The sun hadn’t yet climbed above the rim of the canyon edge when the old woman knelt in the sand by the edge of the spring. This was the only place her people could go to find shade or fresh water in the middle of the day, and she took a moment to thank The Mother before sitting back on leathery heels to dip her hands into the water for a drink. She remembered the first time she had come to this spring, nearly eighty years earlier, when she was small enough for the cool water to cover her head while she stood with her toes buried in the small pebbles at the very center, amazed then, as she was now, at the life-sustaining gift of it.
Feeling a slight shift in the breeze, she turned to find her great-granddaughter, Niri, standing a respectful distance away, head bowed, a large woven yucca basket held tightly against one hip.
“Is it here, Granddaughter?”
Niri looked at her great-grandmother, Winnifred, lips pressed into a solemn frown, shaking her head. “Not yet, Grandmother, but it’s coming.”
Winnifred nodded and reached a hand out for the girl to come help her up. “Are the people ready?” she asked.
Standing, Winnifred studied the young face in front of her, proud of the strength she saw there, knowing Niri would need it in the hours to come, worried, too, at the sliver of fear she saw just behind that.
“We are frightened, Grandmother. The white bird doesn’t look like a bird at all, it flies too low and kicks up great clouds of dust that paint the sky brown.”
Winnifred was silent, thinking. When she had first tried to tell her sons and daughters about the vision of the thing that would come some day to destroy their people, they had looked at her blankly. It wasn’t that they hadn’t believed her—everyone in the village thought that she had the sight. She had been the one to lead the first children across the desert, away from the Zion Reservation and the horrors it contained. She had been the one to find the spring and the shade of the narrow canyon. She had been the first to take a young husband and to have children of her own to ensure that the people grew strong. She had been the one to nurse each of the mothers and fathers on their deathbeds after they had sacrificed their bodies to the sun to plant the cactus gardens and to form adobe bricks with blistered fingers that would become the people’s refuge. She was the last of the first children left to have memories of the world outside this place, so the blank stares of her children hadn’t indicated disbelief, they simply lacked the images for words like cars and guns and government to be able to picture the danger she described. So she had tried again, with words they did have images for, and prayed to The Mother for forgiveness for making the children think ill of one of Her majestic creations.
Faced with Niri’s inquisitive stare, Winnifred silently repeated those apologies.
“Yes. They are ready,” Niri broke the silence, holding the basket to one side so Winnifred could continue past her. “They have always been ready to do what must be done.”
Niri paused, causing Winnifred to turn around and look at her. The two lingered in silence for several moments before Niri spoke, her voice almost a whisper.
“But must it be done this way, Grandmother? We’ve been here, safe, for so many years.”
Winnifred closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and concentrated on the cool air of the canyon as it climbed up through her nose and swept her irritation aside. She remembered her father coming home from a long day of working the burn pits at the Zion Reservation construction site, his clothes covered in soot and ash, to tell her mother and sisters that the government had just banned all weapons, and that they would have to surrender their guns and knives when the Federal Protective Service came to collect them the next day. She had asked her father then how they would hunt for food or protect themselves. She remembered that moment being the first time in her life she had ever felt truly afraid. Even then, in her naïve state, she had known there would be those who would refuse to surrender their only means of providing for their families—or taking from others what they could not gather for themselves.
She opened her eyes again and reached out to touch Niri’s shoulder. “We have only been here safe because they haven’t found us, Granddaughter. We are very much in danger. There is no other way.”
The two paused at the line of shadow that marked the entrance to the spring trail. They slipped on their moccasins, covered their heads and arms with scarves of cactus silk, then stepped into the sun. Winnifred held one silk-covered hand above her brow to block the sun’s harsh glare so she could look down the trail, past the two crescent-shaped adobe buildings that comprised her village. In the distance, she could see the cloud of dust Niri had described. She couldn’t quite make out what she knew to be a vehicle just yet, but she turned to Niri all the same, her voice hushed, but urgent.
“We had better move a little faster.”
When they neared the edge of the cactus gardens that surrounded the village on all sides, Winnifred walked over to a wooden post and grabbed a sagebrush bark apron off the bent nail that served as a hook. She handed it to a frowning Niri, grabbed another for herself, then bent down and pulled a long, slender stone knife out of the sand at the base of the post and motioned toward the nearest patch of cactus with it.
“Just a few of the prickly pear,” she said, kneeling to cut the stem portion away from a hedgehog cactus. “We need the fruit.”
The two women worked in silence, slowly filling the yucca basket, which sat on the ground between them. They were careful to avoid the deadly cacti spines, which had evolved over the decades to leech toxins from the earth out of the edible stems. When the basket was full, they each grabbed a handle and walked it into the main lodge where they sat it on a countertop, out of the reach of the children. Winnifred smiled, removed her apron, and walked over to kiss Niri on each cheek.
