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this," Amen whispered as the four stood, awestruck, on the sea edge of their old camp. The huge meeting tent was collapsed, its prefabricated plastic sections looking as if they had been melted.
    Vehicles lay overturned everywhere, and the ground was littered with clothing and personal possessions. Everywhere lay evidence of human remains—not the complete bodies of recognizable persons, but piles of bones and desiccated flesh that had once been human beings. Flying things that had been feeding when the quartet arrived hopped and scrabbled away as the humans moved forward, clutching their knives fearfully.
    "Do not be afraid," Zechariah whispered. "If the Lord did not want us to be here, we could never have come this far."
    "Is anyone alive?" Hannah shouted. The others started at the sound of her voice but then they all took up the call. Their voices echoed eerily through the deserted groves and among the abandoned equipment. Flocks of scavengers took flight at the sound, swirling upward to perch in the trees, releasing rivulets of varicolored excrement in their excitement. Zechariah shuddered as he realized what that stuff had once been.
    "Thank God, we must be alone," Comfort whispered.
    "Thank God for a lot of things," Hannah replied.
    It was nearing dusk when they finished searching the camp and the underground bunker. If there had been survivors, they were long gone. But they had found two ground-effect vehicles that were still drivable, and loaded them with tools, utensils, and supplies they knew would be useful. The cars were the newest models, formerly the property of a prosperous congregation several hundred kilometers to the northwest of the New Salem settlement. Best of all, they had infrared guidance systems that permitted them to drive in the dark without artificial light.
    Zechariah and Comfort sat in the dimly lighted cab of their vehicle, drinking from lukewarm bottles of beer they had found. "I never much liked this stuff—before now," Zechariah commented.
    "Father, what is this?" Comfort held up a belt she had found under her seat. In the dim interior lighting, Zechariah recognized it as a military-style gun belt. He took it from her, popped open the holster flap and withdrew a large pistol. It looked just like the one he had carried when he was in the wars. He pressed a stud on the slide. The energy pack was at full power. "An M2411 A1." Zechariah Brattle let out an admiring whistle. "Those folks from up there believed in being ready. This is government issue," he mused, examining the gun more closely. "It is illegal for civilians to have anything like this." He shrugged. "But the Lord giveth, and I ain't about to question the Lord." He strapped the belt on. The former owner was right-handed, as was Zechariah. "Now, Comfort," Zechariah smiled, "that's what is called a Particular Faith!" They both laughed as Zechariah patted the holster.
    "What now, Father?"
    Zechariah punched a button on his console. "Hannah? Amen? How do you read me?"
    "Five by," Amen Judah answered. Like Zechariah, Amen had been in the wars.
    "Follow me. We're going to get our people and we're going home." Zechariah put the car into forward.
    "Home?" Comfort asked excitedly.
    "We are. Home to New Salem." Zechariah casually tossed his empty bottle out the window, something he would never have done two weeks ago. "Daughter," he turned to Comfort, "pop me another of those beers, would you?"

CHAPTER THREE
    The Great Master sipped from the delicate, handleless cup and rolled his eyes with contentment. He sighed, the sound of gravel tumbling through a narrow cut in a mountain stream. He wore his ceremonial robe with its rectangles of golden metal plate. A ceremonial sword lay across his lap. Sheathed in precious wood that curved elegantly with the curve of the blade, the sword was as nonfunctional for combat as his armor.
    The Over Masters and more senior of the Senior Masters of his command sat cross-legged in their rows in front of him.