Enemy of Gideon

by Melissa McGovern Taylor

  “You don’t look like them,” I say.

  “They’re believers from another village, Ephesus. My real parents and my younger sister live in Philippi.”

  “You left your family behind?” The weight of this possibility burdens me.

  “After believers turn fifteen, they can be sent on missions into Gideon. I last saw my parents before I started school here. I was told to bring you back home with me.”

  “By Petra?” I ask.

  “She wanted you to come to Philippi, to stay there permanently, but she wanted to bring more Gideonites, her friends, back with her. Then she got caught, and now …”

  I stare into the dancing flame of the nearest candle. “She’s going to die.”

  “That’s one reason why I needed to meet you,” he says. “We’re going to rescue her.”

  My heart nearly stops. I jump to my feet. “What?! How?”

  “We’re working now on a plan. There are believers in CE headquarters. It’s been years since anyone has escaped, but with your help, I believe we can do it.”

  I settle back down on the crate. “Tell me. I’ll do anything.”

  “You have to persuade Ogden’s father to let you back in to see Petra. You need to deliver a key to her for her escape.”

  “A key? That’s it?” I ask, not hiding my skepticism.

  As I listen to Arkin outline the details of the plan, my hope swells from a tiny ember within me into a roaring blaze. He answers every question I have with mounting confidence, even smiling when he finishes.

  “God is on our side,” he assures me.

  “But who is God? Where did He come from?” I ask.

  The candle closest to us flickers, tossing shadows across our faces.

  “I know you have many questions,” he says, “but we should pray before I answer them.”

  From my reading of the strange book, I discovered the meaning of the peculiar word. It means communicating with God.

  I nod in agreement, though I can’t hide my discomfort with the idea. He reaches out his hands.

  “I’ll show you how. Take my hands.”

  I follow his instructions, taking his hands, bowing my head, and closing my eyes. His warm hands make me aware of the chill in my own fingers. His rough palms make the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I tap the floor with my foot. Am I supposed to speak first? He answers my question, speaking as if to a sleeping infant. I hold my foot still.

  “Dear Lord, we thank You for bringing Raissa here safely. We thank You for her open mind and open heart. We pray You would grant me wisdom as I try to answer her questions about Your Word. In Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen.” He clears his throat. “If you agree with what I’ve said, you say ‘amen’ too.”

  “Amen,” I whisper.

  He releases my hands from his own, reaching into his coat and pulling out a white book. I catch a glimpse of the gold lettering on the cover and recognize it immediately.

  He gestures at the list of questions in my hand. “May I see?”

  I hand it over, and he reads the page with a look of satisfaction.

  “You made it all the way to Leviticus? That’s impressive.”

  “I’ve been reading every night,” I say. “Do you have the answers?”

  “Let’s start with Genesis.”

  He explains the nature of God as omnipresent, unchanging, and eternal, unlike any person or thing I have ever heard of. He answers my questions about Adam and Eve, the mysterious serpent, angels and the angel once called Lucifer. I ask about Noah and the size of the ark. He answers each of my questions with patience and clarity, unlike those I have questioned about the origins of man before. He describes the history of the book, tracing back long before Gideon’s founding.

  “How many Bibles are there?” I ask.

  “There’s only one Bible, but many translations and many printings.”

  “So how many copies exist?”

  He frowns, stroking the cover of the book like a newborn pup. “Not as many as there were before the war. You wouldn’t believe how many books there used to be. We have some in my village that survived.” His eyes gleam as if he sees them in front of him. “We have stacks and stacks, a whole room full.”

  I lean forward, eager to share in the knowledge which makes him so vivacious. “What happened to the books and the Bibles?”

  “Before the war began, over a hundred years ago, this land was part of a great nation,” he says. “The people could worship God freely without any persecution. The nation claimed to be the home of the free, but soon fewer and fewer people chose to believe in the one true God. They removed all traces of God from schools and laws. They became wicked, slaughtering the innocent, worshipping idols and the Devil. The people turned away from God, and so He turned away from them.”

  He goes on to tell me of how the country’s credit system collapsed. People lost their jobs and homes, and food became less available. The country claimed to be ‘indivisible,’ but the states divided over how the country should be ruled. Some states wanted to rule themselves, while others wanted to unite and form new countries. Then the worst happened: the nation’s most powerful enemies struck. Soldiers invaded cities and bombed states, killing billions. The enemies took control over the nation, and they hated the Bible.

  “They destroyed every Bible they could find and anything that had any connection to God,” he says, searching my eyes as if for a glimpse of what he speaks off. “Refugees of our nation were forced into slave labor or driven out of the land. The city-state of Gideon exists because Ulysses Arbela Gideon made a deal to purchase the land from the enemies. He was a traitor to our nation.”

  His words repel me. Ulysses Arbela Gideon, a traitor?

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I say. “Gideon discovered this land, and he used his fortune to build the city from the ground up.”

  “That’s what they taught you in school, but that’s not the truth.”

  “Gideon is not the city of human perfection,” I say, each word coming out like a sigh of relief.

  He shakes his head. “There’s no such thing as human perfection.”

