Chapter fourteen
FIVE DAYS later, Nate stared out the window as they passed a black carriage being pulled by a single horse. Inside the carriage sat two men dressed in dark clothes with wide-brimmed hats. Both had thick beards. They waved as the truck passed them by. Art waved back cheerily.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Nate said as they passed a sign welcoming them to Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania.
Alex snorted.
“Afraid not.”
“He’s Amish now?”
“No. But there’s a good-sized Amish population out here. Mennonites too. It seemed to fit him… after. There’s a tendency to eschew technology of any kind. It makes sense if you think about it.”
“Nothing about this makes sense. Literally nothing.”
“Try not to worry too much about it.”
Nate turned slowly to gape at him.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Alex said, a small smile on his face. Ever since that night in the Badlands, it’d been making more of an appearance. Nate wasn’t complaining. He was rather fond of the crinkles around Alex’s eyes when he smiled.
“Do you think I’ll get to ride a horse?” Art asked for what had to be the hundredth time.
“If he has horses, that is. But, I mean, he lives on a farm, right? He has to have horses. It’s like, the law.”
“I don’t think that’s quite true,” Nate told her.
She rolled her eyes.
“You don’t know that. And—” She gasped.
“Oh my heck, what if he has pigs? What if there’s bacon?”
“You just had bacon yesterday, remember? You told the waitress at the restaurant to just, and I quote, keep it coming, sweetheart.”
“She stared at me weird after that.”
“Probably because you called her sweetheart.”
“I saw it in a movie once. Wanted to try it out and see how it went. Upon retrospection, I don’t have the chops to pull it off.” She sighed dreamily.
“Pork chops.”
“You’re so weird,” Nate said, and he didn’t know if he’d ever meant anything more. She acted like such a human sometimes.
“Please, if you’d had to subsist on nothing but the energy around you for centuries until you finally got to have taste buds for the first time, you’d say the same thing.”
And then there were those other times when she said shit like that.
“Christ,” Nate muttered.
“Still working on him,” Art said with a frown.
“Why do humans say his name in vain while others use the idea of him to make themselves think they’re better than everyone else?”
“I don’t even want to get into that conversation with you,” Nate said.
“It’s futile.”
“But, Nate.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Later,” Alex said.
“We’re almost there.”
Nate glanced at him.
“Are you sure about this? I mean, he doesn’t even know we’re coming. You said he doesn’t have a phone.”
“He doesn’t. But…”
“He knows,” Art said.
“He knows I’d come find him.”
“How?” Nate asked, unsure if he actually wanted the answer.
Art winked at him.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I know. I’m practicing being mysterious. Is it working?”
“You’re an alien from another planet. You don’t need to be any more mysterious.”
“Oh. Wow. I never thought about it that way. Huh. I need to rethink a few things. Hold on.”
Nate sighed and looked back out the window.
BIRD-IN-HAND WASN’T big enough to even be called a town. It was more of a village, and it took only a couple of minutes to pass through and leave it behind. Alex had a map open in front of him on the steering wheel, glancing down at it every now and then with a frown on his face. Art sat between them, hands folded in her lap as she hummed quietly to herself.
Ten minutes outside of the village, Alex said.
“I don’t know where it is. Maybe we already passed it. We should turn around and—”
“We didn’t,” Art said.
“It’s up ahead on the right.”
Alex sighed and crumpled up the map and tossed it to the side.
“Maybe you could have told me that before I opened the map.”
“You looked like you had it under control. It isn’t my fault you’re not very good with directions. You’re a man, after all.”
He glared at her.
“Do I even want to know where you heard that one?”
“Probably not. Look. It’s there.”
Nate followed where she was pointing. Up ahead on the right was an old mailbox in the shape of a barn. Next to it was a dirt road surrounded by empty fields. In the distance, Nate could see a large copse of trees. Above them rose a thin black smudge. Smoke.
Alex slowed to a stop just before the road. They hadn’t seen another car since they’d passed through Bird-in-Hand.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked her, leaning forward against the steering wheel to study the road. He winced slightly, and Nate knew his back was probably bothering him from the almost nonstop driving they’d done since the Badlands.
