"Uncle Pete," she whispered happily. Leaning on the sill, she watched him work. "He knows how to do everything!" she said aloud, the awe in her voice palpable. And, yes, it was her mother, Beth, who was singing. Clarice knew then that her party was really going to happen. They had told her, she recalled, that she could help with the preparation, but only if she followed directions very closely. Quickly, so as not to miss a thing, she climbed out her bedroom window (who needs a door?) and ran up to her mom and Uncle Pete. All ready to start making things happen, she smiled eagerly and asked, "What can I do? Tell me. Tell me," nearly flying off the ground, she was so excited and happy.
Beth turned toward her child, took one look, and instantly lost her smile. "She's growing up too fast," she thought to herself. "So tall, and such long legs." At that same instant she said aloud, "Go back in the house, you foolish girl. Coming outside half naked. Go back and get dressed. Now!"
Clarice’s young heart stopped short, and she just stood there, frozen, wide eyed.
"Do what your mother says," Uncle Pete told her softly and backed away.
A bit confused, Clarice turned toward the house. But by the grace of the goddess, when she was in her room again, she'd already forgotten her mother's disapproval. It was her birthday after all. And she was very happy. "Finally," she smiled again, "two digits. Today, I'm a one plus a zero. A whole 10 years old!"
She hummed the "Happy Birthday" song as she picked out a pair of blue jeans and a white cotton blouse with a little ruffle along its scoop neck. It had long sleeves, too. "Good for keeping the sun from burning your fair skin," Cynthia had told her. "Fair skin," she giggled to herself. "I have fair skin." She placed her jeans and blouse neatly on her bed, along with clean underwear, a pair of soft pink socks, and her white sneakers. Then she went to the bathroom to wash up and brush her teeth. "It's going to be the best day," she sang out. "I just know it!"
* *
Beth also wasn’t present the day a classmate of Clarice’s decided he would taunt her on the way home from school. Clarice tolerated the bullying and being physically pushed and bumped while walking with her books in her arms. She knew she hadn’t done anything to warrant this abusive behavior, so she tried to just go on and ignore the fellow. But, when he blindsided Clarice and threw her tumbling through some bushes, she summoned up the ferocity in her. Picking herself up, she quickly ran around the other side of that boy and gave him a good push into a hedge, which was as hard as a thorn-covered brick wall. Clarice felt satisfied then, as though she could give as good as she got. That’s not to say she didn’t retrieve her books quickly and run like the wind away from that boy. She did! He never tried anything with her again.
Yes, Beth often wondered where Clarice’s strength came from and why she sometimes felt that Clarice was the parent and she, the child. Had she known some of the obstacles Clarice had overcome, Beth would have had something of an answer.
* *
"Am I dreaming? Ten years old and I'm having an outdoor party, too?" Clarice, so excited and happy, sat down at the breakfast table, trying to remember if she had ever had any kind of a real birthday party at all, much less one with all this fuss. While she ate her cereal, Clarice recalled who she finally had asked to come: Cynthia, of course; Randy from across the highway; Owen, Randy’s stuck-up friend from town; Kaylee with the spindly arms and legs; Grace who would probably bring her little sassy yippy Chihuahua; and Lily who can always bring some sense of order to a party. Of course, Mom had made her invite Jackson and Rick, her brothers. She didn't mind inviting her little brother, but Rick? He and his friends thought Clarice's crew just a bunch of small-fry, mostly to be ignored or sent on errands. "Well," she thought, "Rick won’t do much, except maybe eat everything he can fit into his huge maw."
Beth also had allowed Clarice one critical decision: the party's theme. "I want a soak party, Ma," she had responded, "with weapons!" Which means of course that each and every child who attended the party was to be given an automatic water gun. "So so cool," Clarice thought as she laid out and loaded all the guns with water. She was sure everyone will bring their own, but if they don’t, Beth had already made certain there were extras. No doubt that Randy and Owen would bring theirs, but Clarice wasn’t sure about the girls. "Most of them were too prissy for water guns," she humphed, but she loved them just the same.
After eating, Clarice helped her mother clean up the kitchen. Watching as her mom scrubbed the top of the stove, she recalled the harsh tone Mom had used with her earlier. "Why was Mom so grumpy." Clarice frowned. "She sure can run hot and cold sometimes." Clarice's feelings were a little hurt because she’d run out of the house plenty of times wearing just her jammies. But since it was her birthday, Clarice decided not to fret. She just knew from Mother’s tone that she’d better be on her best behavior or the whole party could be called off. "Wonder what daddy would have done if he had been there." She wondered a lot about her dad and why he hadn’t been around much. She secretly hoped he’d show up today at the last minute.
Long ago Beth had explained to the children why Pat wasn’t around much anymore, but Clarice never believed her mother’s story. Why would her dad want to be part of the merchant marines when he was such a good farmer, rode horses so well, spit tobacco so far, and could throw those bales of hay so high up into the loft? Maybe it had something to do with the sheriff driving up that day. Clarice never saw anyone turn so purple, red, and white all at the same time as her dad did. In contrast, her mom seemed relieved to see Sheriff Samuels. Then the strangest thing happened. Pat very coolly took the sheriff off to one side and had a long talk with him, all the while, shuffling his feet back and forth, pointing to Beth and laughing. The sheriff seemed amused with Pat, patted him on the back several times, and finally walked toward Beth. She nodded her head, looked at Pat with a sneer on her lips, and then watched dumbfounded as the sheriff waved to Pat, got in his vehicle, and drove off. The next morning, Pat was nowhere to be found.
At first Clarice and her brothers thought their dad had gone to town for some supplies, but when nighttime came and he wasn’t back, they asked Beth about it. That's when she told the merchant marine story. The children couldn't have been more surprised by the news. They watched their mom and sensed something wasn't right. She should have been upset. But they never saw Beth shed a tear. Not one.
