John Gilstrap - Threat warning

Colleen kept her eyes on her work as she smiled. “You’re welcome. Here at the compound, we have to learn to do many things. I’ve even delivered a few babies.”

Ryan recoiled at the thought. “Eew. Really?”

She laughed at his horror. “What’s wrong with delivering babies?”

“They’re gross and slimy. Why not just call an ambulance? Or drive them to the hospital?”

Colleen shook her head. “Oh, no. Outsiders are Users. That’s no way to bring a new life into the world. We don’t want those hands to be the first to touch one of our infants.”

“There it is again,” Ryan said. “Users. I asked you before and you didn’t tell me. Is that some kind of secret word to you people?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Colleen said. By the time she rolled out the last of the Kling Wrap, the end of his arm looked like a giant Q-tip. It felt better, too. “It would be like explaining sin to a sinner. It’s difficult for people to understand what they are.”

“Try me.”

Colleen stopped working on his arm, and sat back to look him in the eye. “What prayer do you say before you eat a meal?”

He scowled. “What, you mean like grace?”

“I suppose.” Clearly, it wasn’t exactly what she meant, but her expression showed that it served her point.

“I don’t,” Ryan said. “Except, you know, sometimes at Christmas or Thanksgiving. It’s kind of part of the tradition.”

“So even when you say it, you don’t really mean it. It’s something you have to do to get to the food.”

“So that makes me a User? A User and a sinner are sort of the same?”

“We are all sinners, Ryan. Do you work for your money?”

He coughed out a laugh. “What money? Yeah, I work some during the summer, flipping burgers or stocking shelves somewhere. But I don’t make shit.” The disapproving glare told him that dropping the S-bomb was a mistake. “Sorry. Another sin for the list.”

“You’re not getting it,” Colleen said. “Of whatever money you get working whatever job you have, how much do you give to the poor?”

“I am the poor. I don’t have anything to give.”

“You have everything to give. Every day you get paid, you have money to give. Every time you put shoes on, you have shoes to give. You have clothes, and food and possessions that in one year’s time will cease to have use to you, yet you continue to accumulate more.”

Oh, man, he wasn’t getting this at all. “So anybody who has anything is a User? Is your enemy?”

Colleen rolled her eyes in that special way people do that really got his blood boiling. “Yes, you’re obviously one of them.”

“One of who?” He shouted that and, in the process, did something to make his arm bite him and he grunted against the pain.

“This is why it’s useless to try to communicate with anyone outside of the community. You refuse to see things as they are.”

“I don’t even know what we’re talking about.”

Colleen settled herself as if preparing to explain the obvious to a dimwitted child. “It’s not about owning anything,” she said. “It’s about wanting to own everything, and never being willing to give anything back. You’ll destroy other people, you’ll destroy other countries, you’ll destroy the earth itself, if that’s what it takes.”

Ryan felt like he’d entered the play of his life in the middle of the second act. “I’m sixteen,” he said, chuckling at the absurdity. “Even if I wanted to do some of those things, I couldn’t. Give me a break.”

“There it is again,” she said.

The second guard appeared in the doorway. “I told you it was a waste of time,” he said.

“Who are you?” Ryan said. He’d learned the hard way that when these nut jobs formed a crowd, life got difficult.

“I’m one you should be fearing,” he said. The guy was older and bigger than Ryan, but not by much on either count. “Brother Stephen was a friend of mine.”

“Then you should keep better friends,” Ryan blurted before his filter could slide into place. “He tried to rape my mother. What would you do?”

The guy smiled. “I guess I might have waited my turn.”

“Stop it!” Colleen commanded. She put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder as she spoke, as if to reassure him that this new guy was out of line. “This is Brother Zebediah. And sometimes he doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”

“The fact is,” said Brother Zebediah, “it’s not about you. Nothing in this world is about you. Nothing is about anyone. We live or die together on this planet, and you Users are so intent on owning the world and its resources for your own gain that you kill indiscriminately. Not just with guns, but with power. It’s time to return the power to where it belongs.”

“To you,” Ryan said, still trying to wrap his head around it all. “And you do it by killing others. Killing to stop killing. Am I getting it right now?”

The expression in Sister Colleen’s face hovered somewhere between hurt and disappointment, yet Ryan still didn’t have a clue why. She stood abruptly and threw a tightly rolled ball of tan fabric onto his lap.

“That’s a triangular bandage,” she said. “I think you should tie a knot in it and put it around your neck as a sling. Try to keep your hand higher than your elbow if you can.”

Clearly, she was done, and even more clearly, she was angry. She turned to the door.

“What did I say?” Ryan asked after her.

Colleen said nothing. She stormed out past Brother Zebediah, who followed her and slammed the door. He was still refitting the padlock when someone flipped a switch and Ryan’s world returned to blackness.

“At least we know that Ryan is in Copley’s house,” Venice said. “That’s important data.”

“I disagree,” Jonathan said. “All we know is that Neen dropped him off there. Other than that, we’ve got only conjecture.”

“And what about the mom, Christyne?” Gail asked. “Nobody even mentioned her.”

“Baby steps,” Jonathan advised. “Explore the lead you’ve got, and hope that the others fall into place.”

“By sheer dumb luck?” she asked with a chuckle.

“In a perfect world, no,” Jonathan said. Her negative tone was beginning to wear on him. “But if the best I can catch is pure dumb luck, then I’ll take it.”

Boxers said, “I recognize that look, Dig. What’s the plan?”

Jonathan looked at his watch. “We know that the meeting of the elders-whatever the hell that means-takes place a little over five hours from now, at seven.”

Venice said, “Digger, do you agree that the conversation we eavesdropped on said that the meet was going to happen in Copley’s house?”

“I do,” he said.

“Good,” Venice said. “Because when he built the place twelve years ago, he used an architect and a professional engineer. And wouldn’t you know it? He had the decency to file all the plans at the assessments office at the courthouse.”

Jonathan grinned, yet again amazed by Venice’s capabilities to ferret out information. “Are you telling me you have drawings?”

He could hear the smile in her voice when she said, “I’ve got floor plans, electrical, HVAC, sewerage, you name it.”

Gail scowled, as if to say, Is that even possible?

“Only a fool bets against Venice,” Jonathan said.

“This is unbelievable!” Venice howled from Fisherman’s Cove. “Copley likes to buy his furniture from a place called Colony House in Falls Church. I can send you purchase orders, if you’d like.”

Jonathan assured her that that would not be necessary.

It took a few minutes for the floor plans and other architectural drawings to transfer, but once they did, the first stage of their plan became obvious. Jonathan discussed it with his team, spending the better part of an hour working through the details and the possible complications-of which there were too many to count-but when they were done, everybody had a job to do.