by Katie French
The Messiah bobs his head up and down as if he has been expecting my question. “The Gods have carved out a place for us in this citadel. This land is holy. The Breeders may not enter. The Gods have granted us fertility in exchange for obedience to their commandments. The diseases of the world do not affect the Gods' people.”
In the flickering candlelight, his face is calm and assured. These lunatics are the chosen people? The giant and cruel Andrew? And Stephen, who seems to like raping Benders? Really? I shake my head. “That doesn't make sense.”
“How dare you contradict the Messiah,” Kalli hisses, lurching forward, her gray hair crowding her face like a storybook witch. “He is the Word. He is not to be contradicted.”
“Gentle, Kalli,” he says, placing his hands on her shoulders. “They will learn our ways soon enough.”
He turns and floats toward the back of his room where the shadows grow darker. Soon I can only hear the swish of his fabric. “Tonight you will rest. Tomorrow you will be inducted into the fold.”
We stand to shuffle out, but his voice calls to us again.
“No harm can come to the Gods' people. Should you disobey the commandments while you are here and put any one of my sheep in danger, the Gods' wrath will fall down upon you like the seven plagues of Israel. There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”
He says it so calmly, a proclamation of death. They may be the Gods' people, but I got a feeling we've stumbled into hell.
I sit on my mattress, arms around my knees, and watch Mama try to get comfortable beside me. They've locked us in one of the shops in the women's wing of the mall and ushered Clay, Ethan, and Rayburn down another hallway. Panic rippled in my chest as I watched Clay and Ethan walk away. I know Clay will protect my brother, but in his weakened state I worry about all of them. Every layer we unpeel of this onion is more rotten than the last.
Our room appears to be a store that once sold face creams and perfumes. There's a faded poster of an attractive woman with sunglasses pouting at the camera. I can't read the caption below, but I get the impression that whatever she's selling is meant to make women feel attractive to men. The room is bare except for a few things: the yellowed mattress my mama and I will share, broken hangers, small plastic hooks, crumbling cardboard boxes, and the plastic dinner tray with the food we've already scarfed down. Before he left, Andrew pulled down the metal grate at the store’s entrance. He locked it, smirking, and said the Messiah doesn't want us to hurt ourselves by wandering around. I've already tried the back door and found it locked too. I think of the open ceiling, but it’s twelve feet up with nothing to stand on, and there's no way I can get Mama up and over in her state.
Mama's hand slips over my elbow. “You need to sleep, love.” She rolls over slowly and props her head up on her hand. “You can't solve all our problems tonight.”
I drop my head to my knees and dig my chin into the hole that has worn through my pants. “I just don't get this place. What're these crazies playing at? The Gods' chosen people? Breeders can't come here because this is holy ground? Sounds flakier than lizard skin.”
Mama ponders this a minute, her burned face crinkling as she thinks. “Maybe they have faith that lets them believe it's true. Sometimes faith is enough for people to act in a way that protects them from harm.”
I bite my lip and stew on this. “Did you ever believe anything like that? I mean,” I say, shifting on the saggy mattress, “did you ever have faith in something bigger?” I spread my hands out across the disheveled storefront.
Mama pushes herself up. It hurts me to see how hard it is for her to move. It hurts me to hear what the Messiah had to say about the baby that saps a little more of her strength each day.
“Riley,” she says, taking my hand, “I believe in my children. You're the future I see. In you, there grows something better than what's out there.” She gestures out toward the world. I lean into her, pressing my shoulder against her boney one. She rests her cheek on my head. “I don't know if there's a God. I hope there is, but if He's there, I don't know why He would choose to let some of His children suffer and protect others. I think that's just convenient thinking on their part,” she says, gesturing toward the mall’s interior.
