The Seeds of Man

Chapter Six

L ora made a clucking sound as she guided her pony up onto a rise. A mule loaded with two bundles of firewood followed at the end of a rope. Once on top of the hill, Lora pulled back on the reins so she could pause and look out over the tepees that had been set up on the plain below. There were at least a thousand of them, all leaking smoke into the hazy air as adults took care of chores and children chased one another through the maze of cone-shaped dwellings. Some were covered with animal skins while others were wrapped in patched tent fabric or clad in multicolored tarps. It was a fantastic scene, and even though the trip south had been terrifying at times, Lora was glad to be where she was.

The better part of two weeks had passed since the battle at the bridge, but it seemed like much longer. During that time the leavers had traveled hundreds of miles while under the protection of the warrior named Twolakes. And Lora had learned how to ride a horse, how to live off the land, and how to deal with a different culture.

A gentle kick was sufficient to put the pony into motion. The mule was nibbling at a tuft of prairie grass by then, and Lora had to jerk on the rope in order to bring the recalcitrant animal along. A maze of interwoven trails led down into the camp, and Lora followed one of them to the main thoroughfare, which paralleled the river flowing through the center of the encampment. Water sparkled as teenagers led horses down to drink. The youngsters laughed as they splashed one another.

In fact, everywhere Lora looked, people were in high spirits because, after days of lead-up, the big celebration was scheduled to take place that night and promised to be a big event indeed. Something like two thousand people were expected to attend the ceremony, which would be held in the natural amphitheater located half a mile away. And from what Lora had heard, there would be speeches and a variety of entertainments, all leading up to a traditional dance.

Then, within a matter of two days, the entire village would be dismantled and everyone would depart. Not because they were tired of one another—but because no one area could sustain that number of hunter-gatherers for very long. Firewood provided a good example; Lora had traveled for two miles before finding enough for a full load.

So it would be necessary for the Blackfoot people to scatter, return to their various lands, and begin the process of preparing for winter. A year later the village would spring back to life. Where will I be? Lora wondered. She hoped it would be someplace nice.

By that time Lora had joined the steady stream of horses, mules, and people all headed for the amphitheater, located on the south side of the river. They splashed through a shallow spot, climbed the gently shelving bank on the other side, and followed a well-worn trail into a natural arena. The center of the depression had been cleared many years before, and the surrounding slopes were decorated with a patchwork quilt of blankets, all placed there by people who hoped to secure a good spot.

As some of the riders peeled away, Lora joined the line leading up to the fire pit located at the center of the open arena. When Lora neared the steadily growing pile of wood stacked at the center of the amphitheater, a child came forward to take the reins so that she could slip to the ground. After that it was a simple matter to unload, lead the animals away, and climb up onto the western-style saddle. Then it was a short trip out to the spot where Lora surrendered her mount and pack animal to a couple of teenage boys.

They were friendly, and Lora thought one might be trying to flirt with her but wasn’t sure. So rather than risk making a fool of herself, she hurried away. That was the problem with living in another culture. She knew there were rules but hadn’t mastered them yet. The leavers didn’t have tepees but were equipped with tents, all of which were set up at the northwest corner of the Blackfoot encampment. And Lora and the other leavers weren’t the only nontribal individuals camped there. Traders, merchants, medicine men, hucksters, entertainers, and drifters occupied the area as well. The tribal members called the area Ksikk (White) Town. But there had been a lot of interracial marriages during the last two hundred–plus years, which meant lots of Blackfoot Indians had light-colored hair and skin and blue eyes. Or as Twolakes liked to put it, “Being a Blackfoot is a state of mind.”

Regardless, most of Ksikk Town’s residents were male, nominally unattached, and obnoxious. So as Lora wove her way among tents, tarp-covered lean-tos, and some poorly constructed tepees, she was subjected to whistles, crude comments, and lewd invitations she wasn’t about to acknowledge, much less accept, all of which was new to her and one of the unpleasant aspects of life outside the Sanctuary.

Having successfully run the gauntlet, Lora entered the circle of tents that belonged to the leavers. As always, a guard was on duty, in this case her father. George had changed a great deal over the last few weeks. He was happier for one thing, a lot leaner, and clearly enjoying his relationship with Cassie Elano. His face lit up as his daughter arrived. “Lora! There you are… I was beginning to worry. We need to get ready for tomorrow. Twolakes plans to leave before noon.”

