Page 49 of The Cult

Relief washes over me. I’m going to get out of here and back to my regular schedule, and nothing could make me happier. Once I get some food in my stomach, I’m sure I’ll feel even better.

“Thanks, Micah. I appreciate this.”

He pats me on the back and gives me a big smile. “I’m happy to help, Nash. Go eat and relax today. We’ll get back to work tomorrow.”

I don’t need to be told twice I can go, so I thank him again and hurry out of the room. A long brightly lit hallway greets me, and for a moment I don’t know which way to go. Where on the farm is this building that has enough space to fit a hallway this length?

None of that matters as much as my getting some lunch, so I go right out of the room and rush to where another hallway intersects this one. I see a door to the left and make my way toward it, still unsure where this building is on the farm.

It’s strangely quiet here, like there’s no one around but Micah and me. That doesn’t make any sense, though. There are nearly a hundred people who live on the farm with us.

Then again, if they’re all working as they’re supposed to, I guess there wouldn’t be much noise in the middle of the day. Still, something feels wrong.

I push the door open and step out into the hot summer day, happy to be free from whatever that was inside. He must have been pretty worried about what happened to me in the box to keep me cooped up for all that time.

Halfway across the compound, I notice no one is out but me. Did Micah finally realize that making those women work outside in the blazing hot sun is a bad idea? Maybe since he’s worried about having any more deaths happen here he decided to keep everyone indoors today.

When I reach the mess hall, no one’s around in there either. Strange.

I start walking toward the kitchen, but Micah walks out through the swinging doors with a tray of food in his hand. Pointing toward a table nearby, he says, “Let me get you settled. Sit down. I’ll get you a drink too.”

This is definitely odd. Micah has never served me once since I came here to the farm. Something must be wrong. Did he have a doctor come in while I was out of it and do tests on me? Am I sick?

Then the memory of every time Micah was furious with a member of The Golden Light flashes through my mind. He’s going to get rid of me. My helping Lara was too big a transgression, so he’s going to make me disappear.

I sit down on a bench and look down at my tray of food. I thought today was tacos, but this looks like Salisbury steak. Never my favorite, it looks like it’s being drowned in brown gravy with mushrooms. I hate mushrooms.

Micah sits down across from me and sets a cup of lemonade near my tray. “There you go. Enjoy!”

His enthusiasm for such a terrible meal doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to eat this. The peas don’t look good either. The cook ruined them so they’re not green anymore but a sickly color resembling baby puke.

That leaves the single piece of bread up in the far right corner of the tray. There’s no butter, though, and as I look around for the bowl that’s supposed to be on the table, I see nothing. Great. A dry piece of bread. Wonderful lunch.

“What’s wrong?” Micah asks.

Shrugging, I pick up the bread and take a bite. “I thought today was tacos. I’m not a huge fan of Salisbury steak, and I hate mushrooms.”

“Why?”

I look across the table and see him waiting for my answer. He’s never been curious about my likes and dislikes before. Then again, I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned not liking something around him until now.

“They taste like dirt. I don’t want my food to taste like I’m eating it off the ground.”

He laughs at my explanation, as if anything I said was funny. “I guess you’re right. I never thought about it that way.”

I finish the piece of bread, wishing it had some taste or a hint of butter to it. My mouth dry, I gulp down some lemonade. At least that’s good.

“I wish there was something else I could give you to eat, Nash. I don’t want you to go hungry, but that’s all we have for lunch today. I think we’re having fish for dinner, though. Maybe you’ll like that later today?”

The way he’s talking to me is surreal. He’s the leader of The Golden Light. He is the light, for God’s sake. He gives orders, and people follow them. This doting version of Micah confuses me.

Even though I know I shouldn’t ask him questions since that’s not allowed, I can’t help myself. If he gets upset, I’ll blame my breach of etiquette on feeling under the weather.

“Why are you saying things like that? You’ve never cared about my eating before.”

My question gets me a stern look, but that passes quickly and is replaced by a far more pleasant expression. “I always care that you’re happy, Nash. I’m sorry if you haven’t seen that before.”

I hurry to make him understand I’m not saying he’s never cared. That would be tantamount to claiming he’s not the leader he’s always worked so hard to be.

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