Technomancer 17: The Truth behind the Disappearances

Masa gently pushed on the metal lid of the supply crate, hoping none of the soldiers were in the back of the truck. There had been no sound since she had hidden, but that didn't mean they weren't there. Peeking out, she breathed a sigh of relief. No soldiers. From the cab to her left came voices, muffled by the green canvas and the sound of the tarp cover, rustling loudly in the desert wind. A thick canvas sheet blocked them from her view.

She turned to her right and glanced out the opening in the canvas at the back. Barren golden landscape passed behind her, strewn with gauze bushes. The straight golden line of its edge ran beneath the brilliant blue of the sky on the horizon. In the distance, she could make out buildings across the barrier wall, which ran along the highway. Beads of sweat formed on her brow, and she wiped them away, letting the lid fall back down. The beans adjusted around her, cooling her skin against the oppressive heat. She relaxed into them, feeling sleepy once more. The movement of the vehicle had settled the child within her, and the musty smell of the crate reminded her of the secret room hidden beneath the satellite station where she had grown up in Mexico. She slept for a time and woke to the rumble of engines all around her. They were finally in the city.

Masa tried to focus, ignoring the temptation to drift off again. She needed a way to escape the truck before they arrived at their destination. A place guarded by American soldiers and walls would be challenging to escape, so she needed to attempt her run before they arrived. And who knew whether the American soldiers still held to the same code of ethics? Even the Mexican military had betrayed their values in the wake of their desperation. Leron had sugar-coated what had happened, but she had learned the full truth from Loretta. Glaring at the beans, she struggled to find a solution. She would just have to be patient and take the opportunity when it presented itself.

Jets roared overhead, causing her to cringe and cover her ears. It took everything in her to force herself to stay quiet. After nothing but silence for so long, their presence was alien; the briefest glimpse of a memory of the world before the bombs dropped. She had left it all behind her, forgetting the memory of her father and more, choosing only to focus on the present. Since arriving in Texas, she had seen more and more signs of civilization. Did San Antonio have more than just planes? Growing excited, she thought longingly of a shower and a toilet that flushed.

The truck ground to a halt, throwing Masa forward within the crate. She opened the lid again. Now that the tarp had stopped rustling, she could make out the soldiers’ voices more clearly. The men up front expressed their frustrations in English. Or at least, that’s what Masa assumed they were doing. She understood the word truck and the word dam. Leron had occasionally used the second word when thinking out loud and thought no one was listening.

Masa waited, biding her time should the truck move forward again, but it didn’t. She climbed out of the crate and crept carefully across the back of the bed, trying not to disturb anything. Struggling over the tailgate, she climbed down. When her feet hit the ground, the exhaustion returned, and she rested her hand against the back to support her while she recovered. Her eyes widened as she stared at the sky.

The brilliant blue was now filled with a thick cloud of what could only be drones. They were everywhere, moving in great swirling patterns above the skyline. Smoke drifted up from factories in the distance. More jets roared overhead, and she yelped, covering her ears. The driver of the truck beside her honked his horn loudly. Desperate to escape, Masa ran down the highway, trying to make it to the nearest onramp. If she could just make it down into the city below, she could find a quiet place to hide and to think.

Doors slammed behind her, followed by the uniform footfalls of trained soldiers. She picked up her pace. Her heart raced while her hands shook. Beads of sweat drifted down her forehead, and Masa felt like she was going to be sick.

Masa glanced behind her to see two soldiers. She continued to run, but they were gaining on her. Gasping for air, she breathed heavily, trying not to pass out. Pain shot through her side, and she cried out, doubling over and clutching the side of her torso. Tears filled her eyes as she could do nothing but watch them grow closer.

“Please, I have to find Leron,” she panted when they were just feet from her. “Do you know him?”

They stared at her, confused, and began speaking in English to one another. One of them ordered her to stand, but the pain was too great. She assumed he must be the one in charge. “Help,” she managed to say in English. They nodded and pulled her to her feet, turning her to face the coal truck. Her hands were bound with a zip tie. She did not fight. Hopefully, someone would speak Spanish wherever they took her. They turned her to face them.

One of them asked her something she did not understand. She did recognize the words here and what. Without help, there was no way she could understand or be understood. It was the worst possible outcome - one she had not fully thought through. How could she even hope to find Leron in a city where no one could understand her?

