The Salvation State

by Marcus Damanda

  I can’t lose this. I’ll never remember it all. There’s too much.

  “Give ’em up,” Mrs. Green said impassively. “Right. Now.”

  Rebecca was torn between her desire to ask why and the competing desire to say nothing at all.

  “Kid,” Mrs. Green said, “maybe you’re just slow, but if I have to come around this table and get them, you’re going to be sorry. Listen: until your eighteenth birthday, you’re to forget where you lived, what you used to do, who you used to be. All of it goes away. So for the last time—keys.”

  Rebecca put them on the table, watched them get bagged and swept away, and fought down her feelings.

  “Sit,” Mrs. Green said, pointing, as though Rebecca were some kind of dog. Then she pushed a button on her shoulder radio.

  Rebecca sat. She looked down, studying the wood grain of the table, and didn’t speak.

  “You’re a surly little one,” Mrs. Green said as the door opened behind her.

  Two more officers entered—again, female. One of them brought in a blue blanket with “Righteousness” embroidered on it in gold. This she wrapped around Rebecca. She did it gently, but she avoided eye contact. She said, “You’re not decent, child.”

  Rebecca might have objected—less than an hour ago, she’d been paraded this way in front of television cameras—but it seemed like a bad idea. The room was cold. The blanket was warm.

  More importantly, the other cop had brought a tray of food: pancakes with sausage and eggs. There was also milk and orange juice in little plastic cups. The scent alone was enough to make her dizzy.

  Rebecca abandoned the silent treatment. “Thank you.” For a moment she wanted to cry like Caroline.

  “You’re welcome,” the one with the food replied, leaving.

  “Pray first,” Mrs. Green said.

  As if she had to even say that. I’m not a savage. She closed her eyes and folded her hands.

  “No. You do not hide your prayers anymore. Aloud, please.”

  If she felt any indignity at being instructed about how to pray, the lure of the food trumped it. She prayed aloud, then ate while Mrs. Green watched her.

  Rebecca went slowly, though it was difficult to hold back. I have no idea what’s coming. But whatever it is, it won’t do me any good to get sick again.

  When the doctor came in just as she was finishing up, Rebecca suddenly thought it odd that the doctor had not been the first thing. She was also nervous about the doctor being a man. She’d never had a male doctor before.

  His name was Dr. Freed, and he seemed to be interested only in Rebecca’s ear. He didn’t even take her blood pressure, and he left her wrapped in the blanket. “We’re going to need to open that up,” he said, speaking tenderly and without touching the ear directly. “Give it a good cleaning, then stitch it closed. Nothing more to be done for it. Don’t worry. You’ll feel the shot, but after that, you won’t even know you have that ear for six hours.”

  “What’s left of it,” she muttered. Again she wanted her hair down, if only to hide the deformity. Bad idea. Hair’s filthy.

  And seemingly for no reason at all, it occurred to her that not one of her visitors had called her by name. Not once.

  “And … that’s it?” she asked. Then, remembering herself, she added, “Doctor, sir? Nothing else?”

  He smiled. “I already know everything about you, sweetheart—physiologically-speaking. You’ve really been through it, but you’re fine. Will be as strong as Samson with a full head of hair after you’ve had some good sleep. Try not to worry about it.”

  This man is a good man. For real, no faking. Strange.

  “I’ll try,” she said.

  “But we’re going to want to fix that ear right now,” he said, going for the door. “Back in a few minutes, after I get what we’ll need.”

  Shouldn’t I at least wash my face first?

  She didn’t say it aloud. She just watched him go and wondered.

  The door clicked closed. Just her and Officer Green again.

  “So, this is where we’d let you make one last phone call, since you were originally brought to the attention of Second Salvations by parent application. But I’m guessing there’s no one now.”

  Rebecca felt the deliberate sting and knew this woman only said those words to hurt her. She bit back a host of replies that would have gotten her in trouble. Instead, she asked, “What about Caroline? Will you let her call home?”

