Colleen perked up when she saw Pamela get up from her table, take her paper plate over to the side of the camp, toss it onto a huge pile of garbage, as many had done.
Maybe Pam was going somewhere Colleen could intervene.
But Pam went back to her table, sat by herself. Colleen ate her chocolate bar, her mouth dry with no water. She had seen Lucuma trees and knew the green fruit was a source of nutrition and fluids.
Then Pam got up from the table again, headed over by the pile of garbage, said something to a guard in a black beret, rifle by his side.
And she walked off into the woods.
Yes!
Colleen lowered her field glasses, hopped up from where she was hidden, made her way through undergrowth to where Pamela had wandered off. It took longer to travel around the football-field-sized camp than she had expected, and when she got close to where she thought Pam had gone—a rough path into the trees leading away from the camp—she heard water splashing and birds calling. She peered over a clump of rocks at the path. And saw Pam returning back through the trees, returning to camp. She wouldn’t be able to catch her in time.
She thought of calling out to Pamela but held off. Who might overhear her? Guards were everywhere. And what kind of reaction would she get from Pam? Colleen’s history of intervention had not been well received.
When Pam was gone, she made her way down and snaked around to the path Pam had taken.
She found a small waterfall cascading down a wall of rocks, secluded in the cool of the trees. Pam had a sanctuary.
Colleen went over to the waterfall, cupped her hands, drank her fill, splashed water on her face.
And knew where to be next time Pam ventured off. She just hoped there was time.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Another jungle dawn crept over the compound as Colleen readied her binoculars.
It had rained heavily that night. She had hunkered down in the trees in her plastic poncho, but still gotten good and wet. She had managed to sleep, however, in between fighting off bugs and waking to bats flapping about in the branches, and sustained herself with Lucuma fruit, so she could almost say she was refreshed. The approaching heat of the day was already making her skin sticky.
The loudspeakers barked with instructions. She focused. Die Kerk were gathered under the pavilion. Another six a.m. sermon.
Colleen saw Pam enter, trailing Brother Adem and the other woman, wearing her hippie dress. Colleen decided to skip this service; no need to push her luck. She knew the timeline. Tomorrow they were headed to the Throat of Fire.
When the sermon ended, members filed out, went back to work.
Through her binos, Colleen followed Brother Adem to his prefab with the brunette from yesterday and another girl this time, a shapely young blond with a sly grin.
No Pam. Maybe they took turns. Maybe Pam was on the outs. Colleen wasn’t heartbroken over that. Perhaps it would provide her an opportunity to catch her.
With her knife in its sheath on her belt, she headed to the waterfall where Pam had gone yesterday. Waited in the shadow of a large spreading fern, hoping Pam might appear.
Then, with a rush of excitement, she saw Pam approach, alone. Her face was drawn, eyes down. This might be her chance.
Pamela picked a passion flower and sat on a log by the waterfall, turning the flower in her thin fingers, staring at it, the purple-and-white petals blurring. She looked so sad. Colleen felt for her, more than she thought possible, but it also gave her hope. Hope that this time—this time—Colleen would not be shunned. She was prepared to take Pamela by force, if need be, but that was the last resort.
She was close, as if across a room. Colleen’s heart pounded.
Finally, she mustered up the courage to speak.
“Pamela,” she whispered.
Her daughter looked up, startled, stared at the fern.
Colleen stepped out from behind the fern, took a breath of moist rain-forest air that shook her body with nervousness.
“Pamela,” she said again. “It’s me.”
“What?” Pamela shook her head, as if in disbelief. “No!”
Her daughter’s voice was deep, as she remembered it. She hadn’t heard it in so long. But it was still her. “It can’t be,” Pamela said, rubbing her eyes. She jumped up.
Colleen put her hands up in conciliation. “I know this is a surprise, Pam.”
“That’s the understatement of the year.” Pam shook her head again. “How on earth did you get here? Here?”
“Long story, Pam. Bottom line, I found you. And I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again.” Alive.
Pam stood erect, rearing back. “I’m sorry but I can’t say the same about you.”
The same old story, Pam’s residual anger.
Colleen took a step closer. “That doesn’t matter right now. What does matter is what’s about to happen to … with this church. And especially to you.”
Pam placed her hands on her hips. Her voice trembled with anger as she spoke in measured tones. “You have no right. No right whatsoever. This is my life. My life. I’m not a child anymore. You can’t tell me what to do.”
Colleen laughed bitterly. “Could I ever?”
“No—because you were in prison the whole time I was growing up.”
One of Colleen’s biggest regrets. “Not the whole time, Pam.”
Pam flat-mouthed a smile. “Oh, right, there was that time when you killed my father. I almost forgot. I guess you were around for that, weren’t you?”
“I did what I did for a reason …”
“Yah, because you were fucking angry! It was all about you! What about me?”
“Why do you think I was so damn angry, Pam? I came home, saw what that bastard had done. To you. You!”
Pam shook her head. “He was still my father. You had no right to kill him.”
“Pam, he used you. Raped you! Betrayed your trust, and mine. Betrayed everything a father is supposed to be. I wasn’t about to let him do it again.”
