Gods of Anthem

by Keys, Logan

Jeremy leans forward until his forehead almost meets mine, stopping just before they touch. “You stay clear of the mess when it comes. At least promise me that.”

  He’s not going to tell me. It’s all a secret. And even with his face so near to mine, even with my heart skipping so many beats, my resolve firms. “I can’t do that. I can’t promise I won’t keep trying to help. I’m already too far in.”

  His teeth gleam in the darkness, and he shakes his head. “So stubborn. A patriot to the end.”

  Coldness pools in my spine. This is it. Doesn’t matter what I say. He’s leaving.

  We both look down at the world—the old one, still waiting for someone to come along. It’s been growing, healing without our abuse.

  “And what do you do it for,” I say, slow and sad, “if not for patriotism, Jeremy?”

  “For freedom,” he replies in all seriousness, realizing I won’t change my mind, either. “What else is there?”

  My jaw hardens as I spot a tiny little house that’s all but a shack. “Justice.”

  In her anger, Joelle’s run out on me. It’s almost daylight, and she’s upset enough to put herself in danger—in the sunlight.

  Every minute wasted in one direction costs me two in another. Split right down the middle is exactly how I feel about now; I’m desperate to find her, not to mention furious and wanting to kill her when I do.

  In my mad rush through the regular barracks, I’ve drawn attention and almost transitioned twice during the search.

  Finally, outside, I spot a group of soldiers standing around Cory in a horseshoe-shape, all surrounding a single person on the ground.

  Joelle.

  Just like the fake reality back in the jungle, she’s there, ready to catch fire. She’s covering her face, writhing to avoid the rays as the sun swells beyond the lip of the earth, and Cory’s holding everyone back with his mind control.

  Joelle’s in his grasp, too. Stuck where he’s put her, to await the burning.

  Waco’s closest and fighting, barely moving inches in his attempt to help. His head turns from side to side like he’s stuck in molasses, and his drawl’s slower than usual. “You’d better hope you don’t run out of energy before the sun comes up, Cory. That little princess will suck you dry to your last capillary.”

  Joelle hisses in answer. She’s wrapped her hair around her throat and face to protect her eyes from the bright horizon.

  I creep up behind Cory, hoping he won’t notice me until I break his neck.

  But before I can grab him, he flips around, and instantly my change begins. The monster’s been waiting for any slip of control, and before Cory can invade my mind, my body starts to stretch. A sound that’s more it than me erupts from my mouth.

  But the monster can’t finish, because the world slows its spinning. Everything winds down. Air feels sucked out like a vacuum, muting sound. I can’t move, but my brain provides a name in explanation: Simon.

  If you can call anyone our creator, Simon’s it. The Underground’s one scientist to undergo the rays himself, only he took it one step further. I’m told he died many times in the process, trying to become the perfect Special. His marks are burned off, proof that he’s a failure like the rest of us. Rumor has it they need two to start a new race: like an Adam and Eve who will be a game changer for our planet.

  Now, Simon’s slowed time itself until my heartbeats have become long seconds apart. It’s unnerving, and the first I’ve ever fully felt his Special. He’s impervious to it, though, and his long trench coat flaps in the breeze. He watches us like he did that night Joelle and I fought in Gothenburg. That’s Simon. Always watching.

  This time, I see something else in the shadow beneath his fedora.

  Disappointment.

  When I move my eyes down to Joelle, I find an empty space. Cory’s disappeared, too, along with everyone else.

  When time restarts, it’s just me and Simon.

  I jerk backwards from where he’s appeared a foot away from me.

  “Thomas,” he says, “are you ready?”

  “Sir?”

  He tilts his head like someone who’s long since lost his humanity from ages spent in the otherness outside of time. “You will have to lead them. Do you believe that you can?“

  I frown as doubt fills me.

  “Do you believe in this war against the Authority?” he asks.

  I hesitate, and like magic, a girl appears from behind Simon. Her eyes are unfocused, blind. She’s tiny, dressed in a white smock stark against brown skin; barely ten years old, if I had to guess. She approaches and lays a hand on my arm.

