by Tosca Lee
Her shirt is covered in blood.
“Oh, my God!” Julie cries.
“It isn’t mine,” Lauren says, going into Julie’s arms with a sob. We drive home so she can change before going to the hospital and donning masks from the dispenser inside the door to hold vigil with her schoolmates while the girl’s in surgery.
Her friend comes through, by which time the talk is all about who else the boy had been around, and whether they’re acting weird, too.
Julie cranes her head as we drive past Walmart on the way home. The parking lot is packed with people wheeling full carts to their cars. A few minutes later, she turns in to Standard Market.
“Stay with Lauren and lock the doors,” she says, grabbing her purse. She returns twenty minutes later with a cart full of shopping bags and several cases of bottled water. She drives to the gas station after that, where we wait fifteen minutes for a pump.
Lauren spends the rest of the day huddled beneath a blanket on the living room sofa watching school closings scroll across the TV. The boys call off and on throughout the afternoon to video chat and ask how she’s doing.
We eat in front of the news. Canada is refusing entry to motorists traveling Interstate 5 to Vancouver and several other highways that cross the border. A CDC briefing interrupts yet another panel of experts arguing about the difference between precaution and panic to report cases of rapid early-onset dementia in thirty-two states and more than two hundred confirmed cases and many more unconfirmed in Canada and overseas.
There is no treatment protocol.
“Ken,” Julie says, video chatting with him when he calls to check in on Lauren. “Come home. Just rent a car and drive. I don’t want you there anymore. That whole area’s going crazy.”
Ken, ever the prevailing voice of calm, says he’ll be home in a few days.
“Just so you know,” he says before they hang up, “I sent a company-wide email asking everyone in the office who can to work from home. No alarm, just a precaution. There’s a box of surgical masks and latex gloves in my office. If you have to leave the house for any reason, use them.”
It doesn’t help.
The local news is all about the school incident. The kid with the knife has been hauled off to a psych ward, but he’s not the only one; three more students from Benedictine and North Central were forcibly admitted.
“Are they all violent?” Julie demands, throwing her arms into the air. “Can’t anyone go quietly crazy on their own without ruining people’s lives?”
I don’t say that the ones with shiny Hello Kitty obsessions probably don’t make the news.
The next morning is filled with live coverage of office, mall, and traffic attacks throughout the nation, including a woman who mowed down three people in a Los Angeles parking lot claiming that the people she hit weren’t real. Four more people have tried to soar off of buildings.
A guy in North Dakota only shot up the weight equipment in his local gym, saying they were Decepticons from Cybertron trying to kill the human race.
Luckily no human fatalities in that one.
Wynter,
Does Jaclyn still work the counseling center? Maybe when all these scary headlines die down you can get to her there. I won’t lie, it’s going to be very hard for her to get away with Magnus’s child. If either of you needs a safe place, you’re always welcome here in Sidney. Just ask for the Peterson farm. I’d love to hug your neck again.
It may not look like it right now, Wynter, but God is out here in the world. I’ve seen it.
K.
• • •
KEN CALLS THE next morning to say he won’t be coming home as planned. That he’s traveling by car to a field office in Boise.
“Listen,” he says on speakerphone. “I’m not supposed to be sharing this—we’re waiting for confirmation. But it looks like the disease is transmitted through a strain of influenza.”
“Then it’s good we all got our shots,” Julie says.
I can practically hear Ken shaking his head as he blows out a sigh.
“It’s an unusual strain not in this year’s vaccine. The shot might offer partial immunity, but right now there’s no effective vaccine.”
Julie pales. “Flu season’s barely started . . .”
“Just—stay in the house. Don’t go anywhere you don’t have to. Don’t have anyone over. Wash your hands. Call the boys and tell them, too.”
Lauren gives me a stark look as Julie carries her phone into the den and closes the French doors, but I can still hear them.
Probably because I’m eavesdropping right outside.
