by Jerry Cole
“First of all, I don’t know what the hell time you guys think it is,” Isaac said. “It’s only just now seven in the morning, and we’ve had ourselves a pretty big night.”
One reporter raised his hand, flashing his palm toward the sky. Isaac rolled his eyes and pointed, operating as though it was a kind of press conference. Wyatt’s confusion spun out of control.
“What is your relation to the elderly man who was spotted outside this house yesterday?” the reporter demanded.
Isaac cleared his throat. “The man is my father.”
Something within Wyatt’s head snapped into place. Of course. The things Isaac couldn’t explain to him. It was all centered upon this house, at the edge of the cult field.
“The man is my father, and he is extremely ill,” Isaac continued. “Far too ill for questioning.”
Another reporter shot his hand into the air. Isaac rolled his eyes once more but nodded toward it.
“All right. Just one more,” he sighed.
“Did your father have anything to do with the fire that happened last night in the field?” he demanded.
Isaac swallowed hard. His cheek twitched. Wyatt recognized this as a symbol. His stomach clenched, realizing that the elderly man had lost his mind—had taken the cult as a reason to mark his territory, with fire. The act was sinful, mean—and, of course, entirely illegal.
“Absolutely not,” Isaac offered, doing precisely what Wyatt would have told him to do, lie. “My father was fast asleep last night. The cult outside this place has been pretty raucous the entire time, to be frank with you. They have bonfires almost every night, and it’s pretty clear that health and safety isn’t their number one priority.”
“What would you say is their number one priority?” another reporter called.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask them?” Isaac demanded. His eyes scanned up from the reporter, back toward Wyatt.
Wyatt had the sudden itch to leap behind the vehicles in the driveway, to hide. But his legs remained frozen, gluing him to his space behind the Houston reporter, who busied herself, clacking her gum. Isaac’s eyes remained on Wyatt for a long, horrible moment. His face gave nothing away. Wyatt felt a stone form in his stomach, seeming to weigh him deeper to the ground. He’d never felt so small.
It was his fault, now. He’d broken the story and torn through the peace and relative “tranquility” in the ranch house. Isaac now had to protect his family, his father, due to the barking reporters at his door. Wyatt remembered himself, tossing the phone toward Isaac with a kind of zealous arrogance, saying, “Check out this story! Almost a million views! I’m going to be someone! Someone important.”
“There won’t be any further questions,” Isaac boomed, his voice hollow. “I have to return to my family, to my father.”
Isaac ducked back into the house and swept the door closed. It smashed shut, making the windows shake. Around Wyatt, the reporters turned to one another, seemingly accustomed to this sort of reaction. The clacking-gum woman chose Wyatt to speak to, rolling her eyes.
“So. Which group you with?” she asked.
Wyatt shifted his weight. “I’m based in Los Angeles.”
Her eyes widened a bit. “Wait. You’re not. The guy who broke the story?”
Wyatt paused for a moment before nodding slowly, aching, hating himself for agreeing.
“You came all the way out here with some crazies,” she said, her smile widening. “Jesus, I’m always trying to get my young reporters to do shit like that, you know? To really push themselves for the story. But you just fell into it like nothing.” She reached into her pocket and tore out a business card, smacking it against his chest.
Wyatt blinked down at it before drawing his hand over it.
“You should give me a call if you ever have a hankering to stick in Texas,” she said. “You have a real eye for detail, and you seem to capture the way of people. This old guy here. He captivated us at the station. And I guess he really got the others, too. On the drive here, I couldn’t believe how many others were driving out to break the story to our own viewers. Of course, your story has been read over and over again. A brand-new cult! Although it really looks like it’s already disbanding, which is a shame.”
More and more RVs and vehicles snaked from the field, driving east and west, back where they came from. Wyatt took a slight step back.
“What are you going to do now?” he asked the woman.
“What do you mean, do? We’re gonna stay here till that bastard lets us talk to the old guy,” the woman returned. “Can’t very well do anything else. Already made the drive. We better have something to show for it.”
