by Sean Platt
Sarah brought the rest of Mary’s belongings into the room while Mary washed up in the bathroom sink. When the door closed and Mary was alone again, she resumed her watch at the window.
There were three homes in the compound, plus a barn and silo. There was also the hangar and another smaller building, the purpose of which a mystery. New construction had been started on the farthest side of the compound, and though the building was far from finished, the giant cross hinted at what it would become. She was also fairly certain the houses had basements, which gave the compound plenty of square footage to hide acres of unknown.
The generator belched, causing Mary to wonder again about the gas situation and how difficult it was to keep the generator fueled.
Mary felt a sudden, and rather surprising, flutter of hope. Sure, The Prophet was delusional, but the compound did seem safe. And wasn’t that what they were looking for – a place to grow their future and family? The world had changed, and humans were endangered. Wasn’t it best to group together as closely as possible? The one thing that gave Mary the most hope was also the thing that made her most anxious: They had surrendered their guns, all of them. According to John, all guns were forbidden except in emergencies, or for the four main guards who kept watch. That had been The Prophet’s law since whatever disaster had happened in the immediate aftermath of Oct. 15. And while that made the day-to-day safe, it also made the future terribly dangerous. What if the monsters broke through the compound’s defenses? Were just four men with guns enough, or could they get to the rest of the supply before it was too late?
The hour passed quickly. Mary helped Sarah and her daughter, Rebecca, set six long tables, arranged in two longer rows of three, then went to the living room when people began to arrive. Desmond was waiting for her with Linc and Will. Paola, Luca, and Scott showed up a few seconds later. The group walked in a wide line to the table, the adults in a huddle and the children slightly behind.
“So?” Mary said.
“We’re in a room together,” Desmond whispered, “The three of us. Most rooms have three beds, doubles, nothing fancy. The third floor is off limits, reserved for The Prophet, John, and Rei.”
“And there’s something funny with Rei and John,” Will added.
“You mean The Prophet and John?” Linc said.
“No,” Will shook his head. “I mean Rei. Weird energy. Familiar. But unsure.” Will was stumbling, tugging his month-old gray beard.
“You trying to say the dude’s a bologna smoker?” Linc probed.
Will shot Linc a look. “No. And if I was, I wouldn’t say it like that.”
“Welcome,” John declared as they arrived at the table.
Once everyone was sitting, The Prophet entered the house and took his place at the head of the table. When he arrived, everyone in the house stood silently, so Mary and the group played along, though not without a weird look or three passing between Will, Desmond, and herself. Linc gave an eye roll.
“Thank you for waiting,” The Prophet said, “You may be seated.”
As everyone sat down and their chairs squeaked into place on the wooden floor, The Prophet took the crystal wine glass brimming with a dark red in front of him. He raised it high, and the others joined, raising their smaller wine glasses, also filled with wine. The children appeared to have some sort of juice.
“Welcome to your first New Unity meal at The Sanctuary. We welcome you into our family.”
Fourteen
Paola Olson
Kingsland, Alabama
The Sanctuary
March 22
1:32 p.m.
Paola took another white plate from Rebecca and ran the small hand towel over the dish until it was dry, then placed it on the counter atop an identical stack.
The girls were on dish duty for the second day in a row, Paola’s third at The Sanctuary. The kitchen was the largest Paola had ever seen, looking more like a restaurant than a house, even though the house was huge and even nicer than Desmond’s back at Warson Woods. There were four deep stainless steel sinks and two faucets with hose attachments, which made washing dishes easy, but not as easy as a giant dishwasher would have been.
Yesterday, they’d been helped by Caitlin, who had taken the dishes to storage after Paola had dried them. Caitlin was on cleaning duty today, though.
“What’s the deal with the dresses?” Paola asked in a whisper, finally working up the courage to ask what had been on her mind for two days.