  “Afraid not,” Officer Green said. “Her circumstance is different. Punitive. Her parents probably don’t even know about this yet. Anyway, she’s with a transition supervisor. She’s a hysterical mess. But you know that.”

  Rebecca looked away, studied the table again, and said, “She wasn’t trying to help me escape. It wasn’t like that.”

  “Not my concern. Phone call—yes or no?”

  She thought about it. “No, officer.”

  There’s no one.

  ****

  On a white cloth mat, two 9mm Gideon handguns lay completely disassembled. Each set of parts was arranged in exactly the same way, mirror images of each other. Rebecca and Andrea had decided, as with most things of late, to make a competition of it.

  The boys watched, collectively amused. One of them held a stopwatch.

  Shooters camp, like kickboxing club, was one of the most popular offerings among the youth group programs run by the New America Unity Church, of which Emmanuel was a charter member. But until she had talked Andrea into signing up, Rebecca was her own church’s lone female participant. Mom and Dad hadn’t been exactly thrilled when she had decided to take it on. She was already involved in so many extracurricular pursuits. It created a scheduling conflict, too, as the daily practices were at four in the afternoon, when she used to go running with Mom.

  She still ran, though. She just did it alone now. Getting out from under her parents’ noses was something Rebecca did as often as possible, lately.

  Dad was such a micromanager these days. He hovered over every little thing she did. It had started right after her thirteenth birthday, right after her Tribulation in Temptation ceremony, an event that heralded the beginning of that phase when people were in “the worst moral peril of their lives.” Rebecca could tell her mom wanted him to lay off a bit, but she never did anything about it. And that made Rebecca mad.

  It would have been hard for them to say no to her participating in shooters camp, though. Her grades were fine. It wasn’t like she had bags under her eyes or anything either. The last sticking point had been the lack of girls at the camp.

  Andrea was Rebecca’s best friend. Reluctantly she had agreed to try it out. Within a week, however, after both of them proved quite capable—just with the .22 beginner rifles at first—Andrea was even more eager to get out to the range than Rebecca was. Neither of them were among the best there yet, but both had been given Rising Star badges.

  Now, at the age of fourteen and with the prospect of being allowed to shoot real handguns for the first time in their lives, Rebecca and Andrea were both determined to show they had put in the required amount of study. And as neither had distinguished herself definitively beyond the other in prowess with a hunting rifle, Rebecca knew Andrea would want to win their informal little competition even more than she did.

  It was only natural. Rebecca was tops in so many things. Andrea just wanted something, no matter what it was, that would stand as her special talent, her own personal space under the sun. There was a part of Rebecca that wanted to let her have it too—but just a part. It would be dishonest to not do her best. It would be her devil’s half. She kept telling herself this, over and over, before the boy with the timer called, “Go!”

  Then it was game on.

  Cleaning first. The gun had to be oiled and cleaned before assembly, and if it wasn’t done to the satisfaction of the judges, she would be disqualified. It was hard not to rush this part of the job, but you had to be sure…

  From a preparation standpoint, the ri
tual of cleaning, assembling, and loading a gun was of utmost importance. “Know the weapon,” Coach Millard said repeatedly, “or I won’t let you shoot it.” Rebecca couldn’t quite understand what one skill had to do with the other, necessarily, but it didn’t matter. Those were the rules and no one questioned them.

  Andrea finished the cleaning a full three seconds ahead of Rebecca. She was already on the spring-loader.

  Wow, Rebecca thought, caught between admiration and panic. Go, you. She sincerely hoped Andrea’s gun was properly cleaned. Whatever happened, she didn’t want to win by way of her friend’s disqualification. That would ruin everything.

  Rebecca moved from her own cleaning to assembly. She felt like she had a decent chance of catching up to Andrea during this stage, even passing her. Her fingers were both stronger and smaller.

  Apparently not as quick, though.