“I’m scared, Ken.” She’s crying. I’ve never heard Julie cry. “I want you to come home!”
“I can’t. We have to go now, before they shut down the roads.”
I step back. Shut down the roads? Has this ever happened before? For the first time in two months, the old fear spikes inside me. Is this how the world ends?
But Magnus lied. About Kestral and who knows what else. It’s the truth I cling to, the missing strut in his house of cards.
Julie spends the rest of the afternoon on the phone with the boys, her mother, and Ken’s parents.
That night, the CDC quarantines Bellevue, Washington, and several surrounding communities, and more in the Portland, Oregon, area. Restaurants and other businesses in quarantined cities have already shut their doors to paramedics, doctors, police, schoolteachers—and anyone else the proprietors deem unsafe. Others have closed completely.
Stefan calls back from Columbus to say Ohio State has suspended classes. Julie spends an hour redrilling him about not inviting guests (“That means no girlfriends or parties!”) to the house he rents off campus with three other guys.
The next morning, federal police shut down Interstates 90 and 84 to the Pacific Northwest and 80 into Sacramento.
As national news covers alarm throughout the West Coast and airport closings by the hour, local stations call them “precautionary measures,” citing panic as the most immediate threat to public health—even as the public announcements across the bottom of the screen flash their words in red:
Stay safe. Stay home.
HEALTH ADVISORY
Illinois Department of Public Health
Regarding: Rapid Early-Onset Dementia
The Illinois Department of Public Health is investigating multiple cases of Rapid Early-Onset Dementia (REOD) throughout the state of Illinois. Due to the volatile nature of the disease, the public is advised to study and know the symptoms:
• Increased confusion
• Memory loss, repetition of actions (due to not remembering)
• Sudden difficulty with balance or mobility
• Reckless or dangerous behavior toward self or others
• Hallucinations
Take precautions:
• Wash your hands with soap and water regularly.
• Be aware of your surroundings and those of any children with you at all times.
• Report any suspicious behavior.
• Avoid travel.
• Stay home.
Report symptoms of REOD to local authorities. Do not try to intervene in any situation, as such actions may prove dangerous.
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP FOR HEALTH TEXT ALERTS
(STANDARD RATES MAY APPLY)
CHAPTER TWELVE
* * *
The next day as I worked across from Magnolia, Magnus emerged from his office. His shoes were freshly shined. He was wearing dark gray slacks. They were too nice to have been made in the Factory, and I knew for a fact Jaclyn couldn’t sew more than buttons.
“Sister-in-law,” he said, cheerfully, “I’ve got some business in town. Why don’t you come with me?”
I blinked, not sure I had heard right. And then I was worried. Did he know I had overheard his conversation with Blaine? But when I looked up, his eyes seemed to laugh, crinkling at the edges just as they had the first time I met him.
“Well, what do
you say?” He smiled.
“Of course.” I stood uncertainly as Magnolia lifted her hands before her, knowing she wouldn’t be pleased. But she wasn’t about to object.
He held the door for me as we stepped outside, where a short man named Enzo waited by the Prius Magnus took into town for meetings. After gesturing me into the back, Magnus let himself in the other side as Enzo shut my door.
No one had ever done that for me before.
His was easily the nicest car I’d ever been in. Which wasn’t saying much; the only vehicle I’d been inside the last fifteen years was an old van.
I kept my hands folded in my lap as the walls of the broad gate slowly pulled open. I hadn’t been outside these walls in nearly five years, since that day at the farmers’ market—a goal that had taken me years to achieve. And now here I was, leaving out of the blue.
I hazarded a glance through the window just in time to see Ara coming toward the office from the children’s school, a box of something in her arms. But I didn’t miss the way she stared. Or the others with her.
Was that alarm or envy?
I glanced over at Magnus, who sat comfortably, his legs crossed. His hair had grayed in tendrils near his temples, though it was still dark where it curled against his collar. I’d watched the transformation so slowly every morning for the last several years that I’d hardly noticed until seeing it just now, up close.