“I think so,” Art said, face scrunched up.
“It feels like the right thing to do.”
“And nothing else, huh?”
She shook her head slowly.
Nothing else being the enigmatic way of asking if her… people… were here. Or on their way. Or signaling somehow.
“Not yet,” she said.
“I think there are things I have to do first. And he’s one of those things.”
She sounded unsure. Nate didn’t like that.
“All right,” Alex said.
“But you stay with me at all times, you hear me? I don’t want you out of my sight.” He glanced at Nate.
“Either of you.”
Art laughed.
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
Alex and Nate both groaned.
“What? Why did you guys do that? What did I say?”
Alex turned onto the dirt road.
IN THE trees sat a rambling farmhouse, well-kept with a sloping roof covered in what appeared to be solar panels. There was a chimney rising up on either end. It was white with blue shutters on each of the windows.
Next to it sat a large barn. The mailbox they’d seen looked to be almost an exact replica, albeit smaller. It was a rusty red with white trim, the big sliding doors open.
It looked almost like an oasis after all they’d been through. It was late April now, and unseasonably warm. But, shaded by the trees, the house looked inviting. The grass was green, and the fields around the house looked as if they’d been recently tilled. Nate wondered what would grow there. Given the bare knowledge he had of the area, he thought it would be corn.
Next to the farmhouse was a garden of flowers and tomato plants and other things he wasn’t sure of. He was a city boy mostly, or at least he had been for the past few years. He’d never had a garden of his own. He’d had a plant once, given to him for his apartment, but it’d died within a month. He hadn’t been too surprised. He’d watered it maybe twice.
There were a few trucks next to the barn. Two older sedans.
And people.
He could see a few in the fields.
A handful in the garden.
Some carrying hay out of the barn.
Two sitting on the porch in old rocking chairs.
They were dressed in jeans and work boots. The men wore white shirts. One of the women had a tank top. Some had hats.
They all looked up at the same time, watching the truck approach.
An icy chill ran down Nate’s spine.
One of the women on the porch got up and went inside the farmhouse, the screen door slapping shut behind her.
“Who are these people?” Nate asked.
“I thought you said it would be just him.”
Alex was frowning.
“I thought it would be.”
“They’re here because of him,” Art said, and they both looked down at her as Alex stopped the truck a short distance away from the house.
“I think they know. And they believe him.”
Nate wanted to tell Alex to turn around. To drive away. To get them the hell out of there. He didn’t have a good feeling about this, and if there was anything he’d learned to trust over the years, it was that twist in his gut. Maybe sometimes it’d led him astray (or at the very least, he’d ignored it, instead choosing to sink down on his knees and suck the thick cock of the junior senator, hands tugging in his hair as he choked), but usually he was spot-on.
They should leave.
He had opened his mouth to say exactly that when the woman who’d gone inside came back out.
And she was followed by another man.
Instantly, Nate knew this was who they were here to see.
He wasn’t what Nate expected. He’d been only twenty-four years old when he’d stumbled around in the dark in Cisco Grove, California, in 1964. And after that, he’d been held in the Mountain for twenty years.
If everything Alex and Art had told him was true, Oren Schraeder would have been born in 1940.
Which would have made him fifty-five years old now.
He looked younger than Alex.
Oren’s skin was tan, as if he spent his days out in the sun. His hair looked almost white and was pulled into a ponytail that rested in front of his left shoulder. He was lean and fit, jeans dusty and streaks of dirt across a white shirt that looked like what the other men wore.
He had a smile on his face, wide and toothy. He raised a hand and wiggled his fingers at them.
He stayed as he was, Alex had said. For years. He didn’t… age. He had stayed twenty-four years old for almost twenty years.
Like he’d been stuck in time.
In stasis.
And only resumed aging after Art had been electrocuted out of him.
The woman who’d gone inside to fetch him leaned over and whispered in his ear. He waved her away. Watching. Waiting.