“It’s time now, Granddaughter. Gather the children.”
☽☾ ☽☾ ☽☾
Winnifred stood, her back straight and tall, her chin up, and watched the white pickup truck brake to a sudden stop a hundred feet in front of her. She closed her eyes but did not turn her head as the sand whipped past the truck and lashed at her face. She did not wipe away the tears that had gathered to clear the sand from her eyes. Let them fall, she thought. Let the earth gather them up and return them to the spring. Let life sustain life.
The windows on the pickup were tinted so heavily that Winifred couldn’t make out the driver’s face through them. She was, however, able to make out the words stenciled on the side of the truck: Federal Protective Service: Zion Reservation. But then, she had already known that. She waited, hands clasped in front of her, as a long titanium arm stretched out to the side of the truck.
Amplified by some device, a woman’s voice announced, “This is agent Smuin with the Zion Reservation Federal Protective Service. Please put your hands out to your sides and step forward to be scanned.”
Though she hadn’t been scanned since she was a little girl, Winnifred still vaguely remembered the procedure. She held her arms up and out to her sides, the cactus silk scarves she and Winnifred had dyed crimson with the flowers of the hedgehog just a few days before flowed out around her as the breeze caught them, a defiant wave of color against a sea of desert. She stepped forward to the titanium arm and turned slowly in a complete circle while it scanned her for radiation and weapons. She thought of her people in the village behind her while the scan continued. She knew Winnifred would have the children gathered on the floor of the main lodge by now—they would all be whittling away at bits of bone and antler the people had been gathering from the desert for decades. She smiled to herself, imagining the children busy at their work.
The smile slipped a little when the door to the truck opened suddenly and a woman stepped out.
“All clear!” the woman boomed. She pulled a green ball cap over her head and tugged her strawberry-blonde ponytail through the hole in the back. “You can go ahead and put your arms down now, ma’am.”
Winnifred complied, clasping her hands in front of her again. The woman turned to grab an olive-drab tactical vest from the front seat of the truck. She tossed the vest on, zipped the front up and pushed a button on a camera device mounted to the breast pocket before walking over to offer Winnifred her hand.
“Agent Smuin, like I said, ma’am,” she chirped while Winnifred stared at her hand. “But you can just call me Rebecca, or Beck. Man, we didn’t think there’d be anyone alive out here in the wastelands! This is my third expedition out here this year and all I managed to find in the first two were a lot of reptiles and some seriously deformed mammals that were too skittish to get close to.” At this point, Beck finally realized that Winnifred hadn’t taken her hand and dropped her proffered one awkwardly.
“Say, do you speak English?” she asked, then pointed a finger at herself. “I am Rebecca. Re—beck—ah.” She tapped her own chest again for emphasis. “Me, Rebecca.” She pointed at Niri. “And you are?”
Winnifred dipped her head slightly to acknowledge the greeting and worked to keep the impatience from her voice. “I do speak English. I am Winnifred, elder of this village.” She indicated the village behind her without turning.
“Man, no joke? A whole village? That’s amazing! I’ll have to come take a look, of course, gather some samples. And oh! I’m recording.” Beck pointed to the camera on her vest and grinned. “Still too many solar flares for a live stream. Some day, though, we’ll get a signal again.”
Winnifred tried to smile and nodded at the camera before Beck turned away from her and began walking toward the village without invitation. When they reached the entrance to the lodge, Winnifred removed her moccasins and stepped inside, indicating that her guest should do the same. Barefoot, the two women continued into the main room where Beck gasped as she noticed the throng of children whittling together on the floor.
“Holy mother of God, there’s so many!” she exclaimed. “We haven’t had this many born on the Zion Reservation in the past twenty fucking years combined! The council’s gonna flip!”
Beck knelt in front of the child nearest her and pinched a brown cheek between two pristinely white fingers. “Such beautiful skin too!” she crooned at the child, who had gone completely still. “We don’t have any quite this dark on the rez. The birthing labs will be ecstatic to get their hands on a sample! Say, what is that they’re making? Forks?”
Winnifred reached down and touched Beck on the shoulder while she tried her best to swallow the great anger that was rising in her chest. “Come, Rebecca. I’d like you to meet my great-granddaughter, Niri. May we offer you refreshment? I’m afraid all we have is spike mead and rainwater from last month.”
