“I think you’d find it really inspiring,” Miriam says. “And we all get together afterward to hang out and talk about what we’ve learned.” She folds her hands in front of her as if in prayer. “It’s so fun, Nora, please come!”
Nora tightens her grip on Addis’s hand. “I’m not leaving him.”
“Nora,” Peter says, “this is the safest place he can be right now. It was made for him.”
He gestures to their surroundings, and Nora perceives the building’s interior for the first time. It looks like a day care. A day care and a school, with traces of a hospital. She sees Dead children staring at toys. Dead adults staring at TVs. In the kitchen, an elderly woman is making dinner, mixing crushed Carbtein and what can only be human blood into a bowl of pork cutlets. Nora thinks of Auntie Shirley. Corned beef and cabbage…
“God’s House is only four blocks away,” Peter says. “The service is barely an hour. Do you think you can trust us for one hour?”
Nora looks down at her brother’s hand. It’s turning pale in her grip.
“Not everyone is trying to hurt you, Nora,” Miriam says gently. “Maybe out in the world, but not here.”
“Why not?” Nora mumbles. “Why not here?”
“Because God lives here,” Peter says with surging conviction. “And whatever God does, it’s always for our good.”
A large group passes by the open door, and their laughter is infectious; Peter and Miriam smile. Nora hears the pop of tiny knuckles and Addis whimpers, tugging against her vise grip. She hears the bell again, so much like the bell of her mother’s old church despite its electric harshness.
She lets go.
I
NO ONE SPEAKS as we leave the Midwaste and climb into the mountains. The road is absurdly steep and narrow, bounded by rock walls and dizzying drops, and the only sound is Barbara’s engine roaring against gravity. Finally we summit the peak, the trees open up, and I see the sky yawning above us. We have crested the final ridge, and a grassy plain stretches below us. For a moment the RV seems balanced on the apex and I feel a disconcerting tension, like a decision waiting to be made. Then we tip over the edge and plummet toward the coast.
I hear breaths being released throughout the RV. I remember I’m not alone.
The sun still glows faintly below the horizon but the moon is already up. The view is both beautiful and oddly menacing. There’s anger in the reds, fear in the blues, and the crescent moon is a sharp hook. I see the silvery line of the train tracks winding down from the mountains and into the plain, and up ahead: buildings. Houses. A town.
“R,” Julie says. “Put that away.”
I notice I’m clutching a wrench in front of me like we’re charging into battle.
“Whoever these people are, she went with them by choice, remember? No reason to assume they’re hostile.”
This is true, but it doesn’t feel like it. It’s never even occurred to me that the drivers of the train could be allies. Am I letting the new world get to me? Am I buying into its infomercial of paranoia and panic?
Inhaling Julie’s optimism as deeply as I can, I set the wrench down as the town rolls into view. The tracks disappear into a crumbled brick industrial zone at the bottom of a steep hill, atop which is a shocking sight: illuminated windows. I do my best to imagine friendly faces behind them.
We park at the train station and approach the platform cautiously. The freight boxes are all open and empty, but I see a few figures moving in the passenger cars. Julie pokes her head into one of the doorways and knocks on the wall.
“Hello?”
The muffled noise of activity stops. Then a set of footsteps. Julie backs up as a tall young man emerges from the doorway, looking at her blankly through black frame glasses.
“Uh, hi,” Julie says. “We’re looking for a friend of ours. A girl named Nora?”
The man smiles but doesn’t say anything. His eyes glide over each of us, and I feel a distinct sense of being scanned. Apparently not finding whatever he’s looking for, his posture retracts inward.
“We’re pretty sure she got on your train somewhere around Ohio…” Julie continues.
“Brown eyes?” the man says like he’s digging deep in his memory. “Curly hair?”
Julie gives him a flat stare. “She’s black.”
He nods cheerfully. “Yeah, Nora! Nora’s great. She rode with us for a couple days. You’re friends of hers?”
“Yeah. We really need to talk to her.”
“What do you need to talk to her about?”
Julie cocks her head. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just not sure Nora wants to see you right now. She’s had a hard time lately and she came to our community to learn about God’s truth. I’m not sure you’re here to offer encouragement.” He gives Julie an apologetic smile, sorry I can’t be of more help!
Julie glances back at the rest of us in disbelief. I shrug, but I feel my shoulders tightening. Something about the man’s demeanor feels familiar to me. Intense friendliness with an undertone of threat.
“Listen,” Julie says, “we don’t have any problem with God’s truth, we’re not here to break up your club, we just need to talk to our friend. Are you going tell us where she is or not?”
The man hesitates, then smiles. “Of course.” He points up the hill. “Peter and Miriam took her to God’s House for the service. Why don’t you go join them and hear the word God has for us tonight? We welcome seekers from all walks of life.”
“I’m sure you do,” Julie says, turning on her heel. She whispers in my ear as she moves past me: “I might’ve been wrong about that wrench.”
She’s joking. Annoyed, but not truly worried. M looks tense, but he has another, more obvious reason to be. And Tomsen just looks confused. Am I the only one feeling this churning unease? I have plenty of reasons to recoil at the scent of church, a natural aversion to all things corporate. Even in the blankness of my second life, I shrank away from the Boneys’ sermons and schools, their instinctive attempts to reinstate the hive mind. But there are many kinds of communal effort, many ways people come together to build and share and connect with something higher, and they can’t all lead down the dark path I took. If I can’t believe that, then what future am I fighting for? A world of solitary animals feeding and mating and dying alone? A world like Abram’s?
I have to believe there can be more. Despite the faint alarm rising in my head, the sirens of distant fires, I have to believe.
We drive up the hill slowly, hoping to avoid attention, though attention may be unavoidable in our bright yellow moon rover. I watch the windows. I see no one watching us. The lights are on, but I see empty rooms. Very empty—no bookshelves, no televisions, no stereos, no art or decorations of any kind. Only a few chairs and dishes indicate occupancy. The exteriors are on par with most rural ruins: peeling paint, clogged gutters, rotting roofs and wild lawns, a lack of maintenance so extreme it almost seems like a statement.
I see no one in the houses or on the street. The town appears deserted. And yet I hear music.
“Tomsen,” I say.
“Yes?”
We crest the hilltop and roll into the town center. The shopfronts are boarded up. We are the only vehicle on the crumbled road.
“I think we should park here.”
“Why?”
“Don’t want to…get trapped.”
“Trapped?” Julie arches her eyebrows at me. “Do you know something we don’t?”
I shake my head. “Just a feeling.”