I nodded and glanced down at my legs, pretending to be shocked that I exposed myself. “Oh! I’m sorry. I was so scared that I didn’t think.” I let my skirt drop and pressed a hand to my gingham-covered chest. “I’m terrified of snakes, even if they don’t bite. Could you...could you check the grass, to make sure it went away? Please.”
Sighing heavily, the second guard kicked at the grass next to the path while the first rose to his feet and awkwardly patted me on the shoulder, murmuring reassurances that I was safe.
“No sign of a snake,” the second guard declared after a few minutes. “Are you sure you didn’t imagine it?”
“Of course, I didn’t imagine it,” I said indignantly. “It was big and brown and covered with stripes. It must have slithered away into the woods. Maybe to look for his friends. There might be more of them.” I turned to the more sympathetic first guard. “I’m still shook up. My knees are trembling. Would you men be willing to walk me to the dining hall?” I turned pleading eyes on the second guard, my lower lip quivering, giving him what Uncle Mel called my puppy-dog expression. He glared at me as if I were the nitwit I was pretending to be.
“Of course, we’ll walk with you to the dining hall,” the first man said.
I laid a hand on his arm and smiled bravely through the tears that flooded my eyes. “Thank you so much, sir. I’m grateful. Thank you, too,” I said, turning to the second man, needing to reel him in and keep him from his rounds.
Muttering to himself and shaking his head in apparent disgust, the grumpy guard took his place by my side. I slipped my arms through theirs, as if I needed the support to stand, poor fragile woman that I was.
Chumps.
Flanked by the two men, I began to walk slowly toward the communal dining hall. As soon as we entered the building, Pastor Bill strode over, a frown on his face. “Is something wrong?”
“I saw a snake,” I said, infusing a quiver into my voice. “Your men very kindly agreed to escort me to the dining hall. It’s silly of me. I probably overreacted, but I can’t help it. Snakes scare me to death.”
Pastor Bill smiled indulgently. “Women have been afraid of snakes since one led them into temptation in the Garden of Eden. It’s not your fault, Mackenzie. It’s hardwired into your DNA.”
Hardwired into my DNA. Sheesh. Miles had a pet snake when we were children, a beautiful red, black, and ivory striped Mexican Milk Snake. I used to drape it around my neck when I wandered the house, or allow it to twine around my forearm while we watched TV. Yeah. We just couldn’t help it; girls were naturally afraid of snakes.
“Isn’t Hannah with you?” he asked, looking over my shoulder.
“She was carrying a bag of steer manure. It split open and spilled on her skirt,” I lied. “She didn’t want the smell to offend anyone during the meal, so she went to her room to change clothes. She’ll be here soon.”
“Such a sweet-natured young woman, always so considerate of others,” Pastor Bill said approvingly.
The door to the dining hall swung open with a bang. Two men marched into the room, dragging a slim girl between them.
“Take your hands off me, you jackwads,” Hannah shrieked, squirming in their grips. Dirt smudged her shredded skirt, and a purple bruise blossomed on her left cheekbone. Had one of those assholes hit her? While Pastor Bill stood in stunned silence, I hurled myself at the girl, positioning myself between her and the cult leader.
“We caught her trying to escape over the fence,” one of the men said.
“My stupid skirt got tangled in the razor wire,” Hannah told me.
The mind fuck was officially over.
With a flick of his fingers, Pastor Bill signaled his men to release Hannah and to step back. No longer held up by her captors, Hannah swayed. I slipped an arm around her waist to support her as we faced the pastor.
“Sin and defiance have infested my house,” Pastor Bill said.
The crowded room fell silent, and all eyes were upon us. Hannah sagged in my arms, her limbs trembling. “It was my fault, not Hannah’s,” I said. “I talked her into running.”
“No.” Hannah shook her head and stood up straight. “As soon as I found out what you had in mind for me, I decided that I’d do anything to get away. Death before dishonor, that’s from the Bible, isn’t it, pastor?”
“No, Hannah, it’s not from the Bible,” I interrupted, answering for him. “Pastor Bill might be an expert on dishonorable behavior, but he knows squat about honor. That’s a military slogan. Ripper had it tattooed on his arm, from his time with the Rangers.”
Pastor Bill’s lips curved into a humorless smile, and his gaze swung my way. “Perhaps you led the girl astray,” he said. He looked at Hannah. “Or perhaps you’ve always been a wolf in sheep’s clothing, intending to wreak havoc in the very heart of my flock. In any case, under a firm hand and stern guidance, your soul might still be salvageable.”
“Or maybe we’re just two girls who got sucked into your bat-shit crazy cult,” Hannah said. “You ever consider that, huh? Did it ever occur to you that you shouldn’t kidnap women and hold them against their will, you horny old creep?”
Pastor Bill smiled again, a shark’s smile, dead eyes above a menacing flash of teeth. He snapped his fingers. His faithful acolytes came to heel, and a circle of men formed around us.
“I will fast and pray, seeking divine guidance on how best to deal with this pair of recalcitrant sinners,” he announced in a loud voice. “As for these two, put them in cells. Let them sit alone in the dark and ponder the error of their ways.”
SIXTEEN
Kenzie
Let them sit alone in the dark and ponder the error of their ways.
The chilling words reverberated through my mind as I lurched through the doorway leading toward the basement of the camp’s executive office building, the same door that had blocked Hannah’s passage when she searched for Levi. With my free hand, I grasped the handrail and stumbled down the steps. The men dragging us parted ways at the bottom of the stairs. One man pushed Hannah along a short, dimly lit hallway leading to the right; the other shoved me down a corridor to the left, leading us off in separate directions.
Basement storage rooms had apparently been retrofitted as jail cells, complete with heavy doors with substantial locks. Small panes of security glass allowed guards to peek into each room. The guard flipped a switch, illuminating the interior of the cells. A rattle and a thump from inside a cell broke the silence as we approached the second door on the right. A man’s face pressed against the security glass. I caught a glimpse of his shaved head and beard.
Pastor Derek. The face from the photographs. He was supposed to be dead, a victim of the flu. Why was he locked up in the basement?
I almost tripped when the guard roughly pushed me into the next cubicle.
“Hold still,” he ordered, pulling a pair of metal handcuffs from his pocket. He snapped one cuff onto my left wrist, then tugged me toward the far end of the room, where a thin blanket was spread across the floor. Above it, a thick eyebolt affixed a length of chain to the wall. Seizing the free end of the chain, the guard fastened the other half of the handcuff to its last link. The chain was about ten feet in length, long enough to allow me to sit or lie down on the pathetic bed or to pace the small room.