They were on the lawn of a church, a great, steepled clapboard structure. Over the double doors was written in red, GRANITES. Lucia screamed and wailed until they finally gagged her. When they were done tying up Lucia, they turned to Eric who held out his hands numbly.
Eric couldn’t keep his eyes from Sergio. His body was face up, his face pale, his eyes open to the sky. He looked surprised. The sight of him made Eric’s head go fuzzy, as if he was on the verge of fainting.
When they were trussed up tightly, they were dragged into the church.
“Keep your fucking mouths shut,” they were told.
The church was crowded with people. Standing at the head, where the priest would usually stand, was a tall, thin man. His face was long like a horse. His hair was dark and very short. His eyes shined toxic green. They glittered when he saw them, but the man’s face was as emotionless as a blank piece of paper. Behind the man were two closed caskets.
“It is another sad day for us Granites,” he said in a voice as strong and cold as stone. The crowd muttered in agreement. “Here lie Leo Jackson and Jane King,” he continued. “Excellent people, the both of them. I could tell you all about these two, but we know them, don’t we? There ain’t a one of us here who don’t know these two. And we known a lot more, haven’t we?” There were nods and choking sounds. “Cause these two are only the latest. Weren’t too long ago and there were more of us, Lord knows that’s true. We were just simple folk, trying to lead decent lives, trying to mind our business. But the outside world came anyway, didn’t it?” Someone let out a guttural bark, inarticulate and furious. “It struck us down!” cried the man with new, terrifying energy. The whole crowd seemed to hold their grief and rage in the same hand where it became confused and horrific.
The man stared at them with his ruthless green eyes. “Do you know where the Vaca B came from? Where the worm came from? The scientists told us it came from Brazil, before they too were struck down. The worm lived in the Brazilian jungles. They cleared the land for ranches so that McDonalds could make a profit. Somehow the cattle got the worm down there. Then the cattle ranchers got the worm. Then the cities got the worm. Then everyone started dying or going crazy. The whole world fell because of a worm in Brazil. Everyone knows that. But do you know that no feather falls on this earth without the assent of God?” He looked at them sternly. “Not a single feather, ladies and gentlemen. Nothing happens in this world unless God approves it. Nothing. Not so much as a particle of sand is out of place in the universe.”
Silence.
“The worm might have been the agency, but it was not the REASON, folks. The parasite they named the Vaca Beber was only the physical manifestation of God’s displeasure! Think of the world that was so recently destroyed. Think of it! We were destroying what God gave us to care for. We were supposed to be the caretakers of this planet, but instead, we were killing it. We were living in vice and filth! The rich kept all their money while the poor died like animals. What kind of Christians were we? What kind of people would live like that? Is it any wonder that God should look down upon us in His terrible wrath? Is it any wonder that we were judged? And that judgment was terrible. He struck us hard!”
The man’s voice had fallen to a tortured whisper. “It fell to us, the survivors of that judgment, to build another world, a just world. Oh, my fellows, my friends and neighbors, how that weighs on me!” He shook his head. “How often I think, like all of us do, why was I spared, Lord? Why am I standing here while good people like Leo and Jane here, they are not?”
The congregation held its breath in anticipation.
“No one can know the answer to that question, folks.” The man shook his long, severe head. “We do not have access to the mind of God. We cannot know what He knows.” He paused for a long time, his gaze falling over the whole crowd. “But we do know this. Folks, we do know something.”
No one moved.
“Today we live another day because people like Jane and Leo here fought to protect us. They died trying to keep us whole and safe. We don’t want no more of the world outside.” He shook his head. “No. We want to be left to ourselves. No Minutemen, no United States of blah blah blah. Just ourselves, taking care of each other like we were always supposed to do. Love your neighbors, not some damn jungle in Brazil! That’s what God wants. He wants us to be here, HERE, in this place, taking care of our own. That’s what Leo and Jane were doing out there on the bridge when they were gunned down and their bodies were horribly mutilated. That’s what they died to protect! For you. And me. And God’s plan. That’s why we’re all here today. That’s why I’m thanking God for my life, for all you folk, and for Leo and Jane. I intend to repay them with full obedience to the ideas they died to protect. We won’t be moved. No sir. Our resolve will not be diluted. We will stand independent. We will live free or we will die. And I swear to each of you this,” the man said, his voice dropping to a hiss.
“There will be vengeance,” he said. Then his voice rose high and terrible, shaking the church. “There will be Almighty Vengeance for those who seek to destroy us!”
The crowd leapt to their feet, screaming, cheering, and weeping.
Through the crowd of people, between the aisles, Eric watched the man walk toward them. He eyed Eric for a moment and then turned to the man who held them.
“Take him to the Cave,” he ordered. “Bring the females to Becky.”
Grief is more various than death. Death is simple. The heart stops, the brain ceases to function. It is the same with each human being and most animals. But the experience of death never stays the same. Grief moves, transforms, and is always unexpected. Eric was learning this in the Cave. He had seen so many people die. He had lost nearly everyone he had ever cared about. His life was surrounded by death. Eric thought he would become used to it by now.
But slumped down in his chains in the Cave, Eric could not rid his mind of Sergio’s eyes, the surprised, wide-open look he gave to the sky. Was he surprised to find himself dying? Had he seen something in those last moments to surprise him? Or was it just meaningless contortions of the face at death and it meant nothing?
He had lived with Sergio for weeks, but what did he know of him? Not much. They had rarely spoken, and when they had, it had often been practical. Did you bring the water? Do you see anything on the road? Help me with my tent. The more he thought of him, the more it seemed to Eric that Sergio had somehow become more important to him than he knew. Sergio had been a part of his life so completely, he had been nearly invisible. Now Sergio would never speak to him again. Never help him up. Never smile his way. Never scramble up a tree to scan the horizon with his binoculars. Eric would never know him any better than he did right now.
In the darkness of the Cave, he could see Sergio fishing, the shining line arcing over the river. The contented look on his face after he emerged from the river, the wet fish hung from a rope in his right hand. Sergio was never more at ease, and Eric wanted to know this man.
The grief was he never would.
What they called the Cave was a dugout basement next door to the church. Two men dragged Eric there, tugging at the rope around his wrists until they burned. They pushed him down a flight of wooden stairs. Eric fell the last few steps, stumbling forward, smelling mildew and cold, moist air. He lifted his face from the ground and spat out damp earth. One man jerked him up so roughly that Eric cried out in pain, though he meant to keep silent.