In the Shadows of Freedom

by C

  Amanda swallowed heavily, a lump in her throat. “Yeah. But I don’t know where he is right now.”

  “I don’t know where my daddy is either. Do you live in the woods with your horse?”

  “Sort of, I guess. … I don’t have a home right now.”

  “I know! You can come live with us! Boots too!” She seized Amanda’s hand, small fingers holding tight and pulling her forward.

  Amanda tugged on Boots’s reins and followed. “Where exactly are we going?”

  “You’ll see! You’ll like it. Don’t worry—I know the way! Follow me!”

  Just then a woman’s voice, fraught with anxiety, filled the air. “Rachel! Rachel!”

  “Mommy!” Rachel dropped Amanda’s hand and ran forward through the woods.

  Uncertain how this would turn out, Amanda waited at the rear. A few yards ahead, Rachel jumped into the arms of her mother, who was probably in her early thirties. Like her daughter, she also had straight brown hair, cut to about her shoulders. Pushing her bangs away from her eyes, she put Rachel down, revealing a bulge at her belly—Rachel apparently had a sibling on the way.

  “Mommy, look who I found in the woods!” Rachel tugged on her mother’s dress and pointed in Amanda’s direction.

  Beholding Amanda, Rachel’s mother turned pale and pulled the girl close.

  Amanda felt her cheeks grow warm.

  “She let me pet her horse.” Rachel rambled on, clearly trying to placate her mother. “His name is Boots. Wanna pet him, Mommy?”

  “No, not right now, Rachel. What did I tell you about talking to strangers?”

  “She’s not a stranger. She’s Amanda!”

  Amanda took the moment to try to explain herself: “I’m really sorry. I had no idea there was anyone else here. … I just ran into your daughter. I’m not going to hurt anyone. … I just need some help. My food supply ran out awhile ago. Would … Would you happen to have anything to eat?”

  “So you’re lost?”

  “Yeah. Completely.”

  She smiled with a sad look in her eyes. “Why don’t you come with us? We have some food to spare.”

  “Thank you!” Relief flooded through Amanda. At this point, she didn’t even care who these people were, as long as it meant she could eat something.

  Rachel and her mother led Amanda farther down the mountain, Rachel bouncing up and down in excitement. “Can I ride Boots? Can I ride him? Please?”

  “Maybe later, sweetheart.”

  Amanda followed them, their route clearly known, though she could detect no path. They walked for several minutes, traversing the wooded terrain, and then entered a large clearing. Before them stood a small, two-story cabin. It lacked any exterior shine or comeliness. Large wooden beams that interlocked to form the structure were weather-beaten, grayed, and stripped of all beauty. Single panes of glass stood cloudy and grimy in the handful of windows, preventing any intimation of what lay inside.

  A tall, lean man with silver-graying hair stood facing the house, his attention toward the top of the roof. “The rain sure did a number up there.” Arms crossed, he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

  Rachel’s mother came beside him, and without turning around, he began speaking to her. “Bethany, can you let the others know that we’re going to have to patch up that roof now? The downpour last night ripped off some of the shingles and unless we want leaks, we’ll have to—”

  Boots snorted and the man spun around.

  He did a double-take, his mouth dropping. “Who’s that? And where did they come from?”

  “Her name’s Amanda. Rachel found her. She’s lost and hungry. Look at her: you can tell she’s practically starving. I couldn’t just let her go …”

  “No … no, of course not.” The man looked past Amanda, scanning the distance with his eyes. “Are you alone?”

  It seemed plain enough to Amanda that these were kind people—she didn’t seem to be in any imminent danger with them. Plus, based on what Rachel said, it was possible that they, too, were in hiding … perhaps for the same reason that she was. She decided to be forthright.

  “Yeah, I’m alone for now. There are people following me, though. I’m pretty sure they’re JPD officers.”

  Bethany and the man shared a knowing look. The man then clapped Amanda on the back. “You’re in good company, then. The JPD is searching for all of us. You’ll be safe here, at least for a little while.”

  Rachel started jumping up and down. “Really, Dr. Connolly? Amanda can stay? And Boots too?”

