Authors: Mark Souza
The council got up to leave. Brother Duffy was still clearly agitated. The council filed out through the side door with the exception of Brother Nastasi who remained behind.
“You will stay here on the Connors’ farm until your status is determined.” Nastasi turned to Robyn and Hawthorne. “Why don’t you two carry the bags into the house?”
Robyn and Hawthorne glanced at one another. They both understood they were being dismissed so the giant could speak with Moyer alone. Robyn unloaded the cart and followed Hawthorne out the side door. A group of children dodged out of Robyn’s way and giggled. A young girl with long blond hair and serious eyes took one of the bags from Robyn and walked with her. “What is it like where you are from?” the girl asked.
Robyn knelt down next to the girl and smiled. “Imagine all these trees are shiny buildings many times taller than the tallest tree, so tall they block out the sun except at mid-day. Now imagine the corn field where cornstalks are people, thousands upon thousands of them, busy people in clothes that light up with pictures.”
“That sounds beautiful.”
“It is.”
More beautiful than here?” the girl asked.
Robyn took in the view, the trees and corn swaying in the breeze, the wildflowers in bloom along the road. “No, not more beautiful than here.”
The girl smiled and took Robyn’s hand.
Nastasi went to the front of the barn and swung the large doors open. “Let me give you the tour,” he said. Moyer and Nastasi walked down the horse path leading through the cornfield toward the creek. The corn stood waist high in long, neat rows like wet hair that had been swept back with a coarse comb. Nastasi tugged at a long stalk of grass from one of the tall tufts growing next to the road. He placed it between his lips at the side of his mouth. Its seed head bounced and bobbed as Nastasi walked. Moyer watched him quizzically.
“Give it a try,” Nastasi said. “It won’t hurt you.”
Moyer plucked a stalk and inspected the end.
“The white part is soft and sweet,” Nastasi said, “Some people eat only that, but I prefer to keep going. I chew the green portion and suck out the juice. It’s a different flavor.”
Moyer put the stalk in his mouth, unsure of what to expect. He was surprised by the texture, and then by the taste. It was mildly sweet and musty, different from anything he had ever tasted before.
Nastasi grinned as he noted Moyer’s expression. “It’s either a flavor you like or you don’t.”
Moyer let the taste fill his mouth. He glanced behind him at the people gathered on the Connors’ porch. “Is Brother Bonderenko…?”
Nastasi raised his snowy brows. “Anna’s father? Yes, he is.”
Moyer looked at the giant and then at his feet. “Did Anna ever come here?”
Nastasi’s mouth tightened into a frown. “No. I wanted her to, and so did her father, but she couldn’t turn her back on what was happening in the capital. She thought she could do more good by remaining in the city and teaching the next generation. I think she would have loved it here.”
Moyer’s eyes settled on the cornfield. A breeze pushed the stalks in a long, rolling wave from the creek toward the hill. “Why would this area be considered commercially unviable?”
“The creek,” Nastasi said. “After the genetic plague, the population dropped. The demand for food dropped in kind, so the corporations determined which areas required the least amount of money to farm. Because of the creek's winding path, the tillable areas are oddly shaped and take more time to plant and harvest. It’s much more efficient to plant in open areas where fields are square, so they closed this area down. Simple economics, really. But for us it was a miracle.
“Everything had to be as it was for us to have survived and God made it so. When the corporations withdrew, they left the old railroad running and the library intact. We wouldn’t have made it without that. The library held all the ancient knowledge we required to survive; farming methods, weaving, sewing, wood construction, metal working, food preservation – things none of us knew.
“We thought we knew everything we needed, but some things can not be learned from books. The first winter was brutal. Nearly half of us died.”
Moyer stopped and pulled the grass stalk from his lips. “What’s going to happen to us?”
Nastasi turned toward Moyer, his face creased with concern. “I won’t sugar coat this. There’s a chance the council will ask you to leave. Some of them are scared. We are off the grid here and invisible. It’s what allows us to exist. If Security Services tracks you here, they will find us.