Rebecca had just turned 13 a couple of weeks ago, yet she looked younger than Paola by at least a year. Perhaps, Paola thought, she looked young because of the way she was dressed, with her hair in a perfect ponytail and figure in a long, dark-blue dress that looked straight out of some puritanical catalog. All the girls wore the same style dress, though Paola was still wearing her jeans and T-shirts. She wondered how long until someone asked her to wear the uniform. Her mom had still not given permission for Paola to attend The Sanctuary’s classes, just yet anyway. In fact, Paola wasn’t even sure they’d be staying at Sanctuary, which might have been why nobody asked her to wear the ugly dress yet.
“What do you mean?” Rebecca asked, as if genuinely confused by the question.
“Why do you all wear these dresses?” Paola asked.
The girl looked down at her dress, then up at Paola, “The Prophet believes that it’s best to dress modestly, lest we tempt the weakness in men.”
“What?”
“Yes, The Prophet says men are easily confused by women’s looks. It’s a trick the Devil uses to confuse men, to lead them from the Lord’s Path. So, it’s our responsibility as women not to tempt them.”
Paola had to bury the urge to laugh. The look on the girl’s face reminded her of Paola’s algebra teacher.
“So, if a guy hits on you, it’s your fault because the way you’re dressed?”
“Yes,” Rebecca said, giving Paola’s outfit an up-and-down look, but saying nothing.
“Wow,” Paola said, “That’s messed up.”
“What do you mean?” Rebecca asked, face concerned; curious more than offended.
“You think it’s a sin to have a guy look at you? Flirt with you?”
“Well, those things lead to other things. The Lord is clear on S-E-X before marriage.”
Paola couldn’t contain the laugh after the girl spelled out “sex.” She felt as if she’d gone back in time to the ‘50s or something.
Rebecca turned away, red-faced, putting her attention back to the dishes in the sink.
“I’m sorry,” Paola said, “I’ve never met someone so . . . religious before.”
Rebecca handed Paola a plate, and said, “It’s nothing I’m ashamed of.”
“No, and I’m not saying you should be,” Paola said awkwardly as she dried off the plate. “It’s just, you know, different from what I’m used to.”
A few moments of silence stretched between them, punctuated by the splashes of water and clinking of plates as Paola stacked them.
Finally, Rebecca spoke, though she kept her eyes on the plates in the sink, “Have you ever kissed a boy?”
Paola smiled, “Yes. Once in sixth grade. Tommy Volchek kissed me behind the bleachers in gym class.”
“Just once?”
“Yeah, I thought he liked me, and would ask me to the dance. But after he kissed me, he got all weird, and stopped talking to me. I don’t know why.”
More silence. Then Rebecca asked, “What was it like?”
“It was weird at first, because it was, like, by surprise. At first, I pulled away. But then I kissed him back, and he put his tongue in my mouth. And that was weird, but it also made me tingly all over. Weird, but good. I kept wondering if I was doing it right, and was afraid that maybe he had more experience than me and that I was a bad kisser. Maybe I was; maybe that’s why he didn’t ask me to the dance. I dunno. What about you? Have you ever had a boyfriend?”
“Oh, heavens no,” Rebecca said, flushing. “I didn’t even
know many boys before I came here. Mother home-schooled us.”
“Us?” Paola asked.
“Yeah, me and my older sister, Alexis. She was 15.”
“Was? What happened to her?”
“She vanished with everyone else,” Rebecca said, her voice becoming unstable.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. The Prophet says she’s in a better place, so maybe she’s the lucky one.”
Paola wanted to ask Rebecca more about her sister, but the girl had turned silent again, now moving onto the silverware in the sink. Paola decided to bring the conversation back to boys.
“Is there anyone here you like?” she asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rebecca said, avoiding eye contact. Her flushed face, however, gave her away.
Paola laughed, “Oh my God, you DO like someone, don’t you? Who is it? Who?!”
“Shh,” Rebecca said, turning to Paola and putting her wet finger against her lips and shushing her. “Don’t be so loud!”
“Who?” Paola whispered, barely able to hide her huge smile. Finally, something juicy to talk about!
“Well, maybe there’s someone,” Rebecca said, eyes back on the dishes, trying to look as serious as possible.
