The Alliance (20 page)

“And do what, exactly? Take the food and run?” His hand falls to his side. He shakes his head. “Don’t you know me better than that?”

“That’s just the thing,” I murmur. “I don’t know you well at all.”

Looking at each other, both shivering in our damp clothes, I feel a sense of loss for reasons I cannot explain. Moses nods—whether acknowledging what I said or acknowledging that it’s time to continue, I don’t know. So we walk in silence back up to the fence separating the national forest from the community. Moses climbs over first and turns, opening his palms to me. Paralyzed, I continue to stand there, peering through the wire barrier separating us and seeing it as a reminder of how guarded I’ve been with my heart.

Climbing to the top of the fence, I reach down and put
my hand in his. Part of me wishes to withdraw it as quickly as I held it out for him to hold. But I can’t draw myself away. Instead, he and I remain melded together for an instant that seems suspended above the constraints of time: me looking down at him—this earthbound pilot of whom I still know almost nothing—and him looking up at me with a kindness and patience I do not deserve. His hand is smaller than Jabil’s—only slightly larger than my own—but rippled with calluses, as if he’s worked in the fields all his life.

Moses is the first to lower his gaze, and I can see he is trying to guard himself just as much as I have been trying—and failing—to guard myself from him. Regardless, he helps me over the top of the fence and slips his hands around my waist before lowering my body gently to the ground. As my feet touch Mt. Hebron soil, I find myself yearning to remain in the arms of this man rather than return to the familiarity of my community and home.

Moses

F
OR SECURITY PURPOSES,
Charlie boarded up the two glass entry doors to Field to Table like we were bracing ourselves for a hurricane, which—in a way—I guess we were. But it evidently didn’t work, since the thief has been pilfering supplies from the inside out rather than the outside in. I use my flashlight to scan the aisles of empty shelving, searching for some sign of a burglary. But of course, there’s nothing. Not even a footprint marking the painted cement floor. Eventually, I give up my amateur sleuthing, close and lock the doors behind me with the key Jabil keeps beneath the welcome mat, like he’s just begging for somebody to find it.

I don’t know who would have the gall to steal canned goods and flour, desiring to survive while the rest of the community starves. Everyone I know seems to have too much pride to reduce themselves to that. Or if not pride, then too much morality. Although we’ve all pretty much concluded that electricity and the normal life it provided—even for the Mennonites, who lived mostly without it—are not returning anytime soon, there is still this unspoken hope that, at some point, the current will suddenly flow again and the lights in the town of Liberty will shine.

But the longer it goes since the EMP, the more I can see
panic eating away at the community, swallowing all their determination and hope. I suppose I can’t judge someone for attempting to preserve their own hide when watching that mass of people coming down the highway from miles off made me want to do everything I could to preserve my own.

I leave Field to Table and walk over to the perimeter that appears as fortified as those boarded-up glass doors. Sean and Old Man Henri are the only ones on duty, and for a second I wonder if I should bother telling them what Leora and I saw. All of us are sick and tired of rumors, which are in overabundance as if to make up for our storehouse’s lack. But these aren’t just rumors.

So I recount my morning to Old Man Henri and Sean. No surprise that Henri narrows his eyes at me, grizzled mouth puckering as if sucking on a lemon drop. I can’t tell if he’s trying to absorb all the information I’m giving or trying to convey that he doesn’t believe a word I’ve said.

“But you couldn’t tell if they was friend or foe?” he asks, once I’m done. I shake my head. “How you know, then,” he continues, “they wasn’t another group of families trying to find someplace safer than where they left?”

I shrug. “Could be. That’s just not the feeling I got when I saw them.”

Sean leans back against the scaffolding and crosses his arms. “I’m with Henri on this one, Moses. We can’t make
decisions based on what some drugged-up homeless person says.”

“So you want to just sit here and take the chance he’s wrong?”

Sean shakes his head. Old Man Henri sighs. We’re at a standstill, and nothing I say is going to budge them in my direction. Not sure who else to talk to, I walk up the lane to the Snyders’ house. The door’s locked—the first time it’s been locked since I came. At first, there’s no response. Then the youngest Snyder girl, Priscilla, opens it and peers up at me.

