The Prophet Calls

by Melanie Sumrow

  The white scars on his hand glisten as he flips the worms. Father told me he got the scars from a snakebite when he was a baby, and when Dirk survived and the snake died, the Prophet said it was proof of his son’s divine lineage. I think it’s proof Dirk is more poisonous than any snake.

  Some of the girls pretend they’re interested in what he’s doing and elbow for a spot closer to the fire, but I know it’s only because they have a crush on the Prophet’s son. I have no idea why. He’s as ugly as sin and as mean as a cougar caught in the rain.

  Some of the kids around me turn green as the worms writhe and pop in the hot pan. My nose twists from the sickening smell that drifts along the breeze. Kate shoves her way between Kel and me, bending behind a sage bush to vomit. Then another girl peels away and does the same thing.

  My stomach takes a queasy turn. If eating crispy worms is what it’s going to take to survive the apocalypse with Dirk, I’d rather starve.

  “And that’s how it’s done,” he says, selecting a burnt one from the pan with his bare fingers. He flings it into his mouth with a crunch and chews. And chews. And chews. Some of the girls turn away or cover their mouths, while the boys groan with disgust. Dirk smiles, bits of worm stuck to his front teeth, as he asks, “Who wants to try one?”

  Heads shake around me. Without looking our direction, he shouts, “Kel, how about you?”

  My half brother shifts between his feet. He’s already the color of green chile stew. Everyone turns to look at him. His Adam’s apple slowly slides up and down his throat. “Uh, that’s okay. I’m not hungry.”

  I smile. Giggles spread throughout our cluster.

  Dirk’s face hardens. “You’re not hungry?” The laughter dies as Dirk jumps to his feet. The group splits in two, allowing him to reach my half brother in a quick march. “Did you say you’re not hungry?” He looms over Kel, who hasn’t hit his growth spurt yet.

  Kel’s mouth drops open. Nothing comes out but an indecipherable moan.

  “Answer me,” Dirk says and, without warning, punches Kel in the eye—the sound of bone against bone.

  I wince; my insides spin.

  The swelling around Kel’s eye is immediate; he sways and covers his face with shaky fingers.

  Dirk raises his fist again. Kate quickly snatches my arm and squeezes.

  “Because I know you must be hungry.” Dirk smirks. “I know this because the Prophet cut your family’s rations.”

  Some of the kids chuckle around us. My cheeks flush with embarrassment. The Prophet cut our meager food rations after casting out Tanner, saying they were being directed to more faithful families until further notice.

  Dirk shoves Kel in the chest, making him stumble backward and fall to the ground. A cloud of dust swells around him.

  Kate gasps in my ear. My throat tightens.

  Dirk snatches Kel up by the shirt collar. “We’ll see if this makes you hungry.” Dirk’s face is purple with rage as he drags my half brother uphill by his shirt. Pebbles slip beneath Kel’s feet as he staggers. Some of them land nearby.

  “Should we follow them?” one of the boys asks when they’re about halfway up the hill. A couple of boys shrug. Others nod.

  Kate’s the first one to go. She makes her way uphill with determination. I lift my chin and follow my half sister. Her lavender skirt billows in the breeze, showing her thick socks beneath her skirt.

  Soon, I hear the footsteps of others, the nervous chatter growing behind me with each step. The wind is stronger the higher we climb. I shiver and pull my sweater tight around me, trying to block the chill.

  As we crest the hill, Kate stops in her tracks. I’m next behind her and jerk backward when I see. A brown mule deer has been tied to a piñon tree with thick ropes.

  Dirk tosses Kel toward the animal. He lands on his knees with a heavy thud, careful to avoid the deer. She whisks her tail across her back as if warning him to stay away.

  Soon everyone else reaches the top. Their jabbering immediately stops. The deer’s ears flick with the newcomers.

  Dirk slips a bowie knife from its holster and begins to pace, the blade glinting in the pale sunlight.

  I bite my lip. The deer rears back. But it’s no use. The rope is too tight.

