The Hole (11 page)

The dog barked at something and ran. Elliot started after it but quit after a few steps, knowing it’d come back when hunger loomed. He stood, watching the minimal bustle of the town, thinking maybe he could convince himself Evajean was right about all of it. Maybe they should stay for a week or two, let the normality of the situation do some good. As long as these folks didn’t try to convert him to anything, he could manage. If that was the best thing for Evajean right now, if that would settle her down and make her content before they started their drive-and he hoped it was a drive and not a very long walk-then the creepiness could be worth it.

He heard the door open and looked back to see Evajean standing on the front step of the house. She inhaled deeply, let it out, and said, “I haven’t given up.”

“Given up?”

“On what this was all about,” she said. “On finding the Hole.”

He nodded. The dog bounced out from behind a low shrub, preceded by a darting and terrified chipmunk. Evajean laughed.

“We still need to name him,” she said. “He’s been through a lot to be nameless.”

“You said you had an idea,” Elliot said, glad the subject had changed for now, but weary of why.

“Yeah,” she said, “I do- I did. But it sounds kind of cheesy now.”

“What was it?” The dog had given up on the chipmunk and took a position by Evajean’s leg, scratching its chin with a hind leg.

She bent down and scratched its head. “Hope,” she said. “Like for good luck.” She looked up at him and grinned. “There was this story, a myth, my mom read me when I was a kid and I always remembered it. Pandora’s Box. A woman’s given a box and is told not to open it but she does and all the bad stuff in the world, like hunger and fear and disease, comes out. And all that’s left in the box, down in the bottom, is hope. So the world is no longer perfect and is a kind of miserable place, but we still have hope to keep us going.”

“Why’s it left?” he asked.

“Why?”

“If all the bad stuff wasn’t in the world because it was in the box and now it’s in the world, why is hope still in the box? How can hope be in the world, too, if it hasn’t been set free like, what did you say, like hunger and disease?”

Evajean picked up the dog. It barked once, surprised, and then settled against her breasts. “I don’t know, Elliot. It’s just a story, one I liked. And because you had to go and try and ruin it, that’s the name I’m giving the dog. Hope. To remind us of what we have.”

“Hope,” he said, and reached out to pet the puppy. It turned its face up to his. “Hi, Hope,” he said. “You may not make a lot of sense, but there you are.” Then to Evajean, “So what are we supposed to do now?”

“What do you mean?” she said.

“Since we’re staying on your say so, I thought you might have a plan for what to do besides stand in front of our little house with Hope. You were here before I was; did they tell you anything?”

“No,” she said, “I mostly slept. All they said was they were going to find you and that I should stay here and they’d make sure you were safe.”

“Fine,” he said, “then I’m going to see what I can figure out. There has to be someone around here who can tell me what’s going on. They seem to have more experience with the crazies that we do, maybe they know more about them, too. Can’t hurt to ask.”

“I’ll stay here,” she said, bouncing the dog in her arms. “You’re going to pick a fight and I don’t want to be there.”

Elliot laughed. “I can behave.”

She looked at him, unconvinced.

“Really,” he said.

“Okay,” she said, “but I’m still going to stay here. Let me know what you unearth.”

Evajean took the dog inside and Elliot walked out, closing the small gate behind him. He greeted several of Nahom’s residents on his way to the town square and church, only making pleasantries, however, and not quizzing them for info. For that he wanted a leader of some sort and his best guess was that he’d be in or near the church, if this place really was a bizarre fundamentalist town.

Nahom was a dozen homes and not much else. Deep in a valley, the town had a picture postcard look, with quaint architecture, happy children dressed like Sunday school enthusiasts, and husbands and wives helping each other with rustic chores. Elliot noticed far more of the latter than the former as he explored, the women easily outnumbering the grown men by three or more to one. Evajean has said they weren’t polygamists anymore but Nahom seemed to buck the trend.

From what he could tell, these people spent their time farming, maybe hunting-for both meat and treasure, and attending church at the largest building they had. His impression, as he waved and smiled at people, nodding greetings and once helping a group of men right an overturned plow, was of the community of hobbits in the
Lord of the Rings
movie he and Clarine had gone to see years ago, after his wife told him those were her favorite books in high school. The people were caricatures of small town America in colonial times and he knew there were never any scandals here bigger than a couple of teenagers getting caught kissing in the hay.