Nate turned to tell the others that this didn’t feel right, but Alex was already out of the truck, Art scooting across the seat after him. He tried to help her down, but she told him she could do it herself. He stepped back to let her jump out of the truck.
Nate didn’t want to follow them.
He did anyway.
Alex kept Art behind him as they slowly approached the farmhouse. The people stood stock-still in the garden and in the fields and in front of the barn as if they were all waiting for something.
Nate hurried to catch up with Art and Alex. Art took his hand, squeezing it tightly.
They stopped a short distance away from the farmhouse.
Nate saw the telltale bulge of the gun tucked in the waistline of Alex’s jeans in the back. Where once the sight had frightened him, it now made him feel a little bit better. Funny how that worked out.
Nate didn’t know who’d speak first. If there was… protocol for this sort of thing.
He was in over his head, though he’d be lying if some small part of him wasn’t still thinking about how big a story this could be. How when this was all over, the narrative he could craft would probably get him hired anywhere he wanted. Or better yet, a book deal. Sure, he’d probably get pushback, but couldn’t he provide proof? The things he’d seen. The people who’d come after him. The Mountain. They couldn’t cover it up. Not all of it. He could expose them all. Maybe if they all got out of this alive and Artemis found her way… home, he could consider it. He could do something. People deserved to know, didn’t they? They deserved to know what else was out there. That if it was anything like Art, it was benevolent and kind and not to be afraid of.
It was a small part.
But it was there nonetheless, having become clearer the more all of this had sunk in.
“Oren,” Alex said.
“Oren Schraeder.”
The man on the porch nodded.
“That’s not a name I’ve heard in a very long time.” His voice was higher-pitched than Nate expected, and softer. But he had a presence around him that made it hard to look away. There was something about him that drew attention. He radiated strength and something that closely resembled peace. It was the only thing Nate could find in his extensive vocabulary to explain it. He felt soothed by this man.
“And it’s one we don’t speak out loud here.”
He didn’t like it.
“My name is Alex Weir.”
“I know who you are,” Oren said.
“I’ve been expecting you.”
Alex stiffened slightly. If Nate hadn’t known what to look for, he’d have missed it. But he’d been side by side with Alex for weeks. He’d studied him closely, far more closely than he probably cared to admit. He knew what to look for.
“That’s good,” Alex said.
Oren briefly glanced at Nate before looking back at Alex.
“I see that you’ve brought a guest.”
“This is Nate,” Alex said.
“He… found us.”
Nate snorted. That was one way to put it.
“Did he now,” Oren said.
“What a thing to find. Tell me. Does he know what it is you have huddling behind you?”
“He—”
“I can speak for myself,” Nate said.
“You don’t need to talk like I’m not here.”
Alex didn’t look too pleased at that when he glanced back.
Oren, however, was amused.
“Indeed. My apologies.” He bowed his head slightly.
“I meant no offense.”
“None taken,” Nate said, dropping Art’s hand and moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with Alex.
“And yes. I do know.”
“Interesting,” Oren said, gaze boring into Nate. He felt like flinching, looking away. Somehow, he didn’t.
“How curious the people we find when we need them most. It’s as if there is a higher power pulling the strings. Placing those in our paths that we can lean upon in our darkest hours.”
The people around them murmured quietly under their breath as if in prayer. It was over almost as quickly as it’d begun.
“Tell me, Alex,” Oren said.
“Were you followed?”
Alex shook his head. “No.”
“And you can be sure about that.”
“Yes.”
“Not even that pesky Enforcer?”
“The water guy,” Nate muttered quietly.
“How did you know about that?” Alex asked, voice hard.
Oren’s smile grew even wider.
“I have my ways. When one has been through a life-changing experience as I have, one tends to keep their ears to the ground. They didn’t have them when I was in the Mountain. Not like this… Randy. He’s tenacious. Or so I’m told.”
“And what’s going to stop him from coming directly here?” Nate blurted. He hadn’t meant to speak, and he winced when Oren’s gaze snapped back to him. It made his skin crawl.