“I need to find Leron,” she said, this time slower so they might understand, but it did no good. They ignored her and dragged her through traffic back towards the army truck.

From one of the coal trucks ahead of them, a driver climbed out of the vehicle. He was a tall, wiry man with short blonde hair and blue eyes. Dressed like a padre, he walked toward them with an air of authority – not what you would expect from a man driving a coal truck. Masa squinted at him, feeling confused. Why was a padre driving a coal truck? He spoke to the soldiers and they paused. One of them nodded.

The padre bent down, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m Father Ambrose. Perhaps I can be of help,” he said in Spanish, and Masa had never felt so relieved. A fresh set of tears filled her eyes. Considering the circumstances, she decided she should say Leron was her husband. From what she had learned from her father, a padre would most likely frown upon her current predicament as an unmarried pregnant woman seeking a man she was not married to.

“Please, I need to find my husband. His name is Leron,” she said, “He has dark skin and dreads, and he was kidnapped and brought here four months ago.”

“Do you know where in San Antonio he might be?”

“No, but I have to find him.”

Father Ambrose nodded and spoke to the soldiers. They responded.

“They want to know why you stowed away in their vehicle,” he said and paused while the soldier continued to speak. “He also wants to know if you stole anything.”

“No, I just needed a ride here. I didn’t have any other way of making it here from Laredo.”

The padre spoke to the soldiers at length. The soldiers began to argue, before one of them sighed and nodded. He produced a knife and cut her free.

Masa was about to continue moving down the highway towards the exit when the padre spoke, “Do you know where you are going?”

“No.”

“Come with me. This city is not safe at night and not for a woman. Do you have food and a place to stay? What about money?”

“I have some money.”

“You can ride with me and I’ll help you search for your husband.”

Masa considered his offer. After her experience with the soldiers, he had a point. She had no other way to communicate with the Americans. Without Arion to translate, she didn't have much choice. She followed Father Ambrose, hesitating before climbing into the truck beside him. “Why would you help me?” she asked, skeptical of his motives.

Father Ambrose, already in the driver's seat, frowned and stared down at her. “As you can see, I have not been active in my calling for a while. No one comes to the chapel anymore. It is almost as if they lost hope, or because those who did are all gone. I saw you run and decided to help. After all, Jesus did say, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.'

Masa nodded and climbed up and onto the torn leather seat. The cool air blowing through the AC system felt wonderful against her hot skin. She wiped the sweat from her brow and relaxed into the seat, feeling tired. The child within her made itself known through the presence of butterflies. At least for now, the queasiness was gone.

The verse he had mentioned had drawn her mind back to the past. She sat in silence, continuing to reflect on it while the truck moved forward. It was a verse she had once heard Manuel mention before allowing others to join their group. He said it gave them all perspective and reminded them that at any moment they could be in need. She had heard her father mention it at one point, too, though she herself never believed. How could she? If what her mother said was true, even though her father was a good catholic, he had still stolen her away. But why? Weren’t those who believed supposed to make the right decisions?

“What are you thinking so hard about?” asked the padre.

“The past.”

Father Ambrose laughed, “Surely you can say more than that.”

“I don’t know you.”

“And that is why I am still here,” he said and sighed. “I suppose I get what I deserve, and I have repented. I help those I can when I can now, because my savior chose not to know me. My brothers were all taken, and I am the only one left.”

“Taken?”

“In the rapture. They all just disappeared.”

Masa laughed, relaxing into the seat. “The rapture? Isn’t that some scary children’s tale told to scare us into being good? I always thought that’s why my father told me it.” She paused, recalling his disappearance along with the others in the prepper community. She had been left stuck beneath the dish when it fell, and there weren’t any bodies. If the bombs had hit her area so hard, then she should have been dead too. Out of the entire community, she was the only one who had refused to attend church. Instead, she had gone hiking and enjoyed the world around her.

“You know then,” Father Ambrose observed. “No one else believes me. They are all convinced the disappearances happened during the chaos that followed.”

Masa stared out the window at the changed world around her, feeling a deep sense of worry and sadness. She recalled her father’s stories, and they spoke of dark times following the rapture. The drones moving about the sky made her even more uncomfortable. How were there so many? Their presence caused her to feel like something terrible was going to happen. “I did not believe. What was your sin, padre?”

