My satchel was still inside the hall, but I had to abandon it to catch up with the Reverend. He may have recovered from his earlier sprint down the road but would take me weeks to fully adjust to the gravity. As a result, even the fat Reverend moved faster than me.

“Follow you where?” I called after him. “Where we going?”

To be fair, I didn’t exactly want to go anywhere with him. He was, after all, my sworn enemy.

If he responded, I didn’t hear him. I hurried to catch up, rounding the corner behind the livery behind him, and nearly walked face first into a horse.

There were actually two horses and they were both hitched to a buggy, half filled with people. The man holding the leads had a wide mustache on top of two-day stubble. His hair was black and his voice contrived to sound deeper than it actually was.

“Hop on,” he said.

The Revered shuffled into the back with the others, leaving only the shotgun position, beside the driver, free. Through great effort, I hoisted myself up and into the seat beside the human mustache.

“Dan?” I said.

Beneath his gargantuan mustache, he grinned. “Who’d you expect? Salis Vern?”

He cracked the whips and we were on our way.

*****

Growing up, Dan was the king of the subtle insults. He was the sort of person you might think was paying you a compliment, but in reality, he was just insulting you in a way you were entirely blind to. I had no idea how he did it, but it was just the sort of attribute that made us best friends all through our youth.

He’d also been going steady with Anne, the girl I’d been accused of murdering when she died. I’d not had an opportunity to talk to him about it before my exile.

The sun dropped lower against the horizon. Its rays slated in a reflective arc and shifting the light into the red spectrum. In that red light, we traveled past wheat fields and a few small gardens where scarecrows sagged against posts like crucifixes. 

A couple of miles outside of town, we caught up with another wagon-load of people. And a quick glance behind us revealed two more wagons trailing us. As far as I could tell, all four were filled with adults. A faint eerie feeling crawled over my skin, noting the absence of children.

Even if I’d not known where Jerry’s field was, I’d have known we’d arrived by the lanterns and tents. I recognized the tents as those used for special events and social gatherings, such as weddings and summertime dances. But there were no bride and groom here, no music, and no dancing. Only two grimy middle-aged men with round bellies. Larry and Jerry, if I remember correctly.

At the far end of the field, I saw Jerry’s barn. Even in the dim light, I could see new unpainted planks nailed as patched and repairs atop the other grey and sun faded boards.

“It’s the bunkhouse,” Dan said, steering the team behind the other buggy.

He must have seen me staring at it.

“Why do you need a bunkhouse?” I asked.

Dan chewed on the question—and perhaps his mustache—before answering.

“Some of the youngsters were walking ten miles a night—five up and five back. And they had to cross rivers to get here.”

“Like the East Fork,” I offered.

Dan eyed me suspiciously but then nodded. He wasn’t an Elder and thus, hadn’t been at the meeting. So, he didn’t know how much of the situation has been divulged, so chose his words carefully.

“Rather than having the kids walk all this way and risking then getting hurt, it made sense to have them sleep here. So, we converted Jerry’s old barn into a sort of bunkhouse.

I nodded back at him and then shifted my gaze to the bunkhouse. The windows were draped with dark fabric.

All four wagons pulled through the hole in the fence into Jerry’s field. We cut across the grass in what was becoming an established path and then stopped beside the largest of three tents.

I was about to ask Dan if he had any kids when something unexpected caught my attention. My eyes widened and knees weakened. Gasping, I stood in the wagon and then further up onto the seat to get a better view.

“Oh, my holy God,” I said.

In the past fifteen years, I’d visited more than a hundred planets. I’d seen some great and terrible things. Some, like the labor camps of Jarvis-5, haunts me to this day. But nothing compared to this.

Next Chapter: The hole