by DeVere, Taya
Just as Enyd’s about to answer, another door opens down the hallway. Thomas quietly orders someone to stay inside. Carefully, he slips through the doorway and shuts the bedroom door behind him. He turns and freezes as his eyes fall on Enyd.
“Is Noah in there?” she asks, tempted to kneel over and rub her aching ankles.
“Nope. Not here. Enyd, what’s going on? Margaret is freaking out. She told all the kids to stay in their bedrooms. It’s almost time for afternoon tea and biscuits. I get why you wanted to destroy the cameras. It was about time. But why is everyone hiding?”
“There’ll be no biscuits today, Thomas. Where is Noah?”
Thomas looks at the door next to him. Two long strides and Enyd’s opened the door. Inside, three boys sit on their bunk beds, all looking at Enyd as if she’s suddenly grown horns. She recognizes his roommates. “Where’s Noah, boys? I’m not going to ask twice.”
Footsteps echo from the stairway. Oliver walks in, spreading his hands. “Care to tell me what’s gotten into Margaret? She’s taken Noah and locked herself in the basement room. Most of the food’s gone from the kitchen. Even the crispbread.”
Thomas scoffs and turns to look at Oliver. “Who cares if the old hag took the rest of that cardboard you call bread? Don’t you know what day today is?”
“The day you finally put a sock in it?”
“It’s delivery day, you wanker—”
Enyd lifts her hand, and the room falls silent. The boys on their bunkbeds exchange a look. Enyd narrows her eyes and looks around the room.
“They’re all in the basement?”
Thomas taps his feet against the floor. Nobody says anything. Enyd folds her hands behind her back and walks over. His foot stops tapping and freezes on the spot. “And why are you here? In Noah’s room? Snooping around?”
Oliver cocks his head and looks at them in wonder. “Yeah, why?” When Enyd gives him the side-eye, Oliver backs off. Enyd stares Thomas down. “Well?”
The boy is shaking slightly. He’s holding onto something red, behind his back. A fabric bag. Enyd reaches behind Thomas’ back and yanks the bag from him. She rips it open. Socks, underwear, a hoodie, two thin blankets, a travel pillow, and at least a dozen granola bars. The good kind of granola bars. With chocolate.
“Where did you get these?”
The boy shakes his head from side to side. “I’m sorry, Sister Enyd. Margaret told me to get Noah’s things. To deliver them down to the basement after nightfall. She said I’d get the granola bars. Something about them being the only food I’d have to eat. I don’t know what’s going on, but you know how much I love—”
The look on Enyd’s face is enough to stop Thomas in the middle of his sentence. Sister Margaret. You are many things, but a thief? But the deaf woman doesn’t answer her tapping.
Thomas drops the bag on the floor. He backs away to sit on an empty bunkbed. Noah’s bed. Enyd picks up the bag. She takes out six of the granola bars and hands them to Oliver. Then, she picks out another six, walks to Thomas, and hands them over.
“You don’t work for Margaret,” she says. “These bars weren’t hers to give. But don’t get me wrong. You don’t work for me either.” Enyd lifts her chin and looks down her nose at Thomas. “Commit your work to the Lord, and your plans will be established.” She gestures Oliver and Thomas to come closer. The younger boys in the room stare at them, wide-eyed and confused. It doesn’t matter; she only needs Oliver and Thomas. They’ll be part of her plan. His plan.
“I want you to listen very carefully. Here’s what’s going to happen next.”
***
Careful not to land on her buttocks again, Enyd takes her time getting down the stairs to the basement. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. One stone step at a time. Her fingers wrap around Samuel’s prayer beads inside her pocket. With her free hand, she grabs on to the railing. She finally makes her way down.
The basement reeks of mold, despair, and something foul—a new scent Enyd can’t quite put her finger on. Have the boys burned something other than wood to keep the building warm? Old clothing? Bloody towels?
The boys should be done in the attic by now. They should have found what Enyd has sent them for. Now she’ll just need to get Margaret to open the basement door. Talking sense to the deaf woman is something Enyd’s good at. She’s done it before. Maneuvered her mind, bent her will. And she’ll do it once again.
