“I don’t understand. Why is a hole in the ground, with some burned junk in the bottom, so important?” I asked.
That was four years ago, while we were visiting the Bethany House National Historic Monument. I’d also been here when I was nine, but all I remembered from that trip was that Daddy gave a speech, and I was bored. This time, we’d come unannounced, and Dad was wearing a hat and sunglasses so he wouldn’t be recognized.
“You’re right…” Dad said, “… this is just a hole in the ground.”
Mom shot him a look.
“We make monuments and memorials to help us remember things,” Mom said. “The hole itself isn’t important. What’s important is that we remember what the hole represents. Bethany House meant a lot to this family; so I’d like you to show a little more respect.”
An automated tour kiosk rolled up to us.
“Do you have any questions?” it asked.
“How deep is the hole?” Austin asked.
“The crater is fifty-seven meters deep, at its deepest point,” it replied. “There is evidence that there were deeper explosions that attempted to collapse the hole all the way to the underlying coal mine, but they failed to achieve that result. Instead, the crater collapsed only as far as an equipment storage area above the main mine.”
“Is this where the Paulson’s fell in love?” I asked.
“The first recorded kiss between Cephas and Martha Paulson occurred in Colorado Springs, Colorado. Their first recorded copulation occurred…”
“That’s quite enough,” Mom said. “No more questions.”
The machine rolled away.
“Bethany House represents hope,” Dad said from behind me. “Before it was a hole in the ground, Bethany House was a place where people lived, trained, prayed, and yes, even fell in love. It’s also where the gene therapy used to save millions of Christians was developed and then sent back in time.”
“And then you blew it up,” Austin said.
Dad smiled.
“No matter how much I loved that place, it was an easy decision to make. If the dirt walls could have spoken, I believe they would have insisted on their own destruction for the sake of what was achieved.”
His eyes drifted off into the distance for a moment, and then down to me. That look of bottomless sadness covered his face.
“Bethany House was like a person,” he said. “Sometimes, one person, with faith, can make all the difference.”
******
The computer announces that our tube will arrive in Sheridan, Illinois momentarily.
“Why are we here?” Austin asks.
“We’re testing a hunch,” I say.
“Mom says that Dad doesn’t have hunches. I’m suspecting that you don’t either.”
The car glides to a stop and Austin stands.
“We’re not getting off,” I say.
I stare out the window and watch the comings and goings of the station, until the car speeds away.
“What was that all about?” Zera asks.
“I saw four Temple Guards and two members of Five-X watching the station,” I say. “I bet they’re watching everywhere Dad traveled and every stop near an old Four safe house.”
“The Guards are easy to spot …” Zera says, “…but how did you pick out the members of Five- X?”
“They were both wearing the scar material I created. They must have distributed it to all of their facilities. If one of them gets caught, our disguises will be blown.”
“Do you think they were watching for us?” Austin asks.
“Definitely. Older people walked past The Corps and The Guard without receiving a second look, but every young person in the station was being scrutinized.”
“So where do we go?” Austin asks.
“You’re the one who’s going to make a time machine, Austin. Where would you put it?”
“Well, I’ll need access to a primary power line, so that limits the choices.”
“He’ll need the raw materials to build the arena, plus computers,” Zera says.
“And the arena that gets sent back will need to stay hidden until …” Austin stops, mid-sentence.
“…until the piece in your backpack is found,” I say.
Austin makes a face.
“Jocie, I hate when you and Dad do that. If you already knew the answer, why didn’t you just tell us?”
Because it’s more fun this way.
“Mr. Albert brought something made of metal to our house when I was five. I never saw what it was, but Dad asked him to give it to Aunt Cindi. It must have been your shepherd’s hook, and she hid it in plain sight, holding up a bird feeder.”
“But where did Albert find it?” Zera asks.
“When Albert gave it to Dad, Dad said he’d been waiting since the day Bethany House was destroyed.”
“You can’t be serious,” Zera says. “That hole is a national historic monument, filled with pilgrims day and night. You can’t just attach a rope to the handrail, rappel down, and build a time machine.”
Why else would Dad teach me to rock climb, if not to climb down into that hole?
“How about a small drone?” I ask.
