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Ali looks at the guys taking them all in then her eyes snap to my wrist. “What’s Keeper?”

I look down. The word is still there. “I’ll tell you when I know.”

The bell rings a third time.

The ground opens but not beneath us—ahead.

A crack tears across the Communion field.

It races through the dirt between us before splitting wide enough for the Earth to collapse inward. Roots spill into the opening, twisting over one another as something massive begins forcing its way to the surface.

At first, all I see is wood.

Then the ground heaves again.

A table rises from beneath the field.

Not just any fucking table.

The original Harvest Table.

It pushes through the Earth inch by inch, ancient wood groaning beneath ropes of roots wrapped around its legs. Dirt pours from its edges as it settles into the clearing, but somehow everything is still there.

Plates.

Goblets.

Candles.

Food.

An entire feast buried for two hundred and thirty-five years.

Except none of it looks buried.

I take a step closer, trying to understand what the fuck I’m seeing, when the apple nearest me begins to wrinkle. Its bright red skin caves inward until the fruit shrivels into itself, turning brown and soft with rot.

Then it swells again.

The wrinkles disappear. Color floods beneath its skin until it’s red, glossy, perfectly ripe.

For half a second.

Then it rots all over again.

My eyes move across the table.

It’s all doing it.

Mold blooms over a loaf of bread before sinking back into the crust, leaving it golden and steaming as though it just came from an oven. Meat blackens on the platters, collapsing into rancid sludge before flesh knits itself back together and turns pink beneath a glistening layer of fat. Dark wine bubbles inside the goblets, souring until a film crawls across the surface, only to clear and become rich red again.

Everything ripens.

Everything dies.

Everything comes back.

Over and over.