by Cadle, Lou
“Pratt,” said Polly. “He claimed me two years ago.”
“You mean he had sex with you?”
“No. We don’t have sex before marriage. He said he wanted me, and Tithing approved.”
“But he’s mean.”
“He’s okay,” she said. “Good looking. Not old, like Tithing or Jim.”
Coral cast around desperately for an argument that would sway the girl. “Why do you have to have sex at all? Can the Seed just, just…jump into you somehow?”
“That’s not how it works.”
No, it wouldn’t, of course. It’d work for the benefit of the men. Sick goddamned pedophiles. Crazy cult people!
For a brief moment, Coral thought about taking Polly with them. Her imagination saw the three of them, the girl riding the donkey, her and Benjamin walking beside, Benjamin’s rifle miraculously restored to him. They were laughing, in her image, and no one was chasing them. The picture popped like a soap bubble when Polly spoke.
“I’m excited to be married. Get your buckets,” she said.
Numb with the shock of this news, Coral bent down and filled two buckets with spring water. If she had a rifle herself, she’d walk into the dining room tonight and shoot the men, one by one. She was that angry over this news. She looked over at the girl. Her face, half-covered with a mask, was calm. Polly truly didn’t care that she was being made to breed with a grown man.
Coral stood and watched Polly fill her buckets, thinking, if this whole alien thing were true, they aren’t good aliens. If they exist, they’re evil ones, allowing this. Anyone with the IQ of a tree frog could see it. What happened to people that they became so unspeakably stupid in the presence of a belief system? Why didn’t one of them wake up one day and say, “Hey, you know? Rape is a bad thing, and raping children is even worse.”
The two of them said nothing as they carried the water back and put it into the animals’ troughs. It took six trips to fill both containers. “By evening,” Polly said, “it’ll be frosted over again.”
Coral said nothing.
“I know you’re thinking about my marriage.”
“And mine,” Coral said. “And I’m none too happy about either.”
“Mine’s not your business. And you could do worse than Alva.”
That, at least, seemed to be the truth. “At least promise me you’ll tell someone if he hits you or brutalizes you.”
“We’ll be in the couple-house. I wouldn’t need to tell anyone. They’d stop it. But he won’t.”
Coral was not terribly reassured by this. In fact, she couldn’t help imagining the wedding night, with six witnesses to Polly’s deflowering. She wondered if the other men would be getting off on it—or the women, for that matter.
She cut off the thought. Not your business. Don’t think about it. Your job is to escape.
When they returned to the central area, Coral was relieved to be handed off to Mondra, who had prep duties this afternoon. She worked alongside the woman in the kitchen, aware of the other woman chattering happily, and Coral made noises of agreement from time to time, but she tried to think through her escape plan.
Unfortunately, she kept getting distracted by thoughts of Polly. No matter what the child said, it was wrong, what they were doing to her. It was wrong, too, what they were planning to do to Coral. It was wrong to hold Benjamin against his will. They were wrong about the aliens and the whole place was completely wrong, wrong, wrong.
Focus on the escape plan.
Coral looked down at the chef’s knife in Mondra’s hands. If she could get in here that night, she could take all the carving knives. It wouldn’t help against rifles, though. Maybe they could set some sort of trap with the knives? She didn’t know what kind. Benjamin might not either. Setting a trap would take time, time better spent running hard and fast away from this place, so no.
They had the vegetables all prepped, so they went outside to start the fire. A new supply of wood had been set by the barbecue pit. A tarp was staked down over it. As she and Mondra carried pieces of wood over, Pratt and Calex walked up, carrying more wood.
“Got your kindling, Mondra,” said Pratt.
“Thank you,” the woman said.
Pratt let a pile of smaller pieces of wood roll off his arms and onto the grate of the barbecue.
Coral glanced at the kindling—then she did a double-take when she recognized a familiar curve. She snatched at. “That’s my bow!” Her good bow, too.
“It’s kindling now.”
