LITMIR.BIZ

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stood in line outside the foul-smelling outdoor privy. Once inside, she would have barely a minute to attend to her personal needs and also pull out that crumpled scrap of paper, smooth it, and read it, before the next just-as-weary woman pounded on the door. The outhouse was unlit—but those huge flood lights glaring in through the cracks and knotholes in its walls should give her enough light to read by.

      But a few moments later, as she headed back to the workroom, Melinda could hardly contain her disappointment. Why, that was no note at all—just a stupid scrap of paper torn from some fertilizer invoice, showing the words “with,” “go,” and “shipment.”

      Soon the Prophet’s Messenger stopped by again to check on their progress. “Now remember,” he warned. “This shipment must go on time—or else!”

      And then it came to Melinda: “Go—with—shipment.”

      Simple coincidence? Or was this a desperate message from her young son?

      Or even one passed on to Jeremy from Josh, just before he—

      Of course! Josh must have been planning their escape. Since the entire compound was surrounded by a 12-foot high barbed wire and electric fence, the only way out—short of a non-existent plane or helicopter—was through the well-guarded front gates. These were always kept locked, except when various trucks, jeeps, motorcycles, or tractors were driven through them by Harve or Agnes. Or by one of their guards on his way to town to get supplies, or to deliver corn and other cash crops from the commune like the sewing order going out tonight. Or even to spend a wild night on the town. Incoming orders were always delivered at the gatehouse itself.

      Josh must have wanted her and the children to somehow sneak out to the truck that would be transporting the sewing bundles, without being seen. And then hide among the bags of finished sewing orders for a ride through those gates and on to the outside world—hopefully, all the way to Cottontree. Or even to Big Bend City, if the truck went that far. A perfect plan.

      Except, of course, an impossible one.

      Or was it?

      Finally, just before the evening meal, the last order was finished and wrapped.

      “All right,” barked the Messenger, “everyone grab a bundle or two, and take them out to the barn. Come on, get moving here. We can load everything in only four or five trips each, if no one’s lazy. And you know how we reward lazy Disciples!”

      In the barn, Melinda found the same truck that had been parked there earlier, now with its sides up and most—but not all— of the hay bales removed. Two guards took the packages from the women and threw them up onto the remaining hay. When all the bundles were on board, they secured a blue plastic tarpaulin over the top. Last of all, the Messenger put up the tailgate.

      “All right, that’ll do it,” he shouted. “Time for Evening Prayer Feast. Move it, move it, move it!”

      The famished, half-dead women dragged off toward the Pavilion. Only Melinda lingered, pretending to rewrap her ankle while she looked around the barn and truck. How could she ever get her children away from their Guardian Angel? Or Shannon from her work crew? How could they all hide under that tarp without being seen? And get out of the compound without being missed?

      Oh, if her head would just quit aching so she could think! Or if the God Josh had trusted so much would just do a miracle for her like the ones she had read about in the Bible!

      “This kind can come forth by nothing, but by prayer and fasting.” (Mark 9:29)

      What, what? A Bible verse . . . but why did she think of that particular one?

      Suddenly tears sprang to her eyes. Yes! Oh, thank You, God. For now she had her plan.

      Chapter Five

      

      After washing her hands in the old metal tub outside the ramshackle eating Pavilion, Melinda opened its sagging screen door. The Prophet had already “blessed” the food, and was now being served at the head table with the Prophetess and some of his guards. Tonight’s Anointed menu included steaming hot pork chops, mashed potatoes, baked beans, and pumpkin pie —with Agnes already on her second plate.

      In contrast, the Unanointed adults stood in a long line, waiting for their own dreary meals of cold, meatless stew and stale bread at the roughhewn serving counter, which they would sit on crude benches to eat. Behind them waited Sister Uriah, the children’s Guardian Angel, with her exhausted young charges—forced, as usual, to eat last. If there was anything left to eat.

      But this evening, instead of taking her place at the end of the adult line, Melinda limped boldly to the food-filled head table. Carefully easing her swollen ankle onto the concrete floor, she knelt by the Prophet’s dust-covered boots, where his pet pit bull, The Avenging Angel, noisily chomped on some porkchops.

      Dear God, please help me!

      Immediately, two guards leapt up, pointing their guns directly at her neck. Annoyed, the Prophet threw his dog another greasy bone and wiped his mouth on the back of his hands. But before he could lash out at her—

      “Hail, God’s Anointed!” she cried, keeping her eyes modestly downcast.

      “Shut up!” ordered one of the guards, smashing his gun barrel down on her arm so hard tears sprang to her eyes. “How dare you address the Prophet without permission?”

      Harve grabbed another porkchop and took a giant bite. “Oh, let her speak,” he mumbled between mouthfuls. “This might be amusing. What is it, Sister Abigail?”

      Head still lowered, she chose her words carefully. “O Prophet, I see now that you have indeed been sent to deliver me and my children from the Gates of Hell. But I feel much too unworthy! Therefore, before Sister Deborah and I become your handmaidens tonight, we have but one request of you that we might be prepared by God to be all we should be for you.”

      Oh, how she loathed that kind of talk—lies, lies, all of it! Dear God, forgive me, but our lives depend on this!

      The Prophet’s mouth twitched. “Yeah? What’s that?”

      Now she looked up.

      “That, instead of eating, from now until tonight’s Teaching message, my children and I and Sister Deborah spend the time apart, fasting and praying, to prepare our souls and bodies for our new life ahead.”

      “Ridiculous!” sniffed one guard.

      But the Prophet laughed. “Sounds fine to me. As long as you also take time to wash up those filthy feet and put on some clean garments for our wedding night. Lord, look at that swollen lip. How do you expect me to kiss you like that? Do something about it, will you?” Wrinkling his nose, “And ask one of the guards for a spray of perfume. You stink!”

      Suddenly he tilted her face up with his still-porkchop-filled hand, and grinned. A twisted grin full of lust, power, triumph, and revenge. “Yes, yes, get yourself ready, pretty, pretty Sister Abigail. Ready for the blessing of your life! Here, woman, this is the sign of your acceptance.”

      From his jeans pocket, he pulled out two of the cheap chains and pendants reserved for his Exalted Handmaidens. “You’d be getting this one tonight, anyway. And here’s one for Sister Deborah. It’ll show my guards that you all have official permission to leave the pavilion.”

      Agnes laughed shrilly. “I’m sure some other poor wretch will be glad to eat your food. Besides, you need another baby to keep you busy, you lazy witch. Those two brats of yours have been spoiled rotten. Worthless tramp! Always so proud of your pretty hair and fine husband. Thought you were something, didn’t you? Well, pride is a sin, woman. See how proud you feel when the Prophet’s through with you!”

      Smirking, Harve placed the chain around Melinda’s neck. Suddenly

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