Seeds

by Chris Mandeville

  Reid looked around, registering the buildings, the side streets, the increased number of cars. He hadn’t even realized they’d entered a city.

  “I think we’re almost to the church,” Brandt said. “What’s that sign say?”

  “Mar . . .” Reid squinted. “Mariposa Road?”

  “Good, that’s what I thought. The church is a mile down that road. We’ll sleep there.”

  “This is the meeting place?”

  “No, that’s still a day away. At least I hope it’s not more than that. I’m supposed to check here for a message, in case the meeting place changed.”

  “I don’t understand why we have to go to the meeting place at all if you know where Justine’s people live.”

  “It’s not like I can follow a map and stroll into their community,” Brandt said. “If I’m not escorted in, I’ll never make it past the gate.”

  “I thought Justine told you how she did it.”

  “She told me how she got out, not how to get in,” Brandt said. “I have to be at the meeting place when the elders arrive to escort the missionaries home. That was the plan when Justine and I thought we’d be doing this together. I’m still going through with it, but it’s a bit iffy now that I’m showing up without a missionary to claim me as her husband.”

  “Why didn’t you and Justine go sooner?”

  “At first she didn’t want to go home. There were all the reasons she’d left in the first place—the strict rules, the religious dogma. But more than that, she was afraid to return because of the way she’d left. The man she escaped with had a wife and children, a high position in the church. Justine didn’t have any family or any standing. She’d be a pariah, worse than a nobody if she went back.”

  “What changed?”

  “The baby.” Brandt’s voice broke. After a pause he continued. “We’d been talking about it even before she knew she was pregnant. We didn’t want our children growing up in Lost Angeles. Justine said that, as bad as things were at home, it was better than where we were. She didn’t think her people would ever fully accept or forgive her, but they wouldn’t throw us out, and our child would grow up safe and well fed. She was willing to sacrifice her own freedom and happiness for that.”

  “And you?”

  “There’s nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice for her and the baby. Of course, I hoped that her people would see what a good person she was, that eventually she’d be forgiven. But even if we were never accepted, at least our child would have a future and Justine would have a say over what happened to her own body.”

  “I take it her people don’t condone sex as a job?” Reid asked.

  “Hardly,” Brandt said. “If they had any idea that’s what happened to the missionaries in Lost Angeles, they’d never let them go there.”

  “Don’t the girls tell them when they go back?”

  “Missionaries who return aren’t allowed to talk about their missions, including the location. But Justine didn’t think any missionaries ever made it home from Lost Angeles. Pascal makes it impossible. That’s why your vehicle was such a Godsend.”

  “I’m sorry she didn’t make it out,” Reid said.

  “I can tell you one thing,” Brandt said. “When I meet her people, I’m not keeping my mouth shut about Lost Angeles. No other woman will go through what Justine did.” Brandt turned down a side street. “We should be almost there.”

  Reid tried not to think about how nice it would be to sit down. “How do you know where this place is?”

  “Justine said we’d need to check if the meeting place had changed, so in Sausalito I looked up the churches in this region where Justine’s people leave messages and marked them on my map.”

  “Do you want to stop and check it?” Reid asked. “I know it’s dark, but I don’t see anything that resembles a church.”

  “I can’t believe you doubt me,” Brandt said, acting offended. “Turn here. You’ll see in a minute.” They walked another half a block. “There it is.”

  Brandt pointed at an unassuming building in a large parking lot. There were no crosses or fancy architecture except for a lone spire.

  “You sure this is it?”

  “Yep.”

  The parking lot was full of cars, and Reid figured the church would be full of skeletons. Maybe he’d sleep outside again.

  Brandt pulled open the front door and held a finger to his lips. They listened to the silence for several long moments before Brandt nodded.

  Reid held the door open so the moon could wash a few feet of the interior with its gray light. Brandt stepped inside and struck a match, illuminating a table that held a dozen or more candles. He lit one and handed it to Reid, then lit another for himself.

  They crossed to a set of double doors. Brandt pulled one open, and it creaked in protest. Rows of benches flanked a center aisle. The men followed it to a lone podium on the altar.

  Brandt handed Reid his candle. “Hold them up so I can see.” He set aside two smaller books and opened a large Bible. “I don’t suppose you know where the book of Mark is?”

  “Actually, I do.” Reid never expected his mandatory Bible studies to have a real-world application. He handed the candles to Brandt and flipped to the New Testament. “What am I looking for?”

  “Chapter ten. There should be a handwritten message.”

  Reid flipped through the pages to Mark, chapter ten. There was a handwritten message in the margin next to verse six. “1111 A Street, Oakdale. Does that mean something to you?”

  “It sure as shit does,” Brandt said. “It means we can get a decent night’s sleep.”

  “Maybe we should sleep outside.” Reid squinted at the rows of benches, expecting to see an audience of skeletons, but the place appeared vacant.

  “Up to you,” Brandt said, handing Reid a candle. “But let me show you something before you decide.”

  Reid followed Brandt back through the lobby and down a long hallway. He stopped at a door labeled “nursery,” a grin on his face. “Go in.”

