by G. P. Moss
Anne gently bathes her eyes as I take some of Mum’s herbs from my bag. I briefly look at Alex who turns his head away, putting his face in his hands. Focus, Mercy. What’s done is done. From now on, I won’t stay quiet if I feel unease with a decision. I blame myself for not standing up for the Sister’s argument. Stop, Mercy. Stop right there. None of this will help.
Anne continues to bathe Sister Evie’s eyes and lips, applying balm to kick start the healing process. The poor woman can barely open her eyes now. It’s been an exhausting, horrible early evening. We need rest and I’m truly grateful we’re here instead of inside that farmhouse. This room is as good as any to sleep in. I make a mattress of sorts so the injured Sister can get some proper rest. This time, and I’ll demand it, we’ll recover properly and all agree on a common plan before heading off again.
*
I dream of clean, clear water. Cupping my hands in the cool running river, I refresh my face while the bright blue and burnt orange colours of a pair of long-beaked birds attract my attention as they hop on a birch branch on the far bank. My simple, natural cotton dress feels light as I stand to watch the hive of activity at the foot of our long lawn. Fish are plentiful now - from many parts of the natural path running alongside it’s possible to see hovers of trout as they feed along the curving waterway bordering our property.
I’m lucky. And grateful. Hearing my name called, I enjoy the tickling sensation of the grass between my toes as I head to the porch for hot tea. Climbing the cream wooden steps, I see the back of my husband as he returns to the kitchen for the plate of biscuits I made earlier - I can’t see his face. I want to see it.
I wake, a little disappointed that my night escape has ended so quickly. I go to check on Sister Evie - she’s sleeping but she’s restless as her head moves from side to side. I’m not surprised. Her naturally youthful-looking face is covered in angry-looking purple welts. I gently hold her hand as her body jolts, waking her with a start. Trying to look at me through partly shut eyes, she attempts a smile but I can see it’s painful for her. I smile back, hoping she can see it, before returning to my space. Even if I can’t sleep again I’ll rest.
As obtrusive thoughts begin to fog my crowded mind, I change my breathing state, floating them away on those imaginary clouds. Allowing only the pleasant thought of a small family free of fear and hurt, I close my eyes in the hope of returning to that special place. My family.
*
Although Sister Evie’s in a lot of pain, she insists on carrying on. We expect the corridor to either stop on this route, exiting in a wooded area much further along or turning to the left at some point to come out at another house, away from Longton.
It does neither. To our great surprise and more than a little trepidation, it starts to turn right. We’re heading towards the south-eastern boundary. As the corridor diverts from its straight path, it resembles more of a rough-bored tunnel. Although the floor is still concrete, the walls and ceiling have been left untouched, as grey rock greets us on all sides - I don’t expect to see any rooms along here. My chest tightens with a sudden pull as I realise what’s happening. We wanted to contact a town but thought our main problem would be approaching the boundary fires without being shot at, not popping up inside a place that we worryingly believe may have Subs as part of the population.
Alex stops us before we go any further.
“I’ve no idea where this will come out. I was only aware of the one building used by the military in the past but of course there could be more. Or, it could change again without exiting inside - it’s doubtful though. With what we’ve seen so far, the town is likely, at some level, to be hostile. I have absolutely no ideas regarding the Subs, and if they came out of the boundary. It doesn’t make sense - they hate humans. Normally, I won’t assume. In this case, it’s best to expect the worse - a possible combination of human and inhuman inhabitants. Let’s hope I’m wrong.”
It’s one of the worst pep talks I’ve ever heard, but he’s right in a way. Anything better than that scenario will be a massive bonus. I keep that positive shift at the front of my mind as we carry on. But I’m ready. I try not to worry about Sister Evie. Holly has taken the position as back marker as the injured Sister struggles to keep up.
Chapter Thirty-Four
We’re now on a definite incline, heading further into the ground. Without any accurate means of gauging our position, it will be difficult to guess when we’re passing under the boundary. Too far down to be able to feel heat from surface fires, we’re now at the mercy of the next set of steps, or a dead end if the tunnel’s unfinished. For a brief minute this is what I wish for but returning to the shelters will bring its own problems.
I remember why I’m here, why I left the valley. I could suggest we head back, hoping deep down that the others feel the same, that we could take a safer coastal route, returning to the valley, or finding somewhere habitable in the north. But then what? I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in an isolated commune.
My dreams have given me a vision of what I want, even if it looks barely possible right now. I won’t settle for anything less. I won’t. Not even if it takes me another twenty years. My dreams fulfilled will mean the dreams of others too. We need to heal, to be rid of the dark water, the Hounds, the Subs. The only way for that to happen is to fight for it. Focus, Mercy.
We stop at a set of steel ladders, attached to metal frames bolted into the rock. Shining the torch downwards, this is it, we’ve come to the end of the tunnel. My heart is going crazy and I expect it’s the same for the others. Anne looks at us all before making sure our Glocks are ready. Her bravery makes me feel ashamed for even thinking of easier options. Focus, Mercy. As she climbs the ladder, it holds firm and still. At the top is a square, unpainted wooden hatch. Putting pressure on the wood with the palm of her hand, it moves a little way then stops. Trying again, it still won’t move more than a couple of inches.
