Untitled Agenda 21 Sequel (9781476746852)

by Beck, Glenn

  Protect the Earth. Protect the water. Back then, they had to pay taxes for rainwater runoff on the farm. How ridiculous that was, a rainwater-runoff tax. The corn, the tomatoes, all the crops shriveled one hot summer when they couldn’t irrigate. Joan’s roses died, too, that same summer. All that potential food lost, food that people needed, just to protect water. The people weren’t protected. Ah, but the government was there to help, they said. Yes, indeed, they were there.

  Before the government took over their farm, they promised Joan and John positions in charge of the farm commune. That made sense since they were, after all, farmers. And David was promised a job as a Gatekeeper. They would be provided with housing, clothing, and food. It all sounded good.

  At first, Joan didn’t see a big problem with any of it. She had no idea, no suspicions, at the time, because, by nature, she was hopeful and trusting.

  John didn’t like the idea of not owning his own property, but private property ownership was outlawed under new regulations, regulations passed by their duly elected representatives, so he had no choice but to accept what they said.

  Joan thought she could still grow roses in their new job. She couldn’t. No roses at the farm commune. No flowers at all. Flora and fauna were to be protected from humans. But Citizens were not protected. They were worked until they no longer had any value. Citizens had to give more than they took.

  She quickly lost her naïve and trusting nature. But by then it was too late.

  Later, long after the relocation, the Authorities decided the farm commune didn’t need managers anymore. They said that armed guards would be enough to keep the workers doing their jobs. Joan and John were reassigned. John was put on the Transport Team; Joan was to manage the Children’s Village.

  John was signaling now that she needed a break, pointing to a little grove of trees. Was John as tired as Joan was? Probably not. His job on the Transport Team was physical and gave him endurance. Her job as manager of the Children’s Village was mental, not physical. Even still, she had failed miserably at it. The children under her supervision hadn’t thrived. They were going to be relocated, and that’s why Emmeline had escaped with Elsa. It was all her fault.

  Joan sat beside John, grateful for the chance to rest.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “Should we continue?”

  Joan shrugged. “Whatever you think best. I trust your judgment.”

  “I’ve changed my mind about going upstream for two more days. I think it’s time to cross over. Walk on the other side and start downstream. Start going in the direction David would have chosen.”

  “I like the sound of that,” Joan said, eager to reunite with her family. “Let’s do it.”

  “If we’re lucky and the Protectors have been following our clues, they will be walking upstream while we are on the opposite side. They could easily spot us if we’re not careful. We’ll have to move away from the stream, deeper into the woods, where we can’t be seen. But we’ll still keep the stream in sight and follow it as best we can. We must be very vigilant at all times. Keep our eyes and ears open.”

  Joan nodded that she heard him. “Can we sit for a while longer?”

  Squirrels skittered around them and chased each other, spiraling up and around tree trunks, like playful children. When had they last seen playful children? Playfulness had been programmed out of them in the Children’s Village. Walking on toy energy boards was not play, it was training at the most basic level.

  “We can’t waste time,” John told her. “The longer we sit, the greater distance we’ll have to cover to reach David.” He was right. But then he rubbed her arm and added, “Two more minutes can’t hurt.”

  “I thought there were wolves in the Human Free Zone,” Joan said. “That’s what the Authorities told us.”

  “The Authorities told us a lot of things that turned out not to be true. Wolves probably aren’t native to this area,” John said. “Farther west is where they’ll be. Probably coyote and fox around here, but they won’t attack us.”

  A hawk swooped in, its great wings beating the air, and hooked its talons into one of the squirrels on a distant branch. The other squirrels played on, oblivious, while the bird soared away, its prey dangling helpless.

  They crossed the shallow stream, stepping from stone to stone to keep their shoes as dry as possible. John spotted some edible mushrooms and they ate them as they walked. The stream curved this way and that, following the path of least resistance. That’s what they had done when it came to the relocation. They too had chosen the path of least resistance and look where it had taken them.

