turned eleven and started becoming a woman.”
She gestured to Miss Carriage. “This one began shooting fetuses.”
The father sighed. “They were using the ooze on the preachers. To make
them more powerful. In case they ever needed to keep people in line.”
“That’s why we were exiled,” the mother added. “We knew too much. They
branded me a heretic for questioning what happened to my husband. It was
easier to get rid of us than let people start snooping around.”
“We just wanted answers,” the father said. “Now, all we have is this.
Helping exiles.”
“How many are still here?” Jimmy asked.
“We have five others,” the mother replied. “We let them stay as long as
they want. We try to live a peaceful life here. But some,” she said,
glancing toward her daughter, “want to take a more militant approach with
Bibleopolis. They want to destroy the system that destroyed so many.”
Miss Carriage stood and slammed her fist on the table.
“Mother,” she began, “your way has gotten us nowhere. We stay here and
collect exiles, making sure they’re safe. But we never do anything to stop
it from happening. That ends now.”
Jimmy sat silently, waiting for a response. Miss Carriage turned and left
the room. Her father looked down, disappointment written across his face.
The mother’s expression remained unreadable.
Jimmy wasn’t sure what to do. He thought about running south to somewhere
safe for people like him. But what if there were more like him in
Bibleopolis? Didn’t they deserve to live the way they wanted to?