  Andrea was done with assembly well ahead of Rebecca. She’d also loaded it by the time Rebecca had gotten to her last unassembled part. Andrea clicked the safety on and slammed the gun flat on the table, finished and safe, even as Rebecca was reaching for the barrel slider.

  Rebecca let her own unfinished gun slip through her fingers and summoned her standard curse for when little things did not go her way. “Rats,” she said, as the crowd applauded her friend.

  “Finish,” one of the older boys said. “Come on, Rebecca. You did great.”

  Rebecca obediently completed the task, taking her time now.

  Later, when the two of them arrived at that fork in the sidewalk where they would separate to finish the walk to their separate homes, Rebecca said, “Congratulations,” perhaps ten minutes too late.

  Andrea only nodded.

  “What?”

  “That was nice of you, letting me win like that.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “Andie—what?”

  “You shouldn’t do that, though,” Andrea said. “You should have done your best. It’s okay.”

  Rebecca took her hand. “Andie, you won fair and square. I did do my best.” Is it that hard to believe?

  “You for real?”

  “Absolutely. I wouldn’t play anyone like that. I’d definitely never do it to you.”

  “Good to know,” Andrea said.

  “We’re friends,” Rebecca said with sudden earnestness. “Friends don’t lie to each other.”

  When Andrea rolled her eyes, Rebecca wasn’t offended. She knew the reason. Andrea was again remembering something she had to remind Rebecca of every other week.

  They were children of God. Christians weren’t supposed to lie at all.

  ****

  “Not exactly good as new,” Dr. Freed said, completing the final stitch and stepping back from her. “And when the anesthetic wears off, it’s going to hurt pretty badly for a while. But that shot could have killed you, Rebecca. Easily. God was watching over you.”

  Rebecca stood and approached the mirror, the tail of the blanket trailing behind her. She turned her head to see. She winced—not in pain, but at the site of herself.

  Half of her face was clean where the doctor had prepped her. But that was also the side with her ear, now bandaged and taped flat against her head. She couldn’t see the stitches, but she could make out the shape, more or less.

  I have a pointy ear. Half of my head looks like an elf’s. Or like the girl version of Mr. Tumnus. Just need to do the other side and get some goat feet. I’m a freak.

  Dr. Freed left without saying more.

  And then Rebecca was alone. Even though she knew the camera was running, and even though she was convinced both of the mirror walls were one-sided, she could not help herself. Officer Green wasn’t in the room. She hadn’t locked the desk drawers. This was Rebecca’s only chance, and really, how could they possibly punish her worse than she was already being punished?

  Quickly she recovered her key ring. Quietly she closed the drawer again.

  Where do I put it? Sooner or later, they’re going to scan you again. They’ll take these clothes too. Burn them, probably.

  She didn’t have time to dwell on it. The door was already opening again.

  She stuffed the key ring back in her pants pocket.

  ****

  Rebecca was right about the mirrors, but there was no one on the other side of either of them just then. She was also right about the camera running. From the monitoring station, where Mrs. Black was on her third cup of coffee and still watching the TV coverage, the officer who had brought Rebecca the pancake breakfast—and who had secretly been rooting for Renegade Rebecca all of yesterday—now saw her recover the key ring.

  Oh, Rebecca, what are you thinking? Stupid…

  Officer Green wasn’t in charge of cataloguing the confiscated property, but there was no way she would forget the contents of such a short—and such a high-profile—inventory. If she ever thought to check, she’d realize the discrepancy right away. Even if she didn’t, someone would find it when Rebecca reached the island. The monitor cop had visited the island once, as an escort. She knew what they would do if Rebecca was caught with anything from her old life.

  Officer Green stepped in from the lobby. “Mrs. Black, your ride’s here, and both of the girls are ready.”

  “Finally,” Mrs. Black said, switching off her mobile device and pocketing it.

  This is it, the monitor cop thought. I have to report this. Better for her to be busted here than there.

  Mrs. Black met Officer Green at the door that opened into the hall with the interview rooms.

