Astray (10 page)

My mom and dad come to stand on either side of me. “Back there are the bedrooms. Take a look at the first one on the left. We’ve made it up for you.”

There’s a tiny bathroom just before I get to the first bedroom. I look in just long enough to see my pale face
reflected in the mirror. My eyes are too wide, my mouth clenched tight.

I peer into my bedroom. There’s a narrow bed against the far wall, with my old quilt covering it and dozens of my drawings on the wall above it. I move into the room and run a finger along the squares of fabric on the quilt as I study the sketches they’ve put up. There’s one of my parents on a picnic blanket beside the lake. There’s also one of Will sitting on one of the split-rail fences by the corral with his blond hair falling across one eye. I remember when I drew that one. It was the night he kissed me for the first time. The only other one with a person in it is the single sketch I drew of my sister, Karen, when I was about ten and scared to death because I was starting to forget her face. In it she’s jumping rope. I’d added her brown shoes—the ones my mom still keeps—to her feet even though she never wore them to play. It doesn’t look much like her. Her body is lopsided and too long in the legs, but when I look at it, I can remember her a little better, even now.

All of the others are sketches that I did of the land in and around Mandrodage Meadows. There are ones of the clubhouse, the apple orchard where the Silo’s entrance was, the cornfield just before harvest when the stalks were heavy with corn. But there aren’t any of Marie or my horse Indy, even though I drew plenty of both of them.

I walk over to the small desk, the only other piece of furniture inside the room. Above it are dozens of white paper circles polka-dotting the wall like an onslaught of
snowballs. There’s writing on each of them. I recognize the scrawl on one of them as Will’s. I lean closer. He’s written
You still have my heart
on it. I look at another one. It’s not in Will’s handwriting, in fact none of the rest of them are. Each one has a different message written by a different hand.

I stop in front of one in particular. It’s written in precise block lettering. It’s Pioneer’s.

My heart stutters in my chest. It’s like he’s found a way to transport himself into the room.

“Aren’t they something?” Mom says brightly. “The whole Community misses you, Lyla. They wanted to let you know how much you still mean to them. They don’t blame you for the raid, honey. None of us do. We understand now why things had to happen the way that they did. Someone had to kick off the end events. It was your
destiny—an honor, really. We just want you to know that you don’t have to feel like you’re alone anymore. We forgive you and we’re ready for you to come home.” Her face is almost sweet and girlish-looking in the weak glow coming from the overhead light.

I don’t know what to say. All I know is that nothing about these circles makes me feel better.

“But what if I don’t want to come back?” I say without looking at either of them. “At least not to Pioneer and to the Brethren?”

“You don’t mean that,” my mom says, and the brightness in her voice turns sharp. “You’re confused right now. Understandable since you’ve got so many Outsiders whispering in your ears, twisting the truth. But in your heart you know what’s right. That’s why you showed up to watch Pioneer leave the hospital and why you couldn’t bring yourself to face us or him without a disguise on. You’re ashamed of what you’re doing. Even if you can’t see the truth right now, I do. I’m your mom. It’s my job to know you better than you know yourself. Pioneer’s prophecies scare you. I get it. Any impending change that big and ultimately that wonderful can seem scary.…” She’s talking so quickly that it takes my brain a moment to process what she’s saying. I knew that they’d decided to believe Pioneer’s story that Marie killed herself and that I blamed it on him and ended up shooting him in the stable because I had a concussion or was confused or under the sheriff and
Cody’s control or traumatized or something and couldn’t cope, but hearing her basically admit it to my face makes it so much more real. I think up until now I’d hoped that they’d choose to believe me eventually—once Pioneer was locked up and far away. I thought Mrs. Rosen would help them see everything differently, but now I can see that that is never going to happen.

