Gray (Book 2) (15 page)

“Welcome,” said Tithing, standing and facing them all. “Another happy day for us.”

“Good morning,” said a few of the congregants.

“We welcome our two special guests and hope our message of love and acceptance reaches their hearts.”

Jim thumped Benjamin on the shoulder. Coral could see Ellie and Mondra turn toward her and smile, and Alva turned all the way around in his chair and gave her a grin. She tried to smile back, but it felt pained and must have looked that way. She looked around herself and noticed, for the first time, a dream catcher on the left-hand wall. Her back must have been to it every time she had eaten a meal. Or maybe they had put it up for this meeting.

“The Reaping has begun,” intoned Tithing, something he’d obviously said many times before.

“And we are The Seed,” chanted everyone else.

“Our time has come,” said Tithing, still using the ritual voice. “And we rejoice.” Then his voice changed, to something more conversational. “The time may be upon us, but our task is not yet wholly done. Before we can be gathered, there are Seeds who need our help.”

Half the heads nodded.

“I’m pleased to tell you that we were able to contact the Oregon Farm this morning, and Melinda has had her baby. He’s healthy and strong.”

Murmurs all around.

“One more Flower has found its manifestation in human form.”

One of the men said, “All credit to the Sowers.”

More nods.

Okiedokie, thought Coral. I’m more confused than ever. But so far, it’s no scarier than they have been until now.

Tithing said, “But there are many more Flowers, and Grains, lost through accident in the Reaping. We must do our part to gather them, to allow the Sowers to fulfill their destiny. To allow
us
to fulfill ours.” He made eye contact with Coral.

Uh-oh. She braced for something bad.

But his gaze left her and swept the room again as he said. “If anyone wants to speak, please stand. And say your name, in case our visitors haven’t yet met you.”

A young man stood. “I’m Lorne, and I wanted to ask about the food. Even if one of our ladies quickens, we won’t have enough food to last us all until the birth. Unless one is...?” And he glanced back at the women.

Joli, Mondra, and Ellie all shook their heads. A collective sigh swept through the room: disappointment.

“I’m glad you mentioned that,” said Tithing. “I had planned to start sending out hunting parties. Benjamin, our guest, told me he had luck with hunting small game. We should hunt, too. It will extend our stores.” He looked at Coral. “And this lady has brought us fishing gear.”

Calex popped up. “You won’t allow her to go fishing? Why the nearest lake is—”

Tithing held up his hand. “Of course not. If she’s Seed, we wouldn’t risk her. But surely we men here can fish. It isn’t interstellar navigation, after all.”

A couple of chuckles came from the men.

One by one, another half-dozen people stood up. Most had practical questions or comments. The one that made Coral listen hardest said, “There’s something wrong with the battery for the radio. It isn’t holding a charge.”

“Pratt, will you look at it?”

“The battery is getting old. But I’ll do what I can.”

“That’s all we can ask of you.”

Only one person had a religious question. “Are there any signs of the final Reaping, Tithing? Have they seen any in Oregon, or heard of any?”

“They haven’t heard from British Columbia this week. And no one has been able to get through to California. The signs are small, still, but they are accumulating. We have some time, I think, but not all the time in this world. I believe less than a year.”

Coral had seen the suicides up in the mountain. She knew there were suicide cults. Was this one of them? There’d come a time, and Tithing or some other leader would decide it was their special time, and they’d arrange the poisoned punch party? For a second, she wondered if the suicide family they’d seen had been part of this group—but no, there was nothing overtly Christian about the Seed philosophy. She’d have to ask Benjamin, but she didn’t think they were quoting Revelation here.

They had to escape here. Before group suicide. Before Tithing decided they were not among the Elect or Select or Chosen or whatever the right term was. Before it dawned on the Seed that two scrawny visitors could extend their food stores an extra month.

Could she sneak out at night, meet Benjamin, get away? How to give him the message to meet? Could she hide herself off the path to the outhouse and waylay him? Not if Brynn were watching her. And she certainly couldn’t sit outside all night, hoping he might come down the path. Even if she didn’t get caught, she’d freeze out there.

She wished they’d worked out some sort of sign language months ago, in case this very sort of thing happened. But who knew—? Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp elbow to her side.

“Still with us, Coral?” Tithing asked. Most of the heads were turned to look at her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“So if the two of you will come with me to my cabin now. And the rest of you pair up as usual, and share your thoughts about the Sowers and the Reaping.”

