He should stay. I told myself the reasons. I told myself not to be surprised, not to show outwardly the cold river of sorrow spreading through me.

“Are you sure you want to stay?” I said. “It’s just...”

The men patrolled the perimeter, only the men. The women had served dinner that night: canned green beans and rolls and hamburger casserole, and the women had cleaned up after alone. They had refused Grayson’s offer of help.

“They left you,” I said.

“Your family left you.”

“I didn’t want to go with them then.”

“Well, I didn’t want to go with my family, either, at the time. But times have changed. It seems like we should be with family now. Doesn’t it? Whatever that means.”

I felt an ache. It wasn’t like the awful thought of leaving Jamey and Starla behind in the compound; it wasn’t even like watching Dance disappear off on his own. Grayson wouldn’t be alone here. But I still didn’t want to let him go. It didn’t seem right. It seemed like, once we had found each other, we should stick together.

“Are you going to be safe?” I asked him.

“Of course.”

“It seems a little cult-ish.”

“It is. But you can’t blame people for wanting to believe in something, especially now. And the assistant pastor’s a woman,” he offered hopefully.

And the pastor was a man.

Power was power, I thought.

“Do you believe this stuff?” I asked.

“Not really. So what? So I have to go to church sometimes.”

“A lot. Sunday and Wednesday night. Probably more. A lot.”

“I’ll do it. It’s temporary. Nothing is forever now. It’s not a big deal. I want to get this thing off me as soon as I can.” He kicked his leg and we both looked at the boot. If he did get it off, it would feel light for him. It would feel like flying. “I want to survive,” he said.

I hugged Grayson. Above the layers of flannel and thermal and fleece, his coat was stuffed with balls of newspaper. We had learned to do this miles ago, insulating ourselves like old house walls. When I hugged him, it crunched.