Exodia (16 page)

Over here
.

I swear I hear a voice. I stop and
listen. There’s no man crying. Nothing. Not even birds
anymore.

Over here.

I whip around and stare in every
direction. There’s a dim glow to my left, like a candle behind a
curtain. I face it and count my steps as I work my way
closer.

The glow brightens. I pick my way more
easily because now I’ve found a path. And I see a house. A window.
A billowing curtain. Flames catch the material, flicker, burst
brighter around the window. The roof catches fire.

I stand captivated by this strange
sight. Strange because the flames rise several feet up and out,
enveloping the house, yet the sides and roof don’t disintegrate. No
crumbling. No sparking. No crackling hiss or sizzle.

No smoke.

Do not come any
closer.

I hear the voice as clearly as if the
speaker is at my side.

I have sent for you. Do you
know who I am?

It is some kind of trick, this burning
house that is not consumed, with a voice that speaks, but I can’t
figure it out. Some peculiar magic from the first half of the
century perhaps. Unremarkable then. Maybe even common.

Dalton
.

I twist all around. I can’t believe my
ears.

Dalton. I am David
Ronel.

“
Where are you?” I barely
mouth the words.

Dalton, I need you to help
me. Your people are suffering. You will rescue them and lead them
out of Exodia and to a safer place that I have prepared.

I’m speechless, even in my
head.

I’m afraid.

I start to stutter, swallow hard, and
try again, “I’m not really that important. I probably can’t do
much.” My voice is maybe one decibel higher than a
whisper.

I will help you.

The house is still burning and I see a
metal pillar off to the side. Maybe it’s a beam with a speaker on
top. The voice might be coming from that direction though when I
move my head side to side I can’t tell where it’s coming
from.

This is just too weird. I should get
out of here. I take a step backwards.

I am the one who has left
the signs.

The signs? The prophecies? My name
written everywhere?

I plant my feet again; curiosity
outweighs the fear I have.

I find my normal speaking voice. “How
do I know you’re really David Ronel? Show yourself.” My nanny told
me enough stories, enough descriptions, that I’m sure I’d recognize
the man though he must be ancient by now.

There is silence. The pounding in my
chest isn’t subsiding.

Tell your people I will wait
for them. You must free them from Exodia.

My people? The Lunas? All the
Reds?

Go to the leaders of the
Reds, to Timothy Teague and Brace Hamlin and Fred Korzon. Tell them
I have the land ready for them. They will listen to you.

I rub my elbow. I can think of a
thousand reasons not to go back and two of them are waiting for me
in the solar car.

Take the leaders with you to
see the Executive President. Demand that he let all the people come
north on a three day peace march.

I catch myself before I laugh out loud.
I take two steps backwards and turn toward the hill. It’s getting
lighter and the golden sunrise is outlining the tree
tops.

Dalton. The new Executive
President will not let you all go unless he is compelled. I will
give you what you need to convince him. I will send to you Lydia
and Barrett and two others. They will have the equipment
ready.

I turn back at the mention of Lydia’s
name. I haven’t let myself think of her in months. I stare at the
house’s roof with the flickering tongues of flames lancing out from
inside. I can’t risk seeing her again.

“
Can’t you send someone
else?”

Put your hand in the
bush.

There’s a thorny shrub to my left. I
want to disobey, but I plunge my hand into the center, feel the
sharp pain of three or four thorns scraping up my arm. And then the
round handle of a jug. I pull it out. Water. How did he know that’s
what I’m here looking for?

Words of thanks cross my mind but I
don’t say them aloud. There must be someone else who can do this
task. Someone older. Why does it have to be me?

“
No one will listen to me.”
I say. “He’ll just throw me in prison or execute me.”

He won’t harm you. I have
led him to the original ledgers. He knows that to kill you means
his own death.

“
I’m not a good
speaker.”

I will help you speak. I
will teach you what to say.

If he asked me to fight I could fight.
I’m trained to fight. Or spy, maybe. I might be decent at spying.
But the thought of speaking to the Red leaders, this Teague and
Hamlin and Korzon, seems impossible. And then to have to talk to
Executive President Truslow … for sure I’d be tongue-tied. I know
the man; he’s Jamie’s father and I’ve never said two words to him.
I was too afraid to, even when I lived in the same building. He is
seriously evil.

I cradle the jug of water and speak
with my head down. “Please, Mr. Ronel, please send someone
else.”

There is silence again. The burning
diminishes. Like gas jets being turned down. The heat that I hadn’t
noticed before lessens on my face and yet I sense an even hotter
anger in the air.

“
I’m just not a good
speaker,” I repeat.

The stony silence lingers. All of the
flames have extinguished now.

I’m not a good speaker. Maybe he
accepts that. Maybe I can go now.

Your brother is a good
speaker. Take your brother with you. I will send him to meet
you.

* * *

I hurry back to the car, sloshing the
jug of water a little, but saving the first swallows for
Kassandra.

I don’t have a brother.

My mind is on overload. I jump over a
rock and grab at a young sapling to pull myself up the
hill.

That crazy burning house …

Did I really speak to David Ronel? How
do I explain this to Kassandra?

I reach level ground and look for the
car. The sun is mostly up, but the trees block the rays and I’m
standing in the shadows. Trembling.

I take a couple of deep
breaths.

I spot the car and notice that both
solar panels have tilted themselves automatically, a small bit of
mid-century technology not lost. I wonder if the burning house is
some kind of power or communications station. I look over my
shoulder. I can’t see down the hill, but I make out the tip of an
old cell tower popping up through the tree tops.