  “My mom works for next to nothing at a job she hates. How is that perfect? Only the privileged get to pick what they want to do, and more credits go to citizens who work less.” My face burns. “It’s unfair!”

  “Ulysses Gideon hated the Bible. He said the world would be better off without it. He blamed it for all of the wars and all of the imperfections in the outside world. He swore he could build a society untouched by it, a perfect society. Instead, he built a society of prisoners on a foundation of lies.”

  A shrill beep and a flashing light from Arkin’s wristband startle us. The dark stillness returns, but Arkin rises from his seat and thrusts his Bible back into his coat.

  “What was that?”

  “We have to go,” he whispers. “A CE officer is within sixty yards of here.”

  I stand and stuff the list of questions into my coat pocket as he blows out each candle. I blow out the candles nearest me and follow him to the door and up the outside staircase.

  “We’ll have to split up,” he says, turning to me. “Can you come back tomorrow? Same time?”

  I nod, my pulse rising. He smiles, and my heart skips a beat like it used to before the chaos began.

  He disappears into the darkness in an unfamiliar direction. I follow my usual path, pulling my toboggan down over my head and keeping a brisk pace through the shadowy streets. As I turn the second corner, I spot the profile of a horse and uniformed rider several yards away. Panicking, I change directions and start jogging.

  “Code Enforcement! What are you doing here?” a female voice shouts from the horse’s back. “Halt!”

  I burst into a full run across the damp street. Hooves clop hard on the pavement behind me. How can I outrun a horse? The night air clings to my burning cheeks as I gasp for air with each desperate stride. Help me, God, please. I can’t get caught.

  Am I prayi
ng?

  The officer’s voice presses closer. “Halt now!”

  I bolt around a corner, my feet steered by something outside myself. Right before me, two buildings sit so close they look to be one, but as I draw nearer to them, a narrow space appears between them. I head through the narrow passageway, the horse’s hooves beating louder. To my relief, I can fit through the corridor, but the horse won’t. The CE officer’s agitated voice reaches me in a fading echo.

  At the end of the corridor, I climb a chain link fence at the back of the buildings, crouch down in the shadows, and wait. The familiar clopping returns to my ears, and I squeeze my eyes shut as I hold my breath like a child playing hide-and-seek. What do I do?

  The horse stops. Then the officer speaks in a much calmer tone, a few feet away. “Lost her. All clear.”

  The hooves trot away, and my breath escapes from my lungs with a whoosh. Regaining my sense of direction, I rush back to the apartment.

  When I enter the apartment door, Mom stands in the living room with her hands settled on her hips. “Where have you been?”

  “Why aren’t you at work?” I ask.

  She approaches me with urgency. “You answer my question! It’s after curfew!”

  “I was with a friend, studying,” I say. Some truth coated my answer.

  “What friend? Where? I communicated with Ogden. I even tried to reach you. I couldn’t connect to you. I thought the worst and …” Her eyes turn glassy.

  “I’m fine. I was down the street.”

  She shakes her head, forcing back tears. “I can’t handle anymore of this. You know how much stress I’m dealing with.”

  “You think you’re alone in this? She’s my sister, and they’re going to kill her!” I yell.

  She brings her hand up to her forehead and turns away from me. “We had a malfunction in the machine at work. They had to shut down the cannery for twenty-four hours while they work out the kinks. We’ll be short on credits this week.”

  My throat tightens. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m going to bed,” she says.

  Mom walks away, her shoulders sagging with the weight of her grief and physical exhaustion. What can I do to help her? My actions only make matters worse. God, please help me bring her comfort. Is this a prayer? Do I have to speak it for God to hear me?

  The CE officer’s pursuit replays in my mind. I have no idea how I found that corridor. Someone or something led me straight to it. Did God hear my thoughts? Did God lead me to the corridor?

  In the hallway, I stop. Crying comes from behind Mom’s bedroom door.

  Go to her, an inaudible voice says.

  I push open the door. She lay curled up in bed under the dim lamp light, sniffling and sobbing. I climb on the bed behind her, draw my arm around her, and pull her close. Her sobs grow louder for a moment, but they soon ease off. I hold her for a quiet eternity, until she drifts into a deep sleep.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Gray clouds send scattered sunlight into every corner of Gideon, leaving nowhere for shadows to hide. Cold breezes carry a few dead leaves across the Gideonites’ booted feet. Bundled under my coat, I march along with the usual after-school crowd and Og at my side yammering on about his day. I have trouble entertaining our same, old conversations. Instead, God, the Bible, and Petra consume my thoughts.

  “So you’re coming to dinner at the citizenship center, right?” Og asks.

  I snap back to the moment. “I can’t,” I say, remembering my meeting with Arkin. “I have to study.”

  He snorts. “Study? Since when do you study?”

  “Sorry. I’ve got a lot going on.”

  “This is the third week in a row you’ve ditched me.” He shakes his head and stops in his tracks. “It’s that guy, isn’t it?”

  I stop and turn to him. “What?”

  “Don’t play stupid!” His face shifts from its usual pale complexion to a flustered, rosy red. His glasses might fog up. “I see you two at lunch down in the courtyard every day. I sit right by the window in English class. If you two are playing kissy-face after school, then just say so!”

