The Gates of Babylon

by Michael Wallace

  For a moment she thought the trucks belonged to Elder Smoot, and Malloy had arrived at the last moment to prevent the movement and sale of the grain. Then a third truck rolled onto the street and came to a stop with the hiss of brakes. The driver jumped down and greeted Malloy, who lowered his phone briefly to give instructions. The man climbed back in and pulled to the front of the queue of trucks.

  What was going on?

  “Turn around,” she said to Daniel in a low voice. “Get us out of here.”

  She had not yet decided whether to go back for Eliza, or whether to go home and try to raise the Women’s Council.

  “Hey!” a man shouted.

  Powerful flashlights sliced through the air to illuminate her position. Still pushing Fernie’s wheelchair, Daniel broke into a run, and Jake detached from her nipple again to twist and see what was causing the excitement. Fernie looked over her shoulder to see armed men running after them, and closing quickly. Her heart pounded with fear, not for her own safety, but afraid for her boys. Darkness, men with guns—a chance for a horrible accident.

  “Stop!” she cried. She pulled up her dress to cover her exposed breast.

  She grabbed at the wheels, which burned to a stop beneath her hands. Daniel stopped pushing. Moments later, the soldiers caught up to them.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Eliza stifled a yawn as she listened to Grover Smoot prattle on about animal husbandry. He was telling an amusing story about collecting bull semen using an artificial vagina but couldn’t bring himself to say the word “vagina.” Instead he said “artificial… female part thing,” before continuing. The bull, it seems, had grown amorous during the procedure and had tried to mate with Grover’s head, which had been inconveniently tucked between the animal’s legs at the time.

  Grover seemed like a good kid, about sixteen or seventeen, and able to meet her eye while they spoke. Most boys his age had so little experience speaking to unmarried women that they descended either to crude, inappropriate comments, or sat trembling and sweating in terror. Grover was overly eager to impress her, but in a harmless way. Poor kid would catch hell when Elder Smoot discovered how Eliza had distracted him while Fernie made her escape.

  The boy caught Eliza’s yawn. “I’m sorry, you’re probably bored. That story is stupid anyway.”

  “No, no, it’s really funny. I’m so tired, is all. My sister went up to bed already and I thought I’d join her.”

  Grover glanced out the window to the lit porch with a frown. “When did she come in?”

  “Lillian went out and got her, remember?”

  It had been a good ten minutes since Fernie left, and she should be home by now, sounding the alarm, but better to throw Grover off the scent. If he stopped to think for a second, though, he’d realize how unlikely it was that Fernie had not only escaped his notice on entering the house, but also somehow made it up the stairs without making a ruckus as people carried her up.

  Eliza raised an eyebrow and smiled. “She came in while you were telling me a story about how you shot that deer at two hundred yards, right into the wind. After your two older brothers missed.”

  “That sounds awful when you put it like that. Was I really bragging like that?”

  “It’s fine. I know how proud men are about their shooting skills.”

  “So yes, bragging. If I do it again, slap me.”

  Eliza laughed. “You’re funny. I think I’m going to tell my sister Clara about you. Maybe Jacob can arrange a meeting.”

  Grover blushed. “Which one is Clara again?”

  “The one who looks a little like me, but with darker eyes.”

  “I don’t remember her, but if she’s, um, if she’s half as pretty as you are, I’m sure I’d be happy.” He blushed but seemed pleased that he’d managed to get out the compliment.

  Eliza laughed again and rose to her feet. “You’ve been saving that one.” She patted his hand and turned to go. “Goodnight, Brother Grover.”

  She left him in the parlor and hurried up the back stairs to the second floor, then up to the guest room in the attic. She knocked on the door.

  “Who is it?” Lillian answered from the other side. “I’m not decent.”

  “It’s me, Eliza.”

  Lillian opened the door. She was fully dressed and wore boots beneath her prairie dress. Her jacket lay draped over the footboard of the bed.

  “Come look at the riders,” Lillian said.

  The women turned off the light and made their way to the window. Ten or twelve men on horseback milled around in the backyard. They had rifles in saddle holsters and wore heavy jackets and wide-brimmed hats. It was raining, and the horses stomped and snorted, impatient to get moving.

  “They’re still arriving,” Lillian said. “A new rider every few minutes. Any idea what they’re up to?”

  “Galloping off to liberate the grain silos, I guess.”

  “But why?”

  “The best I can figure, your father thinks the grain is lost, so he may as well try to steal it back and sell it.”

  “And you think that’s enough men to take over the silos?”

  “I doubt it,” Eliza said.

  Not if two USDA men still guarded each of the three main silos in the valley, bunkered and armed with machine guns and assault rifles.

  “Even if they get past the guards,” Eliza added, “how will they secure the grain when Malloy gets wind and comes roaring out with the rest of his men?”

  The more she thought about it, the less she liked Smoot’s plan. The only way it might possibly work would be if he attacked and overwhelmed Malloy’s entire force, hoping that sat phones were down again. That might buy them a couple of days, long enough to move the grain. But then Jacob would come back, the Department of Agriculture would send someone to investigate why Malloy had fallen silent, and the entire stupid plot would unravel.

