The Hallowed Ones tho-1

by Laura Bickle

  I began to murmur the Lord’s Prayer, my breath pushing small ripples across the water. Maybe he would still hear me.

  * * *

  I walked over to Elijah’s house that evening to bring him and his father some supper. I left as soon as the bread had cooled enough to handle and the Jell-O had set. The sun was still above the horizon. I wanted to be back well before nightfall, now that I knew what dwelt in it.

  I knocked on the front door, and Herr Miller called for me to let myself in. I found him sitting at the kitchen table, reading his Bible. He looked very pale and thin as his eyes moved across the page.

  “I’ve brought supper. And I’ll pick up your laundry.”

  “Thank you, Katie,” he murmured as I put a plate of bread, ham, and baked apples before him.

  “I’ll put the Jell-O in the refrigerator,” I said. “It has spiced apples in it.” There wouldn’t be much more Jell-O, or any groceries from the Outside, in the future.

  His gaze flickered at me as I prepared Elijah’s plate. “Katie, you know that Elijah will be baptized tomorrow.”

  I paused in slicing the bread. “So soon?” I blurted.

  “The church will be doing their fall baptisms tomorrow.”

  “I thought . . . I thought that wasn’t for a few more weeks.” The Amish baptized their young men and women in fall and spring, at large church services for that purpose. That then allowed those who were intent on starting families to prepare for weddings after harvest or before planting, when there was a lull in the daily activities. And there was always a course of study for many weeks before.

  “The Elders moved it up. They said it was best, given the circumstances.”

  I could feel his gaze heavy on my back as I assembled the plate.

  “I am happy for you both,” I said. “You must be very proud.”

  “I am. But you should consider it, as well, Katie. I will talk to your parents about it. I think that they would be strongly in favor.”

  I bit my lip. I wanted to make amends with God, certainly. The end of the world had come, and it did make sense to get baptized. But my conscience was not clear enough for me to take baptism. I still had a young man in the barn. I couldn’t be baptized now and abandon him the instant the water touched my forehead. For, once baptized, I could not continue to care for him in any good conscience . . . never mind the Bann.

  I smeared a gentle smile on my face. With Elijah’s plate in my hand, I kissed his father’s balding forehead. I hope that he took that as a gesture of respect. He smiled and patted my sleeve.

  I climbed the stairs to the boys’ room. The door was ajar, and I pushed it open. Elijah was lying in his middle bed, reading his Bible. He smiled when he saw me.

  “I brought you some supper,” I said, closing the door behind me.

  He put the Bible on the nightstand. “Thank you.”

  I sat on the edge of his bed. “How’s your ankle?”

  He wiggled the foot at the edge of the quilt. “It’s getting better. I’ve been up and around on it a bit. I found someone to lend me some crutches for . . .” His eyes slid away from mine.

  “For tomorrow,” I finished.

  He stared fixedly down at his plate. “I want you to be happy for me.”

  “I am. But . . . I also feel as if I’m losing my best friend.” I rubbed my nose. It was as close to explaining how I really felt: that he would be closer to God than he would be to me. And that was a good thing. It just left me feeling . . . lonely. Bereft.

  He reached out and took my hand. “Don’t feel that way.”

  “How can I not?”

  “There’s nothing out there for us, anyway. The Outside world took Joseph and Seth. Caught them out.” His eyes were dark. “I want no part of it.”

  I could understand his anger. “You aren’t the only one who’s lost family. Mrs. Parsall may have lost her children and husband.”

  “They aren’t like us.” Elijah shook his head. “They aren’t going to heaven.”

  I pulled my hand away. “What’s happened to you?”

  His mouth was set in a grim line. “The Elders came by yesterday. What they said made sense.”

  “What did they say to you?” Dread curled in the pit of my stomach.

  “They said that something terrible has happened Outside. That it’s all gone. That there’s no point in hoping for Rumspringa. We must devote ourselves to God and build on what we have here. God has blessed us. He’s saved us. And we must show our devotion to him.”

