by Penn Gates
Holden jumps into the silence. “George here has been filling me in on the situation. Janet is his betrothed, and the bat-shit guy on the white horse wanted to marry her instead. They ran away from the self-styled bishop, and - well, you know the rest.”
Lisa feels some of the tension drain from her own body. Maybe she’s gotten it all wrong. Maybe the girl wasn’t raped after all. The old-fashioned way they dress is a clue that they have old-fashioned values. Sex before marriage is undoubtedly considered a sin. The poor girl was just trying to keep her pregnancy a secret even while suffering a miscarriage.
“Janet will be fine,” she says reassuringly to the young man.
George’s face brightens. “Danke Gott!” he says fervently.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t save the baby—” Lisa continues, “—but there will be no lasting damage. You two can try again in the future.”
She stops talking as the look of horror on his face tells her she’s made a terrible mistake.
“This is not possible!” George says. “I am not believing you!”
“I can see this is a shock for you, but—” She looks to Holden for help.
“This night’s been way too crazy,” he says, locking eyes with her. “We’re all dead on our feet. Let’s talk tomorrow when we’ve gotten some zzz’s.”
George shakes his head back and forth like a maddened animal. “Nein! It is not my child!” he shouts. He looks around wildly, desperate to escape the reality of what he’s just heard.
Holden grabs his arm. “No you don’t, pal. There’s nowhere to run.” He holds tight to the struggling boy. “Doc - you wouldn’t happen to have a horse tranquilizer in your bag of tricks, would you?”
Lisa retrieves her medical bag and administers the powerful sedative. “You better find a place to lay him down - he’ll be out in a minute.”
She seeks the comfort of the couch again, but there’s no comfort to be found. She bends forward, her head in her hands, and whispers, “Oh my God, how could I be so stupid? What have I done?”
She’s still in the same position when Holden returns from depositing an unconscious Shirk on another sofa in a far corner of the lobby. The doctor’s usual air of professionalism has vanished. She looks like a child who’s just broken something very expensive.
“I’ve just ruined that girl’s life,” she moans. “Maybe both their lives.”
“Bull shit! Their lives were already on the road to ruin,” Holden says firmly. He’s appalled at how much he wants to cross the few feet between them and comfort her. Instead, he seats himself on the raised hearth with his back to the fire and lights a cigarette. “It was that batshit crazy bishop who knocked her up - and not because she wanted him to.”
“We don’t know that for certain,” Lisa moans. She rakes her fingers through her tangled red hair.
“I’m pretty sure she wasn’t tied up like that so she wouldn’t fall off the horse.”
Lisa struggles not to respond to Holden’s sarcasm. Getting angry with him is not going to make her any less angry at herself. “I saw evidence of rough treatment when I examined her,” she admits. “I guess I just didn’t want to believe it.” Her voice cracks. “I made myself feel better at the expense of my patient.”
To Holden, it’s obvious the doctor is about to have a melt down unless he can get her focused on another subject - one she can explain with facts. “You’re a virologist. Don’t therapists and social workers have to be specially trained to work with rape victims?”
She looks at him with a pained expression. “That has nothing to do with it. I just broke patient confidentiality—”
Holden realizes his strategy hasn’t worked because he’s misunderstood her problem - but he knows how guilt feels. He puts his finger to his lips. “Hey - don’t let the holy man hear you - you’ll go to hell for sure.”
“Funny - very funny,” Lisa mutters, but she manages a small smile.
“Now get some rest,” Holden suggests. “Tomorrow’s problems will get here soon enough,” he adds. “No need to take ‘em to bed with you.”
He feeds another chunk of wood to the flames. The fire crackles and hisses, following the laws of physics, untroubled by the chaotic actions of human beings.
CHAPTER 5: Damage Control
Sunlight streams through the two-story windows that flank the massive fireplace. Gone is last night’s menacing atmosphere of a cavernous space in the dark. From somewhere outside, voices call to each other over the sound of truck engines, followed by a burst of laughter.
