The Valley of Dry Bones (9 page)

He explained that their one water tanker—much smaller than WatDoc's monster and slightly smaller than the two medium-sized trucks they had encountered that afternoon—would be rigged with an electric winch, allowing them to upright the damaged vehicles, mount them on a dolly, and tow them back. “It has to be after dark,” Zeke said, “because we'll produce so much dust we'd give away our location.”

Little surprise, Doc questioned the strategy. “The Mongers will be able to see your lights for miles.”

Sasha piped up, “Just like the Israelites! It's either the cloud by day or a pillar of fire by night.” When this brought chuckles all around, except
from Doc, Sasha immediately said, “I'm sorry, Dr. Xavier. I didn't mean to be disrespectful.”

“Oh, I know,” Doc said. “No offense taken, and you're right. There's no good time to be engaging in that much activity out in the open. Let's face it, that's why the Mongers didn't take those vehicles. They've got us right where they want us. They aim to find this place, and this is how they're going to do it.”

“You got a suggestion, Doc,” Raoul said, “or you just criticizin'?

“Of course I've got an idea, but you're not going to like it.”

People murmured, “Go ahead, what?”

Zeke leaned close and whispered to Alexis, “He loves to be begged.”

“We leave the wrecks right where they are and replace those vehicles,” Doc said.

“That's a lot of money,” Katashi said.

“What's your option?” Doc said. “Stir dust in the daytime or beam lights in the night: Either way you're sending the Mongers engraved invitations to our front door.”

“He's right.”

“I know it,” Zeke said, much as he hated to admit it. Several turned to look at him, including Alexis, and he realized he had responded to a comment no one else had heard.
Terrific. Here we go again
. “Uh, yeah, I mean, that's a good word, Doc, and you're right. As far as the budget goes, Alexis and I can make do without replacing the Wrangler. We'll use whatever else is available. How about you, Raoul? You need to replace the pickup?”

“Me and Benita can make anything work, man. But she's the best shot here too. Just give me something that gets us where we need to go for good hunting.”

“How 'bout a good used one?”

“
Bueno
.”

“Doc, the same? A good used car big enough for your family?”

“No, sir.”

“Sorry?”

“I need the Land Rover replaced, same condition or better.”

“Let's be reasonable . . .”

“Okay, first, there's no reason to have Sunday morning worship anywhere but right here. I'm on record opposing that from the start. That dumpy old place has nothing to recommend it, and we leave our vehicles exposed not only to the elements, but also to Monger thugs—not to mention that we also have to then walk the rest of the way. What did we expect? We're lucky this didn't happen before. It wasn't my fault my Rover got trashed, and I expect it to be replaced. Naturally my insurance doesn't extend to California. I'm here at my own risk.”

“As we all are. Let's be sure we consider everybody's well-being—”

“That's all I ever do,” Doc said.

Zeke made the rounds of the underground compound every night. That evening he asked Pastor Bob to accompany him as he checked on those manning the periscopes in each corner of the complex. This was something anyone of any age could handle, once they were trained what to watch for—even eight-year-old Kayla Xavier and sixty-two-year-old Jennie Gill.

Gabrielle Xavier was taking her turn at the northeast post, which involved slowly scanning the horizon one minute of every five when a quiet beeper sounded. During the off minutes the assignee could read or doze or do whatever they wished. Gabrielle was a tall, trim, handsome woman who, like Alexis, had a way of making survival attire look classy.

When the men approached, she was affixed to the lens, slowing turning in her chair, hands guiding the scope. “Be right with you,” she said pleasantly, “whoever you are.” She had a throaty, melodic tone.

“Only Pastor and me, Gabrielle,” Zeke said. “No rush.”

“Oh,” she said, and he detected a hint of suspicion. “What's up?”

“Just making the rounds. No agenda.”

When she reached the end of the arc she folded the handles and rolled her chair back. “To what do I owe the honor?” she said, smiling, but still, Zeke thought, sounding guarded.