  The monitor cop said nothing, even as they left. If they check the camera footage, I’ll say I missed it. It’s three thirty in the morning. I’m tired. Perfectly understandable.

  She prayed Rebecca would not be caught.

  ****

  Caroline was done crying for now. It had taken half an hour with Miss Scruggs for her to finally realize crying was not going to get her or Rebecca out of this. Crying would get her nothing. Again, just as she had done with Mrs. Black, she had prayed. Miss Scruggs, who had insisted on being called just Wendy, had been so kind.

  There’s a lake, she had said. Other kids, just like you. There’ll be games. Work too, of course—but you’ll learn new skills. You’ll become independent. You’ll grow in God and in yourself. You’ll start all over. For a time you won’t even think on who you were. But by the time you’re done, you’ll have all of that back—only better. Your parents will be proud. Your friends will wish they’d had this chance. Trust me. I’ve been through it. It’ll be difficult at first, but it will be glorious.

  We’ll need you to help Rebecca see. Will you help us?

  In the end Caroline had promised she would.

  But now, seeing Rebecca emerge into the hall, still filthy under the trailing blanket, she forgot that promise.

  The cop who had come to DTR was with her. So was Mrs. Black. Local cops were in the hall too. And yet, apart from bandaging her ear, it looked like no one had taken care of her.

  Wendy merged Caroline into the other group so they were all moving together toward the far end of the hall, which ended at a door labeled Stairs.

  “Glad you’re okay now,” Rebecca said, walking with Caroline at the center of the procession.

  Caroline addressed Mrs. Black, marveling that she found the courage to make words. The grownups were all so quiet. “Ma’am? Mrs. Black, please, aren’t you even going to let Rebecca clean up?”

  Rebecca snorted. Caroline could not imagine why.

  “Not here,” Mrs. Black said, her voice etched from pure reason, untinted by emotion. “Both of you will arrive at your new home exactly as we found you. You will stand before your peers and before God in humility, and you will be remade.”

  The door opened. The stairs bent, twisting, going up. Their shoes on the hard metal echoed, while Rebecca’s bare feet made no sound at all. Above them, beyond the building and through the very ceiling, high above, they heard a flapping noise. It was like some kind of monstrous bird trying
to take flight and failing.

  “You must be taken down before you can rise up, under the grace and glory of almighty God.”

  At the top of the stairs were two doors. One was labeled Offices. The other, a much thicker door with a numeric keypad, read Helipad.

  Never been in a helicopter before, Caroline thought. She tried to focus on that. A helicopter ride. Cool.

  Because Mrs. Black wasn’t just intimidating now. She was scary. She sounded crazy.

  Wendy smiled at her reassuringly and drew two strips of cloth from her fanny pack. They were red, with white lettering that spanned their length, spelling out Once Was Blind.

  Mrs. Black said, “But we are all as an unclean thing, and all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags; and we all do fade as a leaf; and our iniquities, like the wind, have taken us away.”

  “Isaiah 64:6,” Rebecca answered. “Do I get a gold star?”

  Mrs. Black didn’t even try to suppress her smirk. She took Rebecca’s blanket and returned it to one of the local cops, who went back downstairs with it. “You will get much more than that,” she purred. “Miss Rags.”

  The first blindfold went over Caroline. When handcuffs followed, she was grateful they left her hands in front of her instead of wrenching them behind her back. But it was still terrifying.

  I’m a prisoner, she thought, teetering toward despair.

  Somehow she managed to not cry, even as she heard the door open and was guided out onto the roof and to the unseen helicopter.

  ****

  Cool it, Rebecca, she said to herself, receiving her own blindfold and handcuffs. DC was none too gentle with those, cinching them hard and tight. She bit her lip. You can’t begin like this. Tricking them will be no different than tricking Mrs. James at DTR if you only play it smart. These people want to believe you’re one of them. They will believe it if you’re not an idiot.