Lost Souls

chapter 4

The truck departed, carrying the real Erskine, Nancy, and Ariel to their doom. The new Mayor Potter, his efficient wife, and his focused daughter returned to the house.

Energetic, industrious, and sagacious, the three thoroughly cleaned the kitchen. They reordered the contents of the cabinets, the refrigerator, and the pantry to ensure that every meal could henceforth be prepared as quickly as possible.

They exchanged not a single word as they worked. Yet they did not duplicate one another’s efforts. Neither did they at any time crowd one another.

When the kitchen had been put right, they prepared an early breakfast. Erskine cracked, scrambled, and fried a dozen eggs while Nancy fried a pound of bacon.

Spots of green mold marked the bread. Like every member of the Community, Ariel was loath to waste anything. She prepared twelve browned slices in the four-slot toaster.

A squeeze-bottle of liquid butter-actually a butter substitute-was thrillingly efficient.

Erskine plated the eggs. Nancy added the bacon. Ariel poured three glasses of orange juice.

As Erskine put the plates on the table, Nancy set out the flatware and Ariel put a paper napkin at each place setting.

With night still pressing at the windows, they sat at the table. They ate.

Because conversation inhibited the efficient consumption of a meal, they initially dined in silence.

Eventually, Erskine said, “As mayor, it has been my habit to take my family at least twice a week to restaurants owned by some of my constituents.”

“Eating at home takes less time,” said Nancy.

“Yes. But until the Community replaces the current population of Rainbow Falls, we must follow the habits and traditions of the Potter family to avoid arousing suspicion.”

“When we eat at home,” Ariel said, “we should eat the same thing for breakfast every morning.” Her public role was as a daughter to Erskine and Nancy, but she was neither their daughter nor younger than they were; she was their equal in the classless utopia of the Community. “We should develop a menu for each meal of the day and cook nothing but those menus. Repetition will result in ever more efficient preparation.”

“Yes,” said Erskine.

“Agreed,” Nancy said. “And food shopping will be simplified.”

After finishing breakfast, they cleared the table and rinsed the china. They racked the dishes, the cookware, and the utensils in the dishwasher.

Soon they must reorganize the other rooms, the garage, and the rest of the property as they had already improved the kitchen. They felt no need to consult on an agenda; they must first explore the barn.

The driveway forked. One lane went to the garage, and the other led to the red barn toward the back of the property.

Never had the Potter family been farmers. Nancy and Ariel were horsewomen, and the barn served as their equestrian facility.

The building encompassed about sixteen hundred square feet, most in the main room, with a tack room at the back. Along the south wall were three stalls. From across the room, three other stalls faced the first group.

In the north stalls stood a stallion named Commander and two mares named Queenie and Valentine. The south stalls were unoccupied.

“The walls are insulated, and there’s an oil furnace that keeps the temperature from falling too low,” Erskine said.

“The insulation will also contain sound,” Nancy said. “We might need the sound to be well contained.”

The horses watched them with interest.

Ariel turned in place, surveying the room. “The windows must be packed with sound insulation and boarded over inside. From outside, they should appear unchanged.”

Erskine declared, “Here it will happen.”

“Ideal,” Nancy said.

Ariel’s somber expression became a thin smile of anticipation. Her gray-blue eyes shone with a lustrous steely light.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes. This is where I will be what I am.”

Nancy said, “Install locks on the barn doors. Very good locks.”

Beginning a second survey of the barn, Ariel said, “And fortify the stalls, both the walls and the doors. They must be very strong.”

The three stood in silence for a moment. Erskine knew that they felt the same things: urgent purpose, the thrill of a war begun, a kind of awe that they were the agents of change that would remake the world, and an almost feverish desire to exterminate the rabble, the vermin, the pestilence, the filth that was humankind.