Children of the Earth (19 page)

“You know about that?” Daphne asked. “About what Luna can do?”

Doug shivered. “She did it to me. She got inside my mind and made me do whatever she wanted. It was like being a puppet.”

The Peytons looked from Doug to Daphne and back again, their mouths round with shock.

“It sounds crazy, but he’s right,” Daphne said, standing abruptly. She was still shaky from her confession to the Peytons, but there was no time to wallow. “The Children of the Earth have special powers. We shouldn’t go up against them on our own.”

Floyd nodded, already grabbing his coat. “Should we call the police?” he asked.

“No.” Daphne bit her lip, thinking of the suspicion in Detective Fraczek’s eyes. “They wouldn’t even believe us, let alone help us. There’s only one place we can go for help now.”

23

FLOYD’S TIRE
S SQUEALED AS HE
pulled into the expansive, newly paved parking lot of the brand-new Carbon County First Church of God. The building towered above them, its spire stretching proudly toward the heavens. It was done, finally, ready to host its first service that Sunday, to be a spiritual nexus huge enough to house all the worshippers who had poured into town to follow Pastor Ted and witness the Rapture.

They opened the church’s heavy front door, and a blast of fresh varnish wafted out at them. Hilary stood in the lobby, tacking a flyer about the youth group’s next bake sale to a virgin bulletin board.

“Daphne!” Hilary grinned, her curls shivering. “I’m so glad you decided to stop by! Wait’ll you see the inside, it’s so beautiful you’d think God designed it himself. C’mon, let me give you a tour.”

“I’m sorry, but there isn’t time,” Daphne said. “Hil, Janie’s missing. We think she’s in danger.”

“Oh no.” Hilary’s face went white. “I’ll take you to Pastor Ted.”

Daphne, Floyd, Karen, and Doug followed her through a side door and down a long corridor. She stopped at a door bearing a small gold plaque that read
Pastor Ted
.

The pastor’s office was larger than Daphne had expected. It was carpeted in thick Oriental rugs and decorated with photographs from his TV appearances blown up to poster size. Boxes of books sat unopened on the floor.

“Daphne!” A smile spread across Pastor Ted’s wide, easygoing face. “How lovely to see you. Come in, please, and have a seat.”

“I’m afraid this isn’t exactly a social visit.” Daphne perched on the edge of a purple brocade wing chair. “I’m just going to be blunt, Pastor Ted: The Children of the Earth are here in Carbon County, and we think they have Janie. They’re dangerous and powerful—I’m pretty sure they’re the ones behind what happened to the sheriff. If we don’t find Janie soon, they could do that to her.”

“My God.” The pastor sank heavily into his leather swivel chair. “Go on, my child.”

Quickly and dispassionately, not wanting to linger on any of the sordid details, Daphne told him the whole story. As she spoke, the air seemed to leave the room, and she felt not only Pastor Ted but also Hilary, Doug, and her aunt and uncle leaning into her words. She saw Pastor Ted flinch when she explained her relationship with Owen, and she knew she’d let him down. She’d let them all down, all the people who had trusted her, who had viewed her as a leader. But that was over now. Now she’d do whatever she could to bring peace to the town and to get Janie home safe and sound.

“So let me get this straight,” Pastor Ted said when she’d finished. “The Children of the Earth are up at the Vein, and they’ve captured Janie. Now we need to go rescue her?”

“I think so,” Daphne agreed. “Maybe ‘captured’ is the wrong word—it’s more like ‘brainwashed.’ I’ve seen them do it before. I know how powerful they can be.”

“It’s messed up!” Doug cut in, his voice hoarse with emotion. “That Luna, she just gets in your head. She can make you do anything. And Janie was so messed up to begin with . . .” He took a shaky breath and buried his head in his sleeve, unable to go on.

“Is it time?” Hilary shot Pastor Ted a cautious glance.

“I think so.” The pastor stood abruptly.

“Time for what?” Daphne asked, looking from one to the other.

But nobody answered.

“Come with me,” Hilary commanded, her voice suddenly cold. She led the group out of the office and down the hallway to an unmarked metal door. The air grew chillier as they entered a stairwell, Hilary’s corkscrew curls marching in time to her footsteps as she bounded down the stairs.

“We’re still putting the finishing touches on the basement,” Pastor Ted explained as they descended. “But there’ll be daycare and rooms for all the Sunday school groups, a teen center with a rec room that has ping-pong and shuffleboard, even a movie theater for screening Bible epics. I’ll tell you, Floyd Peyton, your money is being well spent.”

