"Rise an' shine, folks! Yes, you, guy! C'mon, get your ass outta that bed!"
Lucius's eyes flew open, and he sat bolt upright. "Wh-what?" For a moment he didn't remember where he was. Someone in the bed with him let out a quickly muffled shriek; he realized with a shock that the "someone" was Ivy.
Is this real, or am I dreaming? He couldn't imagine one of his dreams having content like this.
The abrasive male voice continued, "Up an' at 'em! You think I don't know how many of you bozos use the six o'clock news as your wake-up call? Now you wanna burrow back under the bedclothes. You won't get any sympathy from me. I've been up since four!"
"Wh-who's there?" Ivy quavered. "Lucius, who is it?"
Realizing where they were, he told her, "There's no one in the room with us, Ivy. I'm not sure where that voice is coming from." Having assured her that he was the only person near her, he took her hand; she sat up and huddled against him.
"Apologies to those of you who were already awake," the voice said casually. It wasn't coming from the direction of either the computer or the TV...
"It's the clock!" Lucius blurted out, staring at the odd-looking timepiece on the nightstand. It was bad enough that it showed the time in lighted--red--digits reading, at the moment, 6:01. Now it was talking as well?
"How can a voice come from a clock?" Ivy sounded as if she thought he'd lost his mind.
"Okay, on to the weather." As the speaker delivered the day's forecast--a good one--for the Philadelphia area, Lucius cautiously touched the clock and decided it wasn't dangerous. The electrical cord attached to it was long enough that he was able to pass it to Ivy, letting her handle it and feel the vibration in addition to hearing the sound.
"And now for the traffic situation. No tie-ups at this early hour, but there is one detour drivers should be aware of..." By now Lucius and Ivy understood that this was a factual report, presumably being heard all over town, and accepted as routine by Philadelphians. Incomprehensible though it was, they hung on every word.
"Ready for the world news, folks? It's pretty bad." The unseen man told his listeners that "the battle" was "still raging" in one place; "two more suicide bombers" had "blown themselves up" in another, claiming a total of 50 lives; and a "cabinet minister" had been assassinated in a third. The place names meant nothing to Lucius; he could only hope they were far from Philadelphia.
"Enough of that! Now for local news." The speaker went on to describe a grisly "gangland" murder.
But it was his second local story that so stunned Ivy that she dropped the clock into the tangle of sheets.
"No new details about that cult inside Walker Wildlife Preserve. As reported yesterday, a young couple escaped from the commune--or whatever it is. They'd apparently been brainwashed into believing they were living in the 19th century. And the young woman is blind, which raises questions as to whether she's been physically abused."
"He's talking about us," Ivy whispered in horror. Her voice rose as she continued. "I didn't understand every word, but he has it all wrong! Telling people we had to 'escape,' implying I'm blind because someone injured me--Lucius, what are we going to do?"
"I don't know." Lucius was shaking. "But we'll have to do something. He's making our parents sound like monsters!" They aren't monsters. And yet I can't say truthfully that I'm sure Mr. Walker wouldn't have held us against our will if he knew we wanted to leave... "We'll have to discuss this with Agent McGill."
The voice from the clock went on to discuss other subjects. By now it was an irritating distraction, and Ivy asked, "Do you know how to silence it?"
"No--wait a minute. Yes, I do," he realized. "I don't know why it started. But Agent McGill told me that if we start any device and can't stop it, a sure way is to follow the cord to where it's connected to the wall, and pull it out." He proceeded to do just that. "Hmm. That also made the clock go dark."
"What time was it?" Ivy asked.
"About quarter past six."
"Losing the clock doesn't matter," she said reasonably. "Agent McGill said she'd wake us at seven, remember?"
"Oh, yes. You're right." But he knew neither of them would go back to sleep.
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By 7:30 they were having breakfast--with the group, by their own choice. The meal included cereal, waffles, and eggs, plus orange juice and coffee, both of which the villagers were tasting for the first time. The only beverages available at home were milk, buttermilk, herbal tea, and--in season--apple juice and hard cider, made from an apple variety that never turned red.
