How the world ends and begins again.

TEACHERS. THAT’S WHAT THEY call themselves. They visit our small group of survivors in a camp that will one day grow into a city called Grace Falls. Like Noah and his family, we are rebuilding. The angels add one or two to our number each month—survivors who have passed through the wrath of God, like me. We are not encouraged to think about those who were lost or about the many sins that led to our destruction. We are told to dwell on the wonderful flow of life-giving power that comes from God, who sits on his throne in Jerusalem. So, the teacher's question seems strange to me.

"I don't understand," I say, spooning more vegetables into the cast iron pot over the campfire. "Why do you want to hear my story?"

"Because you need to tell it," she says.

"All of it? Even the dark parts?"

"I'm not asking you to share all the details. I'd just like to hear about your journey to reclamation."

That is a word we hear a lot. It is the internal process of breaking down what hurts us and turning the broken pieces into something new—something better. 

I leave the wooden spoon in the cooking pot and return to the log I carved into a chair with tools I made with my own hands. That is the way of it now. The teachers tell us that hard work isn't as hard if it's meaningful. They're right. They're right about everything, and it is easy to do as they say. If she wants me to tell my story, then that’s what I'll do. I sit and place my hands on my knees. "Okay," I say, "but it is a hard story to tell because it doesn't happen all at once."

She sits down across from me on a seat carved by a friend. "Tell it however you'd like," she says, expression placid.

"I guess I can start from the beginning."

"That's a good place to start," she says.

"It began on the day we were told that China was poised to launch three missiles at the United States. We were afraid D.C. was one of their targets. And since we lived about forty-five minutes outside of the city, as you know, that was too close for our comfort." My mind returns to that horrible day—the day we went underground.