Nautilus glanced up at the Owsleys’ window and saw a part in the curtain, the kid looking down.

“Becca hasn’t experienced the park yet,” Owsley said. “As a saved man you understand that she should see the multifold glories of Hallelujah Jubilee.”

Feeling his eyes start to roll, Nautilus closed them instead. “Sure, Pastor. I’ll watch the ki— … Rebecca.”

Owsley laid his hands on Nautilus’s shoulders as if conferring magical powers. “You’re a blessing, Mr Nautilus. A gift from God.”

Nautilus dropped Owsley at the airport and returned to the motel. The kid was in the lobby, slouched in a chair and staring at the ceiling. She was wearing a white tank top and blue miniskirt and Nautilus figured they weren’t the clothes she’d been wearing the last time she saw Daddy. She’d affected more make-up than seemed necessary for the clear skin and pretty features but, given Celeste Owsley’s usage, maybe was genetic.

“I should check with your mother,” Nautilus said. “Tell her we’re—”

“Mama left for Tampa,” Rebecca yawned. “You’re keeping me prisoner today.”

“I hope it will be more fun than that.”

The kid unfurled from the chair, her face a mournful pout. “You’re supposed to take me to Holey-Moley land, right?”

“Wait ’til you see the Ark,” Nautilus said, aiming the kid toward the door. “It makes people faint.”

The first glimmer of interest. “Like fall over and hit the ground? Cool.”

The park opened at ten and they were through the gate a minute later. Tawnya appeared to have been tipped off, rolling into the parking lot in her golf cart before Nautilus set the parking brake.

“A blessed morning to you both,” Tawnya chirped. “This must be Rebecca. We’re so glad you could join us … Is it Becky?”

Rebecca grimaced.

“Rebecca! All right then! Do you still have your pass, Mr Nautilus? Good-good. And here’s yours, Rebecca. Anything you want, need, think of … it’s yours. Hop in!”

“I think we’ll walk, Tawnya,” Nautilus said, staring at the baby-blue cart emblazoned with logos.

The ebullient Tawnya waved, dashed off, turned and waved a second time. The pair went through the gate wearing the Joshua-level passes. Whatever the thing meant, it was heavy mojo, evoking immediate respect from park workers, like they were backstage passes to the Ascension. Nautilus figured there weren’t a lot of J-level passes issued.

The kid was quiet as Nautilus took her past the initial flurry of vendors and down the long esplanade into the park, the road branching right toward the rides and games, left into the biblical attractions.

“There’s an amusement park over there,” Nautilus said, nodding right. “Even a roller-coaster. You want to ride the coaster?”

“The last time I rode one I puked my guts up.”

Nautilus veered left. The concrete pathway turned to sand and cobbles as they walked backwards in time, the structures brown brick and rough timbers, Middle-eastern architecture circa zero AD. Actors in period garb wandered through the crowd, a kid leading a donkey, a girl carrying a basket of olives, a bearded youth pushing a handcart. Cameras clicked as delighted visitors – “guests” in park parlance – snapped pictures or posed beside the actors. Nautilus heard the awed comments: “Like walking with Jesus.” “I can feel the Spirit.” “That donkey is sooo cute.”

“What do you think, Rebecca?” Nautilus said.

“Lame. Can you take me to Disney World instead?”

“If your parents say you can go, I’ll be happy to take you. Until I get their permission …”

The girl stopped dead in her tracks, scowling. “Yeah, I’m screwed, like always. They treat me like a baby.”

“They’re concerned for your well-being.”

The kid crossed her arms and glared. “You said you don’t have kids. How can you know anything?”

Nautilus spotted an ice-cream vendor and pointed. “Hey, want an ice cream, Rebecca?”

“Don’t change the subject. I want an answer.”

Nautilus led the girl away from the incoming stream of wide-eyed pilgrims clicking cameras in every direction, taking shelter beneath a palm. “I have nieces and nephews and I worry about them. I’m transferring that feeling into the feeling parents have for their children. Ergo, I think your parents are concerned for you.”

“Air-go?”

“E-R-G-O. It means ‘therefore’, or ‘it follows that’. I have a feeling of love and protection toward my family, therefore I think that’s what your parents feel for you.”

The kid looked dubious. “When can I see people faint?” she said.

They continued down the lane to the Ark, perched on its grassy rise, the crowd ten deep at the perimeter fence. The show was about to start.

“God saw how corrupt the earth had become,” a stentorian voice intoned from hidden speakers, “and was full of violence, for all the people on earth had corrupted their ways. So God said to Noah, ‘I am going to put an end to all people, for the earth is filled with violence because of them. I am surely going to destroy both them and the earth. So make yourself an ark of cypress wood; make rooms in it and coat it with pitch inside and out …’”

Many in the crowd followed along in bibles. If you didn’t think to bring one, there was a fine selection in the gift shop, starting at $19.99 for the pocket version, ranging up to $389.95 for the leather-bound version autographed by Amos Schrum. “Reverend Schrum’s Choice: A Bible That Does Everything!” the sign assured. Nautilus wondered if it scratched your back and made toast.

“… For forty days the flood kept coming on the earth, and as the waters increased they lifted the ark high above the earth …”

Sound effects were added: thunder, crashing waves. Some in the crowd began weeping, others fell to their knees.

“No one’s fainting,” Rebecca Owsley said, disappointed.

“Maybe the day has to be hotter,” Nautilus said. “But it’s warming up. Have hope.”

“… Then God said to Noah, ‘Come out of the ark, you and your wife and your sons and their wives. Bring out every kind of living creature that is with you – the birds, the animals, and all the creatures that move along the ground – so they can multiply on the earth and be fruitful and increase in number.’”

The huge door in the side of the vast timber structure creaked open. Two by two the animals exited with their handlers – Noah’s family, presumably – sheep, goats, horses, zebras, dogs, cats, a pair of parrots on an actor’s arms, the pair of camels – one balking and whipping its head as the handler struggled to keep it under control, the animals notoriously temperamental, Nautilus recalled, mules with humps.

The elephants were last, trunks swaying as they ambled from the doorway to thunderous applause. Another crowd began queuing in front of a kiosk selling 8 × 10 photos of the Ark with animals disembarking, $18.95, or the poster-sized version for $49.95.

Rebecca stared at the Ark, then turned to Nautilus. “Did you know there are over five thousand kinds of mammals in the world?”

“I knew there are a lot. I never knew how many.”

“Guess how many kinds of snakes there are.”

“Ninety-eight-point-six?”

“That’s body temperature. Stop being goofy. There are almost three thousand kinds of snakes. Species, they’re called. And since they were two-by-two, that makes ten thousand mammals that would have been on the real Ark and almost six thousand snakes.”

“The math is correct.”

“And there are like a bazillion kinds of bugs. Were they all in there? Where did they put them? And didn’t the snakes freak the other animals out?”

“I’m sure, uh, accommodations were made and—”

“There wasn’t room,” the kid said. A sly smile crossed her face. “Ergo it never happened, right?”

“Hey, want an ice cream?” Nautilus pointed to another vendor beside the photo kiosk.