Her slippers steady on the concrete floor, Enyd turns toward the basement door. The furnace hums from the other room, warm and inviting. For a moment, Enyd thinks about turning around, laying the blankets in Noah’s bag in front of the fire. The adrenaline rush has left her fatigued and weak, but this is not the time to rest. She raps her knuckles against the rough wood.
“Margaret? Ava? Open the door.”
Not a peep.
“Noah? I brought your clothes. More blankets. Thomas told me what happened. I’m not angry. I just want to talk.”
Something or someone moves against the door. Then silence.
“Ava? Are you okay in there? Did Margaret remember to bring your medicine? I’m worried, my child. Come open the door, and we’ll talk this through.”
This pleading feels like it’s ripping holes in her, tearing her chest apart. The maddening need for salvation growing inside her is getting impossible to contain. It pushes up through her skin like her blood is suddenly boiling.
His will. His last wish.
Finally: a familiar pressure at the back of her head. Enyd takes a step back, glaring at the door. Margaret? I need you to let me inside.
“It’s not Margaret. It’s me. Ava.”
Enyd winces in shock. The blockers. Margaret must have forgotten them. The affect has worn off.
“She didn’t forget, you sick fuck. She told me everything. I guess I’m not diabetic after all, am I?”
“Mind your language, child. Diabetic or not, you’re still in God’s house.”
“Fuck your language. Fuck this house. And most of all—fuck you, Enyd. I want my phone. I want to find my mother. And I want to get the fuck out of here.”
Boiling blood.
Swarming chest maggots.
A sinner, speaking the words of the devil.
But Enyd is strong. Doing God’s work. She’ll end this madness. Punish those who spread their filthy sins across this house. Like a plague. They are the plague.
Two sets of footsteps echo from the stairway walls. Oliver and Thomas stop behind her, each resting an antique bolt action rifle against his shoulder.
“If I promise you’ll get your phone back,” Enyd says, “will you open this door?”
Through the open connection, through Ava’s eyes, Enyd scans the basement room. Hannah lies in the corner in pain. Her curly brown hair is spread across Noah’s lap. Margaret places a wet rag on Hannah’s forehead. The yellow-blue bruises around her left arm, the one stretched out to Margaret, hurt Enyd’s eyes. But only for a second.
The sinner should have known better.
Ava turns around to face the door again. To face Enyd. “Sure, I’ll open the door.”
Enyd frowns. She’s doubtful but takes a half-step back anyway. The boys murmur something behind her, but they shut up when Enyd shushes them.
“I’ll open the door as soon as you admit that you’re a sadist and a hypocrite.”
Oliver lowers his rifle, sets it against the stone wall. “Do you want me to kick it open?”
Thomas follows his example, ready to take down the heavy door. Enyd looks at the two boys, estimating their strength. A piece of chocolate stains the side of Thomas’s upper lip. Oliver cracks his knuckles, ready for action. Could they take the door down? Maybe they could. After years of hard labor, dragging, pulling, lifting, pushing, beating… One door would be nothing.
Enyd steps away from the door and nods at Thomas and Oliver. Together they turn their shoulders toward the heavy door, count to three, and bounce their body weight against the wooden surface
. A dull thump is all they get.
“Again,” Enyd says, tapping for Ava. Then tapping for Margaret. No one answers. She feels another Unchipped connection lingering nearby. There shouldn’t be another one. The strange new connection is not inside Kinship Care’s walls but somewhere nearby.
The She-Devil and her crew. Kaarina, getting closer. How does she know where they are?
The two boys crash against the wooden door. They take three steps back, to gain momentum. Their bodies slam against the door again, but the door won’t budge an inch. A connection to the room opens again. Through Margaret’s eyes, Enyd sees Hannah, sipping water to help her swallow two white tablets. Painkillers from Enyd’s office drawer. The girl lingers between consciousness and sleep.
“Enyd. You need. To let us. Go. The plague. Is not real. If you let me. I can. Explain—”
Enyd lifts her hand to tell the boys to stop. They’re hurting their shoulders, and the door is clearly more heavily built then the two of them put together. Out of breath, they rub their arms and collapse on the floor next to the rifles.