“The council may feel they have to sacrifice you to save the community. If that happens, you have your choice of going back to the city or trying your luck on your own further down the train line. You probably won’t survive either way.”
“Can you influence them?”
The corners of the giant’s mouth raised a little. “They are good people. They may struggle for a while, but I’m confident they will come to the right decision.” He gazed up at the sun and raised his hood to protect his unpigmented skin. “I do enjoy the warmth on my face, but I can only tolerate so much.”
They reached the edge of the trees where the path swung down to the creek. The giant took a seat on a fallen log beside the road in the shade. Moyer sat next to him. Across the field, children chased one another playing tag in front of the Connors’ house. Robyn and Hawthorne sat on the front porch talking with the women.
“Who are these people?” Moyer asked.
“We have a mix. Some are retirees escaping the prospect of living out their final days on the Ring of Fire. Some heard the word of God, felt the truth of it, and gave up everything to follow. Some are young couples who thought they would never be able to afford a baby.”
“And the children?”
“The children were all born here.”
Moyer thought of the faces in the crowd outside the library. Some were teenagers. “That would mean you have been here for…”
“Sixteen years for some of us,” Nastasi said.
“How do you do it? Obviously you can’t make everything yourselves.”
“You would be surprised how little we get from the outside. We trade goods in the city on the black market, usually fresh produce from our farms in return for medicine, lye for making soap, glass containers for storing food, and a few tools and building supplies. The rest we do ourselves.”
Another gust pulsed through the corn marking its path with bent stalks and a ripple of silver through a field of green. “Where do you get your seed? You can’t get that on the black market.”
“We have never needed seed.”
“What?” Moyer said. “All seed is controlled by Global Brands and good for only one growing season.”
“You seem to know a lot about farming.”
“Not really, I just know strange bits of trivia on a lot of odd topics.”
Nastasi snorted out a laugh and glanced sidelong at Moyer. “The corn was growing in patches in this field when we first arrived here. There are two theories on where it came from. One is that it was a gift from God, that He knew we were coming and that in His infinite wisdom and love for us, prepared the way.
“The other is that when a crop is harvested, a small amount spills on the ground and some of the plants near the edges are missed completely by harvesting machines. So even in the days when genetically altered, high-yield seed was planted in this field, there was always a small amount of the ancient fertile crop present. When Global Brands abandoned the area, the old fertile strain flourished again. It was here, waiting.”
“Volunteers,” Moyer muttered.
“I beg your pardon.”
“Crops that return after planting stops are called volunteers,” Moyer said. “It’s another of those useless bits of information stuck in my head.”
“You are an interesting man, Mr. Winfield.”
“Moyer, my first name is Moyer.”
“Drago,” Nastasi said, offering his hand.
Moyer’s hand was enveloped in the giant’s. It reminded him of when he shook hands with adults as a child.
“
Volunteers
, it’s a good word,” Nastasi said. “The strong survive to do and be what they were meant to. We who live in this valley are volunteers, too, returning to live as we were meant to. We have taken root, and our numbers grow. One day we will spread beyond our valley to take back the world, and God will reclaim what is His. Corporate oppression, much like genetically altered crops that can’t reproduce, is an abomination to God and can’t last.
“People in the cities live in fear. Beneath that, anger and resentment swell. A spark is all it will take to set the world aflame one day, and it will burn away the tyranny and lies blinding the rest of humankind. I believe that day is close at hand. I can feel it, Moyer”
In the distance, Robyn sat laughing with the Connors girls in a ring on the porch. Moyer couldn’t make out what they were doing, but supposed they were shelling peas. Their joy was a bitter counterpoint to the guilt flattening his soul. The giant sat placidly staring into an azure sky. Perhaps he saw his God there. Moyer dropped his face into his hands. “I have made things worse. I’m sorry. I gave Perko the Worm because I was too weak to stop it. I did everything he wanted because of my desperation to please and my fear of failure.”
Nastasi stared into Moyer’s eyes and smiled, “Man can’t know the designs of Heaven. You may yet have a role to play.”
Moyer had to turn away. He couldn’t accept Nastasi’s kindness or misplaced faith. “Do you know why I did it?”
