Chapter 32
Mary Anne was washing her hands in the basin when the noise reached her.
It came first as a low murmur, then grew until it filled the square.
She stepped to the window and saw a line of people moving toward the church.
Blankets and bundles hung from their shoulders, water jugs tied with rope, a few carrying wooden crosses strapped to their backs.
Harlan walked at the front, robe trailing through the dust, voice carrying over the crowd.
His tone was steady, almost gentle, but the words cut through the air.
“He has shown me the column of light,” he said. “It rises in the north, a beacon to the faithful. The earth is renewed there. We go to meet Him.”
“Not again,” she said under her breath.
Rick appeared behind her, still buttoning his shirt. “What is it?”
“They’re leaving.”
“How many?”
“Dozens. Maybe more.”
Hale’s voice carried from the square. “Stop them before they strip the stores again.”
Mary Anne grabbed her coat and stepped outside. The sun had already burned through the early haze, hot and white. The air shimmered, turning the departing line into wavering silhouettes. Emily ran up from the well, her face flushed.
“He started preaching before dawn,” she said. “Said he saw light over the mountains. They’ve been packing all morning.”
“Did he take food?” Mary Anne asked.
“Some,” Emily said. “Enough for a week, maybe. Not much left for us.”
“He’ll kill them.”
“You won’t stop him.”
“Maybe not, but I’ll try.”
She walked across the square, the heat rising around her in waves. Harlan saw her coming and turned to meet her. His followers stepped back, wary.
“Father,” she said. “You can’t lead them into that desert again. The last group never came back.”
“The last journey was faith. This one is a revelation. The Lord has called me to bring His people home.”
“There’s nothing out there. You’ll starve before you reach the ridge.”
He lifted his hands. “Do you not trust the signs? Did you not see the light last night?”
“I saw nothing but fire,” she said.
“Then your heart is closed.”
“You’re sending them to die.”
“Death is not defeat,” he said. “It is a passage.”
Behind him, the crowd murmured approval. “He’s seen the light, nurse. You should come.”
Mary Anne looked at the woman, then at the faces around her.
Most were worn and sunburned, eyes hollow but devoted.
She recognized them all. “Please,” she said quietly.
“You’re needed here. The well needs tending.
The gardens need care. If you leave, there won’t be enough hands to keep this place alive. ”
Harlan turned to the people. “You hear her? She clings to what the world has lost, but the Lord offers more than dirt and toil. He offers rebirth.”
“Faith won’t grow food, Father. It won’t draw water. It won’t save your flock from thirst.”
“Then we will die in His name rather than live in yours.”
Rick moved closer. “Let them go.”
She looked at him. “If they leave, we lose half the town.”
“We already lost them.”
Harlan raised his arms again. “We march at first light. Those who stay behind will watch their faith wither while we walk into glory.”
The crowd began to move again, murmuring prayers as they followed him toward the road. Mary Anne’s chest ached. She wanted to grab them, to pull them back, but there was no force strong enough to stop belief. Hale approached from the other side of the square, his face grim.
“We can’t stop this without bloodshed.”
“I know,” she said.
“Let them go. We’ll guard what’s left.”
She nodded, though it felt like defeat. The procession passed through the gate, the sound of feet against dirt fading into the wind.
The sun beat down, glaring off the sand until the figures became blurs.
Mary Anne stood there until the last of them vanished into the heat shimmer.
When it was over, the square felt hollow.
The air smelled of dust and something else.
Emily came to stand beside her. “How many this time?”
“Too many,” Mary Anne said.
“They took my cousin,” Emily said quietly. “She was one of the good ones.”
“So were all of them.”
Rick walked up slowly. “Half of them won’t make it.”
Mary Anne didn’t look at him. “Then we won’t waste the half who stayed.”
Hale called for the remaining townspeople to gather. The group that assembled was smaller now, barely two dozen. Their faces showed exhaustion, but also something else—a stubbornness that kept them standing.