By that time the leavers, which was to say everyone other than Lora, had agreed to seek out a commune located near the town of Brooks, a place where, according to Twolakes, about two hundred people were farming the land. Just the sort of folk that George and the others were looking for. Would Lora like it? That remained to be seen, but she was determined to keep an open mind.

The rest of the day was spent preparing for the trip to Brooks. There was plenty to do, but the most difficult chore was washing their clothes, a task that usually fell to Lora. After getting a packet of precious laundry detergent from Cassie and borrowing two plastic buckets from a trader’s wife, Lora made her way to the river, where others were already hard at work. Some were there to wash clothes while others took sponge baths.

The first step was to wade out into the freezing-cold water and fill the buckets. After placing the clothes in one of them, Lora added some detergent. After a twenty-minute soak, each item was scrubbed with a brush prior to being rinsed in the river. Once that was accomplished, she had to wring each garment dry—a difficult task for one person. Fortunately a young wife stepped in to help Lora get the last of the water out.

Having lugged the wet clothes back to the tent, Lora draped each item of clothing on the improvised drying rack located next to the fire and turned them as they dried, the result being that everything Lora wore smelled of wood smoke even before she put it on. Finally the task was complete and Lora could put things away.

It was getting late by then, and many tribal members were feasting on wild game. Not the leavers, though. Although they were trying to learn they lacked the skills necessary to live off the land and were forced to dine on little more than the dwindling rations they had with them.

Lora fixed dinner for her father and always gave him some of her food, something he wasn’t aware of and would have objected to had he known. Lora had never gone hungry in the Sanctuary but rarely got enough to eat anymore and knew that was unlikely to change. Millions had died of starvation, and most of those who survived were malnourished.

By the time dinner was over, people were leaving their various shelters and streaming toward the amphitheater. Names had been drawn from a hat, and Don Beck’s was last. That meant he had to stay and guard the camp against the other residents of Ksikk Town.

Spirits were high, and Lora followed George and Cassie as the crowd pulled them along. Once across the river and inside the arena, Lora saw that the bonfire had been lit and was being tended by a group of boys. Had her wood been consumed already? Perhaps so.

The best seats were already taken, but the threesome found a reasonably good spot on the east side of the clearing, and that’s where they spread the tarp George had brought with him. There was a twenty-minute wait while the latecomers got settled. But then, the moment darkness fell, the ceremony began. There was an opening speech from a chief old enough to remember the days before the nuclear war and the troubles that followed. He had a battery-powered bullhorn, and his deep, resonant voice could be heard far and wide. “Millions of automobiles roamed the land back in those days,” he said. “And we, like the buffalo, lived on reservations. Now we roam free, the bison are coming back, and our children’s children will live to see the day when they will outnumber the dead automobiles.”

The speech was followed by an opening parade that was led by more than a hundred members of the Blackfoot tribe but included representatives from the Sioux Nation and the Ojibwa, all of whom considered themselves northerners. The southern tribes were the Kiowa, the Comanches, the Pawnee, and the Ponca peoples. The parade was followed by demonstrations of dancing, singing, and drumming.

Of equal importance, to Lora anyway, were the fantastic costumes that the men and women wore. Most were made of buckskin decorated with bright geometric patterns, fans of feathers, blocks of colorful beadwork, long fringes, fancy belts, and more. Each outfit was as individual as the person who wore it, a work of art. Finally, after a call for the next powwow, the gathering was over and people streamed across the river. They were subdued now. The big day was over and a year of waiting had begun.

By the time Lora got up the next morning, hundreds of early risers had already left. The next couple of hours were spent having breakfast, breaking camp, and loading the mules with supplies. Then it was time to mount up and follow the others through what remained of the encampment. Tepees were coming down, dogs tussled with each other over scraps of food, and the scent of wood smoke laced the air.

Once the camp was behind them, water flew as the lead animals splashed through the river and climbed the opposite bank. The sun was out, but the air was so cold that Lora could see her breath, and a steady breeze made it feel even worse. But there was nothing she could do except to zip her parka all the way up and try to ignore how cold her extremities felt.

