Chapter 6 #3
“That’s possible.” Maya went quiet once again. “Okay, I’ll let Gideon and David know what’s going on. We’ll beef up security and patrols around the perimeter. We’ll also need to warn residents to be on their guard.” A frustrated sound slipped from her.
“I’m sorry, Maya, this may have been my fault.”
“How do you figure that?”
“You know I was a part of the prepper group on the mountain. You also know part of the reason I agreed to come stay here was so I could be close to them.”
“To search for your sister and father.”
“Everywhere I’ve turned, every person I’ve asked has said they’re not here. I was convinced and almost quit looking. Until last week.”
“When you thought you saw your sister in town.”
“I called her name and she didn’t respond. But she sure disappeared fast.” She ran a hand over her face. “Why wouldn’t she want to see me? Why would she actively avoid me?”
“Maybe it wasn’t her. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen her.”
“I know. But . . .” She bit her lower lip.
It had been Iris. There really wasn’t any doubt that the woman had been her.
And Iris had run from her. What if one of the preppers had someone watching her sister and she would have gotten in trouble for talking to Elena?
Once someone left the group, they would be “reeducated” if found.
If they came back voluntarily, it was a toss-up as to whether they’d be welcomed with a lot less reeducation.
Or simply given the cold shoulder. She had no idea what they’d do to her, but she’d already decided to risk finding out. At some point.
“But nothing,” Maya said. “You’re right when you say we need to focus on making sure the ranch is secure and the residents are safe. We’ve worked too hard for this to go sideways.” A pause. “But the ranch’s reputation isn’t the priority. The residents are.”
“Absolutely.” Elena closed her eyes. “Do you want me to leave? I probably should.”
“No. We won’t jump to conclusions. This might not be about you. Or even Ollie. Let’s tighten up on security and see how this plays out. You said yourself what you witnessed could be interpreted a couple of ways. We can’t panic based on a possibility.”
“But—”
“We’ll take precautions, but we won’t panic.”
Elena blew out a low breath. “Right. We won’t panic.”
Her mind spun back to the past, to a moment with her sister when life was fun and carefree.
Eleanor had chased Iris up the trail, leaves crunching under her boots while she dodged branches and swatted at gnats. They were supposed to be cataloging supplies in the root cellar, but one look from Iris—mischief flashing in her brown eyes—had sent them sprinting for the woods instead.
“You’re getting slow, old lady!” Eleanor called, scrambling up a rocky incline.
“Old?” Iris spun around, grinning. “I’m sixteen, not fifty.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Eleanor teased, panting but proud she was keeping up.
They reached their secret spot—a flat patch of moss beneath a crooked pine, where the ground dipped just enough to hide them from sight. Iris flopped down and patted the space beside her. Eleanor dropped beside her, laughing.
“You bring it?” Iris asked.
Eleanor pulled a crumpled notebook from her jacket. “Chapter seven of Project Escape. Freshly written in the bunkhouse while pretending to fold laundry.”
Iris grabbed it like it was treasure, flipping through the pages. “You’re a genius. ‘Operation Mozzarella Moonshine’ might be your best code name yet.”
Eleanor grinned. “Better than ‘Project Squirrel Whisperer’?”
They burst out laughing. For a while, everything felt normal—just two sisters plotting imaginary missions far from drills and ration charts and Dad’s lectures about government overreach.
But then Iris’s laughter faded. She stared down at the pages, her thumb tracing a doodle in the margin—a lopsided girl holding a sword made of canned peaches.
Eleanor tilted her head. “What’s wrong?”
Iris didn’t answer right away. The mood changed, became more tense. “I heard Mom and Dad talking last night,” she said finally. “They’re thinking about moving.”
Eleanor blinked. “Moving? Why? Where? When?”
“To Tennessee. There’s a new settlement LaRoche is forming.
He inherited some land in the mountains.
He wants Dad to come and be like his lieutenant or something.
But it sounds kind of scary. More isolated.
He said we’d be more self-sufficient in case the government decides to implement even more control than they already have.
Dad said, and I quote, ‘Virginia’s getting soft. ’”
“But . . .” Eleanor’s heart thudded. “We already live off the grid. We grow our food. Mom teaches us. We have training every week. What’s more isolated than this?”
Iris gave a bitter half smile. “Apparently, a place where there’s no contact with outsiders. No cell phones. No compromises.”
A chill slithered down Eleanor’s spine. She imagined the rumors they’d heard—about a group in Tennessee with no phones, no books except survival manuals, no exceptions. Children who trained with knives instead of pencils.
“I don’t want to go,” she said.
“Me either.” Iris picked at the moss. “This place might be weird, but it’s our weird. We have the creek. The pine trails. Even Old Man Fischer and his conspiracy theories.”
Eleanor hugged her knees to her chest. “Do you think they’ll actually do it?”
“I don’t know,” Iris said. “But when Dad gets that ‘we’re running out of time’ look in his eyes . . .” She trailed off.
They sat in silence, the wind threading through the trees like a warning. Eleanor felt smaller than ever. Small and powerless. She hated both feelings. She looked at Iris. “If we go, promise me we’ll still come here in our heads. Like, if it gets scary . . . we just think about this spot.”
Iris smiled and reached over, linking their pinkies. “Deal. Our secret base. No matter where we end up.”
Elena blinked herself back into the present. She didn’t have time for memories. And Maya was right. They wouldn’t panic yet.
But what if they needed to?
The basketball left Ollie’s fingertips and sailed through the air. Perfect arc. Perfect angle. Swish. Four in a row now.
“You’re on fire today.” Piper jogged to retrieve the ball. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”
Ollie shrugged. “Coach Miller at Jefferson Middle. He said I had natural form.”
“Well, he wasn’t wrong.” Piper passed the ball back. “Want to try some three-pointers?”
“Sure.”
Afternoons in the gym with Coach Miller’s patient instruction had been her salvation last year. And then he’d let her come early, opening the gym just for her, and she’d reveled in the quiet hours when she could practice alone. Just her, the ball, the net, and the math.
Distance, force, angle. At least math made sense when nothing else did.
Ollie stepped back to the three-point line. The distance felt right. She lined up her shot, calculated the trajectory, and released.
Swish.
Piper whistled. “Remind me not to challenge you to a game for money.”
She tossed the ball back and Ollie caught it. “I’d never bet against an FBI agent. That seems like a federal offense or something.”