The guy, who knows the Goddess, starts walking lightly, encouraging us to follow him. Paris does so without hesitation. I have my misgivings; I don't trust him.

—Paris! —I open my arms, looking for an explanation.

—Do you have a better idea? —she asks, very serious.

I snort and understand that I am not going to change her mind. When the Goddess appears, Paris follows her blindly. And in extreme situations, like this one, who doesn't grasp at straws. I run to catch up with Paris, who is following this man who is walking a bit shabby. He guides us along the sidewalk of the great Monroe Avenue, where the radiant white facades of the houses dazzle us. We reach one of the grayish dilapidated buildings and enter it through an opening in the building blocks, broken and weathered by time. We climb stairs that could collapse at any moment and lead us to a metal door that leads to a floor in terrible condition: there is no floor, only sand and uniform cement, the walls are half-covered and there are no windows but gaps to the outside. Even so, the temperature inside is much more pleasant than outside and that is the only thing I am grateful for. This is a full-fledged pigsty, and this is coming from a slave who has lived in a barracks practically all his life.

—My name is Paul, by the way—he comments as he asks us to sit on a sofa with no cushions or on chairs that creak when you look at them—. -A beer? —he goes to a dark room and brings three glass bottles—. It's not cold, but... Don't look at me like that, water has become too expensive a whim. It hasn't rained for years.

We get the beers, sit in the chairs and I take a long drink because I'm thirsty. It's warm and I grimace.

—Do you know the Goddess? —Paris asks as Paul lies awkwardly on the couch.

—I know her. It offers security and illusion. Humanity needs that more than ever. In this devastated world, there is only one law, the law of the strongest. The weak are eliminated by nature itself. The Goddess has come to eliminate this cruelty, to impose the laws of justice and equality.

—Where is she? —I look at Paris after her question. I don't know if she's a very good interrogator.

—Here and there, everywhere and nowhere at the same time, you know.

—What about her envoy, the Priestess?

—Predicating for what is left of this sunken country.

—You mean the Collapse?

—To what?

—What happened to the old world? To the country you're talking about? The United States of America?

—Oh, you mean the bombs. Well, the truth is I don't know what to tell you, I lost my memory that day. The shock wave threw me against a window and I fell from a fourth floor. I survived by a miracle.

—But what happened? —Paris is finally confirming the existence of a pre-Collapse world.

—Nobody knows who it was. Bombs fell and wiped everything: huge cities were wiped off the maps and millions of people died. Since then, people are just trying to survive another day. There used to be a future. Not anymore.

—What year is it? —I intervene and ask.

—Who counts the years anymore? What does it matter? What really matters here is whose side you're on. The Goddess's and mine or Alecsander Reed's.

—I don't know what you mean.

—Didn't you say that everyone in Monroe works for the mayor?

You too! —I say.

—It doesn't matter who gives you orders if your loyalty is to someone else. That's what I was telling you about the heart and all that shit. I only obey the Goddess and the Priestess.

—We believe in the Goddess—Paris thinks of the Goddess and shows how the tattoo appears on her wrist—but Alecsander has something that belongs to us and we have to get it back—.

Why does Paris say that? She's going overboard with the sincerity. I put a hand on her shoulder and ask her to shut up.

—That's what it's all about—Paul says—taking back what's yours, what's mine, and what he's stolen from all the people of Monroe. It's about taking back what's ours and what belongs to us.

—Is that what you want? To overthrow Alecsander to put you in charge? —I ask him while confirming that he is crazy and has airs of grandeur.

—I've been preparing for years to resist the mayor of Monroe, and tomorrow I'm going to kill that asshole! —he laughs out loud.

A revolt? I shake Paris' hand, knowing that such a distraction is what we need to get our watch back and get out of here.

—How many people do you count on?

—I have the Goddess on my side, boy. There's me and, if you're up for it, you two too.

He is a bastard! I'm fed up. I throw the beer bottle hard to the ground, breaking it into a thousand crystals and scattering the remaining liquid. I grab Paul by the neck, who, lying down, doesn't offer much resistance.

—Don't play with us! Don't play with me!

Paris hugs me from behind and pulls me back, to let Paul breathe. A roar rages through Monroe. The three of us approach the window, cautiously, to see what's going on. Dozens of two-wheeled and four-wheeled pneumatic vehicles are heading toward the center of town.

