by Rysa Walker
Saul spins her around, I guess to be sure that she gets the full picture. “See, Martha? Just like I told you. They’re all here, waiting.”
The platform shakes as he drags her up the two short steps. I lean back slightly to be sure Saul can’t see me when he turns and dumps her behind the pulpit. I can’t see her from this angle, but I can hear her, and the image I saw earlier of Martha’s arms clutched around her head, rocking back and forth, is seared into my memory.
Saul turns back toward the pews, that sick, blissful smile on his face. How can he stand to take such deep breaths when the smell is nearly overpowering even behind a mask?
He looks around at his creation for a moment and then crosses over to Martha, kneeling down beside her. I can’t see either of them now, but Saul is shushing her softly, like you would a crying toddler. My heart races, and I wait for my cue—the moment when Martha kicks him backward and takes off.
But that never happens. Kiernan jumps up about thirty seconds ahead of schedule, hops over the railing, and whacks Saul on the back of the head with the wrench. I wait for Martha to start running, but she doesn’t. She’s frozen, staring at Kiernan in the white suit and mask. I climb over and grab her arm, but she yanks away from me, and the sobs turn into shrieks again.
Kiernan lets out a huff that’s audible through the mask. He reaches down and tugs Saul off Martha, then scoops her up into his arms like a baby and takes off down the center aisle. I hear a low moan from Saul’s direction as I’m about to start off after them, and I see he’s now up on his knees.
I pull back my foot and give my grandfather a solid kick to the kidneys. He lets out a very satisfying oof and slumps back to the floor as I run for the front entrance.
Kiernan is just ahead, still carrying Martha. Although he seemed okay when we jumped in, his limp is back, probably because the leg is used to carrying Kiernan’s weight, not an additional hundred pounds. The fact that Martha is fighting him clearly isn’t helping his progress, so I catch up with them quickly, just a few yards beyond the tree where I parked my bike on our first trip to God’s Hollow.
“Why didn’t you wait?” I say, yanking off my mask.
Kiernan pulls up his mask as well, his face conflicted. “Sorry, but you weren’t standing where I was, Kate. I could see . . . I wasn’t gonna let him touch her like that.”
Martha stops trying to get away when she hears him speak, and then she looks over at me. “You’re . . . before. Y’all were here . . . before.” Her eyes are still wide, but a bit of reason seems to be coming back into them.
“Yes,” I say. “Martha, we need to get you out of here, before Saul comes to. Can you walk on your own? Maybe even run a little?”
She nods, and Kiernan slides her to the ground.
“Maybe we should all leave?”
Kiernan shakes his head. “No. We need the sample. And I don’t want to come back.” He pats his pocket. “I’ve got my pistol. I’ll keep an eye on the church. If I see him, I’ll jump straight to the rendezvous point. You just get Martha there.”
I tiptoe up to kiss him on the cheek. “Be careful.”
“I’m always careful.” He tips the mask back down, then hands me the pipe wrench and hurries around the back of the church toward the well.
I grab Martha’s arm. “Come on, sweetie. We need to hurry.”
“Where’s he going?”
“He needs to get a sample of . . . the poison. We need to find out what Saul used—”
Her lower lip begins to quiver, so I just tug her arm again. “Let’s just go, okay? He’ll be right behind us.”
We run down the path toward the bridge and have just passed the point where Martha and the twins were playing catch when she stops suddenly. “Miss Kate, what about the other fella?”
My heart stops in midjog, and the wrench falls to the ground. “What other fellow?”
“The one he’s travelin’ with. Said his name was Grant.”
Oh my God. I glance back over my shoulder at the village and then toss the mask to her. “Get across the bridge, Martha. Wait in the woods on the other side, okay? Hurry!”