“Your
bruder
Jabil home?” I ask, using one of the only Pennsylvania Dutch nouns I’ve picked up, since Priscilla, age five, hasn’t completely grasped the English language. She nods, chaff-colored braids brushing her heart-shaped face.

“May I speak with him, please?” Priscilla must understand more than I think, and be feistier than she appears, because she tears off into the house, yelling for her eldest brother.

Jabil comes to the door so fast, I get the feeling he locked me out on purpose and has been waiting for my return. Hands fisted at his sides, he leans against the frame, glowering with the same expression my father used to give whenever I would come home after curfew my senior year of high school, reeking of anger and Brut cologne.

“Seth Ebersole came over around two this morning,” he says. “Seems Anna woke up and saw Leora was missing. The funny thing is,
you
were missing as well. I told Seth not to worry, that you two were probably out for some—” he throws one hand in the air, a bitter sneer on his face—“stroll.”

I say nothing, hoping he’ll move on to another subject. But it soon becomes clear he has no intention of moving on until he’s understood what I’ve been up to with the girl he thinks belongs to him, even if he’s got no right—that I can see—to claim her as his.

My silence must tick him off because he steps out on the porch while leaving the door ajar. He emphasizes our height difference by leering down at me. I know from personal experience that the only reason he’s posturing is because he feels threatened, so I don’t do or say anything—just stand here, slouched, and place knuckles against the side of my jaw to pop my neck. Really, I do everything but yawn.

My casual behavior drives him over the edge, which was my intention. “You need to get something straight,” he says, all but poking a finger in my chest. “You’re not good for Leora. You’ll
never
be good for Leora. She simply likes you because you are the antithesis of me.”

I almost ask him what
antithesis
means, to act like I’m some dumb Devil Dog, chock-f of hormones, with no conscience or heart. But though I want to keep toying with
Jabil, we’ve got no time to lose. So I straighten up and look him in the eye. I tell him that Leora’s father is alive and, though not well, was the homeless man I spoke with. The one who warned me about the gang.

“Who this gang is,” I finish, “or what they’ve been up to, I can’t say, but what I
can
say is this: we’d better figure out what we’re going to do about it.”

“That’s easy. We’ll find protection in the shadow of his wings.”

“I’d rather find protection in the shadow of my semiautomatic.”

Jabil barks, “Don’t be sacrilegious!”

“And don’t be ignorant! God gave us minds for a good reason!”

“He also gave us hearts to trust.”

Riled, I look away from him, at the warped cookie tray of butternut squash seeds drying in the sun. At the rusted chains holding up the front-porch swing. At the gutter hanging slightly off the roofline, more than likely pulled down under the weight of last winter’s snow. All the while, I’m envisioning the community’s nightmarish screams as they run down the highway, clutching their children and leaving all material possessions behind. And Jabil wants me to do nothing to prepare for the gang? To not put my body in action, but to use my heart to trust?

“You really believe, don’t you?” I ask.

He nods. “Like I believe I can see you standing before me.”

“I respect you for that; I do. I wish I had more of whatever you got. But it’s not going to be good if this gang gets here, Jabil. We’re not talking about some washed-up gang leader like that one we met in town. We’re talking about ex-cons and drug addicts, made desperate without their fix. We’re talking the lowest of the low. These aren’t the kind that just steal; they’re the kind that murder and rape and pillage, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.”

He says, “But you know none of that for fact.”

“True, but there was real fear in Luke’s eyes when he told me about what’s coming. I know his word probably doesn’t hold much weight with you, but I believe him. That group of people heading our way is up to no good, and we’d better stay and fight or go now and leave everything behind. As far as I can see, there are no other options.”

Jabil shakes his head, but the majority of his rancor is gone. “Are you going to take this to the elders again? Try to take over yet
another
meeting?”

“I think it’s better to be prepared if we have that option, don’t you?”

“Fine.” He steps to the left and jerks his chin toward the house.

As I walk through the front door, I can see the three deacons and bishop gathered around the two tables in the dim kitchen, where I suppose they’ve been conducting a meeting
in secret. The platters, which I remember being heaped with breakfast a week ago, now hold meager portions of potatoes, toast, and eggs. Even the community’s leadership is cutting back, which once again reassures me that they’re not expecting their people to do anything they’re not willing to do themselves.

