Being lifted by a crane was a singular experience for all three of us. Nicole had clutched onto me again and was terrified — an emotional state that I was already becoming accustomed to seeing her in — but Michael clearly thought it was the neatest thing ever.

As we were slowly lifted, I looked in the distance and watched the last of the spidermen disappear into the city and suppressed a shudder of fear for all my precious books that I'd left behind.

I took a good look around the boat as we hovered over it, trying to sort out what this group was all about, but I couldn't see much. I wondered how on earth they'd managed to get a boat to work after all these years.

Tom must have seen me looking because he jumped in right away with an explanation. "We've developed our own fuel that works on diesel engines," he began. "And these," he pointed to four large square covers on the deck of the boat — with the crane operating in the centre, "these have been converted into cargo holds. This used to be a commercial fishing boat, and we've restored and converted a fleet of these for our important work."

Once the platform landed, Michael and Nike helped me down onto the boat proper, and Tom introduced me to some men, who all took off their caps and said in unison, "Welcome, Ma'am." I was quite shocked by that, as I hadn't heard the word ma'am in many years.

Michael and Nicole stood close by, impressed and scared at the same time. The large boat rocked very gently on the undulating waves. The weather was perfect and for a moment, I enjoyed the sunshine on my face and the nice breeze.

Tom gave some orders for tea and lunch and the men scurried off. Then something even more surprising happened: Tom turned around and offered me his arm. His face showed no concern about whether I would take it or not, and I realised I would look like a fool if I refused.

His eyes were smiling and warm — sickeningly kind and optimistic — and I figured he must be Christian or something. Those religious types were always in their element when everything was falling apart around them, always swooping in to 'save' everyone.

I sighed, feeling both tired and relieved, and took his arm, knowing it was the right thing to do. The deck was covered in ropes and I had already fallen down enough for one day.

While walking arm and arm with me to the back of the boat, Tom began, "I'm so please you've decided to join us today, Shalon — ."

"I prefer Miss Sims, if you don't mind," I interrupted. Only friends called me Shalon. Well, actually, only Michael called me Shalon. Miss Sims was a remnant from my years as a teacher.

He turned and held me at arm's length and looked into my eyes with a mischievous smile. "I don't mind at all, Miss Sims. I'm sorry for being so rude as to presume."

This guy was a charmer. And to think, trying to charm an old lady like me! Ha! I gave him a thin-lipped smile and nodded for him to continue, choosing to ignore his apology.

As we walked towards a large, squat two-story building at the back of the ship, he continued, "I'm sure young Michael here has told you about our important work to preserve and protect the endangered cultures of humanity?" He didn't stop for a response to his rhetorical question, and continued, "Our goal is to build humanity back up to the glory that it once was, but to ensure that this time, we do it right."

I wondered what 'right' meant, but held my tongue.

"Of course, for this we need help. Michael has been so helpful geo-tagging the locations of books in Old Vancouver. And my men are already busy collecting those."

Again, my questions remained sealed behind my lips, and I merely listened.

Luckily, Michael didn't hold back, and like a child he asked naively, "What are you going to do with the books once you find them?"

Tom stopped at a door to the building, but before he reached out to open it, he turned around and addressed us as a group. "We're building a tremendous library of human culture and civilization." He was absolutely beaming with pride, "It contains the gems of our shared history and the knowledge we need to save humanity from future sins."

I didn't like the sound of that... that definitely sounded like a religious nut.

Tom looked pointedly at me, "Technologies to clean up the environment and build our society back up again, in the image that we choose...."

Again, I didn't ask, but I wondered who was doing the actual choosing of that image?

"...And the teachings to guide us in raising our children so we can create a better world. A world without violence, without suffering, without greed, so humanity can rise up strong and beautiful from the ashes, and this time we can learn from our mistakes." He beamed, proud, clearly, of his speech.

The kids were just starstruck, but not me. I just stood their nodding and smiling pleasantly. This wasn't my first rodeo. No, you see, I'd met his ilk before. All his charm and all his eloquence was no match for my scepticism and experience. I could spot a guy like him a mile away. I just nodded my head and kept my mouth shut. We'd be off this boat soon enough. Plus, guys like him aren't all bad, they're just so damn enamoured with their own assholes that they can't see anything else. Because of that, they're easy to fool.

I beamed a giant smile at him and winked my eyebrows. "Sounds amazing, Tom," I said sugar sweet.

Tom looked at me smiling, but his smile faltered slightly, and I wondered if I'd gone too far. Did my smile not look genuine? I hadn't smiled in years, so I wasn't actually sure if the muscles in my face were working properly. I made a mental note to practice smiling in my mirror to see what I looked like.

Whatever Tom had seen on my face, he decided to ignore it and he turned to open the door and held it open for me to walk in.