I take off at top speed for the village, but I’ve barely started when the front door of the church opens. I dive into the tall grass on the side of the road and peer through the weeds as Saul staggers out, his hand pressed to the back of his head. He looks to the right first, and I guess he sees Kiernan, because he doesn’t even bother to look my way. He shambles off toward the well, and as soon as he rounds the corner of the church, I pull my gun out and fire a warning shot into the air, just in case Kiernan doesn’t see him coming.
Then I run, scanning the village ahead for any sort of movement. About the time I veer over to cut through the field, there’s a gunshot. It doesn’t sound like the Colts we’ve been firing, so it must be Saul. Or maybe Grant. I pull to a halt at the corner of the chapel, peeking around the edge before I approach.
Saul leans against the side of the chicken coop, one hand against the back of his head. The chickens are all silent, red and white piles in the deep brown muck, most of them only a few feet from the water trough.
At first, I don’t see any sign of Kiernan. Then I notice the blue glow of his CHRONOS key behind the well.
And so does Saul.
He hurries toward the well, his gun raised, as I dart around the corner of the church, ducking behind the chicken coop for cover. I point my gun at Saul’s back, hoping Kiernan will disappear before I have to shoot.
Saul swings out to the left a few steps, pivoting the gun toward the well. The glow is still there, which means Kiernan is still there, and I have maybe a second left before Saul reaches him.
I lift the gun, aim, and fire.
The shot echoes strangely. Small fragments fly into the air as a bullet hits the upper edge of the well. Then I see Saul on his knees, clutching his right arm, his gun a few feet away.
It wasn’t my bullet that hit the well. That was the second shot, from Saul’s gun.
And the blue glow is gone.
I crouch behind the chicken coop and tug my key out. My hands are shaking as I pull up the coordinates for the spot across the bridge where we stashed the bikes. I set the time back four minutes, hoping Martha and Kiernan will both be there when I open my eyes.
They aren’t, but I hear feet crossing the bridge. A shot rings out in the distance as I step out to look down the road—I think it’s the warning shot I fired. Then I hear a noise behind me, and Kiernan’s arms encircle me. He squeezes me to his chest, pressing his lips against my hair.
“Where is Martha?” I ask.
“She’s coming—”
Just then Martha bursts through the underbrush and sees us. She gasps and takes a step backward too quickly, landing on her bottom.
She looks back toward the village. “How did you . . .”
I kneel down beside her. “Martha, we’ll explain soon, but two quick questions, okay?”
She closes her mouth and nods.
“How did . . . those men get here? Did they drive?”
“Men?” Kiernan asks.
“Later.” I look back at Martha, eyebrows raised. “They had a car?”
“An old red truck. Told Sister they was studyin’ for the ministry up in Athens and wondered—”
I shake my head. “Later, okay? Where’s the truck?”
“Down by Earl’s place.” She turns her head back toward town as two shots fire in rapid succession, but she continues. “That’s where they was sleepin’ before . . .”
Kiernan and I both yank out our keys.
“I’m going,” I say. “You can’t risk another jump.”
“I know that. But I’m the one who set the stable point outside of Earl’s shop. It’s not on your key.” He transfers the coordinates to my medallion, and then I blink back to six minutes ago, when all four of us were in the church.
I don’t see the truck at first, but then I spot it across the road. A collection of tools hangs on the shop wa
lls. I scan quickly for something that will pierce tires, settling on a large pair of shears. I dart across the road and plunge the shears hard into one of the rear tires. Moving to the front of the truck, I raise my arm to puncture a second tire but then realize it’s unlikely Saul will have two spares. I need to slow him down, but he still has to get back to his stable point to return home. So I drop the shears and jump back to Kiernan and Martha.
She looks like she’s going to throw up.
“Let her touch the medallion,” I say.
“Why?”
“I have no idea why, but it seems to help.”
He still looks skeptical but grabs her hand and presses it to the CHRONOS key.
“I’ve probably only bought us a few minutes. We need to get her out of here.”
Kiernan glances at Martha, whose color does seem to be improving a bit from the greenish shade she was a moment before. “Martha,” he says. “Have you ever ridden a bicycle?”