“It wasn’t your decision!”
During her years in prison, Colleen had read about Stockholm Syndrome. In her eyes, Pam might have been her father’s special girl even if she was nothing but a victim. It might take Pam a lifetime to see that, though, if ever. “You know what, Pam? You’re absolutely right. That’s why a jury found me guilty and sent me to prison for the better part of a decade.”
Pam’s voice rose and Colleen feared they might be overheard. “And now you think you’ve got some God-given right to keep following me? Hounding me? You followed me out to California. Then Moon Ranch. Now here. When will you leave me alone?”
“Pam, I followed you to California because you fell in with a bunch of bikers who committed murder.”
“No one asked you to.”
“No one had to. I’m your mother! I saved your damn life! Then you joined up with those …” She stopped before she said something negative about Moon Ranch.
“Great. So we’re even. For killing my father. Now leave me the hell alone.”
Colleen ran her fingers through her damp hair. “Is it just possible that you’re angry at your father, too? And might be misdirecting that anger at me? Because I’m the only one left to blame?”
“You sound like those damn therapists.”
“Pam, if there was any way I could take back what I did, don’t you think I would? I spent ten years thinking that very thought every single day, but, most of all, how I wasn’t there for you.”
“Well, water under the bridge, as they say. Now you’ve got to let me live my own life.”
“I’m all for letting you live your own life, Pam. But that’s not what’s about to happen. Just the opposite.”
“How would you even know what happens at Die Kerk?”
“Oh, I know. I know they plan on letting a number of you go to your deaths tomorrow. Twenty-two vroulike offers to start.”
Pamela flinched. “Stay out of my life!”
“I w
ill, if you promise to have one.”
“Everybody dies! Everybody! No one gets out of this alive!”
Colleen’s head shook with a flurry of desperate thoughts. It was like holding back a flood. “In their own good time, Pam. Not through suicide. Not when they’re just out of their teens. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. I’ve made plenty of mistakes, but don’t you think you might have just made one or two yourself ?”
“Do you know what your generation has done? Destroyed this planet.”
“So rebuild it.”
Pamela shook her head violently. Gritted her teeth. “The government is planning to kill us all anyway! You have no idea.”
“Is that what Brother Adem tells you?”
Pamela shot a finger at Colleen. “Don’t you dare talk about something you know nothing about.”
“Pam, all I’m asking is for you to give yourself a breather, take a break from this, think it over. Please.”
Pamela crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve thought it over. I’m at peace with my decision. Humans have failed.”
Colleen gave a deep sigh. “I might have failed you, Pam, but there are still a lot of good people out there you haven’t met yet. And these people you’re with now—let’s just say they’re misguided.”
“Ever think you might have too many opinions?”
“Most days.” Colleen laughed a sardonic laugh. “But I can’t stand by and watch my daughter kill herself.”
“No one is killing anyone! We’re making amends. Offerings. To appease Mother for our sins.”
Colleen wondered if Pamela saw the irony of her words.
There was no preparation for arguing with a child who wanted to commit suicide. The best Colleen could do was try to remain sensible, although she was beginning to doubt even her own sanity. “I’m sorry, Pam, but I can’t see how you’ve done anything that warrants your dying. You have nothing to apologize for. The state of the world is not your fault.”
Pam took a deep breath, as if thinking over Colleen’s words, and Colleen prayed some of what she said might be sinking in.
But when Pam spoke, all she said was, “I have given it thought. A lot of thought. And I’ve made up my mind.”
“Is that so? That’s not the look I saw on your face yesterday at that sermon or whatever it’s called. I’d say you looked pretty unsure about the whole thing. And I can’t say I blame you.”
“Were you spying on me? Again?”
“What of it, Pam? I’m your mother. When you’re a mother, you’ll understand exactly why I did what I did. Ten years ago—and now.”
“You are not my mother!” Pam spat. “You never were.”
If there were words that could slice her like a razor, her daughter had just said them. And they made her shake inside, like the tree branches blowing in the breeze. But she stood, legs trembling, because that’s what you did when you didn’t know what else to do.
“Pam, I’m sorry. You don’t know how sorry. But, right now, you’ve got to listen to me.”
“I’m done listening to you, Mom. Done.”
At least she called her “Mom.” Talk about a small win.
She could take Pam by force.
But that didn’t seem to be the way to play this if Colleen ever wanted Pam to truly trust her again. Colleen still had a little time. A day.
“So, tomorrow is the day?” Colleen asked.
“The first day of offering,” Pam said piously. “Die eerste kudde— the first flock of angels.”
The day twenty-two members would give themselves. Young women. Sacrificial virgins came to mind, but Brother Adem and Die Kerk had, no doubt, made sure none of these poor girls were still virgins.
“The day you jump into a damn volcano,” Colleen said. “My daughter.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You never understood me.”
Another slice. Colleen fortified herself with whatever inner strength she had left.
“I’ll come with you,” she said.
Pam actually laughed, the first real laugh she could recall since she was a girl.