  Then, I’m seeing nothing … before seeing everything all at once; visions like a movie reel, so fast, it’s impossible to keep up. People herded like cattle, heads shaved: Cancer. Camps, prisons, citizens in agony, suspended, hopeless, and crammed into uniforms with black helmets: Guards. Streets filled with blood: Anarchy in Anthem.

  They’ve rounded up crying girls who hold their protruding stomachs. Too many mouths to feed; another child without a license.

  A doctor approaches one, while she screams as they hold her down.

  So … much … blood. And all of it rising in a massive wave.

  With a yell, I break away from the oracle, tripping over my feet and falling backwards.

  I’m alone.

  My things are packed. Joelle’s fine. Unharmed, that is. “Fine” is not how she is otherwise. “Fine” is as far away from my Jo-Jo as anything could possibly be. Nothing I can do about this part of our life. We always knew it would come to this.

  “You’ve changed,” she says.

  Two words that wound me fatally. I hadn’t realized the last of me was still thriving, even here, and I was content in our little pocket. Now, our pretend house has been tainted, and I want to blame Cory, but Joelle hadn’t said he was the one who’d changed. It was me. And she’s right.

  This isn’t the first time that’s happened. Before, I’d changed purely because everything I’d wanted as a kid left me, like mist, overnight. My entire idea of what could have been was robbed from me. Dreams to play football. Dreams to leave Brookhaven. Of college, of girls, of being a somebody, anybody, even a lesser version of myself would have sufficed. Instead, I was left with this new me, someone I can’t trust, whom I don’t even know.

  Joelle needs me.

  And soon I won’t be there for her.

  “You remember what you said when we left Brookhaven, Tommy?”

  Daisy’s here again. I squeeze my eyes shut, though I still sense her there beside me.

  I give in and open them to find her watching me with humor.

  “No,” I say, “I really don’t.”

  “You said, ‘Daisy, home isn’t just a place. It’s not even just people. It’s where you want to be when all is said and done.’”

  My throat tightens. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Daisy reaches forward and touches me—really touches me—her cold, grey hand resting on my forehead. “And you said, ‘All ain’t said and done, Daisy.’”

  “I thought you said I made you up to get good advice.”

  “Shh, handsome. It all ain’t said and done.”

  “But—” When next I look, there’s no one there, just the empty barracks again. “You forget,” I say now to thin air, “that I’m the reason you’re dead.”

  “Time to go, Hatter.”

  Snapping out of my memories, I turn to find Sergeant Nolan staring at me strangely.

  “You ready, hero?”

  I nod and shoulder my pack.

  He walks up, a strange gleam in his eye. “Seems you made quite an impression on Simon.” Nolan holds out his hand with the Sergeant’s rank in his palm.

  I frown as he lifts it and pins it to my jacket.

  Quickly, I snap to a salute, but Nolan shakes his head. “No, Sergent Hatter. On your way. You’ll not miss me when you go, but you’ll at least know you’ve earned my respect.”

  With a half-smile, I pass by h
im and walk straight out of the last place I’ve called home. Other than Joelle, I’ll miss nothing in Gothenburg. Here, I’m a stranger in a stranger’s land.

  Doesn’t take long to feel the part of my heart that’s missing. Jeremy Writer’s gone, and he’s taken a piece of me with him.

  A week passes, and it’s hard to tell who’s become more of a wraith: me or Serena. We barely eat, hardly speak, and my piano’s gathering dust.

  To me, everything’s like ash here in Ash City.

  It’s fully understood now, that name.

  Tonight, I’ve tried to cry myself to sleep, but there’s no end to this long day, to myself, and the wondering. It’s clear why he’s doing this, why he thinks he is. Yet I’ve never felt so alone in all my life. Worse, even, than at Bodega.

  With Journee locked up, the twins are my only companions, and both of them are grieving like widows over their men and the loss of a child. And with me doing the same, it’s as if someone has sucked the life out of us, like they’ve scooped out our spirits. All of this talk about Anthem giving up hope, and we’re no different.