“Like I said, just strolling through. You doing all right?”

“Always,” she said. “Do I need to apologize for my husband?”

The question caught Zeke off guard, but apparently Pastor was ready. “Oh, no. We wouldn't know what to think if Doc wasn't being Doc.”

“Well, he was a little rigid even for me this evening,” she said. “He even asked me if I thought so. I told him yes.”

Zeke shrugged. “That's good.”

“Maybe,” she said, “but he's not likely to admit that to you.”

“It's enough to know he's aware of it. Is it still going to cost the treasury a Land Rover?”

“You do what you think is best for everybody, and he'll just have to live with it. You know he's all bark—”

“I hope so.”

“Listen,” she said, “I'm glad you're both here. I need to tell you something I haven't even told Adam.”

“Oh?” Pastor Bob said. “I'm not sure that's wise.”

“I'll tell him soon enough. I just became aware of it, and after the day he's had, I didn't want to add anything more to his plate. He's beyond stressed and exhausted, and he's going to be up late with Cristelle—probably till midnight. This can wait till tomorrow for Adam, but you need to know.”

“Very well,” Pastor Bob said.

“My kids like to explore, as you know.”

“Of course,” Pastor said. “I think they've been into every nook and cranny of this place. Especially Caleb.”

“Kayla too,” she said. “They compete to see who can get into the most mischief. Anyway, they were running around in the motor pool today when I was helping Elaine and Katashi get dinner prepared. They wanted to see the motorcycle or whatever it was that their father rode back here on—”

“Dirt bike,” Pastor Bob said.

“Right. So they were climbing around in there, and Caleb got into all that obsolete computer stuff. I'm not even sure what it all is.”

Zeke nodded. “Obsolete is right. That would have been some pretty cheery stuff if the government hadn't blocked all the Internet signals
except their own when they condemned the state. That's why we're dead in the water—bad choice of words—when it comes to Wi-Fi, Internet, anything but walkie-talkies, which are useless unless we want the Mongers hearing us as well as we can hear them. So if the kids were playing with that stuff, I doubt they could have hurt anything.”

“It's not that, Ezekiel,” Gabrielle said. “Caleb got into all the user manuals and warranties, those kinds of things. They were in plastic sleeves and packed between the hardware and in cable boxes.”

Zeke shrugged. “It should probably all be kept together on the outside chance we'll figure out how to get online someday, but we can reorganize it if we need to. No real harm done.”

“Zeke. Listen to me. The kids found more than hardware and software manuals in there.”

“Yeah? What?”

“About sixty pages of material in an Arabic language.”

“What?” Zeke said.

“And these were where?” Pastor Bob said.

“Right in with those computer manuals.”

“Where are they now?”

“Right back where Caleb found them. He brought them to me, and they scared the devil out of me. The only thing I recognized were numbers, and several of the pages included this year. I made him put them back. I don't know anyone here who could translate from Farsi or Urdu or whatever it is, and even using those terms makes me sound more knowledgeable than I am. All I remember from college is that there are dozens and dozens of variations of Arabic languages and dialects, and I know none of them. I couldn't translate one character.”

“What did you tell the kids?” Zeke said.

“I just said it was someone's personal property and that Caleb was to put it back where he found it and leave it alone.”

“Perfect. And he did?”

“I made sure.”

“Good thinking, Gabrielle,” Zeke said.

“Say,” she said, “have you looked in on Adam already or—?”

“No, he and Cristelle are last on our route.”

“Well, I was going to spell him for half an hour when my shift is over, but that's not for ninety minutes, and he needs a shower.”

“Oh, let us sit with Cristelle,” Pastor Bob said. “We can, can't we, Zeke?”

“Sure. One of us can. Don't give it another thought.”

Zeke made their next stop the garage, the broadest single area in the compound, where they housed rolling stock—the two remaining dirt bikes, the water tanker, and several other vehicles they'd had since the beginning. “Sure seems like something here would suit Doc,” Pastor Bob said as they headed past the heating and cooling system, ventilation and sanitation treatment utilities, and a bank of generators humming in one corner.