* *
For little Clarice the morning couldn’t have passed by any slower. But it did pass, finally, and the moment came when the party was to begin. Beth had set aside enough daylight in the party’s schedule so the kids could play their games. They were going to have a cookout after playing and then, to make things really special, they were to sit around the campfire while everyone told a favorite ghost story. Pete had some doozies to tell since he’d been around the world a few times and was quite the yarn spinner.
The kids were having a good time. They all challenged each other to gunfights and screamed with delight when they were soaked or soaked someone else. Clarice and Randy climbed and hid in the trees over the stream and ambushed those who came by. They in turn scrambled for a tree and some even swung out over the stream. Clarice had never been so happy.
Until she heard Cynthia scream.
Clarice and Randy were both alarmed. When they found her, Cynthia was standing stone still. She wouldn't move her head, but she could see her two friends and she was scared for them. She got up the nerve somehow to say, very quietly but emphatically, "Stay away. Rattler," and lifted her chin ever so slightly and stared at that snake, hoping that her friends would look in the same direction.
They did. But Clarice and Randy couldn't see anything and were about to tell Cynthia to quit kidding, when they heard a persistent buzz like a large mosquito. They turned and spotted the mud-colored rattler, very small, but definitely a rattler who seemed pretty unhappy about all those people getting so close. Randy guessed it was a Pigmy (he liked snakes). "They're rare, but they come around here now and then." He knew that its bite was venomous. "No matter what," Randy said to his scared friend, "do not move. You're doing the right thing. Just stay still."
They all resisted the strong urge to back away. They looked at each other, trying to send out courage through their eyes. "We'll try waiting him out," Randy whispered, hardly moving his lips. It was a good decision. After a short while, the rattler seemed to lose interest and slithered away. Cynthia nearly fainted. But Clarice was by her side in a blink and the three friends hugged and got away from there as fast as they could. In a few minutes they all started walking back toward the stream where other kids (they thought) were still playing.
When they got there, however, the forest was quiet and no water-pistol-shooting friends were anywhere to be seen. "What's going on?" Clarice asked. Just then a hoot and a howl from up the forest trail caught their attention. "That must be them," Randy guessed. The three, recovered, started to run toward the sound.
Clarice stopped. "Okay, Cyn. Do you want us to go with you?"
"No, no," Cynthia replied. "I can do it. Give Bigfoot a kiss for me!"
"We'll be back in no time then," Clarice shouted after Cynthia, who had already started back down the hill. "We're just gonna see what's going on up there. Tell Mom, okay," Clarice asked, "and make sure they save us some burgers!"
The friends waved to each other. Cynthia then turned her back, and ran lickety split down the path over the ridge to the farm.
* *
Beth asked her, “Are Clarice and Randy close behind?”
“Yes,” Cynthia replied, not sure that the reason for their delay would make Beth very happy. So she decided to keep her mouth shut. “They’ll be here in no time, Mrs. Weaver,” she said and slipped away to be with the other children.
Pete looked at his sister and then toward the cow pasture and up the ridge. "I'll go find them," he told her, a tad concerned. "They're probably just busy catching frogs or something," he said confidently and handed her the huge pitcher of lemonade he had just made. Beth took it, then put it down on a table nearby, not knowing if she should start worrying or not. Because just then, she saw Pat, her ex, driving up to the house. "Uh-oh," Pete said under his breath. "I'm outta here."
Beth sized up Patrick’s truck and immediately ran dead center into its path—while it was still moving toward her. She held her hand up as if it were a stop sign and yelled. “Where do you think you’re going? Turn this clunker around and go back where you came from!” Pat didn’t change course and didn’t slow down either, so Beth had to jump out of the way. And fast.
He stopped the truck then, slowly opened his door, looked back at Beth, and said, "You know you’re crazy, don’t you? And you can’t be serious. You think I’d miss this day? I’m her father and besides, I was invited.” Oh, no, now it was on.
“Well, just who invited you?”
“Why, our daughter, naturally,” he lied.
Beth thought quickly. She knew Clarice didn’t know her father’s telephone number, but she knew who did. She turned just in time to see Pete’s truck rolling at a good clip down the drive toward the highway. “I’ll get him for this!” she said under her breath.
Knowing she was defeated, Beth wheeled back on Pat. “Okay, okay, so you’re here. Stuck with you, I guess. Make yourself useful. Go see what’s keeping Clarice and Randy at the stream up beyond the cow pasture. All the others came when I called except them. They know better, so I'm a little worried.”
Pat looked at Beth quizzically. He heard what she had said, but he wanted to distract her, get her off guard, play with her. "You're crazy," he said again, but softly this time, making sure his mouth formed the words precisely. He liked to watch her watch him.
"What? What did you say!?"
"You're crazy," he said a bit louder, with a silly grin that always had the effect of making her back down from whatever high horse she was on.
Beth stared at him. Just having this man in eyesight was enough to make her shake and shiver. "You damn...." Yes, you heard right. She did growl. And then there was that small smile just starting to form at one side of her mouth. He saw it. ("Damn again!") And against her will, her whole body suddenly just loosened up and relaxed. ("He's good at that.") She turned her back to him, a protective reflex, and called back over her shoulder. "Go find those kids, Pat. You know the woods around here as well as anyone. Hurry up. They're probably out by the creek. And these people over here are eating like starving buzzards. Food won't last much longer. Go!"
He enjoyed watching her walk away, her swinging plump hips, her hair shining brightly. A twinge of longing, of remembering, nudged his consciousness. "Hmm, hm." Reluctantly, he turned, grabbed his rifle and pack from the truck, and started up the ridge behind the house. "Save me some food, darlin'," he shouted. And that is the last anyone saw or heard from Patrick Weaver—or for that matter, the two children—for quite some time.
* *
The Weaver case was getting cold, but in a small town, six months was a lifetime, especially when it came to missing children. And up until just a day ago, no one had come up with even the smallest trace of them—not clothing or anything else, much less a body. Some of the townspeople had speculated that the missing had all been sucked up by a UFO. Others believed the devil dragged the children down into the core of the earth. Still others just blamed Beth, saying she probably killed them all, buried them where no one would ever find them, and did a bang-up job hiding all the evidence.