“If you are who they say you are, if you’ve… been a part of this, why won’t they know to come here?” It was a question he’d asked Alex almost immediately when Oren’s name was mentioned back in the Badlands. He’d received a vague response, followed by Alex asking him to trust him on this.
That hadn’t been fair. But he’d gone with it, swallowing down further questions. Because he did trust Alex. And he trusted Art. If she thought they needed to come here, then they would.
But if he trusted them, then they needed to trust him. They wanted him safe. He wanted the same for them.
Oren laughed. A few of his people smiled at the sound, gazing up at him with what Nate thought was adoration.
“Oren Schraeder committed suicide in 1991. Ate a shotgun shell in a motel room outside of Olympia, Washington. A terrible tragedy. Head was blown clean off. They identified him by the license he carried on him.”
Nate felt numb.
“Not the fingerprints?”
The man who had once been Oren Schraeder stepped off the porch and walked toward them. They didn’t move. He stopped a few feet away, holding up his hands toward them.
Nate could see how unnatural they looked. Oh, he had the right number of fingers, thin and spindly though they were. But it was the details that weren’t quite right. There were no lines on his palms. No creases. He could see the veins underneath his skin. A streak of dirt. Multiple calluses.
He had no fingerprints.
His fingertips were completely smooth.
“Do you know how hard it was to find someone who suffered from adermatoglyphia with my same blood type?” he asked.
“I almost thought it was impossible. But I was provided with such a person who found their life no longer worth living. They were sad and alone. And in the end, they gave themselves to a higher power.” His gaze flickered down before coming back to Nate.
“They gave themselves to me so that I could escape the shackles that had tied me to those who would keep me chained for the rest of my life. He was a gift.” He smiled again. “Oren Schraeder died. My name is Peter Williams, and this is my home. You are safe here, Nate. We live off the land, much like the people that have been in this area for centuries. We have the solar panels on the house and use propane in the kitchen. You are off the grid now. Nothing can find you here.”
He stepped back.
Nate wished he could say that made him feel better.
It didn’t.
Oren—Peter—leaned his head to the side like he was trying to peer around the great wall of Alex.
“Hello there,” he said, voice quiet.
Nate thought Alex wouldn’t let her go. That he’d keep her right where she was, and that’d be a damn good thing.
Except she pulled away from his grasp and stepped around him. She stopped when she stood in front of them. Nate had to keep himself from putting his hand on her shoulder.
She stared up at Peter. Nate wondered what was going through her head. Eventually she said, “Hello.”
Peter bowed his head again.
“It’s nice to see you as you are now. It was… brief. The last time.”
She took another step toward him.
“It was. Did you understand what was happening to you? When they separated us?”
“Not at the time,” Peter said, voice barely a whisper.
“I remember thinking how much it hurt and how quiet it was after. How alone I felt. And then I saw you. Her. As you are now, and I felt you pulling me. But I couldn’t go. No matter how hard I tried, I could not follow.”
Nate was startled when he looked around the farmyard to see that Peter’s people had their heads bowed. Their eyes closed, lips moving silently.
“I didn’t know what they were doing,” Artemis said.
“What would happen. Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” Peter said.
“I believe you.” He held up his hands, wiggling his smooth fingertips.
“Maybe not at first. When you were torn from me, you took part of me with you. I was… bare. Wiped clean. I was Oren, but at the same time I wasn’t. I had his memories. I could remember things that had happened… before. But taking you from me took everything from myself, and I had to figure out who I was. In that respect, I was reborn. I could become something more than I’d been before. Something greater. It was necessary, I think. In the end.”
She cocked her head at him.
“Are you happy?”
A flicker of something stuttered across his face, but it was gone before Nate could figure out what it was. What was left was a trembling smile and wet eyes.
“I believe I am.” He took in a deep breath and let it out through his nose.
“I’ve been waiting for this day.”
“I know,” Art said.
“It was time for me to see you again.”
He sank to his knees in front of her.
She reached up and took his face in her small hands. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into it, moaning quietly.
