Everett’s Compound
at the foot of the Appalachian Mountains

Justin Pratt jerked awake at the sudden blast of music, almost falling off the narrow army cot. Had he done so, he would have crashed on top of several members stretched out in sleeping bags. He knew he should be grateful to have a cot in the cramped sleeping quarters that housed almost two dozen men. After his probationary period—whenever the hell that ended—he was certain he would be on the floor with the rest of them.

It wouldn’t matter, with the little sleep they were allowed. And then to wake up to that god-awful music over the loudspeakers. It sounded like an old scratched LP of “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” No, he shouldn’t complain. He needed to remember to be grateful. At least, until Eric got back. Then they could figure out what to do together. Maybe they could hitchhike to the West Coast. Although he wasn’t sure how they’d survive without a fucking dime. Maybe they could go back home. If only he could convince Eric. He wouldn’t leave without Eric.

He rubbed the blur from his eyes. Shit! It felt like he hadn’t even slept. Out of habit, he looked at his wrist before he remembered that the expensive Seiko watch his grandfather had given him was gone. It had been just one of the hedonistic material things confiscated for his own good. Like knowing what time it was would fucking send him straight to hell.

Now Justin wondered if perhaps the real reason Father didn’t allow them to keep anything of value was to make them dependent on him. And they were. For everything. Everything from that buggy rice to the scraps of newspaper they used as toilet paper.

“Get up, Pratt.” Someone shoved his shoulder from behind.

Justin felt his hands ball up into fists. Without looking, he knew it was Brandon. Just once he’d like to slam a fist into that smug, arrogant face. Instead, he pulled a clean pair of underwear and socks from the clothesline in the corner. Brandon had been good enough to share it with him, because it seemed that even something like a cheap piece of fucking clothesline was a rare commodity around this place. The socks were still damp, which meant that once again his feet would be cold all day.

He took his time dressing while the others scurried to get in line for the showers. From the small, single-paned window, Justin could see the line forming. It curved all the way around the concrete building’s corner. He combed his fingers through his greasy hair. Fuck it! Maybe he could sneak in a shower later. He was tired of waiting in line after line. Besides, he was starving, and his stomach reminded him with a rumble that he hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s lunch.

Justin headed for the cafeteria, looking around as he walked across the compound. That’s what they called it, a fucking compound. The only other time he had heard someone refer to a place as a compound was on a cable special about the Kennedy family and their estate; an estate that they called a compound. So, of course, when Eric had told him about the compound, Justin had imagined something similar with servant cottages and horse stables and a huge mansion. But this place looked like army barracks—stark, metal and concrete buildings surrounded by trees and more trees, secluded in the Shenandoah Valley.

Piles of brush and uprooted trees were stacked on the south side where they had bulldozed and cleared just enough land to set up their compound. It didn’t seem very organized, either. Wells hadn’t been dug deep enough and many of the buildings didn’t have plumbing. There certainly was never enough warm water. And hot water? Forget about it.

The whole place looked temporary, and Justin had heard rumors about Father building a new compound somewhere else, some paradise he was promising everyone. But after last night, Justin wasn’t about to trust the asshole or anything he said. The pervert was a fucking hypocrite. Not like he had trusted him much before. Trust was a rare commodity with Justin. He should have known from his first week that the guy was nothing but a fraud.

That first week, Eric had taken him to what Father called a cleansing ritual. All of those who attended had to write down their most embarrassing moment, as well as one of their deepest fears. They were supposed to sign the papers, too.

“No one else will see these confessions,” Father had assured them in his smooth, hypnotic manner. “The signatures are strictly an exercise for you to own up to your past and face your fears.”

The folded papers were then collected in a black, square metal box. Justin had been asked to collect them and told where to set the dented box, back behind Father’s huge wooden chair. A chair that looked more like a throne and was flanked by his Cro-Magnon bodyguards. At the end of the evening, Father brought out the black box with all those confidential secrets. He threw a single lit match into the metal container, setting the confessions on fire. There had been sighs of relief, but Justin couldn’t help noticing that the black box no longer had a dent in it.