  Amanda’s breath caught in her chest. “Dr. Connolly? What’s your first name?”

  “Pardon my manners. My name’s Mark … Mark Connolly.” He smiled at Amanda, revealing two perfect rows of white teeth, and extended his hand.

  Chiara’s words echoed in Amanda’s mind. Chiara had called a couple of months ago, that morning after Amanda’s first date with Ethan. Chiara droned on and on about the missing Connolly family. Amanda had found the conversation dull and couldn’t wait for it to be over. Now her heart sank: that exchange she’d resented so much was the last time she had spoken with Chiara—perhaps forever.

  She seized Mark’s outstretched hand, her pulse pounding and words urgent. “You know my dad! Kevin Burrow! Do you know where he is?”

  “Wait a minute … you’re Kevin’s daughter?”

  “Yeah, I am. When I went home, I couldn’t find my dad or sister. The house looked like they had left quickly … like something was really wrong. While I was there, some JPD officials showed up and I had to escape for my life. Now I have no idea where my family is.” She twisted the cuff of her sweatshirt in her hand, wringing it. “Please tell me you know something about them. Anything!”

  Mark frowned and knotted his eyebrows. “I saw Kevin every Wednesday at church for our opposition meeting—he chaired it, of course. Anyway, my family fled town over two months ago, back in late August. Someone warned us that we’d been targeted by the NCP, and I had some contacts that led us here, where we could be safe for the time being. I told your father that he may be next. But I don’t know what happened after that. I’m sorry, Amanda. Your dad is a good man. … I wish I could give you more information.”

  Amanda’s burgeoning hope faded: Mark didn’t know about her family. How could she possibly learn anything out here, in the middle of nowhere? Maybe she would never even see her dad and Chiara again. … Her lower lip began to tremble, and she tightened her lips together, trying not to cry. Meanwhile, her head became heavy and she swayed. Images and thoughts flickered through her mind as dots of light danced before her field of vision. The trees lurched, and the sun traveled across the sky, falling … falling …

  “She’s fainting!” Mark’s call seemed to come from miles away, but the strong grip on her arms somewhat revived her. He supported her as she half stumbled beside him.

  Bethany hurried up the rickety steps in front of them and held the cabin door open. “She needs something to eat.”

  “Alright, Amanda, just a few more steps, okay?”

  Light-headed, she nodded and let Mark assist her. They entered the cool, dark interior of the cabin. Mark led her to a wicker chair, where she gratefully sat. The room was large and open, though sparsely furnished. A rudimentary fireplace lined one wall, a thick log positioned on the floor a few feet in front of it—presumably another seat for two. A small table stood in the back, filled with an assortment of mismatched cups, plates, and silverware.

  “The cabin’s not great, but it’s something.” Mark crossed his arms, surveying the room.

  “It becomes somewhat homey in the evening, when we’re all gathered together.” Bethany smiled from the back table, where she was preparing some food. “Just give me another minute and I’ll have something for you to eat.”

  “Thanks so much.” Amanda leaned her head back, still dizzy.

  Then she noticed the solemn figure on the opposite side of the cabin. She stood with her back to them, staring out the window, her ar
ms hanging listlessly at her side. Their entrance hadn’t broken her stillness.

  Mark must have followed Amanda’s gaze. “Oh, let me introduce you to my wife.” He approached the woman. “Linda, we have a newcomer. This is Amanda Burrow, Kevin’s oldest daughter. … She’s looking for her family, who’s gone missing.”

  With an obvious reluctance, Linda turned from the window. She wore a cashmere sweater and pearl earrings, tokens of a former life of finery and comfort. Gray roots covered her cropped bob, once a rich mahogany brown. Her eyes stared at Amanda, dull and emotionless. Amanda knew the look well: depression.

  Linda nodded a hello and then turned back to the window.

  “Here you go.” Bethany placed a plate in Amanda’s hands, along with a glass of water. “I think some fresh clothes might be in order too. Linda, would you mind going upstairs and seeing if we have any clothes for Amanda to wear?”