Climbing down, she starts to speak when we hear a sound above, coming from the direction of the hatch. We step aside, away from direct view as it starts to open.
“Who’s there?” a female voice calls down, in a quiet but urgent tone.
I can barely see her face but she looks old – seventy or eighty at a guess.
“We’ve come in peace,” says Anne. “We’re trying to find others, like us.”
The elderly lady’s voice is hushed, almost panicky in its speed.
“It is extremely dangerous here. Only a very few of us know about the tunnel. I cannot come down right now but one of you should come up so we can speak properly - I cannot speak any louder. It really is not safe.”
Without any prompting, I ditch my sack and start to climb the twenty or so steps into Longton. Pulling myself out, I’m standing in a room about twelve feet square. Only the lady is in the room with me. Dressed in a beige habit, not unlike the Sisters of Eastsea, her head is covered with a cream cotton scarf. Her eyes shining like bright green precious stones, she smiles as she warmly takes my hands in a frail cool grip. She’s small but her stance is confident, if wary.
“I knew someone would come, eventually,” she whispers. “We have waited so long. The healing, it is what we do here.”
This time, she looks at me seriously before speaking in the same, hushed tone.
“This town is terrible. We are left alone here as we cleanse the waters.”
My heart leaps as I hear this last part.
“People here are happy consolidating their power. They have no interest in moving forward.” She pauses before finishing. “For the moment, you will need to return down there.”
I notice that floorboards have been removed - it’s why the hatch was stuck.
“I will bring Sister Agnes to see you – she is much fitter than me, dear. Now go. You must hurry so I can close this again.”
Descending to the tunnel floor, I hear the words ‘thank you’ as the hatch closes.
My four companions listen intently as I describe the r
oom and the elderly Sister. That we emerged at a place run by them seems to be a miracle and I’m so grateful for at least one ally already. I pray for more. We wait for around ten minutes before a small noise above tells us the hatch is about to be opened again.
My previously steady heart hammers in my chest, hoping it’s another friendly face. Without a word, a habit-clad Sister steps nimbly down the ladder, carrying some cloth in her arms. Sister Agnes looks around forty, about five feet six tall, with clear pale skin and smooth, bright sky-blue eyes. Like the other Sister, she also wears a cream scarf over her hair. Her small nostrils flare, hopefully in excitement, from her petite nose. She has two spare habits with her.
“We’re grateful you came,” she says quietly. “No one bothers us much here as we’re a valuable resource. That’s all we are though so we need to be extremely careful in what we say and how we act.”
Noticing our weapons, she pauses before continuing.
“It used to be against all our principles to even wish for armed intervention but life here is becoming unbearable for most of the population. The few in charge rule with an iron fist - the reward for not speaking out against them is to be relatively left in peace but even that’s changing now.”
“We’re sure we saw Subs leaving the boundary here,” says Alex.
“There have been two main types of punishment here. Some are sent out to collect fuel, having to run the gauntlet of Hounds and Subs. That’s not the worst. The difficult ones - those who speak out, who were previously imprisoned - are being purposefully fed poisoned dark water. Eventually, they turn into Subs, sent out to cause mayhem while the rulers enjoy their siege comforts. They’re cutting themselves off intentionally, creating a self-contained oasis. We carry on cleansing otherwise nobody will have a chance. It’s what we’ve clung to, all these years. A chance. You came.”
I just stand there, silent, the shock of the Sister’s words driving home with the force of a sledgehammer.
“Two of you may come with me so you can see what can be done. We alone have a fair amount of freedom as various streams and a main river must be regularly cleansed, checked, and observed before we cleanse again back at the convent. The other three should stay down here with the dog, or at least somewhere more comfortable until the other two return. Obviously, it needs to be two women. Please bear in mind that initially you’ll be going unarmed into a place where the wrong people have weapons. From what I’ve seen, they’re mainly shotguns and old-looking handguns.”
I volunteer to be the first. I can see Holly wants to go but I’d rather it be someone older, more experienced. Anne steps forward - Sister Evie would attract too much attention with her battered face - she needs the rest anyway. We change in the tunnel, leaving the sacks with the others.
Going into a hostile town, without protection, sounds like madness to me - even my sword would be preferable to nothing. I must remember that this is a war where mad is often the norm. Our two sacks will be left down here, out of sight to the side, in case we really need anything in an emergency. Alex, Holly, and Sister Evie have decided to head back to the nearest room with Rags - waiting down here when we could be up there for days would drive them crazy as well as being personally uncomfortable.
As Sister Agnes climbs the ladder and taps on the hatch, I notice Anne and Alex give each other a look that lasts longer than necessary. I think those two have a long, shared history. Sister Maria would know - she knows everything. Focus, Mercy.
As soon as we’re through the hatch, the older lady introduces herself as Sister Theresa. She appears to be the one in charge but like Sister Maria, she hasn’t taken the title of Mother. The first thing she does is root in the bottom of a large trunk for some basic, flat canvas pumps.
