Aimes holds me in a reverse style of a hug. Her arms are draped around my shoulders, pulling me to her so that my back is to her chest. We can’t look away, but we aren’t strong enough to watch alone. Her arms tighten every time I instinctively pull to rush the stage. She swears under her breath with each new rope hung and I’m not completely convinced she is keeping me here for my good or for the good of her sanity.
“We just can’t watch this happen,” the man from earlier says. I never saw him come to stand by us. My focus has been torn between the children and the nooses, letting the rest of the courtyard slip away. He is holding the blue hat in his hands, twisting it between his fists as he stares at me. “They have to be stopped.”
“We can’t do anything until he does something.” Aimes tells him still watching it all unfold. “If we rush him now, he will just use it to convince them more of his God-power.”
“It’s not us who have to stop him. Simon has to lead us all now.” My voice is a strained whisper with my doubts.
“If he waits too long, it will be too late.” He steps towards us with a threat and yet pleading with his eyes for Aimes and I to listen to him. “I won’t let him do it again. Not again.” He is gone in the mass of moving bodies before I can do anything. I have no name to call out to stop him, or to regain his attention. I send a prayer, if anyone does still listen, for the man. My prayers are more riddled with demands than questions though as of late.
Paula finds Aimes and I in the cluster. Her face is blanched and it sets my stomach deeper into a pit of rolling sickness. She is saying something, but I can’t hear her over the screaming of the crowd. I turn my eyes from her as Aimes whispers another pretty little syllable behind me.
Selma has the children now lined up and still playing like this is a game. Each child stands under a rope, reaching for it on their tiptoes like the brass ring from an old merry-go-round. To the children, it’s a fun game, but to the parents, it’s proof of what the lengths mean. Selma is showing us all that their tiny little hands can’t reach the ropes and their tiny little feet won’t reach the ground, either.
Paula is shouting again. I can hear the sound of her voice, but the words are just melodic with the amount of chaos now inspired around us. Women wail for their children as the men scream for blood. Both sets are lost as to what to do not wanting to risk any harm being brought to the smiling faces watching them.
“It is time to prove to the Lord how thankful you are he has kept you safe. He has saved you and your families when so many others have been brought low. He has guided you here, as he has us, to rebuild in His name. He will purify your souls so you may truly know His love for you. All He asks is that you believe in Him and He will grant you everything,” Travis says. He is pacing along the wooden beams nearest to the crowd. His fists are raised, shaking to accent his words with religious passion to draw attention to the syllables and to hide the definitions. “Are you ready to believe in Him? Will you give everything to prove it or will you let your everything be taken from you because of your fears? All He has ever wanted is your trust, your belief and your love. Can’t you give that to Him? Do you have the courage to prove your beliefs?”
The crowd is shouting every possible phrase of “yes” they can remember. I bet the crowds always do as they watch their children make toys out of the tools of their deaths.
“Bring me the mothers. Mothers, come to me. Come to your children who God has blessed you with,” Travis demands and turns his back to solemnly stroll to the far side of the stage to not block the show.
Paula is screaming now. She is waving her arms and pointing to the forgotten crate with its hissing warning sitting by Travis. I still can’t make out her words and my curiosity doesn’t hold strong enough to try.
Women shove their way to the stage. Some don’t even bother with the steps, hauling their bodies onto the wooden platform with assistance from the men behind them. There are no manners as they rush to make it to their children, pulling them away from the ropes they saw as swings.
Travis and Selma let the moms touch and hug their children as the line of God Squad fights to keep the men back from the stage with frightening force. I can see random flashes of the grinning skull on its black leather moving through the area like shadows. They are attached to the drama, but adrift from it as they keep their own plans to heart. If they could give me some hint to what those plans might be, my heart might climb down from my throat. It also might climb right out of my mouth if I knew.
“Are you listening to a word I have been saying?” Paula shouts into my ear as yet another person sneaks up on me. The bell threat from before comes back to mind.
“I can’t hear a word you’ve been saying!” I shout over the crowd’s anxiety, keeping my eyes to the stage.
“That crate. I know that crate,” Paula says as if that is the most important thing up there. The look on my face must have expressed my doubts. “I was there, in the meeting at the lab, when the Ice Queen, as we called her, told us the truth. She told us the vaccines were corrupt and causing side effects we hadn’t prepared for. As I was leaving to take this assignment, we were being told there was another strain of the vaccine that had been released to humanitarian workers. It was designed to be faster and stronger to help combat the illness that seemed so abundant in third world countries. It was supposed to have been confiscated, but some were shipped before it could happen.”
“Wait, you’re telling us this isn’t just local? This… thing… is global now?” Aimes’ eyes are the size of saucers as she is shocked at what Paula is trying to say. It was depressing to think this had become our life, but it’s terrifying to know that it could be everyone’s life, everywhere.
“Yes, it could be, but that isn’t the point.” Paula says, sounding colder than I have ever given her credit for. The “Betty Crocker look” is long gone. “That is one of the shipments of the vaccine. I would know that crate anywhere. We called them Pandora’s Boxes and Travis is about to open it right here in the middle of the school.”
