The beam sweeps straight down one tunnel, and right down another. "A fork in the road," Carol declares.
"Roll tracks went this way."
The tunnels are higher here, six feet, and neither has to stoop, though Daryl's head is close to the ceiling. The tunnel dead ends against a locked, iron door with a keyhole. They yank on the handle, but it doesn't budge. Carol tries to peer through the keyhole, but sees only darkness. She sighs. "There's no way through that without the key. Or dynamite."
"Got any?" Daryl asks.
"Sorry, I'm fresh out," she says sarcastically, but then muses, "I suppose we could go back to the Kingdom and get some gunpowder and make some."
"Might need to. Could be more tunnels down there. Might be where she took 'em."
Carol shakes her head. "I don't get it. We followed her trail through the woods on the other side of the Temple. But she brought them down a manhole near the creek. Why were her tracks way over there?"
"Might be more 'n one way in and out."
"Let's go look down those other tunnels."
They creep through the dark tunnel, shoulder to shoulder, with only the beam of light to lead them.
[*]
The iron square slides up. The claw creeps its way through the opening in the door. Rosita has an almost overbearing urge to seize the claw and yank it. Maybe the Prophet will open the door if his precious toy is stripped from him. But she doesn't. Instead, she picks up the paper that flutters to the floor.
It's another questionnaire.
1. Why were you watching my people?
2. How many people have you killed?
3. Why did you kill them?
4. What was the longest time you remained in one camp?
5. How did you manage to get your weapons and backpacks out of the fire, if your last camp really burned up?
6. How could you be the only two who escaped?
The line of inquiry makes Rosita nervous. It's as if the Prophet suspects – or has already decided – that they are adversaries.
[*]
Carol and Daryl have passed two more offshoots of the tunnel but are waiting to see where the current one leads before exploring those. It leads to a dead end.
Carol sweeps the beam of the flashlight up over the iron rungs of a ladder. The manhole above is latched shut with a slide lock.
"I'll go." Daryl sheds his pack in the tunnel but keeps his crossbow on his shoulder.
Carol lights his way as he scales the ladder and slides the latch free. Daryl cautiously pushes the manhole open and peeks through. He looks down. "Stay down here," he orders. "Get out the other way if'n I don't come back."
Like she's going to do that.
He crawls out the manhole. It's a long, long three minutes before he comes back down. He slides the manhole shut and climbs down the ladder.
"What's up there?" Carol asks.
"Came out in a clearin' in the trees, inside the fence, on the backside of the Temple. 'S a weird thing up there."
"What kind of weird thing?" Carols asks with trepidation.
"Big wooden chair, with metal wrists cuffs and ankle cuffs. Like maybe they put people in it. Say's DOUBTER 'cross the top of the chair, painted 'n big black letters."
"Do you think they put people in the chair to punish them? Like people used to do with the stocks?"
"Maybe. Manhole's camouflaged. Just like the other one. Dunno I'd of noticed it if I weren't comin' out it."
"Inside the fence?" Carol looks back down the tunnel. "So that's not how she got beyond the fence on the other side. Let's check out that offshoot a ways back."
They do, turning down another tunnel, hiking in, and coming out at another manhole, this time just inside the tree line on the outside of the fence. It's not far from where Daryl initially picked up the trail that they followed to the creek.
They go back down into the tunnel again, find their way back in the hazy light of the flashlight, swing left, trek in, and take yet another offshoot. "Why do you think these tunnels were built in the first place?" Carol asks.
"Dunno. Bunker? 'N case of nuclear attack?" He stops suddenly. She runs into him, and he pushes himself back by his foot, pushing her back, too.
"Ouch!" Carol rubs her nose where his crossbow smacked her.
"Sorry," he mutters. "'S a drop off. Almost fell down."
Carol inches forward and shines the flashlight below. "Another tunnel's down there."
They climb one by one cautiously down the ladder, and soon they're in a cement rather than a dirt tunnel and the walls are eight feet high. The beam of the flashlight hits a light switch. Carol swings the beam away from the switch, and they walk until they find another ladder. This time there's not a circular manhole at the top, but more of a square, and when Carol pushes against it, it feels more like wood than metal.
The door opens by a hinge, and they climb out onto some kind of stage and blink in the sudden flood of light. They look in awe at the stunningly white altar and pews, the high ceilings, and the glass chandelier that glows with electricity. "How can they have electricity?" Carol asks.
A door they cannot see but can only hear creaks open somewhere at the far end of the sanctuary. There's no time to get back down in that hatch, so Daryl slams it shut, and they both duck quickly under the white cloth that drapes the altar.
They sit cramped beneath the table as the door swings shut with a thwap. Footsteps approach.
Carol swallows and double checks that her safety is off her rifle.
The footsteps grow closer. It sounds like more than one person, though how many, Carol can't guess. The feet move up the stairs to the altar. Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump. And again Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump. And again. Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.
Three, Carol thinks. Three on two, but she and Daryl are well armed and have the element of surprise. She looks over at Daryl, who shakes his head no. They aren't here to engage the Temple people, but to find Khalid and Rosita, and their best chance of doing that is to lay low until they know more. Who knows what they might be taking on if they take on the Temple.