“I knew it!” Paola shouted.
“Shhh!” Rebecca said again. “You don’t have to tell the world!”
“Okay, okay,” Paola said, whispering again. “Who is it? Have I met him?”
“Well, I’m sure you’ve met everyone here at mealtimes, but I don’t know if you’ve talked to him. His name is Carl, he’s the tall kid with dark, curly hair and really pretty blue eyes.”
“Oh, I had seen him,” Paola said with a smile. “He’s cute.”
A flash of jealousy flushed Rebecca’s eyes, but she quickly turned back to the dishes.
“So,” Paola asked, “What’s the deal?”
“There is no deal. I just fancy him, is all.”
“Has he asked you out?”
“Oh no, The Prophet doesn’t allow courting.”
“Doesn’t allow it? What is he? Some kind of king or something? It’s a free world, you can court whoever you want. I mean, maybe your mom can stop you, but that’s it. I wouldn’t let some ‘prophet’ tell me who I can and can’t date.”
Rebecca turned to Paola, a serious look in her eyes. “You mustn’t say that to anyone else.”
“What?” Paola asked. “Why not?”
“I like you, so I won’t say anything. But some of the others here, they might tell on you, report you to one of the elders. And believe me, you don’t want that.”
“Why not?” Paola asked, suddenly nervous.
“Aren’t you girls done yet?” a voice said from behind, shocking them both. Paola nearly dropped the glass she was drying, then caught it just before it hit the ground. She turned to see Sarah standing behind them both.
“Enough chit-chat, there’s work to be done,” Sarah said.
“Yes, Mother,” Rebecca said, turning back to the dishes.
As Sarah left the kitchen, Paola thought about the change in Rebecca’s mom. She’d been so timid and quiet when they’d met and in front of the others, but when speaking to her daughter, she wasn’t timid at all. She was almost mean.
Paola wanted to continue the conversation, but could hear Sarah putting stuff away in the pantry room next to the kitchen, likely eavesdropping.
Paola waited all day to continue the conversation. She finally got her chance at bedtime. She shared a room with Rebecca. While the men’s quarters were three beds to a room, less children in the Sanctuary meant the kids’ rooms had two beds instead. That gave the girls plenty of privacy to continue their conversation.
But before Paola could get her first word out, Rebecca blurted a question that must’ve been prickling her mind for a while. “Is Luca your boyfriend?”
Paola was taken by surprise, not only by the question, but how much at a loss of words she was to explain Luca to anyone. “He’s a friend,” she finally managed to say after a moment’s blankness, which was one way to put it.
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you, though. And you, him. There’s something there, isn’t there?”
“He’s too young,” Paola said.
Rebecca looked confused. Apparently, word of Luca’s uniqueness had not yet spread to everyone at The Sanctuary, which was, perhaps, for the best. However, Paola didn’t see the harm in sharing the information with Rebecca.
“He’s only 8 years old!”
“What? He looks like he’s twice that!”
“I know, I know,” Paola said, then went into the story about how Luca had come to them at the Drury; how he’d saved her and, in the process, had aged. And then aged again when he saved Scott.
“I feel something special with him because he was in here,” Paola said, pointing to her head. “He saved me, and we got to be good friends. I like him a lot. He’s the sweetest kid. But I don’t like like him.”
She wasn’t sure if she was convincing on that last part, either to Rebecca or herself.
Rebecca stared, “That is so weird. What did he do to heal you? It sounds like a miracle!”
“I don’t know how it works. He doesn’t either. He was as surprised as anyone when he did it.”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Rebecca said, staring up at the ceiling, as if pondering His powers.
Paola stared, too, thinking not about the Lord, but rather, Luca. In the past two days, she’d hardly seen him at all, and she was surprised by how much she missed him. Perhaps it was just as well, though. Truth was, in his last transformation he’d gone from an awkward kid who looked close to her age to an older teen who was a hunk. If she’d just met him, she’d be all jelly inside just looking at him. But knowing him as she did made her feel weird, something between a crush and how a sister feels about a brother. The mix of the two feelings was confusing. She was half drawn to and half repulsed by Luca. She’d never been particularly good at hiding her feelings, and she didn’t want either feeling leaking out to Luca. What was happening to him wasn’t his fault, after all.
