The Shelter

by Peter Foley

  Drew and Hazel seize the opportunity to push through the army. Through the punches, kicks, scratches and tears they push with speed and violence to find the light source. They reach the corridor and see that the door, the blessed exit, is open. Yellow sunshine streams over a small silhouetted figure at the threshold. Drew and Hazel sprint towards the exit, the mysterious figure framed in yellow lets them pass. They are outside Salvation’s door at last, standing under a clear sky and in the path of a gentle breeze.

  In the distance, cars zoom along a far, unseen highway and birds sing in blossoming trees under a pastel blue sky. The ground is dry and green underfoot, a golden sun warms their faces. Stunned by both nature and the reality of the moment, they stop and look back to the door of Salvation. There stands Mother, so solemn and so still she almost floats in the sunlight. Her presence holds back the crowd. She stands with her back to the packed corridor. Facing the daylight with her eyes close, she holds her head up to the air as her yellow dress moves silently in the breeze. She draws a breath then, still with closed eyes, turns her head to the people of Salvation.

  “Am I not your mother?”

  The crowd nods and murmurs in agreement, moving restlessly, ready to pounce.

  “For too long we have tried, and we have tried so very hard. For too long we have listened without action. For too long we have made easy choices,” she says, slowly opening her eyes to the horizon and lifting her fallen sorrowful expression to the sky, as if the universe and all its stars had called her name.

  While he and Hazel slowly back away from the door, Drew yells to Mother. “You had the key to the door all this time!”

  “No, dear. No. You see, the only lock on this door was Father’s words. And what were Father’s words to you last night, Drew?” Mother pauses to recollect. “Ah, yes, he said, ‘Drew, this is the last time I’m going to save your ass.’ Well, I am not Father, and since Father is not here anymore, and since I am known as a woman of kindness, I will give you and Hazel… a head start.”

  The crowd resume their awful ululation. As Hazel and Drew look at each other for courage, Mother starts a countdown.

  “Ten… nine… eight… seven…”

  Drew, transfixed by Mother’s stare, releases a long-held breath which carries on it the words “Time to run” directly from his accelerating heart. Hazel and Drew turn and dash and rush and fall and panic and sprint with primal focus. They speed past Drew’s old Buick, ruing the knowledge that without keys the faithful car would be a coffin for them both. They race through the daylight and into the woods with the dreadful melody of Salvation’s war call at their backs.

  Epilogue

  Shades of memories. Snapshots of sound. The blurry corridor between sleeping and waking. Ophelia is here, smiling after an argument. “If we cannot live in peace then let us die in peace…” The smell of gunpowder. Shouting, yelling. A voice. “Oh, how very much I have loved you…” Crying in anguish. The ecstasy of a crowd. “How very much I have tried to give you the good life…” Fighting. Confusion. Reverberation in the corridor. “But in spite of all that I have tried, two people, with their lives, have made our lives impossible.” Then peace.

  In the early hours of Tuesday morning on the 23rd of March 2021, Stephen woke up blinking at the concrete ceiling of Salvation’s medical bay. On his body he found a red gown, his feet were bare. In a strange dark room he found his boots, some medical devices, a space heater and nothing more. He rose to his feet and wandered around the corridors of a gloomy building. The silence was profound. At this time of day, the environment would usually have been rich with noise and activity, according to a fragment of his memory, but on this day it was silent.

  Confused and afraid, he experienced what it feels like to be the last person on earth. First, the smell hit him. Like old meat that’s been left in a broken refrigerator during a hot summer. The stench hung in the air, it was impossible for him to turn his nose from it. Even when breathing through the fabric of his gown, the odor was enough to make him heave. Then he saw the first group of bodies, lying on their chests and clad in red robes. Some had put an arm around another, as if in a sleeping embrace, some were contorted with struggle.

