Page 86 of The Captive Missing

“What’s that?” Ava’s eyebrows raised.

“I want to be a part of the underground.”

Chapter 25

In the wee hours of the morning, just before the roosters began to crow, Val’s eyes would pop open and she’d suck in a sharp breath. Despite the chill that now crept over the valley, the narrow window in her room was thrown wide. It was so utterly silent at those times. All the night animals had returned to their dens and all the day animals hadn’t yet woken.

Wrapping the heavy quilt from her bed around her body, Val crossed the floor on bare feet and stood watch. Dawn was approaching. It traced and touched at the once midnight sky, chasing away the stars that winked all night. Soft gray mist floated down the crevices of the mountain, sneaking and creeping to infiltrate the valley floor.

In the coming light, she could see the movement of the fog. It was beautiful. Across the pasture, the low buildings that housed so many constantly changing men were still dark. They wouldn’t begin to move for another half hour or so. Val didn’t know why her body woke at this time. She didn’t know why she couldn’t go back to sleep.

Witnessing the sunrise on an anonymous farm in the Blue Ridge, Val wondered how much longer she would need to do this. Again, she didn’t know. Maybe it was the call of a new purpose. Maybe it was the far off pull of her family, or the nameless dreams that chased her from their hold back into the blinding reality of waking life.

It didn’t really matter, she supposed. Her vigil was a consistent one.

After watching the sun crest the eastern sky, Val gently slid the window closed and made her way to the bathroom. She shed the quilt, tossing it on the nearby dresser before shutting herself inside and twisting on the shower faucet. Holding her fingers underneath it every so often, she waited for the water to warm before stepping in.

Connie thought Val was a touch crazy and often grumbled about her little window habit. Who sleeps with the window open in winter? There’s snow on the ground, it makes the whole upstairs hard to keep warm, the complaints went on.

Val could’ve tried to explain it but the right words eluded her. How do you explain to a woman who has always had a choice, what it’s like to not get one? How do you explain not having a window?

This morning would be no different. After Val’s shower, she wrapped her hair in a towel and slipped into a pair of worn jeans and thick knit sweater. Her footsteps caused creaks on the old floor boards as she snuck down to the kitchen but Connie was already there. She had beaten her to it once again. Standing over a hissing stove top, the woman pushed diced ham around in a sizzling pan.

“Good morning,” Val offered.

“Can you start in on the eggs?” Connie eyed her a moment.

“Sure thing.”

Half an hour later, Ava waddled in and the three women sat together at the small round table in the kitchen. Breakfast was made up of ham, eggs and English muffins slathered in homemade apple butter. As Val licked the sticky-sweet substance off her fingers, she endured yet another round of grumbling about her window.

“I’ve had to add another quilt to every bedroom upstairs,” Connie scolded. “And the boys will have to cut more wood if this keeps up.”

“I have a thing for open windows myself,” Ava cut in. “Gives you something to crawl out of.”

“Oh.” Connie stopped mid-sentence.

Val too, flicked her eyes up in momentary surprise. She had almost forgotten about Ava’s confinement. It was a powerful motivation for a life now spent in service to the underground. Though Ava had never been a legal captive, her time locked away had given her just the tiniest taste. After that, the three women’s talk was more benign.

When breakfast was complete, Ava directed Val into the living room where the real work was set to begin. The order of the day was assembling “go bags” for freed captives. For the rest of the morning, the two women knelt on their hands and knees in the middle of chaos. Surrounding themselves with all the basic necessities for survival, they stuffed black backpacks until the zippers would barely close.

There were travel size toothbrushes, toothpaste, combs, shampoo, soap, clothing of various sizes, shoes, socks, underwear, and other similar items. Stacks of stuff covered the couches, chairs, and coffee table until they overflowed into piles that spread across the walnut floor. The idea was for the kits to be both inconspicuous and portable. The only outward difference between bags was a blue key chain for men and a red one for women.

During Val’s first week at the farmhouse, Ava had introduced her to the general workings of the underground. After successfully traveling out of an agency, a captive could expect to eventually land in a group home. Once there, they were provided with intensive therapy, a new identity, an education and skills training. The exact individual needs varied depending on the type of captive that was saved.

A Corporate Captive or Domestic Level 1 had already worked in a particular profession. They had job skills and were often able to assimilate at a much faster rate. It was the D2s and anyone who had suffered abuse that had the most trouble.

On several occasions, Ava took Val to one of the halfway houses located a few hours’ drive from the farm. Though she sat in on a few of the therapy sessions, Val felt uncomfortable sharing. Listening to the others talk was painful enough without having to relive her own experiences.

The Militia provided all the new identities while financial support came from a variety of private donors. A charity known as the Freed Captives Transition Fund provided the bulk of the funding. It was a name Val had heard before… over a dinner table in the Maldives. It was the very charity Bee had given her settlement money to. In the end it was Bee’s money that had gotten Val out. How she longed to tell her oldest friend. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t tell anyone.

* * *

“When do you think you’ll be able to move the next captive from Cambric?” Val asked quietly, selecting a fresh pair of socks to go in one bag.

“It could be weeks, or even months,” Ava replied. “The Agency fired all guard staff that worked the night you got out. Fortunately, that’s as far as they went. We still have employees on the inside.”

“How does that work? How many do you have?”

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