Chapter 34: Fellowship of the Unclothed

The living room of the Hastings’ farmhouse was a revelation.

I had expected awkwardness, the stiff formality of strangers trying to find common ground, the careful dance of people who shared a secret but didn’t yet trust each other. Instead, I found something else entirely: a warmth that felt almost physical, a current of acceptance that wrapped around us the moment we crossed the threshold.

Tom Hastings led us through the crowd, introducing us with an easy familiarity that put everyone at ease. “This is Ron and Diane Miller,” he said, his hand on my father’s shoulder. “The ones I told you about. The ones from the news.”

A murmur rippled through the room, not of judgment, but of recognition. These were people who had been following our story, who had seen the articles, who had watched from afar as we made our stand at Rushmore and Yellowstone. And now we were here, in the flesh, and they were welcoming us like family.

“Wonderful to meet you,” said a woman with silver hair and a kind face, her body as comfortable in its nakedness as my mother’s. “We’ve been following your journey. What you did at Yellowstone ... It gave us courage.”

“Thank you,” Mom said, her voice warm. “We didn’t set out to be pioneers. We just set out to live.”

A bearded man with a gentle smile stepped forward, his hand extended to my father. “I’m David. My family’s been part of the network for three years. It changed everything for us. The isolation, the fear just ... melted away, once we found people who understood.”

Dad shook his hand, and I saw something in his face that I hadn’t seen in weeks: relief. The relief of a man who had been carrying a weight alone and had finally found others to help him bear it.

“This is my wife, Ellen,” David continued, gesturing to a woman with kind eyes and a warm smile. “And our children, Jacob and Sarah.”

The children, a boy of about twelve, a girl of maybe ten, stopped, stood beside their parents, naked and unselfconscious, their eyes bright with curiosity. They looked at Ash, at her collar, at the way she stood a half-step behind me, and they didn’t stare. They simply accepted.

“Hi,” Sarah said, her voice small but friendly. “I like your collar.”

Ash looked at me. I nodded.

“Thank you,” Ash said, her voice barely audible. “My master gave it to me.”

Sarah nodded solemnly, as if this made perfect sense. “My mom and dad gave each other rings. It’s like that, I think.”

I saw April’s eyes widen, saw her processing this child’s easy acceptance of something the outside world would call perversion. But here, in this room, it was simply the truth.

Tom led us through the rest of the house, showing us the sprawling rooms, the large kitchen where several women were preparing food, and the back deck where children played in the sun. Everywhere we went, we were met with the same warmth, the same acceptance, the same sense of belonging.

“The bedrooms are upstairs,” Tom said, gesturing toward a wide staircase. “We’ve put aside a room for your family. The five of you, you, your sisters, your doll, and your ... friend.” He glanced at April, at the way she held my hand, and smiled. “There’s a large bed and a pullout couch. There should be plenty of space.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Tom led us up the stairs and down a hallway lined with doors. He stopped at the last one, pushed it open, and stepped aside.

The room was large, with windows on two sides that looked out over the fields and woods. A king-sized bed dominated one wall, its white duvet thick and inviting. A pullout couch sat against another wall, already made up with sheets and blankets. A private bathroom opened off the main room, and a small desk held a pitcher of water and glasses.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Tom said. “The adults will be downstairs if you need anything. The other young people are gathering in the barn. There’s a game room set up, music, and snacks. Feel free to join them whenever you’re ready.”

He left, closing the door behind him, and we were alone: Irene, Megan, April, Ash, and me.

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Claire flopped onto the king-sized bed, stretching her arms above her head, her body long and pale against the white duvet.

“Not bad,” she said. “Better than most motels.”

Megan moved to the window, her analytical gaze scanning the property below. “The layout is efficient. The barn is approximately fifty meters from the house, with clear sightlines. The trees provide natural privacy screening from the road.”

April stood beside me, her hand still in mine, her body tense with a nervousness I hadn’t seen since she arrived at our house before dawn.

“You okay?” I asked.

She nodded, but her eyes were wide. “There are so many people. And they’re all so ... comfortable. Like this is normal.”