The Girl Clay

by Amy Cross

  I shake her again. She opens her eyes for a moment, and this time she finally manages to focus on me.

  “Clay,” she whispers, sounding so weak and frail, “did you drink?”

  I look down at my locket, which I still haven't dared to taste. Turning, I spot Hope on the floor nearby: her eyes are open but she doesn't seem to be moving at all. She's dead, and so are most of the other women. When I turn back to Mom, I realize there are tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “You have to drink, Clay,” she whispers. “We're all going... on... a wonderful journey... Attaroth is waiting up there for us...” She tries to grab my locket, but I pull it away from her. “Clay, drink... Clay...”

  I wait for her to continue, her head head slumps back and this time when I shake her, she doesn't respond.

  “Mom!” I shout, no longer able to hold back the panic. “Mom, please! Mom! Mom, come back!”

  Sensing movement nearby, I turn to see that Mr. Kenseth has stumbled down from the stage and is now towering over me, holding his white gown closed around his body.

  “Did you drink, Clay?” he asks, fixing me with a dark-shadowed gaze.

  “I...”

  “Good,” he continues, reaching down toward me. “You and I, we're the last ones, as it should be. The others have already risen to be with Attaroth, but we still have one more thing to do down here.”

  “But Mom isn't -”

  “Your mother isn't dead, Clay,” he continues. “She's just slipping the ties of her physical body. Her soul still exists, it's all around us and it's rising, ascending to join Attaroth. Isn't that exciting?”

  “So I'll see her again?”

  “We'll all be one again in the new world, Clay.”

  The whole building shakes. I turn to look over at the door, but Mr. Kenseth grabs me by the shoulders and hauls me up.

  “Unfinished business,” he hisses. “Those mongrel bastards will be through soon, but they won't stop us, Clay! We and we alone are going to rise to meet Attaroth by a different route. We don't need the poison. I see it now, Attaroth wants us to go to him without any undue assistance.”

  “But -”

  “This way!” he adds, pulling me past the dead bodies and leading me to the side door. “There's no time to lose!”

  “But Mom is -”

  “Your mother has assumed her next evolutionary form,” he replies as the building shakes again. “She has risen to a plane of consciousness that transcends these moldy meat bodies we occupy down here. Even now, she and the others are being welcomed into Attaroth's world.”

  “Then why aren't we in -”

  “Our role is different,” he continues, as we hurry to the far end of the corridor. Opening the door to his study, he pushes me into the dark room and then follows, before turning and bolting the door. “Let's see them try to get in here,” he mutters. “I've been ready for this moment, Clay. The unbelievers are desperately trying to bring us down to their level, but they won't succeed. Listen to them!”

  “But -”

  “Listen, Clay!” he shouts.

  I stand in silence, shaking with fear as I listen to a series of loud explosions in the distance.

  “Improvised mines,” he says after a moment. “Every door they get to is booby-trapped. They can send in their little robots all they like, but I'm way ahead of them. I asked for Attaroth's guidance, and he told me that there's nothing wrong with taking down a few of the infidels as they try to stop us. He told me that their blood can flow freely, and that he enjoys their cries of pain.”

  “Why do they have to get hurt?” I ask, looking up at him.

  “Because they're going against the true word of Attaroth,” he replies. “You know how this works, Clay. We've been building up to this moment for so long!”

  “Why do you look scared?” I ask.

  He scowls at me.

  “You look scared,” I continue. “I thought you wanted this to happen, but you look -”

  “I'm simply anticipating the next stage of consciousness,” he replies, pulling me across the room with such force that I can barely even keep up. “Attaroth is all around us, Clay. He's listening and watching, he's waiting to receive us. Your mother and all the other wives had to go ahead so that they could prepare the next plane for our arrival. We still have certain needs, do we not?”

  “But you said we all had to go together.”

  “And we are, more or less.”

  “But you also said we wouldn't have any needs in the next life,” I continue, struggling to work out why he keeps contradicting himself. “You promised that everything would be perfect.”

