Untitled Agenda 21 Sequel (9781476746852) (23 page)

S
teven wondered what caused the sound of hail on metal so far out in the Human Free Zone. He figured it must be something that was abandoned long ago, when this remnant of a road was still intact. His men heard it, too, and were watching him for his reaction. They moved closer to him. He could smell the odor of their wet jackets and see the rain dripping from their faces in silvery rivulets. He motioned for Nigel to lead the group toward the pinging sound. Steven ran his thumb over the butt of his pistol, then made sure the safety was off. He was ready for whatever might happen.

They moved forward cautiously, five men stooped to a low profile, no more than shadows moving through the night. The fierce thunder grew louder, closer, and more ominous. The trees on either side of them swayed in the wind, and branches whipped back and forth, groaning. Twigs blew across their path, tumbling end over end. Wet leaves clung to their clothing, their cheeks. The pinging was louder; they were closer to whatever it was. A flash of lightning lit the darkness with a flickering white light.

Nigel began running now, moving toward the sound. Steven could
make out a dark shadow, something long, rectangular. Another flash of lightning lit the sky, illuminating the object: an abandoned school bus, a relic from the before-times. Still cautious, but eager for shelter, they crept closer, knees bent, backs bowed, heads up, light from their torches slicing through the night.

They were close enough now that with the next lightning strike Steven thought he could make out the shape of at least one human head in one of the windows. His detector wasn't vibrating, so he might have just imagined it. There was no sound other than the hail, the rain, and the wind. Clouds covered the sky. The moon and stars were obliterated. All he could see was the dark, hostile night.

Steven moved to the front of the line, the men close behind him; close enough that he could hear their breathing in spite of the storm. There was a vague outline of an opening where there must have been a door at one time. Steven signaled for the others to stay where they were. He would scope this out alone and determine the potential risks and benefits of taking shelter inside the bus. Cautiously, gun in hand, he approached that black hole of a doorway.

A hailstone hit his cheek, right below his eye. As he crept closer, the wind plastered his cold, wet hood against the side of his face. Steven moved slowly, but his mind raced ahead. It just didn't feel right. He could sense it. These escapees were more determined, more elusive, than the shadow people he had tracked before. What was driving them? If it was blind panic, he'd have captured them by now. And then there was the whole Julia thing. Was that her he'd seen in there? It couldn't be . . .

A tree branch crashed to the ground beside him. Then another one fell, hitting the top of the bus with force. If anybody was asleep in there, they'd be awake now.

Soon enough, Steven was at the doorway.

Lightning flashed all around him. He stood and stared.

There in the doorway, in the unholy light of the storm, stood an Enforcer in his coal-black uniform, pointing a gun at him.

The metal of the bus must have stopped the detector from working. It had failed to vibrate and warn Steven of danger. What good was all of the Republic's technology if it didn't work when you needed it to? But he knew his gun would work if he had a chance to use it. He slipped it into his waistband. He didn't want this Enforcer to know he was armed.

What the hell was an Enforcer doing out here? Steven made the circle sign against his hood; it had slipped down even lower over his forehead. The Enforcer stood staring at Steven and finally made the circle sign in return.

“May we come in out of the rain, sir?” Steven asked him.

“How many total are there in your group?”

Steven wondered if he should bring all the men in or just a couple of them. He could bring in the new ones, to keep them close, and leave Adam and Nigel outside in case there was trouble. Better not try to fool this Enforcer. Better play it straight.

“Five, sir.” The wind was carrying his words away. “Five, sir,” Steven shouted again, louder. Steven saw the Enforcer look back into the bus. So there were others in there. Who were they? None of this made any sense.

“Let me see your team,” the Enforcer shouted.

Steven motioned for them to come and stand near him. Their torches shone on the Enforcer's face.

“Turn off your torches,” the Enforcer said.

One by one the torches were extinguished.

