Behind the Stars (5 page)

“Why not?” Jackson’s voice softened as he reached for my chin, pulling my face back toward his.

I couldn’t move. My heart pounded, and I felt my cheeks turning pink.

“Huh?” Jackson teased looking into my eyes. “Why you so worried about me?”

“You know why.” I averted my eyes from what was going on with his shorts.

“Why, Pip?” He leaned closer so I could feel his breath on my lips, the cold drops of water falling on my arms.

“Stop, Jackson,” I whispered. “You know I don’t like it when you do that.”

“Do what?” He kissed me soft and slow then jumped back in. I could still feel his cold fingers on my chin, and his kiss left the taste of cool creek water in my mouth.

“That creek’s like ice,” I said. “You’re gonna freeze to death.”

He swam back over to me and looked up. “Why won’t you say you’re in love with me?”

My eyebrows flew up. “I say it. Why you need to hear it all the time? You got low self-esteem?”

“Yes,” Jackson laughed. “Always with you.”

I pulled up my legs and stood, turning to head down the path. “I’ve got to get to Doc’s.”

I’d only gone a few feet when I felt him running up behind me. I squealed again as strong wet arms clamped around my waist. He had me off the ground and headed back to the water.

“Jackson! If you throw me in that creek...”

I could hear him laughing through his breath at my ear. He held me over the pool, and I didn’t move. Struggling would only make him drop me.

“Say it now,” he said, still holding me off the ground.

“Jackson!”

“This is your last chance.”

“I love you!” I cried, pulling on his wrists holding me tight around the waist.

They relaxed, and as soon as my feet touched the ground, I spun around mad. I pushed his chest hard with both my hands and stomped down the path frowning.

“I hope D’Lo’s buddies pound you into the turf,” I yelled back over my shoulder.

“But you love me!” His holler broke with his laugh.

I kept stomping away as a smile crept across my lips.

––––––––

I
sat up straight in my bunk. A sob caught in my throat, and I pulled my knees to my chin. For a moment I held on, quiet in the dark. Sounds of sleep filled the large room where we were all housed together, but I heard someone else whimpering in the darkness, someone like me, missing a loved one or wanting to go home.

I eased down onto my side, still holding my knees to my chest. My head turned, and I studied the metal grid of the bunk above. I thought about windows on the ceiling. Maybe he was somewhere in the woods, sleeping under the stars. Maybe he was thinking of me and wondering if I were still alive, believing just like I was that we’d find each other and everything would be okay.

I closed my eyes and breathed the musty smell of old mattresses and the sharp tang of pine needles. My mind drifted to what I’d heard behind the dining hall—about our captors calling us humans and talking about ships. It was crazy, and I still didn’t know what to think of it.

I bet they knew I was there the whole time and staged that conversation to trick me.  They wanted me to believe they were something...
alien
. The word made me want to throw up, but if it was a trick, it was smart. Just like that chicken-wire fence.

They wanted to scare me or make me think I was losing my mind. The fair guy had been watching D’Lo and me and smiling in his creepy way. He probably hoped I’d tell everybody what I heard, and we’d all be too scared to do anything. That was the most reasonable explanation. Defeat us from the inside.

Besides, aliens had skinny little bodies and big bald heads with giant black eyes. I’d seen the pictures, and Jackson made me watch that alien autopsy show on TV.

Chewing my lip, I remembered that second time I woke up in the room with the gun. The nurse’s eyes made me shiver in the dark. They were close to alien, but at the same time, nobody else had them. What if that was part of the trick? Plant the idea when I was drunk on anesthesia.

Aliens glowed in the dark and made weird screeching noises. Or they busted out of people’s chests and looked like overgrown insects with machine gun arms. Not only that, the woman Cato said we were working for the common good. That was what the Communists always said. If they had ships and could leave, why hold us at all? What did they need us for?

The only way it made sense was if it were a trick. They thought we were dumb Mississippi rednecks who could be duped into believing alien invasion stories. They expected us to go on the TV shows and talk about how we’d been probed once this was all over.

Well, I’d show these Communist losers. I’d find Jackson and we’d
both
show them.