“You idiot!” She grabbed the bow and held it to her chest. “Do you know how long I worked on this? Do you have any idea at all how much time I put into learning to shoot it?”
“It’s men’s work to hunt.”
Coral examined the bow. Her heart sunk further when she saw it was cracked. “You’re an asshole. And your aliens are assholes, too,” she said.
Pratt’s face went red. “You don’t talk back—”
His words were interrupted when she launched herself over the barbecue pit at him. She felt her skirt snag and distantly heard the rip. It didn’t slow her. She wasn’t thinking. She was out of control. She scrambled the last few inches over the pit, grabbed at Pratt, and fell on him, dragging them both to the ground.
He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back.
She screamed wordlessly and pulled her head sharply, feeling hair come out by the roots. Her knee sought his groin.
His hand lost its grip, but he was stronger than her, and she could feel him starting to roll her over. His breath was hot in her face, and he was snarling words she was too angry to hear.
“Pedophile!” she screamed at him. She clawed at his face.
He screamed and batted at her hands.
She grabbed one of his hands and yanked it to her mouth, sinking her teeth in to his thumb. She’d bite the damned thing off. And then she’d go for his privates and do the same thing.
Vaguely, she was aware of voices yelling. She was distantly aware of hands pulling at her. She even knew, as if watching from a distance, that she was acting crazy.
Strong arms hauled her off Pratt. A pea-sized piece of his thumb came with her, and she spat it out onto him. He jumped up, red-faced, bellowing, and lunged for her, but Benjamin and Jim leapt in front of him and blocked him, like football players.
“Let me go!” she said, pulling against the arms of her captors. She wanted to get at Pratt again. Kick him and scratch him and make him pay. Make them all pay.
“I don’t know,” Mondra said, from somewhere behind her. “She just went nuts.”
Tithing appeared in front of her, hands on hips. “What is going on here?”
“That asshole wrecked my bow!” She realized she honestly cared more about that than she did about Polly. Polly, she barely knew. Polly was brainwashed and lost. She had no ability to unbrainwash all these people in a few days’ time.
But that bow was like her close friend. Coral burst into tears, hating herself for it, angry as hell. The tears were half angry-tears, half grief for the bow, half exhaustion, half terror. She knew that was too many halves, but that’s how she felt. Like a bunch of halves, all of them damaged beyond repair. Like her cracked bow.
Jim and another man had pulled Pratt away from the melee, back towards the men’s cabin. Benjamin shouldered Tithing aside and put his arms around Coral. The others let her go and she held on to Benjamin and cried. She was aware of him patting her with one hand and putting the other in her jacket pocket. It brought her to herself. The escape. That’s all that mattered. Not these nutty beliefs. Not the bow. Not even poor Polly, brainwashed participant in her own abuse. She and Benjamin needed to escape here, and that was the only thing that she needed to think about.
But she let herself continue to cry on his shoulder, grateful for the moment of closeness, grateful for even a minute with a sane person. She heard Tithing say, “That’s enough.”
She looked up at Benjamin. “They’re going to breed that little girl
to Pratt,” she said.
He didn’t seem surprised. “You can’t fight it.”
She mouthed, “I know.”
Tithing pushed the two of them apart and handed Coral over to Brynn. “Keep her in the sistercabin while I decide what to do about this.”
Brynn yanked her along.
“I can walk.”
“You can’t think, apparently.”
“I did sort of lose it,” Coral allowed. “It’s been a hard few months.”
“That’s no excuse.”
“I wasn’t asking to be excused. And I’m not apologizing.”
“You should rethink that attitude, missy,” said Brynn, “before Tithing comes.” She pushed her through the blanket door and pointed to her cot. “Do I need to put a guard on you? Or will you sit right there?”
“I’ll sit right here,” said Coral.
*
The instant Brynn had left and her crunching footsteps on the snow had faded, Coral crawled down and retrieved her knife from Polly’s cot. She shoved it into her jeans pocket, making sure it was well hidden by sweater and jacket. She stuck her hand into her jacket pocket, looking for whatever Benjamin had put there.
