“State your business,” one of the guards shouted down to us.
Macon had been preparing for this moment, so he stepped up on our behalf. “We want to join your settlement.”
“All of you?” the guard asked.
“All of us,” Macon said.
There was some discussion being had on the other side of the wall. I pulled Kitten closer to me, shielding him with my body just in case the locals turned hostile.
“Brother Larry will see you.”
I had assumed that a place named Promised Land might have religious roots, not to mention we were smack dab in the middle of the Bible Belt, but hopefully this settlement was without the bigotry disguised as righteousness or any of the -isms that had managed to survive a plague when so many people hadn’t–humankind did love its petty hatreds. Macon’s initial reports on the tolerant nature of this settlement sounded promising, but I was a skeptic through and through.
The gates opened slowly, and Gizmo’s head perked up with renewed interest at the sound of creaking machinery, probably already thinking about a way to modernize it. I insisted on going first. I was undoubtedly outnumbered, but if something went wrong, I’d do whatever it took to buy the others some time to get away. Once we were through the first gate, we saw yet another fence that appeared to be a replica of the first, and I wondered just how many layers there were to this protective onion.
“Impressive,” I said aloud. Whoever designed this compound had a mind for security and a healthy amount of paranoia to boot.
The guards, each armed with assault rifles and various weapons meant for close combat, introduced themselves by name and led us to a covered pavilion, which included a picnic bench replete with a tablecloth and fresh-cut flowers. There, we laid down our packs as the guards offered us refreshments.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” I told our crew, “and don’t drink that,” I said regarding the beverages they offered us.
“It’s lemonade,” one of the guards said, drinking down an entire glass in one go. “It’ll keep you from getting scurvy.”
“Good enough for me,” Macon said and followed suit.
I set mine aside. Don’t eat the food and don’t drink the water was the first rule of any new encounter. Kitten obeyed my order, but his longing look at the lemonade told me he’d rather not.
“Cipher, look.” Kitten grabbed my arm and pointed at the cows grazing in the fields that surrounded us, calves too, which was a sight to see. Beyond the pastures were rows and rows of food crops. They had produce and livestock, which meant meat, milk, cheese, fresh vegetables, and a sustainable way to produce food without having to hunt and scavenge. Teresa and Kitten especially could benefit from a steady diet.
But I was getting ahead of myself.
The man I assumed to be Brother Larry emerged from the interior fence soon after, riding a bicycle along a paved pathway that looked as if it used to be a country road or a very long driveway. There were no roads to Promised Land as far as I could tell, which only heightened my curiosity as to this settlement’s origin story.
I’d expected Brother Larry to be wearing something clerical or cult-leader adjacent, but he had on faded blue jeans and a workman’s button-down with a pair of sturdy leather boots, a tool belt too, as though we’d interrupted him in the middle of some home repair project. The wide-brimmed hat on his head threw his face into shadow, but he removed it once he’d docked his bike. Judging from his salt-and-pepper hair and the deep grooves in his face, I put him in his late fifties, which was somewhat rare these days. He had the look of a weathered sea captain, maybe even a former military man, definitely someone who didn’t mind getting his hands dirty.
“Greetings,” the man said and shook hands all around. His palms were rough and calloused with scabbed cuts on his fingers that were still healing over and dirt caked underneath his fingernails. Growing up in the city, I’d never appreciated people who could grow things or build things or work with their hands–I was something of a wiseass baby gamer when the plague hit–but I sure as shit did now.
We made our own round of introductions and the man said, “I’m Lawrence Young. Brother Larry around here.” He grabbed a mason jar and filled it with lemonade from the five-gallon dispenser, then drank it down. He wiped the sweat from his brow. “Refreshing, isn’t it?”
I’d positioned myself at the front of the pack, and it seemed the others, even Macon, were waiting for me to speak, but I was still scoping things out.
“I was told you kids are looking to join our Fellowship,” Larry said. I nodded and he pointed to the cloth-covered picnic bench. “Care to join me?”
A quick exchange of glances and a nod from Artemis confirmed that Macon and I would proceed while she hung back. Kitten looked nervous as hell, holding onto his cat like she was a life preserver. I shot him a wink.
“So, where do you hail from, gentlemen?” Larry asked once we were all seated.
Macon replied in long-answer form, citing his multiple generations of land-ownership on American soil, and I said simply, “D.C.”
“Our nation’s capital,” Larry said, nodding amicably, though there wasn’t much of an organized government left, and the major cities that remained were definitely not united in any way, all of them defending their turf while trying to swindle their neighbors. Our “one nation under God” was a match strike away from burning to the ground, but Larry seemed like the patriotic sort, so I kept my pessimistic thoughts to myself.
Macon told him about our experience in Atlanta, as well as the long walk we took to get here, and Brother Larry, to his credit, listened intently. He was giving off friendly grandfather vibes, but I remained suspicious.
At a break in our collective life stories, Larry said, “Well, I’m impressed that you kids have made it this far. We’re a bit selective about who we offer permanent shelter to here. Oftentimes, people will stop by for a meal and a bit of fellowship before moseying along.”
“We’re looking for a place to settle,” Macon said. “Somewhere we can build a home.”
“I can appreciate that. We’re a tight-knit community though. No Rabids, no crime, and no nonsense. We like to keep it that way.”