  The Authority’s won.

  Only when I’ve given up on sleep for the night does my gaze land on the box of my parents’ last items. I’ve never even opened it. I’ve been too much of a coward to look at them.

  I approach on tiptoe, as if I’m afraid it knows I’m coming and will somehow try to run. It takes a sharp knife to cut through a seal that makes an air-tight pop. Beneath that is a metal box with a latch. The items inside clink around while my shaky fingers find the clasp.

  Silly thought, but this stale air wafting out was closest to my father before the box was sealed. Closing my eyes, I lift the lid ever so slowly.

  After three counts, I open them again. Inside sits a single letter, small and fragile, next to its only companion: my music box. With the top open, the tiny dancer waits, poised and ready. I lift her from her prison with pure amazement at seeing her again and set her down onto the table.

  Then stare at her until she blurs.

  My knuckle brushes the winder before I leave it be, unwound.

  On the envelope, my father’s gorgeous handwriting catches my eye. A solitary word: Liza. His marks are so precise, as if done by surgeon’s hands, and the feel of them returns in a rush—his hugs, his hand holding onto mine; gentle, yet firm enough to send a message: I am here.

  Finally, I find my backbone to open the letter …

  Liza,

  My darling daughter …

  Then, I set it to the side, unread.

  My nerve leaves in a rush. Pacing doesn’t help; just makes it worse. The dancer stares at me, too, daring me to wind her.

  Letter tucked inside my jacket, I sneak out despite the hour and find my way back to the church, which is locked for the evening.

  I knock a couple of times, but no answer.

  Frustration grips me and, with a muffled yell, I pull on the handle with everything that’s in me. Dots fill my vision, the door groans and gives, peeling from its hinges.

  The hunk of metal twice my height pops off to knock me in the head before toppling me over with a near-crushing force. My energy waned now, I’m pinned beneath it.

  Lying there, I’m dazed by what I’ve done.

  “Are you all right! Liza?”

  The door lifts slowly to reveal Nate, who’s staring down in surprise.

  He gives me a hand up before struggling with the door again, and when he finally gets it propped, he turns to face me with an expression of shock and fear. “How … what…?”

  “I’m not sure.” I look down at my feet. “It’s happened a few times since I was at the Island.”

  Nate checks the street. “Come inside before the guards notice.”

  Once through, he wedges the door back in until it closes and locks behind us.

  “I’m so-so sorry.” My voice shakes.

  “Shhh,” he says and flips on the lights, motioning toward the chairs. “Don’t even worry about it. That’s the most exciting thing I’ve seen all year. The hinges are bent clean sideways! How’d you manage that?”

  His scientific side’s become apparent while he tries to come up with an explanation.

  “I think they did something to me at the Island.” I hesitate to go on.

  Nate sits next to me. “If you’ve got something to say, best be saying it now. Tomorrow is no promise.”

  “I died.” The words fall limply out of my mouth, leading to a hoarse laugh and a sick feeling. “They said I was in a coma for three days, but I felt … like I left, you know?”

  Nate rubs his beard. “That must have been quite an experience.”

  “That’s the thing—it wasn’t. I was just sort of gone. There was nothing there—no tunnel, no lights, nothing. What do you think it means?”

  “Well, I’m no preacher, but I don’t think it has to mean anything.” His mouth quirks. “You ask my mother, and she’d say you were goin’ straight to Hell, and bring out the holy water.”

  My giggle’s unexpected. “That’s not funny.”

  Nate scratches his chin in thought. “My brother, he’d probably say you’d been given another chance in coming back, is all.”

  “And you?” I ask with a sigh.

  “Me…?”

  “Yes. What do you think, Nate?”

  “I’d say you probably weren’t dead enough.”

  A surprised snort escapes me, then we both laugh loudly.

  “I was dead, though.” I flatten my smile with force. “I know that now.”

