Untitled Agenda 21 Sequel (9781476746852) (24 page)

“At risk how?” I asked.

“Sometimes it was a civil war, or the genocide of specific groups. That's called ethnic cleansing. Citizens are stripped of their guns and then murdered by their own governments, historically within ten years after the guns are confiscated. Sometimes it's a war between nations. Other times, people died of starvation because of poor management and redistribution of property. In the last century, one hundred and seventy million people died because of events like those.”

I gasped. How many is one hundred and seventy million? How many mothers, fathers, children, aunts, uncles, and grandparents?

Outside, the thunder, lightning, and rain continued. I felt cold from my core to my skin listening to the storm outside and to the horrific words of history.

“In the history of the world, only one very special nation was founded on the principal of personal freedom, and personal destiny. That's the history you need to hold dear.”

“What nation is it?” I asked. “Where is it?”

“You mean
was
. It's gone. It was called America.”

G
eorge slipped two fingers under his ankle strap and felt the rough area where his skin had broken down.

Human skin is vulnerable to tight shackles.

A callus would form over time to prevent this kind of ulceration, but who knows how long that would take. Sanitizing solution helped prevent infection, but it burned like fury. If George could find any moss alongside the field, it would help, but there wasn't much in this area.

He lay back on his mat, hoping he could sleep, but his heart and mind had been racing since seeing Emmeline in the middle of the night, foraging in the field of peas. She had been right there, beyond his tent. He had touched her shoulder and her hand. She had stood trembling in front of him, so pale in the moonlight, so fragile. But now, when he tried to remember her features and the look on her face, the image took on a translucent quality.

He turned onto his side and pulled open the tent flap so he could see outside. It was dark, with no stars, and no moon . . . and no pale figure of a woman at the edge of the field. The wind was blowing, hard and cold. The guard would be in his own tent on a night like this. Why
didn't the other farmworkers, the ones not shackled with a ball and chain, try to escape this desolate life?

Had they no desire to make their own fate? Had that basic human desire been programmed entirely out of them? George watched their faces as he worked alongside them. They were flat, with no emotion. No tears but no smiles, either. No joy, no sorrow. All of them were younger than George, all of them were products of their narrow world—the only one most had ever known.

George had known joy. George had known sorrow. Joy is a fragile, fleeting thing. Sorrow is stronger and lasts longer. It can weigh you down, paralyze you.

Thunder rolled in from the distance. Rain began, large fat drops of it, hitting the sides of the tent, fast and furious. A puddle was already forming outside in front of the open flap. The field would be muddy tomorrow.

George had asked Emmeline if he could see his daughter. A slim thread of hope now wound around his heart. For the first time in his life he felt joy and sorrow at the same time.

Hail was beating against the tent, rapid-fire and harsh.

She had said she couldn't bring the baby here. It would be too dangerous. But she never said he couldn't see Elsa at all. He just couldn't see her
here
. He had felt the pause before she answered and sensed the hesitation in her voice. Somehow, George
would
see his baby. He had faith in Emmeline. She had always cared about people.

White jagged streaks of lightning flashed across the sky.

For one small, dark minute George thought that if he couldn't see his child, he'd crawl out of this tent with the metal ball on the end of his leg, offer it up to the god of storms, and pray for lightning to strike him.

He pushed that thought away.

Instead he vowed to lie down every night with the tent flap open, watching and waiting, hoping to see a woman and a child at the edge of the field.

D
awn rose with great red fingers of light piercing the gray sky. The storm was over. Through the window, John could see the damage it had done. Evergreens, the most vulnerable of trees with their shallow roots, lay fallen, their majestic limbs sprawled against the ground. Broken branches littered the area.

One by one the sleeping men stirred, stretching their legs, rubbing their eyes. Joan and Julia were already awake. They had communicated through silent gestures that they would take turns keeping watch through the night. By now, it was almost as though they could read each other's minds. They had formed a sense of togetherness in the middle of chaos.

“The women will go out together for a short break,” John told the men sitting behind him. They did not respond, but sat slumped in their seats. John noticed one of them had a twitch in his eyelid which he quickly covered with his hand.

Julia limped up the aisle of the bus, holding onto the backs of the seats as she went forward. It looked like she was able to put a little
weight on her injured ankle. John watched as Joan helped her off the bus and they disappeared into some thick woods.

“When the women return, you will go out one by one, and I will accompany you.”

Steven looked surprised. Any thoughts Steven might have of overpowering the women when John left the bus would soon be dashed.

The women returned in a short time and returned to their seats, watchful, waiting to see what would happen next.

John pointed to the one with the twitchy eye. “You, what's your name?”

“Guy, sir.”

“You're next.” He stood, but John held up his hand for him to stop. “First I need to give Julia something.” Still holding Steven's gun, John pulled his own gun out of his waistband and handed it to Julia. Smiling, she took it with an air of confidence. “She will use it if the situation requires it.” John motioned for Guy to exit the bus and followed him. Steven had no way of knowing that Joan also had a gun. Some things were best left secret.

Guy finished quickly and returned to the bus. Another man was standing, anxious to get off. Julia, her arm resting on the back of the seat, was pointing the gun toward the men. Her aim was steady.

“Your name?”

“Nigel, sir.”

“Move out. I'm right behind you.”

Next came Winston, then Adam. Steven would be last.

As John waited for Adam to finish, he looked at the stream. It was much higher this morning because of the torrential rains, and was flowing fast, carrying debris from trees with it. Above the roar of the water, John heard a man scream and saw Adam running toward him, his face filled with panic. Quickly, John raised his gun.

“I've been bitten. I've been bitten.” Adam was holding his right hand in his left. “A snake bit me.” He was close enough now that John could see two distinct puncture wounds on his hand.