“So . . . where are we going?” I asked.
“Just into Garden City,” he said. He looked relaxed, pleased even, that I was with him. “I thought it might be nice to get out and reacquainted.”
Reacquainted. I’d exchanged more words with him in the last twenty-four hours than I had in the last fifteen years.
I clasped my sweaty hands together and hoped I didn’t smell like the onions I’d chopped for lunch.
“Tell me,” he said, after a few minutes. “Do you think Jaclyn is happy?”
“Of course,” I said, puzzled by the question. But the truth was, I didn’t know. The closeness between us during her pregnancy had waned in the years since Truly’s birth. I saw her sometimes in the children’s barrow, but we were rarely ever alone. And she was never not the wife of Magnus. Which meant she checked in on her daughter as she did any child. Because children weren’t the property of their parents here, as they were in the world. They were members of the Select tended—and corrected—by the Enclave as a whole.
“Does she not . . . seem happy?” I asked, wondering what I’d missed.
He said it as though choosing his words carefully. “She hasn’t seemed quite herself. I was wondering if you’d noticed any cause for concern.”
“Not that I know of,” I said. But I was no longer sure.
He shifted in the seat. “You know, I never told you that I knew the whole event several years ago was . . . difficult for you.”
I glanced at him.
“You should know Elder Decaro was the one who requested you. I had my misgivings about the way he mistook personal desire for revelation but thought it best he be allowed to discover the mistake on his own.”
I wondered what Elder Decaro would think, hearing Magnus say that, and took a little satisfaction in the thought. Especially since I’d been the one punished for it.
“The way you’ve learned to hear and submit to the word of our Divine Father is nothing short of impressive,” Magnus said, openly studying me.
“Thank you,” I said awkwardly, not exactly sure what he meant. I hesitated and then ventured, “I do miss working the market.”
“You’re doing more important work now.” He leaned forward. “Enzo—the café.”
Smiling at me, he asked, “Hungry?”
• • •
GARDEN CITY WAS a tiny hamlet with a convenience store, farm co-op, and a family-owned café. It was the closest settlement to the Enclave, with a population less than one hundred, but more people than the three closest hamlets combined.
Inside Gigi’s café Magnus escorted me to a booth along the wall as Enzo took a seat at the counter and I quickly realized sitting across from Magnus was more awkward than sitting beside him. I didn’t know where to look and so studied the silverware wrapped in a paper napkin in front of me until the waitress in the pink uniform came by with menus. I guessed her to be just a few years older than me. She was pretty, with red hair in a high ponytail.
“Afternoon, Magnus,” she said, her gaze flicking to me as she delivered glasses of water. I was surprised that she knew him by name.
Magnus leaned across the table toward me as she left. “Your sister and I used to come here on occasion for lunch,” he said with a wink.
“Oh,” I managed even as I wondered how that could be for a dozen reasons. Chief among them that the Select didn’t meet outside the Enclave or eat the food of the world. Let alone order it in a restaurant.
“You seem surprised,” he said, watching me.
“Confused, I guess.”
“Why?”
“Because . . .” Because everything. But I settled for, “The Testament.”
He tilted his head, picked up the menu, and frowned at it. “Wynter, those strong enough in their faith have eyes to see. They don’t look at this place and think, ‘What a nice little business’ or even ‘Look at all the wonderful food on this menu,’ ” he said, gesturing vaguely around us.
“They take the protection of their salvation and the surety of their place among the Select with them. They come with a greater purpose than the rest who walk through that door. Because the Divine Father has guided their steps.”
I nodded, but I didn’t understand. Especially when the waitress came and he ordered two of today’s specials—grilled cheese and tomato soup—for the both of us.
“Sound good to you?” he asked.
Was this a test? Gluten was off limits and I hadn’t had real dairy in fifteen years. But this was Magnus. So I just nodded. And it did sound good.