  Reid opened the door, holding up his candle to illuminate the interior. The walls of the room were lined with beds and cribs, each draped in a white sheet. Brandt entered and pulled off one of the drapes, revealing a bed made with a patchwork quilt and puffy pillows.

  “Not bad, huh?” Brandt said. “Most of the Mormon churches are fixed up like this for missionaries traveling through. Pick whatever bed you want, unless you want to sleep outside.”

  “No, this is great.” Reid pulled away a protective sheet and collapsed onto the bed.

  “Leave your pack and we’ll get some food.”

  “I’m too tired to eat.” Reid’s eyes were already closed. His limbs were leaden, but he knew he should at least take off his boots, so he forced himself to sit up. “How many miles do you think we did today?”

  “Something close to thirty, according to the map.”

  “No shit?” He tossed his boots on the ground and flopped back onto the pillow. “No wonder I’m exhausted.” How many more miles was it to Colorado? He couldn’t even think about it. Instead, he closed his eyes and drifted off, picturing the carrots and the nuts and the aloe stuff Cumorah had in her pack. There was more in the world besides grown apples, and he was getting close. He could feel it.

  One Hundred Thirty-Nine

  Turlock, California

  “This is where we turn,” Minou said.

  Pascal turned the car, grateful Minou’s younger eyes could read the map by the light of the moon. “How much farther?” He was at the brink of exhaustion, but he couldn’t sleep yet. He didn’t want to risk shutting off the car until he was in walking distance of the meeting place, just in case it wouldn’t start again.

  “Maybe twenty miles,” Minou said.

  The guards in the backseat had been dozing for hours, as had Justine, but Minou stayed awake. Her silent company was a hundred times better than the doctor’s drivel.

  Pascal glanced in the rearview mirror. Moonlight glinted off the
metal of the Travelers’ bikes. It was nice having them where he could see them.

  “Can your team make it another two hours?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. They’ll do what they have to.”

  “The sun will be coming up about then. You should get some shut-eye now.”

  Minou leaned against the door, leaving him with only Justine’s snoring for company.

  One Hundred Forty

  Stockton, California

  Reid woke with a start.

  “Sorry,” Brandt said. “I dropped my boot. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “S’okay,” Reid said. His mouth was dry, his teeth sticky. “What time is it?”

  “Still early. Go back to sleep.”

  “Might as well get going.” Reid swung his legs off the bed. His feet hit the floor and he winced. He’d never make it to Colorado with his feet intact if he continued doing thirty-mile days.

  “I think you should wait here,” Brandt said.

  “You were going to leave without telling me, weren’t you. Damn it, Brandt, we had a deal.”

  “You knew this was coming. If you learn where Justine’s people are, you can’t go home.” Brandt tied his boot and slung his pack over one shoulder. “There’s plenty of supplies here. Give me ten days. If I’m not back, leave for Colorado.”

  “Ten days?”

  “It’s a day to the meeting place, then time to get from there to the community, more time to gather up seeds and escape. I hope to be back sooner, but I’m trying to be realistic.”

  “If it’s a whole day to the meeting place, let me come with you part of the way.”

  “I can’t risk you knowing where it is.”

  “Come on. It’ll shave some time off my wait. And if you’re still going east, it will get me that much closer to home.”

  “Shit, I hadn’t thought about your route home.” Brandt scratched his head. “I have to take you farther east. Otherwise, you could accidentally pass too close to the meeting place and someone could see you. I can’t have you getting yourself shot after we’ve come all this way.”

  “I agree, getting shot would be a bummer.”

  “Fine. Pack up your shit. I’ll grab some more supplies from the kitchen.”

  “You won’t regret it.” Reid fingered the water-blisters on his heels and gingerly pulled on socks and boots. He was beginning to understand how Cumorah’s feet ended up the way they did. How long had it taken her to get to Colorado? He wished he’d been able to learn more from her. He had no idea if there was enough time to make it over the Rocky Mountains on foot before winter.

  Brandt came back with Reid’s canteen. “I filled it for you.”

  Reid remembered Kayla saying the same words after their first night on brevet. He saw her in his memory as clearly as if she were standing in front of him—hair back in a ponytail, the sadness in her eyes. He ached to see her again. He knew now that he had to tell her how he felt. How he’d always felt.

  “What’s with the stupid grin?” Brandt asked.

  Reid laughed. “Was I grinning? I was thinking about my girl back home.” It felt weird to say that out loud. Kayla had always been Brian’s girl to the rest of the world.

  “What the hell, man. You have a girl back home?”

  “Not exactly. It’s a long story. Do we need to clean up here before we go?”

  “No. Are you trying to avoid telling me the story?”

  “Actually I wouldn’t mind telling someone,” Reid said as he slung his pack on and they exited the room. “I’ve kept it to myself since I was nine years old.”

  “Does she know?”

  “No one knew, but I think my grandfather figured it out.”

  “Why keep it a secret?”

  “She was in love with my brother.”

  “Shit.”

