We set off for Bethany House in an ancient electric bus that still purrs like a kitten but looks as if the wheels are in a competition to see which one will fall off first. There’s no hover line to Capon Springs, but that’s how the people here seem to like it. We travel several kilometers on the bus, then Brill lets us off in a secluded spot so we can’t be traced back to Capon Springs. We’ll walk to the nearest stop on the small hover line that runs between the towns of Wardensville and Gore, ride the bus for a few kilometers and then get off and walk into the hills where Bethany House is hidden.
“I wouldn’t mind running instead of using the hover line,” I say.
The time may come when I need to outrun both Four and the Bureau to stay alive.
Training for The Traveler’s Initiative, then walking everywhere in ancient Israel were a joke compared to the fitness level expected of a Four member. I haven’t gained huge amounts of muscle, but what I have looks like twisted ropes under my skin. Various chemical enhancements could quickly give me much larger muscles. Those shortcuts result in muscles that look great but have a fraction of the strength of natural muscle fibers and Four prefers an army of Davids over an army of fake Goliaths.
“No. Using the hover lines is our best opportunity to test the limits of government trackers,” Martha replies.
On the day the Four movement helped me to escape from the Cult Hunter Corps, I smashed my old com and had Martha smash a tracking chip they had placed in her back. We both immediately ceased making electronic footprints. Looking back, I regret it as childish.
Four has always relied on lack of enhancements to stay invisible and within days of our escape, the Bureau was working on ways to “see” the invisible Christians. Anyone who was not making electronic footprints became suspect. Luckily the staff at Bethany House includes some technical wizards who have been working on ways to fool the sensors, though a more old-fashioned approach sometimes works just as well.
“Time for the hats and sunglasses,” Martha says when we’re nearing the point where Martha says cameras with facial recognition software are positioned.
When I was preparing for the Traveler’s Initiative, my face got enough air time to make any movie star jealous. Even without the cameras, Martha worries I’ll be recognized by the locals. According to Brill, if I’m recognized there’s no guarantee anything will come of it. The people who live in these hills have a long history of being independently minded folks with no interest in helping the government find me.
When we get to the bus stop, Martha takes up position with her back to the visible security camera so the face recognition and lip reading software will get nothing. She expects me to follow her lead, but instead I stand, facing her, and get close. Then I nudge her to change the angle she’s facing by twelve degrees.
“What are you doing? You’re facing the camera.”
“I’m facing the camera you can see. There’s a hidden camera that you missed; so I’m blocking its view of your face while you block the view of mine. I hope you don’t mind that I have to stand so close.”
If standing close makes her uncomfortable, she shows no sign of it, but I’m sure she’s annoyed that she missed something. Luckily she no longer doubts my observational skills and we timed our arrival so that we’ll only be here for a moment.
“We won’t need them, but put in your hacked com,” Martha says.
Normally a com will only activate when it detects enhancements that tell it that it’s been placed in its owner’s ear and will then connect to the worldwide communications system. Members of Four have no enhancement chips in their bodies; so these new coms have been altered to contain biographical information on hundreds of users and allow us to change who the system thinks we are.
To find those of us who have no enhancements, the government is equipping tube cars and hover buses with eye beams and body heat scanners to count the number of people using public transportation. If the physical count is different from the electronic count, the discrepancy is noted. Being so far off the beaten path, thus far the small hover buses in the area have not been updated to the new equipment.
“If your fancy hacked coms don’t fool the system, we’ll know it soon,” I say as the hover bus comes into view.
“This time you’re wrong. It’s the same bus number that I used yesterday and it hasn’t been updated.”
It may be the same old bus; but glinting in the sun is a shiny new transmitter, probably to accommodate an additional data feed for the upgrades.
My com is active as we enter the bus but Martha has not put her com into her ear. I don’t know if it’s to test the new equipment or if she still doesn’t believe me that the bus was upgraded last night. We take seats but the bus doesn’t move.
“Will all passengers please activate their coms for an important announcement,” a congenial female voice says over a speaker.
That’s right, Henry. Make it look innocent so nobody thinks about the fact they’re being tracked.
Martha grunts under her breath over the fact that I was right again, but puts her com into her ear, causing the bus to begin moving. The “important announcement” is a request for passengers to complete a survey about the quality of the service. We both do the survey.
Nothing to see here but a couple of happy, brainwashed citizens.
When I complete the survey, the system says “Thank you, William.”