Rolling over in my squeaky cot, I tried to go back to sleep, but my brain kept working. We were the grassroots heroes—just like in the movies. We’d identify their one weakness and exploit it. A yawn pulled my jaw hard, and I blinked a few times, picturing us hiding out, amassing an army of resisters. My eyes grew heavy, and I drifted back to sleep dreaming of Jackson taking charge and us saving the world.

* * *

T
he loud tone jerked me awake. I dropped to the floor with my eyes still closed and stepped into my gray coveralls. I pulled my hair into a ponytail and followed my group into the dining hall wondering if we’d be digging potatoes again today.

As usual, our plates held an egg and a piece of steak. It was like we were all on that strict protein diet Star McLain liked to brag about back when I was a cheerleader. Caveman or Paleo or whatever it was. As cheer captain, all she’d done all football season was bark orders and make passes at Jackson as if I weren’t right there.

It seemed silly now. Stuff like that used to matter.

We finished eating and deposited our trays on the wide metal counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the hall. Team Two was already working, and I needed to talk to Cleve again this afternoon. We needed to get moving.

“Five of you will work the garden today, digging potatoes,” Shubuta said. “Three of you will work the dairy, milking and churning for butter.”

She walked among us tapping our shoulders, giving us our tasks. Yolanda was tapped for the dairy, Flora was back on the potato line. Already a drop of sweat was running down my cheek. It was going to be a hot morning, and I silently hoped I’d get tapped for the shady, breezy barn. When Shubuta got to me, she stopped.

“You are very small.” She surveyed me as she made a note on her clipboard. “Are you strong?”

She hadn’t stopped at anyone else, and I wondered if they were closing in on me. I fixed my eyes on my boots, trying not to shiver. D’Lo said the soldier Ovett liked to taunt them in the fields. He told them leaders would be neutralized, and we debated what that could mean. Shock collar? Solitary confinement? Death?

The woman Shubuta waited, and I stared at the ground, not answering. Playing dumb was the best tactic.

“All rendered thick and useless,” she breathed, shaking her head. Her voice went loud and sharp, as if to command my attention. “You! Are you strong enough to milk?”

I nodded, and she signaled for me to stand with the dairy group. Then she continued down the row.

“Dairy hands will go with Oma. Row workers will stay with me. Special breaks will be given for those demonstrating the best effort.”

I kept my head down as I followed Yolanda and our group into the barn. Flora and I shared a brief smile as she turned the opposite direction and went with her team to the field.

Inside the airy building, nine cows stood beside stools and pails. The sight of those big auburn bodies comforted me in a way I never expected, and I automatically went to the closest one and sat. Rubbing my hands to warm them, I took hold of one of the long, finger-like teats.

Most all dairy farms used mechanical milkers these days, but Dr. Green had showed me how to milk by hand. He was a kind man, and he hated the big dairies with their hormones and mass-production. He’d told me I’d learn to appreciate the kinship of following these animals through their life cycle on the farm.

We helped impregnate them, saw them through gestation, and then delivered their calves. Milking was about the easiest part of the process, he said, and he was right. I liked doing it, my head pressed into the large animal’s side. I developed a sort-of maternal affection for them, like I really was their family doctor.

I hadn’t realized Cato was standing there with the other female soldier Oma. The soldier was all prepared to demonstrate milking, but it was too late for me. A stream of milk hissed against my bucket before I had time to remember I was supposed to act dumb.

“You know about cows?” Cato stepped forward, and despite her calm, I could tell she was eager for my answer.

I stood quickly, almost knocking my stool over as I wiped my hands on my coveralls and stared at the ground. The cow groaned, and a pang of guilt tinged the fear pulsing in my chest. The woman spoke again.

“Do not be afraid. Special skills will be rewarded. Tell me. Do you know about cows?”

My eyes were fixed on my shoes, and I debated how to answer. I knew everything about cows. Working with Dr. Green for nine months had taught me about cows, horses, dogs, pigs. He’d even shown me a few tricks for chickens, although he said they were dumb birds only fit for giving eggs two years and then eating.

The cow emitted another frustrated groan, and my eyes tensed as I studied my shoes. Her milk had let down, and I needed to finish the job. I knew she was hurting.

