He had no idea where they’d end up. He had no idea what he’d do when he got there. He had no idea how much two hundred dollars would buy, thirty years later.

He only knew he had to get his Abigail somewhere safe. Somewhere warm. And then he’d find Mercy and beg her forgiveness. Hopefully she remembered him kindly.

TWENTY-ONE

SNOWBUSH, CALIFORNIA

TUESDAY, APRIL 18, 3:45 A.M.

Amos had no idea how long they’d been driving. He’d been doing his level best to keep Abigail warm. And to avoid puking, because the road they’d taken was bumpy and full of curves.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been in the back of a moving vehicle since joining Eden. Every time they’d moved the community, they’d packed this truck with the heaviest equipment, then hitched a trailer to the back. Not a nice trailer. A bare, utilitarian trailer that had held as many people as they could fit. Waylon, and later DJ, had managed to borrow or rent trucks and trailers for every move. Only Founding Elders and the oldest of their members were allowed to drive or ride in cars. The others, which usually included Amos, had sat on the trailer floor. Some were sad to leave the place they’d called home while others were excited to see where they’d end up.

At one point, at their peak membership, they’d needed seven trucks and trailers to make the move. That time Amos had been tapped to drive. He hadn’t seen much, though. Trees and more trees and a winding little road that disappeared into the darkness.

Because they always moved at night. Fear was the common emotion each time, because they’d been told that they were moving because the FBI was looking for them. Just as they’d looked for Koresh and the Branch Davidians.

Many of their members had joined after the horror in Waco, Texas, bringing tales of government atrocities. Some had brought newspaper clippings and grainy photos. The images had been horrific.

Amos wondered now if those had been fake, too. Whether real or fake, they’d served their purpose, increasing the compound’s fear of government control, of the loss of their rights to religious freedom.

Now, he realized, they’d simply given up their rights without a fight.

No more.

He held Abigail a little tighter, relieved that she’d made the trip as well as she had. She’d shown no fear and had, in fact, comforted him for much of the journey until her little pats to his chest had slowed and she’d fallen asleep. She was warm, her breathing even, and for a few minutes, he let himself doze.

Until he felt the truck slow. He stiffened, listening, but hearing nothing except the rumble of the engine. He swallowed hard, hoping the pounding of his heart didn’t wake Abigail. Fortunately, she was a very heavy sleeper. He focused on the direction they took, for no other reason than to keep himself calm. Or at least not actively hyperventilating, because Amos didn’t think he’d ever be calm again.