As far as the system knows, I’m William Ralph and Martha is now his longtime partner, Wendy. They’re an elderly Christian couple who live about a kilometer from the stop where we’ll get off the bus, so everything will appear normal. They and many other older Christians are happy to let members of Four impersonate them from time to time. In exchange, young people from Four take them what they need and care for them. Some have even been privately buried without telling the government so the deception can continue even after they’ve passed on.
When everyone has finished the survey, the screens revert to public service announcements. I’m looking down, but my head snaps up when I hear a familiar voice say: “This is a personal message for Dr. Cephas Paulson.”
I look up and see the video is showing an image of someone I thought I’d never see again.
“Cephas, this is your Aunt Jennifer. Please listen to me. Time travel is a new thing and nobody knew what the effects would be. I raised you since you were eight years old and I know you. I can see you’re confused about what’s real and what’s not. Wherever you are, please contact me so I can help you.”
Not a chance. I remember the sort of “help” you offered to me when I was a kid.
The next propaganda spot is from Henry Portman himself. In this ad, Henry holds up the bloody synthetic bandage I brought back through time and announces I confessed to him that I saw someone carrying a body away from the area of the tomb. A government lab has analyzed the blood and determined it’s human, which Henry is presenting as proof that the apostles simply stole Christ’s body and made up the rest.
As I bagged the bandage, a few drops of blood fell into the lid of my first aid kit. Martha had the drop analyzed by people loyal to the Four network and they agreed that it’s human blood.
But whose blood is it?
****
We get off the bus and start walking. Our path takes us straight past the neat little house of the real Bill and Wendy. There’s a barn that’s twice the size of the house and four horses grazing in a pasture. When we get near, I can see Wendy standing in a window watching us as we pass. Martha waves and we both order our coms to standby mode. Wendy and Bill can now turn their coms back on without the system recording them as being in two places at once. Outside the barn I see many jugs of Capon Springs water that other members of Four must have dropped off on their way past.
Martha motions for me to leave the road at a spot where the brush is thin and we start moving through the forest.
“Are you sure it’s safe to be alone with me?” I ask.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Her hand brushes the handle of her knife.
“I saw firsthand what you did to the Bureau agent in my house and I’m not interested in taking a beating,” I say. “But this is the first time we’ve been alone since we were locked in Henry’s tube car together. Aren’t you worried that instead of trying to take your knife I might do something even more horrific, like trying to kiss you again?”
“You were right earlier. I could use a run. Follow me,” she says and takes off.
That’s what Martha does when she wants to avoid a subject: she runs away.
I don’t want to reveal to her just how good a shape I’m in; so when I catch her and begin to speak, I pretend to huff and puff for air.
“I think we should talk,” I say.
Years as The Cult Hunter taught me that poking at a sensitive spot often yields unexpected information and right now talking about “us” appears to be as taboo as a subject can get. She increases the pace and I smile inwardly. She could triple the pace and I’d still be able to talk while running.
“What do you want to talk about?” she asks.
I see nothing to lose, so I blurt it out.
“After all the time we spent together and the way you kissed me - I need to know-”
Martha stops so abruptly that I’m several steps ahead of her before I can turn around.
“What you need to know is how to move through the woods silently. Try to travel the next ten meters without making a sound. That includes talking.”
I stand and stare at her. I know my face is revealing what’s really on my mind and I’m surprised there are no tears rolling down my cheeks as I again reach the conclusion that I’ve never been anything more to her than a target to be killed or used in the fight for religious freedom. I sigh and begin walking away from her as silently as I can manage.
When I think I’ve gone about ten meters, I turn around expecting her to be where I last saw her and jump a little when I find she’s right behind me.
“How’d you do that?” I ask.
She shows me a technique in which she rolls her feet from outside to in so that her weight doesn’t commit until her foot has tested the ground for anything that’ll make noise. I pick up the technique quickly.
“Martha, I still need to -,”
“Now try to run as quietly as possible,” she says and is off again.
I catch her and watch her quiet footfalls. Running quietly is all about carefully choosing where your foot will land and choosing your path to minimize contact with things such as dried sticks and leaves.
This time when Martha stops, she cuts me off before I even attempt to speak.
“Now we’ll loop around and track ourselves.”
We do a wide loop and arrive back at a rock that we passed earlier.
“We passed through here just a few minutes ago. Find our tracks,” she says.