I never said you can’t come out. Can’t you hear us trying to set you free? It’s better to get Hannah upstairs—
“We are. Leaving. Kinship Care. Enyd.”
Enyd blinks in surprise. This is not something she’s considered. You’d rather walk into certain death than come out and pay for your sins?
“Listen to me. The plague. Is not. Real.”
The boiling feeling under Enyd’s skin returns… if it ever left her. How stupid is this woman? She’s always considered Margaret as an equal. Someone intelligent. Sophisticated. Sure, it bothered Enyd that she constantly challenged her leadership. And she’s not a true believer. Not like Enyd or Samuel.
Margaret. Be reasonable. I know things are hard to understand right now. But killing the girls is not the answer. Killing yourself is not the answer. Think about the baby. Little Samuel. It’s a sign, Sister Margaret. The baby is our savior.
A mocking laughter echoes in Enyd’s skull. It’s Ava, breaking in on their silent conversation. “Little Samuel? Enyd, you’ve lost it. Gone barmy. Positively bonkers. Nutted up,” Ava says, mockery in her voice. “Tell Oliver and Thomas to back off with those ancient rifles. Have those things ever even been fired? They’ll probably lose half a face and an arm if they use them.”
Staring at Enyd, not knowing about the conversation going on, the boys get up from the floor. Oliver steps closer. His hand hovers above Enyd’s shoulder but then drops back down. “Enyd? Should we have another go? I could swear I felt the wood give in the last time we—”
“No.”
“But we have to get in—” Thomas’ hand on Oliver’s shoulder interrupts him in the middle of the sentence. Neither of the boys has ever been good at reading the room, but Thomas has always been a bit more street-smart. He clears his throat to get Enyd’s attention. Enyd stares at the closed door, her thoughts bouncing around in her busy mind.
“Enyd. You want us to go?”
“No.”
The boys exchange a look. Knowing better than to disobey, they back away and sit on the stone stairs. Enyd’s fingertips investigate the dents in the wooden door. Small splinters scratch against her skin, and she lets them sink into her flesh.
“Margaret? Open this cursed door. Please. Let’s take Hannah back upstairs. Oliver and Thomas are here to help.”
“With. Rifles?”
Enyd ignores Margaret’s question and the rage in her voice. She won’t budge. Enyd needs to find the weakest link in the room, and it’s not Margaret. Ava’s too headstrong. Hannah is too pregnant and in shock.
“Noah. This is no way to start your life as a father. What kind of a father puts their baby in this kind of danger? Step forward, good man. Open the door. Help us help you.”
A short rustling sound reaches Enyd’s ears. Noah has left the hard, red bed in the corner of the room. He’s walking to the door, despite someone trying to stop him.
“You think you know everything, don’t you?” The thick wood can’t muffle the wrath in his voice. “Think again, Enyd. And while you’re at it, think really hard about this place you’ve created. The fairy tales you shove down our throats year after year. Blackmail and violence. Just because we stay quiet doesn’t mean we believe any of it.”
“Just open this—”
“And you think those who follow you are innocent? Just because they agree to beat us when you tell them to? Just because they only use the phones and tablets when you’re not there to see? Eat your junk food and drink your soda?”
Enyd hears Oliver and Thomas freeze on the stairs. They’ve been stealing from her?
“Don’t speak in riddles, Noah.” Enyd doesn’t let his mocking laughter silence her. “What do you mean?”
“Margaret is right. We can leave this god-forsaken hellhole. There’s no such thing as the plague. Kaarina’s coming to help us.”
It’s Enyd’s turn to laugh. “And here I thought you didn’t believe in fairy tales.”
“The plague. Was planted by those. Who created. The Happiness-Program.”
“Planted? Why?”
“For the people who. Didn’t want to. Join the Chipped. And for those. Who were. Unworthy. Or so. They said.”
No. That’s not true. It can’t be.
“The program created. A weaponized. Version of the Marburg. Virus. When consumed. It acts. As a poison.”
She’s full of it. Bluffing. Why would they wipe out the whole city? Why would anyone hurt Samuel willingly?
“It was designed. To be waterborne. The ones who. Were cleared to be chipped. Were moved elsewhere. Until the cleaning operation. Was done.”
