stacked in a corner behind the churn.

  Glancing around the barn, none of the female guards watched as we discarded our hats and pulled up our coveralls, sliding the arms in the sleeves and raising our zippers. No one saw my hand slide out and cover one of the trowels. I slipped it back up into my sleeve and left the building.

  That day as I walked the perimeter, when I got to the obscured part, I looked around to be sure no one was watching. Then I dropped to my knees and started digging. I almost did a cheer—the ground was soft, even a little damp! Ten stabs and I’d formed a hole. I reached into it and then through to the other side. Just as I suspected, they hadn’t planted the wire too deeply, and it wouldn’t take any effort to break out. I put the trowel in the hole I’d dug and covered it up. This was where I’d escape. Once I decided how to handle the tracking device problem.

  * * *

  Braxton was in his usual spot in the small cluster of trees with his head down. We hadn’t spoken to each other since the day Cleve was taken. He’d even stopped mentioning what Jesus would do and following God’s will. I always thought I’d be happy when that day came, but instead it left me feeling more unsettled and nervous. I dropped beside him in the tiny grove.

  “I found it,” I whispered, watching for any sign of a change in our afternoon guardians. There was none. As usual, we seemed to be on our own.

  “Found what?”

  “A way out. I’m going to use it to escape, and then I’ll find Jackson and come back for the rest of you.”

  He jumped around and clutched my arm again. “No you won’t.”

  I didn’t like being manhandled, and I was sick of his impotence. I gritted my teeth and pulled back.

  “I’m getting out of here. I’ll find help, and then I’m coming back for the rest of you.”

  “You won’t come back when you’re dead.”

  “I won’t be dead. I’m little and I can hide. The fencing isn’t planted in the ground. I’ve already started a hole. I can be out before anyone knows I’m gone.”

  “And the minute they discover you’re gone, they’ll press a button and you’ll die.”

  My lips tightened, and I shook my head. “That chip is the only thing stopping me. But I’m going to figure out how to get around it.”

  “You can’t get around it. That guard said once they discover you’re gone, they press a button and send a current through your nervous system. You drop, and in that instant, your brains fry like an egg inside your skull.”

  It was the same story D’Lo had told me, and I couldn’t stop a shudder moving across my shoulders. I pulled my knees to my chest and tried to deny his words. The only problem was it explained everything—why they didn’t watch us so closely, why they were so lax about security. With less than twenty of us here, it was easy to spot someone missing, and at every meal and at work assignments, they went down the list. My hand slid to my arm. I rubbed it and tried again to detect anything foreign there, but I couldn’t tell.

  “Ovett said that?”

  Braxton nodded. “He likes to talk while we’re shoveling. Likes showing off and telling us what all they can do to us.”

  “That’s it,” I said, not wanting to give up on my plan. “What if he’s just showing off? What if he’s lying?”

  “What if he’s not?”

  Braxton’s words put all my plans on hold until I could get better answers. The thought of electric currents running through my body and my brain frying in my head scared me as much as having a syringe jammed in my neck.

  The next day as I worked, I saw Cato watching me in the field. I tried to focus on pinching the ears with trembling fingers and not her gaze fixed on me as I progressed. I couldn’t help wondering if she’d seen me walking the perimeter, if she’d discovered the missing trowel. My confidence slipped, and I imagined frying on the spot and ending up in a pine box with some other rebel.

  When I went into the barn to deposit my large basket of produce, I couldn’t stop shaking. She was still there watching. I tried to calm the anxiety twisting in my chest, but there was no way of knowing what she knew or what she wanted.

  * * *

  After breakfast the following morning, as I walked to the yard for work assignments, Cato caught my arm and held me back. I couldn’t breathe, but I tried not to look afraid. Still, all I could think was she’d seen what I’d been doing every afternoon. She’d seen me casing the fence line, and she knew I’d been digging. My heart pounded, and fried brains and rebels kept running through my thoughts.

  “Please stop, little one,” she said.

  I stood still, trying to appear calm, but my legs were quivering inside my baggy coveralls. The rest of the group continued into the yard, but I was forced to stay behind, waiting for what would happen next like a scared little rabbit.

  “I’ve been watching your progress. You’re a diligent worker,” she said. “The day you were in the dairy, you seemed to know much about the animals.”

  I kept my eyes on my shoes and barely nodded my head.

  “You don’t have to be afraid.” She reached out to lift my chin. I didn’t meet her pale eyes. “I’m moving you to the dairy permanently. You should like it there. It’s cooler. Now come this way.”

  She released me, and I followed her into the barn. The other three girls were already there—Yolanda waited at the churn, and Flora and Roxie collected stools and pails.

  “You can help harvest the butter for now,” Cato said, leading me to another old-fashioned wooden churn. “It won’t be long before they’re ready.”

  I sat on the wooden bench beside Yolanda to wait for the other girls to start emptying pails of milk into the wooden column. We didn’t acknowledge each other, and I watched as Cato went and spoke to her brother who was in a back stall wearing the same gray coveralls as us. I thought that was odd, since we were prisoners, and he was clearly someone very valuable.

  She spoke too low for me to hear, but then she
gestured in my direction. It was clear they were talking about me. A few more words and it seemed like they were arguing. I stood and quietly edged closer to hear what they were saying.

  “I don’t need help,” Gallatin said. “I can figure it out.”

  “But they’re giving less and less.” Cato watched as Roxie’s smooth black hands coaxed milk from one of the larger heifers. “It can’t be the way they’re being handled. I followed the guidelines exactly—”

  “How would I know? I’m not accustomed to farming, and I have no instinct about these beasts.”

  I stepped closer to the stall they were in and looked over the wall. It only took me a second to see what was happening—with the one he was standing by at least.

  “Do you know what’s wrong?” Cato spoke directly to me, causing me to jump. I eased down quickly and tried to stay calm, but there was a slight tremor in my voice I couldn’t hide.

  “She’s nearing the end of her cycle. She needs to be dried off and given a resting period.”

  “Dried off?” Cato asked.

  “Stop milking her,” I said. “And reduce her grain for about two weeks. Then she needs to be mated.”

  Cato looked back at her brother, who simply shrugged and pushed his smooth, brownish-copper bangs to the side over his scar.

  She turned back to me. “How do you know this? Did you live with cows?”

  Her phrasing might have made me laugh. Instead I shook my head and shoved my hands into my pockets. I almost couldn’t breathe from the mixture of nerves and excitement. A bull could lead to where all the steak came from. The other camp. Jackson.

  “Why should I trust you?” she asked.

  “I worked about a year with our vet Doc Green.”

  They exchanged a glance, and Cato’s eyebrows rose. But her brother looked away. She turned to the three cows as she seemed to consider what I’d said. I studied her appearance. She was tall and very thin, and even dressed in coveralls, I could tell she was somebody important. Her unlined face made her look in her mid-twenties, but she was trying to seem older by wearing her hair smoothed back in that tight twist.