It was the same piece of paper she had given him. On the back he had scratched something with what looked like a burned stick. We’re building a spaceship dock.
A quick laugh escaped before she could stop it. She’d have rather heard something more practical about their escape—but maybe the information was practical, somehow. Maybe he was telling her about supplies. Or maybe he was trying to cheer her up by making fun of them.
She couldn’t know until she had a chance to talk to him. She had blown any chance at all of that by her actions today. She sat down to await Tithing…and her punishment.
*
When he came in what felt to be an hour later, an hour in which she had plenty of time to think through the repercussions of her actions. She stood up and took a step toward him. “I shouldn’t have done that.” It was the truth. She really didn’t need to make things harder on herself. She particularly didn’t want to end up under guard at night and unable to escape.
Tithing said, “Sit.” When she sat on her cot, he settled himself on Polly’s, opposite her. For long moments, he studied her face. Then he sighed, theatrically. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
Coral hoped this wasn’t a lead-up to the news that she had to be done away with. It wasn’t impossible, but her mind had veered away from the thought during the long hour of contemplation. “I—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “I had hoped you’d be a part of the community, that you had come here for a reason, that your role would be to be a fertile field for the lost Seeds.”
Inside, she was shuddering. But she schooled her expression to one of interest.
“I was encouraged by how good a worker you seem to be. And a couple of the married ladies like you. But now I can only conclude that I was wrong about you.” He shook his head, sadly.
“Let me make it up somehow.” She could hardly believe she had to kowtow to this horrible cult leader. “Set me a task for penance or whatever. Let me prove myself. I’ll apologize to Pratt.” It rankled, but to keep herself alive and free enough to escape, she’d kiss the jerk’s feet if need be.
“He’s still bleeding, you know.”
She winced and hoped her expression looked contrite. She’d have bitten his whole hand off if she could. Creepy child-diddler. This one, too. But she said, “I completely lost it out there. I loved that bow. It was a wrench to lose it.” That was the truest thing she’d said so far. She still felt a hot ball of grief about the thought of it going up in flames.
“So this was all over an object? A—a thing?”
She knew not to bring up her objections to Polly’s marriage. “Yes. And the strain of—well, of everything since the Reaping. I miss Benjamin. And how we did things together.” Another truth.
He tilted his head in a gesture that seemed well-rehearsed, a substitute for real empathy. “I’m sure it is a challenge to adjust to a new routine.”
“It is. But I’ll try harder, I promise.” Coral could visualize a little person beside her, a shrunken down Coral, the authentic Coral who she’d had to shrink down and hide since getting captured, now jumping up and down and screaming in protest at what was coming out of her mouth. Shush, she thought at it. Your time will come. “Let me atone somehow. However you say.” The little Coral stuck her finger in her throat and made a gagging sound at the supplicating tone. “I’ll scrub the outhouse or clean out the barbecue pit or whatever job everyone hates.”
Tithing sighed again. “We don’t hate our work. We do it for each other, and to stay healthy, and for the splendor of the Sowers.”
Little Coral thrust up a middle finger toward him at the mention of the Sowers. “I’ve been impressed with how well everyone pulls together here.”
“We’re Flower, and we’re Grain. Of course we work hard and get along.” He shook his head. “But you….”
She waited for more, but it didn’t come. But she was a Weed, she supposed. “I cannot tell you how sorry I am. Fighting like that? It isn’t me. Or it wasn’t me, before the Reaping. The world has changed so much.”
“For the better.”
“When I was alone, thinking I was the only one left, it didn’t feel like anything was for the better.”
“You were ignorant.”
She said, “I know.” About too much. She’d had never known she’d find Benjamin and form such a good team with him.
“Are you willing to learn?”
“I am. Maybe you can—I don’t know—like, lecture me on your beliefs every day? Try and get me up to speed.”