“Pride. I was so caught up in my religion and its rules that I might as well have helped crucify Christ myself. It is why I pay penance and humble myself, helping whoever I can. I took this job so I can pay for food. When there is no offering, there is no food for the church. And so, I work like the great St. Paul. Speaking of which, there is food in the box on the floor between us and water in the canteen. Help yourself.”

“Thank you,” she said and grasped the canteen, chugging down the water inside. She was so thirsty that she drank it all. The padre's eyes rested on her, filled with worry. Not surprising, given that Loretta had said it is not good for a pregnant woman to be dehydrated.

Next, she started in on the lunch box and was halfway through the beans and rice before she realized the padre would also need to eat. “Sorry,” she said, staring at it and wanting more. The growing child demanded more food than she was used to eating. Her mother had even commented that she was going to become chubby if she kept eating that way. Arion had laughed when she grew angry, and she had almost given away her secret.

“No, keep eating. Please. A day of fasting will not hurt me.”

Masa thanked him again and ate the rest. When done, she closed the container and placed it back on the floor. “Will my presence in this truck give you trouble? Where are you going?”

“The power plant. You would think so, but no,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the road ahead. “They will think I am like the other drivers and picked up a prostitute at the truck stop. Those who do not speak English do not fare well here. Many of them end up working in the streets, desperate for food. And most of the women end up at the truck stops selling their bodies. Remind me what your husband looks like?”

“His name is Leron Richards. He is tall and thin with dark skin and dreads.”

Father Ambrose frowned, his eyes narrowing above the truck wheel. “That’s not much to go off. San Antonio was big before, but we took in many of the survivors from Austin and Dallas. Though there are not many African Americans left. How on earth did you meet him?”

Masa told him the story of how they had met in Mexico. Of how she had pulled a gun on him, afraid he was going to attack her. The priest seemed entranced, and asked a great many questions. At some point, she drifted off and slept a long, dreamless sleep. It was the truck’s sudden jerk and the hiss of the brakes that woke her.

“Stay here,” Father Ambrose said, leaving and disappearing inside the building. He returned with a grin. “They said I can head home early. Let’s go. I’ll take you to the church where you can rest. With the other priests gone, I have plenty of space.”

Masa followed him through the streets. Soldiers passed by in large numbers, between the tall buildings, patrolling in pairs and sometimes running in large groups.

“Why are there so many?”

“They say there is a war coming. Most of the men in the city have been conscripted except for the essential personnel. Finding your husband would be difficult under normal circumstances, but he could easily be in any of the factories or forts.”

They approached a barricade, lined with barbed wire. Father Ambrose produced papers and explained that she was his daughter. The soldiers made notes but did not ask any further questions. Perhaps the weight of his Father Ambrose's robes held more weight than he realized.

“Can you ask them if they know where Leron is?” Masa asked.

Father Ambrose frowned; his brow creased with worry. He nodded and spoke to the men in English. “They say there is a soldier in charge of the drone corps who fits your description.”

“It can’t be him,” Masa said, disappointed. “He would never agree to fight. He must be elsewhere.”

As they walked, he spoke of the other changes in San Antonio and the people he had helped. A limestone church appeared in the distance amidst the other buildings, just like it. Father Ambrose climbed the steps, and she followed him inside. It was like every other church she had entered. A long aisle ran between pews towards a dais at the end, on which sat a wooden pulpit. Father Ambrose passed behind the last pew and towards a side door which opened into a hallway lined with wooden doors. They passed by several before stopping.

“You can have this room,” he said, opening the door to a simple room. A single cot lay up against one wall. A crucifix hung above it. On another wall was a simple wooden desk with a chair. Upon it was a copy of the Bible. “The bathroom is next door. I thought you might wish to be close to it. I’m further down the hall beside the kitchen. Feel free to explore. My home is yours. Dinner will be in an hour.”

“Thank you,” Masa said as he shut the door behind him.

Relieved to finally be alone, Masa sat on the edge of the bed, feeling tired again. How was she supposed to find Leron when she had no energy? The language barrier made the task even more impossible, and the city was so much bigger than she had ever imagined. She lay back on the mattress, rubbing her belly and humming. The softness of the bed reminded her of the one she had left back home in Mexico. Tears filled her eyes, and she wept.