—The old guard—says Paul, finishing another beer. How could we listen to a drunk? —. It's Alecsander Reed's star patrol. They're taking longer and longer to come because they have to go farther and farther to get supplies, and they're bringing less and less. The people in this town are starving and that's my strong point. I will be followed by those who want to fight to eat.

—People are hungry, but they are much more afraid—Paris warns him—, Alecsander Reed is a monster.

—He killed my wife—Paul confesses—. I have seen how he has killed children, husbands, wives, brothers, children. People already know what fear is and they don't have much to lose.

We remain silent. If what he says is true, it's normal for Paul to drink every day and have plans for revenge. So would I. But he's not seeing reality for what it is. He won't beat Alecsander

—Tomorrow is the Day of the Plunderer—he explains. That story rings a bell, I read it in the Bible—. There will be free booze, courtesy of the mayor, although I'm afraid this year it will be rationed, and there will be no food. Eating is what the people of Monroe want, and I'll give them what they want.

Paul has changed his countenance and the tone of his words, which are now more believable. Serious and focused, he shows us a room, the only one with a door and a lock. When the sunlight shines on it, we can't believe it. Dozens and dozens of aluminum cans containing canned fruit, meat and fish.

—While you feed yourself, hundreds of people are in need? Why don't you distribute this? —Paris is indignant.

—I swear I haven't touched a single one of these cans—. And it's true, judging by the look of them—. I'm just waiting for the right moment.

—You have no soul! —Paris scolds him—. You're using hunger too, like Alecsander.

—Where are you getting all this from? —I ask.

—He finds who knows how to search. I only follow the designs of the Priestess.

I can't listen to this guy anymore.

—Paris, I think it's time to go.

—She warned me of your arrival. The Priestess, I mean—. We turned our heads to Paul—. She said you would be disoriented and in trouble. I can't waste any more time figuring out which side you're on—. He hands Paris a crumpled piece of paper.

Paris unrolls the time-worn piece of paper, and in blue ink it reads:

"Dear Eric (Lunetta) and Paris (Matt), Paul is the homecoming."

We do not believe it is possible for the First Priestess to know us. It is impossible. Unless she has supernatural powers granted by the Goddess. Paris and I argue to find an explanation for such a colossal mystery. Paul, meanwhile, falls asleep on the couch drinking another beer, totally unconcerned.

—If all is true—Paris looks at me—, tomorrow is the day the Priestess arrives in Monroe. Bible passage.

—How the hell does the Priestess of Collapse know our names and, worse, the names of my mother and your father? It doesn't make any sense.

—Yes, he does, Eric—Paris looks down—. I told you that my father, in his youth... had made an early prototype of a time machine. He used it, I'm sure. That's why he wanted to return to that project when I excitedly told him about my research. He was more excited than I was, and I almost went into shock, when he told me it was possible.

—And what does that mean?

—Eric, the first Priestess...is my mother: Julie Bell.

—What are you talking about? —My head hurts from imagining it.

—Think about it. What if my mother didn't abandon me? My father used his machine when he was young, maybe when I was a few years old, and he tried it on my mother. She went back to the Collapse and... something had to happen that she couldn't come back. My father scrapped the project. And now, as we've put his machine back into operation, my mother mysteriously appears as a Priestess in the catacombs of the New American cliff. Eric, it's my mother!

Crazy as it is, the story seems to fit and that would explain a lot. There is only one way to know the truth and that is to check it out.

—We are where we need to be and we need to support Paul. Let's trust my mother—. Paris ends the conversation.

It's getting dark and it's getting cold. So much so that it's cold. Paul wakes up and opens another beer.

—So, whose side are you on?

Reluctantly, I admit that we will help him and he explains what we have to do and where we have to be so that he can carry out his plan. We eat some hard bread and cheese, which tastes good to me, and try to rest. Paul sleeps on the couch and gives us his old mattress, lying on the living room floor. Paris and I feel uncomfortable, so I let her lie on the mattress and I sit on a chair.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

—You won't get much sleep there. We need a good night's rest. There's enough room for both of us here.

Paris makes room for me. I feel the fatigue coursing through my every muscle. I look up at the ceiling, peeling, exposing the reddish bricks.

—Are you sure about this? —I ask Paris.

—No.

—Neither do I.

—I told you it was a dangerous trip—. A draft comes through the hole in the window—. Will you hold me? I'm cold.