My dad moves a little closer and I take a step back. I don’t want him to touch me. For a while I thought that he believed my side of things, but obviously I was wrong. I walk over to the bed again and perch on the edge. Beside the bed is a nightstand. On top of it is a photo album. I flip it open just so I don’t have to look at my parents, expecting to see more pictures from Mandrodage Meadows meant to remind me of what I’ve lost … but instead I see picture after picture of me—raking leaves with Cody’s family in their backyard, standing in the window of Taylor’s bedroom, watching TV with Cody in their family room. They’ve been watching me from just outside of Cody’s house. A cold chill slides down my spine and I drop the photo album.

“Who took those?” I shout. I stare down at the photo album like it might come to life and attack me.

“It doesn’t matter who took them, honey. What matters is that we haven’t let you out of our sight. If you won’t come home, we have no choice but to watch over you. It’s not safe out there,” my mom says softly.

I can’t stay in the room with her for one more second. I knew that they wanted me back, but this … it’s too much.

I push past them and hurry out into the hallway, needing to get out of here as quickly as possible. But when I get to the living room area, there’s a knock on the door. Mrs. Rosen has finally arrived.

Dad steps out of the bedroom and closes the door behind him. He moves to the front door in a flash, opening it before I have a chance to think about how I can get away. Mrs. Rosen smiles at him.

“Good evening, how are you, Mr. Hamilton?” She gives the place a once-over while she waits for him to answer. “Looks as if you’re settling in okay.”

“Well, we didn’t have much to unpack,” Dad says with a pleasant chuckle, his voice brighter than normal. He looks over at me and gives me a “behave yourself” look. He wants me to pretend that I’m fine, that I didn’t just see all those weird little circles of paper or that awful photo album in my room. I can’t do it. I won’t do it.

“You should see the other rooms, Mrs. Rosen. In fact, we should start with mine,” I say. I steer her down the hall, fully expecting my dad to stop us, but he doesn’t.

My mom hurries out of my room just as we pass the bathroom, practically running right into us. She looks nervous, her eyes darting from Mrs. Rosen to me and back again. “Oh, hello!” she says, in the same tone of voice that my dad just used.

“This is my room,” I say before my mom can try to move us back toward the living room. I practically push Mrs. Rosen in. “There’s something I want to show you.” I point to the wall where all of the circles are … but it’s empty and the photo album isn’t on the nightstand anymore. It’s all gone. My mom must have hidden it all as soon as she heard Mrs. Rosen come in. I should have known that they wouldn’t let her see them.

“Show me what, dear?” Mrs. Rosen smiles at me before she notices my drawings hanging on the opposite wall. “Oh, these are beautiful. You have quite a talent. Do they have you signed up for art classes at the high school?”

I want to tell her about the notes and the album, about the transfer and how committed my parents still are to Pioneer, but without any real evidence, I feel like I’m not sure if she’ll believe me. Would she actually search my parents’ house if I asked her to?

“Lyla?” Mrs. Rosen prompts.

“What? Oh … I don’t have my schedule yet.”

“How was school today, by the way?” Dad asks from the doorway. He doesn’t look directly at me, but merely in my direction. He knows what Mom just did, but he’s not going to acknowledge it.

There’s no way that I can sit here and watch this little show my parents are putting on for Mrs. Rosen, but I’m not sure how to expose them either. It’s frustrating and scary and makes me feel completely out of control. The only thing that feels in my control is my ability to leave.
Without another word I rush past everyone, practically knocking my mom into the wall on my way. When I get to the living area, I notice that the picture of Pioneer that was just hanging above the little kitchen table is missing. She somehow managed to take that down too.

“Lyla? Your father just asked you a question,” Mom says from behind me.

I turn to look at her. Mrs. Rosen, my mom, and my dad are standing there staring at me. Waiting.

Before they can stop me, I hurriedly scoop my bag and coat up off the floor and throw open the door. I take the steps two at a time and take off down the path between the trailers before cutting off to one side and into the woods. I run several yards before I stop to lean against the closest tree and try to catch my breath. I don’t know where to go now. Town is miles away and Cody won’t be back for at least another forty minutes or more. I look back the way I came to see if anyone followed me, but all I can see are the trailers, and beyond them, the hulking silhouette of the barn. I’m alone, but it feels like I’m being watched. Right now one of them could be out here with me, lurking in the shadows, taking more pictures. Every snapping twig or rush of wind makes me more and more certain of it.