“I never meant to take you from your life,” she said, voice low.
“I was scared. I wasn’t supposed to be where I was. I froze you in time. You lost years because of me.”
He shook his head as she held him.
“And you gave me something more. This is who I’m supposed to be. This is what I was made for. Here. Now. This moment. And it’s because of you I can say that. These are auspicious days. And now that you’re here, I believe it can only get better.”
She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
He sighed.
Art dropped her hands and stepped back until she bumped into Alex. He put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.
Peter Williams stood slowly. His eyes were dry. The smile had returned.
His people followed suit.
It was creepy as all hell.
“What do you call yourself now?” he asked.
Art grinned.
“Artemis Darth Vader.”
There was laughter from the people of the farm.
Even Peter chuckled.
“You are safe here,” he said again.
“They will not find you. You may rest your tired bodies without worry. Come. See what I have made in the wake of the earthquake you brought out in me.”
THE WOMAN who’d fetched Peter was named Dolores. She was in her sixties, with a kindly smile and dark eyes. She was short and trim with graying black hair. Nate noticed her fingernails seemed to be bitten to the quick. She led them toward the kitchen, fretting over them all, but especially Artemis. The others had resumed their work, gazes lingering as they followed Peter and Dolores inside the house. Nate brought up the rear, and he glanced back through the screen door before it shut in time to see them all look away.
The house itself was wide and spacious, old wooden floors creaking with every step they took. There was a great room off to the left of the door with two large sofas piled high with decorative pillows. There were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with books completely covering a far wall. Artemis let out a squeal of joy at the sight of them and was ready to rush over, but Alex stopped her. She glared up at him, and Nate almost choked at how much she looked like Alex in that exact moment. He tried not to think about the future.
There were stairs directly ahead that led to the second floor, and a hallway next to them. To the right of the main doorway was a dining room with a long table that looked as if it would fit everyone on the farm that had been there to greet them. The table was old and looked like heavy oak.
Dolores made sure they followed her to the kitchen. Peter had disappeared somewhere farther into the house, telling them they were in good hands and that he had matters to attend to. Nate hadn’t seen where he’d gone.
In the kitchen, a battery-powered radio played quietly with a voice that Nate recognized.
“…and it’s getting closer, friends,” Steven Cooper was saying.
“Can’t you see that? Can’t you feel it down to your very bones? It’s getting closer, and there will be contact. We will finally behold the wonders of the universe, our minds expanding in ways that you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. They are coming for us, friends. You mark my words. Soon, all will be revealed. All will be shown. And the picture that has been long kept hidden from us will be startlingly clear. We will see things that we have only imagined. They may try to hide it from us, they may try and tell us that it isn’t real. But we have the photographic evidence. We have the proof. And don’t even get me started on what our government is capable of. They work with the Russians. With the Saudis. They release AIDS upon the population to try and cull the herd. They want to control us by telling us we need vaccinations. That we need to drink the water. But we know. In two days, that comet will be as close as it will ever be, and we know. Caller, you’re on the air. What are your thoughts on—”
Dolores turned the radio off.
“I could listen to him all day,” she said, almost sounding apologetic.
“I know he’s… a little out there, but…” She glanced down at Art before looking back at Alex. “How far off can he be?”
Nate didn’t know what to say to that. He wouldn’t have pinned Dolores as the type to listen to such bullshit. Granted, he didn’t know the first thing about her, but still. She looked like someone’s grandmother.
“I don’t know,” Nate said, for lack of anything else.
She barely gave him a glance. Her focus was on Artemis, who was looking wide-eyed around the sunlit kitchen. A window above the sink was open, with pots of flowers on the sill. Nate could hear people out in the yard, talking and laughing.
“I bet you’re hungry,” she said.
“You must have come a very long way.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Art said.
“I could eat an entire pig right about now.”
Dolores chuckled.
“I’m afraid we don’t have any pigs here. Or any meat at all, really. Peter believes consuming flesh makes the mind weaker. We have all converted to veganism. Nothing that comes from an animal is allowed in the house.”
