“Things are run differently here. You won’t have any Ponzi-scheme government retirement to rely on. No FDA telling you what you can’t eat. No fake news stations telling you what to believe.”

“That’s why Chad and I are here,” Mercy said. “We wanted to start fresh, and I hate that I can’t turn around without tripping over laws and taxes.” She counted on her fingers. “Taxes on cars, taxes on property, laws to regulate absolutely everything.” She met his gaze. “I love my country, but some things are out of hand. My paycheck gets smaller every year, and that missing money goes to rich men who are only trying to get richer.”

Pete nodded slowly.

Mercy was confident she’d said the right thing.

“You’ll have to give up some liberties to live here. To have true unity, we all have to be equal. Your life won’t be the same.” He leaned forward, crossing his arms and giving her a hard stare. “It won’t be easy.” The understanding, friendly commander was gone.

He’s attempting to trigger my anxiety.

Mercy recognized the interrogation technique; she’d used it many times. Heightened anxiety could make the subject reveal deceptive behaviors. Rubbing their nose, pulling an ear, twisting hair, stalling between answers.

He wanted to see if she was hiding something.

She held perfectly still and focused on his eyes.

“I know. But from what Chad has told me, I’ll gain so much more.” She removed her phone from her pocket and balanced it on her palm. “I was told no phones.” Her fingers closed around the phone as she looked at it regretfully. “I don’t need to see what my friends are eating for dinner or what their kids wore to school.” She extended the phone to him.

He took it while watching her with curious eyes.

She lifted her chin. “It’ll take a while, but I’ll get used to no phone. It’s more of a habit than anything else.”

“Did Chad tell you you’ll be bunking with the other women for now?”

“Yes.”

She kept her face expressionless as he studied her for a long moment, probably expecting a protest against the sleeping arrangements. She repressed an overwhelming urge to scratch her nose.

“I’ll get Vera to show you where you’re staying. She is your superior. All the women answer to her, and she answers to me.”

He turned his back, and her interview was over.

I think I passed.

In the room outside Pete’s office Mercy stood motionless, her arms held out from her sides and her eyes focused on the ugly plaid curtains as Vera Warner’s hands explored below her breasts.

Vera grimaced. “I’m sorry. Everyone gets searched when they first arrive. You never know what people are trying to sneak in.” Vera was alarmingly thin, and her skin was tinged with an odd yellow undertone that made her look sickly. Her dark hair was pulled tight against her head in a ponytail, enhancing her narrow face. Blue veins branched along her temples and the sides of her neck.

“I get it,” Mercy murmured. At least Vera had told her there wouldn’t be a cavity search. “What do people sneak in besides phones?”

“Mainly drugs.”

“Pete runs a tight ship?”

“The tightest. No drugs of any kind allowed.”

“What about necessary prescriptions?”

“Are they truly necessary?” Vera took on a lecturing tone. “People are put on medications to keep the pharmaceutical companies in business. Doctors get kickbacks for every medication they prescribe. The public has been brainwashed to believe they can heal with only the right pill. You’d be surprised what a few weeks of honest physical labor and clean air can do for a person. It’s the cure to many ills.”

Mercy bit her tongue before she argued that labor was no substitute for insulin or an emergency epinephrine dose for anaphylaxis. Vera finished her pat down. She’d been thorough, even making Mercy remove her boots for a close examination. She gestured for Mercy to grab her bags and led her out of the command center.

The zipper on Mercy’s duffel was not in the position in which she’d left it.

Not surprised.

“How long have you lived here?” Mercy asked as she jogged to catch up with the woman. Vera’s thin legs took incredibly long strides, and her jeans were slightly too short, exposing grimy socks above her hiking boots. The brown canvas coat with a sheep’s-wool collar was several sizes too large and hung loosely on her.

“I’ve been here nine months.”

“When did Pete start the camp?”

“Pete took it over. The man who had started it left after only two months.” She huffed, expressing her scorn for the quitter. “That was about a year ago.”

“Pete seems to be doing a good job.”

