The Fifth Sacred Thing (76 page)

When Madrone closed her eyes, she dreamed she was back in the water, floating, waiting, lifting out of her body to fly. She wanted to go home. Someone was calling her home. Bird—no, she was the bird, winging north along the sun-baked coast, over the mountains and the last stands of redwood and madrone. And then she was home, but the streams were dry and the gardens withering and Maya sat in the kitchen of Black Dragon House, all alone. “I’m home,” Madrone said, but she was invisible, a ghost. Maya’s eyes
were ancient and full of old grief. Her face changed, shifted, and Madrone was looking into Lily’s eyes.

“Everything’s gone wrong,” Madrone whispered. “Everything I tried to do down here has been destroyed.”

“Come home,” Lily said.

“I have to try to salvage something.”

“Come home.”

“Lily, I remembered. I remembered my mother’s death.”

“Come home.”

“But they’ve defeated you. And I can’t bear it.”

“You belong here. Come home.”

She woke, feverish, to sip more honey water and a bit of acorn broth. But when she slept, again she was back in the water, struggling with the last of her strength against an overwhelming tide.

Isis returned an hour after dawn.

“Sorry it took so long,” she said. “Had to wait for her old man to clear out. You ready? She’s gone up a few miles to the beach club, she’ll be back for you in half an hour. Come on, I’ll row you in, if you still want to go. You know your face is plastered on every vidcom from here to the border, along with some pretty bloody pictures of a couple dead bodies. Girl, those Angels screwed you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Must have been a security camera in that house. Course they don’t care about shit like that, they all look just like each other. But you’re unique. And I’m afraid you’re a marked woman now.”

Madrone was too tired to react, too tired to think. She followed Isis into the boat, forcing herself to stare at the water as they made their way to shore.

“Listen,” Isis said as she helped Madrone out of the boat onto the sand. “Your friend has a key to the Yacht Club gate. Six days from now, after dark, I’ll wait for you at the end of Pier C. If you need to get away, I’ll take you where you want to go.”

“I want to go home,” Madrone said, without thinking.

“Might be time,” Isis said. “Be a lot tougher down here with your stats on vid.”

“Why the Yacht Club? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Safest mooring on this stretch of beach. Last place they look for a pirate. Now, can you make it up that path?”

“If I have to.”

The path wound up the shoulder of the hill, and Madrone made it, barely, by willing her exhausted body to go on. She waited, hidden by a clump of wild mustard, until a sleek black car pulled up and stopped. Sara opened the door,
leaned on the rooftop for a moment as if admiring the view. Using the car to screen her from the roadway, Madrone ran, crouching, and slid into the back seat.

“Head down,” Sara said, sliding behind the wheel and starting the engine. They were off.

They drove in silence, down the coast and then inland on the winding boulevard that ran by the feet of the canyons.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” Madrone said after a long while.

“My pleasure,” Sara said. “I’ve often thought about that day we spent together.”

“Yes, me too,” Madrone said.

“You never came back.”

“It was too dangerous. I was afraid for you.”

“You went to Beth’s.”

“Once. That was dangerous too. Twice would be much worse.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to lie or make excuses. I’m aware that you’re not in love with me.”

Santa Madre de todos los dioses, Madrone thought, what now?

“If you were,” Sara said, “you would have risked anything to come back. As I would, for you,” she added softly.

I am too tired for this, Madrone thought. I can barely think, much less answer her. But I have to say something. She was still crouched down in the back seat of the car, and she couldn’t see Sara’s face.

“I didn’t know you felt like that.”

“Wasn’t it obvious?”

“It was … beautiful. Wonderful. But I didn’t know you took it so seriously.”

“You don’t know me well.”

“I don’t,” Madrone admitted. And you don’t know me at all, she wanted to add, but she stopped herself. You are in love with your own fantasy. Why did sex get so complicated down here, when it had always been so simple before? How did she end up using people, hurting people? Because she was using Sara now, and she would use her more, if she needed to, to rescue Katy. Maybe that was wrong, but she was gaining a sharp, ruthless edge from using herself too hard. They were rounding a curve and she was suddenly nauseated, her bee senses outraged by the fumes and the speed.

“Did you really murder that little girl, like the vidnews said?” Sara asked abruptly.

“What little girl?”

“The little Angel girl. They showed pictures, in full detail. And the man. The vidnews love that sort of thing.”

“No,” Madrone said. “She was caught in the raid—they destroyed one of our bases. We went to the house to try to take her back, but we were too late. The man had killed her, and the Angels killed him. I couldn’t stop them.”

“I didn’t think you would kill a little girl. The man I could understand. I could do that myself if only I could work up the nerve.”

“Sara, I’ve never killed anybody. I hope I never have to. I was raised to believe in nonviolence.”

“But you help the Web. And they kill people.”

