Pines

wanted the people to do it. Once you reached the canyon, we knew a pack of abbies was in the area. You were unarmed. Why waste ammo?”
    “But the residents...they don’t know about any of this?”
    “No.”
    “What do they think?”
    “They woke up here after an accident just like you did—reinjured, of course, in the appropriate places. Through our integration program, they come to understand there’s no leaving. And we have rules and consequences to minimize the complications that arise when someone from 1984 lives next door to someone from 2015. For the residents to thrive, to reproduce, they can’t know they’re all that’s left. They have to live like the world is still out there.”
    “But it’s not. So what’s the point of the lie? When you bring them out of suspension, why not just tell them, ‘Congratulations! You’re the sole survivors!’”
    “We did that very thing with the first group. We’d just finished rebuilding the town, and we brought everyone down to the church and said, ‘Look, here’s the deal.’ Told them everything.”
    “And?”
    “Within two years, thirty-five percent had committed suicide. Another twenty percent left town and were slaughtered. Nobody married. No one got pregnant. I lost ninety-three people, Ethan. I cannot—no—
humanity
cannot afford losses on that scale. Not when our species is this endangered, down to our last eight hundred and eleven souls. I’m not saying our method is perfect, but in all these years, and after trying almost everything, it’s proven the most effective system for growing our population that we’ve landed on.”
    “But they always wonder, right? About what’s out there? About where they really are?”
    “Some do, but we’re an adaptable species. Through conditioning, like good humans, most come to accept their environment, as long as it isn’t completely devoid of hope.”
    “I don’t believe they accept that the world is still out there, when you won’t let them see it.”
    “You believe in God, Ethan?”
    “No.”
    “Many did. Adopted moral codes. Created religions. Murdered in the names of gods they’d never seen or heard. You believe in the universe?”
    “Sure.”
    “Oh, so you’ve been to space. Seen those distant galaxies firsthand?”
    “Point taken.”
    “Wayward Pines is just a shrunken world. A small town never left. Fear and faith in the unknown still apply, just on a smaller scale. The boundaries of the world you came from were space and God. In Pines, the boundaries are the cliff walls that protect the town, and the mysterious presence in the mountains, aka me.”
    “You’re not a real psychiatrist.”
    “No formal training, but I play one back in town. I find it helpful to gain the trust of the residents. Stay in touch with the mood of the town. Encourage people in their struggles, their doubts.”
    “You had the people murder Beverly.”
    “Yes.”
    “And Agent Evans.”
    “He forced my hand.”
    “You’d have had them murder me.”
    “But you escaped. Proved yourself even more adept than I first thought.”
    “You’ve created a culture of violence.”
    “That’s nothing new. Look, when violence becomes the norm, people adapt to the norm. No different than the gladiator games or throwing Christians to the lions or public hangings in the old West. An atmosphere of self-policing isn’t a bad thing.”
    “But these people aren’t really free.”
    “Freedom is such a twenty-first-century construct. You’re going to sit here and tell me that individual freedom is more vital than the survival of our species?”
    “They could decide that for themselves. There’d be dignity in it at least. Isn’t that what makes us human?”
    “It’s not their decision to make.”
    “Oh, it’s yours?”
    “Dignity is a beautiful concept, but what if they made the wrong choice? Like that first group. If there’s no species left to even perpetuate such an ideal, what’s the point?”
    “Why haven’t you killed me?”
    Pilcher smiled, as if glad that Ethan had finally broached the subject. He cocked his head. “You hear that?”
    “What?”
    “Silence.”
    The birds had gone quiet.
    Pilcher pushed against his legs and struggled onto his feet.
    Ethan stood too.
    The woods had become suddenly still.
    Pilcher pulled the gun out of his waistband.
    He unclipped his walkie-talkie, brought it to his mouth.
    “Pope, come back, over.”
    “Yep, over.”
    “Where are you, over?”
    “Two