She shakes her head. “I can ride a horse. But I’m guessing they’re all dead now, like Bull.”
He looks back at me. “You said men. Who’s with him?”
“She said Grant. I never saw him. Martha, when did you last see the other man?”
“I ain’t seen him since Saul shut me in the cellar.”
“How long were you there?” Kiernan asks.
“I don’t know. I was down there with Bull part of yesterday and all night. He brought us some bread and water this mornin’, and then Bull started gettin’ sick, so Saul let him out, but he made me stay down there till he come and got me. I still didn’ see the other guy. Maybe he got sick, too.”
Kiernan turns to me. “How much time do you think you bought us?”
“Twenty minutes if he stops to change the tire. If he even knows how to change a tire. He’ll probably just drive on the rims. So maybe a five-minute head start?”
“I guess she could ride with me,” Kiernan says, but I can tell from his voice that he doubts the bike will carry both of them.
“I think you could outrun a truck with a flat tire on this thing if it was just carrying one person, but . . .”
“Yeah,” he says, and grabs both bikes, walking them farther into the woods. “We can’t outrun him.”
I reach down for Martha’s hand. “Come on, okay? I’ll explain things as we go.”
I take one of the bikes from Kiernan, and we follow his lead until he stops at the bank of the creek. As we walk, I try to think up something we can tell Martha that won’t result in her being locked away in an asylum if she, at some point, needs to talk about the past few days. So far, I’ve drawn a blank.
The creek winds through dense woods, so you can’t see the bridge from here. But a truck limping on its rims isn’t exactly silent. A clanking, thumping noise comes from that direction just as Kiernan props our motorbikes against a tree.
I crouch down beside the creek and bring up our stable point near the road. As I predicted, Saul didn’t bother changing the tire, at least not yet. The truck limps down the road. Grant is in the truck and appears either dead or comatose, because he doesn’t stir at all, despite the fact that his head bumps the passenger-side window every few seconds.
Once they pass, I scan the road for the next twenty minutes, skipping forward in ten-second increments. There’s no indication that Saul turns back. That doesn’t mean he isn’t parked a mile or so up the road, changing the tire.
When I look up from the medallion, Martha is watching me, her head cocked to one side.
“You prayin’?”
“Umm . . . sort of.”
“Is that some kinda rosary? Miz Carey’s sister, when she was visitin’, she had a rosary. But hers had beads.”
“It’s not a rosary,” Kiernan says. “Listen, Martha, we need to explain some things.”
“That’s okay. I figured it out when Miss Kate disappeared back there. Did Sister Elba know?”
“Did she know what?” I ask.
“That y’all were angels?” Judging from her expression, if she were born a century later, she’d have added the word duh. “I’m guessin’ she didn’t, just like she didn’t know what he was either. I loved her an’ all, but Sister trusted almost ever’body. Maybe if she’d’a been a little more suspicious . . .”
“Maybe,” I say. “But that would have made her a very different person. And Martha, it wouldn’t have mattered. She couldn’t have stopped Saul.”
“So this is one of those things that was . . .” She pauses, like she’s trying to remember the word. “Predestined? Like my mama and daddy dyin’ so young?”
I glance up at Kiernan, and he just gives me a shrug. It seems wrong to let her think we’re some sort of divine messengers, but it’s a lot easier than explaining. And here in 1911, saying she’s seen angels is less likely to get her locked in a padded room than the truth, if she ever decides to tell anyone.
“There are some things we can’t change,” I tell her, thinking of Sister Elba’s last words to me. “We just have to find a way to go on when those things happen, so we’re ready to change the things we can later on down the line.”
“Why me?” she asks, her voice suddenly angry. “Why’d you save me? I was darn close to not believin’ at all, and that church was full of folks who praised God all day long. Even Jack and Vern . . .”