“Huh,” Art said, cocking her head.
“That sounds terrible.”
“Artemis,” Alex warned.
She winced.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I merely meant to say that while we are staying with you, we will honor the traditions of your home. And then, after we leave, I will find a waitress to give me all the bacon I require.”
Alex sighed.
Dolores didn’t look fazed in the slightest.
“I’m sure. We’ll all sit for dinner at seven. There will be winter squash and lentil stew. But for now, I do have some freshly made chickpea fritters that I’m sure you’ll love.”
Art looked dubious.
“Oh yes. That sounds… delicious.”
Nate adored her.
Dolores smiled.
“They are. I should know. I made them myself. Please, sit.” She looked up at Alex and Nate, smile fading slightly.
“You as well, gentlemen. Peter will return shortly to show you where you will be staying.”
There was a small circular table in a breakfast nook in the kitchen. There were four chairs set around it. Art pulled out one of the chairs, climbed up and sat on her knees, hands on the table. A vase of wildflowers sat in the middle. She reached out and traced a finger along the velvety petals.
“I like flowers,” she said.
“They’re so colorful. We don’t have ones like these where I come from.”
Dolores dropped a plate on the counter. It didn’t break, but it clattered loudly.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, face slightly red.
“Clumsy of me. Just slipped right out of my hand.” She turned toward the oven, switching on the light and leaning over to peer inside.
Nate stared at her back.
“It’s fine,” Alex said in a low voice.
Nate wasn’t sure that it was.
And maybe Alex wasn’t either, because he pulled his chair close to Art. He grabbed a third and set it next to his before sitting down. He nodded toward the chair. Nate sat. They were far too close. Their elbows bumped. Their legs brushed together. There was enough room for them to spread out, but this was… better somehow. More comfortable.
Dolores was still a little flushed when she came back, a tray filled high with fritters in her hands. She set it down carefully on the table, nudging the vase off to the side. The fritters were brown and crisp, oblong and flat, but Nate couldn’t even be sure what a chickpea was. There was a dish with a white paste sitting in the middle of the fritters.
The presentation was immaculate.
“It’s a garlic dill sauce,” Dolores said.
“Made from scratch.”
“It looks wonderful,” Nate said, trying to put her at ease. She looked more nervous than she had when they first arrived. He wondered if she was still stuck on Art’s comment about the flowers. Nate didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.
But Dolores acted as if she barely heard him. Her focus was again on Art.
“Yeah,” Art said.
“It looks good. I can’t wait to try it. Might I have something to drink? Do you have juice?”
“Oh, yes,” Dolores said.
“I have apple.” She hurried back toward the fridge.
Art leaned closer to Alex.
“What’s garlic dill sauce, and why does it sound gross? Also, those hash brown cake things smell weird.”
Nate snorted but covered it up with a cough when Dolores looked back at them over her shoulder.
Alex took one of the fritters and broke it in half. He dipped it into the sauce and took a bite. Art watched his every move. Alex chewed slowly. Nate could see the exact moment when Alex decided he hated everything going on in his mouth but was going to put on a brave face for Art.
“It’s good,” he grunted.
“I don’t believe you,” Art said.
“Neither do I,” Nate said.
Alex scowled.
“Just eat it. We don’t want to offend her.”
Art squinted at him.
“Why would she be offended? Don’t you think it would be more polite to tell her that what she made is inedible so she doesn’t make it for anyone else?”
Alex looked to Nate for help.
It wasn’t fair.
Nate took the discarded half of the fritter Alex had left behind. He gave serious thought to skipping out on the sauce but decided to go for the full in-the-middle-of-nowhere-Pennsylvania-with-an-alien experience.
It was… terrible, frankly. Nate wasn’t a vegan for a reason. The garlic was overwhelming, and he was pretty sure chickpeas were something he never wanted to eat again.
“Mmm,” he said as he chewed. “So good.”
Art stared at him suspiciously.
“You’re a better liar than Alex. I can’t tell if you mean it or not.”
