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arranged between the camouflaged aircraft, and electric lanterns were set up to provide yellowish illumination, along with separate units to zap insects, causing little fizzes and pops. The lanterns would not be needed for much longer; daylight was creeping across the sands from the east.
    During this work, Dixie Lou sat off to one side, speaking to Alex energetically, moving her hands for emphasis. She brought the handgun out of her robe pocket, fiddled with it in a way that made him nervous.
    “Did you have anything to do with Lori getting away?” she demanded.
    “Of course not. I just hope she’s safe, that her helicopter didn’t crash.”
    Looking at him skeptically, she said, “I wish I could trust my own son.”
    Alex didn’t hold gazes with her as forcefully as he would have liked, because the expression on her face was crazier than usual, with her dark gaze darting around wildly. He wanted to kick himself for not handling the whole situation better, and getting Lori in trouble. His mother was crafty, deadly clever, and the teenager was always in her cross hairs. For all he knew, Dixie Lou had arranged for her to be killed, maybe even with everyone else aboard the missing aircraft.
    She waved the gun at him. “I’d better not find out you’ve been lying to me.”
    “Or you’ll kill your baby boy?” Alex said, his tone almost taunting. He’d always done better in his relationship with his mother whenever he showed strength, not cowering to her.
    But Dixie Lou said, “Worse than that.” Without warning, she swung the gun and hit him on the side of the neck with the barrel. Recoiling, Alex glared back at her. Pain devils burned his neck.
    She didn’t show any concern, and instead went on to describe in detail what horrendous tortures she would inflict upon him if he dared to defy her. “Your death will not be quick or painless,” she warned.
    After his mother went inside her tent and closed the flap, Alex crossed the campsite and stared out into the awakening desert, worrying more about Lori than about himself. His neck throbbed, and he cursed his misfortune for being born of a monster like Dixie Lou Jackson. He no longer considered her his mother, would rather have no mother at all than her.
    A bug fizzled into the zapper near him. He heard his mother bumping around inside her tent, making angry grunts. She was not in a good mood.
    He noticed two guards a distance away, watching him. Rookies like most of the other guards in this party, they had been in training just before the attack on Monte Konos, and were all his mother could salvage. If the women were attacked again—maybe even by those Arabs—the guards were not going to be much protection for anyone.
    But if Alex saw an opportunity to get away, they might fit the bill nicely, with their inexperience. Perhaps he could slip by them when his mother was away in the village, and escape.
    He needed to find Lori and make certain she was safe. He prayed that her helicopter had not crashed in the storm.
    * * *
    Alone in her tent, and in her thoughts, Dixie Lou cursed and slammed things around: her bedding, a pair of binoculars, clothing. Daylight seeped into the tent. She still felt agitation at having a knife held to her throat, and was troubled by the missing helicopter, and by her inability thus far to get the Holy Women’s Bible published on the Internet.
    The Chairwoman had one more big concern. She had convinced herself that one day, probably soon, Lori would give birth to the missing twelfth she-apostle, the one the others called Martha of Galilee. She sensed this very strongly, even though the teenager wasn’t even pregnant yet. Or was she? Lori had associated with undesirables in Seattle, street people. Maybe one of them had gotten to her. Maybe the missing she-apostle wasn’t from Mexico, after all.
    Dixie Lou sensed something extraordinary about the real twelfth child, something more than the other eleven had shown so far, and even more