But it was difficult not to feel a fierce surge of adrenaline. I was here. I was going inside, and I would have a chance, just a chance, to end this.
I missed Luis. I missed knowing that he was with me, connected to me, caring for me. It hurt to feel so alone, but it would all be worth it if this worked.
The van door slid open on a brilliant clear sky, and warmer air rushed inside, smelling of freshly turned earth and trees. Instead of the armed driver, there were two young people smiling at us from the other side—dressed in identical outfits to what we now wore, but accessorized with bits of color: a red and white kerchief over the girl’s smooth brown hair, and a bright orange braided belt on the boy. They both looked well, happy, and eerily content. “Welcome,” the girl said, and held out her hand to help the older woman out of the van. “You’re very welcome here. I know the trip was a little scary, but you’re safe now. You’re with friends.”
She hugged the older woman, who seemed surprised, then hugged her back quickly and awkwardly, as if she’d forgotten the skill. I’d never really known it, but when the hug came for me, I was ready. No hug for Merle, who shook hands with the boy as he got out. The last one out was our younger companion on the journey, who was offered a handshake, too, and a hug. He seemed to enjoy the hug more. So did the girl.
The boy greeter produced a clipboard, consulted it, and said, “Merle?” Merle raised his hand. “You’re going to be in the second lodge. Kale?” That was our younger companion. “First lodge. Laura Rose?” I slowly raised my hand, not very high. “Third lodge. Oriana, you’re in third lodge, too. Everything’s in there for you—clothes, toiletries, a little gift to welcome you to the family.”
The girl took up the patter, smiling brightly. “A few rules before we let you go,” she said. “I know, rules, we come here to get away from them—but these are simple, I promise. We share work and resources, but don’t take anyone else’s personal things without permission. There’s no alcohol, drugs, or smoking allowed, because we believe in good health. We work hard, but we do have fun, too. Oh, and stay away from the fences. If you see any of the Outsiders, don’t talk to them. Just come and get one of us wearing colors; we’ll take care of it for you. Clear?”
The young man who’d come in with us, Kale, looked at her and said, very directly, “We got to go to church, too?”
“You don’t have to,” she said. “But we’d like it, of course. The Church is the core of our community. We’re not all true believers, though, and we don’t reject people just because they don’t worship as we do. We believe our truth will become clear.”
He looked doubtful, but also a little relieved. “And what about work?”
“We expect you to pull your weight, Kale. Nobody gets a free ride here; we’re not the Outside. But you do the work you can do, and want to do. We all pull together here, and we have a duty to one another and to our community.”
“We get paid?”
This time she laughed. “No, we don’t get paid. But we all get what we need. We’ve proved that you don’t need money to have a society; you just need community.”
She had the light and sparkle of a true believer, and even Kale—who I felt was probably as cynical as Merle, in his way—seemed charmed into agreement, at least for now.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you my name,” the girl said. “It’s Georgie. And this is Marcus.”
And that, it seemed, concluded our introduction. Georgie and Marcus walked away to talk to another group. The four of us, momentarily bonded by our shared experience, looked at one another, and then Merle, with a nod, set off for his lodge—a long, barracks-style building clearly marked with a number. Kale shrugged and followed, and Oriana and I headed for the third building.
The compound was both what I’d observed from the outside and a great deal different. The smell, for one thing—it had a rich, healthy sort of smell, of growing things, flowers, grasses, trees, the dark spice of fertilizer. I hadn’t expected the explosions of color—flower beds planted neatly along the paths, bordered with carefully arranged stones. The grass was kept clean and evenly trimmed.
It looked ... peaceful.
The people didn’t look the same as those I’d seen at the other encampments, either; they seemed to be happy, healthy, moving with purpose, and—when speaking or working with another—kind as well.
And there were children.
I felt sick at the sight of them, here, in this place, but they were everywhere—dressed in bright colors, though in similar patterns to what the adults wore. I remember the feral children I’d seen in Colorado, but there was no evidence of that abuse here; these boys and girls ran and played happily. A guardian (or teacher) followed groups of them, but it didn’t appear to be a sinister sort of caretaking.
It took me a few moments to spot the underlying pattern, but when I did, the dread grew stronger. The groups of children were not, as I’d first assumed, random. No, they were all composed of the same number of children—eight—and within each group there were four sets, two wearing blue, two wearing orange, two wearing green, and two wearing a golden yellow. They weren’t organized by age, either; I saw older children and younger wearing the same color. Nor were they organized in any way by the gender of the child. In some groups, boys and girls were evenly distributed, but in others there was a predominance of one or the other.
I went back to the colors—blue, orange, green, gold.
Blue for water—Weather Wardens. Orange must be Fire, and green reserved for Earth.
But that left gold. And I didn’t know what it meant.
We reached the lodge marked with our number, and entered. Inside, it was exactly what I’d expected—a long, low building, filled with two-level cots. Each cot was neatly made, and contained exactly the same things—sheets, a pillow, a blanket, and a small black pouch hanging from the end like a saddlebag. There were warm woven rugs on the bare floor, and gooseneck lamps at each bed. The windows were plentiful, and sunlight poured in to make the room feel almost comfortable. It smelled pleasantly of herbs and soap.
A middle-aged woman came forward, wiping her hands on a red-checked towel, and smiled as she offered me her hand. Her grip was firm and a little moist. “Hello, you must be Laura Rose. And Oriana?” She repeated the handshake. “Wonderful to have you join us. Please, come with me. I’ll show you your bunks.”
Our beds were near the middle of the room, and each of us had been given a top berth. It occurred to me that placing us so, in the middle and up high, made it very difficult for us to do anything unobserved, or to easily slip out. Their warm welcome to the contrary, they didn’t yet trust us.
Under other circumstances, I would have approved of their caution.
On each bed was the same black saddlebag that I saw slung at the foot of each of the others in the room, but ours were sitting squarely in the center of the bed, and each had a small bouquet of flowers leaning against it.
“My name’s Willa,” our greeter said. “I’m the manager of the lodge, so if there’s anything you need, anything you see that needs to be fixed or causes you concern, please come to me. Just ask anybody for Willa; they’ll know me. Oh, and your kit there has soap, toothbrushes, toothpaste, deodorant, lotion, washcloths, towels. There are robes and slippers in the lockers at the back, so find some you like and put your name on the door. Any personal items you don’t have that you need, let me know—that includes medications, okay? We have a library in the center of the camp if you need reading material.”
Oriana looked nervous, but she said, “My doctor says I should take vitamins.”