Mary Anne faced them from the clinic steps. “We still have a town,” she said. “It may be smaller, but it’s ours. The wells still run. The crops are growing. We keep working. We keep each other alive.”
A man in the crowd asked, “What about the ones who left?”
“Pray for them if you want to, but don’t wait for them. They made their choice.” She began dividing the remaining labor again. “Four on the wells, three for crops, the rest on salvage. We’ll rotate shifts at night. Hale will handle watch duty.”
Hale nodded. “You heard her. We keep order. No panic.”
“I’ll handle the ration lists,” Emily said.
Rick unfolded a map and spread it across a table. “We’ll need to expand the irrigation trench by the creek. With fewer people, we can’t afford waste.”
Mary Anne nodded. “Do it tomorrow morning. Before the heat sets in.”
The meeting ended with quiet murmurs. People drifted back to their tasks, slower but determined.
When the sun reached its peak, the air turned heavy with dust. The sound of hammering echoed faintly across the valley as Freddie repaired the shed roof.
Children filled buckets from the well and carried them to the gardens, their shadows long against the ground.
Mary Anne worked beside them until her hands blistered, but she didn’t stop. By late afternoon, the heat finally began to break. She sat on the edge of the fountain, sweat drying on her skin.
Rick joined her, his face drawn. “They’ll die out there,” he said.
“Yes,” she said.
“You’re not even angry.”
“I’m past angry. Anger doesn’t bring them back.”
“Harlan’s lost his mind.”
“No,” she said. “He’s just lost his place.”
Rick frowned. “You almost sound sorry for him.”
“I am. He’s trying to find meaning in what’s left. We all are.”
“You think he believes what he says?”
She nodded. “Belief is easy when you’re desperate.”
He sighed. “Maybe that’s what scares me most. Desperation can look like faith if you squint.”
Emily appeared carrying two cups of water. “I set the ration schedule. We’ll stretch what’s left another two weeks if no one steals.”
Mary Anne drank slowly. “Good work.”
“They’re saying Harlan saw something real this time. A light over the ridge.”
Rick shook his head. “Heat flare. Mirage.”
Emily shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. They believe it was heaven.”
Mary Anne set the cup down. “Then let heaven have them.”
The three of them sat in silence as the sun dipped lower. The wind shifted, carrying grit through the air.
When the last of the light faded, Hale came from the watch post. “Tracks heading north,” he said. “They’ve already made camp by the ridge.”
“How many are left here?”
“Twenty-three by my count.”
She nodded. “We make it work.”
Hale gave a short laugh. “That’s what you always say.”
“It’s always true.”
Rick stood. “I’ll check the pump frame before dark.”
“I’ll help,” she said.
They worked until the stars began to appear. The windmill frame creaked as they tightened the bolts. The sound was steady, almost comforting. When they finished, Rick stepped back.
Mary Anne looked up at the blades, faint against the darkening sky. “It’s something.”
He smiled faintly. “Something’s better than nothing.”
“You two coming in?” Emily called.
“In a minute,” Mary Anne said.
Rick leaned against the post beside her. “You ever think about leaving?”
“No, there’s nowhere to go.”
“That’s what scares me.”
They stood quietly, the night wind brushing their faces.
The stars shimmered over the ridge, faint but steady.
When the others had gone inside, Mary Anne walked through the empty square.
The ground was marked with footprints leading north, small and large, fading into the dust. She followed them to the edge of town and stopped.
The desert stretched ahead, silent and endless.
Somewhere beyond the ridge, the procession was still walking, its crosses glinting in the starlight.
She felt something twist inside her, not anger, not even grief.
Just a deep, hollow ache for the people she had lost to promises that would never come true.
She turned back toward the clinic’s lights. The town looked smaller than ever.
Inside, the room smelled faintly of oil and dust. Mary Anne sat on her cot and pulled a notebook from the shelf. The pages were nearly full—lists of supplies, names of patients, harvest counts—but she found a blank sheet near the back. She wrote the names slowly, one by one. The ones who remained.