A tree branch crashed to the ground behind them, just missing Guy, who wrapped his arms around his chest.
Man up
, Steven wanted to shout at him.

“Wait here. Don't enter yet.”

They had to wait, standing in the rain. He was, after all, an Enforcer.

Already Steven hated him.

A
s John walked down the aisle toward the rear of the bus, Joan and Julia stared at him, their eyes wide with fright, their lips trembling. With each step John took, he thought frantically, searching for an idea that would keep them safe and, at the same time, hide their identity and delay the Earth Protectors' search for David and Emmy. John sat on the edge of a seat in front of Joan and faced them.

Julia leaned forward and whispered, “Is it the Protectors?” She had a line of sweat above her lip that shimmered when lightning lit the inside of the bus.

John nodded. “Yes, five men. They probably have guns.”

“Just Steven has one. I saw it. No one else does.” Julia seemed eager to share information.

“Tell me their names again.”

“Steven, Adam, Nigel, Guy.” She paused. “And Winston.”

“What else you remember about them? Especially about Steven?”

She thought for a moment. “He likes to make his own rules. He said so himself. And the way he acted was kind of arrogant when the Enforcer deployed us; I got the feeling he either hates Enforcers or is afraid of them. Maybe both.” She shrugged.

Another branch crashed against the bus. How long would the Protectors be willing stay outside in this storm? Julia said Steven likes to make his own rules. John wondered if Steven would lash out at an Enforcer. Would he be filled with hate, fear, or a combustible combination of both?

Joan reached forward and put her hand on John's shoulder. Julia noticed and looked puzzled.

“Tell her the truth, John,” Joan whispered. “Truth leads to trust.”

“The truth?” Julia asked. “What truth?”

Yes, the truth. John knew he had to take that risk. “I'm not really an Enforcer. I'm just a man in an Enforcer's uniform. We”—he pointed to Joan and himself—“are two of the people Steven's team is looking for. The others they're looking for are our son, David, his wife, Emmeline, and two children.”

“You can't let him know that!” Julia pounded the seat beside her, with as much fright as vehemence. “He has to think you're an Enforcer. Do whatever you have to do, say whatever you have to say. I'll follow your lead.”

“If we let them in here with us, they won't be out there looking for our family,” John said. “And maybe we can stop them, God willing.”

Joan nodded in agreement. “You lead. We'll follow.” Their ashen faces were grim with resolve.

Taking a deep breath, John went back up the aisle to the gaping doorway. The men were still standing there, huddled together. The last branch that had fallen was lying just inches behind them on the ground, a gnarled knobby piece big enough to have killed one or more of the men if it had fallen just right.

“You and your men can shelter with us, provided you follow my rules.” John pointed his gun at them.

They inched closer to the door.

“First, give me your gun.”

Steven shook his head no.

“Then no shelter will be given.”

A blast of wind was forceful enough to push the men a bit sideways as though they were made of straw. It swirled, cold and full of fury, around John in the doorway.

John gave him an icy stare, then continued, “Do you think so little of your team that you would deny them shelter? So be it.”

The men murmured to each other.

John turned to walk away.

“Wait!” Steven said. “I'll give you my gun.”

“Give it to me handle first, barrel pointing toward yourself.”

Steven did as he was told. The gun was wet and cold in John's hand. He held it leveled at the men, and slipped his own gun into his waistband.

“Second, leave your packs and torches in the front of the bus.” Julia had an ax in her pack; these men would also.

They all nodded in agreement and slipped their packs off their shoulders, and their torches off their heads.

“Third, you and your men go to the back of the bus. Understand?” John would station himself between these men and the women.

Steven nodded and his hood slipped farther down on his forehead, pouring rain over his face.

“Fourth: There are two women on this bus. You will not speak to them. One is a team member that you abandoned.”

There was another vicious flash of lightning, followed by an angry roar of thunder.