Later, when Justin told Eric about the miracle of the disappearing dent, his brother had practically snapped his head off.

“Some things require faith and trust. If you can’t accept that, you don’t belong here,” his brother had told him in a pissed-off tone he had never used with him before that night. Justin remembered thinking that Eric sounded like he wasn’t just trying to convince him. That maybe he was trying to convince himself, too.

Justin took a shortcut to the cafeteria, hopping over some sawhorses and wandering through a maze of stacked lumber and archaic construction equipment. He couldn’t help thinking that a couple of pairs of Father’s solid-gold cuff links could probably buy a small new forklift that would put the old John Deere tractor with the front loader and rusted plow hitched behind out of its misery.

He could smell the garbage dump and decided his shortcut wasn’t such a hot idea. No wonder everyone avoided this area. Just as he was weaving his way back to the main path, he saw several men digging behind the piles of garbage. Maybe they were finally burying the smelly mess. But as he stopped, he saw that they had several strongboxes they were lowering into the ground.

“Hey, Justin.”

He turned to find Alice waving at him over the stacks of lumber. She was making her way through the maze. Her silky hair glistened in the morning sun, and her clothes were crisp and fresh. No way were her socks still damp. Suddenly, he wished he had taken the time for that cold two-minute shower. When she looked up at him, her face immediately scrunched into that cute little worried expression.

“What are you doing, Justin? No one’s allowed back here.”

“I was just taking a shortcut.”

“Come on, let’s get out of here before someone notices.” She took his hand to lead him away, but he stayed put.

“What are those guys doing over there?”

She frowned at him, but put a hand to her forehead and squinted into the morning sun, taking a look at where he was pointing.

“It’s none of your concern.”

“So, you don’t know?”

“It doesn’t matter, Justin. Please, you don’t want to get caught back here.”

“Or what? No one will talk to me for weeks? Or no, maybe I won’t get my week’s ration of gummy rice and beans.”

“Justin, stop it.”

“Come on, Alice. Just tell me what those guys are burying, and I’ll go nice and quiet like.”

She dropped his hand, practically shoving it away, and suddenly he realized how stupid he was being. She was the only person he cared about, and now he was pissing her off, just like he seemed to piss off everyone else.

“They’re burying the money we collected at the rally last night.”

At the end of each rally, about a half-dozen wicker baskets were passed around for what Father called a “gratitude offering” to God. Those baskets usually ended up overflowing.

“Whaddya mean, they’re burying it?”

“They bury all the cash we take in.”

“They’re putting it in the ground?”

“It’s okay. They put mothballs in the boxes, so the bills don’t get all moldy.”

“But why bury it?”

“Where else would they put it, Justin? You can’t trust banks. They’re all controlled by the government. ATMs and electronic transfers—all of that stuff is just so the government can monitor and take your money whenever it wants.”

“Okay, so why not at least invest some of it, like in the stock market?”

“Oh, Justin, what am I going to do with you?” Alice smiled and patted his arm as though he had made a joke. “The stock market is controlled by the government, too. Remember reading in your history classes about the Great Depression?” She was using her calm teacher voice with him. At least the worry lines had left her face for the time being. “Anytime the stock market takes a plunge, it’s the government causing the decline, stealing people’s hard-earned money and making them start all over again.”

Justin hadn’t really thought about it before. He knew his dad got really pissed when he lost money in the market. Alice knew so much more about this stuff than he did. History had never been one of his strongest subjects. He shrugged, pretending it didn’t matter to him. This time when she took his hand to lead him away, he let her and enjoyed the feel of her soft skin. He wanted to ask her about last night, about Father and the perverted moves he had made on her. Yet, at the same time, he didn’t want to talk about it. He just wanted to forget it had ever happened. Maybe it was best that they both did.

As they walked to the cafeteria, Justin decided instead to think about how much money must be buried in that hole. He couldn’t help wondering how many others knew about it. When they decided to leave maybe he and Eric wouldn’t need to hitchhike, after all.