Then Father Tom walks over and says, “Put it back, Connor.” He sounds calm and patient, but firm. I think about bluffing, but I know that voice. It’s what my mom sounds like when she knows exactly what I’m up to.
They knew I’d try it. They were ready.
I silently reach into my sleeve and take the fork out. I put it back where it was. The men let me go.
“I like your spirit,” Father Tom says. “But you need to understand that when you do these things, there’s a price. Not for you. For the man who calls himself your father.”
I lunge to my feet. I don’t even think before I do it. My fists are clenched. “Don’t hurt him!” It just kind of bursts out of me.
The men on either side of me laugh, like they think I’m funny. Stupid. Weak. I shove the chair back so hard it tips over, and the laughter stops. “Pick that up and put it back,” Father Tom says. “You’re not a child. Don’t throw tantrums.”
The sick thing is that there’s something about the way he says it that makes me want to obey. Want to please him.
I kick the chair and send it spinning down the wood floor instead. Another man down the row who’s standing there stops it with a booted foot and looks at Father Tom. Then he sets it upright.
“That’s disrespectful,” Father Tom says. “Go get it, Connor. Put it back where it belongs. Now. Or you’ll make me do something very unpleasant.”
He’s using Sam, and I hate it, I hate it. He hasn’t said what he’d do, but it doesn’t matter, it would be bad. And I can’t get Sam hurt because I’m pissed off and scared.
I go get the chair. I bring it back to the table. I slide it in place, and then I look at Father Tom.
He smiles and pats me on the shoulder. “Good boy,” he says, like I’m a pet. “You look fine in those clothes. Much better than those modern rags.” He means my old blue jeans, the ones that had holes in them. The ones they’ve made me put on are stiff and new and cheap, and I hate them. The black jacket itches. The shirt feels thin and homemade. The only thing they let me keep were my Nike shoes.
I want to tell him his clothes suck. I stay quiet.
Father Tom follows as the men walk me back to the Quarters, a long bunkhouse where the men sleep. Long rows of identical cots, with old surplus army trunks at the foot of each bed for clothes and whatever personal items they’re allowed to have. They’ve assigned me a bunk, and these stupid clothes to put on; my regular ones got taken away when they made me change. They said it was to wash them.
I don’t think that was true.
“Our routine doesn’t vary,” Father Tom tells me as he walks me to my bunk. “You have thirty minutes for private prayer and contemplation; you may read your Bible if you wish. Then bed.”
“I want to see Sam,” I tell him.
“Sam’s fine,” he says. “He won’t get any food tomorrow because of your disobedience. Disobey again, and he won’t get water. Three times, and I’ll have to assign a much worse punishment. Are we understood? I like that you are strong, Connor. But you need to know how best to use it.”
With that, he’s gone. He greets other men, shakes hands, claps shoulders in that way they all touched me in the church. Like a ritual.
Once he’s gone, they all stop talking and go to their bunks—all except for a group who stands near the door. They’re not wearing the same clothes the rest of us are; they have regular ones, checked shirts and T-shirts and jeans that don’t look so stiff and awkward. They look almost normal, compared to what I have on.
They’re the men from the RV, plus a few more. In a strange sort of way, they’re familiar at least. So I go to them, and they stop talking and look at me with either annoyance or amusement. I focus on Caleb. “When do I get my clothes back?”
Caleb puts his hand on my shoulder. “These are your clothes, Brother. Wear them with pride.”
Oh hell no, I won’t. I want my clothes. I remember going with Mom to the mall in Knoxville to buy those jeans, and the Avengers T-shirt I love. I need to have them back. They’re not the past. They’re my future. In the real world.
That’s why they took them.
I look down at myself. I look like them now. That’s what they want. They’re trying to change me bit by bit. Make me someone else. Just like Father Tom made me do what he said.
I need to get the hell out of here.
“Go pray,” Caleb says, and pushes me away. “Thirty minutes to lights out.”
I don’t pray. I just sit there, pretending, watching the others. They seem to actually be doing it. The RV crew makes sure they do, I realize; they walk up and down the aisle, and they’re checking. I stop pretending and actually pray when Caleb pays attention to me. Dear God, please help Sam. Please make sure he’s okay. Please help us get out of here and keep Mom and Lanny safe. Please get rid of these people.
The time passes pretty fast. The last five minutes men start undressing, stripping down to their underwear. It’s all the same, white boxers. I take off my coat and fold it up on the trunk, and pretend to be untying my shoes. I take long enough that the lights go off, and I’ve still got my pants and shirt on. I get in bed and pull up the covers to my neck. I have to stay still and wait until I think most everybody is asleep. When a chorus of snoring starts, it’s time to go.
But I don’t go.
I lie there, afraid that I’m going to get caught. This seems way too easy; Father Tom had people watching me at dinner. And he’d probably have someone watching me here too. I’m afraid that if I try to sneak out, Sam might be punished even more. But I have to do something. Lying here won’t help.
Aria wants to meet me by the falls. Sister Harmony told me not to go there. I don’t know which of them I should believe. One of them has to be lying. I want to believe Aria; she’s pretty and my age, and she seems to like me. Sister Harmony just seems angry.
I finally make a decision. I slip out of my bed and move quietly to the door. No guards posted, everybody’s in bunks now, even Caleb; I can hear him snoring when I tiptoe past him. He’s closest to the exit. I’m afraid the hinges will creak, but they don’t. The door opens silently, and I slip out.
Outside. I feel my heart pounding, and I stop once I get the door shut and lean against the wall to breathe for a minute. I stay in the shadows. I pause to look around. The camp is loud with croaking frogs, and I can hear the snoring from the building out here too. There’s not very much moonlight. Clouds have moved in, thick masses of darkness showing thin silver at the edges. Something smells a little bad, like garbage, maybe the septic tanks.
I freeze and back up against the wall of the Quarters as I hear footsteps. There are Assembly men patrolling the camp at night, and one’s walking past me. I hold my breath and flatten myself back in the shadows. He’s going to see me. But he doesn’t even look toward the building. He seems tired. He yawns, scratches his head, cracks his neck, and moves on toward the other house, the one where the women sleep. The Garden.
I can also see, across the open space in the middle, the concrete building where they took Sam. I walked by it a few times earlier, trying to figure out where he was, and finally saw a metal shed, kind of like a box, at the end of the building. It’s shut with a padlock, the combination kind, not the key kind. I don’t know how to pick locks, and at least before there was a guard sitting right beside that door. Maybe not at night? I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure Father Tom would expect me to go there.