Chapter 16
Ophelia
Cain and some of his father’s men set up tents, and I ask if I can use the small kitchen in the RV to sort some food out for everyone. Felix says yes and shows me around the tiny space.
I have Daisy with me, as right now, she’s being so fidgety I don’t trust leaving her alone.
I’m scared she’ll do or say something to one of the guys that will ignite World War Three.
I knew we needed to be more careful about the altar room but didn’t push it because everything has been so non-stop busy since we returned to the college. I should have trusted my instincts.
Damn it. I’m still filled with a desperate urge to get her to understand the Preachers’ side of things. I want to try to explain, but there’s a soldier still in the RV, and, although he’s deeply focused on his phone, playing some game he can still most likely hear our conversation.
I lean in close to Daisy, and say softly, “What you saw back in the water tower wasn’t anything bad. We can talk about it later if you wish, and I’ll answer any questions you might have.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to be back with my family.”
Anger momentarily surges inside me. We’re back here, risking our lives, in part to save her family.
“You know, Daisy, the world isn’t black and white. A lot of the teachings the Prophet shares are plain wrong. He simplifies things and makes rights and wrongs out to be so much more straightforward than they are. There are times where he’s been blasphemous himself.”
She gasps at that. “The Prophet is not blasphemous.”
I’m starting to wonder whose side she’s on.
I read the Bible once I was free and back home with my parents, and it’s safe to say the Prophet twisted the words in there to suit his own agenda. I’m not sure I can persuade her of that, though, so instead, I bite my lip and consider my next words carefully.
“You can’t truly believe in everything he says, not if you want to stop the ascension and save your family.”
The truth hangs uneasily between us, filling the space like dark smoke. Her gaze meets mine, and I can see the conflicting emotions mirrored there, but she doesn’t answer. Instead, she turns to the rudimentary food I have on the counter.
“Shall I chop some vegetables?”
I sigh. “Yes, thanks. That would be helpful.”
We could dine on reheated military food packs, but there are some fresh supplies, and there’s enough for me to make a vegetable sauce, which mixed with some canned tomatoes and dried herbs will be nice with pasta.
The least I can do is cook these men a nutritious meal when they’ve come to help us.
Once all the vegetables are sauteed and reduced, I sprinkle over some dried Italian herbs and add the canned tomatoes. It would be better with fresh garlic, and some wine too, but the supplies these guys had are limited. They do have an awful lot of beer and a bottle of whiskey, but no wine.
“Something smells good.” Felix pops his head into the RV. Both feet are on the bottom step, and he grins when he sees the large pan on the small stovetop.
“I thought the least I could do is make you guys something to eat when you’ve helped us so much.”
A flicker of something I can’t quite read crosses his features, but it’s gone in an instant. Does he think this is a waste of his time being here? He’s paid to work for Cain’s father, not Cain himself, and perhaps he’s annoyed by this mission.
“Yes, thank you,” Daisy whispers. “I really appreciate it, too. My family will die if we don’t save them.”
He smiles at her softly and opens his mouth, but the roar of the dirtbikes has his head whipping around to watch them drive up.
I wipe my hands on the kitchen towel and turn the heat down, leaving the food to simmer. I follow Felix outside to where the bikes are parking.
Cain jogs over. He’s been setting up the small, two-man shelters, and I wonder where we’ll all sleep.
“So, what’s the place look like?” he asks the arrivals. “Heavily guarded?”
“No. Really not well guarded at all.” Mal climbs off the bike and removes his helmet.
He hands it to the guard still straddling the bike at the front and shakes out his dark hair.
“There are some fences, but there’s no guards patrolling at that section of the land, and no dogs from what we could see. ”
Daisy’s voice is small. “They don’t need dogs and guards. People choose to stay. And it’s always been too well secluded for the Prophet to ever worry about outsiders finding it.”
Still, I’m concerned that the Prophet will know Daisy is missing and, in anticipation of the ascension in the morning, will have taken extra precautions.
“Don’t you have drones you can send over?” I ask of Cain’s father’s men.
“We do,” Felix answers. “But the issue with that is if they’re spotted, they’ll know immediately someone is watching them. I doubt they get anyone recreationally flying drones out here.”
“I’ve never seen a drone,” Daisy says.
“Do you know what they are?” one of the guards asks.
He looks to be around twenty-five, and he’s pretty damn good looking. Rugged, but chiseled features. Tall, muscular, with wavy brown hair and green eyes.