  If there was one thing Blister Creek excelled at it was executing stupid plots.

  “I have to delay them until Fernie sends help,” Eliza said.

  “Where did she go?”

  “Back to the house to call Carol Young and Delilah Johnson. Then send someone out to get Sister Rebecca at Yellow Flats. Of the men, we thought we could trust Elder French, from the quorum, and his two wives.”

  “You think they can stop my father?”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Eliza said. “He’s got a lot of men down there. But if we warn Malloy, he’ll arm his guards and reinforce the silos.”

  “That won’t stop my father.”

  “Not alone, it won’t. Once we get the women out there, hopefully our men will give up this insane scheme.”

  “Hopefully.” Lillian didn’t sound convinced.

  “I’m going down. It’s been long enough—they’ll never catch Fernie in time. If I tell Smoot what we’re doing, maybe he’ll stop this insane plan before it goes any further.”

  The younger woman nodded, chewing on her lip.

  “You stay here,” Eliza told her. “If anything happens to me, you’re my witness.”

  Eliza came down the stairs to find Grover still in the parlor, sitting at the piano with the fallboard up, his fingers resting on the keys as if he were about to play. His hands were in the wrong place, though, and he sprang to his feet with a guilty expression when she came past the open door to the parlor.

  “Eliza,” he said, and came after her. “I was thinking about Clara. Is she the one who—”

  She continued toward the front door without turning. “Not now, Grover.”

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Wait, you can’t leave. Stop!”

  He grabbed for Eliza’s arm as she reached the door, but she twisted out of his grasp. “Touch me again and I’ll crunch your nose like a biscuit.”

  Grover drew back, stunned, but then followed her down the porch steps. “Eliza, come back. Please. You’ll get me in trouble.”

  He followed her around the side the
house, pleading with her to come back inside. His words died as he saw the riders gathering next to the house. Elder Smoot frowned down at Eliza.

  “Eliza Christianson,” he said, his voice vibrating with anger. “If you aren’t the most troublesome, disobedient girl I’ve ever met.”

  “I’m a woman, Elder Smoot, not a girl, so stop ordering me around like a child. What’s going on here?”

  “And Grover!” Smoot said, turning his anger to his son.

  “I’m sorry, Father. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “We’ll talk about that later. Go saddle up Blue. And fetch your rifle.”

  When the boy hurried off in the darkness toward the stables, Smoot glared down at Eliza. “You don’t listen, do you?”

  “Disband these men,” she said.

  “Go back inside, girl.”

  “The devil I will. I’ve sent for help. You’ve got a dozen riders—I’ll have twenty. And we’re warning Malloy, too.”

  “I already tried that, you fool.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I said I already warned him it was a trap. He’s taking the grain anyway. We have to stop him.”

  Now she was confused. “What do you mean? Malloy is taking the grain? I thought you were trying to sell it.”

  “I know what you thought. And that’s why I told you to mind your own business, because you have no clue what you’re talking about. All you can do is mess things up, make them worse. Like you’ve done, apparently.”

  “Maybe if you weren’t so pigheaded, and told me what the hell is going on here, I wouldn’t be forced to guess.”

  Smoot turned to the other riders. “Someone get her out of here.”

  “Touch me and you’ll regret it,” Eliza said.

  “Bill,” Smoot said, addressing his oldest son, who had a wife and two kids of his own and lived out by his father-in-law on the Jameson Young ranch. Bill Smoot was a barrel-chested man with a thick mustache. “Take her inside. Lock her in the closet if you have to.”

  “She’s Brother Jacob’s sister,” Bill said, uncertainly.

  “Fine, then I’ll do it myself.” Smoot slid from the saddle.

  Eliza held out her hands. “Listen to me. All of you, listen! I sent Fernie for Rebecca and Stephen Paul’s wives. They’ll be cutting you off and they’ve got assault rifles.”

  “I don’t have time for this.” Smoot grabbed for her wrists, and she danced backward, out of reach.

  “I’m warning you,” she said. “You lock me away and you’ve got a good chance of starting a civil war. Saints fighting saints. Is that what you want?”

  “Raymond,” one of the older men said. “Don’t be a stubborn old mule. Listen to the girl.”

  “You have no clue what’s going on here,” Smoot told Eliza. “We’re not trying to hurt the valley, we’re trying to save it.”

  She sensed his hesitation and pressed the advantage. “If that’s true, then take me with you. Explain on the way. We’ll find the others and we’ll be twice as strong.”

  “Bunch of ladies with guns. Sounds like a way to get ourselves killed.”

  “Come on, Dad,” Bill said. “We can use the help, women or no. Might be the only way to stop this thing from happening.”

  Grumbles of assent from the other men. Smoot looked to his father-in-law, Elder Johnson, who sat on one of the horses, in spite of his age. The older man nodded.

  “Fine,” Smoot said at last. “But I’m in charge, you got it? As soon as Dale Fry and his boys come, we’re leaving, and I don’t want one word of contradiction from you or any other woman. Someone go find Grover and tell him to get this girl a horse.”

  “Make that two horses,” Eliza said. She turned to go back into the house.

