The Mammoth Book of Apocalyptic SF - Mike Ashley [133]
But once we pulled into Salvation, nagging disappointment took hold. We were late arrivals; only a few half-finished houses were left unclaimed. The Mayor welcomed us as Christians, and a little feast was held in our honor. But we didn't have solar panels or windmills on our house. Holes for pipes and wires were cut in the walls but none of that work had begun. Suddenly there were kids to play with, except now I was too busy to act my age. My folks put me to work. Ferris was our first friend, helping with the toughest jobs. He told us how the town was abandoned when he arrived, not even the usual bodies lying about. But then again, rich sinners usually died in distant hospitals and hospices. What else could explain it? A naturally happy fellow, Ferris smiled and sang odd songs as he and a few other men helped with our carpentry and plumbing and wring. But everybody had duties in their own homes. People with real skills were scarce and the Mayor and his inner circle monopolized their time. My parents did their best, learning from the daily mistakes. If I was lucky, the fires few and the weather clear, I got to ride with dad into the city. We hunted for useful machines or materials that could be bartered. I loved those little journeys. I killed my first wild game in one of city parks, and dad helped clean and cook my rabbit lunch.
When the day got late, he said, "We need to head home."
"Why?"
He laughed. Shaking his head, he admitted, "I don't know why."
I argued that we could stay here tonight, go back tomorrow.
He dwelled on the merits of that strategy. Then he added his own good reason to delay. "We wouldn't have to pray again until tomorrow."
We hadn't prayed before the rabbit feast. Until then, I hadn't noticed.
"What do you think of Salvation, Noah?"
I thought hard. Then shrugging, I said, "It's okay."
He didn't talk.
"Do you like it?" I asked.
He didn't want to answer. It was best to point out, "Those houses are perfect for us. When ours is finished, we'll have power and water and all the comforts. We can grow vegetables out back, so the canned goods last longer, and you'll go to school with the other kids."
"Are you going to teach us?"
Dad was a teacher before. But the question seemed to take him by surprise. "If they want me to serve. Yes."
But nobody ever asked, and dad knew better than volunteer.
After that first year, life in Salvation became ordinary. Normal even. I had school and church and no reason to wonder where my food was coming from tomorrow. Which was good and bad. New people kept arriving, some coming from distant parts of the country, and while a few lingered, most found reasons to keep moving. Most weren't Believers, or we didn't think they were. Why God's wrath had spared them was a mystery to me. But one undeserving family was particularly stubborn, claiming to have nowhere else to go. They built a new house in the hills. The dad was a talented carpenter, so he was able to find work even with the people who despised him. His little girl was named Lola. Lola's mother taught her at home, and only on rare occasions did they attend church services. But I made a point of talking to the girl whenever I saw her, and better yet, she would smile and happily talk to me.
Mom noticed and thought it best to warn me, "She isn't a good person, Noah. Stay clear of her."
"How do you know that?"
Mom had many talents. She could talk to God