“These are components,” he said, not turning around to face me. “For the local synthetic organ prototype.”
I stepped closer, looking at the heap of tarnished metal. “These came from Father’s old cream separator and the broken grandfather clock.”
I picked up a heavy copper spindle from the pile. It was covered in grime, the teeth worn down to smooth nubs. “This cannot build anything, Kenneth. It is from a machine that has been out of production for fifty years.”
“You do not understand the design, Evelyn,” he said, his voice rising as he took the spindle from my hand. “Gerald has the schematics from the German patent office. He is organizing the manufacturing group right here in the county. We are going to build them ourselves.”
I twisted my silver wedding band round and round my finger, my hand tremor starting up in my left wrist. My brother was losing his grip on reality, chasing ghosts and brass scraps in the middle of the night.
“Who is Gerald?” I asked.
“The only man in this county who understands what is coming,” Kenneth said, wrapping his grease-stained thumbs around his temples. “He is protecting us.”