Floyd grunted politely, but it was obvious that as long as his daughter was missing, his investment in the church was the last thing on his mind.

“This way.” Hilary stopped at an unmarked black door and punched a code into its keypad, her movements crisp and efficient. The keypad beeped and glowed red, and she pushed open the door, ushering all of them through before snapping on the light.

“Whoa.” Daphne stepped back, startled. Floor-to-ceiling racks covered the walls. They held every possible type of gun, from tiny pistols to massive, gleaming semiautomatics. Neatly labeled artillery bins lined the floor, and missiles like giant squid stood at attention behind locked cabinets.

“What is all this?” Daphne stuttered, blinking rapidly as she looked around.

“Weapons,” Hilary answered matter-of-factly. “For the Rapture.”

Pastor Ted gripped Daphne’s hand, a burning fervor in his deep blue eyes. “We knew it was coming.” His voice was urgent. “We knew it because of
you
. You’re the one who translated the tablet, whose visions foretold a great battle between good and evil, the Battle of the Great Divide. And what’s a battle without ammunition?”

“Look.” Hilary led her to another door at the rear of the room. She reached into a cabinet and pulled out a pair of bug-like noise-cancelling headphones and protective plexiglass eyeshades. “Put these on.”

Numbed into compliance, Daphne did what she was told, watching in shock as Hilary donned a matching pair. The youth group leader keyed a different, longer code into the keypad and pushed open the door.

Even with the headphones, the noise was deafening. Guns exploded in endless arcs before her, the sound ricocheting off the concrete walls, the air thick with the smell of hot metal and gunpowder. They were in an underground firing range, and as the shooters paused to get a look at the newcomers, Daphne realized that she recognized their faces. There was Mark from Cincinnati, and Monica, who had worn the cool vintage housedress to the church picnic and suggested a Roaring Twenties–themed party for a fundraiser.

Monica wasn’t wearing a housedress anymore. Clad in camo from head to toe, the members of the youth group had abandoned their welcoming smiles. Adrenaline clenched their jaws shut, and their fingers were tight around the triggers of semiautomatics. They may have been separated from Daphne by bulletproof glass, but their expressions were unmistakable. No matter how or where it happened, they were ready for battle. And when that battle occurred, they’d be out for blood.

Daphne had seen this before. She’d seen these people, carrying these weapons, in her last vision. She shivered, realizing what this meant: The visions weren’t just messages. They were
predictions
, foretelling what was to come.

Hilary pressed an intercom, and her voice boomed from speakers inlaid in the ceiling. “Hey, everyone!” she called. “It’s time. Reload your weapons, stock up on ammo, and get ready to fight.”

A joyful cheer rose from the shooting lanes, making Daphne feel sick to her stomach. These kids weren’t just prepping for battle because they felt they had to, Daphne realized; they
wanted
to. They’d seemed enthusiastic about the community project and teen center, but this was what really got their blood pumping, was probably what had drawn them to Carbon County in the first place. Pastor Ted had preached on national TV promising a war, and, more than any other reason, they had come to fight.

“Take your pick, Daphne.” Pastor Ted swept his hand across the room, indicating the stockpile of weapons. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

Her heart caught mid-beat as she scanned the crowd and realized she was the only one unarmed. While she had been in the shooting range Pastor Ted had donned a hip holster loaded with a pair of silver pistols. Aunt Karen ran her hands admiringly over the barrel of a compact Remington, and Floyd, scowling uncomfortably, hefted a hunting rifle over each shoulder. Doug cradled an AK-47, two ammunition belts crisscrossed over his puffy green jacket.

Daphne’s throat constricted. Being in the armory made her uncomfortable—but not as uncomfortable as the way the people she loved seemed to morph into something cold and ugly the moment they had a weapon in their hands. She didn’t want that to happen to her, too.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked. “I’ve been having seizures. What if I set it off by accident? Someone could get hurt.”

“Someone’s already been hurt,” Pastor Ted said grimly. “Daphne, you’re our prophet. I may be a figurehead, but you’re our real leader, the one with the direct line to God. We need you to lead this fight.”

The thumping in her heart traveled to her head, pounding in her temples. She didn’t want to choose a gun, but she couldn’t disappoint the people who heralded her as a prophet, the ones she was supposed to lead. “I guess this one.” She picked up a shotgun that looked like it was made for a child and adjusted the strap uncertainly over her shoulder. Even through her jacket the metal was cold as death, a reminder of how out of control things had gotten, how much easier it would have been to speak up before it came to this. Before it turned into a war.