  I couldn’t argue with that unimpeachable logic. “I wish you well,” I said softly.

  “Come be baptized with me,” he said, not unexpectedly.

  “That’s what your father said.”

  “He means well. So do I. If you were to be baptized tomorrow, then we could be married before first frost.” Elijah’s hand tightened on mine.

  My breath stuck in my throat, and I tried to pull away. “Don’t.”

  He held my hand fast. “Don’t you want this? Don’t you want to be married, have children, go to heaven?”

  “Of course, but . . .” I grappled with my thoughts.

  “Don’t you want me?” There was a pang of hurt in his voice. “Don’t you want me more than what’s Outside?”

  I placed my free hand on his cheek. “Of course I do. But this is all . . . it’s all too fast.”

  I felt the tension in his jaw relax fractionally. “Ja. I understand.”

  Just days ago Elijah and I were looking at movie ads, planning where to go, and roaming Outside as if it was our birthright. Now the crisis had hardened him, caused him to withdraw into the safety of tradition. I couldn’t blame him, but I would not be pushed.

  He rested his forehead against mine. “I will wait for you.”

  I blinked back tears. “If you want to be married quickly, it may be best if you don’t.”

  He frowned. “How could I imagine anyone else? I have waited years. I will wait a season or two more.”

  He kissed me. It was not our first kiss; Elijah and I had kissed many times on the way back from the Singings. Amish youth gathered on Sunday nights, ostensibly to sing, without adult supervision. There was always something heady and romantic about the darkness and the music. On a couple of occasions, we’d forgotten ourselves, exploring each other with our clumsy fingers. We were not strangers. Not lovers—I would not give myself to him on those occasions. But we knew each other well.

  He kissed me more deeply. I would miss this, after his baptism. He would be unable to touch me again until we were married. It felt cruel, the pressure of his lips on mine, his hands wrapping around my waist and pulling me into his lap. One of his hands slid up to cup my breast, and I felt his arousal under my right hip.

  “Elijah,” I murmured against his lips. He took that for ardor, plucked the pin from the top of my dress to peel back the fabric.

  “Elijah,” I said again, more insistent.

  His hand slid beneath the fabric to my breast.

  “Stop.” I grabbed his hand and tried to push myself off his lap.

  He hesitated for a moment, then released me. I scrambled off the bed, pulled the collar of my dress together, and jabbed the straight pin back into the fabric to close it.

  When I looked back at him, there was hurt in his eyes. I’d rejected him, and it had wounded him dearly.

  “I need . . . I need some time.” I backed away, reaching for the doorknob.

  “There’s nothing for you Outside,” he said softly as I slipped through the door.

  Maybe not. Maybe my destiny was shrinking, becoming smaller and smaller to one inevitable path. I could feel it tight around my neck, tighter than my bonnet strings, strangling me.

  Chapter Eleven

  My head hurt, my heart ached, and I knew that there was no hope of sleep tonight. I kept picturing those monsters I’d seen today, free to roam in the darkness. I struggled with the concept that an idea like faith could create a strong-enough wall to keep them out. My own f
aith felt tenuous and weak . . . I couldn’t imagine it being powerful enough to keep the vampires at bay.

  But I did not think that baptism would strengthen it enough. I quailed against the idea in the deepest part of my chest. My parents had broached the subject after that evening’s Nachtesse, stressing the same points made by Elijah and his father. I stared at the floor, mute. They could not force me. I could not swear obedience before God. It would be a false promise. I had that much integrity left.

  Sarah snored beside me, closest to the wall. She slept the sleep of one who had no real concept of what happened beneath the surface. Today was the same for her as yesterday and the day before and the day before that. Her life hadn’t really changed, except for having to share a bed with me. She’d seen no raven evacuation. No riderless white horses. No brutal application of the Ordnung.

  Mrs. Parsall sat up against the headboard, staring into the dark. Her right hand was slack around her cell phone. She slept with it, even though the charge was dead. It was her last tie to her husband and children. I slid out of bed and reached beneath it for the bag from the drugstore. Wordlessly, I padded across the floor and put it in her lap.

