The cause was lost on the unsuspecting hoard of those who never could have understood anyway. Billy thought about the last words he heard the leader say as he bent down and pulled the backpack from under the bed.
Rachel opened her eldest child's door. Six months ago she had asked the group if they could take her three children but even then knew what their answer would be. Nobody under the age of thirty would be chosen. The tenets were specific. Sarah was fifteen years old, sleeping. Rachel gently pulled the door closed, walked down the hall, picked up the backpack and headed to the car.
Billy drove past CL Hunter's gas station. He worked there as a full service attendant when he was a teenager. CL had helped him fix his truck late in the evenings. Billy smiled when he thought about how what that old man had taught him helped him to be selected by the leader. The group needed him, called him an expert.
Rachel placed the directions on the passenger seat, looked again at the leader's last note and left without looking back at what she once considered her home.
Fred, known to the group as Q, lit a candle and eased back into the chair. It would be at least four hours before the first of them got there. How easy, he thought, it had been to form a religion on the internet.
Today I am grateful to be forced to write for a group of writers, to feel, even if it is incredibly minimal and shitty and full of all sorts of excuses, a sense of responsibility to those women.