CHAPTER ONE
Saturday, July 22, 2017
Bruderschaft Compound, North Idaho
Zeke Shepherd shot a nervous glance over his shoulder but saw nothing but the sheep, the dogs, the field, and the dense woods beyond. “You’re friends with black people? With . . . nig—”
“Gah! Don’t say that word!” Gabe shook his head, exasperated with the other boy. He leaned back against a tree. Even seated in the tall grass, Zeke towered over Gabe, who was small and slight for sixteen.
“Sorry, Gabe. You’re friends with, uh, them?” Zeke kept his voice low even though no one was around to hear them. It didn’t pay to be careless on the Bruderschaft compound. Saying the wrong thing could mean extra duties, or beatings. Or worse.
Gabe sighed. “Of course, I’m friends with black people. And Hispanic people, and trans people, and Jewish people. I’m so accepting, I'm even friends with your stupid ass.” His smirk let Zeke know he wasn’t being mean.
It had taken Zeke a while to understand the newcomer. He'd never met anyone else like him.
“But . . .” Zeke’s head reeled, as it so often did when he talked to Gabe. Zeke had been born into Bruderschaft and had lived his whole life there, with his father and about a hundred and fifty of God's chosen people—all white, all Christian—but Gabe had only been there for a few months. The smaller boy didn’t belong there. Zeke shook his head, unable to fathom why Gabe would be friends with so many people who weren't like him. “But why?”
“Because they’re people, dude. Just like I’m people.”
“And they’re . . .nice? Not criminals or terrorists or anything?”
“Damn but you’re thick sometimes, Zeke.” Gabe ran his hands through what little hair had grown back since his father had shaved it off and took a deep breath. “Look at the people here. Forgetting for a minute they’re a bunch of racist, nationalist homophobes, some are nice and some are dicks, right?”
Zeke nodded.
His friend shrugged. “You thought there was something wrong with me at first and now you know I’m cool. It’s the same with everyone, whether they’re white or black, Christian or Muslim, gay or straight, super powered or not. Some people in every group are cool, and some are assholes, and most are a mix of both.”
“I’m trying to understand that, man, I really am. It’s just . . .”
“Yeah, I know. Indoctrination from birth makes it tough. We need to get you away from this damn compound while you can still be salvaged.”
Fear shot through Zeke’s heart. As much as he'd begun to doubt some of what he’d been taught, he couldn’t help but picture the outside world as a chaotic, violent, immoral place. How many times had his father told him he was far too weak for the world? The bell rang to signal the hour and he leaped up. “Oh, crap! You’d better get back to the barn. It’s getting late.”
Gabe sighed again and stood up in no particular hurry. “I’m so damn sick of cows.”
Zeke chuckled. “Should’ve thought of that while you were trying to get moved off dish duty. And chopping wood.”
“I was sick of those, too. I'm sick of freaking duties altogether.” Gabe brushed grass off his standard-issue canvas work pants. “Later, dude.”
“See you at dinner.” Zeke watched his friend walk away, rubbing a hand over his blond crew cut to wipe away the sweat, and picked up the tall walking stick that had once been his grandfather’s. After five decades, the carved eagles and swastikas were all but worn away. He couldn’t see the main part of the compound from his vantage point because of the hill across the stream, but he could see the barns and silos and preferred to be where he couldn’t see any buildings at all.
The flock had just about picked this field clean, so he needed to move them. He whistled at the dogs and headed north and a little west, farther away from the agricultural buildings and the farm fields beyond them. Despite the hill, Zeke knew he moved up past the schoolhouse, then parallel to the knot of houses and barracks they called the neighborhood. Northeast of the neighborhood stood the weapons and explosives depots. Up farther, through a knot of forest to where they'd clear-cut the tress a few years back, were the training grounds for the soldiers and soldiers-in-training. He didn't hear the drill sergeants barking orders, so he figured they were running stealth-training ops off in the woods.
He trudged up the gradual slope, not even glancing back at the flock. They would follow him. They always did—he was the best shepherd in Bruderschaft. As he climbed the hill, through the narrow spot between the stream and two large oaks outside the evergreen forest's edge, he gave a wide berth to the enormous wasp nest he’d seen the day before. No use looking for trouble. Rustling hooves came up fast behind him and a cantankerous ewe ran past and clipped his leg. Two blue heelers, named Jimmy and Bob, came right on her tail, nipping her ankles to get her back in line. Zeke staggered sideways and his arms and walking stick flailed wildly. “Dang it, Eleanor,” he yelled after the ewe. The stick smacked into something over his head. His intestines knotted with dread as angry buzzing filled the air around him.
Furious wasps descended. He swiped and knocked a few out of the air, but more came to take their place until a roiling mass of black and yellow bodies filled his vision. They bumped against him as if jostling to be the first to bury a stinger into his flesh.
“Get away from me!” Zeke threw his arms over his head and face and squeezed his eyes shut. “Stop!”
The frenzied buzzing diminished to a gentle hum. One insect bumped against his shoulder, then no more. He peeked out and his jaw dropped. The swirling cloud of wasps hovered in the air, two feet away.
They all stared at him with those alien, multi-faceted eyes; stared as if waiting for orders.
Chills raced up his arms. “G-go back to your damn nest,” he whispered. They did. Every last one.
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