Nastasi nodded, “For a baby. Viktor Perko lied to you. He lies to everyone.”
Moyer sighed. “You know what’s ironic? I don’t know if I wanted a baby. Robyn does. This was all an effort to keep her from leaving me. I hoped if she was happy, we might… I don’t know.”
Nastasi placed a heavy arm across Moyer’s shoulders. “Whether you did it for a child, or you did it for your wife, what you did was for love. It’s not your fault Viktor Perko used that love against you. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Look, regardless of whether I can develop a virus, you will never get close enough to implant it. Digi-Soft is a fortress, and I no longer have access.”
“When I was a soldier,” Nastasi said, “my squadron was dropped from the air at night behind enemy lines. We accidentally landed in a huge lake many kilometers from shore and it appeared we were doomed. Do you know what you do when faced with the impossible?”
Moyer shook his head.
“Everything you can,” Nastasi said. “We can’t implant a virus unless we have one. So let’s start by doing that. We’ll tackle the next steps as they come. Whether we prevail or we don’t, we will try. No goal can be accomplished without at least trying.”
Nastasi stood. “We should be getting back. I don’t want Brother Duffy to have the council’s ear uncontested.”
Chapter 35
R
obyn came to the dinner table pink and happy with her hair still wet from a bath. The long table sat fourteen. The council and men had already eaten on an earlier shift. Hawthorne, Robyn and Moyer sat with the children on the next. Clay and wood bowls held assorted vegetables, and a platter near the head of the table, meat. Moyer reached for the bowl of mashed potatoes in front of him.
“Let us say grace,” said Sister Connors from the head of the table. Moyer set down the bowl and wooden spoon. A boy across from him snickered. Hands were extended, neighbor to neighbor, and heads bowed. Moyer took Robyn’s hand and the girl’s next to him.
“Thank you our Lord for the bounty you have provided and the shelter of your grace. Thank you also for the company of the Winfields, and Justice Hawthorne, and may you look after them as you have us. Also help Evan understand it is not polite to laugh at the mistakes of others lest he also be laughed at. Amen.”
Moyer waited and watched, determined not to breach etiquette again. Food was served and bowls passed to the right. He reached once more for the mashed potatoes. He noted names as requests were made to have things passed down.
“Sister Connors?” he asked. The woman at the head of the table turned. “What is this? It’s delicious.”
“That’s rabbit. We raise them here. The children look after them. And you can call me Betsy.”
“And what is this?” he said, pointing to a pile of stewed leaves on his plate.
“Those are nettles.”
“Nettles? I’ve never heard of them before.”
“They are quite important here. They grow wild near the creek and we use them for food, and to make dye, and as fiber for clothing.”
At the end of the meal, the children cleared the table while the adults continued talking. “I met a pregnant woman when I was here last,” Moyer said when there was a lull. “Her name was Margret, I believe. I haven’t noticed her since we arrived. Do you think my wife could meet her?”
The women exchanged glances. The mood at the table changed.
“Moyer,” Robyn said, “that’s not necessary.”
“No, honey, I want you to see for yourself.”
Betsy spoke; her eyes troubled. “Margret and her baby died during child birth.”
“Died?”
“Yes,” she said.
Moyer remembered Margret’s warm trusting eyes, her hand guiding his to her belly, the heat of her skin, and the surprising thump against his hand. He felt a rush of sadness. He hadn’t considered the possibility that natural childbirth carried any more risk than picking up a baby from Hogan-Perko. “Does that happen often?”
The women turned to one another as if in silent conference. “I wouldn’t say often, but it does happen on occasion. Once a woman delivers her first, things usually go easier for the rest.”
Light from a single candle cast a weak, amber glow in the upstairs room. Robyn lay next to Moyer in a small bed intended for a child. She shifted restlessly, still not ready for sleep. Moyer tried to adapt, searching for a comfortable position in the space remaining each time Robyn squirmed.
They had raised the window hoping to relieve the stifling heat radiated from the roof which had baked all day in the sun. Crickets filled the air with their songs and the scent of Morning Glories drifted in on the breeze.