Chairs and boxes scraped on the floor, and people moved to face each other in pairs. Tithing motioned Benjamin over, and headed toward the door. He looked at Coral, his eyebrows raised. Clearly, she was to follow him.

Maybe this was her chance to say something to Benjamin. She could whisper something, or squeeze his hand to let him know she was still herself, not a cult convert, and that they were still together in this.

But it was not to be. Tithing took her hand, wrapped it through the crook of his arm and said, “Go on ahead, Ben, into the couple-cabin.”

He patted her gloved hand. “How are things? Settling in?”

“I’m getting to know the place. And my jaw doesn’t hurt so bad.” She saw Benjamin’s step falter at that. “I’d like to volunteer to fish, though.”

Tithing chuckled. “You’re doing fine where you are. Maybe in a few months, that’ll be possible.”

In a few months, buddy, I won’t be anything to you but a vague memory. You won’t even remember my name.

“The sisters treating you well?”

“Fine,” she said. She racked her brain for something to say that would seem vague to him but tell Benjamin something important. “Brynn says she wants me to learn how to help with the animals this week.” The donkey and goats were kept a little ways off from the main compound. Maybe Benjamin could sneak out there and meet her. She knew he was listening.

Tithing said, “Good to hear,” and then to Benjamin, who had reached the cabin. “Go on, son, open the door.” Weird thing to say, “son”—Tithing wasn’t that much older than Benjamin, if at all.

The three of them walked into the empty quadrant of the cabin and Tithing motioned them to sit on the bare cot. He pulled over an empty crate, lit a candle and put it on the floor, and sat in front of them. His eyes never left them, or Coral would have taken the chance to reach over and touch Benjamin’s arm. She could see him out of the corner of her eye. He was watching Tithing, his features relaxed, his expression flat.

“I want to tell you both a story,” Tithing said. “Will you hear me out?”

Benjamin nodded, and Coral followed suit.

“Once upon a time,” he said, “There was a race of beings. They began their existence in a galaxy we call M-109. They discovered the secret of space travel—as we have. They discovered the secret of cloning and genetic manipulation—as we have. They also moved well beyond where we are now, and they discovered how to transfer a sentient mind from one body to another. And finally, they discovered how to take that sentient mind, separate it from the body, and achieve a new level of existence.

“They achieved the understanding, in this incorporeal form, of how the universe came to be, its age and its making. They could not find a way to leave this universe, not yet, but they found proof positive of the existence of others. And they wanted to make that trip, wanted it more than you or I have ever wanted anything in our short, miserable lives.

“They believed there was a solution to this, but the solution was to be found in experience. In experience gained, insight gained, while back in a body. But not their old bodies, necessarily. And not just any bodies. Special bodies, of many, many species, all over this galaxy and the Andromeda Galaxy and many others, species that have reached a point in their evolution that allow for a special perspective.

“There are brains that are not capable of this, even among the right species. There are brains that are. Those who possess these advanced brains...They are the carriers. They are The Seed.”

He glanced from one to the other. “Are you following?”

“Yes,” said Benjamin.

Coral nodded.

“In every of these species, there comes a time when these creatures have learned all they can. With humans, they learn of love, and loss, of regrets. Of strength and anger and weakness. Of greed and compassion. And the Sowers learn of our technologies, some of which are new to them, and which can be added to the whole of their grand knowledge. All in the service of inter-universal travel.”

He rose from the crate. Coral’s eyes followed him as he began to pace the small area.

“We are Seed. We are these alien beings, having a human experience in a human world. Our bodies are the conduits, the temporary repositories for these superior beings. We have been Selected, you see. And humanity’s time has come to an end—sooner, I confess, than I had guessed.”

He spun and pointed to Coral. “Are you Seed?” He pointed at Benjamin. “Are you?”

Was she supposed to answer?

But he didn’t want an answer. “That is part of my task, here. To decide. If you are, then you have found us for a reason.”

Technically, they’d
been
found, and she was not happy about it. When Tithing turned away for a moment in his pacing, she, quick as she could, elbowed Benjamin. He shook his head and kept watching Tithing.

Who turned toward them again. “Let me show you something.” He pushed through a tarp.

Coral turned and grabbed Benjamin’s jacket and turned him toward her. She stared at his face and mouthed, “Are you okay?”

He gave her a nod and mouthed back, “Are you?” When she nodded back, he mouthed. “Be careful.” They both faced front again, as Tithing swept back through the tarp. He was carrying a telescope, a small thing on a tripod, half the size of the rifle Benjamin had been carrying. He set it on the floor and it wobbled before it settled on the three spindly legs.