  Without responding, Linda robotically walked up the staircase.

  Amanda devoured the peanut butter sandwich—it tasted as good as if Bethany had handed her a platter of filet mignon from the finest restaurant in Midtown Manhattan. A large thump came from upstairs, shortly followed by feet pummeling down the nearby staircase. A lanky teenager appeared, his shaggy brown hair in desperate need of a cut.

  “What’s going on? Who’s this?”

  “We have a new guest,” Mark said. Looking at Amanda, he gestured to the teen. “Amanda, this is our son, Joseph.”

  He leaned on the staircase railing and grimaced. “It’s just Joe.”

  “Nice to meet you, Joe.” Amanda swallowed the last morsel of bread. She could already think much more clearly. She ate a second sandwich and an apple and seemed steady on her feet once again.

  Mark rose from his chair and motioned for her to follow him. “Just leave your plate on the back table. Someone will take care of the dishes later. If you’re feeling up to it, I’d like to introduce you to one of our other residents. We’ll go upstairs and you can put any of your belongings there.” Mark headed for the staircase but stopped briefly and pointed an index finger at Joe. “Don’t you go too far, Joseph. I’m going to need your help on the roof in a little bit.”

  Joe groaned theatrically.

  Mark waved his hand for Amanda to follow him. “I think Ken is up here. He arrived a couple of weeks ago. He’s our most recent addition. Well, that is until you, of course.”

  The second story opened into a large loft. Blankets and pillows littered the floor, intermixed with personal possessions: a wedding album, a stuffed elephant, sneakers caked in mud, a copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s Complete Tales and Poems. Linda knelt in a corner, digging through a pile of clothing. On the other side, in a chair next to the solitary window, sat a man, most likely in his mid-forties. He bent his shaved head over a book with a torn dust jacket, but he glanced up at their approach and sprang from his chair.

  “Ken, you’re in for a surprise. We’ve got one more resident.” Mark put his hand on Amanda’s shoulder. “This is Amanda Burrow.”

  “Great—as if it weren’t crowded enough in here already.” Ken extended his hand, and his sharp, commanding grip crushed her fingers. “Ken Cooper.”

  “Hi.”

  Mark rambled on, “Amanda’s father and I worked together in the same opposition group. He’s missing now, along with her sister.”

  Ken placed his hands on his hips, his face drawn up in disgust. “More disappearances.”

  Struck by a thought, Amanda asked, “The NCP targeted your family too?”

  “Listen, you don’t need a missing family to be stuck in this place. You just need some convictions.”

  “So … you were persecuted because of your faith, then?”

  Ken chuckled bitterly. “Are you asking me if God got me in this hole? Let’s get one thing straight about me right away, okay? No God brought me here because, to be frank, there is no God. I’m here because, unlike the NCP, I actually care about freedom. Not the freedom crap they’re always throwing at you. Real freedom.”

  He took a seat again. “Let me tell you something, kid. I litigated for one of the top law firms in Manhattan. A few of my colleagues mentioned something about individuals gone missing, others killed. There’s always some kind of idiocy going on in this sick, twisted world, so I didn’t think too much about it at the time. I was working on litigation against the NCP—for unconstitutional practices. I saw the suit as job security for myself; in a nation with no laws, what’s a lawyer going to end up doing?”

  Ken pulled a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket. He held the pack toward Mark and Amanda, but with no takers, he shrugged, lit a cigarette for himself, and took a long drag.

  “It was a Friday night and my date and I had just come back to my apartment. I had met Tara at my favorite bar … brunette, tall, curvy in all the right places.” A wistful look on his face, Ken nodded. “I’m offering her a glass of wine when the doorbell rings. So I open the door and think this is some kind of joke. There’s a priest standing there. A priest! Hell, I would have been less surprised if it had been the JPD. So he tells me the NCP is after me because of my work on the litigation. Seems they were feeling threatened and couldn’t have their freedom jeopardized. The priest offers to help me and hands me a card with his name and address on it. I laugh in his face and slam the door.