She quiets and stares off into the distance. “I used to believe there was someone out there watching out for us. How could we have survived this long without being captured? Then when Arn was killed,” she drops her head, swallowing hard, “it felt like something was severed inside me. I didn't even get to bury him. I was so angry. I wanted someone to be angry at. Other than the Sheriff, God was an easy choice.” She takes my hand, turning her burned face to mine. “One morning, when Auntie and I were the Sheriff’s prisoners, I asked the guard to take me to the outhouse. As I walked over the concrete, I saw dawn's first light. The heat hadn't yet settled over the land. It was so peaceful.” She looks up and a sad smile lights on her face. “A morning star shone bright as any diamond in the west. Arn loved morning stars. He used to…” she sniffs back a tear. “He used to point them out to me.” A tear traces down her cheek and she brushes it away. “The minute I saw that star, Riley, I swear to you I felt Arn's love pouring down on me.” She lifts my hand to her lips and kisses it. “I think he's still up there loving me. Love like we had, like the love I have for you and Ethan, is too big to die with this body. My love will exist somewhere even if I don't.”
“Don't talk like that,” I whisper, resting my chin on her shoulder. She holds me like she did when I was small. Suddenly I feel like sobbing. “You're always gonna be around.”
Mama says nothing, just strokes me. Finally, she sighs. “I hate that you always have to worry about me. I should be the one protecting you, not the other way round.”
“I don't mind.” I swallow down the tears and lay back on the mattress.
“I do,” she says, with a faraway look in her eye.
“I'm gonna go to bed,” I say, trying to control my voice. She doesn't question me, just lies down beside me. Her hand finds mine and we fall asleep connected, just like we were long ago.
I wake to shaking. Movement. Something's happening, though my brain is foggy from sleep. I roll over and see the dark, empty room, the bare mattress. Where am I? The mall. The mattress is shaking and something warm is puddling under my elbow. I roll over.
Mama sits, her face white, hands trembling. Beneath her the mattress is stained red. She lifts frightened eyes to mine. She's sitting in blood. Her blood.
“Mama!” I crawl to her side and hover, frightened.
She looks up at me. “Riley,” she says, her hands shaking, “something's wrong.”
Chapter 6
“Help!” I shake the grate, the metal rattling in its casing. It echoes down the hall. Let them all hear. Then they'll come. I shake it until my arms throb. “Help us!”
The grate across from me pushes up and a puffy-eyed, salt-and-pepper-haired woman climbs out. “Shhh!” she scolds, putting a finger to her lips. “We're trying to sleep.”
I stick my arm through the bars and wave her toward me. “Please, unlock the grate. My mother is bleeding. She needs someone… a doctor.”
The woman frowns and tightens her blanket around her shoulders as if the thin fabric could ward off the crazy I'm infected with. Another woman with smooth, brown skin and short black hair approaches the grate. She clutches a tattered blanket to her chest. Even straight from sleep she's wearing half a dozen gold bracelets on her wrists. “What's going on?” she asks, groggily.
“My mother. She’s bleeding!” I gesture back into the store. Both women stare at me like I’m a wild animal gone nuts in her cage. “Go!” I shoo them away. “Get help.” I don’t wait to see if they’ll listen. I turn back and run to my mama.
She’s sitting stock-still, her eyes on her knees. Beneath her, a red blossom spreads on the mattress. How much blood am I looking at? I kneel before her. “What do I do?”
She raises her eyes to me slowly. Her face has gone past white t
o a pale green. “I … I don’t know. Something’s wrong with the baby.” She shakes her head slowly. “Maybe it’s for the best.”
Behind me the grate rattles up. Guards rush in, rumpled, sleepy, and annoyed.
“You gotta get a doctor.” I stand up and tug on the arm of a man I’ve never seen before. He brushes me aside and goes for Mama. Behind him another man pushes a rickety wheelchair. They lift her. In the giant man’s arms, she looks like a child. They lower her into the chair and she winces. I clutch my face.
“I’m fine, Riley,” she says, waving a weak hand at me. Her head sags forward as they wheel her back to the grate. She’s a terrible liar.
I trot behind them, but a hand presses against my shoulder. The guard shakes his head.
“I’m going,” I say, pushing his hand aside.
He shoves me back. I stumble into the store as he lowers and locks the grate.