The dozen homes mostly gathered along one dirt road in a gentle arc, the church at its apex. Beyond these, on both sides, were cultivated fields. The road began at the bottom of the path they’d taken down the valley slope the night before, and ended at a wide brook, bustling with children fishing and catching crayfish. Nahom was, in the end, nauseatingly idyllic. The city boy in Elliot had thought Charlottesville was bad, cut off from his loved urban density, but he was convinced a week in this place would drive him very nearly mad. He couldn’t imagine why anyone chose to live this way, even with the pressures of strictly following religious texts. The bad vibe he’d told Evajean about was fiercer now, because a people who could keep the violence he’d seen suppressed under a facade like this were definitely not to be trusted.

He was right about this clan having a leader. Asking around and following directions eventually had him in the small office of Jeffry Lester, or Uncle Jeffry as he was apparently called.

Uncle Jeffry stood up from behind a modest oak desk, covered with books and papers, and held out his hand as Elliot walked into the room. “Elliot,” he said, in a big voice well used to the booming intonations of public preaching. “Is it Bishop?”

“Elliot Bishop,” Elliot said, taking Jeffry’s offered hand.

After they shook and Elliot sat down, Jeffry said, “I want to welcome you to Nahom. Terrible circumstances, I know, but nonetheless it is good to have you and Ms. Rhodes as our guests.”

“I appreciate it,” Elliot said. “Especially what you did last night with the-”

“Oh, thank you, but please don’t mention it. Good men do good for others and we in Nahom like to think of ourselves as very good men. Call it a point of pride.”

“You’re Mormons here?” Elliot asked.

“We are. Followers of the true faith of Joseph Smith and the revelations of the prophets. Is that a problem for you, Mr. Bishop? Some people, those ignorant of our faith, often develop prejudiced feelings about our beliefs and our church. It’s a battle we fight every day and is a large part of the reason we founded this very town. Nahom is without bigots.”

“It’s not a problem,” Elliot said, but Jeffry’s abundant answer and the mighty tone with which it was delivered, had him on edge. He and Evajean had stumbled upon some kind of fundamentalist camp and he didn’t care if these people worshiped Allah or Jesus or the sun and moon-they were all dangerous so far as he was concerned. He continued, “I’m not Mormon, neither is Evajean, but then I’m not really anything, so I always just live and let live, you know?”

“That is my attitude, too, Mr. Bishop. Not God’s-he very much cares what you believe-but I’m a simple man in a complex world. Still,” he said, clapping his hands together, “that’s not what you came to me to talk about. What was your intention for this visit? And would you like something to drink? It is getting hot already and I can offer you water or milk.”

“Water,” Elliot said, “thank you.”

Jeffry, a small man with a tight face and eyes the color of brushed steel, pushed back his chair and walked over to a large shelf against the office’s back wall. He lifted down a silver tray with crystal glasses and a decanter of water. The setup was exactly the kind Elliot had wanted in their living room in Charlottesville, elegant and classy, the sort of display you craved showing off to guests. The effect certainly worked here, even if the clear liquid pouring smoothly into the heavy glasses was only water and not triple distilled vodka or Dutch gin.

Elliot took the offered glass. Jeffry carried his back to his desk and resumed his spot behind it, leaning forward towards Elliot and saying, “Getting back to my question: why did you take this opportunity to come see me? I imagine these last days have not been terribly pleasant for you and your traveling companion.”

Elliot shook his head. “They’ve been a mess,” he said, “and I was hoping you and your people could help us get back where we were headed. I don’t know if Evajean told you, but our car is back up by the main road. It slid down the hill and flipped over and if you have some men who could help get it righted again and maybe back up that hill, that’d be more than enough.”

“Probably,” Jeffry said, looking up at the ceiling and thinking. “A dozen strong men we have, and ropes. How big is this car?”

“It’s a truck,” Elliot said. “A pickup.”

“Two dozen, then. Is that all you’ll need?”

“If you can get our truck back up on the road, that’ll be plenty,” Elliot said. “If it still drives.”

“We don’t have any mechanics, I’m afraid,” Jeffry said. “And the world beyond Nahom’s borders looks to be such that you’re unlikely to find one elsewhere.”