Wyatt imagined himself rushing through the crowd, drawing his own fist against the door, rapping until Isaac returned. But he couldn’t envision what would happen next. Would Isaac peer directly through him, regard him like any other reporter? Would he demand that he get off his porch? The thought of this rejection chilled Wyatt. He took several additional steps back. The woman reporter’s eyes grew hazy.
“I can hold your spot, if you want,” she said, gesturing at the driveway. “I know there will be more of us coming in.”
“I just think I need to—to check on something,” Wyatt said, scrambling for any lie. Anything to fill the gaps. “I’m staying with some people back toward town, and I can’t let them know I’m investigating.”
“Right,” the woman said, flashing him an ominous smile. “You have to uphold your secrecy. What will they have you do today, in the cult? Any orgies on the schedule?” She cackled to herself, ripping a nail down the side of her cheek.
Wyatt mumbled something. He whirled back down the path, ducking directly back into the field. His feet crumbled over the ash from the burnt grass. Several cult members approached, reaching for the tents that had tumbled in the middle of the night. One, a burly man, a bit older than the others, grunted, “Can’t fucking sustain myself on beans alone, man.”
The other, a wiry man in his late twenties, perhaps, returned, “Man, I know. I would kill for like a hamburger right now.”
“You know what they would say about your meat intake up there on Venus,” the older man scoffed.
“I don’t give a fuck about that,” the wiry man said. “I just. I mean, I’ll help with the cleanup, and then I think I’ll tell Maggie that I’m out.”
“You know that means it’ll be over between the two of you,” the older guy offered. He shoved half a crispy tent into a plastic bag, then caked his pant leg with ash from his fingers.
“Man, maybe there’s something else out there than following a girl to the middle of nowhere,” the wiry guy muttered. “That Everett guy, I don’t trust him. You see the way he bullied that old guy?”
“You seemed into it yesterday,” the older man said.
“I know. I feel like I was into everything yesterday. But today, man, all I can think about is that hamburger.”
Wyatt continued his trek, occasionally picking up debris from the fire and carrying it, wanting to feel as though he was a part of something—even if he didn’t believe in it. Occasionally, people caught his eye, gave him a lukewarm smile. They carried things, as well, but their eyes were somber. This hadn’t been a part of the plan.
When Wyatt reached the edge of the field, along the line of teetering townhouses, he shoved what he’d found from the field into a large pile, which trudged toward the sky. On the other side, he spotted none other than Everett McLean himself. He seemed frenetic, far different than the cool cult leader of previous days. His hands fluttered around him like butterflies. Wyatt cut back toward the townhouse, his ears hungry to hear.
“You know he’s beneath you, Marn. He’s always been beneath you. It’s part of the reason I wanted you to come out here, you know. I wanted you to realize what kind of brick you’d latched yourself to.”
Miraculously, Wyatt spotted Marney beside Everett, seemingly a shadow beneath him. She sighed, her voice small. “Everett, it’s just, I�
�m really worried about him. He doesn’t have a car. He doesn’t have supplies. Do you think he just started walking? Like, he can’t take care of himself. I’ve literally made our bed every single day of our relationship.”
Everett guffawed. It seemed the topic of menial house chores were far beneath him. He reached for Marney’s hand and dotted his lips atop it. A shiver seemed to snake down Marney’s frame.
“Don’t,” she murmured. “I told you. I can’t. I’m with Kenny, now.”
“Darling, nobody is with anyone out here. We’re all in this together, and we’re all apart,” Everett returned. He took a delicate step toward her. His tangled hair wafted in the morning breeze. “I wanted you out here to be beside me. Me alone, Marney.”
Marney guffawed. “Everett, I know this doesn’t matter in the wake of everything else, but YOU left ME back at Berkeley, you remember? I cried for weeks. You said you had to go find yourself, or whatever, but I know for a FACT that you just wanted to fuck Sarah Cross and then go off—”
“Marney, I had to go discover the truths of the universe. I told you about it, over and over again,” Everett returned.