  “Time is short,” Dirk grunts, pointing his knife at Kate’s face. My heart thuds as she whimpers. “My father, our Prophet, says we must prepare. For the end of the world is near.” He moves his blade away from Kate’s face. She quickly wipes her cheeks. “Any day now, destruction will cover the earth, and only the righteous will be saved.”

  I immediately think of Tanner. He’s an apostate now, who will be destroyed.

  Kel is still hunched on the ground. Dirk crouches and waves the blade in front of his face. The deer’s black nose twitches. Kel clutches his knees to his chest. I don’t know who looks more scared: Kel or the deer.

  “You must be prepared,” Dirk repeats, facing us as he stands. Behind him, wolf-shaped clouds race across the open sky. “You must do whatever it takes in order to survive.”

  All of a sudden, Dirk spins around and jabs his knife toward Kel’s chest. We gasp as the blade stops midair. Half of us clutch our chests. Dirk releases a vicious laugh. “Maybe you belong in hell with your apostate brother.”

  Kel vigorously shakes his head. “Please, no,” he says, his voice weak.

  I look at the scared faces of my classmates. No one dares make a sound. The piñon tree creaks in the breeze.

  Dirk offers Kel the knife and lowers his voice. “You must prove you are worthy to live among God’s chosen.”

  The deer huffs, like she knows what’s about to happen. Her massive side shudders.

  From the corner of my eye, I see silent tears running down Kate’s cheeks. Some of my classmates—both boys and girls—look sick all over again. Silent tension bumps between us.

  What choice does Kel have? The Prophet teaches perfect obedience produces perfect faith. When it comes down to it, none of us want to be left behind. Even when it’s Dirk telling you what to do.

  Kel takes the knife in his trembling hand. The deer stomps her foot three times.

  “Get up!” Dirk yells.

  Kate blots her face with her sweater.

  “Now!”

  Kel manages to his feet, but his knees immediately buckle. He grasps the piñon tree to stay upright.

  The deer snorts loudly, making us all jump.

  Dirk runs his finger across the deer’s throat in a single stroke. “There,” he instructs coolly.

  My half brother lifts the knife with both hands, like it’s too heavy for him. Kate turns away. Most of the girls, and some of the boys, cover their eyes.

  “What are you waiting for?” Dirk shouts, spittle shooting from his mouth.

  The deer doesn’t blink. Neither does Kel. A tear slips down his cheek.

  “Do it!”

  The blade glints as it moves. I shut my eyes at the last second.

  The metallic smell of blood makes my stomach curdle. I hear a heavy thud, and the breeze carries Kel’s whimper: “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

  ***

  A few hours later, the rich smell of stew fills the kitchen. I’m washing dishes in the kitchen sink as Mother Dee places clear drinking glasses on the table. Her newborn daughter, Gwen, sleeps in a fabric sling across her middle.

  “You’re gonna spoil that child rotten,” Mother Lenora warns as she stirs the large pot on the cooktop.

  Mother Dee has barely put her baby down since she was born. “So what?” Mother Dee says.

  I sense Mother Lenora tense behind me. “You plan on carrying all your babies around?”

  “Maybe,” Mother Dee says as she continues along the table. “God gave me two hands, so I don’t see why not.”

  I smile to myself.

  Mother walks into the kitchen, an empty laundry basket under her arm. “Have you seen Kel?”

  My smile falls.

  Mother Dee shakes her head and starts on the se
cond table.

  Mother turns her attention to Mother Lenora. “I was upstairs just now, and he’s got this bruise around his eye.”

  Mother Lenora pinches dry herbs into the pot. She doesn’t turn away from her stirring. “Clumsy boy probably fell again.”

  I flinch. That’s what the adults always say when the kids show up with strange bruises.

  “I’m not so sure,” Mother says. “He’s lying on his bed and won’t say a word. The boys say he’s been like that for hours.”

  I plunge my hands into the soapy water and scrub, scrub, scrub.

  “Gentry, did something happen at school today?”

  I shrug and keep washing.

  “I think that spoon’s clean,” Mother says over my shoulder, and I realize I’ve been washing the same spoon over and over.

  “Oh,” I say and drop the spoon into the rinsing basin.