  She reached inside, the plastic crinkling. Her glass-blue eyes widened as she pulled out the batteries and charger.

  “Where did you get these?” she rasped.

  “You can’t tell anyone.”

  Her hands grasped my elbows, and she drew me down to the bed. “Did you go Outside?” Her gaze was fever-bright.

  I swallowed and nodded.

  “What did you see?”

  I remained mute.

  She squeezed my arm. “What did you see?”

  My lip trembled, but I couldn’t shape my voice around horror that I’d witnessed.

  “Were there people?” Her fingernails dug into my arms like claws. “Did you see people?”

  I shook my head. “No. Not people. Monsters.”

  I could see the whites of Mrs. Parsall’s eyes widening in the dark. “What do you mean, monsters?”

  A tear trickled down my face. “Ravenous. Bloodthirsty. Inhuman.”

  Her hand flew to my cheek, smearing the tear. Her brow wrinkled, in shadow. “I don’t understand.”

  “They are like . . . like vampires.” I told her, haltingly, of the terror I’d seen at the Laundromat, keeping my voice to a whisper so Sarah wouldn’t hear.

  When I’d finished, Mrs. Parsall threw her arms around me in a hug while I sobbed into her shoulder. She stroked my hair and muttered soothingly. “It’s okay. Shhh. You’re okay.”

  Spent, I drew back and pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, as if the pressure could drive away what I’d seen. “You can’t tell them,” I whispered fiercely. “If they knew, they’d shun me.”

  Mrs. Parsall brushed a soggy strand of hair off of my face. “I won’t.”

  Her gaze crept to the phone batteries, and I saw the twitch in her fingers.

  “Call your family,” I said, hiccupping back tears.

  Behind me, I heard Sarah stir and mutter: “Katie?”

  I went to her bedside, pulled the blankets up to her chin. “It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

  Her sleepy eyes watched me, though, watched me until the weight of her lashes pulled her eyelids down.

  I looked back to Mrs. Parsall, laid my finger on my lips.

  She nodded, gathering up the phone and batteries, and tiptoed from the room.

  I followed her, creeping past my parents’ door, down the steps to the kitchen. All the lamps had been doused, and the only light in the room came from the moonlight streaming in and the pilot light in the stove. It was all cold, blue light, and I shivered in spite of the warmth.

  Mrs. Parsall reached for the doorknob of the back door. I grabbed the sleeve of her nightdress. “Don’t,” I whispered. “They love the dark.”

  Her mouth was set in a grim line. “I have to talk to my family.”

  I knew that there was no stopping her; I had just given her hope wrapped up in a plastic bag.

  She pulled away from me, opened the door to the night, and slipped out the back step.

  I paused on the threshold, listening. I heard the sounds of crickets chirping, bullfrogs in the pond. In the distance, I could make out the sketchy figures of deer in the fields. A larger, lighter shape grazed among them: a white horse. My heart fell when I saw him. The white horse wasn’t leaving. He was still in danger. But at least he had the sense to graze at night, with the deer. Maybe he could evade discovery until this whole mess was over. I dared hope that much for him.

  My gaze swept the darkness for threats. I spied a light burning in the window of the Miller house. Elijah’s room. My chest tightened. I wondered if, behind that light, he was reading his Bible. Brooding. Maybe masturbating for the last time. It was hard to tell.

  I turned away from the light. Reaching for the knife block on the kitchen counter, I pulled out my mother’s serrated bread knife. I put my bare foot on the cold stone of the step, hissing at the chill, and followed Mrs. Parsall out to the yard. The dew of the grass was cold on my feet, dampening the edge of my nightgown. I found her, sitting on the bumper of her car, out of sight and earshot of the house. They wouldn’t be able to hear our conversation.

  Maybe not even hear us scream.

  I sat beside her on the bumper, watching as she removed the old battery and fitted the new one in with shaking hands.

  The phone lit up when she hit the power button.

  “It has a signal,” she said.