Rebecca tousled the child’s thick black hair and stood back up. Her eyebrows scrunched together, frowning at Winnifred in disgust. “You guys actually drink the rainwater out here? Our testing indicates it’s still highly toxic. You’ll have to let me test it to make sure it’s actually safe for you guys. If not, I have some tablets back in the truck that should help.”
Winnifred thanked Beck then led her to a seat at the counter next to the yucca basket full of cactus.
“It’s all we’ve had for decades.” Winnifred took the seat on the other side of the basket. “And we have managed just fine.”
“Well, spike mead for me, if it’s all the same to you.” Rebecca peered over the edge of the basket. “So, how many kinds of cactus do you guys grow out here? I noticed the patches on the way in—pretty impressive.”
“As many kinds as we can keep alive,” Winnifred replied. “We’ve lost several species to toxins over the years, but the prickly pear and hedgehog seem to thrive. And the agave, thank The Mother.” She fingered the silk scarf draped around her arm.
Niri appeared through a small door in the back of the lodge carrying two yucca-woven mugs. She stopped when she saw the two women sitting in silence.
“The spike mead, Grandmother.” She stepped over and set the mugs on the counter, smiled at the stranger and turned to Winnifred, her eyes searching the older woman’s for answers.
“Rebecca, this is my great-granddaughter, Niri. Niri, this is Rebecca. She is from a place called the Zion Reservation and is here to ask a few questions and get some samples of…” Winnifred turned to Beck. “What is it you want samples of again?”
Beck grinned and nodded at Niri, then began pulling round test-tubes out of a bandolier that was wrapped around her waist. “Nice to meet you, Niri! Oh, your blood, of course. We need to analyze your ancestry to determine where you’ll be placed on the Zion Reservation. You do want to get out of these wastelands, right?” She turned to Winnifred, the question hanging heavily between them.
Winnifred looked instead to her great-granddaughter and saw the uncertainty in her inquisitive stare. This woman was not at all the monster she had been preparing her people for. Rebecca might be entitled and oblivious, but she didn’t seem capable of the kind of destruction Winnifred knew she would bring if they allowed her to leave. She closed her eyes and set her jaw, resolved.
“You know, a long time ago, before the war, this place was known as the reservation.”
Beck chuckled and reached for the mug of spike mead that Winnifred pushed toward her.
“Sure, but that’s all ancient history now, right? We’re all in this together. We have to be. Not enough of us left to fight each other anymore anyway!” She lifted the mug to her lips and took a long swallow. When Winnifred didn’t respond, she put the mug back down and raised an eyebrow.
Winnifred did not drink from her mug. Instead, she ran her fingers around the lip of its smooth, waxy edges, thinking. “You know, my father had this saying, that even a child with a slingshot could win a war if he was patient and waited until everyone else had died off or run out of ammunition.”
Beck laughed at that and shook her head. “This isn’t a war, Winnifred.” She took another sip of spike mead, measuring her words before she spoke again. “The only war we have now is with this God-forsaken wasteland that is seeping into the rez and killing our people.”
Winnifred silently apologized again to The Mother for Beck’s blasphemy. She pointed toward the children, who had finished their whittling and were sweeping the bone shavings into a large pile. “Your people, Rebecca. Mine are right here, have always been right here. And you can’t win a war with ammunition. You never could.”
“Oh, come on! What’s that even mean?” Beck began lining her test tubes up on the counter, resigned. “How else would you win a war? Hey, listen, so I’d really like a sample from you two and from each of the children here. Are there anymore of you hanging about? I really need one from everyone. It’s just a simple prick, barely hurts at all.”
Winnifred heard a faint chant begin in her head, a chorus of voices working its way slowly into one of the old songs. She let the song guide her words. “If I asked you to poke your finger on a cactus spine and told you it’s just a simple prick and won’t hurt at all, would you do it, Rebecca? There’s one right there in the basket.”
Beck rolled her eyes and stood so that she could reach her hand into the basket. “Yes, of course I would do it. Will do it. Can we just get on with it already? One way or another, I have to get these samples. I’m not trying to hurt you, Winnifred—I’m trying to help.”
With that, she pressed her finger on a prickly pear spine and yelped when it broke the skin. She jumped back, holding the finger to her mouth to suck away the dot of blood that had formed on the tip of her finger.
“There, you see? Nothing to it! Now, your turn.” She took the lid off the first test-tube to reveal a tiny, sharp needle and handed it to Winnifred. “Say, you never answered my question about how you win a war with no ammo.”
