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    “It appeared after I woke up. Sometime between breakfast and second prayers.” Father Piedmont’s handsome face is almost rapturous. “We measured it—it’s fifty feet long, and thirty high, and at its center is a deep chasm. The flowers grew as we walked up the chasm. The god has blessed my land.”
    “I felt an evil,” says Father Nerve. “When I first saw a hole like that. The growths, the plants, too. They’re unnatural. They aren’t from our world.”
    “They are gifts,” says Father Piedmont. “Gifts from the god.”
    “They’re killing other crops,” says Father Nerve. “We saw them as we drove here. They’re destroying everything in their way. They grow unchecked and quickly.”
    “What are you trying to say?” Father Piedmont snaps.
    “Cancer grows like that,” says Ro.
    Father Piedmont smacks him across the face.
    The sound seems as loud as a gunshot in the heavy air.
    “You won’t speak to me like that,” Father Piedmont shouts, red-faced, spitting in his rage. “You won’t speak of the god like that! You will pray to him. You will worship him. You will know him. Get on your knees, boy.”
    Ro folds over onto the earth, presses his hands together, and begins to pray.
    He’s crying. I’m crying a bit too. I don’t know what to do at all.
     
     
    I T SEEMS that we’re going to stay at the Piedmont ranch for as long as it takes for the god to wake. Mrs. Piedmont, a woman as severe and beautiful as her husband is intimidatingly handsome, shows us to a guest room. There are two bunk beds there, and no sheets. Ray asks his mother meekly about the other rooms in the house, but apparently the Piedmonts are expecting other faith full to arrive soon.
    By the afternoon the Piedmonts’ driveway is full of cars, mostly station wagons. Faith full folk mill about outside, looking simultaneously lost and beatific. Many of them have brought their dogs and some have even brought sheep and horses. Standing by the door, I hear them talk of the god—of the god’s plans, of the god’s dreams, of the god’s ineffable ways. They don’t sound fearful; they sound exhilarated.
    I don’t share their excitement. A day ago I was worried about marriage plans and letting down the twins and the god. Now I’m wondering if I’m going to survive this at all. The smell in the air is worse—it’s rot, it’s definitely rot, a deep, earthy rot of something that has been decaying for a long time in a closed space. It makes me want to gag, and I can’t bring myself to eat dinner.
    Flies start to appear, and then mosquitoes, and then ugly black beetles with spade-shaped bodies and horned heads.
    The faith full pray.
    When evening falls the twins come to find me in our room. Without a word they take my hands and lead me out of the ranch. We walk into the fields until we come to a twisted tree with red, raw bark.
    “We need to talk to you, Enna,” says Ro. “We can’t do it in the house. Too many people are listening in.”
    “I’m listening.”
    “Okay.” Ro takes a deep breath. “You know Theo, the guy we’ve been hanging around with lately? He’s been telling us about the god. About gods, actually.”
    I cough. The smell is really getting to me. I can feel it in my lungs. “So what? So he’s faith less?”
    “No. He’s not faith less. Not exactly.” Ro looks at his brother for support. “He believes in the god. He says he knows the god, or at least he knows gods like it.”
    “There is only one god.”
    “Enna! Please, listen. Hear me out. Theo says the god isn’t the only god. Theo says there are many gods sleeping in the earth and sometimes they rise when bad people worship them. Well, not just bad people, sometimes misguided people, too. People who don’t understand what the gods are. People like us. He says that the god will bring nothing but death and destruction. He says if the god wakes, it will consume us all.”
    “That just proves he knows nothing about the god!”
    “He