Lisa is curled into a tight ball under a heavy weight. She doesn’t want to wake up - something’s waiting for her, something that will make her feel bad.
When she feels a tentative touch on her shoulder, she burrows deeper. “Go ‘way - leave me alone.”
“I brought you coffee, doc.”
At the sound of Marcelli’s voice, she throws off what turns out to be her own field jacket and sits up. She sees only an outline against the glare of the windows. The silhouette holds out a steaming cup to her.
“Thanks,” she mumbles as she takes a sip of the bitter brew.
When her brain fog lifts and her eyes adjust, she looks around at the room where she’s spent the night. There’s an impressive wood-clad ceiling high above rustic beams. From one hangs a kind of chandelier made of deer antlers. Are the antlers authentic, or a clever replica? It doesn’t really matter. Overall, the effect is stunning. The place seems more like an expensive resort than a state lodge.
“What time is it?” Lisa asks. She knows there’s something she needs to be doing instead of admiring interior design.“The girl!” she exclaims in her next breath.
“Don’t worry - I been checking on her every quarter hour. She’s still sleeping.”
“Right - I gave her a sedative to calm her down.” Lisa looks around for a place to set her empty cup.
“I’ll take it,” Marcelli says quickly.
“Thanks—” Lisa pauses. “I just realized I don’t even know your first name after all this time.”
“It’s Tony,” he says. He lifts his hands, palms up, in an exaggerated gesture. “I’m Italian - what else would it be?”
She likes Private Marcelli. He handled himself well in an emergency - but his eagerness to please always makes her a little nervous.
Lisa searches for her clunky, army-issue boots. “So, Tony - what’s going on this morning?” she asks as she pulls them on. “Where is everybody?”
“Holden and a few of the guys retrieved The Whale and our trucks. The others are guarding the bishop and his men.”
“The who?” But then she remembers. Another big problem - Holden’s, thank God - not hers.
Marcelli looks embarrassed. “I know - it sounds strange. He’s not the kinda bishop I’m used to. But that’s what George said he was back east.”
Lisa stretches, trying to work out the kinks accumulated from a restless night on a couch. “I better have a look at my patient,” she says.
But the place looks different in the daylight. There seem to be doors and hallways in all directions. “Point me in the right direction, Tony.”
Marcelli gestures toward the back of the lobby. Lisa catches sight of a door behind the reception desk, and walks quickly across the colorful Navaho print of the carpet. The central lobby really is quite impressive. A balcony runs along one side, its railing and stairway made of hewn logs. There are other couches and chairs scattered around the large space, all in the same deep, rich red as the sofa she’d slept on by the fireplace.
She hesitates before the closed door of the office. She’s certain the girl will recover physically, but her mental state is yet to be determined. Whatever it is, she knows she’s the one who’s got to deal with it, both as a physician - and as the only other woman here. She thinks of the corporal’s comment last night, and for the first time wonders why med students are taught so little about dealing with emotional trauma. Specialization, probably. There were other people for
that in the world before Geezer. Or maybe that’s unnecessarily cynical. For the doctors who literally put broken people back together, it was considered helpful to keep an emotional distance in order to function at peak efficiency.
She takes a deep breath and reaches for the door knob. The girl - Janet - is still lying on the table where Lisa tucked her in last night. Someone has pushed chairs - the stackable kind, with heavy steel frames and padded seats - under the entire length of that table. At first glance, it gives the unfortunate impression that Janet is being served up for dinner. But Lisa has to admire Marcelli’s ingenuity. The backs of those chairs make a good substitute for a bedrail to keep the unconscious patient from falling.
Janet is so pale and still that Lisa hurries across the room to check her vitals. She’s relieved to find a steady pulse. The patient is asleep, which means the moment she has to deal with the emotional fallout can be postponed until later. She takes a final glance, only to be confronted by a pair of blue eyes watching her. Lisa starts in surprise. The girl seems to shrink into herself.
