THE UNBELIEVERS
Chapter One
Tara punched in the security code, resetting the
alarm beneath the kitchen cabinets. Though she was already late, she peered through
the small, square window over the sink. Gas lamps lit the path that bordered the
house trailers nearest her temporary home. Holiday lights sparkled on bushes
and around windows, creating shadows that darkened the spaces between the
trailers.
Kali Kerkorian sat at the fold-down table
behind Tara, tablet and textbook open in front of her. “Cyril can do nothing from
jail,” she said.
“The people he works for can.” Tara turned
away from the window to face her friend.
“And so?” Kali said. “You will stay in tonight?”
“Like every other night for the last four
months, you mean?”
Kali shrugged and smiled. “I can make tea for
us. Or return home to Grandmother.”
“No.” Tara zipped her jacket and resisted the
urge to recheck the alarm. Her baby, who, by all natural laws, should not
exist, slept on a blanket in the living room, unaware of any threats or of the
controversy surrounding her. Tara longed to lie down and rest like that without
at least part of her on the alert. She doubted she ever would.
Outside, dried leaves crunched under Tara’s gym
shoes. She inhaled crisp night air. It smelled of pine. She exhaled a long
breath. Kali knew about the death and damage caused by those who’d been after
Tara while she’d been pregnant. She would take all security precautions. And she’d
watched Fimi before. But that had been during the day. Somehow, leaving the
baby alone after dark felt more worrisome despite the protection the Willow
Springs community offered.
The Friday night service at the Community
Center, with its dancing and singing, helped Tara unwind and feel freer than
she had since she’d discovered she was pregnant. The grown ups only hour after
it added to her good mood. Most of her socializing in the last four months had
been with Kali and Kali’s grandmother, Nanor, the founder of Willow Springs.
Both were people Tara loved, but it felt great to visit and laugh with others,
too. A text from Kali at the start of the gathering reassured her that all was
well and she could enjoy herself.
On the way back, Tara veered slightly off
track toward her favorite section of Willow Springs – the lake that divided its
residential area from the woods surrounding it. The night was hazy. Few stars
dotted the sky, and the moon stayed hidden. When Tara reached the creek that
fed the lake, she listened to its trickling water, her eyes scanning the landscape.
Vigilance had become a habit.
Rustling came from the darkness to Tara’s
left. She froze, peering at silhouettes of bare trees. A rabbit, white tail
bobbing in the faint starlight, darted across her path, startling her. A few minutes
later, leaves skittered along the stones that edged the creek. More rustling in
the distance.
“Another rabbit,” Tara said aloud, her voice
echoing. But she did an about-face. She’d been gone long enough for her first
evening out.
The six trailers nearest Tara’s stood dark, other
than their holiday lights. No doubt her neighbors were still at the Community
Center. All the lights glowed in Tara’s trailer, just as she’d left them. But a
John Fogerty song blared through the closed windows. She quickened her pace,
hand dropping to the pocket where she kept her switchblade. While Fimi was a
happy baby, rarely crying or fussing, Kali wouldn’t crank the sound to that
level to test Fimi’s good nature.
Knife in one hand, Tara tried her cell phone
with the other.
No service. She ran for the front door. This couldn’t be
happening. The trailer she’d stayed in during her first visit to Willow Springs
the year before had been broken into. By Cyril Woods. But he was in jail, and Tara
had been assured all the security vulnerabilities had been fixed.
She burst through the door. Fimi’s blanket,
rattle, and stuffed monkey lay on the carpeted living area floor. But no Fimi.
She’s
here, she’s here, she’s got to be here.
The song changed to “Centerfield,” and John
Fogerty’s cheerful voice sang “Put me in, coach.” An undertone of sweat, acrid
and unfamiliar, permeated the hall between the living room and bedroom. Strangers
had been here. Or were here.
Tara forced herself to creep rather than race
down the hall. She cracked the bedroom door. Kali lay on her side on the bed, wrists
behind her back. Duct tape covered her mouth, and her eyes had swollen shut.
Bruises purpled her forehead. Holding her breath, Tara eased the door open. She
saw no intruders. And no Fimi. She rushed in.
“Kali?”
No response. Tara held her hand in front of
Kali’s nose and felt faint breath. She tried her phone again, then the
landline. No dial tone. Tara rushed through the trailer, pausing only to yank open
the few drawers and cabinets large enough to hold a baby. Outside, she banged
on trailer doors until she found a neighbor with a working landline who called
Security.
Tara circled her trailer looking for tire
tracks, signs of the intruders, anything that might provide a clue. Aside from
one emergency road, Willow Springs wasn’t accessible by automobile. Only golf
carts, bikes, and motorcycles fit through its gates, down the paths in the surrounding
woods, and along the narrow residential roads. Tara found no tracks other than
those leading to her own golf cart. She peered through the back window at Kali.
She couldn’t leave her friend. But how could she stay here when Fimi could be
anywhere, with anyone?
At last, flashing red light flooded the front
garden. The head of Security and the community doctor arrived in the first golf
cart. Both women rushed inside. A second cart brought two more Security
personnel. After Tara spilled out the story, search tasks were assigned.
Tara took her own cart and drove toward the
closest wooded area. Someone from Security would be searching as well, but Tara
had to do something. Residents jumped out of Tara’s way as she drove, horn
blaring. She saw no one who shouldn’t be there.
Where
is she? Where is she? This was supposed to be a safe place. And Kali, what
about Kali?
When she reached foot trails, Tara pulled the
cart to one side and hurried into the woods. She shone her smartphone’s flashlight
around, trying to think who would take Fimi. The obvious answer was the
Brotherhood, the religious order Cyril Woods had belonged to. Probably still
belonged to, despite being in prison awaiting trial for what he’d done to
Tara’s brother. But why now? News about Tara and Fimi had spread across the
Internet. But after what Tara had said under the Arch for all the world to
hear, few people believed what the press called Tara’s “story” that she’d been
shocked to discover her pregnancy because she hadn’t had sex. Not many had
believed even before Tara had spoken. So what threat could Fimi pose to the
Brotherhood and its teachings?
Tara took a side path. She’d seen no trace of
the Security person who was supposed to be here, but the woods spanned acres.
Breathe.
Panicking won’t help.
Fimi might have been taken by any of the
hundreds of people who’d sent messages calling Tara evil, a liar, or a slut, or
telling her God should have made her baby stillborn. But Tara thought if she
were going to kidnap a child, she wouldn’t send a warning first, she’d just do
it.
Moving as quickly as she could, Tara examined
each shadow, petrified she’d find Fimi’s body on the ground or tied to a tree
branch or bush. Twigs snapped behind her. Tara spun, her flashlight beam illuminating
the trees around her.
Cyril Woods stood before her.
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