“Nice try.” She shook her head. “No, you won’t. This isn’t your life. Moon Ranch wasn’t your life either. Get it into your thick head—you’re not part of my life.”
“I’m more than happy to butt out if you promise me to do that—have a life. Come back with me to San Francisco and simply think about it. I promise I won’t bother you again.”
Pam frowned as she blinked in thought, and Colleen thought for one hopeful, ecstatic moment that she might just acquiesce. But when Pam spoke, her words were eerily calm.
“I appreciate your concern. And that’s why I’m not going to call the guards on you now. Do you have any idea what they’d do to you?”
“I don’t care, Pam.”
“They’d kill you. They’ve done it before.”
A shudder ran down Colleen’s spine.
“Pam,” she said. “Come home with me.”
“What home?”
A third slice.
Pamela spoke: “You need to leave now, Mom, before they find you. Leave now, and let me live my life. Please.”
As ridiculous as it sounded, Pam’s words were words of encouragement to Colleen’s twisted heart. Because Pam cared enough to spare her.
“Can I have a hug before I go, Pam? I did come four thousand miles.”
Pamela’s face softened a millimeter. “I have to get back. We have to make our preparations for tomorrow.”
To hike up Tungurahua. Become an offering.
Colleen came over, wrapped her arms around her daughter’s stiff shoulders.
“I love you, Pam,” she whispered. “Ever since I first saw you. I always will.”
Pam’s shoulders eased as she hopefully took in Colleen’s words. “You better leave now. They’re going to wonder where I am.”
Colleen let go, stood back at arm’s length, her vision smearing with tears. There was nothing else to say. She wiped her eyes, watched her only child turn, walk through the trees, disappear into the rain forest as tanager birds sang.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Colleen headed into the trees with a broken heart, leaving Verligting behind her. She simply couldn’t change Pamela’s mind.
Not today at least.
But she still had one more day before Die Kerk were to begin their “offerings.” And she was damned if she was going to let her only child literally throw her life away.
She’d head back to Baños, notify the military about Die Kerk’s planned activity tomorrow. Surely, they would intervene. And, if not, she would—somehow.
She picked up her backpack she had hidden behind a tree and made her way down the mountain, tracking the dirt road but staying off of it, flanking one side. The sun was breaking through the tree canopy, cutting the darkness of the woods with slices of daylight.
That’s when she saw something. Someone.
She ducked below a clump of foliage. Peered back over the top.
Two men wearing black berets. Carrying rifles. One was at the gate. The other was patrolling along the fence. Both were looking her way. She was obscured by underbrush and trees, but she had no doubt they had spotted her. Her pulse raced.
“Wie gaan daarheen?” one shouted. It sounded like the Afrikaans equivalent of who goes there?
She drew her knife, for all it was worth. A knife against two guns.
“Wie gaan daarheen? Wys jouself!”
She stayed low, the wind picking up, rushing up through the trees.
The two men spoke in low tones to each other.
She stayed put.
A rifle shot rang out, echoing up the hillside toward her. Then another. A bullet zinged a rock nearby. Her back tightened.
The shots grew closer. Bushes rustled. The two men were coming her way.
Another shot tore leaves off a bush next to her.
Colleen got down on her stomach, knife in hand, crawled for a tree farther away from the
road. Shots popped.
How she wished she had a gun.
She could hear them talking quietly in Afrikaans. Getting closer. Her heart pounded.
She needed to create a diversion.
She reached the tree, got up into a crouch. She was at the top of a steep incline, the one she had scaled on her way up a couple of days ago. About twenty yards down was the ridge of stone she had clambered over. Beyond that more steep hill. She slipped the backpack off her shoulders, went through it, pulling her emergency cash and her binoculars. Her passport and most of her money was already in the pockets of her jeans. She fastened the bag back up, stood behind the tree, peered out, eyed the hill below as another shot rang out.
Lifted her backpack over her head. She hated to lose it but it would only slow her down, especially when she got to the barbwire fence down the hill.
With all her might, she hurled the bag high toward the huge rock.
It bounced and picked up speed, crashing down the hill through the foliage. Just what she wanted, the sound of a person rushing down the hill.
“Sy het so gegaan!” one of the men shouted.
She heard them thrash through the bushes toward the fallen backpack, shouting in Afrikaans. They came into view down the ridge, heading for the rock. One stopped to fire his weapon at an imaginary suspect.
Heart pulsing, knife in hand, Colleen kept low, crouch-ran in the opposite direction, headed for the dirt road. She would be more visible but she’d make better time and the men were well out of the way now.
At the road she cut a sharp left, downhill, picking up speed on the flatter surface. Headed for the gate. Heard them shouting at her, off in the thick of foliage, fifty yards away.
She reached the tube gate, down the hill a ways from the compound. Barbwire on top. She wouldn’t be climbing over.
She got down flat, shimmied through the bottom bars, squeezing herself through as two more shots echoed. One dinged the metal gate. Shaking, her legs seemed to take forever to pull through, especially with her still tender shin.
But, finally, she cleared the gate. Scrambled up, in a squat, off road again, raising up, running downhill, watching where she put her feet. But making good time now.
Bad Scene Page 17