She watches them climb out of the truck. The woman is thin and pretty, the men tall and handsome in their slim jeans and chambray shirts, trimmed beards and neat haircuts. They laugh and shove each other while the sun glows on their light tan skin and Nora thinks of beach parties and barbecues, mountain cabins and crowded campfires, a lush LOTUS vignette filling her with emptiness.
She takes Addis’s hand and rolls the scooter toward the truck. She stops at a safe distance and waits.
The youths all freeze when they see her, then the driver waves. “Hey there!” he says, flashing a big smile. “Didn’t expect to meet any friends way out here. Everything okay?”
She doesn’t answer. The man’s eyes dart to the blood on her hands for half a second but his smile doesn’t waver. “Need any help?”
Nora can’t find any answer except the truth. “Yes.”
During this exchange, the three youths have closed the gap she placed between them, subtly gliding into conversational range.
“What’s your name?” the woman asks with a warm smile. Either she’s a true natural beauty or she has a stash of makeup somewhere, because her face is creamy perfect like the models in old magazines.
Nora gives the woman her name without thinking about it. She is wondering what her own face looks like. She can’t remember the last time she saw a mirror. She wipes her hands on her pants, but the blood is dried. She touches her hair and finds a few leaves in it.
“Nice to meet you, Nora,” the woman says. “Is this your brother?”
Nora nods. “Addis.”
The woman bends down and leans on her knees. “Hi, Addis!”
Addis stares at her blankly.
The woman gives Nora a sad smile. “How long has Addis been Dead?”
Nora stiffens.
“It’s okay,” the driver says, holding out a hand as if to stop her from running. “We’re totally cool with the Dead. We welcome all kinds of people, wherever they’re at in life.”
“Anyone who’s willing to listen,” the woman says.
Nora looks from face to face. All three of them—even the man who hasn’t said a word—watch her with sincerity pouring from their eyes like there’s nothing in the world more important than befriending her.
“Who are you guys?” she says.
“We’re part of an outreach group,” the woman says. “We’re going across the country looking for people in need. Especially Dead people in need.”
“He’s not Dead,” Nora says.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman says with a wince. “Nearly Living? Is that the term he prefers?”
“We’ve heard all about the changes,” the driver adds hastily. “The ‘cure’? We respect that. We think it’s great. It’s a wonderful thing God’s chosen to do.”
“To bring the Dead back so they can witness the Last Sunset with us?” The woman closes her eyes. “Such a beautiful gesture of grace.”
Nora feels the impulse to recoil from their gooey enthusiasm, but she’s so exhausted, all she can manage is a skeptical squint. “So you’re like…missionaries? Out to convert the heathens?”
The driver laughs. “I guess you could put it that way if you wanted to. But we let God do the converting. What we’re really about is community.”
“Community,” Nora repeats.
“The world is fucked up, Nora.” He says it like he’s confiding an intimate fear. “And it’s only going to get worse. How do we respond to it? What’s our purpose in these last few days?”
“We believe it’s a test,” the woman says. “God’s showing us the emptiness and ugliness of the world because he wants to see if we have the courage to let it go. To abandon ourselves and let things fall apart…so he can scoop up the pieces.” She smiles.
“But it’s hard,” the driver says. “It’s confusing and painful, and that’s why we need our community. We need to gather together and support each other, because the world is full of traps.”
“False loves and false hopes,” the woman agrees.
“And no one should have to walk through it alone.”
Nora watches their beautiful faces straining with conviction. Her first instinct is to laugh at them, but something deeper inside moderates her response. “No offense,” she says, “but you guys sound kinda nuts.”
They laugh uproariously, even the quiet one.
“We get that a lot, Nora,” the driver says.
“Sorry if we come on too strong,” the woman says. “It’s just hard to play it cool with something you’re really passionate about, you know?”
Nora nods. “Right. So is your cult the kind where no one has names? All are one within the Community?”
“Oh shit!” the driver laughs. “Sorry, Nora. Got a little distracted there. I’m Peter.”
“Miriam,” the girl says as she and Peter take turns shaking Nora’s hand.
“And the guy who never talks?” Nora says, jutting her chin toward the taller man.
He smiles. “Sorry. I’m such an introvert.” He offers his hand. “I’m Lindh.”
“So Nora,” Peter says, “we’re not a cult, and we’re not trying to sell you anything. But you did say you needed help.”
Nora’s posture softens a little at this reminder.
“And please don’t take this the wrong way…” He looks her over, from her finger stump to her blood-spattered clothes to the dirt and sweat and scars that cover her body, and then to the ashen boy at her side. “…but you and Addis look like you’ve had a hard time out there. Like the world hasn’t been kind to you.”
Nora’s eyes fall to the ground. It’s an obvious statement and an understatement, but somehow, she has never really spoken it to herself. Never phrased it quite that way. She feels a sudden lump in her throat.
“If you need a place to go,” Miriam says softly, “well…you can come with us.”
“Where?” Nora mumbles.
“To our community in South Cascadia.”
Nora looks up.
“It looked like you were heading west anyway,” Peter says. “I’m guessing you ran out of fuel?”
Nora answers with silence.
“So why not ride with us? Check out our little town. Get some dinner and a hot shower and meet some great people. All we ask is that you keep an open mind.”
Nora stares hard at the three youths, but she finds nothing in their eyes but radiant sincerity. There’s a bang against the wall of the horse trailer and she seizes the disruption, trying to recover her footing. “So on top of being smooth-talking hipsters, you’re cowboys, too?” Her flippancy rings hollow in her ears, but she holds onto it. “Coolest cult ever.”
Three more bursts of laughter.
“I like her!” Peter says to Miriam, then turns back to Nora. “But no, I’m afraid we’re not that cool. Have a look.”
He gestures to the window slits along the side of the trailer.
Nora peeks through a window. Then she jumps back, gagging.
There are no horses in the horse trailer. Dozens of metallic gray eyes bulge at her in the shadows, and a stench far worse than horse shit smacks her in the face.
“What the fuck,” she says. “What the fuck.”
“Just people in need,” Miriam says. “Just like your brother. We find them out here, lost and confused, and we bring them home to our community.”
“What are you doing with them?” Nora watches the trailer rock on its squeaky hinges as the Dead stir from their standing sleep.
“We take care of them,” Peter says. “We give them a home and treat them with respect, until God reveals his plan for them.”