“The other is a woman you should have captured but didn't.” John spoke loudly enough for Joan and Julia to hear him. They would follow his lead. “I, an Enforcer, was able to do what you couldn't. I assisted one of your own team members and captured a fugitive alone. Something you couldn't do with your entire team. This will be reported to the Authorities. Now bring your men in.”

John stepped aside and let them pass by him, one by one, eyes
downcast. They dropped their packs in a heap inside the door by the driver's seat. Shuffling their feet, they made their way to the back of the bus and sat in silence, two to a seat.

“Spread out. One to a seat, with empty seats between each of you.” John didn't want them grouped together, whispering among themselves, conspiring and planning. Separated, they'd have less power. Individuals always have less power than groups.

John sat behind Joan and Julia and leaned against the side of the bus. He was the only thing between those men and the women. In spite of his guns and his Enforcers uniform, he was filled with fear. Would he be enough to keep them at bay?

Steven was a desperate man.

Desperate men are dangerous men.

P
aul's old bones were right. Dusk rolled in with great black clouds churning on the horizon. Distant thunder roared and echoed: boom, boom, boom. Cold air swirled through trees where birds clung to sturdy branches and the wind had a fierce, howling sound.

“The wind is what I always imagine God's voice must sound like. Powerful, and not to be ignored,” Paul said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“We best move inside,” Paul said. He didn't answer my question.

We gathered around the fire pit, sitting on the log benches Paul and David had moved closer to the fire's light and warmth. David's arm no longer caused him pain when he used it. Soon we could set off on our journey to my old home.

“This reminds me of Boy Scout camp,” David said. “We'd sit around the fire and tell scary stories, trying to frighten each other.”

“Maybe Paul could tell us stories. Would you, Paul?” I said.

“What kind of stories would you like to hear?”

“Stories!” Micah repeated excitedly. He hopped up from the log he was sitting on and fed some more wood into the fire pit. We would use up this small supply quickly.

“True stories, important stories. History. Tell us history,” I said.

“I would be honored,” Paul said. He settled on one of the benches. “Let me gather my thoughts.” He had a long, narrow branch lying across his lap. Using his knife, he started carving a small notch at one end.

Micah watched him, leaning close to the stick and the knife. “What are you making?”

“I'm trying to make a spear for you, young man. Figuring it out as I go. But your head is so close, I can't see what I'm doing. And I don't think this is the best piece of wood for the job.”

I remembered the peg that held the edge of the tent at the farm commune. I reached into our second bundle by the wall of the cave and pulled it out. Paul smiled when I handed it to him. “Perfect. One little notch at the end will hold a sharp stone or piece of hard shell.” He started carving once more.

The black walls of the cave flickered with our reflections in the rosy-red fire's glow.

Ingrid handed out mugs of tea and settled next to Paul, resting her gray head against his shoulder, her long braid dangling down. He laid aside the peg and began to unbraid her hair, letting it fall free over her shoulder. She smiled at him and patted his hand.

“True stories, stories from history, are more frightening than anything anyone could ever think up. More frightening because they are real. And more frightening because the same story happens over and over again even though people cry out ‘Never again!' ”

“Never again, never again,” Ingrid murmured, twisting her hands together.

“What kind of things are you talking about?” David leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his chin on his hands. His profile was so handsome in this romantic light, with his dark hair draped in a curve across his forehead.

“Naturally, most people want to be left alone, want to take care of themselves and their families. But events get in the way.”

“What kind of events?” I asked.

“It's getting late. Telling all I want to tell you would take too long. So let me summarize, because even though these events happened at different times, in different places, they have a common theme. The facts are these. Some people got power because they desired it more than anything, and would do or say anything to get it. They either had some pathology—a twisted way of thinking, that made them want power—or, when they got power, they wanted even more, until it became pathological. Power leads to pathology or the other way around. Either way, the little people, people like you and me, were controlled and at risk. They couldn't control their own destiny.”