Chapter 6: The Prayer Circle

On Tuesday afternoon my mother came to the outer gate with a pastor and four church women.

They stood in the road in their good coats, holding hymnals.

Across Tolliver Road, three neighbors had come out onto their porches to watch.

Amos sat on his four-wheeler at the end of his drive with his old dog on his lap.

"Robin, sweetheart," Mom called through the bars. "We're only here to pray."

She was crying already. She had a tissue balled in one fist, and her cardigan was buttoned wrong.

For a second I wanted to open the gate and fix her buttons.

"Then pray," I said.

The pastor cleared his throat.

He was a soft, careful man who had baptized me. He read a psalm in a voice that shook a little.

The four women hummed along.

Nolan stood three steps behind me with his hands at his sides.

I could feel exactly where he was.

When the psalm ended, I pressed the button on my phone.

The outer gate slid open six inches and stopped.

"Everybody listen, please," I said.

I said it to the church women, and to the pastor, and to the porches across the road.

"There are twelve beds inside. There's food for three years and a well that doesn't run out."

Nobody said a word.

"Thursday night, the grey fog comes out of Calder Biologics. I'd like every one of you to be here when it does."

One of the church women smiled politely and checked her watch.

"Bring your husbands," I said. "Bring your children. Bring the neighbors. I'll open this gate for all of you."