  “About a week later, I’m walking toward my apartment building. It’s dark out, alright, because I just worked a twelve-hour day. Well, I look up and notice the lights are on in my room. I get this unsettled feeling, you know? I never leave the lights on, and no one else has the keys—Tara and I don’t know each other that well yet. I’m walking past the doorman toward the elevator when he grabs my arm and whispers, ‘Get out of here. The JPD are upstairs waiting for you.’ I guess that guy saved my life, and I have no idea what his name is.”

  Ken squashed the cigarette butt on the windowsill and, cracking the window, flicked it outside.

  Curious to hear the rest of his story, Amanda urged him on: “How did you end up here?”

  “I drove to the address the priest gave me, and he arranged everything. Can you imagine it? My whole freakin’ life, flipped upside down in a second thanks to the NCP. Tell me: What was my crime? I’ve studied law and politics all my life. And I believe in lots of freedoms. But this isn’t what our nation is about. I’m an atheist, but that doesn’t make me immoral. … I can tell the difference between right and wrong.

  “So now I’m on the hit list of citizens ‘unwilling to comply.’ Damn straight I am! I’m not complying with any of this crap. I’ll take some country living for a while over that. I won’t go back until those murderers are out of office.”

  Amanda stared outside. The forest world out there looked so peaceful in a world gone mad. “I guess my dad talked a little more boldly than he was supposed to, then. I just didn’t realize that things had escalated to this point. I mean … how did we come to this?”

  “I often wonder that too.” Mark sighed. “But as the saying goes, ‘Evil prospers when good people do nothing.’”

  “But what if good people can’t do anything?” The cold response came from the other side of the room. Linda stood, some clothes in her hands, and walked toward them.

  Mark frowned. “We could have done something, if we had acted sooner. Our opposition came too little, too late. In the beginning, the NCP’s ‘freedom’ looked pretty appealing to most people. A lot of folks welcomed the trimming of our bloated federal budgets and the elimination of needless bureaucracy. After all, who doesn’t enjoy freedom from the endless formalities of an overgrown government … from litigious working papers … from excessive taxes? Many jumped right on board with the NCP platform. In theory, the NCP sounded great: minimize our centralized government so that all matters are handled by the individual, the family, the group, the neighborhood, the company. That would optimize society. The right environment would allow people in society to flourish and self-select themselves for success, witho
ut undue interference.”

  “Yeah … all that sounds fine.” Amanda had read the NCP literature Ethan gave her. On paper, it undoubtedly was attractive.

  Mark nodded. “But ‘freedom from the law’ is much more alarming in practice. They did away with all censorship laws, so now something as abhorrent as child pornography is licit. Then the NCP said government is getting out of the bedroom: no more laws against incest and polygamy. Most recently, they legalized all drugs and formerly controlled substances. And if you aren’t considered useful, good luck getting any help or sympathy from the NCP. People are starving because there are no more food stamps or welfare programs. The elderly, seriously ill, and disabled are ‘helped’ by offering them euthanasia.

  “For many of us, these actions crossed a line that’s common to all people. The laws that the NCP repealed weren’t inhibiting our freedom—they actually corresponded to a law written on the human heart, a law needed for human flourishing and true freedom. We weren’t created for utility, but for love. Our worth isn’t in what we can do; it’s in who we are: children of the Father.”

  “Alright, alright, quit the preaching.” Ken rolled his eyes. “She didn’t want a sermon. Long story short, once people woke up to what the NCP is really about, they started to oppose it. When the opposition group became more organized and posed a real threat, the JPD began targeting people. And here we are. Men without a country …” Ken looked Amanda up and down. “So your father was part of the opposition? I take it that makes you guilty by association? Humor me a little: What’s your story?”

  Her story? She appreciated their forthrightness, warm welcome, and kind generosity. But to divulge everything with all the ugly details to these people—whom she didn’t even know an hour ago—that wasn’t even remotely possible for her. Not yet, not so soon.

  Avoiding Ken’s scrutinizing look, she turned an appealing eye to Mark. “I’m sorry, but I’m just really exhausted. Would it be possible for me to clean up somewhere and then get some sleep? I won’t be able to think straight until I do that.”