“He wants me to meet him,” Rebecca said, seemingly out of the blue.
At first Paola thought she meant Luca. She asked, “Huh? Who wants to meet you?”
“Carl. He found me after dinner tonight, and said he wanted to meet me by the creek, where there’s a rope swing. Have a picnic.”
“Ooh, are you gonna go?”
“I don’t know. My mother would kill me if she found out.”
“Well, you’ve gotta make sure she doesn’t find out,” Paola said.
“I don’t even know if that’s possible in this place. There’s guards all over, and everybody knows everybody’s business.”
“Well, he must think there’s some way you two can sneak off if he’s asking, right? Maybe he’s in with the guards or something and has a plan?”
“You think?”
“He must have something in mind if he asked,” Paola said.
Discussion quickly dimmed, and Paola was soon sound asleep and dreaming of Luca. Again.
Fifteen
Boricio Wolfe
Dunn, Georgia
March 22
3:20 a.m.
Boricio slipped from the house and into the garage, quietly, but with just a fraction of his usual bounce. He didn’t want anyone waking, but fuck them and the Apocalypse that made this shit a reality show if they wanted to stop him. Boricio eased the unfinished Z8 from the garage, quietly drove out and to the edge of the compound, then down a winding half mile where he finally pressed the pedal as far as it would go.
Hunting time.
It had been too long since he’d seen a fucker’s head roll for the grease and grins of it. Sure, they’d taken care of the bikers nice and proper, but that was business. And there wasn’t no pussy worth taking; well, not without causing a scene. Hopefully, a hunt would give him a nice store of pink meat. Given the slim pickings of late, Boricio was star
ting to worry he might never see another woman worth fucking. But the warehouse gave him hope that there were more out there, hiding and waiting to be found.
If he didn’t get off soon, he might not be able to restrain himself from the pussy back home.
Watching Callie pirouette across the house in those tiny shorts, looking like the cover of Low Rider, transformed the hangout into the hard-on hotel. Ain’t no way he was gonna be around that another 10 minutes without wanting to slam the Tampon Tunnel with the Boricio Express. And once the Boricio Express was booked, you could bet the ball sack and both balls in it that shit arrived on schedule.
Callie would like the Boricio Express just fine; the problem was that cock blocker, Charlie.
Boricio fucked like he cooked: better, spicier, and with thicker broth than any motherfucker within a 400-mile radius. Callie might not like it at first because it wasn’t her idea. But if he forced her to start sucking at sundown, she’d be lapping up fourths by sunrise and panting for fifths – you could bet your ball sack and both balls in it. And it shouldn’t fucking matter. Wasn’t like Charlie was squirting his danglers in her dithers anyway. Chucky Cheese Dick had his feelings, sure, but that wasn’t what kept Boricio’s buttons in a row. This was about keeping, and maintaining, control of his team.
It was a dog-eat-dog world, and there ain’t nothing a dog likes better than a heaping helping of pussy, whiskers or no. But pussy was hard to come by at the end of the world. And Boricio was a big dog; he’d bite the face off any other dog to keep his pussy in a high pile. But that was the same sorta shit that Bobby Big Boy had done to Charlie, and Boricio didn’t want to schedule a rerun of that particular show. Boricio was smart enough to be the big dog who kept his puppies on patrol. Sometimes that meant letting the dogs feel like they had some power, and leaving things be.
Despite his occasional temper tantrums, Charlie had proven himself capable of playing for Team Boricio when he took care of that shit-pile stepfather of his. The kid was grinning like a drunk Mexican when he called Boricio in to see his handiwork. A thing of beauty what he’d done to Bob. Boricio hadn’t done anything even approaching Charlie’s level of artistry until his 21st kill.
