“Here we have our armory and food storage,” the Messenger said, nodding at a broad stone building. With its bulletproof exterior, steep metal roof, and tall narrow windows, it was built for minimal maintenance and would be easy to defend. Like a nondenominational church built by Stalin’s favorite architect.
“Beyond are various shop and maintenance facilities,” the Messenger said, pointing at a row of three hulking, utilitarian boxes clad with galvanized sheet metal, stretching away into the haze of falling snow. “Of course this is only a fraction of our land. We have dozens of greenhouses for year-round food production as well as livestock barns and grazing areas. A creek comes down the mountain, giving us abundant water. We are four hundred strong. No matter what happens in the outside world, we have everything we need to be completely self-sufficient.”
“Tell me about the Dark Time,” Peter said. “How will it happen?”
The Messenger’s eyes twinkled. “That information is held close. Only a few can know the details. You are not one of them.”
“That sounds like a man hedging his bets. The police know about you. They’re coming.”
The Messenger smiled and clapped his hand on Durant’s shoulder. “Tom is my eyes and ears in law enforcement statewide. Thanks to him, nobody even knows we exist. And after tomorrow, the police will have more to do than they can handle. In a week’s time, most will no longer report for duty. Make no mistake, friend, the Dark Time is coming. All the lights will go out for a very long time.”
“You’re full of shit,” Peter said. “Just like every other nutjob predicting the end of the world. When it doesn’t happen on schedule, your followers will leave. Your movement will fall apart.”
“Respect the Messenger,” Vance growled, then backhanded Peteracross the face again, this blow harder than the last. He saw a bright flash and fell to his knees on the cold, wet grass.
The Messenger looked down at him with pity. “You are blind to the truth, friend. Economic mobility is at an all-time low. Inequality is higher than it’s ever been, worse than the time of the robber barons. Drug companies are addicting us to their products. Artificial intelligence is coming for our jobs. The government has been captured by moneyed interests. There is no will to change when officials are busy lining their pockets. In the years to come, nothing will get better for ordinary Americans. They will only get worse. So I ask you, which is better, to be dead or to be enslaved?”
He shook his head gravely. “I think you and I would have the same answer to that question. In fact, you appear to be exactly the kind of person we need in our Movement. Strong, brave, loyal, relentless. Like Hollis here. Unfortunately, Hollis believes your loyalty lies elsewhere. He does not think we could ever trust you. Sadly, I must agree with his assessment.”
Peter got one foot under him but Vance put a heavy hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place. The Messenger didn’t seem to notice. “Don’t you see, friend? The industrial world is on the brink of collapse. Storms and wildfires grow more severe every year. Heat waves and droughts last longer. Disease is rampant, one epidemic after another. Our civilization is impossibly fragile. The end is inevitable. All it will take is a nudge to bring it all crashing down. We are simply getting a jump on the apocalypse. When the lights go out, people will get hungry and cold. They will turn on each other. Humanity will devour itself, as it has been doing for centuries, ever since the industrial revolution. But those of us who are prepared, those with the strength and vision and will to survive, we will thrive by returning to the old ways.”
“You have a pretty dim view of humanity,” Peter said. “I’ve been to war. I’ve seen the worst that mankind can dish out. But I’ve also seenthe best of humanity, who we can be when we’re part of something larger, when we’re needed. I’ve also read my history. People aren’t perfect, but they usually do the right thing eventually. Whatever you have planned, all you’re doing is robbing us of the chance to make things better.”
“I wish I could agree with you,” the Messenger said sadly. “Unfortunately, you have the wrong reading of history, the wrong reading on humanity. Men are animals. We will only ever be animals. The Dark Time will prove me right. Sadly, you won’t be here to see it.”
“You talk about the end of civilization, but you’re only four hundred people,” Peter said. “What about the rest of the country?”
The Messenger smiled. “Our Movement is not alone. I am in contact with a hundred movements just like ours, across the continent and across the world, providing advice and assistance. Each has a plan and stands ready to execute. We are at the forefront. Once we begin, the others will follow our lead toward a simple, honest life on the land, the way it was meant to be.”
“Ah, the good old days,” Peter said. “Measles and dysentery, women dying in childbirth, a life expectancy of forty. You really are crazy as a shithouse rat.”
Vance raised his hand to hit Peter again, but the Messenger shook his head. “Over the years, many have thought as you do. I will prove them wrong. Sadly, you won’t be here to see it.”
The Messenger gestured to his right, where a small cinder-block building stood aligned with the near corner of the armory. “You will spend the evening in our stockade.”
But Peter was staring to the left where a wooden wall stood facing the meadow. Built of heavy planks nailed to a pair of thick posts, the whole thing was maybe ten feet wide and eight feet tall. The raw planks were stained dark in places. A half dozen ring bolts had been installed at the wall’s top and bottom. Round rocks of various sizes layin small piles at each side. Half the meadow’s lighting seemed directed at the wall, as though it were a stage.
The Messenger saw him looking. “Ah,” he said, as if seeing a birthday cake made just for him. “That is our punishment wall. At midnight, you will be chained to it. Your life will end as the Dark Time begins. You will be our blood sacrifice to the gods of our new world.”
51
Vance grabbed Peter’s arm and walked him toward the stockade.
Peter didn’t fight it. With his hands cuffed in front, he felt better about his chances, but he’d have Hollis to deal with, too. Vance didn’t appear to be armed, but Peter had seen the bulge of a pistol on Hollis’s hip. Not to mention all the other people in the compound who bought into the Messenger’s lunacy. Even if he managed to escape, they would only increase their security as they tried to find him. That would just make things harder for Lewis and Manny.
At the small block building, Hollis told Vance to stand guard. “I’ll send someone to relieve you when the time comes.” A barred window opening faced the punishment wall, as if to provide a preview of what was coming. The heavy steel door faced the armory. Beside it was another barred opening. Hollis unlocked the door with a key on a ring. Vance pushed it open and shoved a stumbling Peter inside.
The static flared at the size of the cell, plain cinder-block walls maybe eight feet square. There was no heat, no light except what shonethrough the two small windows. In a corner, a stinking black five-gallon bucket served as the toilet. A dark shadow resolved itself into Carlotta and Ellie huddled together on a cinder-block bench built into the wall.
“Hey, guys,” Peter said, putting on a smile. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
“Meatball!” Ellie jumped up, her face bright as a candle flame. She came to give him a hug, then stopped abruptly when she saw the handcuffs. “What the hell? You were supposed torescueus.”
“I traded myself for you. They’re going to let you go in the morning.”
“What about Ma—”
Peter put his finger to his lips, then pointed to the window opening, where the edge of Vance’s broad shoulder was visible, and gave her a wink. “Nobody else is coming. They have no idea where we are.”
