Well damn.
Clearing my throat, I set down my coffee. “Nah, I haven’t changed my mind. Besides, someone needs to watch over you.” I tugged her hair, making her giggle.
Daisy rolled her eyes but smiled. “Good. Well, I’ll see you there. I need to use the ladies’ room before we get back on the road.” Then she leaned over, very hesitantly, and kissed my cheek, skewing the brim of my hat in the process.
I let out a deep breath as she walked away. I cursed silently. It was going to be a long day.
Our three-car caravan pulled up to the so-called gates of Calling House. So-called because they consisted of chain-fence doors enjoining three feet of chicken wire secured by PVC pipes.
Amateurs.
But good news for me when I needed to get the hell out of Dodge, taking my Daisy with me.
The car in front of me, the one carrying the older couple, May and Phil, and their Mia Farrow friend, chatted it up with the gatekeeper, a scruffy-looking lad with hair past his shoulders. He was holding a clipboard.
I turned the volume down on the radio, silencing Seals and Crofts so I could listen in. I didn’t hear much, though, because the boy waved us on through, watching us pass, a big idiotic grin on his face.
I looked around as we made our way slowly down the dirt road. Sparse trees, a few hills on the horizon, nothing but blue sky above. People in flowy pants and tunics moseyed on their way willy nilly, their arms filled with laundry baskets or crates of what I assumed were vegetables. Right off the bat, I noticed no children, which didn’t bode well.
A woman in what looked like an old-fashioned white nightgown turned her head to see our procession, her hair long and unkempt. I caught the dead look in her eyes, one I’d seen before in another time and place.
Nope, this was not boding well at all.
Someone ahead in a tie-dyed shirt pointed toward a parking area. Only a few vehicles were parked there, all vans covered in California dust.
Seemed these people never left the commune. Which meant they had a massive stockroom somewhere around here, possibly filled with several years’ worth of provisions. Possibly weapons.
Was I overreacting? Thinking the worst of my fellow man? Not at all. I was a realist. I’d seen enough of human behavior to know what worked and what stunk to high heaven, and this place, albeit planned with good intentions, was a pipedream that would burst. The question was, would it be a calamity? Or would it just fade into memory, some story to tell the grandkids one day?
Nevertheless, Daisy wasn’t staying.
Our guides’ names were Petal and Abe. The former was a hyper thing, hopping around on her toes like she ate happy pills for breakfast. The latter, Abe, looked far more solemn. A bit older than me, he held himself erect and gave off airs, as if he were some professor on an archeological dig overlooking the hired help. He must’ve been the leader.
I didn’t like the look of him. Not one damn bit.
The man bowed his head in greeting. “Welcome to Calling House. Peace be with you, my friends.” Abe fingered his beard with one hand, the other he kept behind his back like a butler would do among his betters. “Our friends May and Phil have honored us with new faces, it seems.” He tilted his head toward the older couple from the party, both of whom took the lead and introduced all of us one by one.
When my name came up, I noticed Abe scrutinizing me. He held out a hand to interrupt May. Yep. Arrogant ass.
“Forgive me, but I must ask. You’ve the look about you. Are you ex-military?”
Well done, old man, I thought.
“Yes, sir. Served since I was nineteen.” I didn’t mention I had been an officer, college educated at one of the top military schools. Let him think lesser rank and training. “Last tour was in Vietnam. Left in March.”
The ones standing around me gasped, seeing me in a new light. To them, I was a picture of the cause they’d been a part of. Vietnam was still a controversial subject among this group across the country. It was the white middle and upper class that had already moved on, leaving the veterans of a heinous war behind them like an old suit with a stain that would never come out, kept tucked away in the back of a locked closet.
“Indeed.” Abe’s eyes lit up, whether in respect or for some other purpose, I couldn’t tell. He turned to the others now, evaluating everyone. “I have a wonderful feeling about your coming, friends. I will have Petal show you around and then bring you to the tabernacle for our evening meal. I will see you all then.”
Once he’d left, the group seemed to sigh in unison. I watched him as he walked off and entered a small, white-washed building with a yellow door.
“Such a privilege for you all to be greeted already by the Machin! He is our spiritual leader, our beacon and guide. But more on that later,” Petal enthused.
As the lady showed us around, Paula, Daisy, and some other girl cooed at practically everything they saw. A clothes station where clothing was laundered and made. The library—which was just a front room with a few shelves of tattered books. The dorms where the members slept. And the biggest seller, the garden. Rows and rows of produce.
Some buildings, the ones tucked back on the eastern side of the compound, we weren’t shown. Petal completely ignored them, which I found odd.
Since we were considered guests, not members, we were given one of the buildings in the front, near where we’d parked. It consisted of one room with eight bunk beds, reminiscent of my early military days. The door was a multicolored afghan, not a