“Why would he have it? How could he use it?” Aimes asks, releasing me from her grasp with her habit of using her hands and arms when she speaks. “Oh, and when did our nurse-slash-cook become some secret spy? Can we officially freak out now?”
“You can,” I tell her with my voice dipping into the numbness that always brings me trouble.
“You can’t go up there Helena.” Paula grabs my arm with as much awareness as my family has for my suicidal habits. “If he is going to use those shots, you’ll become infected.”
“He is going to use them. It’s why some of the piles weren’t shot. He let them burn once they were infected. He “purified” their souls.” I’m putting the pieces together and the puzzle is looking nothing like the box it came in. The box was shiny and promised hope for the future. It wore smiles and charm with lies about being our saviors in our time of need. It still is wearing the same smile, but it’s killing us now with our naivety.
Some silent moment let the members of the Squad who stand on the stage know to pull the women from their children. The screaming starts anew with the action. Children reach with fully extended arms to their mothers as they are dragged back to the ropes. With their rough hands, they force the women to kneel as they fight for their kids. A few are even slapped when their struggles start to become unmanageable. Travis winces with each connection in a mockingly amused manner and it brings the men watching to a boil.
“My friends,” Travis shouts, bringing their angered focus to him, “there is nothing to fear!” His voice is an intervention of comforting. He says, “The lives of your children and women are yours to save. If you are a true believer, if your soul is worth saving, you shall live tonight to claim your place by God’s side. Haven’t every single one of you told me how you have wanted to survive this nightmare with peace and comfort for your remaining days?” He stops, staring into the crowd of men while his words sink in. “Why now do you throw arms against us as we bring
what you have desired to you?”
Travis was so intent on his show, he too was snuck up on. Selma wasn’t inside to see the man’s face when Lawless handed him his son’s hat. She never knew the danger she let stand beside her, as he was once one of their own. When the click of the safety being turned off sounded behind Travis’ head, she discovered too late the truth.
“Tell them what you are about to do,” the man demands. His over six-foot frame towers behind Travis. He glares with eyes holding the anger of a man possessed. “Tell them what your salvation means for them.”
“It means a chance to weed out the non-believers. We can rid ourselves of the weak ones who only mean to bring us down with their weight of doubts.” Travis’ explanation sends chills down my spine as it echoes so similar to J.D.
“Tell them the truth!” the man shouts, pressing the barrel of the gun forcefully against Travis’ head making him tilt with the pressure.
“Eugene,” Selma calls from behind the man and somehow he knew that Selma wasn’t the only one who let danger slip past their awareness.
Eugene pivots his weight, pushing Travis to the ground as he turns to Selma. Their guns lift at the same time and the echo of their timed shots shudder the walls. There is a moment when everything is suspended. Time retreats to an almost stop as everyone holds their breath.
The small, blue hat falls to the space between the two like a leaf taken by the breeze. Selma watches it fall as her knees crumple under her. She presses a trembling hand to her upper shoulder with shock. She stares at her blood-covered fingers with disbelief while Travis crawls across the stage to where she has fallen. Instinctively, I look for Rhett and find him leaning on his black warhorse in the shadows of the yard. The glow of his cigarette highlights a face filled with a lack of care as he watches the stage. The shadows take him with his exhale like the comforting arms of a lover.
Eugene is bent over, leaning on his knees, on the stage when I return my attention to him. Selma’s shot didn’t miss. The tall man is clutching his stomach as he watches with eyes of burning coals the two in front of him. Their mouths move in whispers lacking the strength to reach our ears.
“They will stop you,” Eugene seems to say and it only makes Travis smile again. “I let you kill my son, my wife. I might not have stopped you, but I’ll take your whore to hell with me.”
The women on stage scream as Eugene lifts his gun again with shaking hands from the pain of his wound. He’s too slow with that pain. Travis has Selma’s gun lifted and fired before Eugene can pull his first shot. Eugene’s body bounces with each round that lands until his body falls limp on the stage. His last moments are spent staring at his son’s blue hat. A hat his wife most likely purchased what feels like a lifetime ago to him. His fingers reach for it, crumpling it in his hand before those same fingers fall as still as his body.
Travis stands, letting Selma recline on her own accord. His pressed dress shirt is covered with her blood. The dark mass ruins its perfection the way the scowl on his face ruins the precision of his earlier performance.
“It starts now,” Travis tells the men by him even as two lean to help Selma from the stage.
The theatrics are over as the real show begins. The children are lifted on the shoulders of the men. Seven men, seven children, seven ropes are waiting for Travis while seven women beg at his feet. He is beyond any showmanship now. The depiction is over. The truth is about to begin.
He kicks the lid of the crate open. It flies to the cement floor below the stage with a violent sound. He pulls the first premeasured dose from the crate with a sick look of glee. He has lost his mask. He has lost his care to wear the mask. The moment he has been setting into motion is finally here and he doesn’t need to pretend anymore.
“He can’t be allowed to do this!” Paula hisses beside me. “That is not the normal strain. I don’t know what will happen to whoever receives it.”
“You promised!” Aimes says on my other side.