  “All your questions will be answered soon,” he replies, stopping by his desk. He taps at his laptop, but the screen is completely blue. “They've hacked into my system,” he mutters. “I expected that, so I left plenty of false information on there for them, including fake codes to deactivate the booby traps. Everything is going perfectly, Clay.” He turns to me, but suddenly something on the other side of the darkened room seems to attract my attention. After a moment, he grabs my shoulders and turns me around until I'm facing the far corner. “Do you see, Clay?” he whispers. “Do you see the almighty Attaroth manifesting in his physical form?”

  I stare into the darkness, but I don't see anything. The building shakes as there's another boom in the distance, and suddenly I realize that in the shadows on the other side of the room I'm just about able to make out what looks like the shape of a man, although he doesn't seem to have any features.

  “Do you see him?” Mr. Kenseth whispers into my ear.

  I nod.

  “Attaroth is coming to guide us,” he continues. “He told me personally that he's chosen to make a rare physical appearance in order to welcome us to the new -”

  The whole room shakes as there's another explosion in the distance, and this time there's also the sound of part of the hospital crashing down, as if the entire building is being destroyed.

  “What does he want?” I ask, unable to stop staring at the distant figure. “Is my mother with him? I want to talk to her, I want to know if she's okay on the other side!”

  “Patience,” Mr. Kenseth replies, rubbing his hands along my shoulders. “Just wait a little longer, Clay, and everything will be okay. Your mother is absolutely fine, Attaroth is taking care of her as we speak. Don't worry about your mother, Clay, just focus on us.” Hurrying over to the wall, he opens a chest and takes out a machine gun, which he places on the floor before taking out another and then a third. “Attaroth wants us to punish as many disbelievers as possible,” he continues. “In fact, there's been a change of plan. He wants us to continue our work down here on this plane of existence of a while, to ensure that more people choose to follow us when we eventually ascend to join him.”

  “I thought he wanted us to join him now,” I reply. “You said we -”

  “I have a tunnel,” he says, interrupting me. “I anticipated that Attaroth might ask more of me, so I had one of the old service tunnels cleaned out. You and I, Clay, are going to leave this place and continue to spread the word. We're going to become soldiers of Attaroth, spreading his good word throughout the land and ensuring that as many people as possible are brought into the light.” He thrusts one of the machine guns into my arms. “Do you know how to fire one of these?”

  Dropping the gun, I take a step back.

  “No, Clay,” he mutters, grabbing the gun and putting it into my arms again. He takes one of my hands and forces me to hold the gun properly. “This is the trigger, see?” he continues. “This part, this is the barrel. This is where the bullets come out of. There are twelve of them in the gun right now, and I think it'd be too much for you to learn how to reload, so let's just use these twelve bullets wisely, okay? I've got way more than twelve, and hopefully we won't even need to use them at all, but if we do, it's very simple.” He takes the barrel of the gun and tilts it up so that it's pointing at the door. “You make sure this part is aiming at one of the
infidels and then you pull the trigger.”

  “And what'll happen?” I ask cautiously.

  “You'll see,” he continues with a faint smile. “Just remember that they're infidels, so they don't deserve any pity or compassion. Attaroth wants you to do this.”

  Looking over at the figure in the far corner, I watch as the faint outline of a man moves through the shadows, as if he's content for now to just watch us.

  “Is that really him?” I whisper.

  “That's Attaroth,” Mr. Kenseth explains. “He's already taken your mother and the other wives up to his plane of existence, and he's going to do the same to us, but first we have to do a few more things for him down here. Don't worry, though, we're going to paradise.”

  He leans closer and kisses my neck; I shiver and pull away, but he grabs my arm and forces me to stay close.

  “You and me, Clay,” he continues. “We're going to get out of here and spread the word.”

  “But you always said it was an honor to leave our bodies,” I reply, sniffing back tears. “You said that!”

  “And it is! But just...” He looks over at the door as another explosion is heard, and this time I can see fear in his eyes. “Just not yet,” he continues nervously, before turning back to me. “Okay, Clay. Here's what we're going to do. I have to uncover the tunnel and make sure it's clear, so you stay right here and keep the gun aimed at that door.” He grabs my arms and forces me to hold the gun up, with the barrel pointed at the door at the far end of the room. “If anyone, and I mean anyone, comes through that thing, you blow them to hell. Got it?”

