What Remains: In the Wilderness

Copyright © 2021 B.R. Goodwin.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by

any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system

without the written permission of the author except in the case of

brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents,

organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products

of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

WestBow Press

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and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are

models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Interior Image Credit: Jessica Lewis

Scripture quotations are from the ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English

Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry

of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-6642-2640-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-2642-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-2641-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021904618

WestBow Press rev. date: 04/27/2021

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

About the Author

For my husband, Lawrence.

So much of you is scattered throughout these pages.

Thank you for being my constant encourager

and for pointing me to Christ in all things.

Special Thanks to Jessica Lewis,

who brought life to this story through her illustrations.

Chapter 1

Running. Would we ever stop running?

I can’t remember the last time I felt settled. Like I had an actual home, without the threat of being forced out or found. Something permanent. Something lasting. Before my life changed completely, I never ran for fun, like so many of my friends did. In gym class, I’d make up an excuse to run behind the bleachers where the nearest garbage can waited for me, throwing up whatever I’d eaten for breakfast that morning. I loathed running and dreaded those gym days where I knew it’d be required of me. It seemed so effortless to my friends, and it was no secret to any of us how very, very bad I was at it.

Now though, it feels like all I ever do is run. And I’ve gotten surprisingly good at running. From a campsite in the woods to a dinky motel, through fields and forests, in the dark. I’m inherently unsettled. The worst part of it all, I think, is that I’m not sure what I’m running towards anymore. Survival. Freedom. Death. I find myself so often thinking or, more so wishing—what I wouldn’t give to be in that gym class right now. Running for fun and not out of fear.

The day I left home and my life as a nomad began started like any Thursday morning. Breakfast, a minor argument with my mom about why taking my little brother to school was the bane of my existence, classes, lunch with friends. I remember laughing at Jamie Fratz, as she chased a freshman out of the lunchroom when he finished a dare to kiss her. Thankful to not be the center of that sort of attention, I joined in on the laughter and chatter after the fact —teasing a blushing, flustered Jamie as she came back to her seat, setting wedding dates and naming their future children. But then, as the laughter faded and we scarfed the rest of our lunches down before the end of lunch bell sounded—the names were called.

I knew exactly what was happening as soon as they were called over the ancient loud speaker of my four hundred-population high school. Everyone did. I had been warned for what felt like my whole life that this day would come. Silence fell over what had been a rambling, crowded lunchroom only seconds before.

Brian Acworth…Luca Alexis….Janel Creel… Emma Dates

I knew them. Knew them all. Brian and I grew up together in our tiny hometown, sharing Sunday school classes since preschool. He was a senior, popular and athletic, and friends with everyone he met. Luca was another senior, who had been sitting beside Brian. He was quiet and generally somber, or maybe shy. He was Brian’s friend from camp who moved to our small town two years before. Janel was a pretty freshman. Emma, another senior, was smart, beautiful, and admired by most of the boys in our school.

Heart pounding and body frozen, all I could do was wait. Wait to hear my name. To hear my brother’s name. I counted in my head as they were read off by my school counselor’s voice. Knowing there would be fourteen names she’d spill out in her monotone, bored tone.

James Griffith…Samantha Hall (my best friend)…Lincoln Kale (her boyfriend) And then Caleb. Caleb Lee.

My baby brother’s name stung as it rang for the whole school to hear. Recognizing that I’d be next, I unconsciously held my breath, every second knowing my seventeen-year-old life would never be the same.

And the familiar, droning voice spoke again, Vala Lee.

The air pierced with it. Vala. Vala. Chosen. That’s what my name meant. Growing up, my parents always said phrases like, Vala, God chose you for something special, or, You were chosen to be our daughter. They made sure I knew its significance. That I was chosen.

Vala Lee. Chosen.

I was chosen to or told to, immediately report to our school’s gym with thirteen other seemingly unimportant names. Ironic, given my dislike for that particular place. But our names were not unimportant. When called out, all who listened knew what it meant. Knew what we were chosen for. I remember the deep exhale that came, as if I had been near the brink of suffocation with it. Heart pounding, fighting the tears that I knew I wanted to shed, and would eventually come, I listened to that voice; stale, filling the air of the cafeteria, finishing its mission.

The final five names rang out. Calling on two twin boys from my class, a sophomore girl, and two freshmen, a boy and a girl who immediately and quietly stood and began the short walk to our school’s gym. I stood too, but only after watching the others and feeling the quiet, piercing glances from Jamie and those around me who were still safely in their seats. Knowing their eyes would watch us until we were gone, I walked purposefully to the cafeteria door, the last to leave. I shut the door behind me and began the walk down the eerily quiet hallway toward the gym.

It’s funny the things that have stuck with me from that day. The strange details I seem to remember. I can’t recall how I physically could carry myself down the hallway, but I do remember the chipping, beige-colored paint peeling from the edges of brick along the wall. The hall smelled of pungent cleaning supplies, as if a mess had recently been cleaned during the now distant lunch hour. I remember the feeling of uncertainty my feet walked with, unsteady and unfamiliar, dragging heavily beneath me.

I watched ahead of me as Sam and Lincoln walked silently hand in hand. Sam’s dark hair swung from her pony tail with every step they took. Steps in unison with hers, Lincoln seemed to continuously glance toward Sam as he led her to their destination. Watching them made me wish I had someone walking along beside me, if only to help hold me up the rest of the way. I remember the look of the faces of the other thirteen students nervously glancing at me as I entered the gymnasium last, and alone.

