“We are not safe, America. We must band together, now, as Americans, to fight the enemy in every corner of the Earth. Including our own. Tomorrow Congress will pass, and I will sign, the Articles for the Continuation of Democracy. These emergency measures will grant the executive branch full authority to find every terrorist, to root out every infiltrator hidden among us, to seek out everyone anywhere in the world who might intend us harm, and to destroy them all. To defend our freedom, to protect our children, to fight for our way of life, and-yes, America, for our God.”
After another wave of cheers, the President continued, “Even in this worst of all tragedies lies opportunity. We will reclaim America for the American people, and we will set our nation right. Citizens of America, the Second Revolution has begun. Together, we will build an America that will stand a thousand years, an America everlasting.”
This time, even the kids in the room joined in the cataclysmic applause. They’d been trained that way.
Madeline touched a black panel in the wall and the fluorescent classroom lights came up, while the giant image of President Winthrop faded into a blank whiteboard. Black words appeared in Madeline’s handwriting:
FOR TONIGHT:
Watch today's lesson again. Journalize your feelings on video. We will evaluate you in class tomorrow.
The bell rang, and sixty kids jumped to their feet. Madeline shouted after them as they surged out of the room.
“Mark, no pushing! Keep your eyes on the ground! Sarah, pull up your sock, no one wants to see your dirty leg!”
When the last kid had left, she turned to Ruppert and her hard glare melted into a smile.
“Hi there,” she said.
“Hi there yourself.” Daniel leaned in to kiss her, but she kept him at arm’s length.
“Not here in the gulag, okay?” she said.
He stepped back from her as she gathered her purse from her desk.
“You must have the easiest job in the world,” he said.
“You try babysitting nine classes of sixty little hell-trolls every day.”
“I thought you taught history.”
“What do you call that?” She gestured toward the whiteboard as they started towards the door.
“A movie.”
“It’s the only way these pagan brats learn anything. Just try to get one to read a book. Half of them are just waiting to go home and shoot up virtual Muslims.”
“That’s what half of them will spend their adult lives doing.”
“Right.” They stepped into the crowded hallway, moving quickly into the center, kid-free lane. “I just hope they carry some respect for history onto the battlefield with them. They should know what they’re sacrificing for. Did you get the cookies?”
“Cookies?”
Madeline froze, and Daniel nearly crashed into her.
“I told you three times. I have to bring cookies for the Ladies’ Antiquing Society fundraiser. Butterscotch. Daniel, I told you three times!” Her voice rose an octave. “Do you have Men’s Meeting tonight?”
“It’s Wednesday, isn’t it?”
“Then we have to be at the church by five! Daniel, I have to get them from the same bakery. Aunt Frizzie’s Bakery. You know that.” She rushed to the teachers’ elevator. Ruppert hurried to keep up.
“Aren't you supposed to make them yourself?” he asked.
“Shut up, Daniel. Now everybody’s going to think I’m not contributing.”
In the parking lot, Daniel’s Bluehawk unlocked as they approached. They would return later to pick up Madeline’s car.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me, Daniel.” Madeline’s voice was knotted with fury.
“Doing what? Hey, what’s that on your seat?”
Madeline opened the door and broke into a smile. A plump white bag, with the blue-haired caricature of Aunt Frizzie stamped on the front, occupied the passenger seat. An empty cookie tin, leftover from a previous Christmas, lay beside it.
“Daniel!” Madeline picked up them up and slid into the seat. He sat down beside her. The car doors silently closed themselves.
“What are those, exactly?” Daniel asked.
“You’re so mean. Now I want my kiss.”
As Ruppert pulled out of the parking lot, Madeline began transferring cookies into the tin.
FOUR
The Golden Tabernacle World Dominion Church occupied a sprawling twenty-acre complex in Pacific Palisades, including a long stripe of beach fenced off from the public. Ruppert drove past the security gate, which recognized his car and opened automatically, and onto the church’s network of brick boulevards lined with palm trees. They rounded a corner, and the church’s immense sanctuarium swelled into view, the great golden dome shimmering in the sunset.
“You’re not going to be late for Men’s, are you?” Madeline asked. She was checking her hair in the mirror. “Oh, I hope Doreathea isn’t there.”
“Which one is that?”
“Doreathea? The founder and president of Ladies’ Antiquing?” She cast an annoyed look at him, as if Ruppert should have memorized the membership lists of all her church groups. “She hates anyone under the age of sixty, I swear.”
“So join a different group.”
“I don’t like any of the other Wednesdays.”
“So stay home Wednesdays.”
“And let her win?” Madeline rolled her eyes and shook her head.
Ruppert took a side road and entered one of the two giant parking towers; his car informed him that a space was available on the fifteenth floor. He sped up the curling rampway.
They took the elevator down and followed a paved footpath through a garden, towards the looming golden dome.
“I’ll see you later,” Madeline said. “Play nice with the other boys.” She planted a chaste, perfunctory kiss on his mouth, then turned down another path towards Salvation Hall, a long canary-yellow building that made Ruppert think of a giant Twinkie. Salvation Hall belonged to the women’s clubs. There were buildings for every sex and age group: Angel Academy for the little girls, Daniel’s Den for the boys, and two others for adolescent girls and boys, these located on opposite ends of the campus from each other. The men had the Holy Redeemer Workshop building for pursuing healthy, masculine hobbies-and the golf course, too, though that was not officially closed to women-but tonight was the general Men’s Meeting, and for that they needed the massive seating of the sanctuarium itself.
Ruppert entered into the West Narthex, where high glass walls and skylights gave a view of the low, fat sun sinking toward the ocean. Men in suits crowded the room, greeting each other with the hearty handshake-plus- shoulder-grab move, sipping iced teas and juices from the Fishes ‘N Loaves franchise just inside the front door.
“Daniel! Great to see you!”
Ruppert turned to greet a bland-faced, balding man with a toothy smile. For a moment he struggled to remember the man’s name as he shook the offered hand and accepted the obligatory thump on the arm.
“Hi there…” At the last moment, the name popped into his head: Liam O’Shea. “Liam!”
“We’ve missed you in Revelation Review,” the man said, his smile fixed as if determined not to waver. “Where have you been spending your Tuesdays?”
“I’ve only missed…three. I’m sorry.” He struggled to remember what Liam did for a living-something vague for the Church. Child and Family Services, maybe? Welfare distribution? It had to be something bureaucratic, the