Cato exhaled loudly and moved back to the front of the room where her helper Oma proceeded to teach us to milk a cow. Soon I was back on my stool relieving my beast. The three of us would milk the cows and then churn for butter.

As I sat with my head pressed against the warm, smelly flank massaging rubbery teats, I remembered being back with Jackson in what would one day be our barn. I could still see his lean body propped against a dismantled tractor, twirling a hay stalk in his mouth.

––––––––

“D
addy says he’ll start transitioning the farm to me when I’m twenty,” he said.
“What do you think about that?”

I squinted up at him from where I sat against the shed wall. “Sounds great!”

“It’s damn hot working a farm. You sure you wanna do that forever?”

He knew I hated the summer heat, but it was the first time I could remember Jackson complaining about it or questioning our plan because of it.

“There’s not much else I know how to do.”

I’d given up on my wild idea of becoming a doctor. Besides, my daddy’d been a farmer before he’d been a drunk. My brother probably would’ve done the same thing if he hadn’t gone crazy and started talking in tongues and preaching Jesus at everybody.

Anyway, we were too poor for me to go to college, and I wasn’t smart enough for a scholarship. Getting to be a doctor would take years, and I’d have to move away and leave Jackson to go to school. That kind of scared me.

“I could work at the glass factory,” I said. “Maybe answer phones or be a receptionist in an office.”

“They gonna close that glass factory in a few years.” He pushed off the tractor and walked over to sit beside me. “Haven’t you heard everybody talking?”

I shook my head. A pang of sadness hit me thinking of who all’d be out of work. Flora’s mom, Mrs. Magee, for starters.

“That’d never happen to us on a farm,” I said. “We’d be our own boss, raise all our own food, have our own cows and stuff.”

I watched him gaze out at the acres of land he’d have to plow year after year. It had never struck me that Jackson might want to do something different. He’d never mentioned it.

I kept talking, trying to get him excited about our plan again. The one we’d made at the beginning of last summer. We’d graduate high school, get married, and make this place our home.

“We could try some of those new techniques,” I said. “Like those green farmers. Then we’d know what was in everything we ate. We’d know where it came from, when it was harvested, how it was grown...”

He was unimpressed. “I guess there’s people who care about that stuff. But we’d go broke trying to find them. That kind of farming takes money, and there’s always somebody bigger out there taking shortcuts.”

I slid my hand over his. “It was just an idea.”

He pulled away. “You just wanna be dirt poor and working hard all your life, don’t you, Prentiss Puckett?”

“I don’t mind if I’m working hard with you.” I didn’t understand why he was so angry all of a sudden or what had changed since last summer. “If your daddy gives us the farm, we can make it one of those big farms and hire workers—”

“I’ll still be slaving myself to death,” he growled, getting up and dusting off the back of his jeans.

“No you won’t.” I caught his arm and tried to ease the tension. “We’ll have us a little boy cute as you who’ll help and eventually take it over from us.”

He breathed a smile and pulled me close against his chest. For a moment, he only held me, breathing hard. Then he ducked down and grabbed my mouth in a rough kiss. I steadied myself, placing a hand on his shoulder, opening to him. His tongue curled against mine, and I was sure we were back on track.

Two weeks later he announced he was going out for the football team.

* * *

M
y eyes were damp when I looked down and saw my bucket was full. The memory left me miserable, but I stood and carried the heavy pail of warm, foamy milk across the barn to where Yolanda waited to churn it.

I shoved my arm across my face to wipe any tears away with my sweat. Crying wasn’t doing me any good. I had to get with Cleve, get to watching and planning. We’d bust out, and I’d find Jackson. Or if I had trouble doing that, we’d make a Plan B, and we’d come back for everybody.

I poured the contents of my bucket into the churn looked around, forcing my mind to focus on strategy. Nine cows gave way too much milk for the number of people living in our prison-farm. I also didn’t see any bulls, so where was all the steak coming from? Another barn wasn’t in sight, and there weren’t any cows anywhere else here. There had to be another prison-farm nearby.
Maybe Jackson was there!