I curl up next to her. She's shivering. I feel her hair tickle my face. I rub her arms. I have my mouth very close to her neck. I control my inner demon and pull away from her, falling asleep.

—Up! —Paul shouts—It's Plunderer's Day!

I roll my eyes when I see him in his boxers and a beer in his hand. Paris is no longer in bed.

—Isn't it better to stay sober? —Nor good morning I say. I've only accepted his plan because we'll go unnoticed and we can escape if there's any trouble.

—A bottle or two will keep me focused.

As he dresses, Paul keeps talking and walking in circles. He says imperceptible things, talking out loud to himself. When he sees us ready, he hands us two huge cloth bags that he asks us to fill with cans of food from the pantry.

—As many as will fit—he orders seriously, as we do as he says— and a few more—. He laughs.

—I still don't think he's very sane—. I whisper to Paris.

I think she obeys Paul more out of faith than conviction in him. She thinks her mother is the primal Priestess and I'm not so sure. I don't know how much living the raw and real History has affected her. Paul is going straight to suicide and the two of us are not going to go to hell with him. I already have an idea for Paris and me if things get ugly. I have to be vigilant to act because otherwise there will be no turning back.

When we finish filling them, the two bags are very heavy. According to Paul's plan, we have to carry them to the town's central square, strapped to our backs. I wonder what he will think when he finds out that we have betrayed him. Paul puts the bag on me like a backpack and I have to curve my entire spine to support the weight. Paris does too. Paul helps us into dark robes, which cover us completely, and covers our heads with scarves.

—The old ladies in Monroe are getting prettier every day! —He says tous.

All three of us laughed. Damn Paul! We're ready for action. We head out onto the town's avenue. It's twelve noon and we head for the central square.

—Wish me luck—says Paul, by way of farewell—I'm going to need it. Don't forget my cue. Thank you, Eric, thank you Paris—. And he disappears into the crowd.

It is uncomfortable in this position where we can hardly look at anything but the ground. Carefully, I glance around Monroe's crowded square. Children scamper back and forth, men and women dance, jump and drink whiskey. Alecsander Reed, showered and dressed to the nines in a black suit that is too wide for him, waves from the balcony of City Hall, along with a very young girl who shows more skin than clothes. He is escorted by two of his guards. The people of Monroe dedicate a tremendous applause to their mayor, who with his hands asks for calm and silence to be able to dedicate a few words to them.

—Another year again...Another year again—he repeats—we gather in Monroe to celebrate, in the new world we live in, our most sacred day. A fucking great day for all of us who love our town. To forget the bad that fucks us up and to erase the ugly memories. We give thanks to the way of life that has brought us here. The one that has made us survive, the one that has given us fucking happiness! As your mayor that I am and that I will be, whether you want me to or not, I have only one fucking thing to say: Until the fucking moon leaves the sky! Life is three days, let's spend one of them drinking, Happy Plunderer's Day! —. He pulls out his gun and fires three shots into the air. The crowd erupts in jubilation. The music returns, the bottles are emptied and the people start jumping and dancing again.

Paris and I return to our roles as poor old ladies trying to make our way through the crowd. I don't let Paris out of my sight. We reach the tavern. It looks like Carlitos and his family are up to their ears in work, because there are two young girls who look a lot like him serving the public at a makeshift bar outside the joint. Carlitos sees us at the door of the tavern, now closed, and dissimulating, he lets us in. Inside, with the echo of the noise from outside, we get rid of the tunic and the cloth bags.

—By the Goddess—says Carlitos, before going back to work.

We nod and discover that Paul has done a very important job in Monroe preaching the word of the Goddess and spreading her message and influence. I'm beginning to think he's not so crazy. We drag the cloth bags full of food upstairs and station ourselves in one of the large windows of what is the tavern's pantry. Paul looks down at us from the crowded square. We gesture to him and he gestures back. It's all up to him now.

—Will this do any good? —I ask—. Because if it doesn't, we'll have to...

—Trust my mother, Eric. In the Goddess.

I shut up and keep thinking about what to do if things go wrong. It bothers me a lot that I leave everything to faith. To chance. We are the ones who must move to save our asses. No one will do it for us. I start looking at the crowd and get lost in it. They are having a great time, drinking to forget the life of looters and thieves they lead. As if nothing. As if they weren't hungry and with much more to worry about than getting drunk.