Right that minute, though, Sheriff Samuels was waiting for the forensics team from the state capital to finish going over the evidence a passerby had come upon in the cow pasture just down below where the children had last been seen. From what the sheriff was told, there was blood involved, but no one knows whose blood it was or even if it was human. Just as the sheriff was deciding whether or not to get out his own guns and shoot warning shots in the air to stop the pushing and shouting, a phone call came in from the state medical examiner. Leaning forward over his desk, trying hard not to get sick, Samuels listened closely to what he was being told, right up until the examiner promised he would send a written report to Samuels to back up what he was saying.
With a deep sigh, the sheriff hung up and realized immediately he had to go out and face the crowd with some very upsetting news. Even more irascibly than usual, he called out for his number two. "Georgia! Report. Now!"
"No." He stood up, too quickly and too hard, nearly pushing his chair through the wall. "How can I be ready?" The anger in his own voice surprised him. He didn't realize he was quite so unhinged. Well, he thought, trying to calm himself, I've got to do this right. Got to be confident, authoritative, and convincing. Let me think. I've known Patrick Weaver since we were in diapers. And I was there when the girl was brought home with Beth. And that boy Randy, too, I know his parents. One way or the other. I've got to do this right."
Georgia frowned. Then to break the silence, offered: "Do you want me to do it? Talk to the reporters?"
He took a breath. "No. No, Georgia. Thanks. I've got to be the one to do this." He gathered himself, straightening his spine and his tie, and put on his leather jacket. "Come with me, though. Will you? You can field the questions after the announcement as well as I. We can only say 'no additional information at this time' anyway." He shrugged.
"Sure, Noah. I'm there. Want to tell me what the examiner told you?"
"Yes, of course. The evidence. The blood is human. Pat's blood type. They're going to get confirmation with some DNA testing. If the blood stains on the canvas shreds are large enough, we'll know in about 10 days."
"Do they have any idea of what happened to him? Can they tell from just those few bits?"
"Looks like claws, Georgia. Claws and teeth. But there's no telling when that might have happened. Before? During? After? We just don't know."
* *
He knew more now than he had at the beginning of this whole disaster. He knew who he could trust and who he couldn’t. Through sources he could only divulge under the most secret circumstances, Pete learned that Pat and the sheriff went way back and in directions that were not always legal.
Pete gritted his teeth. He was determined to fix this. He loved his sister and though she could throw a fearsome fit and sling a few choice words around, deep down Beth had just been trying to keep body and soul alive since Pat left. And she'd been in a deep depression from the minute she realized Clarice was missing. Also, Randy's parents blamed her for whatever had happened to him. They were even considering going ahead with a funeral to honor Randy because they were certain he was dead. Beth would hear none of that about Clarice. Consequently, Beth had gone all out to convince Pete to help. "Please," she beseeched him. "Please! I know you are trained in these matters. Please, please, please find them, Pete, please."
* *
Patrick found the children on the night of the birthday party. They had evidently gotten lost amongst all the dense brush and gnarled trees and fallen asleep from exhaustion. When they woke, they were surrounded by armed men with scraggly beards, wearing camouflage clothes and dark boots. Some had their guns drawn. When one of the men heard Pat approaching, he wheeled around with his rifle aimed at the sound. In the dim light, Pat saw the man’s face and shouted, “Lem! It’s me, Pat Weaver. Don’t shoot!” The man came a few feet closer and in better light could see that indeed it was his friend.
“Yeah,” Pat’s voice was shaking, ”I can see that.”
“What the hell were you coming from that direction for?” Lem asked, suddenly suspicious and doubting the answer he would get. “You usually scoot in from up the hill yonder.” By this time, most of the other men had surrounded Pat and were gladhanding and backslapping him. None of them put their guns down however.
“Well, you see, guys, I came lookin’ for my youngun’ and I see you found her and her buddy.” All eyes looked back at the children. Just then wide-eyed Clarice jumped up and yelled, “Daddy, daddy, you found us! We got lost.”
A big stocky fellow, Isaiah, put his hand on Clarice’s shoulder and pushed her back to the ground. “Just hold on there, little girl. You ain’t going nowhere!”
Pat jumped past Lem, “Don’t put your hands on my baby girl, Isaiah, or you’ll have me to deal with.” The paranoia of the group was so engrained, that they all looked at Pat, the heat in them rising, and they nearly threw him down.
Isaiah replied: “All’s we want to know is why you came here now and what’s these kids doing here?”
“I can explain,” Pat said quietly, “but don’t you think it’d be better if we all went back to the enclave and talked inside?” Again trusting Pat as they always had, they all allowed as that was a good idea.
Pat gathered up Clarice and Randy and helped them walk further up into the woods, up to a place where few men had walked in years and no animals dare hang around.
Soon after arriving, Pat helped bed the children down on some old palettes and when he knew they were asleep, he explained how the kids must have wandered off from their usual play area and that his ex, Beth, had sent him looking for them. The strange men all looked at each other, agreed his story was plausible, and sat down with him to figure out what was to be done with the children. Of course, Pat was not going to allow anything to happen to them. To ensure that, he proposed he best stay with the group now, too. No traveling back and forth for a time.
No one questioned the idea that search parties for the children would be sent out from town, but they also knew Samuels wouldn’t be leading those searchers into the enclave. The situation was still dangerous, they all believed, because the children wouldn't be happy and could create problems. But Pat assured them that Clarice would do whatever he said and Randy would, in turn, go along.
In time the kids did get along by pretending to be sort of like soldiers with their water guns, mimicking the enclave's men going through their drills. Pat encouraged them. However, he also reminded them of the boundaries of the enclave and how the fence that surrounded it was electrified. With all those warnings, he also made sure they knew they needed permission for most anything else they wanted to do and he'd be the one who would have to give it.