  They moved away from the stream, into the edge of meadows and woods. A furry red animal ran in front of them, its tail full, feathery almost, with a white tip. It turned, and headed into some underbrush. Joan could see its pointed nose, small ears like triangles standing up on the side of its head. She stopped walking.

  “Only a fox,” John said. “They’re shy, unless they have rabies. That one looked healthy enough.”

  Joan hoped he was right about that. And she hoped he was right about the wolves not being native to this area. She had to trust him. He was all she had. Everything else was gone.

  They walked for two days, careful now not to leave any trace or clue they had been there. Insects buzzed in the grass and in the air with whirring sounds and chirps. Leaves rustled. As silent as John and Joan were, they were always surrounded by one sound or another. Even the breeze made noise as it moved past their ears, across their faces. The earth was abuzz with the music of living things.

  And then there was another sound, a distant, faint but desperate sound. It was the sound of a woman. Was she crying or shouting? Joan couldn’t be sure what it was. She leaned forward, listened harder.

  Maybe it was Emmeline.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  * * *

  EMMELINE

  Day 10

  We were all outside, in front of the cave’s black opening. The cool morning air coming from the cave felt like the river water washing over my clean skin.

  “Tonight we forage.” Paul looked up through the tree branches. “Lots of clouds today. And the moon will be low.”

  “Forage?” I asked Paul. “Tonight we forage?”

  “We,” he answered. “You and me. The night walk is getting harder for Ingrid, and David still needs to rest. I know he’s getting better but I don’t want him to have any setbacks.”

  I looked at David as he cuddled Elsa. Paul was right. I could tell from the way he moved his arm that it still bothered him a little.

  “How do we gather food? How dangerous is it?” The thought of venturing back in the direction of the commune and the Compound made me uneasy. But I couldn’t deny it; we needed fresh food.

  Micah, done gathering twigs for the fire pit, moved closer to us. He was always curious. I loved that about him.

  “The commune is an accessible distance from here. But we have to plan to get there when it’s dark and the workers are asleep.”

  “Don’t you worry about leaving a path in the woods? A path that would lead guards back here?”

  “The forest destroys any path with plants that grow quickly. Ferns, for example. And falling leaves quickly cover footprints. And, when we go to the river for water, we walk on the stones I scattered so no trail is created.”

  He had thought of everything.

  “What time of day will we leave?”

  “Afternoon. We’ll walk through the woods. We get there around dusk.”

  “I think it took us longer than that to get from the commune to here,” I said.

  “You followed the water and it meanders. It’s not far as the crow flies,” Paul said.

  Meanders. That sounded so casual, so carefree. Our painful, rushed escape was anything but casual and carefree.

  Micah looked at me. “Where are you going?” His voice was frail, thin, worried.

  “It’s all right,” Paul said. “We’re not going away for long.”
He must have heard the worry in Micah’s voice.

  “But where are you going?” Micah persisted.

  “The more important question is ‘Why are you going? Always ask why. Where doesn’t matter as much as why.”

  Micah gave an impatient shrug of his shoulders. “All right. Why are you going?” Paul had the wisdom that comes with age, while Micah had the curiosity of youth, and I loved seeing them interact.

  “We’re going for food. Our rations are low and we now have more people to feed.”

  I knew he was talking about us. My shoulders slumped with the weight of that responsibility.

  “But if we have more people to feed, that means we have more people to help us forage,” Paul said in his even, soft voice. “Does that make sense? Does that balance out everything?”

  I knew he was directing that at me, making sure I saw the positive part of the situation. I raised my eyes and looked at him. He was smiling. The mud he still wore on his face cracked along the smile lines.

  “We take empty sacks with us. We wait till dark. The guards ring a bell. That’s the signal for the workers to go into their tents. Then the night sounds start.”

