I was walking through a field in Wyoming at night.

Towards an illuminated tent as I first heard the voice of the second surviving citizen of

Lime Town booming through a small p.a. system. I was late.

Hear me, my brothers and sisters. The divide between is insignificant. The divide is instant

and it's timing unknown. But on the other side of it lies our true cells, our true strength,

our true mission. Yet the divide cripples us with fear.

The second surviving citizen is, as he told me after the service.

I'm a traveling salesman of sorts. A salesman? That seems cynical.

Well, it's just say I speak outside the purview of organized religions. The nomenclature

can make people nervous. Create false power dynamics that just get in the way. I'm pitching

a different sort of gospel anyway. What sort is that? Well, the gospel of death.

Give a name. Name your fear. Identify it in the dark and inform it in for dinner. Ask

about it's mama. Script it of all its mythology, of all its baggage, of all its noise. And see

it for what it is. A doorway.

I want to cross over into the ground.

Ground.

My name is Leah Haddock and I'm an investigative reporter with APR. This is part three of our series

on Lime Town. And I'm going to do something now which I have not been able to do for quite some time,

which is to give facts. The man I spoke to, who I will call reverend during our conversation,

a request made facetiously but still honored, was legally named Warren Chambers. He was missing

male number 127 in the Lime Town commission report. We met at his revival tent outside of

Rollins, Wyoming, one of many stops along his tour. It was a Wednesday. The reason I can tell you

...