* *
"What's on your mind, kid?" The sheriff looked up from his desk, where he was writing. Rick stood directly in front of him.
"Nothing, sir. Just wondering. You never asked me to run up to the enclave this time of night before. I had a hard time sneaking out of the house. Mom likes to keep us in sight nowadays."
The sheriff signed the note with a flourish. "Here you go kid. Don't worry about your mother. Your father's up there. He'll tell you what to say to her. Now get goin'. Don't do anything but get there, hear? Make sure you put this right into your dad's hands."
"Yes, sir, I will." He looked right into Samuels's eyes. Rick was stunned. "My father?" Trying not to be too visibly shaken, he asked, "He's been in the enclave all these months, sir? Since the birthday party?"
The sheriff looked up at him sternly. "Get going, kid. Now." Rick lowered his eyes. He didn't want to stare at that man. It made him flinch. And when the sheriff flinches, no telling what he'll do next. So before the sheriff could do or say anything else, Rick stashed the note in the waterproof pouch strapped to his side, turned, and quickly glided out of there. “The sheriff may be a whack job,” Rick mumbled to himself, "but don't want him to be a whack job on me."
Then that boy—with as graceful and strong a body as any young animal—flew across the darkened landscape. Across the planted fields and pastures. And finally deep into the woods. He ran. Gladly. Toward the father he'd been missing for too long a time.
* *
The moon was full and bright, but Rick didn't need all that much light to recognize the enclave's outermost ring. "Lots of traps here," he recalled. He knew where they were, but he slowed down anyway, because he also knew the bumpkins who set them. At least that's what his father called them—bumpkins, but his father also said, "They're clever, Rick. Cunning. Shrewd. Don't ever, ever underestimate them."
Suddenly, as Rick scanned the trail, his internal security system sent up a flare. He stopped dead still. And listened. It was a helicopter. Off in the distance. "Huh? That's unusual." Rick pushed through some brush and headed up a sharp incline where he knew he could see over most of the trees. "Yep, there it is." He spotted it moving just across the horizon. Rick then turned 180 and stared. Unbelievingly. As men in black from head to toe lined up along the outside of the enclave's electrified fence. They looked heavy. And big. And Rick almost laughed out loud, because they were about to get the surprise (or better, shock) of their lives. Rick reached down under the box he was standing beside. Yep, a power box. All he had to do was flick a switch to electrify the ground outside that fence. He thought otherwise, though, and instead went for the manual alarm, which warned the enclave insiders that intruders were afoot.
Done, Rick quickly turned to scale the crest of the incline, circling around the fence perimeter until he could find another way in. When it occurred to him: "They didn't set off any of the intruder traps. How could they have known?"
* *
"Was that you set off the alarm?"
"Yeah. That was right, right?"
"Yes. You did good. Now go find your sister. She's over there in the women's house."
Rick couldn't believe his ears. Sister? He felt suddenly all jello shaky inside. "She's here? Randy, too?"
"I said go," Pat growled and turned toward the men. Rick didn't miss the flush that was rising up his father's neck and face. He stepped back. Out of reach.
Another 30 seconds passed, and the alarm was still sounding. Lem stepped up and shouted: "Arms, men! Go to the arsenal and load up. Isaiah, you're in charge of weaponry. Move! Everyone: Meet me along the barricade wall in one minute." The men broke formation and scuttled out of there fast. Past Pat. Past Rick. Some, Rick observed, were even grinning. “Time had come,” he felt them thinking. “Time had finally come.”
But it was Clarice who was on Rick's mind. "I've got to get her out of here." Rick had heard too many stories of what could happen on a day like today, and he didn't want his baby sister to pay that price. “Sacrifice her for the religious baloney these guys believe? No way.” His mind raced.
He saw that the men were concentrating on preparing for the imminent conflict, and knew he'd have this one chance and no other. He ran quickly to the women's house and walked in unannounced. “Where's Clarice?” he demanded of the first person he saw. She recognized him immediately, nodded to him, and pointed. "In the basement," she said. Rick followed the direction of her finger, opened the first door he saw, and ran down the rickety steps. There in the light of a single candle he saw the two children, wide-eyed and frightened.
"Both of you," he said very emphatically, "come with me." Clarice, startled with recognition, began to speak. "No!" Rick responded quickly through clenched teeth, "Do not argue. Just come with me. Now!" Both children knew they should, and did. They followed him out of the house, over to the garden shed, and into it. Two strides in, Rick pushed the clutter away from the door hidden in the floor and motioned for the two children to jump in. After grabbing a kerosene lamp and matches, he followed them. It was a rough hewn tunnel, but wide enough for the two children to run through side by side. It took them only a few long minutes to find themselves at a dead end. They turned to look at Rick, who motioned for them to stay still. He then lifted them one and then the other onto the dirt-covered rungs that led back up to the forest floor, well outside the enclave's fence.
In the open again, the children shaking with fear, Rick stopped to evaluate the situation. They could hear gunfire and screams and he was as sure as he ever was that the three of them had to get moving out of there fast. He looked at Clarice and Randy. They looked right back, tears streaming down their faces. Rick hugged them, and whispered hard into their ears: "You're going to be okay. The both of you. Now, grab hold of my hands, and don't let go no matter what. We're going home."
Even though Rick had warned the children to be as quiet as could be, Clarice couldn’t help but wail out to him, “But what about daddy? Where’s daddy? I want him to come too!” Randy whimpered quietly behind her. He had already tripped and fallen many times on their way back through the trees, gnarled branches, and forest debris.
Rick hesitated just for a second and then snapped back at Clarice. “Clarice girl, shut up! I told the both of you we’re headed back home! Now, quiet! Or someone will hear you and we’re not safe yet. Besides, dad’s okay. I promise.”
At that, Clarice quieted down and then without warning, she pulled away from Rick. Like a slippery eel, her hand glided from his. Shed from his grip, she started running back up to the enclave.