A rueful McGill explained that they'd been awakened by a "clock radio." "They're often used as alarm clocks," she told them, "with the radio set to come on at a certain time. The housekeeper who dusted the room yesterday must have accidentally pulled out the stem that sets the alarm."
"I'm glad we heard what we did," Lucius said. "If other people are interested in our village, we want to know what they're being told. How can we correct the errors?"
"The FBI is having a news conference later today. We'll tell the reporters what you've said the village is like--"
"Can we talk to them?" That was Ivy.
McGill hesitated; the two social workers at the table were frowning. "At some point," she said, "you certainly can, if you want to. But we'd prefer that you not do it now--not till you have a clearer understanding of what you'll be getting yourselves into. Right now we're hoping we won't have to reveal your names, or let reporters see what you look like."
Puzzled, Lucius asked, "Why?"
McGill glanced at the watch she wore on her wrist. "Let's see--there should be news on TV at this hour. We'll take a look. Remember my telling you what the refrigerator is for, Lucius?"
The magic icebox?
"It's for preserving food at cold temperatures," he recited. "But I think you said 'TV' has something to do with"--he struggled to remember the phrase she'd used--"with 'visual images.' What's the connection?"
"There's a TV built into the refrigerator door," McGill said. "It's a way people can watch TV in their kitchens without having a separate appliance take up space on a table or counter."
He gulped. "Oh. That's...surprising."
The agent fumbled through the clutter on the table till she found another of her world's ubiquitous hand-held devices. She aimed this one at the refrigerator and clicked it. A door panel that had previously looked like an empty picture frame came to moving, colorful--if two-dimensional--life. Lucius gasped.
"Are you familiar with photographs?" she asked quickly.
"Yes. I've seen them in books. And our village has homemade cameras. But I've never seen pictures that move, or are in color!"
"We've had them for a long time," McGill told him. "The important thing is that you understand that photographs show things that are, or once were, real.
"Looking at a newscast, you'll see a person who's reading the news to us at this moment, and actual events filmed earlier. The film will be real, but it will have been edited, so it won't necessarily give you the whole story. You have to use judgment in evaluating what you see." She gave a wry smile. "You'll find entertainment TV even more confusing. The pictures will be real, but they may show a fictional play, or a 'reality' that viewers understand is staged.
"In any case, what we have here is a newscast." She clicked the hand-held device again, and suddenly they could hear what the woman on the screen was saying. Her voice was as clear as McGill's, lip movements and sound perfectly synchronized.
"Now! Listen, everyone!" McGill said sharply. "She's just getting to it."
The woman on TV said, "The National Guard is barring curiosity-seekers from the Preserve. Here's the latest film." To Lucius's horror, the film--shot in very poor light--showed khaki-clad, armed men and women lined up along the wall. Based on pictures he'd seen in books, he guessed their weapons were rifles. There were at least a hundred of the so-called "curiosity-seekers." As the cameras rolled, a dozen or so made a dash for the wall; its defenders beat them off with their rifle butts. One man was apparently clubbed into unconsciousness.
As Lucius whispered frantically to Ivy, relaying what he was seeing, the news reader said, "Here's film from yesterday, showing the two young people who fled the village." He stared at the screen, transfixed. The day before, he'd never suspected they were being photographed; now he was seeing pictures that seemed to have been taken at startlingly close range. ("Telescopic lens," McGill muttered.) But as he watched the unfolding scene, he realized his need of a shave and the disheveled state of Ivy's hair had obscured their faces. He quickly passed that information on to her, too.
Muting the sound again, McGill said soberly, "I've checked all the places photos might have appeared. No one has clearer shots than those. If they did, they would have used them." Earnestly, she continued, "If we let the public know who you are and what you look like, you'll be mobbed wherever you go. We'd like you to at least have time to adjust to our culture before you're exposed to that."
Lucius nodded; he saw her point. But now he had another concern. "What about those people trying to get into the forest, to reach our village? The 'National Guard' can't protect it forever, can they?"
"They can stay for a long time if they have to," McGill told him. "News stories come and go. Interest in this one will eventually die down."
But she didn't meet his eyes.
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While they were still at the table, they heard a peculiar chirping sound. McGill was unfazed; she reached into her pocket and produced what Lucius now recognized as a cell phone. Flipping it open, she said brusquely, "McGill."