I’ve never thought about tracking before, but as I stand there and focus on the forest floor, our footfalls start to stick out to me like they’re lit with neon signs. I can see broken sticks, flattened grasses and disturbed dirt. At first it’s my own steps that are most obvious, since I’m heavier and not yet good at hiding my tracks; but as I concentrate, even Martha’s light and carefully chosen steps become visible to me.
We run and walk and loop back on our own footsteps five more times to see how different running speeds produce different tracks. I start to ignore my own tracks and focus on Martha’s. By the fifth loop, my tracks are getting harder and harder to follow. I don’t share my observations - or my new hiding ability - with her.
I give up on trying to start a conversation and just immerse myself in this fascinating new puzzle. When we reach the end of the sixth tracking loop, I’m so happy with my rapid progress that, without thinking, I smile and reach out and touch her on the arm. Her body stiffens and she moves back a step to break the contact.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s just that I’ve enjoyed this lesson and just being out here with you. It reminded me of laying in the grass together in the park near my house and how you reached out and touched my hand. You had no way of knowing, but that was the first real physical contact I’d had in years. Then when you kissed me, I -”
Martha lets out a loud sigh.
“What do you want from me, Cult Hunter? Is the puzzle really so hard that I have to give you all the pieces? Here’s a piece. Not everything is what it appears to be. I’m hiding my real feelings about you for the sake of my mission. Does that help?”
She’s hated me from the beginning?
Her hair is flowing around her shoulders in the breeze. It reminds me of a breezy day we spent together in Colorado Springs. I reach out and allow the ends to tickle my fingertips.
“Please don’t,” she says.
“The day the identities of the travelers were announced, you sent a rose to my hotel room. It said “kisses real,” but it was only real like this breeze that’s blowing your hair. I felt it as it passed through my life, but it was never really mine.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but I hold up my hand to stop her.
“The fact that I needed to ask the question was the answer all along.”
****
There’s nothing left to say; so we settle into a stiff walking pace with Martha in the lead.
How could I have been so fooled that I thought Martha could ever love me? Jocie was right. I fooled myself. Henry was right too. The Christians will never accept me. I was too good at acting the part of The Cult Hunter for them to ever see me as anything but a monster.
With the question of Martha’s feelings settled, my mind drifts to questions about my own fate. With both sides now wanting me dead, I want to lie down here in the woods and give them their wish; but three simple words are keeping me going: “Feed my sheep.”
Jesus once warned His apostles that they’d be going out as sheep among wolves. I want to believe the woman walking in front of me is one of Jesus’ precious lambs; but I’m afraid that I’m just fooling myself again. I’m afraid that she’s leading me straight into the wolves’ den.
“Martha, before this top secret meeting of the Four Council begins, can I ask a couple of tactical questions?” I ask the back of her head.
“Fire away.”
“Now that I’ve seen your training firsthand, what does Four intend to do with it? You claim you won’t stay in the shadows; so what are your operational plans?”
Martha’s pace increases by a half step.
“For that matter, how are other Christian groups trained and organized? If the older generations are in the shadows, what will they do to support you?”
Her hand brushes her hunting knife.
“Then there are your technical capabilities. These hacked coms are amazing. What other technical advantages do you have?”
I watch as her right arm stiffens and moves two additional centimeters from her body while her left hand tightens the straps on her pack. Her knees bend an extra degree or two. Anyone else would see a hiker. I see someone who’s prepared to spin on her left foot, plant with her right, and throw that knife into my chest in one fluid motion.
When I stop walking, it’s like I’ve triggered a tripwire. She spins and raises the knife, but it remains in her hand when she sees me standing there with my arms folded across my chest.
“So that’s it then, isn’t it? You really are my prison guard. I ask a few questions about your operations and you think this has all been an act. You think everything I’ve done and said is just another elaborate Cult Hunter trick to infiltrate your operations.”
“That’s still the prevailing opinion of the Council.”
Interesting.
“That knife isn’t in the Council’s hands. It’s in yours.”
“I have standing orders from the Council to kill you. None of them would blink an eye if I put a knife into you right now.”
“And yet the knife is in your hand rather than my chest. Why?”
I take a step towards her.
“I’m warning you, Cephas. As far as Four is concerned, you’re still The Cult Hunter. One wrong move and there’ll be a knife in your chest.”
A warning? Or a puzzle piece?
Another step forward.
“You’re not going to kill me, Martha.”
I walk past her.
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because you’ve already knifed me through the heart once today.”