“Jeezus christ!” Rick yelled. “Clarice, come back here or I’ll …,” but she was already out of sight. Rick quickly turned to the boy. “Randy, dammit, you sit right down here and stay. Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be back!” Randy didn’t have to be told twice. He immediately scrunched down into the leaves and continued whimpering. He looked up just long enough to see Rick taking giant steps back up the hill.
“Leave me, will you,” Rick gasped under his breath as he tried to catch up to his sister. “You little snot! Dad will beat the pulp outta’ me if ….” He left the thought unfinished.
* *
At the tender age of 10, Clarice knew a lot of things about a lot of people. She just plain knew more about the world than any adult ever gave her credit for. Her mother schooled her well in the biases and prejudices of the world. Her uncle was like a second father, taking her on camping trips with her brothers so that she knew her way around the woods and knew how to do things most girls her age didn't. Even though Clarice was afraid of those cuckoo men in the enclave, her father made it safe for her while she was there. And somehow he had inspired her to find the courage she needed to get through the ordeal.
Courage and adrenaline were driving her back to the enclave now. Sure she wanted to see her mother and Jackson again, but with her dad in danger, she had to put them out of her mind and get back to help him. As she finally came to a place where she could see the fires and hear the screams, she knew only one thing that could help the entire situation and that was to distract the enclave men. She crawled back down the tunnel that Rick had just helped her come out of and ran past the women who were huddled outside the women’s house.
Clarice knew the most important place in the enclave: the weapons shed. It not only contained the cache of weapons, but it also was where you could find the main light switch that lit up the entire inner circle of the enclave. When the switch had been thrown before, it looked like an arena of a nighttime football game. Even though her dad had not let her go in certain areas of the enclave, she had seen those men walk in and out of that place and lock it up tight. This night, she noticed coolly, the lock was off.
All of the bombs, guns, and rifles were there, at least the ones the men were not yet using. If she could figure out how to set a fire in there, she guessed, the distraction she needed would be complete. “After all,” she rightly imagined, “it would be similar to setting off fireworks on the Fourth of July.”
Clarice made certain that no one was guarding the shed, and determined the men were all out on the periphery of the enclave shooting and throwing fiery bottles at those government guys. Why wasn’t she scared of the G-men? Her dad had told her and Randy stories about villains and heroes. Clarice took those tales to heart and felt sure she was now part of one of them. Clarice also knew that her dad was not a bad guy, even though he was inside this place with those idiots.
Clarice was a slip of a child, easily able to crawl on her hands and knees like some grunt soldier, using only her elbows and toes to push herself along. As she approached the shed, she felt around for any way she could enter it without going through the front door. She soon found a place. It was a small space between the ground and the shed’s walls. Without hesitation she set about digging out more dirt, like a dog digging up a bone. When the hole was big enough, she slithered underneath the wall and carefully looked around the shed, making sure no one was inside. As soon as she was sure it was empty of people, she stood up. A can of kerosene was sitting in the corner. "Probably what the guys used to soak the wicks of those bottles," she thought. Matches and cigarette lighters were on a shelf close to the door. She grabbed some matches and pocketed them. With all the strength she had in her, she lifted that can and tilted it enough to pour out the contents all around the inside of the shed.
She was very excited about blowing up the shed. Then she suddenly remembered, “What about dad? How do I set fire to the shed and also make sure daddy is safe?” Just that second she heard Rick whispering through a crack in the wall.
“Clarice, you in there?” Clarice stayed absolutely still. Rick continued, “Clarice, I know you’re in there! I’m going to get dad so you’ll come out!”
“Ahhh." Clarice thought and set about her work. That’s all Clarice needed to know: Neither will be close to the shed.
Within a minute, Rick found his dad, pulled him away from those empty-headed god squaders, and told him quickly, quietly what was going on with Clarice. Pat remained calm while he inched his way backward with Rick toward the shed. He had no idea what Clarice was up to, but he knew he had to get her out of this place finally and forever.
As soon as Clarice saw her dad with Rick and knew they are both out of harm’s way, she pulled the main switch of the complex, the light startling everyone.
As Clarice crawled back under the space in the back of the shed, she yelled to her father and brother. “Daddy! Rick! Run to the women’s shelter. I’m running back into the woods!” They heard her behind the shed, and despite what she said went around back to get her. But she was quicker than they, and they watched stunned as she lit a match and dropped it onto a trail of glistening kerosene. At that moment Clarice screamed, “Run, run, run!” and took off like the wind.
Clarice had no idea of the blowback effect of the kind of explosion she had just set off. Her dad and brother did though as soon as they saw her drop that match. They caught up with her, swept her up, and all three ran for cover as fast as their legs could carry them.
Picture a slow-motion video of two male adults holding the hands of a little child between them as they run toward any rock or tree that might provide them shelter from an explosion. Now imagine those same people again in slow motion being lifted off the ground and flying toward the woods, their hands torn from each other’s grip. BOOM! BOOM! And a few seconds later, another BOOM!
Fiery plumes were shooting into the air giving off biblical nauseating odors of sulfur, ash, and charcoaled flesh. Part of the roof of the weapon’s building collapsed. Several smaller explosions went off. Witnesses later reported the sound of gunfire, attributed by the FBI to live ammunition cooking off throughout the buildings because of fire. Trees all around the complex caught fire. The sights, sounds, and smells coming from this place, the place the Legion of God called home, had now become a true description of hell.
Pat, Rick, and Clarice were fortunate to be far enough from the enclave before the explosives went off. That same luck did not apply to the members of the Legion or to the FBI agents fighting to get inside the fence. Even the surveillance helicopter felt the effects of the blasts. After the first blast, the helicopter signaled Agent Seely. He responded with a call on his walkie talkie, “All units respond! Repeat! All units respond! Fire service and EMTs, report now!”