“I’m going with her!” I scream. I was supposed to protect her. I promised myself when we got her out of the Breeders’ hospital that I wouldn’t leave her side, and here we are, separated again. How could I have failed her so soon?
I rattle the grate. Rattle it as they wheel her away. Rattle it as she turns and looks over her shoulder at me. Rattle, rattle, rattle until the women glare at me and go back into their stores.
I slip down against the grate as a cold dread steals over me. I press my sweaty forehead to the metal until it hurts, until it’s a piercing spike in my head, until it's a quiet throb matching the pain in my heart.
I wake to someone shaking me. I snap upright and the hallway lights blind me momentarily. It's morning. I’ve fallen asleep against the metal grate. My neck aches, but not more than my chest as I remember my mama being wheeled away, bleeding.
I scramble to my feet and notice who’s been doing the shaking. On the other side of the security grate, a girl blinks at me. She's petite, with wide, curious eyes, and a cute, puckered mouth that spreads into a smile. Her hair is a mess of curls circling her head like a golden halo. Jeweled bangles run up both her skinny arms.
She tilts her head to the side and grins at me. “Riley?” she asks. Her voice is quiet, squeaky like a child’s, but her manner is much older. I wonder how old she is. Eleven, maybe?
“Yeah,” I say, rubbing the kink in my neck. “Who’re you?”
She holds up a food tray with a glass of water, a bowl of soupy grain, and two strips of cooked bacon. “Breakfast patrol,” she says, beaming. “Can I come in?”
“You’d be the first person to ask.” I gesture inside.
She sets her tray on the floor and works at the lock. Behind her, one of my neighbors walks past and glares in my direction.
“Thanks for your neighborly kindness last night!” I yell at her, unable to contain my anger. What’s happening to my mama right now?
The girl opens the grate, slides it up and walks in carrying the tray. Surprisingly she leaves the grate up. I stare at the opening, thinking, planning. If I bolt now—
“They have your mom,” she says, setting the tray beside me on the floor. “They say if you run you’ll never see her again.” She looks up at me with her wide, gray eyes, framed with long golden lashes. “Sorry.”
I sit on the floor beside the breakfast tray. The food sends my stomach cart wheeling, but I wait. I look over at the girl. “Do you know what happened to my mama?”
The girl shrugs. “She’s with the Middies.”
“The Middies?”
“Yeah, the ladies the Messiah anoints to care for the sick. Stupid old birds won’t let me in there.” She leans forward, whispering. “I peeked in, though,” her eyes flick to the hall, “when they weren’t looking.”
I nod and lean forward. “What'd you see?”
She leans closer, her eyes going wide. “She was lying on a bed.”
“And?”
“And she had her eyes closed,” she whispers.
I pull back. “Is that it?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I wanted it to be way cooler than it was.” She takes a piece of bacon off my tray and chomps it. “I'm sure they'll fix her up proper. The Middies might be ugly, but they know how to heal.”
Feeling a little more assured, I lift the warm bowl in my hands and spoon a bite into my mouth. The soupy porridge slides over my tongue. “When can I see her?” I need to find out what's going on with Ethan and Clay too, but one thing at a time.
The girl tilts her head, curls bouncing. “Maybe later. But first I get to give you the tour.” She grins, pieces of chewed bacon peeking behind her teeth.
“Great,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. I look back at the open grate. I can’t chance a run for it. Not when they have Mama and the rest of my family locked up.
She pulls a bright red scrap of paper from her pocket and begins folding it while I eat. I've never seen paper that bright. Where do they get all these amazing relics from? I watch her thin fingers for a moment. “Hey, how come they let you come in here? Don’t they worry I’ll take you hostage or something?”
She runs her thumb and fingernail along a crisp paper crease, her bracelets jangling. “My dad told them you won’t.”
“How does he know I won’t?”
She bends her fold into a triangle, which she spreads and folds again. “He’s the Messiah.”