The party consisted of thirty-two Blackfoot warriors, plus the leavers, which added up to more than forty people—a group large enough to scare most bandits away. So with very little to worry about, Lora was free to daydream and think about her future, the challenge being that it was nearly impossible to guess what lay in store for her.

She liked growing plants, so farming made sense. But was that all she could expect? Boys and men had begun to notice her since leaving the Sanctuary. But she was too young for marriage and somewhat vulnerable without being married. So where did that leave her? Living with her father? And with Cassie? That wouldn’t work. She already felt like a third wheel. All she could do was wait and see. Maybe the answer would reveal itself in Brooks.

It wasn’t long before Twolakes led the column across Highway 2 and into the mostly flat farmland beyond. The plan was to avoid main highways, as well as the people who traveled on them, and make a beeline for Brooks. That would not only save time but also allow the party to bypass the city of Calgary, which was under the control of fanatics called the Crusaders, a group that believed in human sacrifice. Lora shivered at the thought.

As the day progressed and the sun arced across an unblemished blue sky, the group passed through a number of small hamlets. Some were little more than ruins. Others had been fortified, and some boasted watchtowers. Lora saw a glint of reflected light as they circled one such structure and knew a lookout was watching them through binoculars.

There were other signs of life as well, including the occasional sound of a gunshot, a far-off finger of smoke pointing up at the sky, and fresh tracks that crossed theirs. But most of the locals lived in a perpetual state of fear and weren’t about to reveal themselves if they could avoid doing so.

As the sun sank into the west, Twolakes led them into a small ghost town. Empty-eyed buildings stared at them from both sides of the main street. All the structures had been looted long ago and now, after decades of neglect, were falling apart. The single exception was a church made from limestone, and that was where Twolakes took them. Not only was the structure defensible; it was surrounded by a shoulder-high stone wall, which soon became a corral.

After caring for her pony and collecting her pack from Mr. Nix, Lora entered the church. She had read about such places but never been in one before. Tim Hobbs clearly felt right at home. He went straight to what had been the altar, knelt in front of it, and began to pray.

The interior had been stripped and, judging from the trash that lay about, had served as a camping spot many times before. The fact that Twolakes was so familiar with the place made Lora curious. What had brought him to the town in the past? And, come to think of it, why escort the leavers to Brooks?

So later that evening, after Fry and Twolakes completed their rounds, she asked him. The Blackfoot was seated on a rickety chair carving a piece of meat off a chunk of dried venison. He smiled. “All of this land belonged to my people once—and all of it will be ours again. But only if we are vigilant. My job is to see, hear, and report to the chiefs. There are others—many others—and they have similar responsibilities.”

“So the chiefs know what is going on,” Lora said.

“Exactly,” Twolakes responded. “Brooks lies within the territory I cover. By taking you there, I can ensure that you will be our friends. And friends are like bullets. You can’t have too many.” That made sense, but Lora was still struck by how complicated the adult world was.

One of the few advantages of being a teenage girl was that no one expected Lora to stand guard duty. So having placed her sleeping bag in the choir loft along with the rest of the females, Lora was able to enjoy some undisturbed sleep. Getting up the following day meant leaving the snug warmth of her bag for the cold morning air, however—a process she would have delayed had it not been for the fact that everyone else was up and around. After a mug of hot tea and a serving of oatmeal, she felt better.

There was something oppressive about the inside of the much-abused church, so it felt good to carry her pack outside and hand it over to Nix. After she saddled her pony, it was time to mount up. The main street led them to the edge of town. The gunmetal gray sky seemed to stretch on forever, sere fields lay before them, and Lora could feel the weight of hidden eyes as they rode south. That feeling persisted through the morning and into the afternoon as they traveled through land that seemed to be empty even if it wasn’t.

The reason for the lack of activity became obvious later, as they came to the spot where two unpaved roads met. There, at the center of the intersection, were three stakes. Each supported the remains of a bird-pecked body. The one in the middle was wearing a crudely printed sign that read, “HERETIC.”

Lora felt sick to her stomach and was forced to look away. She heard Twolakes say something about Crusaders and took a long, slow look around. There were so many dangers. Hopefully, once they arrived at the commune, she would be safe.