* *
Back in the woods, when Rick ran into the crowd of trees chasing after Clarice, Randy watched him disappear. And then his knees buckled. Like a rag doll, he dropped down to the ground. But Randy wasn't Clarice's friend because he was a wimp. Oh no. He was smart and bright and brave, at least as much as she. So as you might expect, his fear drained away soon enough and in their place a renewed determination: "What am I doing sitting here?" he wondered out loud. He stood up. "Gosh," he said, while clapping the soil off his hands and shirt. "I'm not staying put! I don't care what Rick said." Randy looked around quickly to get his bearings. "I've got to help Clarice." He tucked in his chin and made for the enclave.
Just as Randy spotted the fence, the roar of noise—screams, gunfire, engines—became deafening. But it didn't deter him. Not until the explosion, that is. It was the loudest thing he had ever heard and it blew him onto his back, his head hitting something hard. When he again became aware of where he was and why, Randy found he couldn't move, not his arms or his legs, and he couldn't hear anything at all. But he could turn his head, and that's what he did when a great plume of blue and orange flame pierced the sky. He looked up and watched as the wind blew sparks from one branch to another across the length of the tree line. After a while, when he turned again toward the enclave, he saw bodies, people he knew lying sprawled and moaning and bleeding, and men in blackened facemasks walking among them, placing handcuffs on some, on others feeling at the neck for a pulse. Whatever had happened, Randy realized, it was almost over.
* *
Sheriff Samuels may not have known exactly when a raid would take place, but he had no doubt about if. One of the weak-link clerks in the FBI, whom he paid, had just that day been able to fax him a cryptic message. That's what his note to Pat was about. And he was mad as hell that Pat hadn't obeyed his instructions.
"Look at this," he kept saying to himself, stomping around the wasteland that was once his own personal Shangri la. Trying to keep his expression under control as he observed the debris that littered the enclave, he moaned, "Lost. All this work. Done. Gone. All. For nothing." As Sheriff Big Shot continued to stomp around, he was counting bodies, as was his task. But he was smoldering with anger and hatred, planning his own revenge on the government, on the FBI, on Pat and "Pat's idiot kids," when he suddenly lurched back and fell to the ground, prone, arms and legs sprawled outward. The small explosions that were still going off in the area of the weapons shed hid the sound, so no one noticed it. Except the shooter, that is.
A coward for sure, but Lem was also a mean SOB and a True Believer, so when he had spotted the sheriff among the FBI intruders he had seen red, red for traitor. His anger filled him with a surprisingly cold calm. And from his hiding place behind the latrine, he had raised his rifle to his shoulder, put the sheriff in his crosshairs, and pulled the trigger. When he saw his target fall, he knew he’d done good. If you were witness, you'd have gone cold at the grim satisfaction that slowly appeared on Lem’s face, and the quick ease at which he then silently crawled away into the dark.
* *
Shortly after they noticed Samuels was missing, they found him. Small hole center forehead, back of head completely gone. "Funny thing," Georgia said to herself, tilting her head slightly as she looked at the empty expression on the dead sheriff's face. "I never noticed how white this white man was." No longer second in command, Georgia realized she was now officially in charge of local law enforcement. She turned away to report this development to the Incident Commander as she was required to do. After noting the sheriff's demise, the IC gave Georgia an armband to make sure her new upgraded status was known to all at a glance. Georgia thanked him, turned, and then proceeded to help the living.
Acting Sheriff Georgia Lawson and FBI Agent Seely worked together quickly and efficiently. To all who were not involved in putting out the fire or looking for the dead, they gave orders to fan out and begin searching for Clarice and Randy. Pete identified himself to Agent Seely and relayed the information that Pat and Rick needed to be located also. Georgia distributed the pictures of Clarice and Randy that she'd had in her car for six months. Agent Seely had Pete give brief descriptions of Pat and Rick.
In the meantime, the townsfolk by now had either seen or smelled smoke and heard explosions coming from the top of the mountain. And everyone was talking. Once the rumor was out that Clarice and Randy had been found, Beth and Jackson, her younger son, jumped in her truck and sped up the mountain. Beth, beside herself with hope and fear, tried not to lose control of the damn thing as it bounced on the rutted dirt roads.
It was already dawn when they arrived at the enclave. They learned that the searchers had found Pat, Clarice, and Rick. Beth and Jackson had nearly reached them when they saw EMT personnel carefully place Clarice and Rick each into an ambulance. Even though Pat had a bandage wrapped around his head, he was standing there comforting both of his children. Beth immediately bolted from the truck and scrambled to the ambulances. She hugged Pat quickly, then skirted around him insisting on going with the children to the hospital. The medics agreed and allowed her to give Rick a big kiss before she climbed in with Clarice.
Jackson decided to stay with his dad to search for Randy. Pat felt he must stay to help with the overall situation at the enclave. He slapped the sides of both ambulances to cue them to leave, and then walked over to talk to Lawson and Seely. “Have you found Randy yet? Rick showed me the direction where he left him. Jackson and I are going to go that way to see what we can do.”
* *
Even though he struggled against it, Randy kept falling asleep. But each time he opened his eyes, he had the sensation that he felt both a little better and a little worse. For example: "There's tingling in my arms and legs," he realized, happy to feel something, but then, "Boy, do I have a headache!" Just as Randy closed his eyes one more time, he was sure he also felt something wet.
Gray was licking his face, as Rex circled them both, yapping in Pete's direction, telling him to hurry up. Pete came up behind them and immediately saw little Randy, curled up on the ground, head bleeding, eyes shut. "Randy," Pete said in a strong firm voice. "Randy, answer me. Are you okay?"
Randy looked up and smiled. "Hey, Mr. Clarice's uncle. Hey."
With some relief, Pete signaled for help. After crouching down beside the boy, he gave the dogs each a treat from a pouch in his backpack. "Good job, fellas." He patted them generously, and they responded with their own brand of hopping yipping joy. "Really good job." He turned to the boy then. Stroked his forehead, and wondered out loud. "Why did you come back here, kid? I bet it was to save Clarice." Pete shook his head at the loyalty the two children showed for each other and sort of smiled. "It's grace is what it is."