“S-sorry,” Lisa says. “I’m still a little jumpy from last night—”
She falls silent. How must her words sound to a girl who’s endured much, much more in the past twelve hours than she has in the last year? This is why she went into virology, Lisa thinks. She’s nowhere near as good with human beings.
Lisa tries again. “How are you feeling this morning? Much better, I hope.”
Janet ignores her question. “Where is George?” she asks in a throaty voice - which would probably be described by most men as sexy. “I am wanting to know that George is safe.”
Lisa hesitates. Once, she was in a plane that suddenly lost altitude. Her stomach feels the same way it did then. Sooner or later, Janet is going to find out that George - her fiancé - knows about the miscarriage. But that moment is not going to be now!
“Don’t worry,” she says. “George wasn’t hurt, just shaken up a bit. I think maybe he’s - resting.”
“I am begging you, please, do not tell him about—”
Lisa bites her lip. Sooner or later, the girl will learn the truth. If she doesn’t admit to her mistake now, she’s lost all credibility.
“Janet - you and I need to talk.”
She sees the girl’s hope die before she says another word.“We don’t have to discuss anything right now,” Lisa adds quickly, trying to head off an emotional storm. “It’s important that you stay calm.”
Janet groans as she pushes herself into a sitting position. “I must find George and explain that it was not my fault,” the girl says desperately.
“You’re not going anywhere right now,” Lisa says with authority. “Now lay back down and try to relax.”
Janet seems to notice for the first time that she’s wearing a sweat shirt and sweat pants. “Where are my clothes!”
Lisa lays a reassuring hand on the girl’s arm. “Your clothes needed to be washed.”
As soon as she says the words, Lisa wants to take them back. How is reminding this poor creature of last night’s bloody events doing her any good?
Janet’s long blonde hair falls forward as she tries again to get off the table. “Why is my hair being loose?” Her voice takes on a hysterical note.
“Your hair was like that when we rescued you.” That bit of information seems especially upsetting to Janet, although Lisa’s not sure why. She’s got to focus the girl’s attention on something unimportant - anything - to distract her from what’s upsetting her so badly.
“You must be thirsty - do you want a drink of water?”
“Bitte,” the girl whispers, her shoulders sagging.
Linda is confused. Why would she want just a little water? She’s got to be dehydrated. And then she remembers - Janet is saying please in German.
“Hold on,” Lisa tells her. “I’ll be right back.”
As she turns she notices the two bottles of water sitting precisely at the center of the desk, as if they’ve appeared by magic. Marcelli again.
“Here you go,” Lisa says, pushing one of the chairs aside so Janet can swing her legs over the edge of the table.
Lisa watches the girl drink awkwardly, as if she’s not used to drinking from a bottle. And of all the terrible things she could be upset about, why is she so disturbed about clothes and hair? She doesn’t seem like the kind of young woman consumed by vanity. A memory of a pleasant summer day pops into her mind.
“I used to go to a farmer’s market near Pittsburgh. Many of the people who sold fresh produce were Mennonites. “You’re a Mennonite, aren’t you?”
“Yes - this is true. But I come from Lancaster, not Pittsburgh.”
“That’s quite a distance from here,” Lisa says as she accepts the empty bottle from Janet. “It must have been a hard journey for you and George.”
At the mention of his name, Janet looks like she’s going to cry again.
“Don’t think about all that right now,” Lisa says. “Tell me about Lancaster.”
“I do not know what happened to our community,” the girl chokes. “What happened to my family.”
“It was Geezer.” Lisa swallows hard. “Everything changed, all at once.”
The boy she’d seen bludgeoned for a box of phones - when law and order break down, the law of the jungle is all that’s left. The strong prey on the weak. She tries to block the image, which has haunted her ever since.
“Was your community attacked?” she asks.
Lisa has to strain to hear Janet’s answer. “Not how you are meaning.” The girl stares at the wall for a long time before she whispers, “All the bishops and elders were dead already from The Sickness - there was much confusion.”