  “He loved her too, but I loved her first.” Reid took a deep breath of early morning air as they left the building. “I remember the first time I noticed her. I’d known her my whole life, of course. Our community isn’t that big. But that day in church I really saw her. I was seven and she was eight—an older woman, and totally out of my league. But I couldn’t help how I felt. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

  “Geez, Reid. You’ve been in love with this girl your whole life.”

  “I didn’t know what love was then. I only knew that when I was with her, I couldn’t think straight, and when I tried to talk to her, I always sounded stupid.”

  “That sounds like love, all right,” Brandt said.

  “Then when I was nine, we both got the chickenpox and were quarantined in the infirmary. Just me and her. We had a nurse, but she ignored us. At least, that’s how I remember it. Like there was no one else in the world but Kayla.”

  “Chickenpox. Where you get really itchy bumps?”

  “Yeah. We told stories to keep each other from scratching. The itchier we got, the crazier the stories got. We spent most of the time laughing. I can still picture her with red spots all over her face, telling a story about living on the moon together, just the two of us. That’s when I knew I loved her.”

  “So what happened?

  “My brother. He came down with the chickenpox a couple of days later and they put him in the room with us. From the minute he arrived, it was like I didn’t exist. I hated him for that.”

  “Did you fight for her?”

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference. All her stories became about Brian. So I wished as hard as I could that Brian wasn’t there. I wished he was dead so I could have Kayla to myself again.” He paused, surprised how painful the memory still was. “Then Brian got sicker, much worse than me and Kayla. The doctor sent for my dad because Brian wasn’t going to make it.”

  “And you thought it was your fault.”

  “I knew it was. When it looked like Brian was on the verge of death, my dad called me over to say goodbye and I whispered in Brian’s ear that if he lived he could have Kayla. I meant it. So when he got better, I kept my promise. Eventually, they got married. I tried to go on with my life. I even married someone else. But I never stopped loving Kayla.”

  “And she never knew?”

  Reid shook his head. “Brian died a month ago. She’s pregnant with his baby. I was supposed to marry her, but I couldn’t do it.”

  “Why the hell not?

  “I was sure she could never love me the way she loved Brian, and I didn’t think I could handle that. But now, I need to know. Funny how I had to come all this way to change my mind.”

  One Hundred Forty-One

  Oakdale, California

  “Please,” Justine said. “Don’t do this.”

  Pascal turned off the car and looked at her in the rearview mirror. “You’ve become expendable, and you’re getting on my nerves.”

  He wasn’t going to kill her yet—he wanted Brandt to watch the life drain out of her—but she didn’t need to know that.

  “It’s not too late,” she said. “You can still get what you want without hurting anyone.”

  “You have no idea what I want.”

  “Leave your men here,” Justine continued. “Let’s stick to the original plan. We’ll go in, just me and you.”

  “Shut her up,” he told Minou. “There’s tape in my bag.”

  “It’s a good plan.” Justine’s voice was shrill. “Please, it can still work!”

  He wished they’d hurry and muzzle her. He’d had about all he could take, and it would be a shame to have come this far only to shoot her before he reached the finish line.

  Minou handed a roll of gray tape to Heinz in the back seat.

  “Listen to me,” Justine pleaded.

  Pascal watched in the rearview mirror as Heinz put tape across Justine’s mouth, muffling her protests. “Cuff her, too. Stay in the car with her. I’ll send for you if I need you.”

  It was better to be one man down than to risk Justine ruining the element of surprise.

  He went to the back of the car. The Tr
avelers stashed their bikes alongside an industrial building, then gathered around as he pulled up the floor of the vehicle’s rear compartment, revealing a cache of guns and ammunition.

  Pascal doled out semi-automatic rifles and the ammo to go with them, as well as the supplemental ammo he’d packed for the handguns the Travelers carried.

  “Take a couple men on recon,” he told Minou. “We’ll be ready when you return.”

  As the Travelers checked and loaded their weapons, Pascal tucked his Ruger in the waistband of his pants and loaded the M4 he’d set aside for himself, then he sat back to wait.

  When Minou returned twenty minutes later, she reported seeing a dozen men inside the church, ranging from twenty to sixty years old. No women or children visible, though one of her men had heard a baby crying. There were no weapons in sight, which could mean that Justine had told the truth about them being nonviolent, or it could just as easily mean they were well concealed. Either way, Pascal was confident they were no match for his soldiers. He’d come at those assholes so fast and hard, even if they were armed, they’d have no idea what hit them.

  Minou led a contingent to the back door, while Pascal and the bulk of the men waited to go in the front. He held long enough for Minou to get into position, then gave the order.

  “Subdue and contain. I need some alive,” he said. “Team leaders . . . go.”

  His men poured into the church. Pascal joined ranks with the last of them, hearing gunfire and shouting before he even went through the front door. Immediately inside, two bloody strangers lay still. His men continued through a set of double doors into a larger room.

  “Hold the lobby,” Pascal shouted, pointing at two of his soldiers.

  He went through the double doors and ducked behind a row of chairs. The scene was chaos and he sorted the sounds into categories, laying them out like puzzle pieces on a table. Gunfire. M4s and multiple pistols. The rapid-fire of an assault gun he didn’t recognize—the enemy was returning fire. Men shouting. Women screaming. Moans and cries.