June the 8th

I turned them in.

I don’t know what for, or why. They did nothing wrong that I saw, but the organization will find a reason.

But here’s the thing.

The organization could send in planes, helicopters, even drones. But where we are, those things would be seen miles off. Someone is always here, watching. The news and the feeling of strangers would spread through the small towns we got our food from. They would tell us someone new was coming. Drylab would arm up. Or leave.

So, despite their power, they must come like we did. In a nondescript van filled to the brim with strangers, the driver apparently normal for any that might see her. They must come in quietly, and leave quietly. The small desert towns have their followers and if people were stolen while they watched, they would speak. If someone came after them, they would filter through the cracks in society. It would be small, insidious, rumors on the internet. But if it happened enough times, and enough people talked to each other, and the discomfort and dissatisfaction with the government and the state of the world was high enough, change would happen.

The organization does not want to be a cog in its downfall. It wants to be a tiny, but important wheel in the machine of our lives.

The organization was not certain what the exact location of Drylab was. I had to move on the land to find it. Nadira and Kirsten are unsure how they found it. The organization had no record of it and even through my satellite communications, the position was indeterminate. So they asked me for it.

Here’s the other thing.

I gave them the wrong location.