“Of course I know what they are. I’ve seen them since I’ve been at the college with Ophelia.” Daisy rolls her eyes.
“I wasn’t trying to be a dick,” the guard says. “Sorry.”
Daisy’s answering smile is timid but warm, and her cheeks flush.
Oh, wow, I think she likes him.
He’s too old for her, but, as her blush spreads, he smiles at her and winks. “No offense.”
“Knock it off, Deacon,” Felix orders.
“I’m not doing anything.” Deacon tries to look as if butter wouldn’t melt.
“Yeah, we all know what that look means,” one of the other guards scoffs. “And anyway, she’s a kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” Daisy mutters under her breath.
A third guard speaks. “You know what that look means because half the time, when he’s putting it into practice, you’re there, too. Fucking freaks.”
Deacon winks at him. “The unit that plays together, stays together.”
He saunters off, but I consider his words. Do some of these guys share women? The way the Preachers do with me?
I can see that Daisy is also trying to analyze what he meant by it, and her mouth drops open when she finally seems to reach the same conclusion.
“Does everyone do this sort of thing out here?” she asks. The question is muttered under her breath and is clearly to herself.
“No.” I gently nudge her shoulder. “But he’s definitely bad news.”
“How can you tell?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The insane good looks? The arrogance? The wink? His job?” I laugh softly. “The guy’s a walking red flag.”
“Yes, well, what does that make your men?”
I ignore her jibe even though it hurts. Perhaps she has a point. I’d have thought the same of the Preachers when I first met them.
I leave the men to their planning and return to the RV where my sauce is still simmering.
I boil up a giant pot of pasta and get to work serving up the meal.
Daisy joins me, helping to hand out the dishes.
The men are all sitting around, either on the ground, or on small folding chairs.
It feels like a strange step backward, this kind of docile servitude of us women serving the men, but the truth is that we’re not going to be able to physically fight the Prophet and his disciples, and we want to do something to help.
There’s still a strained silence between Daisy and me.
We need to sort this out somehow because I don’t want our relationship to fall apart.
My thoughts go to what she’d said when she’d first walked back into my life about how the Prophet had always planned to take me as a child.
I still haven’t discussed this with the Preachers because I know what they’ll say.
Maybe they’ll even enjoy having something else to hold over my dad after what he did to Roman, and a part of me wouldn’t blame them for that.
I’m struggling with it, though. I’ve always loved my dad, even despite his recent transgressions, and the thought of him arranging to hand me over to the Prophet when I was just a little girl doesn’t sit right with me.
I sit on the ground next to Malachi with my own portion in a bowl. I note how Daisy has found a spot close to Deacon. Despite my warnings, she’s shooting him shy smiles in between mouthfuls of pasta.
One of the men—Derrick—pokes around at his bowl with a fork. “Where the fuck’s the meat? Or the flavor.”
One of the other men sniggers, and I feel my face burn.
Cain is on his feet in an instant. He launches himself at Derrick, and before the other man can even process what’s happening, he finds himself flat on his back, his food spilled onto the ground.
“Don’t fucking disrespect Ophelia like that.” Cain outweighs Derrick by thirty pounds of muscle and stands over him, his arm pulled back.
Malachi jumps to his feet. “Wow, Cain. Calm the fuck down.”
Derrick cowers, raising his hands to cover his face. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Hands are on weapons, but Cain is the boss here, and no one quite knows how to react.
“Cain, it’s fine,” I say, my heart pounding. “Leave it. Please.”
“Not until this fucking asshole apologies to you,” he snaps, before turning back to Derrick. “She worked hard to feed you, and your response is ingratitude and to mock her? Fuck you. Say. Sorry.”
“I’m sorry, Ophelia,” Derrick blurts. “There, I said it. I’m sorry.”
Cain hauls him up and spins him around so he’s facing me.
“Tell her to her face,” he demands.
“I’m sorry I disrespected your meal.”
“It’s okay,” I mutter. I don’t want this level of drama, and Cain is downright scaring me.
Cain shoves him back to the ground. “Now eat your food.”
What? I stare in total shock at what Cain is doing.
Derrick is on his hands and knees, and twists to look over his shoulder at Cain, trying to assess if he’s serious.
“Do it.” Cain plants his foot on his back, flattening him back to the ground. “Don’t make me say it again.”
Oh, my God.