“Sickos out of control,” says Pierre, his lip fat with Copenhagen. He’s talking about the teenage girl a few APL thugs put in the cage in New Jersey. They tossed gasoline and a match on her. “Trying to take advantage while everyone’s scared.”
Eight days after you visit Tawrny, he texts you on the burner to say it’s happening soon. Further instructions forthcoming. You pocket the phone, and your stomach is a crockpot of nerves. Someone’s TV is blaring over in Electronics, and you can hear the news people arguing about the collapse of negotiations. The government’s paralyzed, spinning out, though from your POV, the government hasn’t done shit for anyone in your lifetime, so it’s the one thing you’re happy to let burn. That night you’re scheduled to hit the streets with the Reverend Andrade and Ginna to pass out sandwiches. Despite it all, the Rev and his wife keep plugging away. You hug Toby, but he’s distracted, trying to teach Pierre and Kelly the signs they need to understand the plot of his favorite book about an intrepid kid who crash-lands in the wilderness with nothing but an axe. You kiss Raquel goodbye and for no particular reason you want to hold her for longer.
“Just when you get the cash from Rev, go pick something up from the Kroger. Everyone’s saying people is beating down the door and running off with stuff.”
“They got the guards.”
“Not no more. Everyone’s been talking about it all day. The Pastor’s loons been at it. Ask Pierre.”
And Pierre gives you a solemn look and shows you the videos on his phone: Across the country, The Pastor’s disciples are running wild in a “Loyalty March,” cutting their scalps open with box cutters and throwing trash cans through windows. “In Coshocton, it only looked like a few hundred got in on the action, but it’s enough to tighten your scrote.” Pierre despairs. “Guy’s got mind control over these loonies.”
Andrade is waiting for you in the parking lot. He’s brought his old beat-to-hell Elantra instead of the minivan.
“No Ginna?” you ask as you climb into the passenger seat. He smiles weakly.
“She’s got the van. I could use your help elsewhere.”
He says no more than that. On the way out, you pass all the yard signs, flags, and banners for The Pastor. The ones with his dark profile hauling the cross on his back. The streets are quiet, though. Summer has reached its zenith, and as you pull up to the church the sun is God’s blood-soaked breath blazing around every side of the modest steeple. Under this gentle light, you see the place where you were saved, where briefly you thought you felt His power.
The two of you sit on the warm concrete steps leading to the church. You wait for the reverend to begin, but he’s squinting into the distance, trying to decide about a couple of cows munching their way through the nearby field.
“You’re freaking me out here, Rev.”
He smiles and then the smile collapses. “You’ve done so good for yourself, Keeper. And your family.”
You blush, and your heart floods with the shame at how untrue this is.
“Toby ain’t been in school for a year,” you say quietly. The state was recommending homeschooling until the crisis passed. Whatever this crisis was or whatever “passed” might mean. Some of the laid-off teachers were talking about starting up classes in the Walmart with parents paying or contributing whatever they can. “Not sure you’re looking at the situation clear.”
“Keeper, I’ve known many a man who buckled under less. People who are dead or locked away for good. You kept faith in God and you’ve come across some mighty turbulent rivers. I’ve come to love you a great deal.”
You don’t know what to say to this, so you just sit there.
“I’m going to tell you something, and you can do with it what you will.”
The reverend’s face is hard and sunburned. There is nothing to prepare you for what he says next.
“Many years ago I met a man who became my friend. He needed help with something. He was, like many of us, like myself, fighting for a better world. He and his people. He died a few years back—was killed actually—and I still miss him. He told me details about himself, things he was never supposed to tell me. We couldn’t really meet in public. We’d find excuses to go hiking and camping in the Appalachians or the Great Smoky Mountains. He was a great thinker, a great naturalist, a great man. Generous and kind and dedicated. He convinced me of his cause. So I helped him and his group for years. At first, I was only a message carrier. I found people who could be useful, but it grew to be much more than that. I became—I don’t even know how to put this—operational in their network. And this is the part where I tell you how sorry I am. Because I’m the one who recruited your friend Mr. Tawrny, and I’m the one who asked him to approach you about the Tuscarawas plant. And it was never my intention that you take the fall for that. Not in the least. They just needed information. I had no idea you’d go out and test the lock. And I’m so sorry, Keeper. I truly am.”
A creeping fog comes over you. In a past life, you might have been furious. You might’ve choked the son of a bitch out right there. Instead, you feel only numb exhaustion.
“So you weren’t never really interested in helping me,” you say, piecing this together. “You just felt guilty.”
“No,” he says quickly. “Not true. Not even a little. Even back before we were friends, I knew you as a member of my church, and I knew you and your family needed money. I thought I was helping by putting a little cash in your pocket.”
You shake your head. “Do you have any idea, Rev—do you have any fucking idea what… what happened to me when—”
“Keeper, I’m so sorry. You once told me you didn’t know how God could forgive you for the things you’ve done, and honestly, that’s how I feel. I’ll ask His forgiveness every day, but I will never deserve it.”
The heat of the day has mercifully receded, though you’re sweating again all the same.
“I believed in what they were doing, and this here, what’s happening now, this is the evidence. This is what I feared. Men have so brazenly and stupidly spoiled Creation that the harvest of this madness—well, look around the country today: We’re finally reaping what we’ve sown. All these disciples of the so-called Pastor have are bastardized versions of faith that allow them their selfish cruelty.” He finally looks at you, his sad brown eyes searching out your own. “I know they’ve reached out to you again through Mr. Tawrny. And I can say truthfully, Keeper, I played no part in this. I do not know what they want with you. Do you?”
You feel naked that he knows this.
“No.”
“What I’m asking is that you decline their offer. Whatever it is.”
“Why? Thought you was down with their cause, Rev?”
“At one time I was. I believe in the mission of men like John Brown and Jesus Christ. Sometimes what is illegal can still be just. But ever since Allen died—they’re a different group now, being run by different people, and it seems to me they’ve lost their way. Whatever is going on now… I’m afraid for you, Keeper.”
You lick between the gaps in your teeth, and pain swells in your gums. An alder’s leaves sway in the twilight breeze, and over the field, red-tailed hawks circle a spot of corn where a dead-critter feast certainly lies.
“Before Allen died, he shared some information with me. These militias—like the one you went to see—now doing unspeakable things with no one stopping them? It turns out the Love administration was funneling them arms and resources and creating liaisons with law enforcement. They were using these folks, Keeper, to try to get at them. They had a program back in the seventies that they used to infiltrate groups like the original Weather Underground, but that didn’t work out too well.” He let out a small laugh. His eyes twinkled. “Legend has it the undercovers kept sympathizing with the radicals. So this time, with the new Weathermen, they looked to folks who wouldn’t be as sympathetic. They knew we were based in the Midwest and the Southeast, and they thought they could use the League to reconnoiter and surveil and get information that law enforcement couldn’t find on its own. At least not legally.”