  Corpses packed the corridor outside the Common Room, more were inside, some were found in the Sermon Hall. A few appeared to have been trying to escape but had been killed in the process. There were many, many bodies. Most wore a bright red gown, a few wore sky blue. On a wooden lectern Stephen found a letter:

  Momma,

  We came to Salvation for shelter, not just from the hurricane, but from the turbulence of life itself. Some may not understand that, but many will. For those that come after us and want an explanation, I hope they look to their own lives and to society for answers. I hope they ask themselves, is this really good enough? Is this the life they wanted?

  Salvation lived and died for our ideals of brotherhood, co-operation, justice and equality, ideals that society outside these walls would not let live and be real.

  Momma, I hope they look at Salvation and see what we tried to do – This was a monument to life, [cross-out] to the renewal of the human spirit that had been broken by a system of exploitation & injustice. Look at all that was built by a beleaguered people. I know we didn’t want this kind of ending – we wanted to live, to shine, to bring light to a world that is dying for a little love. Many will leave behind loved ones. I am grateful for this opportunity to bear a bitter witness with you.

  Ours are a beautiful people, a brave people. I am not afraid. I am calm in this hour of our collective leave-taking. As I write these words, people are silently amassed and ready for relief. We are a long-suffering people. [cross-out] Many of us are weary of the long search and the long struggle.

  It’s sad that we could not let our light shine in truth, unclouded by the demons of circumstances.

  People are hugging each other now, embracing, we are hurrying – [cross-out] we do not want to be captured. We want to bear witness at once.

  I see hugging and kissing and tears and silence and joy in a long line.

  Momma, you, like many of us, are now dead. Each moment, another passes over to peace. We are begging only for understanding. It will take more than small minds, reporters’ minds, to fathom these events. Something must come of this. Beyond all the circumstances surrounding the immediate event, someone can perhaps find the symbolic, the eternal [cross-out] in this moment – the meaning of a people and their struggle – I wish I had time to put it all together. I didn’t do it, I failed to write the book. Someone else, others, will have to do this.

  I hope that someone writes the whole story. It’s not ‘news’. It’s more than that. We merge with millions of others. We are subsumed in the archetype.

  We did not want it this way. No matter what view anyone takes of us, perhaps the most relevant truth is that our movement was filled with outcasts and the poor who were looking for something they couldn’t find in society.

  If nobody understands, it matters not. People may think that we are brainwashed, but they are the robots. I am ready to die, and to join you. Darkness settles over Salvation on its last day on earth. No more pain, no more pain for us, but I hope people will ask themselves – Will the world ever be ready for peace and solidarity?

  I love you Momma. Dad, I’m coming home,

  – Oscar Hinchcliffe

  It is said that he who goes to salvation and leaves comes back mad. Stephen Roberts knows if this is true. He read the letter, he saw all there was to see before he left that place on painful, bruised legs.

  Finding the spare key for his pickup behind the vehicle’s sun visor, he drove back through the woodland trail, and when his phone had gained enough charge, he called the police.

  Police cars and media vans arrived and a frenzy of worldwide attention immediately ensued. Stephen was suspected to be responsible for the deaths of 298 people. Later that same day, Drew and Hazel flagged down a passing car, having spent one day and two nights navigating C
alifornia’s difficult dense woodland. Authorities sent them back to Salvation in order to identify what bodies they could. Three bodies could not be accounted for; those of Nurse Chamberlin, Pastor Quincy Gordon and baby Quincy.

  Drew and Hazel explained to Stephen all that had happened. His friendship became vital for their future.

  THE END

  Afterword

  The story doesn’t end here. For the next volume, I encourage you to leave a book review, I don’t mean to hold you to ransom, but without your support they cannot see another day.

  So, thanks for reading, folks. I hope you enjoyed it. Have a look at me on Twitter at @thePeteFoley why don’t ya? And as always, be kind to each other and be well.

  A note from the publisher

  Thank you for reading this book. If you enjoyed it please do consider leaving a review on Amazon to help others find it too.

  We hate typos. All of our books have been rigorously edited and proofread, but sometimes mistakes do slip through. If you have spotted a typo, please do let us know and we can get it amended within hours.

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