“So I did some research online last night,” I said, reaching for the butter.
“Yeah?” He looked up at me with a smile.
“I wanted to know if there were any myths or anything, about humans being turned into strange creatures by angels.”
“Sweetheart, stop right there.”
At first I thought he was telling me to stop buttering my toast for some reason, but then I realized he meant to stop in my explanation. I did.
“Is there anything you can tell me that’s gonna change our plan?” he asked.
I thought about it. “Well…not really, no.”
“Then I don’t want to hear about it.”
“But don’t know want to know what happened to you?”
“Sweetheart, I don’t remember a damn thing about what happened to me. And you know what? I don’t want to. I know who I am, where I came from, and where I am now. And whatever happened to me ain’t important. I ain’t that anymore, and that’s enough for me. So unless it’s changing our strategy, I don’t need to hear about it.”
“Are you sure? I mean, if it was me…”
“If it was you, you’d want to know everything.” He grinned. “But sometimes, the way I look at it, sometimes the things we know about and can’t change, they don’t make our life any better.”
“Ignorance is bliss?”
“Damn straight.”
It didn’t seem right, just leaving it at that. It seemed like he was ignoring the issue. Still, at the same time, he made a point. Unless what I knew changed our plan, unless it revealed anything new that we needed to know…it actually wasn’t that important.
I wondered. Maybe there was something to that. Maybe deep down that was why I hadn’t ever asked the “obvious question,” whatever the “obvious question” was. Because it didn’t really feel like it mattered. There were other things that were more important at the moment. Besides that feeling of strength and will that had made me so sure I would speak with the ghost thingy last night had totally vanished. Maybe it made sense for me to just let it go too.
But I wasn’t Gabe. I was always hungry for any information I could find. I couldn’t stand being left out in the dark. I remembered as a kid hating when my parents would have conversations after I’d gone to bed. I needed to know everything they talked about. Didn’t want to be left out. Miss anything.
I had to get that feeling back. Somehow.
Then I’d ask.
Until then I’d try to be like Gabe and focus on the task ahead.
Which was pretty daunting. I’d never recruited for an army before.
“Well, okay,” I said. “I won’t tell you. But if you ever want to know…”
“I won’t.”
“Yeah but if you ever…”
“I won’t.” His tone changed and I looked up. Our eyes met and I could tell he was serious. He was serious, and also, though I could have been mistaken, scared.
“Okay. You won’t, then.”
30.
I was right. My attention to the recruiting our army campaign was a pretty decent distraction from not just the “obvious question,” but threatened to be a distraction from stuff like school work too. School just seemed so not the point with our new mission, but I also knew that whether we succeeded or failed at our mission, I’d probably still need a highschool degree in future. So I worked extra hard on working extra hard.
Two frustrating weeks passed before we could find a time to meet with Father Peter. Our town was super weird that way. Sure we were all worshipping at the altar of the Angels, sure we had blindly changed most of our traditions and followed Pastor Warren, zombie-like, into this brave new world of his. But we still, without question, needed to celebrate the finding of eggs in strange and unusual places.
Father Peter obviously took Easter pretty seriously and had been arranging as many events as possible, considering it was this and Christmas that he was allowed to have any say on. He had begrudgingly joined forces with Pastor Warren, I think reasoning that it was better to get to preach to a crowd, than to hold mass in an empty church. That made it really tough to actually get to talk to him alone, without the epitome of evil standing close by.
So we had to wait till Easter was done. We had to sit through the mandatory Easter Sunday service, the first time in years that I’d attended one. Gabe didn’t, though. Despite the fact there was now an expectation that everyone would attend holiday services, he didn’t get in trouble for it. He didn’t tend to get in trouble for any of his “blasphemous” actions. He was that kid with the motorbike, no family, no interest in being a part of the town. So the town didn’t have much interest in him either. The service was extra long now because we had to listen to both Pastor Warren and Father Peter speak, and attend the annual Easter egg hunt in Codghill Park. The town seemed to be in some sort of trance.
I’d actually worried that maybe we’d lost Father Peter to this mob mentality, but I noticed the little looks he’d give Pastor Warren as they stood before us under the shining wings at the alter. I noticed how he stood off to the side during the Easter egg hunt and never quite smiled with his eyes when laughing at Pastor Warren’s jokes.
I didn’t wait long after that.
Tuesday after school, Gabe and I headed right to the Catholic Church. I couldn’t be sure, but I think I saw a look of fear cross Father Peter’s face when he realized it was me coming to see him. So last time maybe I’d made him question his own faith. Surely this time I was going to help him keep it?
“Hello, Riley, Gabe. So nice to see you both. Close the door behind you. Shall we go into my office?”