Daryl's eyes flit down and he nods. Carol follows his gaze and sees the tips of boots beneath the edge of the cloth against the stage: three pairs of black boots, caked in dirt.
On the table above them, something clunks down. And then something else.
"Oh Lord our God," comes a man's voice, "we bring to your Prophet this offering, the first fruits of our garden, in gratitude for our many blessings. For the bounty of your gardens, which bloom with riches. For the bounty of your fountain, which teems with fish. For the bounty of your sky, which you have filled with birds to be our meat and our sustenance. And we thank you for the bounty of the womb of our wife, in which one of our seeds has taken root."
Carol raises an eyebrow. Daryl meets her eyes with widened eyes of his own.
"In the holy name of the Prophet, our Guide and Protector, we pray. Amen."
"Amen."
"Amen."
A second voice speaks now, deeper than the first: "And I thank you that I have been chosen to be named father of the seed that grows in our wife's womb. Oh Lord, let the Revelation lead me to fulfill my duties in honor and righteousness, that I may raise up immune offspring who will in turn raise up immune offspring, until my descendants number the new earth like the stars in the sky, and the Scourge is a forgotten memory. In the holy name of the Prophet, our Guide and our Protector, we do pray. Amen."
"Amen."
"Amen."
"Oh Lord our God," prays the third man, "we pray for your protection over our wife as she grows the chosen offspring in her womb. We pray for her safe delivery, and her continued fruitfulness. We pray for self-discipline and temperance as we continue the long fast from plowing the soil of her garden."
Carol is suddenly overcome with a schoolgirl urge to giggle and presses the palm of her hand against her mouth.
Daryl's eyes have widened even further.
"…And let us be fully satisfied with our wife's weekly savoring of the fruit and absorbing of the stream…"
Now Daryl's eyes narrow in confusion as Carol presses her palm even harder against her mouth.
"…that the seed may be rotated. For it is in the name of the holy Prophet, our Guide, and or Protector that we pray. Amen."
"Amen."
"Amen."
The first man prays again: "Continue your protection for the offspring of our wife, my son Jacob. Let him grow in the wisdom of your Revelation and avoid the path of temptation. Let him not become a doubter as did his sister Hannah."
Now the third man: "Yay, Lord. And enlighten the offspring of our wife, my daughter Hannah. Restore to her the faith she once cherished." His voice grows raw as he prays. "Through your holy Prophet, our Guide and Protector, bring her back onto the path of life. Return her to us, repentant and enlightened," and now his voice cracks – "and do not let her be cast away, into the wilderness among the rotting man beasts. And do not let her be possessed by demons that would make her an adversary to your chosen people. For that kind of spirit no longer comes out except by bullet or blade. In the name of the Prophet, our Guide and Protector, I do pray."
"Amen."
"Amen."
"Oh Lord our God, protect us against those who spy upon us," the second man prays.
Caorl's hand slides from her mouth and rests on her gun. Her finger inches toward the trigger.
"If they be adversaries let them be destroyed before they destroy your holy Temple. And if they be not adversaries, let them be enlightened. Thank you for the protection of your holy Prophet, who judges the intentions of those who would near our gates. The Prophet's ways are mysterious, his footsteps unknown, his comings and goings like the wind. He comes by night to take the offering. He comes by night to take the doubters. He comes shroud in cloaks of darkness, but leaves only light in his wake. He give us peace and plenty. He leads us to repopulate the land, to build the new earth, and to vanquish the Scourge. In the name of the Prophet, our Guide and Protector, we do pray. Amen."
"Amen."
"Amen."
Carol and Daryl wait in tense silence until the footsteps disappear and the distant door creaks closed. They crawl out from under the altar cloth cautiously, rise first on their knees to peer over the table, and then stand. Two small boxes of luscious fruit and vegetables rest on the table – apples, plumbs, tomatoes, soy beans, peanuts, and more.
They look for the trap door they came through, and it takes them a moment to find it because it looks so much like the surface of the stage – there's almost no line. But because they've closed it, they can't easily open it from the outside.
"Shit," Daryl mutters.
Carol gets down on her hands and knees and feels around for a crack. She takes out her hunting knife and wedges it into the crack until she's able to pry the door open, and then they both vanish inside, shutting it above them.
When they're down in the tunnels again, Carol clicks on the flashlight and asks, "Do you think this Prophet has Khalid and Rosita?" Carol asks. "That the Prophet is judging their intentions?"
"Yeah. Think maybe so."
"And doing the same thing with some girl named Hannah?"
Daryl nods. "But ya hear how they said him? And he? They think the Prophet's a man."
"Because they've never seen her. Because she uses the tunnels and comes under the cloak of darkness."
"And goes like the wind," he mutters.
"She'll come for that offering tonight. We should be waiting for her."
Daryl nods. "Jump 'er, make 'er open that damn door and take us to Khalid and Rosita. But we still got a couple hours 'til nightfall."
"You want to go exploring, Pookie?"
He grins. "Used to do this in the storm sewers when I's a kid. Ya know, the ones for rain water. Always come out by a creek or some shit. Thought I was fuckin' Lewis n' Clark."
She smiles. "Well, I'll be your Sacagawea." She jerks head back down the tunnel, and walks off, with Daryl following.
