Behind the Stars by Leigh Talbert Moore Page A

the third cow. After a few moments, the hiss of milk hitting metal caused me to glance back at him. His head was against the cow’s belly, and he was working quickly to finish our additional chores. The scar across the back of his hand grew wider and narrower as his olive fist moved. He finished before I was done at the churn, but rather than bringing his pail to where I was, he went to the other area and turned his back to me.
    As he worked, I studied his back. In the coveralls, it was hard to make out much about him physically, but I could see he was tall and slim like Cato. He was younger than her but it didn’t appear to be by much. He sniffed and pushed his sleeves up, and I frowned at what I saw. His arms were muscular, meaning he’d be hard to overpower, but they also showed more scars like stripes up the backs of his forearms. He was an experienced fighter, but where and why? He seemed too young to have been in any real battles, yet these injuries were clearly old.
    I couldn’t spend any more time wondering because my work was done. I took the churn to the back of the barn where Oma waited to take it from me to the kitchen. As I quickly crossed to the door, the only sound was the soft thump of Gallatin’s plunger and the occasional snort of a cow. Just as I was leaving, I heard him speak.
    “I’m sorry I wasn’t more help today. I’ll take two tomorrow.”
    He didn’t look at me as he spoke, so my eyes moved around the barn. No one was in it but us and the cows. I nodded and then stepped out into the dark night.
    The yard was empty as I crossed it fast, almost jogging back to the dorm. Once I was safely inside our sleeping area, I leaned against the wall to catch my breath and calm down. My heart was beating so fast, I thought I might burst into tears.
    The pressure was getting to me, and I still didn’t have any answers. What did it all mean? Were any of the stories D’Lo and Braxton told me true? And if they were, then what? We had to wait here to see what these “aliens” would do next? I wasn’t sure I could hold up much longer.
    I pressed the back of my head against the wall and inhaled the familiar smell of our quarters. A hint of bleached mildew, the lemony scent of the standard-issue soap and deodorant we were all given. It hadn’t rained since we’d been here, so the air was slightly drier than usual. Still it was hot, and the humidity was always with us.
    It was quiet in the quarters except for D’Lo’s deep breathing and the sound of someone snoring that carried through the wood partition. I walked toward my bunk but stopped when I heard a sound I recognized. I’d heard it that first night I’d dreamed of Jackson. It was a sniff, followed by silence. Then tiny whimpers and another sniff. It was coming from the back corner. Adrenaline pulsed in my veins making me antsy as I crept toward the sound. It was Flora. She was crying.
    Her back was to me, but I knelt beside it and reached out to smooth her hair away from her face. She jumped around, and let out a quiet squeal.
    “It’s okay. It’s only me.” I said, reaching out and continuing to stroke her hair. “Why are you crying?”
    “I’m not crying,” she said in a thick voice. “It’s just my nose, all the dust. It’s allergies.”
    I bit my lip and didn’t answer. I knew what I’d heard, but I didn’t want to push her if she didn’t want to confide in me. I pulled her blanket back and slipped in behind her so my voice was in her ear, barely a whisper
    “I’m going to get us out of here,” I said, hugging her waist. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
    I felt her nod, but a quiver moved through her body. I squeezed my arm around her waist and gave her a hug. She shook harder at my gesture, and I could tell she was crying again. My own eyes grew warm and my thoughts flooded with memories of Jackson and the way things used to be. I missed my hope, my one-time chance at a better life that now felt far, far away. I was