“Yeah, well, maybe that’s where Kenny went. But I doubt it,” Marney stammered. “Besides, Everett. I know what you’ve been up to with the other girls, right here in Rhode’s Pike. They’ve been coming and going from your RV like a parade. It’s disgusting. And the fact that you think I would just look the other way while you had your fun…”
“Marney—”
“Maybe Kenny was right,” Marney returned, her voice thick with disdain. “Maybe you are full of shit.”
“Of course Kenny told you that,” Everett blurted. “He’s an imbecile. He’s never had a full thought in his entire life. You can’t honestly let me believe that you’re thinking you’ll—you’ll unite yourself with that man…”
“I have to go,” Marney said. She cut around, drawing toward Main Street. Her motions were rabbit-like, her feet light on the grass. But before she could duck away, Everett lashed out, gripping her elbow. She fell back, her hip landing on the ground. Her cry was wild, evocative of a far different animal.
Wyatt burst forward. To them, it seemed he came out of nowhere, from the sky above. He drew his fingers around Everett’s upper arm and flung him away from Marney. Everett’s grip released with surprise. He gaped at Wyatt, moments before his head smashed against the red bricks of the town house. Seconds later, he toppled into the pile of garbage, fumbling back and forth, like a swimmer who hadn’t yet mastered his strokes.
“FUCK!” Everett cried.
Wyatt blinked down at Marney. Her lower lip quivered. He drew his hand toward her, watching as she gripped it. He helped her to standing. Her white dress was stained with dirt, with grass.
“Wyatt,” she murmured. Her face was ghostly white. “Wyatt, what have you done?”
Everett remained floundering, unable to draw his feet onto solid ground.
“Wyatt, he’s going to kill you,” Marney whispered.
“No, he’s not,” Wyatt affirmed, his heart bursting somewhere in his throat. “But we have to go. I can bring you to Kenny.”
Marney waffled. She spun her eyes back toward Everett, who remained cursing, aghast. Finally, she slipped her hand through Wyatt’s, giving him a firm nod.
“I can’t stay here,” she whispered. “He has too much power over me. I need—I need to get back to my life.”
Wyatt and Marney’s legs stretched out, gazelle-like, toward the main road. Every cell of Wyatt’s body seemed electric with chaos. They reached the road and rushed, hair streaming behind them, hands still clasped, all the way to the saloon. When they reached it, the OPEN sign flickered brightly, a welcome omen. Wyatt’s hand pressed at the double doors, guiding them both within.
“What—what is this place?” Marney whispered, her voice catching.
They stumbled across the hardwood. Just two men sat at the counter, both dripping through their first beer of the day. Suddenly, a head popped up from the other side of the bar, a familiar one that made Marney gasp.
“KENNY?”
Kenny held several beer glasses aloft. They glinted in the light. He blinked at her for several moments, as though she was but a ghost, before allowing his lips to curve into a smile. He arched his brow toward Wyatt, lending a shrug.
“Wyatt, man. You told her where I was?” But his words weren’t necessarily accusatory. Rather, they seemed grateful, charged with excitement. It was as though they were playing a wild game of hide and go seek, and he’d just been found.
“Kenny, I couldn’t take it anymore,” Marney whispered. She took delicate, ballerina steps toward him, stretching out a single hand.
The two boozers at the bar hardly glanced from their beers, despite the dramatic situation. Wyatt stepped back, watching as Kenny dotted his empty, clean glasses along the bar counter and churned over it—looking like a man mounting a horse. He dropped onto the hardwood on the other side, opening his arms wide and allowing Marney to clamber on top of him. She let out a little sigh. Kenny’s eyes closed. The moment was entirely pure, like watching a beautiful homecoming.
Marcia ambled out of the back room, holding a stack of towels. Her eyes traced from Kenny and Marney, back toward Wyatt.
“It seems like you’re always around, doesn’t it?” she said to Wyatt. “I never know when I’ll see you next. You’ve turned yourself into the backdrop of this town already. Faster than most.”
Wyatt’s body felt broken, the bones busted out. He trampled toward the stools and perched alongside the other two drinkers, tapping his fist across the counter.
“I messed up, Marcia,” was what he said, knowing full-well it gave him away, yet not truly caring.