But she took one of the fritters anyway. She brought it up to her nose and sniffed it. She grimaced but covered it up quickly when Dolores returned with a single glass of juice. Nate wished she was a more courteous host and had brought something for the rest of them, but he managed to keep his mouth shut.
“The sauce is good,” Dolores told her as Art was about to take a sauceless bite.
Her shoulders slumped a little.
“Yeah, that’s what Alex and Nate said.”
Dolores waited.
Art sighed and dipped the fritter into the sauce. She narrowed her eyes before taking a small bite. She chewed. She swallowed. She set the fritter on the plate. She picked up the juice and drank the entire glass in one go. She set the glass back down.
“Wow,” she said.
“So good. And now I’m full.”
Dolores frowned. “But—”
“We had a big breakfast,” Nate said.
“You know how it is.”
“And we have to save room for winter squash and lentil stew,” Art said morosely.
“Thank you, though,” Alex said.
“It was very kind.”
“Of course,” Dolores said, picking up the plate of fritters.
“My apologies. I should have asked. Peter is always saying I try and feed everyone too much. When I had my grandchildren, I—” She paled and took a step back. Her smile was tremulous.
“Well. I just like to cook.”
Nate didn’t like the look on her face.
“It’s okay. Maybe you could save those for later. I’m sure we’ll be hungry again soon enough. And you have grandkids? Do they—”
“Dolores.”
Peter stood in the entrance to the kitchen.
Dolores’s eyes widened.
“Thank you, Dolores,” Peter said.
“You always make our guests feel welcome. I appreciate that more than I could ever say. That will be all for now.”
Dolores nodded and scurried back into the kitchen. A moment later, the radio came back on and Steven Cooper began to rant and rave. She didn’t look back at them.
“You’ll have to forgive her,” Peter said quietly.
“She’s… had a hard life.”
“Why?” Art asked, staring after her.
Peter shook his head.
“Things aren’t always like they are on the Mountain. Yes, we were in a box. Yes, they poked and prodded. But we were fed and clothed. We were warm and safe. But it was… illusory. Like being in a snow globe. The outside world can be harsh and unforgiving. People can lose sight of their paths so easily. Sometimes they just need to see the light in the dark to lead them home.”
“You’ve changed,” Art said.
Peter smiled.
“You’re life-changing. Come. Let me show you where you will be staying.”
HE TRIED it. He really did. Nate had to give Peter credit for that. To have the balls to try and separate them given how much bigger Alex was in comparison was something Nate didn’t expect.
Peter led them back outside. People were working in the garden and yard. Out in the fields. From what Nate could tell, none of them seemed even remotely alike. A few looked younger than him. A couple were as old as Dolores. Everyone else was somewhere in between. They were white and black. One appeared Middle Eastern. There was a beautiful Asian woman who waved at them from the rows of tomatoes.
They followed Peter toward the barn. They were greeted by a large man with a sloping gut and a bald head.
“The area is ready,” he told Peter.
“Thank you, Adam,” Peter said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“You have done well today.”
Adam seemed to glow under the praise. He glanced curiously at Artemis, ignoring Alex and Nate, before he nodded and walked out toward the fields.
The barn was larger than it appeared. It was two levels. The first housed a small combine harvester off to one side. On the other side was a long workbench with hooks embedded into the wall above it. Farm tools hung from some of these hooks. There were many empty spaces. Nate figured it was because they were in the hands of the people working around the farm. Bales of hay were stacked around the interior of the barn.
There was a steep wooden staircase near the back of the barn that led to the second floor. The wood creaked beneath their feet as they followed Peter up the stairs. The handrail wobbled slightly. Alex was behind Peter, and Nate brought up the rear. Art was between them. Nate thought Alex had planned it that way. Nate was relieved he was being cautious. There was something just… off about this whole place. Maybe it was just his overactive imagination colliding with everything he’d gone through in the last month. Maybe Peter was weird because he’d spent over two decades with an alien having taken over his body. That probably changed a person.