They saw no further signs of the Crusaders as the day wore on, but the journey became increasingly difficult as they entered the area known as the Alberta Badlands. Suddenly land that had been as flat as a piece of paper looked as though it had been crumpled into snow-dusted ridges, creased hills, and twisted ravines.

Lora had become something of an expert at reading the people around her by then and was paying particular attention to the Blackfoot warriors because, unlike the leavers, they knew where the dangers lay. And she could tell that they were on high alert.

That made sense, given how easy it would have been for bandits to ambush them. What had once been a road was little more than a well-worn path now. Every curve, every hill, represented a threat, so Lora’s nerves were stretched tight by the time they emerged from a gully and spotted the rusty tower up ahead. It was positioned between a pair of boxy buildings in the middle of a flat area, and the entire complex was surrounded by a wire-mesh fence. There were islands of rust on the lopsided sign that hung from the barrier, but the name was legible: “Chevron.”

That was when Lora realized she was looking at an oil rig—one of thousands in North America and emblematic of a bygone era. “We’ll camp here,” Twolakes announced, and Lora thought it was a good choice. Even though they were filthy on the inside, the buildings had metal walls, some of which were dimpled where bullets had struck, a sure sign that they were defensible. And it was even possible to stable the horses and mules in what had been a equipment shed. So once lookouts were posted, there was reason to relax a bit.

After retrieving her pack from Mr. Nix, Lora went about the process of cooking dinner. Then, with three small servings of chicken and rice in hand, she went looking for her father. When she spotted him, George was sitting in front of a small fire with Cassie. They were eating whatever Cassie had prepared and were laughing at a private joke.

Lora knew it shouldn’t bother her, but it did, and she fought back tears as she turned her back on the scene. People were always hungry, so when she offered a bowl of food to Ralph Kilmer, he was happy to accept it and thanked her with his mouth full.

Lora sat down on an old roll-around chair and ate two servings by herself. It was, she reflected, a lot like having lunch in the school cafeteria, except Cory wasn’t there to annoy her—and much to her amazement, Lora missed him.

The next day was similar to the previous one. It consisted of many hours spent riding through endless gullies, ravines, and canyons, always fearful of attack. But if predators were present, they chose to let the group pass unmolested. Given how barren the badlands were, there was the very real possibility that they were as empty as they looked.

Finally, as the daylight began to fade, the hills seemed to deflate, ravines became shallow valleys, and the prairie took charge again. “Tomorrow,” Twolakes answered when Dero asked him. “Tomorrow we will arrive at the Morningstar commune.”

Lora felt mixed emotions about that. Assuming that the commune was willing to accept the leavers, she would welcome an end to the long, dangerous journey. She was accepted now. But once they arrived at their destination another group of people would get to judge her. Would they find her worthy? She feared that they wouldn’t. And what then? There was no place left to go.

They spent the night in a hollow where the cook fires couldn’t be seen and they could get water from a small stream. When they arose the next morning, it was with a sense of anticipation. Most of the group ate breakfast, while five warriors rode out to collect the rest of the horses. Because they knew the dominant mare and were familiar with her preferences, the task of finding the mounts was relatively easy. And sure enough, when they found the mare, the rest of the horses were grazing nearby.

It took the better part of an hour to get ready and hit the trail. Once on the way, Lora felt a renewed sense of optimism. Occasional breaks in the clouds let the sunlight through, and thanks to the steadily improving weather, only patches of snow remained. Birds chirped, prairie dogs watched them from afar, and when they stopped for lunch Lora saw a bull snake slither through the grass, all of which put her in a good mood.

They arrived at the outermost defenses of the Morningstar commune about an hour later. The first thing Lora saw was a barrier made of stakes. They were sharpened on one end, made of metal, and had probably been fence posts at one time. They were planted in the ground slanting outward. But, because they were two feet apart, a man could pass between them. That puzzled Lora at first. Then she realized that the stakes were intended to force horsemen to rein in and dismount. That would slow the attackers and give residents more time in which to respond.

Twolakes led the group along the line of stakes until they came to the point where two men were guarding a gate. It quickly became apparent that they knew Twolakes, and a short conversation ensued. A few moments later, the entire group was allowed to enter.