Marcia’s eyes glittered. She dropped the pile of towels and reached for a glass, pouring two shots of whiskey within. The glass found its way before Wyatt, seeming to stare up at him with the kind of assurance he needed.
“You know, you’re pretty young,” Marcia said, drawing her elbow across the counter. She leaned heavily upon it. “Younger than I was when I got to this godforsaken town.”
Wyatt slipped a bit of whiskey across his tongue. “Why don’t you leave?”
Marcia cast her opposite shoulder upward, making her look wonky and off-kilter. “Don’t know. I don’t even know what’s going on out there anymore. But I guess, waiting here all this time, the world came to me, didn’t it? What with the cult and all.”
Marney stepped toward the bar, her hand still linked with Kenny’s. “I’m sorry—I don’t mean to intrude. But cult? I don’t think that word should be used.”
Kenny grunted. He gave Marcia a knowing look. “Marney, shouldn’t we just drop it? It doesn’t matter what the community is called anymore.”
Marney’s smile faltered. She looked like a woman who’d suddenly learned she was entirely foolish, ridiculed by the world. She swept her head across Kenny’s chest, letting out a heavy sigh.
“You’re right. It doesn’t matter.”
“You kids should get out of here while you still can,” Marcia said, her voice taking on the severity of a teacher. “Ain’t nothing here for you. Where is it you come from?”
“North west,” Kenny said.
“It’ll be a shame to lose you, Ken,” Marcia offered. “Been a long, long time since I had a hand behind the bar, one that wasn’t drunk before noon, that is.”
“I can help you through the afternoon and evening, if you want,” Kenny offered.
“Me too,” Marney piped up.
Marcia’s face brightened, if only just a bit.
“I can offer you your tips, plus a small hourly wage,” Marcia said. “Ain’t got much more than that, but it might help you out on your trek back. You got family up there?”
“My mom…” Marney began. Her eyes flicked toward Wyatt. Wyatt marveled that he’d hardly given much of a thought to all the families behind every single member in the Venus 50. What did these mothers and fathers think?
Were they worried? Up all night, wondering what their sons and daughters were up to—worshiping some sort of maniac, Everett McLean?
“I might be able to get my old job back,” Kenny returned.
Wyatt’s eyes grew heavier in his skull. He cut the rest of the whiskey into his mouth, praying for time to move more swiftly. When it did, he would surely find him back in the peace of his home back in Los Angeles, all of this a bad dream. But there—far, far away along the coast—he wouldn't have Isaac. His heart felt edged with black.
Silence fell across the bar. Kenny brought his arm around Marney’s shoulders, holding her close. He gazed at Wyatt long enough for Wyatt to draw his eyebrows up, demanding an answer.
“It’s just. That guy. Isaac, right?” Kenny asked.
“Mmmhmm?” Wyatt returned. His voice felt far away, almost like an echo.
“Well, where is he?” Kenny asked. “If there was anything I learned from all this, it’s just. You have to keep the people you care about close to you.”
One of the men in front of the television blurted, casting his finger toward the screen. “LOOK! It’s us!”
“Conrad, what are you on about?” Marcia asked.
Wyatt spun to watch. Sure enough, several of the reporters from in front of Isaac’s father’s house had taken to the field to interview several members of the cult. The current station featured none other than the woman who’d given him her card. She gripped a microphone hard, blasting into it, attempting to interview someone Wyatt didn’t recognize, a green bean-thin girl with stringy blonde hair.
“What is it your mission is, here in Rhode’s Pike?” the reporter asked.
“It’s Everett,” the girl sighed, allowing her shoulders to grow lax. Her eyes glowed, like those of someone in love. “He is going to help us all be saved. The world is a reckless, evil place, and I, for one, am grateful he chose me—ME—to come with him.”
“What is your name, dear?” the reporter asked.
“Stephanie,” the girl said.
“Stephanie, how old are you? Where are you from?” the reporter asked.
“It doesn’t matter. Everett says none of that matters,” Stephanie, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-two, whispered. “The only thing that matters now is our preparations. Last night, the beings from Venus attempted to contact us. As you can see, their mode of communication is a bit—different than ours.”