“Your dad's the Messiah. Wow.” I lean back and eat my one slice of bacon. Damn, it’s good. I wish the girl hadn’t eaten the other one. “What’s that like?”
She shrugs as she folds. “He’s real busy all the time. You know, getting prophecies and talking to the Gods or whatever.” Finally, she stops folding and lifts her creation to me. An angular red bird has emerged from her single sheet of paper.
I touch the tip of its bill. “How'd you do that?”
She hands it to me and I examine its careful folds. “I can show you later.” She stands. “Are you done?” She points to my tray.
I nod and pat my happy stomach. A full meal. When was the last time I had one of those? Probably in the Breeders' hospital. I cringe at the thought. “What’s your name?”
“Mage,” she says, tucking the paper bird into a large pocket in the front of her oversized jumper. “What do you want to see first?”
“My mother,” I say and she shakes her head. “Okay, how about the boys’ wing?”
She considers this. “It should be safe now during the daytime.”
I shoot her a look. “What d’you mean?”
Her eyes go wide. Quickly she wipes the shock from her face. “You probably want to see your friends, huh?” she asks, leading me out.
I nod, ducking under the grate and into the hallway with her. Nearly all of the grates are open now. A woman walks by, pushing a cart laden with food trays. Two others walk in front of us with large bins of dirty clothes on their hips. So many women, and they're all free. If I didn’t get the impression that this place was sitting on a big, nasty secret, I might want to stick around.
Mage leads me past the rows of stores that make up these women's homes. I pass by a smaller store with worn pink carpet and faded plastic posters with pictures of glittering jewelry, advertising, “Buy One, Get One Free.” Small hexagonal-shaped racks that look like they can spin line the walls. Between them, a group of toddlers sits cross-legged on the carpet while an elderly woman claps and sings them a song. As we pass, their little voices repeat her refrain. “In the Gods' sight we lie. Show us, fathers, your reply. Open the eyes of a heart most true. Show us, fathers, what to do. ”
Mage thumbs back at the store. “That's Little Tree. Kids stay there until about five. Then they move up to lessons with Yusuf in the Willow Room.” She leads me past a bigger room where older children lie on their bellies in small circles. They're writing on big canvas sheets with something that looks like bits of charcoal as a middle-aged man with a long gray ponytail walks around, monitoring their progress. He waves a hand to Mage.
“That's Yusuf,” she says.
We turn a corner
. In a large department store, I see where my soupy breakfast came from. Inside, where racks used to hold clothing and sporting goods, these people have set up a makeshift greenhouse. Plots of dirt run in staggered rows, covering nearly every surface. The ceiling's been cut away in big rectangular sections and sheets of sand-blasted plastic have been stretched across to let in the light while keeping out the sand and heat. Men and women with stooped backs and dirt-covered fingers water, weed, and tend each little green sprout.
“My papa was the one that got the water working.” A tinge of pride coats Mage's voice. “That's when they made him Messiah.”
“How's this possible?” I ask. An old woman with her back bowed like a candy cane plucks a tomato from a vine and drops it into a basket she wears at her hip.
Mage stuffs her hands in her pockets and rocks back and forth on her heels. “We use the juice from the solar panels to run power to sections of the mall, the water, the ventilation and the air conditioning. My papa says when they first came here two generations ago, it was super hot and dark. No toilets even,” she whispers, making a face. “Then the Gods showed him how to make the power, and the people have lived blessedly ever since.” She talks like she's repeating some rote message.
I fix her with a look. “The Gods told him how to hook up the power?”
She blinks at me and nods. “My papa's a prophet. He has the sight. He keeps us safe by following what they say.”
“I didn't know God was an electrician.”
She tilts her head, confused. “Come on,” she says, turning. I take one last look at the little indoor farm nestled under old “for-sale” banners. It's amazing, really.
After a few more stores, the floor plan opens up to the giant food court we walked through when we first entered. I peek in a restaurant cubby that’s decorated with pictures of a black and white bear smiling and holding two thin sticks in its paw. Behind the counter, people are chopping, tending the stove, and stacking dishes.
