now contained a reception area and a multimedia exhibition about the Survivors. The displays focused upon Christian beliefs, charity work and the humble beginnings of the Survivors, rather than the A$5 billion Ark and Joel Regan’s predictions of a nuclear apocalypse.
At one end of the room, a narrator with a sturdy voice was telling the story of Regan and his rise from humble farm boy to a religious leader of global stature, while a giant video screen showed archive footage of Regan shaking hands with Bill Clinton, Elvis Presley and the pope. These shots were followed by pictures of contented African women carrying sacks of grain with the Survivors logo on and the interior of a vending-machine repair shop staffed entirely by disabled people.
‘Every year the Survivors raise more than two hundred million dollars for some of the world’s neediest people …’
Mary handed James and Lauren clipboards with forms to fill in and asked them to look up as she snapped their photograph with a digital camera.
‘It’s just a formality,’ Mary said. ‘In case you’re in one of our groups and you have an accident or something.’
The form asked James for basic personal information, such as name, date of birth, home phone number and address. James had read that the combination of friendliness and a desire to get hold of personal information were classic first steps in a cult’s recruitment process.
Elliot handed Abigail a much longer form and she returned a look of surprise.
‘What’s all this?’ she asked, flipping through six pages of questions.
‘We like to have your contact details in case of an emergency involving a child at one of our youth groups,’ Elliot explained. ‘The rest of the form is a survey. We’re trying to get a better idea of who is using our centre here. You don’t have to fill it in, but we’d really appreciate it if you could help us out.’
‘Well …’ Abigail said.
‘I tell you what, Abigail,’ Elliot grinned. ‘While you’re doing that, why don’t I indulge you with a cup of our amazing coffee and a piece of cake?’
Abigail smiled. ‘That’s really nice of you, Elliot.’
As Elliot headed off to get the cake he took the forms from James and Lauren and looked at Ruth. ‘Why don’t you take your young friends through to the community room?’
They headed out through the shop front and halfway along the mall corridor, passing disused shops that had been turned into offices and storage areas. The community room was a giant open space that had once been the ground floor of a department store. It had been turned into a gymnasium, with green rubber flooring. There was basic sports equipment spread around, like goal posts, basketball hoops and cricket stumps. A hand-painted banner hung along the far wall: Welcome to the Ocean of Love.
There were about fifty kids spread over the gym, and based upon the amount of unfashionable footwear, three-quarters were Survivors. Some kids were playing volleyball, others soccer, or cricket in practice nets. A bunch of the youngest kids played a leapfrog game, supervised by older teenagers. The orderliness surprised James, given that there was no obvious adult supervision.
‘Is there anything you’d like to try?’ Ruth asked.
Lauren had her eye on a giant trampoline and headed off with Mary. James spotted a miserable-looking kid in the corner and pointed him out to Ruth.
‘Isn’t that Terry, from our class? I didn’t think he was one of you lot.’
Ruth smiled. ‘Terry’s father goes to one of our therapy groups.’
‘He doesn’t exactly look happy to be here.’
‘He’s a devil,’ Ruth said.
James looked confused. ‘Why do you lot call people devils all the time?’
Ruth smiled again; in fact Ruth seemed to be smiling permanently. ‘We Survivors believe that the world is divided into a battle between angels and devils. Survivors are angels. Anyone who isn’t is a devil.’
‘So, am I a devil?’
‘Not for as long as you have potential to become an angel.’
James shrugged. ‘To be honest, I don’t think I even believe in god.’
‘Then I feel sorry for you,’ Ruth said curtly.
‘Does that make me a devil?’
Ruth shook her head slowly. She was fourteen, the same as James, but she had an authority about her that made her seem far older.
‘James, if you’re interested in our beliefs I can give you a book to read. Maybe you could even speak to one of our counsellors if your mum will let you. But right now, it’s Saturday night, and on Saturday night we invite all of our friends into