DOMINION Bentley Little (accelerated reader books .TXT) 📖

and women flowed into the meadow, from over the hill, from between the trees at the far end. She’d thought there’d been a lot of people at the site of the fair, but that was nothing compared to this. Her heart began pounding at the sight of so many individuals, instinctively recoiling before the intimidating size of the oncoming horde.

She’d thought that the revelers had come for them, had been sent by Dionysus or her mothers to tear them apart and protect the winery. But she realized as the human wave slowed, then stopped, that the people did not even know that the three of them were there.

They had come for the festival.

Harvest.

Even the word had resonance within her. They were going to celebrate the fruition of the crop, were going to pick and then crush the grapes. She didn’t know how she knew this, but she did, and a part of her wanted to join them.

The car stopped just before the parking lot as Holbrook pulled to the side, executed a three-point turn, and parked the vehicle underneath a tree, facing the street so they’d be able to make a quick exit.

The teacher opened his door, got out. “Let’s make this quick,” he said.

Outside, she could hear the singing. Thousands of voices blending and harmonizing. She stood next to the car, rooted in place, staring toward the vineyards and the expanded meadow beyond as Holbrook and Kevin began unloading the trunk.

From this vantage point it looked almost like the scene of a rock concert, a massive cross-generational Woodstock. The feeling was like that too, she thought. Thousands of people singing in joyful camaraderie, their happy voices blending beautifully as they sang in union the words to an ancient Greek ode, a song that her mothers had sung to her when she was young. Lines of people, arms around one another’s shoulders, swayed to the music.

Only… Only directly in front of the crowd and off to the sides were small spots of red, the eviscerated bodies of recent kills, bloody carcasses of men, women, children, and pets that had been strewn haphazardly about, forgotten and ignored, as though they were merely the by-products of such a large gathering, like empty paper cups and sandwich wrappers.

On the top of the hill, several silhouetted women were tearing apart what looked to be the remains of a dead horse.

The singing stopped. As one, the crowd was silenced. It was as though they were listening to something, although there was no audible sound.

Holbrook was right, Penelope realized. The people took their cue from Dionysus. His mood determined theirs. They not only worshiped him, they were connected to him in some way, their feelings and emotions an extension of his own.

Movement began again, increasingly frenzied activity that spread outward from the center of the gigantic gathering.

People began moving into the far rows of the vineyard.

“We need some help here,” Holbrook said. “Stop staring and grab a box.”

He had seen it too. There was fear in his voice, and as she moved to help, she noticed that Kevin was quiet, his face pale.

She wanted to reassure them, to tell them not to worry, to tell them that they would not be torn apart if they were caught, but she knew that was not true. They would be killed.

She would not.

She was one of them.

They left half of the boxes in the open trunk and hurried silently up the last few yards of the drive to the parking lot. She wanted to feel nervous and anxious, wanted some of Holbrook’s sense of urgency transferred to her so that she would move as quickly as she needed to, but she felt no tension, no nervousness, and she hurried only because her brain told her to do so, not because her emotions deemed it necessary.

Holbrook stopped at the edge of the parking lot, ducking next to an overhanging tree. Kevin and Penelope followed suit. Ahead, between two of the buildings, next to the warehouse, was a line of four transport trucks. The vehicles were being loaded with cases of Daneam wine, and she found herself thinking of a scene from Invasion of the Body Snatchers where trucks were being loaded with seed pods for distribution to other cities, other states. Was that what was happening here? Were they trying to spread the debauchery elsewhere through the wine? To San Francisco? Los Angeles? Phoenix? Denver? Chicago? New York?

Yes, she thought. It made sense.

She was just surprised that they had been logical enough to think of it and sober enough to do it.

Mother Margeaux, she thought.

“We can go around,” she said to Holbrook. “There’s a sidewalk around the side of the house that leads to the main building, the one where we produce the wine, and it can’t be seen from the warehouse.”

“The warehouse? That would be better,” Holbrook said. “That’s where it’s all stored.”

“That’s where they’re loading the trucks. I don’t think we can get in there without someone seeing us.”

“Then I hope the fire spreads to the warehouse.”

“Come on,” Penelope said. She led them around the edge of the parking lot, trying to stay behind vehicles, out of sight of the truck loaders.

They passed behind the back of an overturned minivan, and she stopped.

The box she was carrying was getting heavy, and she put it down for a second.

“What are you doing?” Holbrook hissed.

“My arms are tired.”

“Here,” Kevin said. “Switch. Maybe mine’s a little lighter.”

“Are you sure this is going to be enough?” Penelope asked as they traded boxes. “It doesn’t seem like this’ll start much of a fire.”

“That’s why the warehouse would be better.”

“Maybe we should burn the house instead,” Kevin suggested.

The house? She had not really considered the fact that the house would be burned too, but of course it would. Truth be told, she had not thought any of this through. She supposed, in the back of her mind, she’d thought that the winery would burn and the fire trucks would show up before the