The second floor of the barn had more hay, both loose and baled. Off to the right, the hay had been cleared. On the wooden floor sat a couple of air mattresses next to a stack of clean wool blankets and a battery-powered lantern. There was a window just above them, the swinging slats opening outward toward a long stretch of lonely fields.
“It isn’t much,” Peter said.
“But the rooms in the house are filled. Regardless, you will be comfortable out here. I myself have spent many a night in the barn, looking out the window up at the stars. It will be cool, but the blankets should keep you warm. Obviously, Artemis will have her own room in the house to—”
So, yeah. Nate had to give it to Peter for at least trying that in the face of Alex Weir.
“Art will be staying with us,” Alex growled.
Peter didn’t seem to realize the dangerous ground upon which he was treading.
“Surely not. There is a bed for her inside. She of all people doesn’t need to be staying in a barn.”
“I thought you said it was comfortable,” Nate replied mildly.
“You’ve stayed out here.”
Peter smiled. It was so serene that Nate wanted to punch it down his throat.
“Of course. But I am not her. She is different.”
“Not that different,” Art said, sounding nervous.
“Not happening,” Alex said.
“She’s with us. There won’t be a moment when she’s out of my sight.”
“Unless I have to go the bathroom,” Art said.
“Or I’m showering.”
“Not helping,” Nate told her.
“What? I’m not letting him in the bathroom when I have to poop, Nate. That’s just gross!”
“What do you think could possibly happen to her?” Peter asked Alex.
“Here, of all places? We are safe. My people know who she is. What she is. They know how special this moment is. For all of us. This is a monumental occasion for everyone, and I get the distinct impression that you don’t trust me.”
It was odd, really. Nate almost felt bad. Peter was earnest and charismatic, and Nate felt the edges of guilt crawling along his skin. He managed to shake it off, but Peter was good. Either he was being sincere, or he was a goddamn sociopath. Regardless of what else Nate had learned in his short life, it was always to expect the worst. That way, you could be surprised when it turned out okay.
“I don’t know you,” Alex said.
“I don’t know your people. But I know Art. And Nate. We stay together, or we don’t stay at all.”
Nate thought Peter would argue. That he’d push.
He was surprised yet again.
“Of course,” Peter said, bowing his head slightly.
“You are our guests. I merely wanted to extend a courtesy to the Seventh—to Artemis. After all, I have known her for far longer than you have. She was part of me.”
“If anyone cares about what I want, I’d be happy to tell you.”
They all looked down at Art.
“Yes,” Peter said.
“I apologize. I should not be speaking as if you aren’t capable of thinking for yourself. I… sometimes forget we’re separate. It doesn’t happen as often as it once did, but having you near again has… well. I am just happy to see you healthy and whole.”
She reached out and touched his hand. She didn’t linger.
“I understand. But Alex gets twitchy when I’m not around. And even though we’re safe here, he sometimes gets in trouble and needs me to rescue him. I need to keep an eye on him. It makes me feel better.”
“She has a point,” Nate said as Alex scowled down at her.
“She does not.”
“Curious,” Peter said, staring at the three of them.
“What is?” Art asked.
“The people we choose to surround ourselves with. Me, here. And you. Maybe I don’t see it the way you do. Maybe I will be surprised.”
Nate thought they were being insulted, but he couldn’t quite figure out how.
“No matter,” Peter said, taking a step back.
“If you wish to remain with… these men, then I will defer to your decision. Feel free to make use of the facilities inside the main house. You are free to come and go as you please. Dinner will be served in front of the house at seven. Please join us then.” He glanced down the stairs toward the front of the barn.
“Ah, and it looks as if your bags have been brought in.”
Sure enough, their duffel bags were stacked next to the combine. Nate hadn’t even heard them being placed there.
“It is an honor,” Peter told Art.
“As always. I may not understand who you have chosen to bond with, but I trust that you will help make sense of it all. You opened my eyes once before. I believe that you can do it again.”
He turned and made his way down the stairs.
They watched as he walked out of the barn.
“I still taste chickpeas in my mouth,” Art grumbled.
“Being vegan is the absolute worst.”