Desolation

“You’re now members of God’s Army,” Thomas told his newest batch of recruits. “You’ve been issued rifles, which you will always carry. You have been given armbands, which you will always wear in public. As long as you are with us, you are part of this army until Teacher or one of us tells you different. You will always protect your fellow man or woman in God’s Army and serve the Teacher. From now on, you will be staying together in quarters we give you. We will assign you a buddy, who will be with you always. If you came here with other family or friends, you will be given visitation at certain times of the day. The rest of your day will be ours; you will use this time for training, working for the community and performing service to the Teacher. Do you all understand? Signal by saying yes sir.”

“Yes sir,” Darla and the several dozen others yelled out while standing at attention. Darla noted the loose formation of men and women, young and old, skinny and overweight, representing all ethnic persuasions and all socio-economic classes, banded together for one of two reasons: survival or the desire to follow the Teacher. Many were volunteers, but others like her had been conscripted. She considered how she arrived at this place, as the Teacher’s first in command continued to tell them that all of their freedoms were now sold to the GA and in return, the GA would grant safety.

When she and Danny had started walking with them, that first day after sleeping in the vacated house, they stayed at the back of the line, on the periphery. When they all stopped for the evening, she noticed they took over a small bedroom community somewhere outside Joliet, Illinois. She heard no clatter of guns, nor any evidence of violence. Yet, only now did she suspect that this group she had been traveling with gave the communities’ residents an ultimatum. Their modus operandi was offering everyone the chance to leave or become one of them and follow their leader, the Teacher. Like her, most had assumed nothing but benign intentions until it was too late.

The first morning on the road, Darla and Danny had met one of the Teacher’s confidants. The man wore an armband with “GA” written on it in black marker. He had introduced himself, but Darla had long since forgotten his name. Then he’d informed them that they were following the Teacher out west to find a place where they could be safe and take care of each other and serve God. There were rules about sharing food and water with the community. They were free to go, but if they stayed, they would have to contribute. He offered positions performing various duties. They both jumped on the scavenging party detail, the first of which was to leave a few minutes later. His welcome gift to them was several doses of Albuterol and an inhaler for Danny.

The scavenging parties branched out from their community like worker ants from their anthill, finding untended supplies in surrounding areas and bringing them back to the community so that all would benefit. Water and food were to be shared equally, but any other personal items they wished to carry were theirs. On their second day of scavenging, Darla and Danny grabbed a two-person tent from an abandoned outdoor supply store, two sleeping bags, and a better backpack for Danny. In a community already numbering over a thousand, most—including them—didn’t have a roof over their heads, so this was a good addition to their personal supplies.

After several days, they still hadn’t met the Teacher, much less any more of his close followers, each easily identified by their arm bands. One day, a woman named Martha stopped by with pen and clipboard in hand, taking a census of each of the people that had joined their group. The expected questions were asked: name, home town, vocation, marital status, and who they had been separated from. Although that last question was simple enough, Darla hadn’t spoken about this with anyone but Danny. Even then she’d had to be strong for her brother.

She thought for a moment, her face instantly struck with emotion. She had a room full of held-back sadness, the door locked for her own protection, and she opened the door wide, letting the tears overflow while she described her family and then her—she didn’t know how to label Steve Parkington. “My fiancé,” she blurted out, knowing it wasn’t true, but it felt true. Then, she opened more doors to more rooms she didn’t even know she had and she bawled to this stranger asking her private questions. She had never cried like this, even while breaking up with Dylan, and certainly not since the Event; it was long overdue.