  “What are the night sounds?” I asked.

  “Owls hoot. Raccoons screech. The workers snore. The night is full of noises. Eventually the dusk-to-dawn guards will also sleep. They always do. That’s when we slip in, along the edge of the rows. We’ll pick as much as we can, and fill our sacks with all we can carry. We’ll slip away before dawn and start the long walk back.”

  “I’m going with you,” Micah said. “Three people can carry more than two.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

  “No, Micah, you can’t. It’s too dangerous,” I said.

  Paul turned to me intently. “Emmeline, what is more dangerous? Foraging? Or not knowing why and how to forage? It’s not just about picking crops that don’t belong to you, it’s about knowing how to cautiously enter an unsafe area without being detected, gather food left on the plants, and return safely. It’s a skill you will all need to survive.”

  Indeed, what was more dangerous? I knew that Paul was right.

  I looked at Micah. He returned my gaze without blinking. This child trusted me. What was more important? That I keep him safe, confined, and protected? Or that I let him explore and learn? Mother had always kept me protected. But did her shielding me ever really help?

  I took a deep breath. David came over, sat beside me, and put Elsa in my lap. The soles of her feet had dirt on them. I brushed it off and saw the healthy pinkness of her skin.

  I took a deep breath and squeezed Micah’s hand.

  “Yes, Micah, yes. You can come.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  * * *

  Micah was so excited, he barely slept. But then, I hadn’t either. The best we could do was lie quietly, and even that was hard for eight-year-old Micah.

  “Is it time to leave yet?” He asked the same question over and over again. “Is it time to leave yet? Is it time to leave yet?” Every time he asked, he shook my shoulder. The answer was always the same: “When Paul says so.” But he would ask again. “Is it time to leave yet?”

  “You ask that question one more time,” I finally told him, “You’re not coming along!”

  He was silent immediately. I wished I had thought of that sooner! He still tossed and turned, but at least he was quiet.

  Finally Paul came to us. “It’s time,” he said.

  Ingrid gave us sacks made of rough cloth that smelled like old brown grass. Inside were bits of dried meat. Jerky, Paul called it. I had never seen anything like those hard, shriveled brown bits. Paul said it was dried squirrel. He had a strange thing slung over his shoulder.

  “Bow and arrows,” he said. “I don’t have many arrows left. Hope I don’t have to use any on this trip. Emmy, bring along your knife. When we get back, I’ll make Micah some kind of weapon. Every boy should have a weapon. Maybe a spear. Should have thought of that sooner.”

  Bows and arrows, spears, and jerky were all new to me. I had as much to learn as Micah. I slipped my knife into the sack. Then I made David promise three times to take good care of Elsa. Paul waited patiently for a while but then said, “It’s time to go, Emmy. Now.”

  He said now quietly but firmly. I gave Elsa and David one last kiss on their foreheads and touched my hand to my heart.

  We stepped away from the cave and started into the woods, away from the river. Flowing water had marked our path ever since we escaped the Compound. Now we were leaving it behind.

  Every few steps I looked over my shoulder at Elsa, David, and Ingrid. But soon we were in the thick woods and I could only see trees behind me, in front of me, all around me.

  The woods were dim. Sunlight filtered through and shadows danced as the leaves moved with the breeze. Micah followed behind Paul; I followed behind Micah. Single file, step by step, we went uphill and downhill. This land was a continuous rolling of ups and downs.

  Paul stepped around logs instead of over them. “Avoiding snakes,” he said over his shoulder. “Snakes live under logs and on stones.”

  “Boa constrictors?” Micah asked.

  “No. Copperheads,” Paul said.

  “Copperheads?” I walked a wide berth around logs.

  “A poisonous snake with uneven bands of light brown and dark brown. Looks like a pile of fallen leaves.”

  Now every pile of leaves was suspect. Every log. Every stone. Every step.

  We kept walking.

  Paul stopped often to point out something.