  Her eyes narrow, like she knows I’m not telling her something. But then the house phone rings. Mother shakes her head and points to the living room. “Get Amy to help you slice the bread,” she says and disappears downstairs to the basement. The ringing stops.

  I dry my hands on a dish towel and find Meryl and Amy sitting in their light pink dresses under the Prophet’s portrait, surrounded by a handful of my brothers and most of my sisters. “We’re the luckiest people in the world,” Meryl tells them. “God chose our spirit before we came to earth to be one of His elite.”

  “What about the outsiders?” one of them asks.

  I clear my throat to get their attention.

  Meryl puts up a finger, instructing me to wait. I roll my eyes as she lifts her chin with authority. “The Gentiles will be destroyed in the end times,” she says and opens her copy of Pronouncements of the Prophet.

  My brothers and sisters shake their heads.

  I shift, suddenly uneasy. Destroyed? I know this is true, but now that I’ve met a few outsiders, I can’t help but wonder if God created them only to destroy them.

  Meryl reads aloud: “‘A man must hold the priesthood and have three wives to enter the celestial kingdom. A woman must be married to a man who holds the priesthood and has at least three wives. Otherwise, that woman will be doomed to spend eternity in a lower level of heaven or in hell.’”

  Amy places a finger on Meryl’s book. “So that means Mother will go to the highest heaven?”

  Meryl nods. “That’s right. Father has three wives, so she will spend eternity as an angel of heaven with Mother Lenora and Mother Dee.”

  Amy’s forehead furrows into a question. “So, if Father marries again, will his new wife go to the highest heaven, too?”

  “That’s exactly right,” Meryl says with an approving smile.

  I look at the portrait of the Prophet and wonder if he will assign Father another wife. Some men in our community have more than three. The Vulture has twelve, and the Prophet has somewhere around thirty wives, praying at home for his release from prison.

  “So then, what about me?” Amy says as she sits upright on the carpet. “Will I go to the highest heaven, too?”

  Meryl hesitates, and I wipe my hands across my skirt. No one’s really sure whether the Prophet will assign Amy in marriage or not. Most girls are at least eighteen before they get married, and the only other girl who had Down syndrome died before her eighteenth birthday. Besides, some people say Amy won’t be assigned because she’s been cursed as punishment for Mother’s progressive upbringing. If she’s not married, Amy won’t go to the celestial kingdom.

  I swallow hard. “Of course you will,” I say and enter the sunken living room.

  Meryl closes her mouth and nods.

  Amy’s face relaxes.

  I give her a teasing nudge. “But before you go up to heaven, Mother wants you to help me slice the bread, okay?” I take her by the hands and help pull her from the floor.

  Meryl carefully closes her book. “Can I help?” She stands and places it on a table where Mother’s piano used to be.

  “Do whatever you want,” I say and turn away, but not before seeing the hurt on Meryl’s face.

  I know I don’t have any right to be mad at her. It’s not her fault people gossip about Amy. And she did save my violin from the God Squad. But she’s also the one giving Uncle Max a weekly report on me, and she’s such a know-it-all. Tanner used to be the buffer between us, but with him gone, she constantly gets under my skin.

  As we return to the kitchen, Mother comes up the stairs, looking flustered. She brushes the wisps of hair that have fallen from the hair-sprayed wave above her forehead. “That was your father.” She turns to Mother Dee and Mother Lenora. “Uncle Max will be joining us for dinner tonight.”

  “Who else is coming?” Mother Dee asks as she opens the dish cabinet. “I don’t think we have enough glasses for his whole family.”

  Mother shakes her head. “It’s just him.” She takes a deep breath, as if trying to calm herself. “Meryl, go tell your brothers and sisters. Make sure everyone’s face is washed, and they’re all wearing clean clothes.”

  Meryl quickly nods. “Yes, ma’am,” she says and brushes past me like a whirlwind to gather the others.

  Mother snaps her fingers. “Bread, you two.”

  Amy and I hurry over to the counter that holds the loaves. I pull a knife from the block, and the silver blade suddenly reminds me of Kel and the deer. The knife clatters against the countertop.

