Chapter 18: Mission One

Defend the weak and the fatherless;
uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed.

“ ... we don’t have a justice system in this country,” Brady intoned. “We have a legal system. If justice is what we seek, the courts will not provide. Politicians rape and pillage, never serving time. A seventeen year old rapes and kills a woman, and serves two years? And the press cannot even publish his name? Drug dealers kill every hour of every day? Convicted? Five years? Serve three? For killing someone? Kill a guy on a bus and then eat him? Heck, insanity plea? Doesn’t even do jail time, and the killer is back out on the street because he’s been cured? What about the guy that was eaten? When does he get to be back out on the street? Pedophile? I mean preying on children? Nine years? Serving six? How insane is this? His victims are serving time for the rest of their lives. There is no reprieve, no absolution, no parole for them. Only pain. There is no justice in the courts. None.” Brady shook his head in disgust.

Sarah privately agreed. Her thoughts turned briefly towards her former home.

“Amen.”

Sarah was able to wear a shirt again for chapel, although even the light fabric kissing her wounded skin felt like flames licking her. With help from Rebecca, no infection had preyed on her, and the letters on her body, while inflamed, seemed to be healing adequately. Occasionally, she would gaze at the mark, a sense of pride infusing her.

To her surprise, Brady approached Sarah after the sermon, lowering himself to the pew beside her. Discreetly, Rebecca rose from the other side and wandered away towards Uma and Hua at the back of the chapel. Somewhere behind her, Sarah could hear the distinct grunts of Ivan, and the sighs of Stephanie.

Brady touched Sarah’s hand and bit his lip.

“You feeling up to a mission?”

Sarah raised an eyebrow. Brady had been careful of her mark since the Rite, but they had lain together every night since, sometimes with others, mostly only the two of them.

“Mission?”

“Top secret,” he winked.

Sarah shrugged and nodded.

Looking pleased, Brady pushed himself up and guided Sarah from the pew and beyond the chapel entrance, leaving the orgy behind. Frigid winter air caressed Sarah’s face and bare arms; she shivered, her boots crunching snow, her breath pluming ivory steam.

Brady guided her towards the barn where a nondescript white utility van sat idling, exhaust mirroring Sarah’s winter breath. The van displayed no licence plates. Brady helped Sarah into the passenger seat; she climbed in without pausing. Brady slammed the door and trotted around the other side. The interior of the van banished the icy atmosphere outside the windows, heat flowing freely from the vents.

Brady climbed into the driver’s seat, drew his seat belt, and threw the van into gear, tires compressing snow. Sarah wanted to belt in, but the belt threatened to cross under her left breast, so she simply settled back into the seat without a seatbelt. There was no moon in the sky; millions of stars greeted them through pine branches as Brady accelerated through the winding forest trail to the highway, trees shivering in the headlamps.

“Where are we going?”

It had been nearly six months since Sarah had been in a vehicle of any sort. It felt odd. For a moment, she considered that Brady might be expelling her from the compound. The mark throbbed below her left breast.

“Top secret.”

Sarah shrugged. She’d find out their destination when Brady chose to tell her. If he were expelling her, so be it; she would be disappointed, but she would simply return to the snowy streets and benches in Union Station if Louis would allow her. In the meantime, she settled into the seat, allowing her hands to roam over her breasts through her shirt, her body missing nightly sex. She was aware that Brady watched her peripherally; she was allowed top secret activities, too, if he was going to deny her both sex and knowledge of their destination. She stopped short of bringing herself to climax, but enjoyed Brady’s divided attention. Of course, being on edge failed to drive any wisps of fog from her mind.

The ride was nearly as long as their initial ride in the Focus to Blessed Shelter, but the barren winter scenery shrouded in darkness, the livestock asleep, the towns sleepy and quiet. Brady remained silent, almost brooding, no attempts to engage him beyond a voyeuristic appeal succeeded. Her own fingers upon her body only made her distraction worse and she stopped touching herself if only to placate her own arousal. Eventually, the stars, the dry heat and the monotonous blacktop lulled Sarah until her eyes dropped and she fell into a dreamless doze.

Hours later, Brady gently touched her shoulder and she roused, stretching in the seat. The van sat motionless, idling. Heat warmed her thighs as Sarah blinked sleep from her eyes.

“Where are we?” she mumbled.

“You don’t recognize it?”

She rubbed her eyes and peered out the windshield. A surreal suburban landscape greeted her, concrete, blacktop, streetlamps, and sterile houses in shadows marched in unison as far as she could see in the early morning dimness. She was so accustomed to the forest, this nightscape filled her with uneasiness. Despite this night scene, the location triggered vague familiar memories, like reflections from a dream.