As I entered the darkened corridor, I finally let the forced smile fall off my face and took a deep breath. The dim, narrow corridor gave a blessed relief from this awful social situation. What I wanted more than anything at that moment was to crawl into my bed with a good book. Oh hell, any book would do. Just so long as I didn't have to see another person for at least a week. I wiped some sweat from my brow, realising how out of shape I'd become.

Tom led us down the hallway, which had many closed doors on both sides. Up ahead was an open doorway where light spilled out, and as we approached, I realised the light was electric. My flesh broke out in goose pimples and I wondered what the heck these people were doing. Where on earth did they get light bulbs from? Electricity was one thing, but lightbulbs?

As we passed, I got a good look inside before a young man in uniform scooted over and closed it. What I saw astounded me. It was full of computers, lights blinking, and a group of men standing before a giant map — a map of the world! It was some kind of command room.

How big is this operation? I started to wonder, feeling more than nervous. "Are you with the government or the military?" I asked; the question just popped out of my mouth before I remembered my decision to remain silent.

Tom stopped and gave me a smile and then shook his head. "No, we are not affiliated with the corrupt greed that almost brought humanity to extinction. The governments and the militaries of the world are what created the mess we're in. Wouldn't you agree, Miss Sims?"

I thought about it for a moment, and while it seemed like rhetoric on the surface, underneath there was substance. It was true that we'd done a very poor job of stewarding our planet and all the people on it. It was true that greed and corruption were partly to blame. Along with ignorance and fear.

Before I could formulate my answer, Tom continued, "We'll talk more about this at breakfast, shall we? Where we can see each other and enjoy a nice meal together. I'll answer all of your questions and tell you all about The Family."

The Family? I thought to myself. That sounded strange.

With the door to the command room shut, we were standing in a dimly lit corridor. We continued marching single file down the narrow hall with Tom in the lead, spouting on about the new world they were creating.

Shortly, we arrived at a narrow staircase. Tom held out his hand, inviting us to climb the stairs. "Sorry to make you work for your food, but my private quarters are upstairs."

Michael took off up the stairs, curious about what was up there, but Nike held back, waiting for me to go first. I sighed and put my foot on the first step and hauled myself up, one at a time. It wasn't exactly pleasant being this out of shape with Tom climbing behind me, so I did my best to hustle, but I hadn't climbed a set of stairs in over 4 years. My body wasn't exactly cooperating in the way I'd hoped.

When I finally got to the top of the flight of stairs, I was sweating and breathing hard.

"Are you okay?" Nike whispered, clutching my hand again the moment I stood still. Got the kid is like a piece of cling wrap!

I nodded, too out of breath to say anything, and Tom squeezed past us all, opening one of three doors at the top of the stairs.

I don't know what I was expecting, but I certainly wasn't expecting what I found inside. This was clearly Tom's quarters. It was an immaculately clean and modern room with mahogany interiors and electric lighting, as well as natural lighting from some small windows looking out over the remains of downtown Vancouver.

Tom led us quickly through the first room, which must have been his office, and into another room where there were two elderly people and a middle-aged woman seated at a beautiful round oak table set for a meal. This room was filled with light from east and south-facing windows — I could see my very own condo, the Exeter, in the distance.

The three people smiled thinly and stood up when we arrived, and held out their hands in introduction. I hadn't been through these rituals in years, yet somehow my body remembered what to do and I reached out and gave a shake shake to the one nearest me — the elderly man.

"Hello," he said politely. He kept one arm on what I assumed to be his wife's shoulder. She was still seated, and was clearly frail. "I'm Fred and this is my wife, Corrine." He motioned over to the younger woman, and I immediately recognised the resemblance and knew it must be his daughter. "That's my daughter, Tabitha."

She stood where she was and said hello.

"Hello," I responded. "I'm Sha.." I stumbled over my words, and corrected myself immediately, " — Miss Sims." I grabbed Nike and Michael and brought them in front of me, "And this is Michael and Nicole — who prefers to be called Nike."

The three of them looked down at the children in distaste, and did not say hello, but only nodded perfunctorily. Nike shrank visibly, and stood closer to me. She allowed her greasy hair to flop into her face. Michael seemed not to notice, as he was fascinated by the table setting — there was a full set of fine bone china decked out.

I suddenly wished I'd worn nicer clothing, and felt out of place.

Tom stepped in, "We rescued Fred, Corrine and Tabbitha from a group of hooligans living over in Kerresdale. They're still quite shook up about it."

I nodded. I couldn't exactly blame them — the children in my area had been causing trouble for as long as they could walk. Children without parents, raised by other children, weren't exactly role model citizens. "You don't need to worry about Michael or Nike. They're both excellent children," I smiled.

Michael, who had come late to the conversation, beamed up at the adults with his best good-boy grin and said, "I can even read!"

I chuckled inside. He actually was a good kid.

Nike remained quiet, but I could feel her pleasure at being complimented, a child to the last — aching for approval.

Tom took over the show and invited everyone to sit down, pulling out chairs like a maitre-de at a fine restaurant. I took a seat between Michael and Nike, and everyone else sat down.