I enter the kitchen, and the men look up. “Hello, Moses,” Bishop Lowell says.

“Good morning.”

A whole bench is empty, but I don’t sit down. I lean against the wall with my fists in my pockets. My jeans haven’t fully dried from our early morning swim. Behind me, Jabil says, “Moses has something he’d like to say.” He may be trying to fight it, but I can hear the contempt in his voice. So I don’t really feel like opening my mouth. Let their ignorance get them killed for all I care. But then I remember Leora’s face as she stared through the scope at that indistinguishable mass of people, and for her alone I start telling them what I saw this morning and what her father told me last night. However, I leave Leora out of it because I don’t want her getting into trouble for taking me to the fire tower unchaperoned.

The bishop and the deacons look at me for a long time after I finish; then they look at each other—communicating through ESP, apparently. Enough time has passed during my speech that steam no longer rises from the platters of
food. Then Bishop Lowell folds his square hands and places them beside his mug, like a gavel coming to rest.

“Obviously, I can’t ask the people of Mt. Hebron to fight,” he says, “but I also can’t ask them to leave everything without having seen some evidence for myself that danger is coming.”

A toxic mix of frustration and anger surges in my chest. I stride across the kitchen. Placing my palms flat on the table, I lean down and look directly at Bishop Lowell. “Would you even have left Egypt when Moses said it was time?”

“For crying out loud!” Jabil says. “You’re not
that
Moses!”

I continue staring at Bishop Lowell. “Am I not?”

The front door opens. Jabil turns toward it, as do I. Leora’s standing there, cutting a stark shadow in the sunlit cavity. She comes forward and walks past Jabil. Her hair is as it was before Glacier Falls, slicked back and shackled beneath its prayer covering, like the freedom she experienced in the water didn’t happen at all. She looks over at me—her face colorless—before addressing the deacons and the bishop.

“I was there, on the fire tower, with Moses.” Her voice remains clear and strong. “I saw it too: the people coming. Everything is just as he says.”

Not one of them responds, but their shock is palpable, even to me. Finally Bishop Lowell looks at Leora, paternal reprimand deepening the parallel lines between his brows.
“You purposely flouted the rule about being out with a member of the opposite sex after dark?”

“It was actually two in the morning when we met,” I say, trying to defend her, but the look Jabil gives me confirms that I sound like a jerk. “I’m sorry, what I mean is that
I’m
the one who asked if she would take me to the fire tower.
I’m
the one. She would’ve never offered on her own. If you’re going to punish someone, punish me.”

“Yes, well—” Bishop Lowell unfolds his hands and puts on a pair of half-glasses that are hooked on the front of his shirt. “I think we have more important matters to discuss than curfews.” He addresses the deacons. “It would probably be wise to have everyone leave the community for a few days until we know more—”

“We’re not talking about a few days,” I interrupt. “This might be the end of Mt. Hebron Community as we know it.”

Bishop Lowell sighs, his patience wearing thin. “Yes,
you
know that and
I
know that, but there’d be a lot less panic on our hands if we let them think this is only a precautionary measure.”

“But don’t the people deserve to know the truth, rather than having you all hiding behind doors, discussing their lives?”

Behind me, Jabil growls, “Address my uncle with respect, Moses, or leave.”

I flip up my hands. “Okay. I’m not trying to be smart.
I’m just trying to understand how a community that—until three weeks ago—worked somewhat like a democracy, has suddenly become this oligarchy, where the decisions for the majority are made by the elite few.”

Bishop Lowell takes off his glasses, angling his compact body to face me. “What’s happened here, Moses, is that we don’t believe everyone who’s now part of the community is working for the
good
of the community. We cannot give out critical information to those we can no longer trust.”

“This is true, Bishop Lowell,” Leora says. “When Moses and I were in the woods on our way back, we found a cellar concealing rations that were taken from our supplies. They have probably been stealing since day one.”

Bishop Lowell shakes his head. “So it is as we feared.”

“You knew about this?” I ask him.

“No. Least not entirely,” he says. “Jabil’s the one who called this meeting. He was the first to notice that supplies were dwindling at a faster rate than we’d anticipated, given we were so closely monitoring our rations. He needs our help understanding how we can uncover who is doing it without making the entire community feel like they’re being placed under suspicion.”