I’m no longer shaking so I walk toward
the car and peek in my window. Kassandra is leaning against her
door with the baby nuzzled up under her chin. Her eyes flick open
as soon as I put my fingers on the door handle.

“
Found some
water.”

I stuff myself into the driver’s side
and hold the jug up to her lips so she doesn’t have to move or
disturb Gresham. She gulps and a trickle of water finds its way
down her chin.

“
Remember when I told you
that one of the men who helped me escape, Vinn, said something
really odd about my mother?”

She furrows her brow.

“
Maybe I didn’t tell you.
Anyway, I might have a brother.” I suppose it would have sounded
just as crazy to add that a talking house told me this. She puts
both her hands on the baby’s head and back to hold him against her
chest as she wiggles herself straighter in the seat.

“
What? Where’d you get the
water?”

I nod toward my open door. “Down there.
From David Ronel.”

She shifts totally my way. “We’re
there? We’re at the outpost already?” She’s confused. She moves
Gresham into her left arm and grabs her door handle. She pushes
open the door but it only goes halfway before hitting something
outside.

I speak as she repeatedly bumps the
door against something, “No. I don’t think this is the outpost. If
it is, it’s pretty well hidden. Or burned up.”

I get out my side again and walk around
the car. I move the obstruction so she can get out. We both stare
down at the large basket.

“
How did that get here?” she
asks, rocking on her feet to soothe Gresham who has begun to make
protesting cries.

I remove the cloth cover and find more
water, bags of irradiated meat, and a pile of clothing scraps that
look as if they were cut from blankets. Pretty useless as clothing,
I think, until Kassandra squeals.

“
Diapers. Oh, Dalton, look.
Just what we need.”

She turns back to the car and lays
Gresham on the seat and proceeds to change him. She talks with her
back to me, all excited about the hospitality of these outpost
Reds, while I look for footprints.

* * *

Dalton kept his eyes on the ground as
he walked away from the car. Kassandra finished changing Gresham
and left him on the seat. She pulled out the backpack that had been
taking up half the leg space on her side and added the dirty diaper
to the plastic lined side pocket.

“
Whoa, that stinks. I hope
the outpost has a place to wash these.” Dalton probably didn’t hear
her. She looked at the food packages and tore one open. “So much
for clean hands,” she mumbled. She bit into the flavorless meat and
watched Dalton as he walked around the area. He stopped by a
grouping of young pines and lifted his eyes to the sky.

Could he be praying? She didn’t
understand him, was sure she didn’t love him, and, at this moment,
wasn’t exactly happy with their life. Her mind kept wrestling her
thoughts back to when she first met him. He puzzled her. Trying to
understand him was like trying to hold smoke in her hand. He
insisted that he was not a gemfry yet there were things he did and
said that defied any other explanation. He used to say that she was
the one with all the power. He used to say he loved her, but she
knew he didn’t mean it. He hadn’t said it in months.

Dalton’s movements changed to a hurried
panic. He took hold of a large feathery pine bough and ripped it
from the slender trunk. He pulled down another and another. What
could he want with them? She glanced around and noticed their tire
tracks. Perhaps he planned to attach the limbs to the back fender
so as they traveled they would brush away evidence of their
passing. She didn’t think it would work and besides, they weren’t
being followed or they would have been caught by now.

Kassandra heard the unmistakable buzz
of a small aircraft. She panicked, couldn’t move, couldn’t draw a
breath, and imagined a posse of soldiers about to surround them,
recapture them.

Dalton dragged the pine boughs over and
spread them on the roof and covered the solar panels. He threw the
backpack into the car and lifted Gresham out, closed the door, and
guided a stiff Kassandra into the woods. All without a
word.

Kassandra sat next to him, sheltered
under the low limbs of a big pine. She felt safe again though she
whispered, “How far to the outpost? You should’ve gotten the
bag.”

Dalton shook his head. “I told you.
This isn’t the outpost.”

“
But you said you talked to
Ronel.”

“
It’s hard to
explain.”

“
And what did you say about
your mother? Something about having a brother?” She stared at his
face, looking for a sign. Maybe she heard wrong. It didn’t make
sense. His smile was so faint she thought he might be
kidding.

The plane flew over directly above
them, but Kassandra kept her eyes on Dalton as he looked up through
the branches, silent as usual, still ignoring her question. She
studied the scar on his neck, the one he told her he got while
training to do the most horrible combat imaginable. She had watched
him mature these last two years as he worked hard with her father,
helped her with the sheep and the crops, and joined the neighbors
in building houses and barns. But she didn’t melt inside, not even
a little, when she looked at his strong, masculine face. As filthy
as he was, bits of dirt and grime sticking to his hair, he was
still quite attractive, though she realized that she felt nothing
toward him.

“
I don’t know.” He pointed
down the hill. “There was … a fire down there. Some kind of
communication device–but it’s not the outpost.”

None of that made sense to Kassandra,
but she cuddled the baby and waited for him to continue.

“
I think it’s gone. The
plane … it’s gone.”

“
So what do we do now? You’d
better uncover the solar panels or we’ll be here
forever.”

Dalton got up, flicked several ants off
his legs, and strode away. Kassandra called after him, “How long do
you think it’ll take to recharge?” She watched him shrug his
shoulders. She hoped it wouldn’t be long. Couldn’t they drive while
it sucked up the sun’s rays? The soldier told them to park and wait
for dawn. Well, it was dawn.