Her body starts shaking, and the tears that have been near the surface spill over her cheeks. I wrap my arms around her and hold her as she cries, because it’s all I can do. Because I don’t have the answers she needs. Kiernan just watches us, and I can tell he’s feeling the same helplessness that I do.
Her tears eventually stop, and Martha pulls away, then leans back toward me, her fingertips brushing my face.
“I didn’t know angels cried.”
Part of me screams out that she deserves the truth, and Kiernan must be watching, because he steps in just before I break.
“Sometimes angels do cry,” he says. “We don’t get to make the decisions, you know. Just doin’ what we’re told. And as for why we saved you, you just need to believe that there was a reason, okay? You may not see it yet, but maybe you’ll do great things—or maybe it’s your son or your granddaughter or great-great-great-granddaughter.”
She laughs a little at that, but it’s a worried laugh. “I don’t even know where I’m gonna go or what I’m gonna do. I got the clothes on my back, and—”
“If you were meant to get out of God’s Hollow alive,” he says, “I don’t think you’re meant to die of starvation on the streets. I’ll help you. I know a family that I’m pretty sure I can convince to take you in for a few years, until you’re ready to be off on your own. But listen, this whole angel thing—it needs to be our secret, okay?”
Martha nods solemnly. “Y’all don’ need to worry about that. Ain’t no one gonna believe me anyhow.”
∞17∞
There are only two bikes, so I say goodbye to Martha and jump directly to Katherine’s library, where Connor is waiting, as scheduled. He holds open the door to the safe, and I place the kit containing the sample from the well inside. Then I jump to my room and shed the suit, the mask, and everything I was wearing underneath, stuffing it all into a large black trash bag. While I’m sure that this protocol wouldn’t pass muster with the CDC, it’s the best we can do for now.
I stay in the shower much longer than usual, scrubbing every inch of my body until my skin is pink and my scalp is sore. I still can’t say I feel completely clean, but that’s probably because the shower can’t wash away the images in my head.
Connor and Katherine are waiting when I get downstairs. The briefing goes about as well as I’d expected. I considered lying about Martha but ended up being honest. Katherine finds a dozen reasons why we should have done things differently and engages in a lengthy rant about all the things I may have changed by injuring Saul. I’m too numb to argue, and after a few minutes, Connor cajoles her into going back to her room.
I grab my phone from
the charger on the counter and check my messages. There’s a call from Mom, which I expected, given that it was my first day back at school. A text from Charlayne came in twenty minutes ago, and that’s something I definitely wasn’t expecting. We exchanged numbers after English class, in case we had homework questions or whatever, but I’m surprised to get a message so soon. More evidence that I’m being played, no doubt. Still, I click to open it.
Ur profile is lame.
At first, I have no idea what she’s talking about. Then I remember Trey shared some photos on Facebook and I set up an account to access them. I didn’t even post a profile picture, so it’s just that blank girl head where my face would be.
I text back: Don’t do FB much. You?
There’s a pause, and then she responds: Can’t have FB account. Mom said yes. Dad said no. As usual. I’m on WayBook. So-called Cyrist equiv.
After a few seconds, she adds: Do you have page numbers for Miller txt?
I respond that I’ll check when I get up to my room. And then I call Dad.
I’m so glad that he picks up, because he’s the only person I want to talk to right now.
“You okay?” he asks. “Because you don’t sound okay.”
“I’ve been better.” I spend the next few minutes filling him in about the past two days, and I end up in tears.
“Your grandpa is stable now, Kate. Maybe I should come home.”
“Dad, no. It’s okay.”
There’s a long silence, and then he says, “I’m still trying to get past the idea of you with a gun. Where did you . . .”
“Kiernan. Once my hand stopped shaking, I discovered that I’m actually a decent shot.”
“Apparently, since you put a hole in Saul’s arm rather than his head. I know it’s probably not much consolation, Kate, but at least you were able to save one person. That’s something for the positive column, right?”
Connor walks in, and I glance over at him as I say, “I’m glad to see someone agrees with me on that point.”