Like two waging wars, Paula and Aimes both stare at me for different reasons. I never imagined Aimes to be wearing a halo any more than I pictured Paula wearing horns, but the children on the stage; I always knew I wouldn’t allow them to become victims.
“I promised two little kids I would keep them safe. I lied then, too.” I let that guilt propel me into the crowd. I feel what were their last moments because of me. I see Ashley staring at me with resignation. I hear Conroy screaming my name in agony and fear. The sing-song chant of the children at play overshadows any hopes of “Amazing Grace”. I love Lawless, I do. I just love my guilt more.
“Will you give your life for what God has given you?” Travis asks the women before him, casting the vaccines into the wind to be harvested by desperate hands. “Will you put your trust in Him to redeem you both?”
Each woman agrees, grappling for the liquid death threats that roll around the wooden beams. The children are crying now as they watch their mother’s desperation with confusion. Their innocence keeps them from fully understanding how close they are to death. Some say ignorance is blind. Watching the children so close to the nooses that seem to constantly sway, I consider ignorance to be bliss.
An arm becomes like a vice around my waist, jerking me to a strong chest. Chapel’s voice is dangerously low in my ear. “What are you doing, Helena?” he asks me with the aggravation that I normally find in abundance from Marxx.
I try to turn around to look at him, but it only finds me forced tighter to him.
“Paula says what’s in those shots is twice as potent as the original shot,” I tell him with some small explanation.
Chapel is gone as quick as he came and I almost stagger with his exit. It leaves me stunned for a moment, losing the momentum that I had built for myself. He leaves me with something else as well. He had aimed his arm precisely to land across the wound of my stomach. The burning pain is almost crippling where his fingers dug across the stitches. I’m on one knee before I even have the time to exhale and I’m standing again before I can inhale.
Horrence is smiling into my cringing face. He tells me with no hidden amusement, “Travis says we have a special spot for their little savior.”
Chapel had meant to leave me in pain to keep me from venturing further into the line of fire. Now, Travis will have me standing in the middle of a ring of it.
I’m forced up the stairs by Horrence and dragged by another. Every pull I make to free myself only pulls deeper at the wound until I am gasping and broken of my will. It’s just how Travis now likes his women.
What were once dark shadows roaming the crowd have become a fighting force. I can hear their shouts through the white-haze of my pain. We had no reason to be under Travis’ thumb. We have no children for him to ply us into obedience. We have no need to seek for someone else to protect us or to provide for us the guile of safety. We take care of our own and fend for ourselves. We have accepted what this world is and what is to come, but Travis found a way to make us dance just the same – me.
I fight to stand, refusing to play into the show he has conducted. My bravery is rewarded with a knee to my already fragile stomach. I drop, never feeling the ground through the agony that is already cascading through me. I’m lifted by a fist of my hair from the ground sending waves of pain through my scalp, but I won’t cry out. I wont give Travis the erection he is seeking from this torment.
Bruising hands guide me backwards. I know what death sentence he has declared for me. In his little game, he wants to take out as many of us as possible; one for the money, two for the show.
An eighth rope is hung. Its length is shorter than the rest, and as I stare up at it, I know only the tips of my toes will reach the ground. Travis isn’t after a fast death for me. I will hang. I will suffer. I will feel every second of my death. Somewhere, Truth is watching with her sisters the twins, Karma and Fate. I thought I had escaped from them that Christmas morning, but they were just waiting. Feeding me fables, they waited for my perfect suicide.
> “Seems we have something a little bit different here,” Travis says leaning side-to-side in front of me with a wide smile. “I don’t guess you have a mother in the audience to save you?” he asks me with a whispered sense of joy.
“Nope.” I tell him, smiling into those cold eyes of his. “I killed her.”
He shrugs, pressing his lips together to match the body expression. “…a dad, perhaps?”
“I guess you could say, I helped kill him too.”
Travis lets out a long whistle of fake shock. “I guess you deserve the rope more than most,” he says softly to me before shouting, “Rig her up!”
The hands that were holding my shoulders now lift me from the waist, keeping my arms locked to my sides. Their squeezing sensation makes me feel as if my stomach will escape through the tender stitches, leaving me too limp to fight against the man who places the rope around my neck. I’m hovering between the squeezing hands and the grey void of my vision.
“Who will save Helena?” Travis screams into the night with an excitement that curdles any strength I may have had left to fight him.
The noise of male shouting is abundant, but there is one who never makes a sound. Just like Eugene, Chapel takes the back steps one steady foot at a time. “I will,” he says and his voice is flat with fact. I know he feels the guilt as tightly as I feel the rope. He never thought his attempt to keep me safe could become so misguided. He will give his life to correct that wrong, and when it is done and he is standing with his family again, he will tell them it was a beautiful suicide.
Travis isn’t shocked to see Chapel, just disappointed. He wanted someone else in the ring, but he still has one more trick snarling from his sleeve.
“Well, the party is all here!” Travis spins slowly with his arms spread over the stage. The guise of religious fervor has vanished as it does with most cults when the deaths start. When people are already motivated to do as you say, there is no more need to herd them.
The Risen (Book 4): Courage Page 28