The room broke into spontaneous applause, and Daphne felt chilly sweat dapple her forehead, her mouth go dry.

“Now what?” Pastor Ted turned to her, and she realized they were all looking at her, waiting for her to speak. To lead.

“Okay.” She gulped hard. “We believe that Janie’s with the Children of the Earth, up at the Vein. We go up there, and we go in together, as a group. But . . . we talk to them first. We try to talk to
Janie
, to let her know how much we love her. That we’re her community. That we’re here for her.”

“What if she doesn’t want to come?” someone asked.

“Then we take her.” The words sounded harsh and ugly in her ears. “Floyd and Doug and Pastor Ted, you’ll be the ones to do it. Take her by the arms, put her in the car, and take her home. And be careful; The Children of the Earth have powers. Luna, the one with the dreadlocks, can get inside your head. But I bet if we’re all in it together, we’ll be too much for her.”

The room filled with angry murmurs.

“When do we open fire?” someone shouted. An appreciative roar went up in response, along with loud cries of agreement.

“We don’t,” Daphne said curtly. “The weapons are just for show. We shoot only in self-defense, only if our lives are being threatened.”

She ignored the disappointed rumblings and turned abruptly, stomping toward the door. “Now let’s get going,” she commanded. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

The makeshift army followed her up the stairs and into the sinking sunlight. She watched from Floyd’s rearview mirror as they piled into a phalanx of church vans, weapons slung over their shoulders, boxes of ammo tucked into their pockets or strung in belts across their chests. The mountains loomed in the distance, dark and silent sentries standing guard over the valley.

“I never imagined it would come to this,” Floyd said quietly. He started the truck and led the convoy down the road and up into the hills, his fingers a bloodless white on the wheel, the twin rifles resting in his lap. “I know the tablet said there would be a battle, but I guess I didn’t think it would be this . . . literal.”

Daphne stayed silent, the words shifting uneasily in her gut. None of this felt right, but neither did losing Owen. She couldn’t lose Janie, too.

The Vein’s sign glowered down at them, red and ominous atop its towering twin poles. Just looking at it made Daphne feel sick and lost, angry at this place and these people for robbing her of those she loved the most. She ran a hand down the length of her gun and wondered, just for a moment, how it would feel to fire it right between Luna’s eyes, how it would feel to end this for good. The thought was almost too tempting. Without Luna, the Children of the Earth would have no leader, no direction. They’d go back to wherever they came from, confused hippies roaming the earth. All it would take was one well-aimed bullet . . .

She yanked her hand from the gun. Killing people couldn’t be the answer. It couldn’t be what God wanted.

Could it?

One by one the church vans pulled in after them, and the Christian youth disembarked, silently adjusting their ammo belts and loading their weapons.

“Ready?” Pastor Ted approached Daphne, a grim determination in his eyes.

She nodded, a desert of fear drying her throat. “Yes,” she whispered.

With Doug, the Peytons, and Pastor Ted at her side, and dozens of armed Christian youth at her back, Daphne approached the front door and pushed against it.

It didn’t budge.

“Weird,” she said, foreboding settling in her stomach. “It’s dusk—they should be open.”

Already the sky was gunmetal gray, blue cirrus clouds clustered over the mountains.

“Try again,” Pastor Ted encouraged her.

Daphne pushed once more, grunting as her shoulder slammed up against the metal.

Still nothing.

She pounded on the door with both fists, the noise echoing through the silent parking lot. “Is anyone in there?” she called. “Janie? Owen?
Luna?
”

Only silence answered her.

“Okay.” She took a few steps back and raised her gun reluctantly to her shoulder. “I guess we’re doing it this way.”

She squinted at the lock and took a deep breath, her pulse skittering like the wings of a dragonfly. Then she squeezed the trigger.

The shot exploded in her ears, the force propelling her back so that she tripped over her heels and almost landed ass-first in the gravel. She caught herself right before she lost her balance entirely and stood panting and sweating, staring at the smoking hole in the door, right next to the lock.

“What the hell?” she looked around to find Uncle Floyd smirking quietly.

“Never shot a gun before, have you?”

She wiped sweat from her forehead. “We used pepper spray in Detroit.”

“Pepper spray doesn’t have a kickback.”

“Let’s try this again,” she muttered. The crowd held their breath around her, waiting for her next move. Any one of them probably could have shot the lock out on the first try, she realized—they’d been training down in the church’s shooting range, and Doug and the Peytons had grown up hunting. But this was
her
plan, and she knew they would wait for her to get it right.