Austin taps his com.
“Computer, display an aerial view of Bethany House National Monument,” he says, and the picture comes up on a screen.
“I can see four cameras positioned around the edge of the hole,” he says.
There are at least twelve.
“Those antenna’s on top of the light posts are probably jammers,” Zera adds. “Even a small drone would be seen and knocked out of the sky.”
“This is all irrelevant,” Austin says. “Federal drones have explored every inch of it. If there was another arena cage at Bethany House, they would have found it.”
“Doesn’t it seem strange that the hole would be shaped like a giant teardrop?” I ask. “Anyone who knows Albert might think he created a directional explosion to ensure all of Bethany House was destroyed. But what if the real reason was that he was trying to protect something from the blast?”
I look more closely at the picture on the screen.
“Finding a secret way in?” Austin asks.
“I’m definitely finding a secret.”
How in the world did Dad ever pull that off?
******
The tube stations in Winchester and Strasburg figured prominently in Mom and Dad’s escape from The Corps; so instead we get off in Chicago. I do see some members of the Temple Guard, but the station is so busy that we walk right by them individually, without being given a second glance. They must be focused on finding a group of three. Although I see several washed people in the station, none of them are wearing my scar material, which I hope means Five- X doesn’t have the manpower to be everywhere.
Cargo areas are so automated that we generally just walk around without worrying about being seen. Unfortunately, the Chicago cargo area is larger than most, so as we wander to find the correct loading area, we walk right past the office of the cargo station master. He looks up as we pass.
“Keep walking,” I say to Austin and Zera.
“What are you kids doing here?” the man asks our backs.
“Couriers,” I say, and we keep walking.
“Well, couriers … this is my station … and my station, you log in,” he says.
“Don’t hurt him any more than necessary,” I whisper.
We turn.
“Two cameras,” I whisper. “Ten meters on the left and fifty meters on the right. Don’t look directly at them.”
“Will this take long?” I ask the station master. “We missed our passenger car. Now we have to catch a cargo car to get to our next pick-up.”
“Not long. Just come into my office.”
His office is barren of virtually anything you’d expect to find in an office. There are no personal items, and none of the creature comforts you’d expect someone who sits all day to have around. It’s just a table with a screen on it, and a chair that squeaks when he sits in it. The one exception is a large electronic picture frame that could have been placed on any of the bare walls, but instead is hanging over the office window that looks out over the loading area.
“Take one step forward,” I say to Austin and Zera, so that we’re all nearly standing against his desk.
“You’ve been here before then?” the man asks.
“No, but the only reason to hang the picture frame in front of the window is to block the view of the nearest camera.”
I look up at him for the first time. Nearly his entire face is covered with bruises that have dried into a cakey mess. It apparently flakes off regularly, since a large accumulation is lying on the desk and floor.
“It’s not a pretty sight, is it?” he asks. “Believe me … nobody wants to hang out in my office for any longer than necessary.”
“I imagine it’s the only way someone who’s washed can hold a public job like this,” I say, and he smiles.
“You are a very clever young lady. What direction are you going?”
“In whatever direction the Lord guides our steps,” I reply.
“Then he’s guiding you to my house in Parkersburg. I was done for the day anyway and I have a small private car.”
He stands and heads for the door, and we follow.
When we get into the car, he starts to pick at the flakes on his face.
“You would not believe how much this stuff itches when it dries,” he says.
“You’re welcome to try gooey,” I say and peel up the scar on my hand.
His eyes go wide.
“You’re washed?” he asks. “We’ve been getting high priority messages from The Corps to watch for three marked Christians about your age. I figured you might be them, but nobody knows that you kids are actually washed.”
“The Corps is looking for us?” Zera says.
“The Corps, the Guard, Five-X … they’ve all stopped by my office,” he says. “Even …”
We all give him an expectant look.
“Even what?” Austin asks.
“I have no proof …” he says. “… but I think a woman I met years ago snuck into my office yesterday and fiddled with the system. A drone on the loading floor went kind of crazy and when I got back from repairing it, I saw her slip out of my office. I tried to follow her, but she disappeared like a ghost. She looked just like a woman who was part of Four back in the day. I remember her because of her amazing eyes.”