“We saw a sign. We knew the Reaping was coming. There were explosions on Mars.”

They could see details on Mars with that tiny thing? Coral doubted it, but what did she know?

“And we emailed and called the other Farms and wished them well. Then all of us, all Seed around the world, went into our caves and our bomb shelters and awaited what we knew was coming.” He sat down again and leaned forward, close to Coral. “And we survived.”

It was the first thing he’d said she could agree with.

“A weapon did this, an alien weapon from M-109, transported hundreds of thousands of light years, timed precisely in a trip begun long ago, when Homo sapiens had branched off from the apes. All those years ago, it was sent. Just this year, it was detonated. It is time to Reap the alien souls and send them on.” He smiled hugely. “It may even be time to finally cross the barrier and enter the next universe. That, I don’t know.”

But if he were a super-intelligent alien, why wouldn’t he know? Coral saw two dozen other logical holes in this fable, and she wondered why he couldn’t. Was he stupid? He didn’t seem stupid, though—just delusional.

“Here is our task, then. There were Seeds whose human forms were destroyed in the Reaping. The weapon is great, but not as selective as it might have been.”

Well, why the hell not? Seemed pretty sloppy of inter-dimensional super-beings to make something no better than a giant nuke and blast the good, the bad, and the indifferent all with the same force.

There was more from Tithing—much more. The lecture continued for long, tedious minutes. She followed some of it but her attention kept drifting away. More and more, as it got crazier and crazier, she felt the compulsion to work out a precise escape plan. Benjamin would have to be contacted. Night would be best. They’d need supplies. Her attention drifted back to hear Tithing say:

“The final Reaping needs to take place from the human form. So those Seeds that are now in spirit form must be put back into human form, and soon. Our women are precious to us. Every Grain—”

Coral jumped up, having belatedly gotten where this was headed. “Not me. No how, no way. You are not going to breed little aliens on me, buddy.”

Tithing looked offended. “It’s an honor.”

“It’s rape,” she said.

He looked horrified. “No, no, never that. That would be Weedlike behavior.”

Ah, Weeds. More nonsense categories. “Maybe
I’m
a Weed.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so because it’s not convenient to your whacked out little—”

“Coral!” said Benjamin. “Hear the man out.”

Tithing shook off his shock and gathered himself together. His look of horror at Coral’s words smoothed into a more pleasant expression. “Thank you, Benjamin. You’re a reasonable man.”

“You don’t think—” she said to Benjamin.

“Sit,” he said, his eyes intense.

“And the horse you rode in on,” Coral said to him. Could he not see what was going to happen to her? Didn’t he care? She took a step toward the door, but Benjamin grabbed her arm.

“Sit,” he said again. He stood and faced her, his face blocked from Tithing’s view. His expression was begging her to cooperate.

Why?
Stop, Coral. Stop panicking, and think
.

Damn it. She knew that they couldn’t up and run this instant, with no supplies, with a mob of fifteen chasing them with rifles. But Benjamin’s response felt like a betrayal anyway.

She was pissed to find herself fighting back tears as she looked up at him.

Benjamin said, “It’ll be okay. I promise.” And he sat and pulled her down beside him.

“We won’t force you, my dear,” said Tithing. “We don’t even know yet if you’re right for the work. It could be—” and his expression suggested that he was thinking this could indeed be the case “—that you aren’t Seed, and we’ll let you go.”

Coral thought that was unlikely in the extreme. Benjamin, they could toss out. There were too many men already and.... Suddenly, she realized that her outburst was putting Benjamin at risk more than her. She, obviously, had value as a brood mare. They’d choose her for that, she believed, no matter what she said or did, and they’d find a way to justify it.

But Benjamin—he was only another mouth to feed with their dwindling supply of food and a 2:1 male to female ratio. “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling a chill that went much deeper than that from the cold air. “I was just so shocked, and after Pratt hit me....” She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, for Benjamin’s sake. “Please, go on.”

Tithing looked slightly mollified. “I can see that, just as Pratt’s test is anger, yours is impatience.”

“I think you’re right.”

“That’s part of the plan, too. We are all purposely given a fault.”

“So when will you know? If I’m appropriate for this, um, honor? With the waiting Seeds and all.”

“By next meeting, I should think,” said Tithing. “The one after, at the very latest.”

“And they’re once a week?”

“That’s right.”