  “Careful,” Mother Lenora warns.

  Bile rises up the back of my throat as I pass the knife to Amy. “You do it.”

  She picks up a loaf of wheat bread, whispering, “I don’t like it when Uncle Max is here. He eats with his mouth open.”

  I swallow and nod with a whisper, “So gross.”

  Amy smiles as I place the slices in a basket and move it to the table. We repeat the same pattern a few times.

  Father strides in as we’re filling the final basket with white bread. “How are my girls?” he asks, looking happier than I’ve seen him in a long time.

  “Good, Father,” Amy and I say in unison.

  The Vulture slips in behind him and makes eye contact. “Ladies,” he says and then turns in the direction of the living room, like he’s looking for someone else.

  Father washes his hands in the kitchen sink. “Smells delicious.”

  Mother Lenora smiles wide from the compliment. “It’s the meat that makes it smell so good.”

  Meat? Since the Prophet cut our rations, we rarely have the opportunity to eat meat anymore.

  Mother Dee races between the tables, filling the glasses with water. Amy places butter on the tables.

  My mouth waters. We haven’t eaten meat in weeks.

  Mother Lenora nods at Uncle Max. “We’re obliged to you for sending it over.”

  “Oh, don’t thank me,” he says, his eyes still wandering the house. “Dirk insisted on sharing it with your family.”

  My heart stops as I choke on his name. “Dirk?”

  “That’s right.” The Vulture’s dark features twist into a crooked smile.

  That’s when I realize: the stew.

  My stomach takes a final turn as my brothers and sisters file into the kitchen. I drop the last basket and rush the opposite direction, my feet pounding down the stairs before it’s too late.

  “Gentry,” Mother calls. “Gentry, are you all right?”

  I fall to my knees on the hard tile, hunch over the toilet, and dry heave. But there’s nothing in my stomach to throw up. I had a tiny breakfast and couldn’t eat lunch after survival class and now . . .

  “What’s gotten into you?” Mother says, running a cloth under the bathroom faucet. She places the cool rag against my neck.

  “The stew,” I mutter.

  Mother’s face turns to worry. “Oh no, Gentry. You’re not sick, are you?”

  I shake my head. “The deer.”

  “You’re not making any sense,” Mother says, and feels my forehead. “You do feel a little hot.”

  “Ha
nnah, you’ve missed it,” Father says, a laugh to his voice as he fills the doorway of the small bathroom.

  Mother shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but Gentry doesn’t feel well.”

  Father waves his hand in the air. “Oh, she’ll be fine,” he says, dismissing me. “You missed the good news.” His smile widens. “The Prophet called.”

  “Thanks be—”

  But Father interrupts her, “He had a revelation that Meryl is to be sealed in marriage.”

  My guts twist again.

  Mother’s hand covers her mouth before it slides down her neck. “But she’s only fifteen, Conway.”

  “You haven’t heard the best part: She’s going to marry Max.”

  Suddenly, I can’t breathe. I taste bile.

  Father excitedly grabs Mother’s shoulders. “Hannah, our daughter’s going to marry the bishop of Watchful.”

  I turn and throw up.

  9.

  Meryl stands in front of a full-length mirror and sniffles again. Even under the yellowing fluorescent lights of Mother’s basement sewing room, I can see my sister’s eyes are red and puffy from crying into her pillow. I want to ask her if she’s doing okay, but the Prophet teaches emotions belong to the devil and shouldn’t be discussed.

  That’s probably why she refused to talk about it, even though it was just the three of us—Amy, Meryl, and me—in our room last night. After lights-out, I reached across the space between our beds and found her hand. Meryl squeezed until she finally cried herself to sleep.

  Sitting here on the floor of Mother’s sewing room, I know I’m supposed to be happy for my sister. After all, getting married is the highest honor for a girl in our church. It’s what we live for, or at least what we’re supposed to live for. But the Prophet has proclaimed my most beautiful sister will be sealed for all time and eternity to Uncle Max, a man thirty years older than her and creepier than a bucket of rattlesnakes.