The caller did most of the talking, with McGill murmuring acknowledgment. At last she said, "Thanks for getting it done so fast, Tim," and signed off.
Turning to her companions, she said, "That was the information I've been waiting for, on the skull." To Samuels and Roche, she added, "It's what we expected."
Lucius asked anxiously, "What did you learn from it?"
"Something significant," she told him. "But it's open to more than one interpretation, since we aren't sure yet whether this skull is connected with the other skeletons.
"I don't know what you've been taught about different peoples. Have you heard of Native Americans? American Indians?"
Lucius and Ivy both nodded. "We live in North America," Ivy said slowly, as if reciting a remembered lesson. "Our ancestors came from a continent called Europe. The Indians were already living here. But North America is very large, and they were few in number, so there was plenty of room for all.
"On the first Thanksgiving, white settlers and Indians gave thanks to God together because the settlers' crops had thrived."
Lucius knit his brow. "But the two groups weren't always friends. They fought, uh, on the frontier." He'd never understood exactly what or where the "frontier" was. "That was part of the violence we were told exists everywhere, except in the village our elders founded to get away from it."
"All right," McGill said. "You know enough to understand what I mean when I say the skull was that of an Indian. Experts can determine that quickly, because the teeth are distinctive.
"Indian remains are found fairly often--though usually when people have reason to be digging. This skull may turn out to be quite old, and have nothing to do with the other skeletal remains. Those must be modern, or the clothing fragments wouldn't have survived."
Lucius shuddered. "After I picked up the skull," he told her, "I was so shocked that I went straight back to where Ivy was waiting. I didn't look around--and I'm not sure I ever returned to that exact site. So there could have been other bones nearby. I just don't know."
"Our investigators will find out," McGill assured him. "Today we'll have you guide us to the hot spots you're sure of. But over the next few weeks, our people will comb the forest."
Will Samuels cleared his throat. "We've heard how blighted that forest is. I hope you'll be investigating that, too?"
McGill gave a grim nod. "Definitely."
At that moment they heard voices from the direction of the front door. "Expecting company?" Aileen Roche asked.
"Yes, as a matter of fact I am," McGill replied. "Didn't think to tell you. Don't worry--there are guards on duty. Discreet, but vigilant. They'll check the guy's ID and show him in." She alerted the cook. "Lynn, we'll probably need more coffee!"
A minute later the new arrival strolled into the kitchen, displaying an ID badge that resembled McGill's. He took it straight to her, presumably having been given a description of their hostess. "Julius Decker, out of Minneapolis," he said with a smile. "Call me Joe. And is that another kind of 'joe' I smell?"
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After Special Agent Decker's good-humored request to be called Joe, the group discovered all of them actually preferred to be called by their first names or nicknames. McGill and the social workers had thought the young villagers might be offended by informality...and vice versa.
With that matter happily settled, they had more coffee with Decker. He explained that he'd arrived from Minneapolis (a place name that still meant nothing to Lucius) late the previous night. "Any verdict on the skull?" he asked McGill.
"Yes," she told him. "It is Native American. Or...Indian? If I understand correctly that you are one, what term do you prefer?"
Lucius was startled. This man is an Indian? Decker's complexion was swarthy, but not so dark that he'd found it particularly striking. His near shoulder-length hair was, however, very dark and very straight. Nothing about his attire provided a clue to his ancestry. I've only seen pictures of Indians wearing buckskin, moccasins, and feathered headdresses. But that was how they dressed in the 19th century. And this isn't the 19th century!
Decker was saying, "Most of us use 'Indian' these days. It's only our kin in Canada who resent that word. They insist on being called Natives."
The conversation turned quickly to their plan for the day. "Ivy, Lucius," McGill said, "just for today, are you willing to wear modern clothes? So you'll be less conspicuous?"
They both said immediately, "Yes." But Ivy, looking worried, continued, "Will there still be crowds around what you call the 'Preserve'? If we have to walk by them, I may not be able to hide the fact that I'm blind."