So she had seven—no, six—days to devise an escape plan and put it into action.

He frowned. “Now I’m afraid I lost my train of thought.”

“My fault,” she said. “You were saying about the accidentally destroyed bodies, and needing to be back in bodies because...”

“Right.” He smiled. “I’ll be honest. We don’t know exactly why we need to be in human form for the final Reaping. But we know we do. The Ancient Sowers, the most venerable leaders, are coming. They’ll be here soon, and we will be ready to rejoin them.” He pointed at her again. “The question is, will you be ready?”

Sudden enthusiastic converting at this moment would not be believed. The best she could manage was a shrug.

“If you are Seed, I’ve already had a request for you—for marriage.”

Oh, shit. “Who?”

“Alva.”

“He’s nice,” she managed to say. And he had been pleasant enough to her. Of all the men to be raped by in the group, she supposed he was the least objectionable, if a person could rank such things. In the new post-Event world, she supposed a woman had to. The poor girl with the Army, for instance, probably had ones she truly dreaded and ones she only slightly dreaded.

“We don’t share women here. If you are to marry him, you’ll be his wife in every sense. And you’ll create a vehicle for a needful Seed.”

She stared at him. Vaguely, she was aware she had gone emotionally numb. Aliens, rape, weapons from Mars, incorporeal interstellar travel. All perfectly reasonable. Lalalalalalala. She knew she might start laughing at any moment, or screaming, or weeping and rending her own hair...and she couldn’t afford to break down in front of him. She needed to appear strong. “I feel a little woozy,” she managed to say.

“Probably you need to eat,” said Tithing, slapping his legs. “So. Any questions?”

She shook her head.

He stood. “I can let you get over to help the ladies in the kitchen, then.”

She twisted her mouth into something she hoped resembled a smile. She stood, and Benjamin did, and he leaned toward her and rested his hand on her back for two seconds before moving away.

It helped, a little. He was still there. They were both alive. Where there is life, there’s still hope.

At least the brief touch kept her from running out of the compound screaming, willing to take a bullet in the back rather than stay here and wait for what was coming.

* * *

The rest of the day, Coral moved like a robot through her assigned tasks. She tried to stay on task but failed—not their tasks, which were doable in a mindless state, but her own, the task of formulating a workable escape plan for her and Benjamin. She thought he was doing the same.

After dinner dishes were done, Brynn walked her and Polly over to the animal pens. The wire fence surrounded a small enclosure that had a metal shed for the animals to hide from the wind.

There was bagged grain to feed them, and Polly showed Coral how to do the chores involved with keeping the goats alive. Polly squatted on the ground behind the gray and white goat and began milking it, as it bleated softly. The other goat was almost all white. Both had thick hair, or fur, whichever you called it in goats. As a gust of frigid wind cut through Coral’s skirt and jeans, she wished she had fur, too.

“Getting much?” said Brynn, from outside the fence. She was probably there to make sure Coral didn’t run off.

“Not much,” said Polly.

Brynn said, “We might have to butcher them.”

“We still have mutton,” said Polly.

“Once the goats are gone, we could cook the grain they’re eating.”

“They need to be bred in spring,” Polly said. She unclipped the goat from a leash and it bounced back through the snow.

“That’s unlikely to happen.”

“Then I guess they won’t last until spring.” She glanced at Coral then back at Brynn. “Do you want me to teach her how to milk?”

“You can try.” Brynn looked doubtfully at Coral.

“I have no idea what I’m doing. It is possible to hurt her?” she asked. “The goat, I mean?”

“No,” said Polly. “Come on over. I’ll talk you through it.”

Coral stopped and petted the white goat’s head. It studied her, cocking its head like a puppy. Pretty eyes. She didn’t plan on being here long enough to eat it, so she supposed she could risk feeling kindly toward it.

Polly put a bucket of grain down and hooked the goat to a leash near the shed. “Get down next to me, and watch,” she said. “Okay, you wipe your hands first. Next you need to warm the wipe for the goat.” She pulled an antibacterial wipe from a packet of them she’d carried out here and watched Coral clean her hands. She pulled out a second, handed it to Coral and took out a third to ball up in her own hands. “Warm yours up too. When it’s warm, wipe her. Get off any poop.”

Lovely. Coral wadded up the ice-cold wipe and held it.

Polly took her own wipe and drew it over the udders. “Now you,” she said to Coral.

Holding her breath, Coral wiped down the wobbly things the best she could.