A winding road took them past fields where crops were beginning to show, through a pasture dotted with grazing cows, and up to a wall made of old automobiles. They were stacked three high—too tall for a horse to jump, and thanks to fact that the cars wouldn’t burn, impervious to fire as well. With no trees to work with, the wrecks were a good choice.

But how had the materials been gathered? Lora heard Don Beck ask that very question. The answer was that the cars had been removed from a junkyard in Brooks and hauled to the commune by oxen. Once they were at the commune, a homemade crane had been used to hoist the autos into place. The result was an ugly but serviceable barrier—one already pierced by plenty of loopholes through which weapons could be fired.

After speaking with a second pair of guards, Twolakes led the group through an open gate and into the spacious and well-kept compound beyond. A large two-story framed building occupied the center of the space, with small structures all around. There were people too, a couple dozen at least, all of whom had stopped to stare. Lora noticed that they were well clothed and, most important, well fed.

Twolakes raised a hand and the column came to a halt as two men and a woman came forward to speak with him. Shortly thereafter, Lora saw Harvey Nix, Larry Fry, and her father go forward to join the conversation. Then, about five minutes later, Twolakes waved the group forward, not to one of the main buildings but out to a one-story structure that sat all alone. It was surrounded by a chest-high fence with a sign attached. As they got closer, Lora saw that the word “Quarantine” was printed on it. The community was clearly taking precautions against the possibility of communicable diseases, and that was smart.

As the group came to a stop, Nix waved the tail end of the column forward so everyone could hear. “This is the commune’s quarantine center,” he explained. “We are going to spend the next week here. Then, assuming everyone remains healthy and the leaders of the commune grant us temporary residency, a ninety-day trial period will begin.

“Please leave your horses outside of the fence. And many thanks to Twolakes and his people for allowing us to use them. Be sure to say your good-byes tonight, because our Blackfoot friends are leaving in the morning.”

The next couple of hours were spent getting settled. The inside of the building was empty except for two dozen cots, a couple of potbellied stoves, and a sink with running water. The bathroom facilities consisted of two outhouses, both of which were located out back.

Once people had settled in, a good-bye party began. There wasn’t much in the way of food and drink, but a number of leavers took the floor to praise the warriors and thank them. Each speech was followed by a chorus of “Hear! Hear!” and enthusiastic applause.

There weren’t enough cots, so Lora volunteered to sleep on the floor. It should have been uncomfortable, but thanks to the warmth from the stoves and an increased sense of security, she had no trouble falling asleep. By the time she awoke the next morning, Twolakes and his warriors were gone.

Over-the-fence negotiations were under way by noon the first day, but Lora had no say in the discussions. So, with only a minimal number of chores to do, she had time to repair her gear and take lots of naps. Still, by the end of day two, Lora was bored—and the rest of the weeklong quarantine seemed to last forever.

Finally, at the end of day seven, each member of the party underwent an examination by a self-taught doctor, who proclaimed all of them free of communicable diseases. And that, as it turned out, was a sufficient excuse for a celebration.

Lora joined the others as the group was ushered into the main building, where the kitchen and a huge dining room were located. Mouthwatering odors filled the air, all of those not on guard duty were present, and Lora felt very self-conscious as a girl named Nomi took charge of her. “Come on,” she said cheerfully. “Young adults have their own table. You can sit with us.”

Lora had no choice but to accede and, in spite of her fears, soon found herself seated at a long table with about twenty teens. Some were older, some were younger, but all were friendly, so much so that Lora began to relax a bit as the other diners peppered her with questions. With no instructions to the contrary, Lora did her best to answer them. After listening to Lora’s description of the Sanctuary, Nomi nodded. “So you lived in an underground commune.”

Lora had never thought of it that way, but realized that what the other girl said was true. “Yes,” she said. “I guess so.”

It seemed that while each member of the commune had a specialty, there were certain functions that everyone shared, one of which was waiting on tables once a week or so. And Lora had never seen food like what the servers brought to the table—not at the Sanctuary or since. Because there on her plate was a large piece of fried chicken, a mound of mashed potatoes with gravy, and a pile of sliced carrots. Saliva flooded her mouth, her stomach growled, and she could hardly believe that the serving was meant for her. Maybe she was supposed to share. But after quick glances to either side, Lora saw that the others had similar portions.