“I suppose someone should. Benjamin seems to be taking it all in rather quickly.”
For a moment, she worried about the note. Could he possibly be succumbing? If she lost Benjamin to the brainwashing here, she was doomed.
But no. She couldn’t believe it of him. He was too hardheaded, too practical, too self-contained. And, if he’d escaped a religious upbringing years ago, wouldn’t he be even more skeptical than she?
Still, a tiny seed of doubt had been planted. Benjamin, stay strong. I need you.
Tithing stood. “Before we can consider that, you need to be punished.”
Uh-oh. This could be very bad.
“You’ll remain here until after supper, when the sisters come back to the cabin.”
“That’s it?” Could she luck out with no more punishment than a time-out?
“No,” he said.
“Do you want me to apologize to Pratt?”
“I don’t think he could listen to that right now. He’s steamed.”
“I can imagine. I hope they get the bleeding stopped soon.” Little Coral said she hoped the bastard would bleed to death. Coral was worried about how real Little Coral was starting to seem to her.
Tithing didn’t respond. He left the cabin.
She let out a groan. Little Coral disappeared—or climbed back into Coral’s own body. This is how it starts. Attacking people you know you shouldn’t. Hearing voices. Seeing little imaginary people. In less than a month, she feared she’d have been broken down enough mentally for them to convince her the space aliens were on their way and that she was lucky to be in Alva’s bed, incubating another Flower.
She folded her legs under herself lotus style and hugged herself, rocking herself a few inches to and fro for comfort. She hoped whatever punishment Tithing devised wouldn’t be painful. Degradation, she expected, and that she could take. In fact, if you had no respect for anyone watching your humiliation, if you cared not a whit about his judgment, could it be humiliation at all? They could try to shame her all they wanted, and she’d be happy to pretend to be shamed, but she didn’t want to get so injured that escape would have to be delayed.
Chapter 11
The hours alone allowed her to think more about escape. The cabins were stone, but the roofs wer
e flammable. Instead of sneaking out, what if she set the place on fire that night? They’d be busy trying to put out the fires and fewer could be spared for chasing after her. Maybe she and Benjamin would not be missed in the confusion.
But as she played out that possibility, she saw it wouldn’t gain them much time. They’d see their two captives were missing soon enough, and they could spare a couple of the men to chase her.
Better to be stealthy, to get away at midnight, and have it be perhaps as long as six hours later before they were missed.
She thought, too, about using Jubilee and the possibility he’d give her away with his braying. She didn’t know a thing about donkeys. Mules were known to be stubborn. Were donkeys? Not a clue. If she had to drag him, or if he balked, or if he bugled out an alarm, he’d be more trouble than he was worth.
If he could be made to pull them—or if one could ride and one be pulled—would that help them outdistance their pursuit? She’d watched a couple of Kentucky Derby broadcasts in her life. Horses could run that pretty fast. A race was about a mile, she thought, and they ran it in a couple minutes. Of course, this was a donkey, but if they could get even a couple five-minute miles from the donkey it before it stopped…. She shook her head at herself. It was all pure conjecture. She had no idea if Jubilee would cooperate at all, how noisy he might be, what sort of terrain they’d encounter, or how many miles the donkey would go before he refused to move another step.
She wanted, so much, to talk with Benjamin about this. Twenty minutes alone with him would make a plan come together; she was sure of it. And it’d do her a world of good, too, to make sure he wasn’t converting to this ridiculous religion, to hear his voice, or to sit quietly next to him while he sharpened their knives.
She patted her pocket again, feeling the reassuring solidity of her pocket knife. That was one thing she had going for her. She still had the paper and pencil lead, too, to communicate with Benjamin, so two things. She had less time befriending the donkey than she’d have liked, and she didn’t know how realistic of a plan stealing him was, but there was that possibility, too. A slowly developing trust from the cultists had been another resource, but today she’d blown that all to hell. Why didn’t she have better self-control? She’d never been a fighter or a screamer before.