“The Sickness—” Lisa repeats. “You mean Geezer flu.”
Janet looks at her blankly and finally nods. “N-no one knew w-why it was happening.”
“It happened because a highly contagious virus spread like wild fire and medical science had nothing that could fight something no one had ever seen before,” Lisa says in one breath.
Janet shakes her head. “I am not meaning how it came about, but why. Why was God allowing this to happen to the world?”
Lisa has no answer for that. In her world, how and why are parts of the same question. The will of a supreme being is irrelevant. “I’m sorry,” she says instead. “I interrupted - you were telling me about what happened to your community.”
“Ezra!” Janet almost gags on the name.
“That man on the white horse?” Lisa asks, unconsciously wrinkling her nose in disgust.
“Yes,” Janet chokes. “He came from Ohio where his father was a bishop, thank the Lord. It would be too terrible if he had been living among us his whole life, hiding the evil inside.”
She’s silent for a moment. “He came to our farm out of nowhere,” she says haltingly. “ And he fell to the ground - as if dead - before our eyes.”
“He traveled all the way from Ohio alone?” Lisa has trouble imagining how he’d survived at all.
“The Ohio community also lost their elders,” Janet explains. “Without them, the young people asked the bishop’s son to be giving advice. It was Ezra who decided they should return to Lancaster and join other survivors there.”
“I guess - that makes a kind of sense,” Lisa says slowly. “But it also sounds very dangerous.”
Janet bows her head. “Every soul but Ezra was lost on that journey.” She clasps her hands together as if she’s praying for the dead.
“That’s awful.” It’s all Lisa can think of to say.
Janet’s expression is unreadable as she says, “There was an oddness about Ezra’s clothing. It was scattered with many tiny burn holes - like when you are getting too close to the fire sometimes.” Janet hesitates. “And Frau Doktor - under the skin of Ezra’s neck and shoulders there were red lines - like frost on a window.”
Lisa’s scientific curiosity takes over. “I’ve read about cases like this,” she says, mesmerized by the r
are chance to hear described the effects of a human being hit by lightning. Even as she says the words, she realizes how impersonal they must sound. She should be paying attention to Janet’s terrible experience.
“I’m sorry - I’m interrupting again,” she says sincerely. “Please, go on.”
“It was our Christian duty to be helping him,” Janet says, but her eyes grow hard - at odds with the ethereal quality of her beauty. “I do not know why my oldest brother ordered me to be caring for him,” she whispers to herself. “It is not fitting for an unmarried girl to do this.”
Was the unusual decision what had first ignited Ezra’s obsession with Janet? Lisa wonders. Still - how on earth was Ezra able to get his hands on a young, unmarried girl, living with her family, and use her against her will?
“His eyes were scaring me.” Janet’s hands no longer look like they’re in prayer. They’re twisted tightly together now, the desperate force of her grip turning her knuckles white. “They would roll back in his head - but he would say he was looking to heaven for answers.” For a moment, Janet looks skeptical. “I am certain he did not believe that - it was to excuse something he could not control. Perhaps that was when he began making up things to explain his strangeness. And the more he was talking, the more his words began sounding like the Bible.”
The girl is shaking now, whether from fear or anger Lisa can’t tell. Maybe both. “As soon as he was going to our Sunday services, he stood up and told everyone - I have been chosen by God. And right away, they were all believing his crazy lies about The End Times. He could do anything he wanted - to anyone he wanted.”
Lisa reaches out and takes one of Janet’s agitated hands in her own. “You’re safe now. He can’t ever bother you again - I promise.”
But now that Janet has begun speaking her truth, she can’t seem to stop. “He was wanting me - and my brother gave me to him as his handmaiden.” Her eyes are haunted. “Can you be guessing what that means?”
Lisa nods. She feels sick to her stomach. “Was it George who rescued you?” she ventures.