"That won't be a problem," McGill assured her. "There are several gates, and one of them's large enough to admit cars. That's how we'll go in, making no secret of the fact that we're FBI. You'll only be seen while we're outside the gate, through a car window. You and Lucius will both be taken for FBI personnel."
Lucius hated to offer an objection, but he felt he had to. "If we go in that way, we won't be near the spot where Ivy and I came out of the forest, and I won't be able to backtrack to the sites where I found the bones."
"No problem there, either," the agent explained. "We know the coordinates--the exact location--of the spot where you left the forest. And we have something called a Global Positioning System that will guide us to it once we're inside. Entering at a distance from it will cost us some time, but that's all."
Ivy said quietly, "You've thought of everything. Police here must be highly competent."
Only Lucius understood what she meant. The opposite of what we'd been led to expect.
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The drive to the Preserve (or Covington Wood, as Lucius still thought of it), with McGill at the wheel of the first of four FBI vehicles, took much longer than the previous day's helicopter flight. He and Ivy had plenty of time to worry about what lay ahead. But Decker made frequent calls on his cell phone, and assured them the crowd was now smaller and calmer. "How are you doing, Ivy?" the agent asked at one point. "Are you uncomfortable in those blue jeans?"
Lucius wasn't surprised by Ivy's saying enthusiastically, "No, I love them!" He found himself wondering, What will she do when we go home? Will she insist on wearing pants there, too, for the rest of her life?
They reached their destination to find dozens of civilians clustered near the gate, photographing the Guardsmen and peppering them with questions. The soldiers responded with shrugs, insisting, "We don't know any more than you do."
"There are more of them here than anywhere else," Decker said with a sigh. "Just because of the gate. But that can't be helped--we need to use it."
The crowd spotted the convoy of FBI cars and made a beeline for the one in the lead, all shouting questions at once. Lucius was disturbed by one that he heard clearly: "Are you guys ATF? Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms?"
He flashed back to Trooper Calhoun's having asked McGill if she was "ATF." She'd said she was. It stands for "Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms"? What does any of that have to do with our village?
Joe Decker stuck his head out the car window and yelled, "I'm Special Agent Julius Decker. And no, I'm not ATF!"
"What part of the FBI are you?" came several voices. But if Decker answered, Lucius didn't catch what he said.
He forgot that a moment later when the crowd picked up on one question and all of them began yelling it: "Where are the people who came out of the woods?"
This time it was McGill who spoke for the FBI. "They're at an undisclosed location!"
For some reason, everyone laughed.
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The gate was unlocked for them by a scowling middle-aged man in a uniform similar to Kevin's. Once inside, they left the cars and struck out on foot. Decker led the way, carrying the portable GPS equipment. Everyone expressed shock at the appearance of their surroundings. FBI technicians took photographs and collected vegetation samples as they walked. It took the group an hour to reach the spot where Lucius and Ivy had left the forest; but they'd gone straight to it, with no time wasted.
To his relief, Lucius found the three sites with skeletons as easily as he'd expected. Then he could only look on, marveling at the professionalism with which specialists collected the remains.
And remembering...
Ivy squeezed his hand. "Are you thinking what I am?" she whispered. "We're walking distance from home! So near and yet so far."
"Yes." He felt a wave of homesickness. "So much has happened that I find it hard to believe we've only been away for two nights."
"I...miss my parents. And Kitty, and Peggy...the whole family."
"I miss my mother, too, and all our friends."
After a long silence he said, "We could leave these people and go home, you know. They said we're free to do that at any time."
"I know." Then she took a deep breath, and her slim body straightened. "But we made our choice. We wanted answers about the forest and the skeletons. If we go home now others will find those answers, and we may never learn them."
"I think we'll learn them in any case." He closed his eyes and heard Stacey McGill saying, We will have to investigate the Preserve, and at some point, go into the village ourselves. "We've set something in motion that we can't stop, Ivy," he said quietly. "After this investigation, our home will never be the same."
She shivered. "You're right," she acknowledged. "I'd been forgetting that. Perhaps I didn't want to think about it.
"But when I do...the truth is, we have a responsibility. We brought this on. Now it's our duty to do as Stacey asked. To stay in the outside world and learn about it, so we'll be able to prepare the others...for whatever comes."