—They evade. —Paris adds—It's the only way to survive in a place like this. That's why Paul drinks too.

Several gunshots end the music and revelry in Monroe's central square. Children run to the buildings, some men and women instinctively take to the ground. Paul climbs up to the circular stone fountain in the center of the square depicting a mermaid, which hasn't given water in a long time.

—Monroe! —he shouts with impetus—. It's time to put an end to the tyrant! Alecsander Reed deserves to die like our neighbors, our mothers, our children! He starves us to death and we obey him blindly! Are we sheep? Do you want to remain his slaves? It's now or never! Monroe!

He shoots skyward again. Although he has managed to get their attention, I think we are witnessing his end. The guards deployed in the vicinity of City Hall are already after him. His speech is not taking away people's fear.

—I promise you...! —here he goes. Paris and I get ready because he's about to give the signal.

But Paul can't finish the sentence because a shot hits him in the chest and he falls backwards to the ground.

—Shit! —I scream.

I drop the cloth bag with the food and pull hard on Paris. We have to get out of here. Paul hasn't even been able to promise the people he loves so much the end of hunger. A roar engulfs the square again. Hundreds and hundreds of shots.

—There she is, Eric! —Paris points, getting rid of me.

On the rooftops of the stately homes in Monroe's central square, as well as on the roof of City Hall, figures dressed in black cloaks, hiding their faces behind hoods, have appeared, firing relentlessly into the air. Alecsander Reed himself is circling his balcony, looking up to see what is going on.

—It's the Priestess! —heard from the crowd.

Just as the Bible said, the Priestess has shown up in the town of Monroe. For a moment, I am happy for Paul and his struggle, but he is still lying on the cobblestones, bleeding, with no one to help him. All eyes turn to the Priestess, who is the only one looking straight ahead, the reddish scarf in her mouth. She walks along the steep roof of City Hall as if she is certain that she would not fall even if she threw herself into the void. Paris is excited because she believes, more strongly now, that she is Julie Bell. The Priestess opens her arms and speaks:

—People of Monroe! The future is yours alone, the past only a blur. In that future, injustice must be paid with justice, hunger must be assuaged with abundant food, and freedom needs to triumph. In that future, nothing is anyone's property, and no one owns anyone. Everything is ours; everything is yours. It belongs to all of us.

—Eric! That's the Bible speech!

—I promise you—continues the Priestess—the end of hunger!

The Priestess has said Paul's sign! Paris and I pick up the cloth bags with the cans of food and start throwing them out of the window into the square. The Priestess's followers, perched on the heights of the other buildings, are also throwing food and water bottles to the population.

—Water! Fruit! Fish!

People go crazy, grabbing supplies on the fly.

—It's raining food! The Goddess is making it rain food!

Excitement, smiles and hope return to Monroe. Paul's speech, now that people have food, is taking its toll. Chants begin to be heard against Mayor Alecsander Reed. Monroe calls for justice for injustice. The mayor orders his guards to fall back as the crowd calls for his head and heads in the direction of City Hall. The great doors close and from the balcony Alecsander and his guards begin to shoot their own people. The Priestess, who a few seconds ago was still on the roof, has vanished as if by magic.

—Quickly, quickly!

Carlitos, the owner of the tavern, asks us to hurry downstairs and follow him. We cross the entire bar until we reach the bathroom. There, he removes the huge mirror and goes into what appears to be a tunnel that, he says, connects the tavern with the Town Hall.

—Paul and I dug it up. Orders given to him by the Priestess.

The tunnel is no more than twenty meters long, and Paris and I go through it in a few seconds. We emerge into the foyer of City Hall, where the followers of the Goddess and the Priestess, whose eyes we can only see, are trying to help a man lying on the carpet. It is Paul. Paul is the man the Priestess's followers are trying to revive. They open a hole for us and we kneel down in front of him. Blood is gushing from his chest. One of the hooded men puts his hand on my shoulder and shakes his head. They can't do anything for him.

—Bring me a beer, boy—he says.

—Even with a shot, you can't forget about the bottles.

—This is done. Let's celebrate.

—I'm sorry I don't quite believe you.

—Who believes drunks these days? —he coughs and coughs up blood.

—Without your help, these strangers wouldn't have lasted more than a day in Monroe—. Paris says to him—. We can never thank you enough for what you've done for us.