“Maybe he'll come around,” Zeke said.

“You
do
believe in miracles,” the pastor said.

They headed to the massive shelving unit laden with the computer hardware Gabrielle had mentioned. “This inventory gives me a gut-ache every time I think of it,” Zeke said. “How were we supposed to know the feds would be so determined to keep everybody out that they would scramble all the signals? Do you think if they knew we were helping people . . . ?”

“Nah,” Pastor Bob said, digging between boxes and hardware. “Lots of manuals here. What'd she say, sixty pages?”

The computer-related documentation was mostly in English, Spanish, and Japanese. And that was all in stapled booklets or folded brochures. The pages in question were copy machine–generated and either stapled or loose, and as Gabrielle had said, plainly in an Arabic script.

“I don't even want to think what this means,” Zeke said.

“Don't be too quick to—”

“C'mon, Pastor! You don't think we have an interloper?”

“Let's just think this through.”

“Be my guest. Give me one credible alternative explanation. Just one that makes sense. Somebody heard that some militant faction is planning to set up a command post in California, so they want to familiarize themselves with the potential threat?”

“Maybe,” Pastor Bob said.

“Doesn't hold water. First, where would they have heard about this?”

“On a trip for supplies.”

“Then why not tell us, get us all involved? And how do they know the language? Who among us reads Arabic? And why hide it out here? We've got a traitor, Pastor.”

“It's not like you to overreact, Zeke. Slow down.”

“I so want to be wrong! Give me one scenario I can believe in.”

“All right, here's one. Hear me out. A lot of this equipment, most of it probably, originated from the Far East, right?”

“Okay . . .”

“A sympathizer, maybe even a radical, works in one of the manufacturing plants or distribution centers. He's reading his propaganda on his break or lunch hour, it gets mixed in with the manuals, someone else packs it with the merchandise, it winds up getting shipped out. That makes more sense than thinking that somebody we know and love and eat with and work with every day is a closet terrorist. Really.”

“I don't know. I'm tempted to set up a hidden camera and see who comes after this.”

“I hate that idea—spying on our own people.”

“You have a better idea?”

“No, but Zeke, think about it. Give me one suspect.”

“You were questioning the Muscadins yourself today!”

“I was just posing a question. Could they have somehow been in cahoots with the Hydro Mongers? Then Cristelle's almost killed by them. That answered that question. We know everyone else too well. Anyway, do we have a video camera?”

“No.”

“Well, there you go.”

“I'll get one, next time I go to Parker.”

“You don't go on five-hundred-mile-round-trip drives,” Pastor Bob said. “That would be bad stewardship of your time. If this stuff belongs to one of our people—and for the wrong reasons—it'll come to light soon enough.”

As they replaced everything, Zeke sighed. “In all the excitement I forgot to tell you my ulterior motive for asking you to join me tonight.”

“I wondered.”

“Any chance Jennie would be up to joining Lexi and me for a little while after we spell Doc? I'm going through something I need your counsel on.”

“Let's ask her,” Pastor Bob said. They headed down a short hallway and he knocked softly on the door of their quarters. Hearing nothing, he quietly opened it and peeked in to find the lights off. “Give me a minute, Zeke,” he whispered. A moment later he returned. “She's fine, but down for the count, I'm afraid.”

“You need to stay with her?”

“She urged me to go actually.”

D
OC WAS SUSPICIOUS
of Zeke and Pastor Bob's willingness to relieve him so he could get a shower. “That ought to be Danley's job anyway, shouldn't it?” he said.

“He's on periscope duty,” Zeke said. “You know we don't make exceptions or the whole fabric of this little society falls ap—”

“Then why make an exception for me?”

“Because you're starting to smell, Doc. Now get out of here, but hurry back before we change our minds.”

“Well, she's sedated enough to sleep through the night, but come and get me if there's a crisis.”