The hospital.
Nurse Saarinen pouring her another cup of water. Water they had brought in with them. “Remember, no tap water.” That’s what Doctor Solomon had said.
Could it be?
“Enyd, we can. Get out of here. We can get Hannah. To a hospital. Save the. Baby.”
Baby Samuel.
“Get rid of. The rifles. Gather. The children. Save. Yourself, Enyd. I won’t. Hold a. Grudge.”
Enyd leans her forehead against the door’s splintery surface. Head spinning with images and words. Feelings from the past and the present mingle in her mind. Blending, stirring, scrambling. Until it’s all an aching bundle of disbelief and boiling anger.
The plague.
Red, glowing lights on the horizon.
Kaarina and her false prophecy.
Samuel’s sign.
It’s tempting. To believe the plague is just another trick of the devil. But that’s what the devil does: tempts you. Lures you. Feeds you lies.
“You’re wrong. You made it all up.”
“Wake up, Enyd,” Noah huffs, rage in his voice. “It’s not us who can’t see the truth. You think it’s me who got Hannah pregnant? Think again. Think really, really hard.”
Enyd stays quiet, holds her breath.
“Why don’t you ask your precious boys who the father is?”
No. Sweet baby Jesus. No.
Enyd bangs her head against the door. Two sets of footsteps back off inside the room. Oliver and Thomas jump up and hurry to the door. “Enyd, let us help—“
Another bang stops them in their tracks. Enyd lifts the prayer beads and places them against the scar at the back of her skull. She presses the beads against her hair.
Bang.
“Enyd, we really have nothing to do with the—”
Bang.
“Okay, okay. We were just having some fun. It wasn’t supposed to end up—”
Bang.
“We didn’t know she was old enough to… we thought she’d never…”
Enyd’s eyes fly open. Her eyesight blurred, she stares at the carvings in the wooden door. The splinters on them spin around. They whirl and pulse. As the boys’ words sink in, her blood boils faster. Harder.
“You… raped Hannah?”
Enyd wants to be surprised. Wants to
be shocked. But the more she thinks about it, the more she knows it’s true. These two spoiled, privileged, chocolate-bar-munching heathens.
Oliver shows his palms. “Whoa! Hey! Strong words, Sister Enyd. No one raped anybody. We found a video… videos, on the Chip-network one night. It was a stupid idea, I know. We know. But no one had sinned for weeks and weeks. Couple of bruised fingers, no real work. We got bored, is all.”
Enyd turns around. She stares at the two boys. Her hand still holds the prayer beads against the slit where the Mark of the Beast once entered her brain. “Punishment is not there for your pleasure. It’s a necessary evil,” she says, shaking her head slowly. “You got… bored? So, you went into my office. Broke into the drawers. Stole a smartphone. Watched porn. And raped one of my children? One of His children?”
Thomas and Oliver glance at the rifles, resting against the wall. “We didn’t think… I mean, she watched it with us… Besides, it’s not as bad as the rolling pin. No damage done.”
They’re possessed. Ruined. All that was once good is now stripped off by Satan.
Enyd’s gaze follows theirs, finds the rifles. She takes two strides to the wall and picks up one of the weapons, but leaves the barrel pointing toward the stone floor. She takes a calm step toward the boys. Oliver and Thomas back toward the stairs, eyes locked on Enyd’s gun.
Enyd. Stop.
She blocks Margaret from seeing through her eyes. From listening in. It’s just her and the boys. The violence loving, bored out of their minds, boys.
“Enyd, please. Let’s talk this through. I mean…” Oliver chuckles a bit, lowers his hands. “Do you even know how to use that thing?”
She slides the rifle’s bolt back and then thrusts it forward, chambering a round. The assured movement, the uncharacteristic way she handles the gun sends Oliver’s hands right back into the air. The rifle’s ready to fire but still pointed at the floor.
With his voice lowered, Thomas whispers to Oliver, “Holy fuck. I guess she—”
Enyd lifts the barrel, aims it at Thomas’ head, fires the rifle. Multiple screams echo from the basement room. The loud bang leaves Enyd’s ears ringing. Thomas’s body collapses onto the stairs.