  “That’s poison ivy. Leaves of three, let them be.”

  We rested once. Just once.

  “These are morels. Mushrooms. Very good eating.” He plucked the oddly shaped brown things and put them in his sack.

  We walked on.

  “Ramps.” He pulled the plants from the soft soil. They had green leaves and white stalks. “The whole plant is edible.” The green smell was strong, inviting. He put them into his sack. Micah watched, then pulled more ramps from the dirt, shook them off, and put them in his sack. He was already getting into his role as a young hunter-gatherer. I found some ramps, too.

  “Over there,” Paul pointed. “A buck.” I saw a large animal, brown, with a thick body and wide chest. It had two large curved horns, one on either side of its head, with smaller spikes off the main horns. “An eight-pointer. Good one. If we were closer to home, I’d shoot him for the meat and the fur. Too far to haul him back, though.” The animal gave a snort, perked its ears, and with a flick of its white, pointed tail, ran into the shadows. I don’t know why, but I felt sad watching it run from us. I didn’t want to be feared.

  Dusk began to creep in on its dirty little feet. Slowly, the light faded. Birds twittered, settling into resting places in the branches.

  Then, there it was, in the distance ahead of us: the flat brown fields of the farm commune. The workers were just dots moving along the rows. Little dots, so small that it was easy to forget that they were people.

  “We’ll move a little closer. Then we’ll wait for darkness,” Paul said.

  Clouds with dark underbellies lay low on the horizon. As the sun slipped away, the gray-white moon appeared, a narrow sliver, like a torn fingernail.

  Micah curled up, a warm little boy, and leaned against me. Soon his eyes were closed, his breathing slow and even. In the distance, there was a low rumble of thunder, and a faraway white flash of lightning. The air grew cooler, the thunder closer.

  “Rain,” Paul said. “That’s a good thing.”

  “A good thing? Why?”

  “When it storms, few workers will leave their tents for any reason. The guards will seek shelter, too, and keep the flaps closed to stay dry.”

  The first drops of rain pinged against the leaves, my arms, and my legs. Micah sat up, awake now.

  The rain came harder, the thunder louder. “Move away from the trees,” Paul said. He stood and walked toward the field of food.


  A field of food.

  The words were like music. Lightning flashed cloud to cloud in jagged lines. Micah clung to my hand. They were wet and slippery together. Our sacks were damp, the smell of wet cloth even more pungent.

  The workers were gone from the field. The tents, a straight row of triangles along the end of the field, were being pummeled by the rain. It sounded like a thousand drumbeats. Thunder growled along the horizon.

  We stood at the edge of the field. At our feet were plants and food, ours for the taking. “We will spread out. Emmeline, stay where you are. I’ll go to the far end of the row; Micah will be halfway between us.” Paul and Micah moved away from me, and I was alone. I could barely see them in the dark.

  I began picking. The peas were firm in their pods, little bulges beneath the hull. It was easy to snap them from the vine. Hold the plant with one hand, pick with the other. Twist, pull, twist, pull. My sack was an open mouth, waiting to be filled. I did not see the man come out of his tent. I did not hear him walking toward me.

  Twist, pull, twist, pull. I allowed myself to eat one or two of them as I worked.

  Twist, pull. Fill the sack.

  Then I saw bare feet next to me, wet and muddy, toes splayed against the dirt. A heavy metal ball and chain was attached to a leather collar around his ankle. The rain shimmered on the metal and ran down the ball in little streams.

  I looked up. The man towered over me while I was bent as though praying over the plants. It was too dark to see his face. I felt pressure in my chest, as though it was being squeezed by a giant hand. Micah and Paul were too far away for me to be able to warn them. I tried, but no sound came out of me. The peas in my hand fell to the ground. My fingers had lost their strength; my arms were limp. If this man saw me, maybe a guard would, too. Oh, dear sweet Jesus, I must not be seen by a guard.