“We’re here to find some fucking answers,” says Rigo.
Cooper lets this rebuke linger in the air, then turns to address everyone. “All right then—let’s get you set up in some of our finest lodging. Then I can give you the grand tour.” He even claps his hands together feebly, feeling like a yokel innkeeper under the scrutinizing eye of city slickers who’ve just arrived and can’t believe that this backwater shithole is where they’re going to have to spend the night.
Cooper arranges for the agents to stay in a single empty bungalow. They’ve brought their own bedding, military cots, and Rigo insists they bunk together.
“We’ll need an operations center, too,” Rigo says.
“You can use our intake trailer,” says Cooper. “It’s just off the main drag.”
As the three of them, Cooper, Rigo, and Santayana, thread their way straight down the main street, they leave the other agents behind to unload their party’s luggage, which seems to consist of an endless supply of identical large black and very heavy suitcases. Leading the party, Cooper gestures toward the strip of buildings ahead of them. “So, this is the town, pretty much,” he says. “We’ve got a commissary, stocks our sundries and whatnot. We’ve got a library for books and such. There’s a small medical center for emergencies, and there’s a gym, though it’s not much to look at. Basically a bunch of free weights, if you need to blow off steam.” As they pass the commissary, townsfolk are already loitering and gawking at the side of the street, regarding this advancing trio in agitated silence. Cooper waves and offers a reassuring “Morning, folks!”—then says to Rigo in a lower voice, “We don’t get many visitors, as you know.”
Rigo nods up the street. “Your medical center—how many people is it equipped to handle?”
“We’ve got just the one nurse, Ava Breckinridge,” says Cooper. “The infirmary is really just a Band-Aid-and-aspirin shop. We’ve been asking for a medical doctor for just about eight years but, given the terms of employment—no contact with the world and such—the search has pretty much dried up. But Ava takes good care of us, and if anything really serious comes up, we contact the Institute and they arrange to pick up the person and transport them to a private hospital, under close watch. Whole thing is very hush-hush. Thankfully, we’ve rarely had to worry about anything more serious than the occasional busted nose or a bad bout of pneumonia. Until this past week, of course.”
Rigo and Santayana look over the main street, saying nothing further, like two unimpressed buyers who’ve realized they’re house-hunting in the wrong part of town.
“There are a couple of other facilities scattered here and there,” Cooper continues. “A repair yard, run by one of our locals, Orson Calhoun. A small playground just past that with a slide and a swing—”
“That’s right—you have kids here,” says Rigo.
“We have one,” says Cooper. He points up the cross street. “The rest of the bungalows up yonder on the cul-de-sacs are all private residences. We have seventy-two bungalows in total, thirty-six on either side of town, so our total capacity is roughly seventy residents, give or take, though we’re at just over half that now.”
“Wow, they had big plans for this place once, didn’t they?” says Rigo.
“I just mind the store,” says Cooper. “I don’t get much word from the outside world about plans.”
“And you have Esau Unruh living here, don’t you?”
“I don’t know who that is,” says Cooper.
“What do they call him here?” Rigo snaps his fingers and grimaces. “Wayne something—?”
“William Wayne?”
“That’s right.” Rigo smiles. “I’ve been reading up. He was quite something in his day.”
“Technically, I’m not allowed to know who is living here, or anything about their history. Though I do understand Mr. Wayne has quite a reputation.”
“He did, once. Who knows what’s left of him.” Rigo points up the street to a small, single-story brick bunker, painted all-white and set off from the main road. “And what’s that building up there?”
“That’s our interfaith chapel,” says Cooper. “Truth be told, it doesn’t get a lot of use these days.”
“You see that?” Rigo says to Santayana. “That’s the chapel. You know, in case you want to say a prayer.” She nods distractedly, still taking in the town. Troubled citizens amble by silently on the sidewalk, stealing glances, then hurry off. The trio walks another block to the intake portable where Cooper mounts the steps and swings open the door. “And this here should serve you pretty well in terms of an HQ.”
Rigo pokes his head through the doorway. “What’s this building usually used for?”
“It’s where we do our orientation meetings for new arrivals.”
“And who has access to it?”
“Anyone, really,” says Cooper. “We’re not real big on locks in this town.”
“We’ll need to install some locks. For starters,” says Rigo.
“You planning on staying that long?”
“As long as it takes,” Rigo says, then steps inside and inspects the trailer: the small school desks all pushed up against the walls, the stained acoustic tile on the drop ceiling, the fluttering fluorescent tubes, the peeling linoleum on the floor. He turns to Santayana, who’s now peering through the doorway. She nods.
Rigo turns to Cooper. “This will do. Give us an hour to get set up, then send over Deputy Robinson. I’d like to start with him.”
“Start with him—how, exactly?” asks Cooper.
“Questioning,” Rigo says. “Oh, and, Sheriff—I understand you have two working vehicles on the premises. I’ll need the keys.”
“What for?”
“We can’t have anyone leaving.”
“We’re a hundred miles from the closest town, Rigo. If someone runs, where are they going to run to?”
“I’ll need the keys. Drop them by this afternoon. And send over Deputy Robinson.” Rigo gives Cooper a smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your turn.”
Santayana slips past Rigo and Cooper and walks into the room, inspecting it like someone considering a new home. She walks to the whiteboard and runs three well-manicured fingertips over the leftover scrawl from Robinson’s intake speech. She leaves three swipe marks, like claw marks, through the word FLOURISH.
She looks at the marker on her fingertips, rubs them, then turns to Cooper and Rigo. “We’ll take it!” she says, then laughs.