I realized now what that look had meant as Gabe went back to the door to shut it and Father Peter ushered us silently into the backroom. I guess two teenagers coming to visit him at his church was a pretty suspicious sight now in our town. Supporting any other religion these days was seen as something deeply suspicious.
We took the two chairs facing his desk. Father Peter sat behind it. “And what can I do for you two today? Feel like a shotgun wedding?” It was nice to hear Father Peter joke again. But he did it half-heartedly.
“Funny you should mention shotguns…” said Gabe with a grin.
“Father Peter,” I said interrupting Gabe before he got silly, “we have something very important that we have to talk to you about.”
“Well, I thought as much. I don’t think you’d risk being seen here otherwise. Though I suppose neither of you really cares about public opinion…”
“You can say that again,” said Gabe.
“So what’s up?” asked Father Peter, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his desk.
“It’s a pretty big deal,” I said.
“Okay.”
“No, I mean, you should prepare yourself mentally for it. It’s possibly the hugest deal you’ve heard.”
Father Peter glanced at Gabe then back at me.
“I see,” he said.
“You ready?”
“…Yes…”
I took a deep breath and then just blurted it out. “The angels aren’t angels.” I stopped and looked at him. His expression didn’t change. “What I mean is,” I tried again, “the angels, our angels, the ones taking everyone. They aren’t actually angels.”
Father Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re trying to tell me, Riley.”
“They aren’t angels,” I tried again. It was hard to say it any other way.
Father Peter sat quietly for a moment, then he sighed and leaned back into his chair. “Riley, I don’t know what to say. It’s nice to see that there are others here who feel the same as I do, but what does it matter? Everyone else in town believes they are. There are times I even doubt my own certainty. If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck…”
“We have proof,” said Gabe with a grin.
Father Peter finally had a reaction. He sat up straight and turned h
is head to look at Gabe through his left eye as if somehow that would focus him better. “What do you mean you have proof. Where?”
“Here,” replied Gabe.
“Here. In this town?” asked Father Peter.
“In this room.”
Father Peter looked at me, then at Gabe, then at me again.
“What is he talking about?”
“He’s just being cute.” I leaned over and smacked Gabe in the shoulder. He flinched.
“That actually really hurt.”
“No it didn’t.” I rolled my eyes. “Father Peter, I’ll start at the beginning.”
I told him the whole story, didn’t leave anything out. Told him everything, right up to two weeks before and talking with Etta Mae. Told him our plan.
And asked for his help.
By the end of the story he was up pacing around his little office.
“This is…” he said. He’d been saying “This is” every few moments for a while now. I thought maybe I’d broken him. Then again, I had warned that this was going to be a huge deal. Why didn’t people ever believe me when I said things?
“Father?” I asked finally. He looked up at me, as if startled we were still there.
“Riley, this is…”
“Incredible. I know. But let’s get past it for a moment and talk about my idea. Will you help us?”
He laughed and rubbed the top of his head. “Riley.”
“People really seem to like saying my name a lot.”
Father Peter nodded and wandered back over to the desk, sitting himself on the edge.
“You’re asking me to help you two build an army.”
“Well, more like recruiting snipers,” I said. “But we’ll need probably a few people because we never know where the angels are going to appear.”
“Haven’t we tried this before?” asked Father Peter. “I thought Frank Tinsley had tried to shoot at one of them and now has a guard on him or something because of it.”
“Some individuals have tried in the past, but it’s never been planned. We could practice specifically for this purpose. And we’d have greater numbers. It wouldn’t just be some guy and his shotgun.”
“Why me? Why do you want my help?”
“Because you’re the only person I could think of who absolutely loathes Pastor Warren.”
Father Peter looked genuinely concerned about that. “Is it that obvious?”
“Don’t worry, only to me.”
“Good.”
“And you can shoot. I remember that once you told my daddy about having gone hunting, back when he was all worried about owning a shotgun.”
Father Peter shook his head. “I still don’t know how much I can help.”
“Right now we’re recruiting. We have nearly four months until the next Taking. We have some time, but we need to get into training as soon as possible. You’re still invited to dinners by people in town, right?”
“Not as many as I used to. But yes, some people still invite me over. As long as it looks like pity, as long as they don’t come into the church…”
“Well, okay, see that’s something. These are the people who like you, who aren’t totally brainwashed by Pastor Warren. These could be people who’d be on our side.”
“You make a point.”
“Of course she does, not just a point, but a good one.” I was surprised how defensive Gabe sounded. “She always makes good points. Just stop hesitating and help us.”
Father Peter sighed. “You’re right. You’re both right. It’s just…I just don’t think I can do this.”
It was my turn to sigh. “Why not?”
