She laid a gloved hand on Luc’s, stalling him.
“Let me out, Luc. I’ll do it. I’ll go in.”
He shook his head, pressed his forehead to hers, and whispered, “We do this together, Abby. Now, where is Sammy?”
She inhaled his warmth. “The Center.”
“Okay.”
He gave her a hard kiss and pulled away, then seeming to change his mind, he grabbed her hand, threw a sidelong glance her way, and whispered, “We’re in this together. But once we get him out, you leave town. You take him and go.”
“I know, Luc.” Though she didn’t want to. She wanted to stay with him. She wanted to be his family.
“Don’t worry about me. Just leave town.”
“I will.” Lord, those words were the saddest thing she’d ever said, each syllable like ripping out a piece of her heart.
“That way?”
“Yes.” Before they took off, he went to the back of the truck and came back with an ax.
Abby followed closely behind Luc, marveling at how much better these boots were than the shoes she’d had to walk in before. The sky over the mountain was changing as they climbed the low fence and trudged toward the Center as quietly as they could over the hard-crusted snow. Strange to see this place in the cold light of dawn.
Dawn. It shouldn’t be dawn for a few hours yet.
About twenty feet from the main double doors, Abby stopped and threw her head back. The clouds shone bright orange.
“Luc,” Abby gasped, but he’d already seen it. Probably smelled the smoke, too. “Go, Luc. Run. Go take care of your vines.” Her whisper came out harsh and frantic and much too loud. She expected him to run, but he didn’t. Of course he wouldn’t.
Instead, he took hold of her hand and continued the trek forward, shaking his head and muttering what she thought might have been “Together.”
27
Inside the cult’s main building was a big room, low-ceilinged. It was too dark to make out much detail, but it smelled musty, like old carpeting. Camp Jesus, frayed at the edges. Luc ignored the way his pulse pounded in his skull, doing his best to concentrate instead on getting them out of here alive. Squinting, he could make out crosses and prints on the walls. Rows of wooden chairs faced what must have been a sort of altar at the opposite end of the space.
This was it? The place where these people worshiped their angry god? Luc had never been much for religion, but he’d always felt a sort of awe in France’s cathedrals and ancient stone churches. This windowless space inspired nothing.
There were doors off to each side and a double set straight ahead, but Abby was already headed to the left. When she paused, he got close enough to stir her hair with his breath and whispered, “Open it. I’ll go in.”
She turned the knob and pulled, and he entered a room that felt immediately different. First of all, there was breathing.
A lot of breathing.
He could see enough to realize that there were people waiting here, together in one big space. It felt like a trap, like some demented surprise party.
Only…that was snoring, wasn’t it?
Somebody snuffled, a quiet, high-pitched, plaintive sound, and everything crystallized. All the kids were here. Not with their parents in those cozy-looking cabins, but here, in this big, cavernous space.
It smelled like…like urine, he realized. Diapers, maybe. Other things, too, that he couldn’t identify, but the entirety of it freaked him out like nothing had before.
They’re expecting the End of Days. And I’m beginning to think Isaiah would not be against bringing it about himself, if need be.
Abby’s words came back to hit him hard in the chest, and his instincts told him to back out.
That was when the voice whispered.
“Abby?”