“He is.” Admiration for Pete rang in Vera’s voice. “This is a secure place, and I feel incredibly safe. No foreigners. These are all good, brave men who just want to live in America’s Preserve as the Constitution said we could.”

“Ah . . . that’s nice to hear.” I don’t want to hear her definition of foreigner.

“Children are being raised right. We’ve got a good teacher who doesn’t clutter their brains with useless subjects. They are taught what they need to know.”

“How many children are here?”

“Nine—including two toddlers. Sadie teaches them. She used to work in a school.”

Work in a school did not mean “be a teacher.”

“I’m glad Pete has made education a priority,” Mercy said. “Setting up a school can be expensive.”

“Oh, we don’t really need any supplies. Sadie uses the oral tradition—how schooling used to be. Memorization and recitation are their tools. The children’s minds aren’t cluttered with video games and television, so they perform better.”

Mercy couldn’t speak for a long moment. “Can they read?” Her words sounded strangled.

Vera frowned, no pause in her rapid gait. “Lotta lies printed out there. Stuff they’re better off not reading. We teach them that a man’s spoken word is his bond.”

She’d stumbled into the Stone Age.

“Honor is important.” Mercy couldn’t think of anything else agreeable to say.

“Absolutely. Lying isn’t tolerated here.” She turned and scrutinized Mercy. “The average person tells seven lies a day. It’s so ingrained in our behavior that we don’t know we’re doing it. White lies, little deceits. Usually they’re not intentional, but I recommend you start paying attention to what you say—you will be challenged if you lie.”

“Good to know,” Mercy choked out. What are the consequences?

They reached one of the buildings that hadn’t been renovated. The porch sagged, and dry rot was visible around the doorframe. “Here we go,” Vera stated as she opened the door. “We have a large room at the back with bunks, and then this is the community area in the front. Two bathrooms, but one is out of service at the moment.”

“How many women?”

“You’re number eleven.”

Eleven women; one bathroom.

The building was silent. Two mismatched couches were pushed against the walls of the room. A few old lamps and some chairs completed the community area. No curtains, no wall art.

It was dismal.

“Come this way.” Vera waved for Mercy to follow her down a narrow hall. They passed two closed doors, one with an OUT OF ORDER sign tacked to it. Vera pushed open a third door. “This room is for sleeping only. You’ll have a box to store your clothing that slides under the bed.”

Mercy counted six sets of bunk beds. Vera pointed at one directly in the center of the room. “The lower is yours.”

No privacy. All four sides of the bed were open to anyone in the room, and it held a two-inch-thick, heavily stained mattress. Clearly the worst location and probably the oldest mattress in the cabin.

“You start at the bottom here and work your way up,” Vera said, watching Mercy eye the mattress. “Good work will be rewarded.”

Pete had said everyone was equal.

She wondered what his sleeping conditions were like.

A cough pulled her attention to a bunk in the corner. In the shadows a woman partially sat up, her weight on one arm.

“Cindy?” Vera snapped. “You didn’t tell me you couldn’t make duty.”

“I’m on my way. Breakfast didn’t sit well in my stomach, and I had a rough morning.” Cindy sat up all the way and leaned forward, bringing her face into the light. She looked about Mercy’s age, and her hair clumped in long strands, desperately in need of a wash. She awkwardly pushed to her feet, and Mercy caught her breath.

Cindy was hugely pregnant. Bigger than Rose had been at the end of her pregnancy. Mercy tensed with worry, her mind cluttered with questions. How far away is the hospital? What if the roads are icy? Is there a doctor nearby?

“You must be Jessica,” Cindy said softly. “You’re a nurse, right? I’m so glad to have some medical help here now.”

Mercy froze. She knew some medical basics. The ABCs. Airway, Breathing, Circulation. How to stop bleeding, how to splint bones, how to treat infections.

Not how to handle pregnancy emergencies.

“Wh-when are you due?” Mercy’s mouth was dry.

“Soon, I think.”

“Have you seen an obstetrician?”