  “Does that mean there’s still someone at the cell phone company?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “It just means that the satellites haven’t fallen out of the sky.” She punched numbers into the phone, and I could hear it ringing against her cheek.

  I stared out at the horizon, my hand sweating on the wooden grip of the knife. I knew that those creatures of darkness were out there . . . but I hoped that God had mercy on Mrs. Parsall’s husband and children, even if they were English. I hoped that he showed them even a fraction of the mercy he’d shown us.

  The phone stopped ringing when Mrs. Parsall hit the disconnect button. She tried another number that rang forever into silence. She sat huddled on the bumper, curled over the phone.

  I looked up at the stars. I knew that we were never to ask God for anything, but at this moment, I thought at him:

  Please have mercy. Please save her family.

  And the horse.

  And the man in the barn.

  And my family.

  And take Seth and Joseph to Heaven . . .

  I cut off my thoughts that tumbled over one another. It was a slippery slope. I was beginning to treat God as a vending machine.

  “Dan?” Mrs. Parsall cried into the receiver, cupping her hands around it. My heart lifted to hear her sob: “Yes, yes, I’m okay. I’m with the Amish. What about the kids?”

  I could hear a voice at the other end of the line, going on for several minutes. Mrs. Parsall pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead and sobbed. I put my arm around her, the arm without the knife.

  “Can’t they search?” Her voice lifted in pitch. “Can’t they do anything?”

  I held her shoulders tighter. The voice in the background buzzed against her ear.

  “Okay.” Her eyes were squeezed shut. “I love you.”

  The voice rumbled something more, then fell silent.

  Mrs. Parsall turned the phone off. She cradled her head in her hands.

  “Dan’s all right?” I asked.

  She nodded. “He’s on a battleship off the coast of North Carolina.”

  I didn’t ask about her children. I was afraid to.

  “The kids . . .” Her voice broke, and she tried again. “He found Julia. She’s okay, okay for the moment. She’s at a kibbutz, of all places.”

  “What’s a kibbutz?”

  “It’s a Jewish community, usually an agricultural thing. Her roommate grew up at one in California and took Julia back w
ith her. Dan spoke with her this morning.” Her voice lowered to nearly a whisper. “He hasn’t been able to find Tom.”

  I hugged her hard, kissed her cheek. “He will be all right.”

  Mrs. Parsall rubbed a string of snot and tears from her nose. “I don’t know. Dan said that the contagion creates . . . monsters. Like what you saw.”

  “The military is working on it?”

  “They are trying, with what they have left. There aren’t many people remaining here.” She covered her mouth with her hand, holding back fear and terror and sobs. “Dan says the military thinks that more than two-thirds of the world’s population is gone. It spread on planes so fast that . . . and they’re gone.”

  It was hard to comprehend, a number that large. “Gone?”

  “There are some who’ve survived. Some fled to the sea, like our military. Vatican City is untouched, and what’s left of the UN is using that as a base. There are pockets of people still holding out in kibbutzim and temples . . . even Stonehenge. The Japanese at Mount Fuji have set up a makeshift lab, are trying to find a solution. In New Orleans, people have taken over the Cities of the Dead, and he says people are living in the catacombs under Paris.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We have someplace to retreat. There are nuns in Britain who are sheltering thousands in convents, monks in Thailand holding these monsters at bay with fire. Mosques still standing. Dan said that there’s even a coven of witches in New Jersey who’ve raised an army of pagans based out of a temple to Bast in a strip mall.”

  My mind chased that idea. Mrs. Parsall’s daughter was safe in a religious community . . . one that wasn’t a Plain community. I thought back to what Alex had said, about religious barriers being the only ones against the vampires. But there had to be a line that such things could be of God. I refused to believe that everything of human imagining could be the correct interpretation of God’s word. It was simply not possible.

  We Amish were taught to be respectful of others. I didn’t not believe that other Christians went to heaven, only that their way of life made it more difficult to get there.

  “How can they be safe?” I struggled to understand. “How can . . . witches fight off the darkness?”