“What kind of snake?” John asked him.

“Rattler. Big sucker. About five feet long. I was reaching down to retie my shoe. Heard the rattle. Next thing I knew, bam.” He was panting with fear. “You've got to help me.”

“Get on the bus. I'll look at it.”

“Damn, it hurts,” he said as he got on the bus. John quickly followed.

John knew from the looks on the other men's faces that they had heard what happened to Adam. Their expressions were a mixture of concern, fear, and uncertainty. Adam stumbled to the back of the bus and fell into his seat. The men clustered around him.

“Back to your seats,” John said. He turned back to Adam. “Keep your hand lower than your heart. Slow your breathing. You, Guy, take off your belt. Make a tourniquet on his arm, then sit back down.”

Guy fumbled with his belt but managed to do as he had been told.

“Shouldn't you suck the venom out?” Steven asked.

“That's an old-school treatment,” John answered. “I was a Boy Scout leader in the before-times. Current recommendations are to apply a tourniquet and immobilize the limb.”

Adam was whimpering with pain but there was nothing more John could do.

“Your turn,” John said to Steven.

“Where was the snake?” Steven asked.

“Over in that direction.” John pointed to the area where Adam had been bitten. Steven took tentative, watchful steps and went the opposite way.

Joan rummaged through the men's backpacks for nourishment cubes and passed them around. Adam refused his cube with a harsh shake of his head as he rocked back and forth in his seat, sweating and whimpering.

When he returned, Steven spoke to John in a tight, polite tone. “Sir, if I may, shouldn't we be moving out and searching for other escapees nearby?”

“You think he can travel?” John scoffed and pointed at Adam.

Steven shrugged. That shrug, along with the fact that he had abandoned Julia in the wilderness, told John all he needed to know about him. The man had no compassion, no empathy. “We're losing valuable time. The escapees are getting farther away with every passing moment.”

“It's not a waste of time to take care of your team. I shouldn't have to remind you of that. We are not moving out until I say so.”

Steven sat back in his seat with a disgusted look on his face that he made no effort to conceal.

He was right. They were wasting time. And that was exactly what John wanted.

P
aul's tale had left me emotionally exhausted and I struggled to fall asleep. Dark thoughts kept running through my head. David had whispered
Never again, not to us
, as he stretched out beside me, and those words had a haunting, desperate quality.

The next morning, the air smelled sweet and cool. I woke first. Micah and Elsa were curled together like puppies; David was asleep on his stomach near the entrance, his face cradled on his arms, his legs long and straight, the bottoms of his feet dirty, smudged with grime. We didn't wear our shoes here. We had to save them for when we journeyed on.

Paul and Ingrid were propped against the cave wall, seated side by side, gray heads together. They looked so peaceful. I stepped over David's legs and slipped outside to watch the sunrise. The clouds were tinged pink on the bottom edges as if kissed by the dawn and blushing with pleasure.

Paul was right; there was so much contentment to be found in watching the day break every morning. I was learning to take comfort in the dependability, the certainty of a new dawn, and a new day. But
how could I be so sure of a comfortable new day after hearing the horror stories of history? Was there another quality of human nature that Paul hadn't listed? Could it be hope?

Yes, hope.

But when these atrocities were happening, what did people think?
It happened to someone else, not me? It happened over there, not here. It happened then, not now?
Thinking like that isn't hope, it's denial.

The truth is, the atrocities Paul had described could happen to anyone, anyplace, anytime, if people did not pay attention. Maybe hope is nothing more than the determination to find freedom. And the belief that you can.

No trees near the cave had fallen, but some that were deeper in the woods leaned against each other at odd angles, with great lumps of root and dirt exposed. The power of nature was always impressive.

I checked the traps. There were two rabbits again today, their fur wet and plastered against their bodies. I left them there so Micah could discover them when he woke. He would be so excited when he ran to us with the news of the catch.

David stepped out of the cave, rubbing his eyes. We spoke little, but sat together, waiting for the others. One by one they emerged. Micah carried Elsa. She reached out for me and I took her into my arms. Ingrid and Paul came out next. Micah headed for the traps and within a few minutes he ran back, carrying the two wet rabbits. Grinning, he held them out as a gift to Paul, who graciously accepted the offering with a slight bow of his head.

“We have the day's work cut out for us,” Paul said as he gathered up the tools to prepare the meat. “We'll clean these little beauties, maybe find some more honey, and make a spear for Micah.”

Micah followed so closely behind his new friend that he almost stepped on Paul's heel.

“David, is your arm strong enough to bring some water up from
the stream? We'll need it for cleaning the rabbits and anything else we find for our meal.” Paul pointed to his empty old dented bucket.

David rolled up his sleeve, revealing a long, healed scar. The honey and thyme tea had done their job well.

I went with David to the stream. The morning seemed so normal in contrast to the storm and Paul's horrible stories about history. The water was high, fast, and cold. I scooped up the fresh water with my cupped palms and drank deeply. “Lots of fish in there,” David said. “Paul mentioned fishing but I didn't see any poles in the cave. Wonder what he uses.” The pail was full in no time and David was ready to return to the group.

“Wait a minute. Sit with me.”

He set the pail down and settled beside me. “Look, a dragonfly,” he said, pointing to a beautiful insect flashing its silver wings as it flitted above the water. A fish, mouth wide open, a large dark circle, splashed upward, and the dragonfly disappeared, leaving no trace behind.

“What did you think of Paul's story last night?” I asked, still preoccupied with my questions of hope and freedom.

“I don't know what to think. It sounded unbelievable to me. One hundred seventy million people. Gone.” He snapped his fingers, but the sound was too small compared to what he was describing.