  “What do you mean, two? And where are you going?”

  “To find something warm to wear. And to get Lillian.”

  “Dammit, no. Eliza!”

  But Eliza ignored his shouts and ran around the house to the front door.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  They tore Jake from Fernie’s arms, passed her to one of the soldiers, then dragged Daniel, screaming, from her side. She barely had time to cry a protest before men hustled her boys into the chapel and they disappeared. They wheeled Fernie in the same direction, and she thought they were going to take her inside after them. Instead, they stopped at the head of the walk leading to the front doors of the chapel.

  Chip Malloy came up from the parking lot, clipping the satellite phone to his belt. “Mrs. Christianson,” he said with a sigh. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Give me back my children, you heartless—”

  “There’s no point denying what you were up to. I don’t know if you thought bringing your kids along would make me think you weren’t spying. Who put you up to this?”

  “Where are my boys?”

  “We’re not going to hurt them, so leave that alone. Who told you to come spy on us?”

  “You lied to us,” Fernie said. “You said you’d warn us before any of our grain left the valley.”

  Malloy frowned. “Plans change. I have my orders.”

  He started as a truck turned onto the street with its running lights on, but it was only another grain truck. It came down the street, passed the chapel, and stopped in front of the line of vehicles.

  Malloy nodded at the remaining guard, who trotted off toward the newest truck. Malloy reached for his satellite phone but then hesitated and left it clipped to his belt.

  “I can’t leave you here,” he said. “You’ll have to come with me.”

  “And abandon my sons? I don’t think so. Send me into the church with them.”

  “I’d have to lock you up, and I don’t know how far I’ve got to travel tonight. You might be locked in there for twenty-four hours for all I know.”

  “You’re all leaving the valley?” she asked.

  “We’ll be back. But the cargo is too valuable, and I don’t have enough soldiers to guard both the valley and the convoy.” He turned to one of his men. “Where the hell is that last truck?”

  Convoy?

  Fernie didn’t know much about the logistics of such an operation, but it seemed poorly thought out to her. Malloy had come to the valley to guard the food supply, but if he left most of it every time he had to transfer a portion, then he was obviously shorthanded.

  Not to mention that most of the men were ready to go, the four grain trucks sat idling in the street, and he was still missing one vehicle. Chip Malloy didn’t know what the devil he was doing, that much was clear.

  “Tell me who sent you,” he tried again, “and I’ll make sure you stay with your children.”

  Fernie could think of no answer except the truth. “It was my own idea. Jacob is gone, and some of the others too.”

  “I know—I saw them leave.”

  “My sister Eliza figured out something was going on. I was coming here to warn you that someone might be trying to steal the grain. I had no idea that someone was you.”

  “This isn’t theft,” he said, sounding calmer. “You’ll be paid. Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he pushed her wheelchair into the parking lot and had two men load her into the back of a government car. During the summer, in the early days of the USDA occupation, she’d seen that car driving up and down the valley every day, but lately, with the fuel shortages, it had sat for weeks at a stretch in front of the chapel without moving. They folded her wheelchair and put it in the truck. Before she could protest about her children, they brought the boys back outside. Daniel came around the other side and sat next to her and someone handed her Jake. He seemed none the worse for wear and was wearing one of the men’s wristwatches on his arm above the elbow. The soldier tousled the boy’s hair and then shut the door. Malloy got behind the wheel of the car.

  “Could you get us a car seat for the baby?” she asked.

  It was a fee
ble attempt to delay the inevitable, and the man turned and gave her a skeptical look.

  “Sit still,” he said. “We’ll be leaving any minute.”

  But it was at least ten minutes before the last grain truck pulled onto the street, and by then Malloy had already made two calls and waved over his guards to check progress. The men were jumpy already, and their boss’s nerves didn’t seem to be helping. But at last they pulled away.

  They rumbled straight down the road in a caravan led by the two army-style trucks and the armed guards. Next came the five grain trucks, together holding what she estimated was 150 tons of their precious wheat. Finally, Chip Malloy and his three unwilling passengers in the car.

  “Why are we in the back?” she asked.

  “This is an unarmored car. If there’s any trouble, the soldiers can handle it.”

  “Don’t ambushes usually come from behind?”

  He glanced in the rearview mirror, but it was dark and she had to imagine his annoyed expression. “Please be quiet, Mrs. Christianson. You’re making a stressful situation worse.”

  The way they were creeping through the center of town as such an inviting target, he might soon discover exactly what a stressful situation looked like. If Elder Smoot was out there rounding up men with firearms, they might not even make it to the highway before the entire caravan came under fire.

  A sick feeling settled into Fernie’s stomach. She quietly unclipped Daniel’s seatbelt and scooted as close to the middle of the car as possible, with her boys practically on her lap.

  “What are you doing back there?” he asked. “If you throw yourself out—”

  “Don’t be stupid,” she said. “I’m paralyzed and I have two children. When the shooting starts—” She stopped and looked at Daniel, trying to think of a better way to put it. “—if we take gunfire, I’m pushing them to the floor and covering them with my body.”

  “Is that what you’re expecting?” he asked, tone sharp. “Do you know something?”