I didn’t question why he had chosen me. I was special. Pastor told me this often enough. He loved me, as he loved all of his followers. But I was different.
It had taken me time to adjust to life at The Retreat. I hadn’t wanted the role of disciple. I was an unwilling acolyte. It took years of tears and unhappiness before I embraced all that I had been given. All that my mother had wanted for herself—and me by default.
But by ten years old, my mind was focused. My heart was uncorrupted. I had almost forgotten all the misgivings and resentment that had permeated my existence in those early days.
Almost.
Pastor Carter made that possible. It was his words, his attention that pulled me away from the downward slope I had been on. He pushed me—sometimes gently, sometimes with vicious force—onto the path I was meant to follow.
And I was grateful to him for that.
And because I had embraced this world, there would be rewards. Pastor assured me there was more for me than this. I believed him.
It felt wrong not to.
Because Pastor Carter made me believe.
His smiles were many. His touch was soft. His words were strong and sure, meant for a devoted heart. It was hard not to feel important—to feel worthy—when you were chosen for something so monumental.
And I knew this choice was made with a specific purpose in mind.
He was grooming me. He had said as much in our talks together. He saw in me someone meant for greater things.
To go to the gate was an immense honor. It wasn’t often that we left the confines of The Retreat.
I briefly thought of Adam and Tyler. Their bruised faces. Their bloodied clothes.
I felt sick to my stomach.
We didn’t leave The Retreat unless we had to. People on theoutsidedidn’t understand. Their minds were too closed. Their hearts a rotting lump in their chests that did little more than keep them barely alive.
I shivered thinking about what lay beyond the metal barrier that led to the bottom of the mountain.
It was good that we had no real need to venture from the safe cocoon of The Gathering’s womb. We lived off the land. We grew our own food. We used homeopathic remedies that kept us healthy and treated our ailments. We had no use for the trappings that confined most people.
The disciples chose to live a life away from the everyday madness that had taken root in the world. With only our faith as company, we forged a different way of life. A simpler one. A necessary one.
We each had stumbled onto the path a little desperate, a little broken. The Gathering had made us whole.
It was our choice to cut ties with the outside world. We weren’t coerced. We weren’t forced. No matter what anyone thought, the disciples weren’t brainwashed zealots.
We were simply sure of our journey. We loved our leader. We whole-heartedly believed the lessons he taught. We knew that our lives were never our own. That we were part of a bigger story. By living the way we did, we were in a state of constant preparation.
We had The Awakening to wait for.
“You must prepare your soul, Sara,” Pastor said, joy on his face.
“Prepare for what?” I asked, a bit bewildered.
“The Awakening. The time when you will be called home. The day you will leave this mortal world and ascend. God will dictate the time. It is his choice. We must be prepared to act when he calls us home.”
My entire body trembled.
The Awakening.
The moment when we reached spiritual perfection.
The moment God welcomed us home…
