William Dietz - The Seeds of Man

“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.