  “Tell me this: if you knew you were gone, then how were you … gone?”

  I lift a hand to my brow. “That’s what I’ve been wondering. It should have been a sleep I woke up from, but it wasn’t. I was aware of time passing, at least. Strange, huh?”

  “It is strange,” Nate says, drawing out the word. “And these things done to you at the Island … like the projects. I’ve seen one other who was like this.”

  “Projects?”

  “I’ve not said this to anyone, and appreciate your discretion, but I’d been with the Underground.”

  My gasp is loud enough to echo.

  He colors above his beard. “You can see why it might be a problem if anyone knew. So keep this between you and me.”

  “Of course.”

  “They’d started their experimenting overseas; the people suffered and nothing changed. It all seemed so barbaric. Most died, or turned into zombies. I’d only heard of it mostly but they needed me to do work on a molecular level, you see? I went to the labs, alone, until one day there was a boy there, about your age—a tad older, maybe, but this was over a year ago—anyway, he was being … restructured.”

  Nate’s face shows clear distaste.

  “Restructured?”

  “From the inside, like. And he’d been able to do things, become stronger, become larger at will. Well … not precisely. More likely from pressure.”

  “That sounds impossible.”

  “What, like the door coming free of the hinges?”

  I frown. “I don’t change.”

  “I know that, but I meant to say … well, it was like that in a sense: being capable of more than a regular human.”

  This conversation is making me uncomfortable, but I’m too curious to leave it alone. “What did they do to this boy?”

  “Anything. Everything. To make him something ‘special.’ Along with others.” His sorrow is apparent. “I left—fled, more like. It was monstrous to see the lengths they’d go, and I couldn’t abide it. From there, I’d gone back to our island, in secret, and then luckily found my way here, because my homeland is …” Nate trails off.

  I understand his sadness, thinking of all that’s lost. We give a moment of silence for the places that’ll never be again, before I ask, “You think they did something like that? Restructured me?”

  “While you were asleep, maybe. If you don’t remember any pain. The Authority must be trying to develop a few of their own,
too.” Nate shakes his head. “I do feel that those being purged are similar; the Authority’s been trying things out on those poor souls for years.”

  “Their track record isn’t so great.”

  He nods. “Zombies aren’t exactly a leap forward in biogenetics.”

  “I don’t remember anything but shots. Could a shot do this?”

  His eyes widen again at the thought. “Not that I know of.”

  I regard the crucifix with a grimace. “I’m just glad you didn’t call me a demon and throw holy water on me.”

  Nate laughs. “We only burn witches on Wednesdays, Liza.” He clears his throat. “Was there something you wanted?”

  Sweat dampens my hairline as I remember why I’d come. “I just wondered if you’d …” I pull out the crumpled paper like I’m carrying a bomb. “This is a letter, from my father. I can’t seem to …”

  He holds out a hand. “I see that it is. Would you like me to read it?”

  “I think so.”

  We trade—he takes the letter and I take a shaky breath.

  “My dearest daughter,” he begins.

  Eyes clenched, I grip the seat like this is the worst train ride ever.

  Nate clears his throat and continues, “If you’re reading this, little one, then I’ve left you alone in this place, this hellish last stand against sickness and the undead.

  “It’s no surprise that you, out of all of us, would live on. As a little girl, you came into this world screaming at the injustice of simply being, and ever since then, you’ve held such a sense of right and wrong.

  “I wish I could say I’ve instilled such levelness about you, or that your mother had, but in truth, you were born into a time that demanded you, and you answered that call.

  “I’ll never forget the day you’d threatened to run away, but had decided it was unfair to steal money to do it. So you worked all summer long, saving for your plane ticket to leave.

  “Liza, I hope you always stay that same little girl—or woman now, I suppose—who clearly saw good and worked for it, no matter the patience or endurance needed. Never change, sweetheart. Can you promise your old man that your flame won’t die out in the great wind of life?

  “When I wrote the lullaby in your music box, you always said it was a sonnet about the dying world. Please, listen to it again.