“Those boots are a little conspicuous,” she says matter-of-factly.
Sister Theresa notices me anxiously looking at the door.
“This room, especially, is known to be absolutely sacred to us. They know we will do the healing, out of compassion as well as self-preservation but they know not to push us. Hardly anybody else has been in here over the past two decades. They do not even enter the convent. When they see that we are doing our job, they think we are complicit. Look at us, Mercy. We hardly look like a bunch of revolutionaries, do we?” she says, winking.
Sister Agnes addresses a slight problem before we plan on heading anywhere outside the office. My name.
“It’s too unusual. You’re unlikely to be asked but if you are, say you are Sister Colette. Yours, Anne, is fine.”
“I’m a Sister too,” Anne says. “So is Sister Evie, the lady with the damaged face.”
“Then you are doubly welcome,” Sister Theresa says, beaming a wide smile.
“None of the others will ask who you are. Apart from being absorbed in their work, they are devoted to preserving the relative autonomy we have here and trust myself and Sister Agnes to lead and direct.”
Fetching a large, folded sheet of paper from a desk drawer, she begins to highlight the main areas of the town. Sister Theresa points with a long pencil as she speaks.
“There are only four main control buildings, one on each boundary, usually manned by a couple of men. They are normally armed but not always with guns - sometimes they will carry a large stick or bat. They say it is against attack by Subs but of course we know different. The one in charge of the town is a former builder who has always had dodgy connections. Donny Ray, he is called.”
At least we’ll have an idea who we’re up against, I’m thinking, as Sister Theresa continues to give us a brief overview.
“During the mess, he quickly took advantage of illness and destruction by using it as a cover for revenge and personal gain. Basically, he emerged as the worst person in town, using low-intelligence thugs to police an already broken and sick population. This part of the building we are in now was originally owned by the military - when it was clear they were not returning, I quickly moved some things in, claiming it as ours. I knew about the tunnel leading to the shelters. Not much happens here without me knowing,” she adds without the slightest hint of self-importance.
“The old court building houses underground cells used to keep the ‘undesirables’ as they call them. The darkest part of this town’s recent history is the poisoning of some of these people with dark water, collected from goodness knows where. These are human beings we are talking about, tortured by drinking until they turn. As they start to change, they are directed along an adjoining tunnel and kicked out through a fire gap, set free on their destructive way to cause chaos outside the town. People who drink dark water can be cured, however, if treated quickly enough.”
I nod, knowing this is true from personal experience, letting her continue.
“These poor creatures are fed it until it is too late. They are no longer human then - rather monsters, set to destroy. I have tried to reason with these hateful men. They tell me to mind my own business, that the stories are fabricated by those jealous of the power of others. They say we live a good life here, that if I do not shut up we will be forced out and replaced. They cannot just replace us. Healing is serious work born of faith, kindness, gratitude, and reflection. I walk away and justify my weakness in front of them as more of biding my time and less of collaboration by inaction. I bided my time. And you came, my dear.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
There are no windows in the room but I’m guessing it won’t be long before darkness starts to fall. Sister Agnes says there’ll be one more tour of the streams and the river before it becomes too dangerous to be out. She also tells us that Donny Ray and his gang say they’ve cleared the town of undesirables, but it’s them who are causing the fear and danger in Longton.
We tie our scarves securely on our heads, leaving the safety of the room, accompanied by the two Sisters. At this moment, I’m truly afraid as I recall Johnny’s words. Trust. No. One. I calm myself by concentrating on my breathing as Sister Theresa introduces us to another lady, tall and slim, ar
ound thirty years old, her oval, hazel eyes twinkling as she smiles.
“This is Sister Joan. You will go with her to the north-east corner while Anne will walk with Sister Agnes to the western edge.”
I nod, quietly disappointed that I’ll be going in a different direction than the courthouse. I promised Holly that I’d ask the Sisters whether they’d heard of Michael Thompson - I’ll do it on our return this evening. We only carry flasks for water sampling as the four of us leave the convent entrance and head our separate ways.
I follow Sister Joan’s lead as we walk slowly but purposefully on our way to the north-eastern edge where part of the river cuts through the town. The further we walk, the less effective the tension in my body is at paralysing me with fear - I just hope and pray it doesn’t show. We heal at two streams, in the same manner as with the ladies from Eastsea. As I concentrate on my own gratitude and faith I’m mildly aware of the soft rhythmic intonations of the Sister kneeling just a few feet from me. Like the others, her calming voice seems distant and dreamy yet totally focussed on her craft.
As we move away and head for the river, a man carrying a large stick dips his head in acknowledgement. Sister Joan keeps her head down and merely returns a brief nod - I do the same. I don’t look back and hope he doesn’t either.
As we finish at the river and collect the last sample, the boundary fires are close enough for my face to feel the warmth. Men and women, but mostly men, look downcast and resigned as they move around, trying to keep up with the fires’ raging thirst for more fuel. The only time Sister Joan has spoken is to briefly explain the water sampling process - I won’t put our safety in jeopardy by bringing up the subject of Michael here.