“Probably right about that,” Elliot said. “Help me get that trucked turned over and I’ll be grateful enough. More than anything, we just want to get started back on our expedition.”

“Where is it you’re going, exactly?” Jeffry said, leaning forward over the papers and books. “Clearly the roads aren’t safe and we have no idea how bad it gets beyond Virginia’s gorgeous borders.”

Suspicion dragged at Elliot and he knew telling this man anything was a bad idea. Yet he had the sense that Uncle Jeffry was the kind of guy who could read falsity easily, so Elliot went with vague. “West,” he said. “There’s nothing for us, for either of us, in Virginia anymore. Maybe there’s nothing west but we can’t stay where we were.”

“You can stay here,” Jeffry said, tossing off the suggestion like it was nothing more than a dinner invitation. “Nahom has plenty of room for good people-and you already have a house.” He smiled.

Elliot shook his head. “Thanks, but no. It’s appreciated but this isn’t where we want to end up. Out west, maybe there’s something.”

“Are you lovers?” The smile was gone, replaced by the concerned blankness of a potentially upset parent.

Elliot was taken aback by the abruptness of the question and didn’t immediately answer. Why did Jeffry care? “Does that matter?” Elliot said, setting his glass down on the desk.

“You’re not married.”

“No, were not. And we’re not lovers, either. Just-what was it you said before? Just ‘traveling companions.’ Which is what we want to get back to, really. Can you help us?”

The grin came back and Jeffry was friendly again. “Of course. Though not today, I’m sorry to admit. Today my people are preparing for the funerals of the men killed during your rescue. There will be mourning and celebration and they will be ready to help you turn over your truck by tomorrow-the day after at the latest. You’ll be our guests until then. Does that agree with you?”

“It’ll have to,” Elliot said.

“Wonderful,” Uncle Jeffry said, standing up. He offered his hand to Elliot. “Then I will send someone over to make sure you and Evajean have everything you need and then I will expect the two of you at our service tonight. Whether you are a man of Jehovah or not, I assume you are not adverse to attending a funeral preached in his name?”

Elliot shook Jeffry’s hand and said, “Not at all. We’ll be there. It’s the least we can do for what they did for me.”

Jeffry nodded. “Then, Mr. Bishop, I’ll see you there. If there’s anything you need between now and then, anyone in Nahom will be happy to help you. Lunch, like breakfast, is communal and we eat it at noon.”

“Thank you,” Elliot said and he left Jeffry in the small office, again behind the desk, consumed by the administration of his one hundred and forty citizens.

The afternoon prior to the funeral slithered by, with Evajean helping several of the women with household chores and Elliot joining the men in harvesting what would be the vegetable haul last before winter. This gender division seemed strictly enforced in Nahom, the men and women having their duties and places, only to meet, Elliot figured, in the marital bed.

The men he worked with, picking root vegetables, squash, and withered corn, were friendly and warm, but far from talkative. Their conversation focused on the weather or pregnancy rumors, and never touched the terrors of the outside world or the deaths that had afflicted their town in the last day. The banality of it all made Elliot uncomfortable, a feeling he was unfortunately rather used to at this point. Still, he did his best to participate and laugh at their jokes, trying to be one of the boys for just this afternoon.

He wanted to press them for knowledge, however, because questions kept banging around inside his head. How had Nahom made it through the plague so unmarred? Had any of these people fallen prey to the sickness, been driven mad? And, if not, why? Everywhere he and Evajean had been since this started was dead and empty, except for the crazies. Now they were spending a pleasant day in a small town that might’ve been from an entirely different world. He wouldn’t be able to convince anyone of it, but Elliot knew the answer to these questions was sinister. A sort of heat in his stomach and chest had dogged him since the men had first shown up in the cave, but until now he’d passed it off as exhaustion or nerves. But those felt different, were different, and Elliot had to entertain, though with minimal credulity, the notion that maybe his mind was trying to tell him something, that his unconscious was picking up signals he wasn’t yet aware of. Call it ESP, he thought, and laughed. One of the men, a burly farmer in grey overalls and a straw hat, turned to him, curious, but Elliot only waved and said, “It’s nothing. Just something I thought of now. Is this were these go?” And he dropped his armful of zucchini into an empty reed basket.