“Why not?” Father Peter gave a small humorless laugh. “Well, it’s dangerous, it’s against the law, I’m still a figure in the community people look to…sort of…”
I stood up and walked around the desk, leaning against it and stared down at him. “There are a lot of things going against us, but I also think we’ve got something huge in our favor. We could save people, Father Peter. We could save those who were already turned and the people who are taken this year. We could maybe even stop all this. Forget about being rebellious and proving a point about angels. Think about the people.”
Father Peter looked up at me. Most of the time I kind of thought he was basically my age, ’cause of how he acted and looked. But from this angle I could see the beginnings of lines on his face, I could see the bags under his eyes. The changes of the last few months had taken their toll on him. He looked his age. He looked older than his age, tired. He looked ready to just give up.
“Come on, Father Peter,” I said. “We really need your help.”
“As I already said, I don’t know if I’d be that helpful…” he replied quietly.
“You would.”
Father Peter shifted his focus to Gabe who was looking at him very seriously. The room had become calm, quiet.
Finally Father Peter gave a slow nod. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll help. I’ll see who I can recruit. But I can’t make any promises.”
“Neither can we,” I said. “I can’t think of anyone at school who’d be interested. It might just be the three of us.”
“Some army,” said Gabe.
“Well, that’s why we’ve got to try and get more people. So you’re with us, Father Peter?”
Another long pause. And then: “I’m with you.”
Deep down I really wished we could all put our hands into the middle, one on top of the other, a kind of an “all for one” kind of thing. But I didn’t think a cynical time traveler from the 1950s and an exhausted priest would be into that kind of thing.
So instead I just said, “Awesome.”
“You both realize what an insane plan this is,” said Father Peter with a faint smile.
“Oh yes,” I said and glanced at Gabe. He gave me a grin. “We know.”
31.
So we went about trying to find folks to recruit. Gabe had made friends with the Alexander brothers who had returned from college and were back living in the swamplands. I’d kind of known them when they’d been at school, and it turned out they were nephews of Etta Mae. Gabe was pretty sure they’d be interested. The way Gabe described them, it seemed they were pretty angry about the town’s recent interest in angels when their community had already gone through something similar without anyone giving a damn. Even though they weren’t around in the 50s, they’d heard the stories from their aunt.
It was tougher thinking of who in the town would be interested in joining us. Pastor Warren’s iron grip was not something easily pried open. The only people I could really think of to trust would be my parents, but Daddy didn’t like shooting things, and Mother was too frightened of something bad happening to me. I didn’t think they’d like my idea very much.
“Can’t think of anyone?” asked Father Peter. We’d run into each other by accident outside the ice cream parlor and decided to go in and get a couple cones. Now we were sitting on the small bench in front, trying to look casual while discussing potential recruits. I felt like we were in a spy movie.
“No. This is harder than I thought it would be.” I was watching people walk past, hoping that maybe someone would go by that I would suddenly realize was perfect for our cause.
“Well, how many people do we have? You, me, Gabe…”
“The Alexander brothers…”
“That makes…”
“Six.”
“Well, that isn’t bad.”
“It isn’t good either.” We needed at least a couple more. And folks who we knew were good shots. I didn’t even want to think about the training ahead of us. How were we going to figure out how to shoot a creature mid-flight with a human shield?
“Well, I have been thinking,” said Father Peter, taking a bite out of his ice cream.
“Yeah?”
“But then I thought I might sound a little absurd.”
“Who?”
> “Frank Tinsley.”
I laughed. “You can’t be serious.” Frank Tinsley, aka Wild Frank, had been trying to shoot the angels since day one. He always carried around a handgun and had been present when Tyler Barton was taken that first year. He’d kept shooting and shooting into the air, woke up the whole damn town. At first everyone had thought he was being his usual wild self until other witnesses came forth. Eight people were taken that night, some pretty respectable folks as well. The next year Frank had his shotgun ready. Of course that year he was in the wrong spot, didn’t see a single angel. But the third year, the first one when we had the celebration, well, that one it was all right place right time. Three people had to tackle him to stop him from shooting into the crowd.
From that night on they’d stationed a cop at his place the evening of the celebration to make sure he didn’t come out and accidentally kill someone.
“Even if that idea wasn’t ridiculous, how would we deal with his usual guard?” I said, finishing up my ice cream and wiping my hands.
“That is a problem. But we’ve got some time to solve it.”
I sighed. “Well…it’s an idea. But he’s a loose cannon, and we’d have to make sure he didn’t shoot anyone.”
“He’s not a bad shot. He invited me hunting last year, and he was very good.”
“It’s an idea,” I said, not wanting to commit to anything quite yet. “But a last resort.”
“Sure,” agreed Father Peter. “Oh dear.”
I looked at him and saw him staring down the street. I turned and saw a group of cheerleaders heading right in our direction. Lacy was at the front, and I saw Charlotte smile brightly when she noticed Father Peter.
“Maybe you should go,” I said.
Outcast Page 18
