LITMIR.BIZ

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Anointed,” or “Your Holiness.”

      Yet in just an hour or so, she might be out where everyone had normal names. And she could once more be plain “Mrs. Melinda Currie” instead of “Sister Abigail.”

      A “shipment” for the Sheriff ? That really puzzled her. What in the world would he want with quilts and baby clothes? Or hay, for that matter? Or was his real shipment the ammo boxes? If so, why—and why that much? And was the fertilizer for farm use—or for explosives?

      Another thing: Harve and Agnes and their guards pampered themselves with luxuries such as magazines, cigarettes, videos, pizza, and beer— even, God help us, marijuana! But the Unanointed Disciples were barely allowed blankets, food, or clothes, with no toys or schooling for the children, and no shoes or medical help for anyone!

      God, it’s all so unfair! Well, when she and her children made it out to the “real world”—

      Of course, if we don’t . . .?

      Or even if we do, where could we go, what could we do, without friends or money, in the middle of the night? Or even tomorrow, when the Prophet’s men come to look for us?

      No, she mustn’t think of that. She must concentrate on how to get out of the truck safely once they reached wherever they were headed. She hadn’t seen any lock on the tailgate, so maybe if they got the latches undone, they could just slide out. And with everything so dark, maybe they could even do it without being seen! Surely someone somewhere would eventually take pity on them and help them!

      She sighed. So did her daughter.

      “Mommy!” Amber whispered. “I’m scared. And hungry. And this hay makes me itch.”

      “Don’t be scared,” she whispered back. “I know the hay is scratchy, but we won’t be here long. Remember, God is with us. ‘When I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.’” (Psalms 56:3)

      “Well, maybe I don’t want God to be with me,” her daughter sniffled softly. “Not if He’s mean like the Prophet and Prophetess. Why are they such baddies, Mommy? I want my Daddy.”

      Of course they all did.

      After a moment’s silence, her brother suggested, “If we sing, maybe you won’t be so afraid. They won’t hear us over all that music. It’s as loud and horrible as the Prophet’s bongo drums.”

      “A good idea, dear,” Melinda replied. Dear God, anything to keep the children from sobbing. “Let’s whisper a song, as quiet as we can. Try ‘Jesus Loves Me.’ All together now—”

      But only she and Jeremy and Shannon knew the words. For, ever since little Amber’s birth, the commune children had been allowed to hear nothing but the Prophet’s own ear-grating “psalms.”

      How Melinda longed to hold her little girl in her arms and comfort her! But she could only squeeze her hand. “That’s all right, dear; we’ll teach the song to you.” They tried the song again.

      But just then the loud music stopped. And so did she.

      “Goldurn you, Hank!” yelled an angry voice out the open window. “What’d you go turn off the radio for? You know I just love that song. Why, that feller’s almost plumb good as Willie Nelson.”

      “You idiot! Your cell phone’s ringing. You deaf or something? Maybe it’s Rev. Harve. Boy, you sure don’t want him mad at you.”

      “Oh, yeah, yeah. Hello, hello? Hey, Hank, something’s wrong. I can’t hear nothing.”

      “Do I have to do everything around here? Grab the wheel for me, okay? Hello, hello?

      You’re right, Joe. It’s Rev. Harve, but the connection died. Couldn’t hear a word he said except ‘emergency.’ That’s the trouble with these stupid cell phones; batteries always run out just when you need them.”

      “‘Emergency’? Lord, Hank, we’d better get on back. Might be the Feds. They like to raid after dark, and I seen some suspicious planes overhead this afternoon. Man, I can’t wait until us PAF-ers kin git rid of all them government creeps and do whatever we want. Goldurn this old one-lane road! Where can we turn around?”

      “Well, we’re almost up to the Parkinson place—you know, last farm before the highway. They got a wide place there by their driveway. All right, Joe, hang on to your hat. And keep the other hand on your gun!”

      Melinda froze. No, no, they couldn’t turn back now—not with freedom this close! Besides, that “emergency” could only mean one thing: the Prophet had discovered them missing!

      “All right, everyone,” she whispered, “we’ve got to make our way back through the bags to the tailgate. Okay? Shannon—uh, Sister Deborah—you’ll need to unlatch one side of it while I unlatch the other. When the truck slows down to turn around, everyone grab a bundle of clothes, then hold tight to it as you slide off to help break your fall. I’ll help you. Come on!”

      Pushing and wriggling along under the tarp past the various bags and bundles, they finally reached the back of the truck. To Shannon she said, “All right, dear, as soon as you’ve got your latch open, call, ‘Ready.’ Got it?”

      As Melinda crawled across to the other side, she could see lights of cars whizzing by on the main highway up ahead. That meant they were almost to the turnaround place!

      But the latches were far harder to open than she thought, and it took every ounce of her strength to get her side undone.

      “Sister Abigail!” Shannon whispered frantically. “I can’t do it!”

      Of course not; Melinda had barely managed one herself.

      “Hold on, dear; I’m coming. We’ll try it together.”

      As she pushed her way back across, she heard from the cab, “Okay, Hank, this here’s the Parkinson place. I’ll try the phone again . . .. Goldurn, still can’t hear what they’re saying! Okay, turn that radio back on and let’s burn rubber.”

      Speakers booming, the truck whirled around in the driveway, skidding and squealing. Just then the tailgate finally released. “All right,” Melinda cried. “Everyone JUMP!”

      Then, without the truck even slowing down, they all spilt out—along with an avalanche of sewing bundles and even a hay bale or two—landing in a cloud of dust on the gravel road! By the time the dust cleared, the truck had long since disappeared back down the road toward the compound.

      Melinda sat up, dazed. “Is everyone all right?” she cried. “Anyone bleeding?” One by one, she brushed the children off and tried to inspect them for scrapes and bruises. Thank God; all those soft bundles had cushioned their landing! Even her ankle was no worse.

      Grabbing all three children in her arms, she smothered them with kisses. “We did it!” she cried hoarsely. “We’re not there any more!”

      “But, Mommy,” Jeremy replied without smiling, “where are we?”

      Standing up to get her bearings, “We’re almost to a highway, dear.” Then realizing that her children had never seen one before, she explained, “That means a big road with lots of cars on it. It will take us to our new home. But we must stay together and walk carefully by the side of the road, because highways are very dangerous. Understand?”

      Jeremy was dubious. “But, Mommy, when the guards find we’re gone, won’t they come back looking for us?”

      More brightly than she felt she said, “You’re right, dear, so we can’t stay here. I know you’re barefoot and the gravel will hurt your feet, but we’ve got to reach the highway as fast as we can.” She picked up her daughter. “Shannon—Sister Deborah—you grab Jeremy’s—uh, Brother Meshach’s—hand. Stay close to me so I can lean on you like a crutch if I need to. Okay, everyone pray as hard as you can. Now, let’s go!”

      Finally reaching the highway turnoff, Melinda stopped to read a directional

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