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Rhode Island

“Two bikers will accompany each van,” says Smits, weary and urgent. “We’ll fire several blasts–”

The ground jumps; everyone whips around to the sweeping green radar line. “Scramble, Rebs,” says Smits. The men in orange jackets jog for the door.

“What if we got some tow cables from the vans, and–” Hamill looks eager.

“Not enough,” says Smits gently. “Every building in Providence used to be a church.”

Outside, Sayles Hall jerks up from the earth on long jointed legs. Granite shears. Its steeple bends, necklike; the crucifix swings for their hidden base and begins to crackle with power.

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