Word had gotten out about the Homestead. Drones tracked the refugees’ approach. Father planned to intercept them on the road. “Come with me, Mildred.”
Milly’s half-brother watched them leave.
While driving, Father turned to her. “This is how we separate the wheat from the chaff and hear first-hand stories of the outside world.” He waved at his armed men, already at the blockade, then parked. “Let the men do the dirty work whenever possible, Mildred.”
The refugee woman’s weary eyes lit up as Father walked over. She bowed, reaching for his hand. “Father, it’s really you.” She caressed his fingers.
His calm was eerie. “Your profession?”
Transfixed, she smiled. “Marketing, but I’m good at—”
“No.” Father glared at her daughter.
Pallor crept up the woman’s cheeks. “But I worship you. I’ve watched—”
He snapped his fingers.
One of Father’s men lowered a rifle. “Out!”
The woman quivered. “Father, why?”
“Many worship me. But I’ve no use for you.”
The woman left crying, daughter in tow.
Father had a gravity. It summoned pain in some people only he could soothe. Not everyone had that pain. But Father found mine, and he did have use for me.
A gray-haired man watched them depart. “At least she’s got a car. They might make it.”
Father looked over. “What’s your deal, old-timer?”
“I’m a retired dentist. I have my tools. I’m alone.”
Father perked up.
That night, the dentist examined Milly. “She’s got great teeth. Just one little cavity.”
“You can fix it?”
“Of course.”
Father left.
Lying back, maw wide open, tube dangling, Milly spoke, her mumbles incoherent to someone of any other profession.
“Lucky?” the dentist responded. “No, it’s genetics. Plus, he says you folks don’t eat much sugar.” He smiled. “Actually, genetics is luck. So, you may be right.” He switched on his drill. “We’re both lucky.”
Maybe not both.
Each refugee brought tales of ravaged cities, floods, and burning land. Most were at least partially true. But Milly may have come to understand each anecdote arrived from one place with one scared person. Their narrative self-selected. The caverns and tunnels Homesteaders dug formed their literal echo chamber.
Sure, the truth was bad, but not all of it.
Father began censoring news from outside. Stories of hope, photos of cities rebuilding, and tales of people who cooperated — never arrived. Then news updates stopped entirely.
That was after our time.
Father told his people what they asked to hear: doom. He showed them what they wanted to believe in most of all: safety. His safety. False safety. In exchange, Father took the deed to everything they had, most importantly their identity.
Though clear today, this was murky then. When did Milly see truth amid darkness? Once she’d earned Father’s trust, carefully alternating between her silence, submission, and strength — yet holding onto herself — he showed her. His true self.
Where is truth in The Now?
Enthralled with this Val. Totally enjoying this. - Jim