Madrone could not answer her. It’s true, she thought, and I question it every day, every raid. But can I honestly imagine nonviolence transforming the Stebners of the world? Or the Angels practicing it? And yet we are not winning here with violence either. The car swerved again, and Madrone let out a soft moan.

“Are you okay?” Sara asked.

“Just motion sickness,” Madrone said.

“We’re almost there.”

Sara pulled the car up the drive and into the open garage at Beth’s boarding-house.

“Wait here,” she said to Madrone. “I’ll find Beth.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Madrone said. It was a relief to lie still, curled up on the back seat, with no movement to disturb her throbbing head. After a moment, Sara returned.

“Quick,” she said.

Madrone slid out the car door and followed Sara. At the back of the garage, a door opened into the back hall, and from there a stairway led down to the basement room she remembered.

Madrone sank gratefully into one of the comfortable shabby couches scattered about the room. She began to cough.

“I’ve had Gloria put some tea on,” Beth said, entering. The lines seemed scrolled a bit more deeply around her eyes, and her forehead furrowed as she felt Madrone’s brow with the back of her hand. “You need some nursing and some feeding up. Sara tells me you almost drowned.”

Madrone nodded. She was trying not to cough, but it was impossible to soothe her outraged lungs.

“That can have serious aftereffects, you know. Are you developing pneumonia?”

Madrone finally succeeded in taking a long, clear breath. “I don’t think so.”

“I’ll get my stethoscope. You could have fluid in your lungs. The salt draws it in.”

Madrone submitted to Beth’s ministrations. Sara brought down tea and
sandwiches, and they ate. It was nice, Madrone thought, to be fussed over and pampered a bit—by two white women, no less.
Diosa
, she had changed, to think of them that way. Yes, the Southlands had changed her.

She was tired. Too much had happened in the last few days, or maybe it was the fatigue of months settling on her at last. How good it would be to stay here, rest, not think about anything for a while. If it weren’t for Katy.…

“I need help with something,” Madrone said. “That’s really what I came here for.”

“What?”

“There’s a woman, a friend of mine. She got caught in the raid. She’s just about nine months pregnant, and we think she might be at the Research Center.”

“Poor thing,” Sara said.

“I want to get her out. Will you help me?”

“You don’t ask for much, do you?” Beth said.

“It’s important.”

“It’s impossible,” Beth said. “The place is heavily guarded.”

“I’ll think of something.”

“You’d better think about resting, recovering some strength.”

“I can’t rest, thinking about Katy in that place.”

“You may have to.”

Madrone bit down on her lower lip. I don’t want to cry, I don’t want to tell these women about my mother or Poppy and have them soothe me with their white hands. Goddess, what is wrong with me?

“Don’t some of your girls have assignments there?” Sara asked. “Couldn’t you at least find out if this girl is there?”

“We could do that,” Beth admitted. “Marcia would do that for us. But how do you figure on getting in there and getting her out?”

“I’ll think of something,” Madrone repeated. “Maybe Marcia can tell me the routine, how they do their procedures. If I could get a uniform, I could go in as a nurse.”

“You could never be a nurse. They don’t let colored into the training programs.”

“Fuck that!”

Beth stared at her in surprise. I’m losing it, Madrone thought. I’m very close to the edge of losing it.

“I’m sorry. I’m just not used to this racial bullshit. But they must let us darkies do something. Who the hell empties the bedpans?”

“Blacks do that,” Beth said. “You could be an aide, maybe.”

“That’s what I’ll be,” Madrone said, smiling up at Beth. “I’ll work something out. I have six days.”

“Six days!”

“Before my pirate friend comes back. That’s the only way I can figure to get out of here, after.”

“You better rest quickly, then,” Beth said. “Six days!”

“Ill help you,” Sara said, pouring out a cup of tea and setting it on the low table in front of the couch where Madrone lay.

“Thanks, we’ll need a driver.”

“You’ll need a hearse,” Beth said.

“You’re so encouraging,” Sara said.

“Sara, are you out of your mind? You’re no revolutionary. What if you get caught? What if your husband finds out?”

“He’s already found out—about Angela. He thinks she’s Mary Ellen’s child, and he’s given me a month to get rid of them both.”

“Oh, no! How’d he find her?”

“He went down to the basement to look for his old golf clubs, Jesus knows why. It’s not the sort of thing he does; usually he just bellows at me or the servants to find whatever it is. He was furious, not just that she was there but that I was lying to him.”

“What are you going to do?” Beth asked.

“I want to come with you,” Sara said to Madrone. “Mary Ellen and the baby too. When you go, we’ll all go with you.”

“Sara, this isn’t a widescreen,” Beth protested. “You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

“But I know what I’m getting out of. What else can I do? Can I throw my sister’s child out into the street, and Mary Ellen, who’s taken care of me all my life? And there’s no life for Angela here, even if Lance hadn’t found her. She may be black, but she’s my flesh and blood too. I want to take her somewhere she can have a chance. I want to take her to the North.”