—If you fight for the Goddess, for what is right, I am satisfied.

—We will do so.

—That's what they say, but it sounds sickening. Toast to me when you drink something better than cheap whiskey.

Outside, the screams are deafening and the doors of City Hall won't hold much longer. We shake Paul's hand, bidding him farewell.

—Kick that fucking mayor's ass for me.

Paris weeps and I shed a tear as big as my fist. A follower of the Priestess accompanies us up the spiral staircase to the second floor of City Hall. Along the way we see several of Alecsander's guards lying dead. We arrive at the Mayor's office, who is chatting with the Priestess.

—The world hasn't changed that much either. We have—. Alecsander Reed tells her.

The Priestess notices our presence and puts her hood back on. She does not want us to see her. Paris squeezes my hand. She is nervous.

—The Goddess will make it up to Paul in the afterlife—.She says by way of welcome as she watches Paris wipe away her tears.

—You brought her here! —. Alecsander Reed points his finger at us, very angry. He knows his game is over.

—Alecsander, I don't want to waste any more time. You have two choices: either exile yourself to the north and never come back, or throw yourself into the hands of the crowd to judge you.

—There's nothing up north! You're condemning me to die!

—Isn't that what you've been doing so far? —Paris reproaches him, angry.

—It is your choice—. The Priestess reminds him.

—Give me food for three weeks and the guards you haven't killed—. He begs. I don't see him as brave as he was the morning before.

—Done.

—So be it, then—the Priestess gestures to her follower—. Accompany the former mayor of Monroe and escort him as he explains his future to the people. Give him what he asks for and let him be dismissed as what he is, a looter, a thief, a bandit. If you come back, I'll be waiting for you. And the Goddess will not be so merciful.

It seems unbelievable that in front of me and Paris stands the first Priestess of the Goddess religion. The one whose exploits are written in a Bible that, as I have found, is not very faithful to historical reality in passages such as Monroe.

—Are you the first priestess? —Paris tries to get a glimpse of who she is, but the hood and scarf make her totally unrecognizable—. How do you know us...?

—The Goddess is all knowing and all knowing. If you ask why, you doubt who I am, I will tell you no, Paris. I am not your mother. —Paris takes a deep breath—. I believe this belongs to you—she hands me my gun and Paris the wristwatch—. -So, this is what you use to dance on time?

I kneel on the ground. I am before the true Priestess. Before the envoy of the Goddess. The all-knowing one. Only Matt, Paris and I know what the watch is used for.

—Get up, son. No one kneels before anyone. We are all equal.

—I understand, then, that you know who we are because...because you have seen us before. In another leap...that we will take in the future—. Paris tries to find explanations that make no sense to me if I don't stop to think about them.

—It's been fifteen years since we last saw each other and it seems like it's been hundreds. I didn't give you all the thanks you deserved.

I grab Paris' hand and squeeze it. I feel safe with her physical contact. It's my way of telling her: what the hell is this woman talking about, Paris?

—Some other time I will explain, this is not the time. Time is pressing and you have to go home. You are needed there. The Goddess expects a lot from both of you.

Paris taps the watch and sets up the trip. Her fingers tremble as she does so. The Priestess approaches her and lays a hand on her hand, reassuring her.

—Is Matt still as quiet as ever, or has he told you something? —the question took us both by surprise—. That's why all the companies were looking for him, because of his commitment and his silence.

She doesn't just know us. She also knows people from the future. Of course, she is the envoy of the Goddess herself.

—And you, son? —she approaches me and I feel an immense warmth and inner peace—. Did old Greg treat you well? —she hugs me.

—Well, that curmudgeon has never left me alone—. She laughs out loud.

-Eric—she says—when I am confused, you will have to reassure me: tell me that you will return on the twenty-sixth of June of the fifteenth year after the Collapse.

I don't know what she means, but I nod. I hope Paris has taken note.

—It's time to go. I still have a job here in Monroe.

Paris and I, giddy, shake hands again. Paris presses a button on her watch and a white mist gradually engulfs us. The Priestess leaves Alecsander's office.

—The first priestess... is from the future... —says Paris before we have disappeared.

The Priestess, advancing down the hallway of Monroe City Hall, stops dead in her tracks and turns her head towards us, just like in my dream. I'm out of breath. All is darkness. We are returning to our time.