It was but a minute or two before Pete saw the medics trotting toward him carrying a portable stretcher. Pete was still crouched down beside the boy, stroking his head, trying to let him know he’s safe and going to be well taken care of. He got out of the way though as the medics stabilized Randy's head and neck and assessed the little boy's condition. They were fast and thorough, and had Randy bandaged, immobilized on a backboard, and secured to the stretcher in no time at all. Pete asked about him. "Can't really tell yet," one of the medics responded. "He was pretty close to the blast. But he's responsive to voice and his vitals are good. Pretty bad clip to the head though." The medics were already walking away. An ambulance was waiting.
Pete sat with the dogs for a few more minutes. Deep in thought. "All these weeks the children were up here in the woods, and Pat knew all about it. Damn damn damn." He recalled the nights Beth made herself sick with worry. And he, sitting helpless just watching her. Pete started. Nearly fell over. Someone had touched his shoulder. He looked up to see Pat. "Pat!" Pete stood up, pulled back his right arm, and lightning fast pushed his powerful fist right into the spot between Pat's eyes. "You no good piece of ..... What did you do? Who the hell are you anyway!” And when Pat was on the ground, “Explain yourself, you low down ... "
Pete kept on ranting, which was rather amusing, Pat thought, shaking his head to try to get his eyesight back into focus. "God you can punch." He sat there on the ground, dripping blood from his nose. "Yikes. He cleaned my clock," Pat said to himself. He didn't want to provoke his ex-brother-in-law any more than necessary. He'd had enough violence for one day. "Hold it. Will you hold it for a minute, please?" It took a while, but Pete finally shut up and stared down at him.
"Seely told me you called the FBI. How did you figure it out?" Pat asked.
"What do you mean, he told you? Why is he confiding in you?" Pete was working up another fury, stomping on the ground, closing up on Pat. "Is Seely one of your whackjob holy rollers, too?"
"Back off, Pete. I mean it." Pat stood up and Pete waited, suddenly taken with Pat's calm.
"Tell me, Pat. Why is Seely telling you anything?"
"Because I'm working for the government, too. I've been involved with this bunch here for about three years one way or the other, and one day I was approached and I agreed and that's it in a nutshell. The kids were never in any real danger. I made sure."
Pete didn't take that last very well, but Pat deflected the blow before it actually made contact. "Stop trying to beat me up, Pete. I'm telling you. Quit it! Now I don't have any more time to talk to you here. I'll tell you the rest in private and when I say so. Don't you dare breathe a word to anyone or you'll blow the work of a whole lot of good people. Do you hear?"
Pete nodded. "For now, Pat. Just for now. Then you better tell me what the hell this is all about or I'll hunt you down. I promise you. And by the way, just so you know, add this to your thinking: I’ve been working for the Feds too, probably longer than you have. Someone’s got some explaining to do to both of us!" Pat was just too involved with the present situation to hear that last bit of information. He was already walking on back toward the now razed enclave.
* *
The doctor told Clarice, “Yes, you may go sit beside Randy’s bed, but you can’t stay long. Remember, he’s had a concussion.”
“Okay, I promise,” Clarice replied with a hopeful smile and then turned to her friend. “Randy, Randy! It’s me, Clarice. Can you open your eyes?”
Randy did, just wide enough to see a hazy outline of Clarice. “He’s still pretty groggy, Clarice.” Randy’s mother told her. “It may not be till tomorrow before he can speak to you. He has regained the use of his arms and legs and we’re so grateful for that.”
“Yes, Beth," Randy's mother replied quietly, "I think some pretty good people rescued them and brought them home to us. And your Rick is a hero, too, you know.”
“Ummm, I know, Carol. He’s standing outside the door waiting to see Randy, if you’ll let him in.”
“Of course, Rick’s most welcome to come in if he knows he can just stay a minute.” With that, Rick walked through the door and hung over Clarice’s back to touch Randy’s forehead.
“Randy, it’s me, Rick. Howya feeling?”
“He can’t speak yet, Rick. He’s still too weak,” Clarice answered her brother. “We’ll have to come back tomorrow his mom said.”
“We’ll be here!”
* *
Several days later, the FBI and all local authorities met to discuss the outcome of the virtual holocaust on the mountain. Sheriff Georgia Lawson, having officially been sworn in as sheriff by the county commissioners, opened the meeting with the following words: “Ladies, gentlemen, fellow law enforcement officers of this county, and FBI agents of the State of North Carolina, we have witnessed an unusual and catastrophic event in the history of this jurisdiction. While we know mistakes were made in resolving the episode on the mountain, we also have to understand that we all did the best we could given the surreptitious and dangerous nature of fire, the rescue of missing children, and the arrest of outlaws who would have tried to kill law enforcement officers whenever a chance arose. With that being said, I now turn the microphone over to the acting FBI agents in charge, Agents Seely and Carter.”
Agent Seely began: “Thank you, Sheriff Lawson. This meeting is being held to honor those people who helped to bring closure to this case and to thank those people whose efforts made it possible for two lost children to be found and for the mystery of what was taking place with the Legion of God group to be solved. Agent Carter now has a few words. Agent Carter.” The people listening applauded Agent Seely’s words.
Agent Carter spoke: “Although there were many, many people who contributed to the successful outcome of this raid, some of you who are not part of the FBI or local law enforcement and rescue personnel risked your lives as well. I have the names of a few of those people. When I call your name, please stand, if you’re able.”
“Rick Weaver.” With a slow upward movement, Rick rose from his chair, a cast on one foot. “Rick, what you did in helping to extract your sister, her friend Randy, and your father from the Legion’s enclave was nothing short of heroic.” A round of applause rose from the audience. “We intend to have a plaque made for you that will have the seal of the FBI on it. Do you wish to say anything?”
Rick, feeling both the honor of the moment as well as pain in his foot, simply added, “Thank you, sir.” The audience stood to give Rick applause. Rick sat then, a slight flush on his face and a small grin, which he tried to hide. He wanted to be “the cool guy.”
