Inside Earl’s house, Jessup’s mom hugs him and then immediately starts to lecture him, tell him how scared she was, tell him he shouldn’t have left like that, but she runs out of steam quickly. The television is on to Fox News, and Jessup catches a glimpse of himself standing on the truck next to Brandon, Brandon suddenly falling and knocking him down. It’s unsettling to watch, and Earl turns it off.
Wyatt goes with his mom to find the rest of his family, and after a minute, David John and Jessup’s mom usher Jessup and Jewel out. They want to go home. The cops are trying to get people off the compound, and the congregants of the Blessed Church of the White America are happy to oblige. It’s not clear if people are angrier about the shootings at the gate than they are shell-shocked.
The parking lot is emptying rapidly by the time Jessup gets in his mom’s car. Jewel is quiet, but at least she doesn’t seem to be upset anymore. Mostly she’s complaining about being hungry. Not for the first time Jessup is thankful for the resiliency of kids.
Traffic is backed up heading out—there’s a checkpoint they have to go through and the news crews are still set up—but the car is nearly silent. Jewel borrows their mom’s phone to play a game, and Jessup takes his own phone out. He starts with the easy texts, responding to his friends with the same short message that it’s been crazy and he’s okay and he’ll tell them about it later. But even as he sends the texts he’s not sure the conversations will ever happen. It’s one thing to know about Jessup’s history, about Ricky and David John and the Blessed Church of the White America, but it’s another to deal with . . . this. Whatever this is.
Deanne is harder, though. He’s not sure what to text her. Thinks about it while the car slowly creeps forward. He can see cops checking the trunks of cars, asking for driver’s licenses, taking photos of the occupants. For an instant he panics, thinks of Wyatt’s car, but then relaxes. Wyatt isn’t dumb enough to try to sneak out his rifle right now. He’s got to have it hidden somewhere.
He types:
I’m okay. sorry. it’s been crazy. sorry I didn’t text you or call you
don’t know how much you know or what you saw. it’s bad, though. not me. I’m okay. but the whole thing is messed up. I want to see you. please. I need to see you
Sends it, thinks for a second, types:
I love you