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.“Our luck’s improving,” Maggie said.“It’s going to snow tonight.”More snow didn’t sound lucky when we were headed for the border in the next couple days.“Why’s that good?” I said.“Barnabas and John—they were the ones driving the other truck last night—they’ll be back in a few hours.The snow’ll cover their tracks.We can sit tight for a week and hope the guys following us decide we’ve left the state.”I could feel myself wanting to believe Maggie’s fantasy about how the snow would save us, but so far things hadn’t been that magical.“The feds know who you are.They know you have a brother.I can’t believe you think they won’t find us.”“Avie, this place, these people, they’re off the grid.They got rid of IDs, credit cards.They don’t take salaries or pay taxes or do anything else to clue the government into their existence.” Maggie opened a door on the side of the church.“I thought we were going to the Bunker,” I said.“Almost there,” Maggie answered.“Did you grow up here?”“No, a few hundred miles away.I stayed here, though, several years ago when I decided to take a break from law and revisit my life choices.”I was dying to ask, What life choices, but I knew Maggie’d never answer that.“What kind of law did you practice?”“Civil rights.”I felt like every new thing Maggie told me turned my thoughts about her inside out.Sunlight poured into the church even though the windows were narrow slits in the three-foot-thick walls.A skinny balcony circled the church hall.We walked up the main aisle through rows of long wooden tables and benches.Up on the wall in front, a simple cross hung between a Star of David and a yin and yang.“I’ve never seen a church like this,” I said.“It’s not just a church.It’s also the school and community center.”Behind the dais, a staircase led up to the balcony.Maggie punched a code into a panel on the wall and the door in front of us unlatched.I unzipped my jacket.“You might want to keep that on,” Maggie said.I left my jacket open.“How long has Salvation been around?”“Hmm.Forty years, maybe.It started with army veterans like Rogan.When Maggie opened the door, I saw four rough wood steps before the rest disappeared in a black hole.She reached for a lantern just inside the door and lit it.I followed her down.“Was Rogan in the Middle East?” I asked.“Saudi Arabia, then Iraq, then Afghanistan.He returned with a healthy distrust of authority and a hatred for Al Qaeda, the Taliban, and other oppressors of the human soul.”At the bottom of the steps, Maggie held up the lantern and said, “Ah, the Bunker.Our home away from home.”I dropped my bags.My breath clouded in the light and I zipped my jacket back up.The room was huge, bigger than the church hall overhead.The walls and ceiling and floor were all flat, dead grey.The corner closest to us was set up like a kitchen with a sink and camp stoves.Folded canvas cots were piled to one side.Maggie carried her duffel bag over to a padlocked cabinet at the far end as I walked along the shelves that ran the length of the walls.They were loaded with jars of hand-canned cherries, pears, and tomatoes, and stacked with gallon cans labeled water, flour, oats, powdered milk.Sacks of beans and rice were piled as high as my waist.This wasn’t just a storeroom.No wonder they called this the Bunker.These people were ready for a catastrophe.Maggie pointed to a walled-off corner.“Chemical toilets.Sorry.No shower.But I know a few women here who might take pity on us and lend us theirs.”“There are other women?”“Forty, forty-five, depending on who’s still here since the last time I visited.”I heard her spin a lock and watched her open the cabinet.She held the door, blocking me from seeing what she was doing, but I caught a glimpse of what she pulled out of her duffel and stuffed in there: the wall hangings with their secrets.Stitch-coded names, dates, and details that could blow a hole in Congress.She snapped the lock back on.“Are there more places like Salvation?” I said.“I’m convinced there are [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]