So she dug in, and even though Lora knew it wasn’t polite to eat without pausing every once in a while, the food was so good she couldn’t help herself. But if Nomi was offended, she showed no signs of it. “You were hungry, huh?”

At that point Lora realized that while her plate was clean, the rest of them were still eating. “Yes. I’m sorry about eating so fast.”

“Don’t be,” a boy named Evan said. “All of us know what it feels like to be hungry. Real hungry.”

Lora wanted to cry but managed to force a smile instead. “Thank you… That means a lot.”

The rest of the evening was a blur. All Lora wanted to do was sleep, but there were boring speeches to sit through, a silly “get acquainted” game to participate in, and a dessert she was too full to eat. Eventually Lora got to slip into her sleeping bag, where she fell instantly asleep. She woke to the sound of someone speaking her name. It was her father. “Time to wake up, hon… All of us have chores to do, and you’re working in the dairy.”

After a hearty breakfast, Lora went looking for the dairy. It wasn’t hard to find, thanks to the presence of some cows and the odor of the dung pile located nearby. Being from an agricultural community herself, Lora knew that the cow manure would make excellent fertilizer, which would be especially important given how short the local growing season was.

As Lora entered the barn, she saw that the black-and-white cows were slotted into stalls along both walls—and people were already hard at work preparing to milk them. Then, before she could go looking for the person in charge, he came to her. He was wearing a hat with ear flaps, was in need of a shave, and had bad breath. “Well, look what we have here… fresh as a prairie breeze and pretty as a flower. What’s your name, honey?”

“Lora.”

“Well, Lora, my name’s Pruett, Larry Pruett… and I’m in charge here. That means I can put you on the cleaning crew, the milking crew, or the poo crew. It all depends on how hard you work—and whether you’re a team player. And you are a team player… right, Lora?”

It didn’t sound right somehow, but Lora couldn’t say no, not on her first day, so she said yes.

“Good,” Pruett said, as if an important deal had been struck. “I’m sure you and I will get along just fine. Have you milked a cow before?”

Lora said that she hadn’t and soon found herself being trained to wash udders, an important step in making sure that the milk would be free of contaminants. Then came a lesson in milking, followed by a midday cleanup and a second milking right after dinner. Of course the cows had to be fed as well, checked for physical abnormalities, and given whatever treatments were necessary, all of which was hard work.

So by the time Lora left the dairy and made her way to the dorm where single females lived, she was exhausted. But that was when she found out that a “get out of quarantine” celebration was about to begin, and according to Arletta Ash, the event was too important to miss.

So Lora accompanied Arletta to the social center, where all the leavers were gathered. And there, sitting on a table, were the packages of seeds the group had worked so hard to bring south. Strangely enough, Lora had nearly forgotten about them in the day-to-day struggle to stay alive. Now, after sacrificing so much, the leavers were about to give them away.

Lora had no way to know what sort of agreement had been struck but assumed that barring some sort of unforeseen difficulty, the leavers would be granted permission to stay after the ninety-day trial period was over.

There was a clinking sound as someone tapped a glass with a spoon, and Nix cleared his throat. “This is a special moment. And here to help commemorate the occasion are all three of the commune’s governing council, including Jon Frenchy, Marla Howar, and Roy Gibbs. Marla has agreed to say a few words.”

Howar was a short, plainly dressed woman with black bowl-cut hair, button eyes, and a snub nose. She welcomed the newcomers to the Morningstar commune and said all the things Lora expected her to say, including words of appreciation where the seeds were concerned. “On behalf of all our members, I would like to thank you for bringing these precious seeds to us. I promise you that we will treasure them, produce more, and find ways to share them with others.”

The statement was met with enthusiastic applause. Once it faded away, Harvey Nix stepped forward. There was a big smile on his face. “And there’s more good news! George? Would you care to say a few words?“

Lora felt an emptiness at the pit of her stomach as her father rose and urged Cassie to join him. “Thank you, Harvey. Yes, it’s my pleasure to announce that Cassie and I are going to be married.”