“Don’t be frightened. I mean, don’t push or squeeze or hurt her, but you can touch her firmer than that.”

“Okay,” said Coral. “Can I, um, stabilize it somehow, like hold on to the nipple?”

“No, you shouldn’t need to.” She watched as Coral finished wiping off the goat. “Okay. So to milk them, you do this.” She held her hand in the air and moved her fingers one at a time. “It’s like every finger pushes it along more.”

Coral mimicked her, hand in the air. Her hand was getting very cold, very quickly.

“First squirt goes on the ground, then move the bucket up.” She matched actions to words. “Never, ever pull. That hurts her. Your fingers are, like, pushing it down. Then you wait, let it refill. Go again.”

Coral bent down to watch closer as the girl moved her hand to the udder and began to milk the goat. Milk splashed into the bucket, and steam rose from it. “The udder is getting smaller.”

“Well, yeah. That was milk in there. Now it’s in the bucket.” She stopped and pulled the bucket back. She asked Coral, “You want to try the other?”

“I suppose.” She was afraid of hurting the poor thing with her ineptness.

“Remember, like this.” Polly moved her fingers in sequence again.

Coral rubbed her hands together briskly and blew on them, hoping to get them warm enough that the goat didn’t jump out of her own skin at the first touch. Polly scooted aside and Coral moved up. The udder was warm and soft to the touch, like a good leather purse.

“Use your left hand on that one. You’re pinching it off the first time, with your thumb and forefinger. That traps the milk in the teat. Then you’re pushing it out.”

Coral mentally sent an apology to the goat. She squeezed with thumb and forefinger, and then tried to close the other fingers one by one, as Polly had shown her.

“Wait. Not hard enough,” said Polly, touching. “You need to be firm with that first pinch. Trap the milk down there.”

“Okay,” said Coral. “Sorry, goat, if this hurts.” She squeezed a bit harder, then brought her next finger down. She could feel the milk trying escape back up, so she adjusted her grip. A squirt of milk came from the end of the teat, and Coral was so surprised, she snatched her hand back.

“Well, it can’t hurt you,” Polly said, exasperated. “It’s only milk.”

“It surprised me, is all.”

“Get the bucket up there, now.”

The goat tried to turn her head and look back at who was messing with her. Coral sympathized more than she wanted to. The thought of a strange man from this place putting his hands on her made her shudder. And here she was, molesting this poor goat.

Polly must have seen the shudder. “Getting cold?”

“I’m fine,” said Coral. Were she the goat, she’d be bleating and kicking at a stranger’s presence.

“Think you can do it?”

“I’ll try.” She leaned forward again, took hold of the udder, and squeezed off the teat. The thing Polly did with closing the fingers felt very odd, and she was moving far slower than the girl did. But milk was coming out, one slow squirt at a time. If she tried to go faster, she had a hard time keeping her finger and thumb together. It would take practice to learn to do it all at the same time, and to speed up her fingers.

When she’d gotten eight or nine squirts out, Polly said, “Let me finish.”

“Probably a good idea.” She backed away.

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

“Nor do I.” Coral wiped her hand on her skirt and jammed her gloves back on. She stood by the head of the goat, leaned over and whispered to her. “I hope I didn’t scare you. You hang in there, sweetie.”

The goat tossed its head, as far as the leash would let it.

Coral rested her hand on its head, and it pushed up against her in a friendly way. She stayed there until Polly was done. “Good girl,” she said to the goat.

“You can unclip her now.”

Coral found the leash’s end and unclipped it from the goat’s collar. The animal danced away and headed for the other goat. The sniffed at each other and danced around a moment before settling back down.

Polly handed the milk bucket to Brynn, who peered inside and said, “We’ll be able to make cheese again in a day or two.”

Coral perked up at that. “You have cheese?”

“We give it to the men to carry while they’re doing their work. We don’t get any.”

“Shame,” Coral said. She wondered where it was kept. It would be a great sort of food to steal when she left: edible while on the run, and didn’t need to be cooked like oatmeal or beans or rice or potatoes.

Next, they fed grain to the donkey, Jubilee. It had been tied while the milking went on. Coral knew next to nothing about horses and less about donkeys or mules. Polly said, “Let it smell your breath.”

Coral wasn’t sure she’d want to smell her own breath after this many weeks without toothpaste or floss, but she did as Polly said. Then she took off her glove, put some straw onto her palm and let the donkey eat off her hand. The animal was surprisingly gentle, its lips barely kissing her skin.

“Does it ever bite?” she asked.