He looks pointedly at my eyes.
Aunt Cindi! He’s talking about Aunt Cindi … and she was here just yesterday!
“Everyone knows that Four was disbanded long ago,” I say.
“Maybe so,” he says. “And yet, my cargo cars have had a lot of couriers in them lately.”
******
When we reach the man’s house in Parkersburg, West Virginia, a woman meets him at the door with a wet towel.
“I just cleaned the floor and I don’t want you flaking your face off all over the place again …” she says, and then looks at us.
“Hal, who are our guests?” she asks.
“Just get them inside, Chelsey,” he says, as he starts to rub his face vigorously with the towel.
She bids us to sit at the kitchen table, but doesn’t say anything until Hal comes in. She’s clearly angry about our arrival.
Hal’s face is mostly clean of the thick flakes, but you can see some in his hairline and along his jaw.
“Let me help,” Chelsey says. “You’ve got some stuck in your ear again.”
By the time Chelsey looks back at us, Zera has removed a scar from her hand and has stuck it so that it’s dangling from the end of her nose.
“How about me? Did I miss some too?” she asks.
I break one of mine in half and stick the pieces to each ear.
“These gooey earrings are all the rage in Paris and Milan,” I say.
Austin uses one of his to make a smiley face on his cheek.
“Is this what Dad meant when he said to turn the other cheek?” he asks.
Chelsey takes a deep breath, as if she’s going to fly into a rage. Her lips start to quiver a bit and you can see her chest shaking a little. I’m about to suggest that we leave, when she first snorts, and then breaks into one of the largest and most sincere fits of laughter that I’ve ever seen.
“Washed kids, playing with fake scars … it’s so sad and yet so ridiculous …” she says through the laughter. Her laugh is infectious and soon we’re all laughing along with her.
“You don’t know how long I’ve needed that,” she says. “I haven’t felt so joyful since the day…”
Her voice trails off when she looks at me.
“Those eyes,” she says. “I know those eyes … and that pony tail … it reminds me of … Hal? Who did you bring home?”
“They didn’t say; and I didn’t ask. My heart just told me that they needed me.”
“We last saw Cindi Stone and her kids about five years ago,” Chelsea says. “You’re not little Alice, are you?”
“Little Alice is taller than I am now. I’m Jocie.”
She looks at Austin.
“Yes,” is all he says.
“And I’m Zip’s daughter. My name is Zera.”
“I was so sorry to hear about your father,” Chelsea says to Zera. “He was a dear man.”
Chelsey turns to Austin.
“Where are your parents? We’ve been praying for their safe return nightly. Are they okay? Did they send you here?”
“We don’t know where they are. We’re trying to find them,” Austin says.
I stand and part the blinds of the kitchen window just a hair.
“We wouldn’t have come if we’d known you were old friends of the family. They’re watching everyone with a connection to Mom and Dad, and every tube station where they traveled eighteen years ago,” I say.
Too late.
“Tell me about your neighbor across the street,” I say.
“The elderly couple? They’re devout atheists from the old days. They stopped speaking to us years ago.”
“Maybe, but they’re not ignoring you. There’s an armed man in the upstairs window watching this house and I can see tracking drones.”
“Get back to the station,” Hal says. “There’s an old passenger car, number P732-6, parked in the maintenance area. You can drive it manually, but it’s going to be dangerous.”
“It can’t be that dangerous,” Austin says. “When Mom and Dad escaped from The Corps, that car was driven manually.”
“This is different,” Hal says. “In that case, the tube was cleared of traffic by The Corps and its beacons were operational. I disabled all of the security lockouts and beacons on car P732-6. It can be driven manually, but it will be invisible in the system.”
“Isn’t being invisible a good thing?” Austin asks.
“Not with tube cars,” Hal says. “If you’re invisible, the system isn’t planning for you. Other cars won’t know you’re there until they’re within ten meters. You’ll also have to regulate speed and open the switches to branch lines manually.”
“That’s crazy,” Zera says. “The timing would need to be down to the fraction of a second. Nobody can do that without crashing.”
“Only one person has ever wanted to travel invisibly enough to attempt it,” Hal says, and nods towards me and Austin. “Their father.”