He asked me about the office—if I liked the work. He asked about Truly. Wasn’t she a smart and beautiful girl? I told him about how much she loved drawing pictures of the barn cats, whom she had named Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego, and Bob, at which he chuckled.
“I’ve heard of this mysterious Bob,” he said, smiling. But a moment later, he grew serious. “I’m curious,” he said, carefully unwrapping his napkin. “What are your thoughts about the future of the Enclave?”
I glanced around the table, searching for an answer. The right one. “I hope it’ll expand. That we can bring in more people until the last appointed one.” It had been the mission of New Earth drummed into me since I was seven: to welcome the remaining Select with the hope that each one would be the last one God had appointed to be saved. At which point the world would fall to ruin, the earth would be made new, and those who were “sleeping” like Mom and Kestral would return.
It was a thing I’d desperately looked forward to once I’d come to terms with the fact that Mom really was gone. That I had failed to keep her from death. A day when the pall of guilt would be lifted. Because she’d be alive and we’d be together again. She’d get to meet Truly and all would be forgiven.
To my mortification, thinking of that now made my lower lip tremble, unwanted tears to well in my eyes. Reaching blindly for my silverware, I unwound the paper napkin and lifted a corner to my lashes.
Magnus said nothing, quietly folding his hands as I tried to collect myself.
Which only made it worse.
Mercifully, the waitress appeared with our food a few minutes later—including a greasy pile of potato chips.
I’d eaten in Magnus’s proximity before—if you call three tables away from the Elders’ table in the Banquet Table “proximity.” But it felt strange to bite into that first gloriously salty potato chip in front of him until he picked up his sandwich and took a big bite, studying me with an unreadable expression as he chewed.
“Why do you suppose I give this to you?” he said, gesturing at the plates in fro
nt of us.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly.
“I give it because it isn’t what we eat that makes us unclean—the Divine Father tells us that. But we are called to serve our weakest members. To not become stumbling blocks to them. You wouldn’t feed a baby adult food, would you? No. When you walk with a child, you don’t walk as quickly as you do when you’re with another adult, do you? No, you walk at their pace. It’s all they’re capable of. I feel you’re mature enough to understand that we begin our lives with rules. The rules are our morality. But as we mature, we move beyond those rules. Because we understand that our journey is not the rules themselves.”
I nodded slightly.
“In the same way, looking at a man or woman with appreciation is not a sin. The sin is in acting on that impulse outside the proper relationship. For instance, I can look at you, Wynter, and say you are a beautiful woman. There is no sin in that.”
I felt heat rise in my cheeks. He’d said the same thing yesterday.
“But because we cater to our weaker sisters and brothers, we teach them to avert their eyes. To cover their bodies,” he said, drawing on an imaginary cloak.
“The truth is,” he said, his gaze intent, “we were made to be free. It was like that once. One day soon, it will be again. We will all be far freer than we are today, in that new place. But what so few people understand is that New Earth—Heaven—is already here, now, among and in us.”
But it couldn’t be here, now, or the world would be dead. And the precepts of the Testament were laws for the life to come. Hadn’t he taught that? I glanced at Enzo as he chatted with the waitress, who had leaned so far onto her elbows in front of him I could see her cleavage from here. But her eyes were on Magnus.
Magnus followed my gaze and she smiled as he gestured with two fingers, at which she straightened and went to the pie case.
A moment later she set two slices of chocolate pie in front of us.
“You see,” Magnus said, picking up his fork, “I knew that if we came here and I opened my heart to you, you would understand that rules are given for those without the discernment to exercise freedom. I sense you understand why we must act one way in the presence of others but can be ourselves around others who understand us. Which is why I feel I can talk to you. Why I can open my heart to you this way. And so we can sit here and eat this meal that will probably give us both a stomachache later”—he chuckled—“because we comprehend what others do not. And so we can do things other people cannot.”