Ms. Green, the school’s secretary, waited for us in the gym. A mousy woman, her thin hair tousled across her eyebrow as she nervously paced her feet back and forth on the wood floor. Her clothes looked slightly disheveled, as they often did. And I noticed her gray cardigan looked as if it was buttoned at the top in an unmatched hole. She was always kind to the students as one of the administrators in the main office of the high school, but I knew her sympathies were likely buried deep to complete her assignment. She looked uncomfortable, standing a safe distance from the member of the Guard, who had been sent to gather us. He stood much taller than her, in a dark suit and looked foreboding there next to her.

He alone spoke to us, militant and disconnected, Collect your bags and line up at the wall. Instructions will follow.

Ms. Green avoided our eyes and looked at the manila folders in her hands with what I’m sure had our names written on their tabs. She handed each folder to the guardsman as he called out our names again. She looked conflicted, but I knew she would say nothing. Her silence, like so many others, stands out in my memory of that day. It resonated long after we were released from the school.

After issuing each of us a numbered bag and instructions of the acceptable belongings that may be placed within them, we were told by the guard member to immediately go home. The numbers, I assumed, were their method to label and track us. We would be picked up from our individual homes within hours.

He radioed his superiors in front of us, Stage one complete in section four.

Emma spoke up in the silence, only broken previously by the guardsman, What’s stage one? How many are there? Emma’s beauty did little to cloak her fear as she looked back and forth between the faces nearest her.

The suited man ignored Emma completely, You are permitted three minutes to say goodbye. It was an act of mercy we had not expected.

I knew I would not be entering into that gym again, at least not as a student. Grabbing the pale-green and brown bag, marked seven, I couldn’t help but wonder how many of us there really were. Our numbers were all out of order and the highest went to twenty-five, which one of the Warden twins had strapped to his back as he nervously paced beside his brother. How many numbered bookbags were being forced upon other teenagers at this exact moment? And, as Emma had vocalized what I’m sure we all were thinking…What would come next?

Getting to Caleb as quickly as allowed, I dragged him by the bag labeled with a twenty-one attached to his back, to the spot in the gym where Sam and Lincoln stood, saying their goodbyes. Their silent, scared faces painted a portrait of dread. Lincoln, who was always so put together, looked uncharacteristically frazzled and his dark brown skin seemed grey and sickly with stress.

In middle school, Linc was a finalist in our school’s spelling bee. We were invited to watch the last three contestants in the auditorium from an audience of bleachers as they stood on stage regurgitating the spelling of words like catastrophe and omnipotent. I had been nervous just watching him fumble about on the stage, twisting his hands together each time his turn came. He won, which came as no surprise to anyone who knew him, but it had been painful to watch him act so uncomfortably.

He looked similar to how he had on that stage. His face drained of its color and his body showing signs of nervous twitching, even in the midst of comforting Sam. His thin arms wrapped around her, towering over her much smaller frame. He whispered quickly into her ear. Sam’s head, although nuzzled into Linc’s chest, nodded in agreement with whatever words he spoke to her.

When they separated, Sam’s dark hair was tousled, loosening her pony tail in an effortlessly beautiful way. She put her hand out to me and drew Caleb and I into their small circle. Not knowing exactly what lay ahead, I hugged them both, unsure of when I would see my friends again.

Sam whispered in my ear, It’s okay Vala. I’ll see you soon. Sam’s cup was always half full, a trait I admired in her. I knew it was wishful thinking, but I hoped what she said was true.

I noticed Linc move towards Luca, who had been awkwardly watching our goodbyes nearby. They spoke quietly near us for a minute. Luca had only been in our town for two years, but he and Linc had grown close quickly. He was taller than Linc and always quiet. He held his assigned number one bag in his hand, letting it hang at his side as he talked somberly with Linc. Where Linc seemed stressed and out of character, Luca was seemingly calm and collected. We hadn’t interacted much in the past two years, but I noticed him look concerningly towards Sam, Caleb, and I as he and Linc spoke, and then hugged Linc quickly before turning to leave.

One of the guardsmen abruptly yelled, Time’s up! And the low chatter that had momentarily filled the gym silenced completely. With my stomach in knots, it was hard to release Sam’s hand as she held mine.

Caleb though, gentle and strong, pulled me away whispering quietly, Come on, Vala. It’s time. He ushered me towards the gym’s exit, walking us into a back parking lot. The cement had cracked with weeds pushing through and the yellow lines were faded from years of wear. For the first time since we were toddlers, walking through the grocery store with our mother or down the street to a neighbor’s house, I held Caleb’s hand as we left the school grounds. Holding each other steady for the arduous walk home.

We walked as quickly as possible. Silently. Listening to the normal, everyday sounds along the highway that led to the home we both had lived in our entire lives. Afraid to catch the glances from passersby at the packs on our backs, I embarrassedly looked straight ahead. The world around us would continue to turn despite the turmoil I knew was waiting after our walk home.

As we walked up the dirt path leading to the house, I stole a peek at Caleb, just in time to see the streaks tears had made down the sides of his cheeks. I admired the way he didn’t wipe away the stream of tears from his face. My brother was not one to be embarrassed or nervous. I felt his quiet bravery in that moment, him leading me, up the steps and through the front door of our small home. That morning’s argument about driving Caleb to school was long forgotten and seemed so trivial. I knew whatever lay ahead I couldn’t be alone. I felt safe with someone by my side.

With Caleb by my side.

Chapter 2

A quiet chaos met us as we walked through the front door. The kind of quiet that tantalizes your nerves, birthing a deep pit in your gut that makes you want to