Agent Carter continued: “Could Randy Cooper please raise his hand?” Randy, a bit startled by the request, nevertheless was able to raise his hand. “Randy, we know you were one of two young people, the other, Clarice Weaver, who were at the center of this whole horrific situation. Despite all you'd been through, you still found it in you to run back through the woods to try to save your friend Clarice. No adult could have shown more courage than you in deciding to do that. You, too, will have an FBI plaque engraved with your heroic deeds and your name on it. Your community congratulates you and owes you a huge debt of gratitude. Thank you, Randy!” Another standing ovation went up from the audience. Randy was groggy while Carter was talking to him, but alert enough to look at Clarice and give her a big smile. Of course, Clarice was up on her tiptoes looking over the aisle at Randy and clapping as loud as she could for him.
“And finally,” Carter said, “would Clarice Weaver rise?” Clarice had only received some cuts and scrapes through the entire ordeal, so she was able to stand without effort. Beth, Pat, and Pete were sitting with her and before Carter could say another word, everyone in the entire audience stood up and cheered for her and her brothers, Rick and Jackson. Clarice bit her lip a little, and smiled shyly. When Agent Carter was finally able to offer some words, he said: “It’s a rare individual indeed who puts the lives of her loved ones ahead of her own, especially at the age of 10. Clarice, you must have been born with the kind of bravery and courage that few men or women in any branch of our armed forces has. In doing so, you, as a 10-year-old youngster, almost single-handedly brought down a dangerous group of people who were willing to stop at nothing to kill good people; in fact, who already had killed good people in at least four states. Clarice, when you grow up and graduate from college, I hope you will apply to the FBI. You’re the kind of recruit we’re looking for. A plaque from the FBI will also be coming to you. Congratulations, Clarice Weaver!”
Well, you'd think a ticker tape parade was happening in that little village. Everyone not only applauded, but crowded around Clarice and her family. Gray and Rex were barking and having a fit to get loose from their leashes. Beth and Carol were in tears. Pat and Pete and lots of other townsfolk were slapping each other's backs and shaking hands. Clarice, meanwhile, ran over to Randy and kneeled down beside his wheelchair to hold his hand. Agent Carter tried to tell the crowd that the meeting was over, but they already knew and were just plain overcome with joy and happiness.
But not everyone was so joyful. Some of the dead were still being buried. "Time will come" was the dark thought that floated along the outskirts of the crowd. "Time will come, I promise you."
* *
After about six weeks in office, Sheriff Georgia Lawson went to deliver a foreclosure notice. She had knocked on the door several times with no response from inside, and had just decided to post the notice on the front door when she was shot down and left for dead. She lay there on that front porch for most of a morning before she was seen by a passerby, who called for assistance. She was in the hospital for weeks and will be in rehab for months.
"But I can still walk," she thought to herself thankfully, "even if it's a funny walk, I can get to one part of a room to another. And I can talk. And eat. And breathe." She chuckled. "Guess that's better than the alternative." She said it, but she wasn't so sure she believed it. Being without the work she chose as her career was a challenge she faced every day. But her partner, lying beside her in bed, should not have to worry about her mental state on top of everything else. "Like how to stretch out the disability pay to cover all our expenses. Aye, the plans we had. Whatever."
Georgia just looked at her. "Are you kidding? It took me 15 minutes to get my legs off the side of the bed and now you want me to get back in there with you?"
"Uh-huh. And tout de suite about it, too."
Of course Georgia did and the two of them embraced and stroked each other's hair, each taking her time, each showing how much she cared. They love one another. Purely and perfectly. And they know it and cherish it and tend to it the best they know how. Except of course when the world butts in as it usually does.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Nat," Georgia said. "I really do have to get up and get going. I have my regular appointment at rehab and if I'm late again, they're going to throw me out."
Natalie nodded. "I understand. And I better get to work myself. Have a good day, Sweetie."
They kissed and off they went their separate ways to do the things they do when they're not together.
* *
Pete, Pat, and Beth sat at the table playing cards. Yes, actual three-dimensional cards. It was something they'd done since they were kids, and now that they're practically octogenarians (not really, but it feels that way sometimes), they defied anyone to try to force them to play on a computer. Cards it was and cards it would always be. "You deal," Beth said to her brother.
"My hands are stuck, Beth. I keep telling you that. Arthritis? Hell-ohoh."
"Okay, I'll deal for you." As Beth dealt out the cards, Pat was drawing three columns on a sheet of paper so he could keep score.
"Wonder what the kids are doing," he said out loud.
Both Pete and Beth just shrugged. "Cooking up those grandkids?" Beth offered with some honest-to-goodness hopeful anticipation in her voice.
* *
Randy asked the garage attendant for his car, paid what he owed for the day, and while he waited for his vehicle, texted Clarice, "How r u?"
She read his message with some concern and texted back: "What do u mean?"
"Don't look, just write: What's today?"
"Oh no," Clarice was desperate to answer. Quickly she typed, "Monday, July 25, my birthday?"
"Yay! Just leaving garage. B on the GW in a few minutes and straight home."
Clarice was relieved. It had been three birthdays since her last episode of TGA (transient global amnesia). It happened now and then and none of the docs knew why. It started, of course, way back when she and Randy got home from the ordeal in the enclave, which was followed by weeks in the hospital and major psychiatric care after that. Coming around to her 11th birthday, she had just suddenly forgotten everything. Or nearly everything. She knew her name. She knew Randy and all her family, but she couldn't seem to remember much of anything else. That first time lasted about 72 hours, after which she just snapped out of it. Those 72 hours were a mystery to her, but the rest was in place in her mind, right where it should have been. Such episodes have occurred over the years, more than a few times, each lasting just about the same amount of time as the first episode, and always around her birthday. But this year was very special. They had their own place in New Jersey. She was pregnant. And she didn't want anything to jeopardize the life—and the family—she and Randy were building together. They had such a good life. And she knew it would just continue to get better and better.
Book 2
To Come