We have no life here on this earth. No future. So why should we care about it then?

—Brian Wallace, member of the Community

“Lyla!” My dad’s voice echoes across the open area between the trailers. They’re looking for me.

Other than underneath the trailers and the woods, there are very few places to hide out here. There’s only this stand of trees and one other one beyond the barn. It won’t be long until they figure out where I’ve gone. I pull my coat on and slip my book bag over my shoulder. I’m close to the barn here. I watch as the light from inside it throws shadows across the ground. It’s darkest at the back end, where the light isn’t bleeding through the cracks in the wood siding.

I look back to see my parents’ shadows advancing between two of the trailers nearest the trees. I lunge toward the back of the barn. There’s a rickety ladder attached to the wall—leading up to a hayloft maybe? It’s dark and high enough from the ground that no one would see me. I veer left, grab the ladder before I can rethink it, and start climbing as fast as I can. Every few seconds I look
down, expecting to see Mrs. Rosen and my parents come around the corner of the barn and spot me, but I make it to the top and into the loft without any trouble.

The light I saw from outside the barn is coming from the main space below me. I stay on my hands and knees. There isn’t any chanting or singing going on now, but I do hear Mr. Brown’s voice. I slide my feet forward slowly, pushing old hay out of the way as I go. It smells awful—like the hay’s gotten wet and moldy a bunch of times and never dried out. I put a hand over my nose and mouth. The far end of the hayloft opens to the downstairs space. I don’t want anyone below to know that I’m here. It was enough having to deal with my parents, and besides, the notes and photo album have me spooked. What will they do if they find out that I’m up here watching them? I crouch down in the hay, and try not to cringe when my hand lands in one of the damper clumps. The boards that make up the floor of the loft are spaced unevenly, and there are sizable gaps between some. I lean down and peer through one. I can see Mr. Brown. He’s standing next to a television set on top of a black cart. I can see Brian, Will, Heather, Julie, and their parents too. Everyone has spread blankets across the barn floor. They’re sitting cross-legged in their coats. There isn’t any heat in here. I can see dozens of candles lit around the edges of the barn, sitting on top of old barrels and crates. Several camping lanterns hang from nails on some of the barn’s support beams. Their flames cast dancing shadows along the walls, silhouettes of the people below.

I move onto my belly and crawl closer to the front end of the loft. I have to breathe through my mouth. Something smells rotted—gamey. Maybe an animal’s died in the hay. I shake my head. I can’t think about that. If I do, I’ll start gagging.

It’s gone quiet. I freeze. Suddenly I’m sure that something creaked behind me, but when I finally get the nerve to look, there’s no one there.

“Until the Brethren return for us …,” Mr. Brown’s voice suddenly rings out, and I jump, scattering hay across the loft. I watch as some displaced dust and hay goes over the edge and spirals down onto the crowd below.

“We have to stay the course. We have to stay together. And we will not, under any circumstances, forget who we are,” Mr. Brown says.

Everyone answers him in unison, the way that they used to answer Pioneer. “We are Chosen.”

“Great trials are in our future. Pioneer says that the Brethren are testing us to see if we are worthy of their favor. We must not fail. Our convictions cannot be shaken! Our path must stay true.”

“Tell it to us straight, brother!” These words erupt out of someone’s mouth; I can’t see who’s speaking, but it feels like their words carry everyone’s agreement.

“I plan to, brother.” Mr. Brown looks out at the crowd, to whoever spoke. “Because I’m worried. And so is Pioneer. He told me as much today during our visit. He wants to know how we can be sure that we will not fall. After
all, one of us already has. Lyla fell under the sway of the Outsiders, didn’t she?”

At the sound of my name, I accidentally suck in bits of hay and dust. A piece plasters itself to the back of my throat, making my eyes tear up and my lungs seize. I stuff my coat sleeve in my mouth to muffle the violent coughing fit that follows. There’s silence below. I’m not sure if it’s because of me or Mr. Brown’s questions.