  A lump forms in my throat. He’s telling the truth—not the kissy-face part—but I did talk to Arkin every day last week during lunch. With our friendship mending, Arkin fans my flames of hope for saving Petra every time we speak. I search for him at every opportunity, itching for the next conversation.

  “We’re together now,” I say, “and I like to spend time with him after school.”

  The red on his cheeks fades. “All you had to do was say so. What’s with the big secret? Is your mom uptight about him?”

  I nod, dodging his incriminating stare.

  “Have you seen your sister again?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “I need to. Do you think you could talk to your dad for me?”

  “I can try, but I can’t make any promises. You already owe me one as it is.”

  We head up the staircase and into the apartment building.

  “Dad says enemies are growing in numbers,” he says, stopping at the elevator. “We have to be careful. I know he’s your boyfriend, but something seems weird about him.”

  “He’s not an enemy,” I say.

  “He appeared almost out of nowhere in the middle of the school year. Isn’t that odd?”

  “His dad had a job transfer,” I say, trying to maintain an even tone.

  “Just keep your eyes and ears open,” he says, stepping into the elevator.

  He stares at me as the doors close. My gut does a summersault. He knows something more, something he’s not telling me. Do the authorities suspect Arkin?

  I freeze in the entryway, dazed by Og’s warning. Was that a hint of jealousy in his tone? Perhaps putting off dinner with him is a bad idea.

  Right on time, the door to the apartment building swings open behind me and that familiar face fills my view.

  “Hey,” Arkin says. I don’t have enough time to wipe the concern from my face before he sees it. His smile fades. “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t meet you tonight,” I whisper. “I need to go to dinner with Ogden’s family.”

  He frowns, but his disappointment fades in a second. “Talk to his dad. Get another meeting with Petra.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I say.

  We part ways, and I hurry into the apartment to find Mom sitting on the sofa.

  “How was your day?” I ask, dropping my backpack beside the sofa.

  She turns to me, fingering a crumbled sheet of paper. “What’s this?”

  All the breath leaves my lungs. It’s a list of questions for Arkin.

  “I found it at school,” I say, reaching for the paper.

  She removes it from my grasp. “I know your handwriting.”

  “It’s nothing. Let me have it.” I keep my hand extended.

  She crushes the paper into a ball. “You know better than to leave your trash on the floor.”

  The volume of her voice increases with each word as if she wants to be heard by the cameras. She rushes up from the sofa, grabs my arm, and drags me into the bathroom. Shutting the door, she speaks in a harsh whisper, much like the way she spoke to Petra before the arrest.

  “Tell me what’s going on,” she says. “Are they contacting you?”

  “Who?” I try to yank out of her grip.

  “You know who! The ones in the outskirts, the enemies,” she says, red-eyed and intense.

  “No!” I hiss back.

  “This is dangerous! This is enemy propaganda.”

  She releases her grasp on my arm and leans back on the bathroom door, taking in a deep breath. She slides down the door and sits on the cold floor with her knees drawn up. Should I tell her about Arkin? Should I explain to her about the Bible? Can I trust her?

  The answer flies back in my face: No. Desperation and despair mark her demeanor. If I tell her about Arkin, she’ll rush to Og’s father to make a deal. She will hand Arkin and his fake parents over without even the slightest
hesitation in order to save Petra’ life. I wonder why I haven’t taken such a course of action myself. It would be so easy. I could offer to trade three for one.

  But I care too much for Arkin now, and I crave his knowledge. Petra’s words continue to haunt me, “What I know is worth dying for.” Sure, Petra could come home, but to what? She would return to a life of lies and monotony, all the while knowing her life cost three people theirs. My sister wouldn’t want that.

  “I want to know what Petra is dying for,” I whisper.

  “It's insanity, all of it.”

  “This is Petra we're talking about,” I say.

  Her eyes narrow. “You will stay away from that enemy nonsense. Do you hear me? Do you want me to lose you too?”

  I shake my head, eager to escape the tiny bathroom and Mom’s suffocating guilt. “Can I go to dinner with Ogden?”

  Her back straightens. “That's a good idea. Chief Penski won’t listen to me. See if you can talk sense into him.”

  ►▼◄

  The pressure closes in on me, squeezing me as Arkin, Ogden, Petra, and Mom haunt my thoughts. Not since my last end-of-grade test have I felt such pressure to perform. Now it’s my sister’s life on the line, not my education. How can I possibly persuade Chief Penski to let me in again? A million thoughts swirl in my brain like water spinning down a dark drain.

  When I arrive at the Penskis’ apartment, they are exiting their stained glass door to take the short walk to the citizenship center.

  “Hello, Raissa,” Mrs. Penski says, raising her finely-plucked eyebrows. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Rais! You changed your mind?” Og asks, not concealing his surprise and pleasure.

  I shrug. “I owed you one, remember?”

  He gawks with exaggeration. “How is you eating a free meal a favor to me?” He turns to his mom. “Will they let us bring two guests?”

  “I have plenty of guest passes under my name,” she says, heading toward the elevator.