☽☾ ☽☾ ☽☾
Winnifred fought to breathe as the extended needle swam before her vision. The last time she had seen one was the day her mother died from the sun sickness and her father had brought her brothers and sisters to the gates of the newly-completed Zion Reservation for ancestry testing—to see whether or not they had the right kind of blood to secure a place inside. The world was ending, her father had said stone-faced, and the Zion Reservation was their only chance to survive. One by one, her brothers and sisters were called into a sterile chamber where they were forced to strip naked and bathe before they could walk over to stick their arms through a slot so the lab tech inside could prick their fingers. Winnifred had watched them through the antechamber door’s narrow glass window and remembered breathing a sigh of relief when one after the other was led through an arched doorframe before disappearing from her view. She still remembered the arch’s capstone, which had been neatly stenciled and outlined in sparkling gold paint:
“Welcome to the Zion Reservation.”
When it was Winnifred’s turn, she removed her jeans, t-shirt, and panties and folded them into a neat pile before walking to stand underneath metal showerheads. She turned the water on, gasping when the frigid stream hit her back. She then quickly lathered the chemical-smelling soap on before scrubbing herself down and rinsing off. Her teeth chattered as she walked across the steel floor toward the lab. When she stuck her arm through the window, she was turning that feeling over in her head, the foreignness of being cold, of craving the sun she had fled from all her life. She didn’t even feel the prick of the needle.
“Six percent Native American,” the tech had said, breaking her thoughts. “Shame. Not even enough to pinpoint a tribe. Well, to the burn pit with her, fellows. No helping it. Next?”
He hadn’t looked at her once.
She couldn’t remember exactly what happened after that, except that several big men in camouflage fatigues took her through a different door than her brothers and sisters had gone through, and the disbelief she had felt when she saw the man closest to her clutch at his chest, a blooming flower of red growing around his hands, while her father continued to shoot, screaming at her all the while to run. It had taken over a decade for her to wonder where he got the rifle.
☽☾ ☽☾ ☽☾
The song in Winnifred’s head grew louder, pushing the fear of that memory down. The first time she had ever heard it was that first night in the desert after fleeing the Zion Reservation. She had still been naked, her feet bleeding from an entire day of running, the liquid from several burst sun blisters sliding down the middle of her back. When she had reached the red cliffs of the Great Basin, the chanting had stopped, and she’d found a group of children huddled together, naked, in a sandstone draw. It was the first time she ever remembered really meaning it when she thanked The Mother. The entire group danced the Fire Dance together that night, beneath the stars, and thanked The Mother for the gift of their pain.
The needle Beck had been holding up fell from her hand just then, and Winnifred, trance broken, reached her arms out to steady the agent who had slumped back into her chair.
“Pain wins wars, Rebecca—and fear,” Winnifred said, nodding over at Niri to come help.
Beck’s eyes darted to the yucca mug, panic seizing her as the realization hit.
“Please, I’m just trying to help.”
Winnifred ignored her, leaned over and tapped on the camera attached to Becks’s vest. “This thing is recording, right?” She unzipped the vest, took it off and turned it around to point the camera at Beck’s face.
Beck’s eyes jerked from Winnifred to Niri, where they settled, pleading.
“Please, Niri. I’m a good person. I’m not a danger to you.”
Niri looked over at Winnifred whose face remained passive as she returned the gaze. Finally, she dipped her head in respect to the old woman, then walked over to Beck and placed a hand on her shoulder. She leaned down, put her lips right next to Beck’s ear.
“My grandmother is right, Rebecca,” she whispered. “Being a good person is a privilege. It’s not just you we have to protect ourselves from. I’m sorry.”
She straightened and patted Beck on the shoulder then grabbed the basket of cactus off the counter and walked it over to the doorway, where she set it down just outside the door.
Beck’s limbs were completely paralyzed now. Too weak to fight, she continued to plead, her words slurred beyond recognition. Winnifred and Niri each hooked an arm under her armpits and dragged her outside. They tied her to a large wooden totem, which stood upright in the very center of the circular courtyard. Winnifred hung the tactical vest on a smaller pole several feet in front of Beck, checked one last time to ensure the camera was recording, then backed the zoom up for a full body shot.
One by one, the children stepped outside, pausing to stab a cactus stem out of the basket with their newly whittled bone forks. They walked slowly, in a single file line, until they had created a full circle around Beck. They began chanting then, the same song Winnifred had carried in her head for eighty years, and she smiled as she listened to the old language being rediscovered and brought back to life through her children. As the song grew, she unwrapped the crimson scarves from her hands and face, lifting them high above her head. Her feet began to move to the song, slowly at first, then with more urgency as it crescendoed. When she let the scarves fall from her fingertips at the song’s peak, the children drew their arms back and hurled their cactus stems into Rebecca as one.
Winnifred’s people were moving with her now, their chant rising like a phoenix to smother the screams, them dancing the Fire Dance together and thanking The Mother with one voice for the gift of their pain.