Lora heard the sound of muted applause as the door to the social center closed behind her. There were hundreds of people in the buildings around her, but as Lora made her way across the compound, she was all alone. There was no way for the others to know she hadn’t been told beforehand. Maybe her father assumed she knew. Whatever the reason, it hurt.

The next few days were very similar. Get up, work all day, and go to bed exhausted. That would have been okay if it hadn’t been for Larry Pruett. He was still slimy, but worse than that, he sought every opportunity to touch Lora. It started with a hand on her shoulder. But it wasn’t long before he found an excuse to put an arm around her waist and hug her. Worse yet was his tendency to appear whenever she was alone. That was when he would ask questions about the Sanctuary, conditions there, and whether she kissed boys. Creepy stuff… especially from someone ten years older than she was. It got so bad that Lora didn’t want to go to work and had considered talking to her father about the situation.

But what would she say? That Pruett hugged her? That he asked her questions? Not only would that sound stupid, but it might put the entire group in jeopardy. What if they weren’t allowed to stay because of her? That on top of her past mistakes. Besides, her father was looking forward to the wedding, and she didn’t want to bother him.

So as Lora made her way toward the dairy, she was thinking of ways to avoid Pruett. The sun was just starting to rise in the east, she could see her own breath, and the commune had just begun to stir. Suddenly the peace was shattered by the unforgettable roar of a diesel engine starting up, followed by the insistent clang-clang-clang of the alarm bell and the staccato sound of gunfire. The community was under attack.

Lora was scheduled to receive military training but hadn’t had any yet and wasn’t sure what to do. So she was standing there, considering the possibilities, when she heard a loud crash. Then, to her horror, a fifteen-foot-long section of the defensive wall collapsed and a huge bulldozer lurched up over the remains of a Ford pickup and nosed its way into the compound.

Lora wasn’t familiar with that type of machine but didn’t need to be. She had ridden in a Sno-Cat and the similarities were obvious. The machine had a powerful engine, tracks to push it forward, and a huge blade mounted in front. The mystery was how the attackers had been able to move the dozer into position without being heard. On an ox-drawn wagon perhaps? Not that it mattered—the deed had been done.

As half-dressed people began to spill out of the surrounding buildings with weapons in hand, mounted horsemen poured through the newly created gap. Blood Kin? No, Lora could see that these riders were different. They wore sculpted helmets complete with face masks and white pullovers decorated with upside-down crosses, and they carried a wild variety of weapons. Crusaders? Yes, Lora thought so. She started to run.

There was nothing but chaos all around as even more Crusaders poured into the compound and the citizens fought back. Lora saw Larry Fry step out of a doorway, raise his assault rifle, and pick off three riders before being cut down.

Then, as she bent to retrieve the pistol lying next to Marla Howar’s body, she saw Ed Dero try to run from one building to another, only to be trampled by a charging horse. So she raised the Glock, held it with both hands, and shot the nearest Crusader in the back.

As the first rider tumbled out of the saddle, a horse brushed past and a second got hold of her hair. Lora felt a stab of pain as he jerked her feet up off the ground. She fired without aiming, and the bullet blew the bottom part of the Crusader’s jaw away. As he let go, Lora hit the ground and rolled to her feet. She heard someone call her name and turned to see her father running toward her. He had a gun and was coming to protect her, but looming behind him was a horse and a Crusader armed with a long lance. The man shouted something incoherent as he spurred his mount forward.

Lora shouted “No!” but it did no good as the tip of the lance penetrated her father’s back and came out through his belly. Then, because of the downward angle, the weapon buried itself in the ground. George tried to stop himself, but his forward momentum was such that he slid down the shaft until his knees hit the dirt.

Meanwhile Lora stood with pistol raised and fired. The first bullet hit the horse as it passed her, the second blew a hole through the rider’s neck, and the third missed. The Crusader was falling as Lora ran forward to kneel next to her father. He was holding the bloodied lance with both hands. As he turned to look at her, Lora could see the pain in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Lora… so very, very sorry.” Then he gave what sounded like a sigh and slumped forward.

And that was where Lora was, sobbing next to her father’s body, when a blow sent her reeling. Seconds later she was on her feet and being hustled away. The journey to hell had begun.