“Big mistakes. Some terrible stuff happened.” Miriam’s face is all desperate remorse. “But we’re not the same church anymore. We’ve grown up.”
Nora cocks her head, her anger curdling into confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t burn cities anymore?”
“We burn symbols,” Peter says. “Dead idols that people can’t stop clinging to. But life belongs to God and we do not take it.”
“What the hell does that—”
“Nora,” Miriam cuts her off gently, leaning in close, “can I ask how old you were? When you had to leave DC?”
Nora stares at her for a moment. “I was sixteen.”
“So you must remember what came before the fire, right? The broadcast? The three days of warnings and guidance?”
Nora’s eyes narrow. “I remember some lunatic ranting into a loudspeaker, yeah. What the fuck about him?”
“Do you remember what he said?”
“Some shit about how we’re all doomed and the world is over. Give up a pointless fight, cut yourself loose and fall back into God’s arms…” Her eyes drift to the side for just a moment, then snap back. “You know, ‘let go and let God.’ All that bullshit.”
Miriam looks faintly hurt. “Did it really sound like bullshit to you?”
Nora opens her mouth for an angry retort, but then shuts it. Her scowl flickers with uncertainty as the memories rush back to her. And they come to Addis too.
He remembers following Mom around town as she searched for the man behind the sermon, that supremely assured voice thundering from the loudspeakers. He remembers her shouting “Amen!” at every tagline. He remembers her fighting with Dad as the sermon poured through the apartment’s windows, begging him to leave with her and join this new movement while he shouted that she was crazy and they weren’t going anywhere. And he remembers his sister sitting silently between them, ear cocked to the window, listening to that booming voice.
“Wasn’t there anything in it that rang true?” Miriam pushes.
Nora folds her arms. Her stare is steady and hard, but some heat has gone out of it. “I wasn’t listening. Got a little distracted by the ‘we’re about to destroy your city’ part.”
Peter takes a subtle step toward her. “Did you lose anyone in that fire, Nora? Did you hear of anyone getting hurt?”
Nora hesitates. “No.”
“No one was ever supposed to. And no one has for many years. When we surrender a city, it’s a controlled demolition. We’re just clearing away the debris so God can build something better.”
“DC wasn’t debris. It was our home.” The words are defiant but they come out oddly limp. Unsupported. Her gaze wanders to the window.
“I used to think Reno was my home,” Miriam says with a wistful smile. “I grew up there. Went to school there. Thought I’d raise a family there someday.” She sighs. “And then ‘the Fire Church’ showed up.”
Nora’s eyes dart back to her.
“I was angry too,” Miriam says with a shrug. “It’s only natural to feel that way when someone takes something from you. What gives them the right, I thought. What makes them so sure.” Her eyes drop to the floor and her tone drifts a little. “Why can’t I find my own path to God.”
“But what about drug rehab?” Peter says, shooting a quick glance at Miriam as if partially addressing her. “What about mental hospitals? Sometimes you can’t see your own problems, and you need someone with a clearer vision to pull you out.”
“Right,” Miriam says, snapping back to herself. “And once I was out, I realized that city was never really my home. It was just the box my parents put me in. I’d been pouring my love into it all those years but it had never really loved me back.”
Nora says nothing. She has become a statue, her eyes fixed on Miriam but looking right past her. Addis is surprised by the erosion he sees in her. She seemed so strong, so solid, but perhaps her walls have hollow spots.
“Nora…” Miriam takes a gamble and touches her knee. Nora looks sharply at the girl’s fingers but doesn’t recoil. “I know all this is tough to swallow. And I’m sorry if it’s bringing up painful memories. Some of our doctrines are really challenging, even to us, and we wouldn’t normally get into this stuff so early. It all makes so much more sense when Pastor Bark explains it.”
“Pastor Bark, Pastor Bark,” Nora mutters darkly, her voice a low croak. “This guy’s so smooth he’s gonna convince me to burn the world?”
The two youths allow faint, wry smiles. “He might,” Peter says. “But no pressure.”
Nora takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. “I need you to leave me alone for a minute.”
Nodding effusively, Peter and Miriam get up and flee to the front car.
Nora holds the breath for as long as she can, then slowly releases it, eyes still closed. “Can you believe this shit, Addy? Of all the rescuers in the world, we get them.”
Addis can believe it. He is not surprised at all.
Nora folds her hands in her lap and continues to breathe for a few minutes, each respiration a little slower than the last. She tries to hold the serene expression of a Buddha statue, detached and aloof, but her face crumples under the weight. “What am I doing?” she mumbles. “How did I get here?”
She opens moist eyes and watches the dusty landscape for a while. “Are they as crazy as they sound, Addy? Are they bad people?”
Addis grimaces. This is not the right question. If he nods, it’s a lie, unfair and misleading. If he shakes his head, she will think he trusts them. But the right question is too complex to be answered with oscillations of the skull. He stares at her, trying to remember the words he needs to express himself, but there are too many.
“Nora?” Miriam whispers from the doorway while Peter peeks over her shoulder.
“Yeah,” Nora sighs, waving them in.
They enter with quiet steps like they’re afraid of waking someone.
“Listen, Nora,” Peter says. “If you really want to get off, we’ll stop the train. I don’t know where the next inhabited town is—this is the Midwaste, after all—but we’ll drop you off wherever you want. Okay? Just want to make that clear.”
Nora looks out the window at the endless plains of dust and dead crops.
“But before you decide, I just want to ask you one more time…will you give us a chance?”
“We’re not some crazy militia trying to take over the world,” Miriam says. “We’re not the fucking Axiom Group. We’re just a community of people who share a philosophy.”
“What philosophy is that?” Nora mumbles. “That we should all just kill ourselves?”
“That we should change our priorities. That we should look beyond ourselves and focus on the things that really matter.”
“We’re not a doomsday cult.” Peter’s earnestness warms into another wry smile. “We’re a doomsday family.”
Nora stares down into a dry riverbed as the train rattles over a bridge. Coyote skulls and snake skins. “Yeah, well,” she sighs into the dirty glass, “I’m not trying to walk across the Midwaste. So…I guess we’ll see what’s what when we get to your little compound.”
Peter’s walkie beeps. He glances at it, then back at Nora. “Thank you, Nora. We’ll check back with you later.” He presses his palms together in a little bow and disappears into the front car.
“Thank you, Nora,” Miriam echoes, and tip-toes a retreat to the other end of the car.
Addis doesn’t want to leave his sister alone in her misery, but he feels an instinctive impulse. He gets up and follows Peter to the front. He stands in the jostling junction between cars and he listens.