  “I don't want to do this,” I whisper, with tears in my eyes. “Mom said -”

  “Your mother is waiting for you on the new plane of consciousness,” he replies, interrupting me. “How many times do I have to tell you, Clay? Just be patient. Now keep that gun aimed firm and true, and I'll be back in a moment.”

  As he runs off to the other end of the room, I keep the gun pointing at the door. I soon hear a kind of banging and scraping sound from over my shoulder, and whatever Mr. Kenseth's doing, it sounds like a big job. I want to turn and run, to go back to Mom and try to wake her up, but I can hear lots of explosions and shouting in the distance and, besides, Mom always told me to trust Mr. Kenseth. There are voices on the other side of the door now, and I think they're trying to get through. I hope they don't succeed, because if they do, I guess I have no choice but to follow Mr. Kenseth's instructions.

  Resting my finger on the trigger, I wait.

  Today

  “What the hell are you doing, girl?” asks the woman in the next cell, her voice filled with tired frustration. “I'm trying to sleep!”

  “This door needs to be open,” I mutter, still trying to pick the lock. Without any of my usual equipment, I've had to resort to something absolutely desperate: three long toenails, recently bitten off and bound together with a few strands of hair. The odds are long, but I've got no choice. I can't just sit here and wait for Attaroth to arrive.

  “Every door needs to be open,” she replies. “Wouldn't be much of a jail, though, would it? Everyone'd just be coming and going, mostly going.”

  “He can get through closed doors,” I continue, jiggling the toenails in the lock. “He can't get through them when they're open.”

  “And how's that?”

  “He just can't. I don't know why, it's just the way it is.”

  “You're nuts,” she continues. “I've been in and out of places like this over the years and I've met some real fucking lunatics, but you're right up there in the top ten. You know that, girl?”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “You really believe all this stuff you're saying, don't you?”

  “It's not a case of believing it,” I reply, pushing the toenails deeper into the lock as I feel a little resistance. It's almost as if I might actually get this to work. “I've been through it.”

  “Ever thought that you might just be, you know, insane?”

  “That'd be lovely, but no.” I try to push the toenails against the interior of the mechanism, and to my shock I hear a faint click.

  “Everything you think you've experienced might be a lie,” she continues. “Every thought, every feeling, every human interaction. It might be something you've cooked up in your subconscious mind. Sure, you believe that it's real, but how can you ever be certain? This might all be a dream.”

  “Stop trying to make me feel better,” I reply, pressing the makeshift lock-picker a little harder, waiting for the moment when the resistance gives way and the door is mine. Just a little further, and -

  Suddenly I let the end of the toenails slip out of my fingers, and the whole makeshift device falls into the lock.

  “Damn it!” I shout, slamming the door with the palm of my hand before sitting back. “I was so close!”

  “No you weren't,” the woman replies.

  I turn to her. In the semi-darkness of the holding area, I can barely make out her features, but she looks to be an older woman, maybe in her fifties or even sixties, and she has a kind of compassionate, careworn look on her face. I never met my grandparents because they disowned my mother long before I was born, but I used to imagine what they might have been like and this woman isn't too far from the picture I had in my head while I was growing up.

  “What did you do?” I ask finally.

  “To get in here?” She pauses. “I came home a few nights ago and found my husband in bed with another woman. Stood there for a moment, watching him humping away, and neither of 'em even noticed me.” She clears her throat. “He was going at her with more enthusiasm than he ever showed me, so I took the rifle from downstairs and shot them both. I'd do it again, too.”

  “You killed them?”

  She nods.

  “Brains all over the wall. Shame, really, 'cause it was nice wallpaper. I inherited it from my grandmother when she passed, and there was just enough to do our bedroom. Only finished it a few months ago, too. Coulda saved it and passed it on. I guess I won't be seeing it again.” She turns to me. “Ever shot anyone?”

  “Me? No, never.” I swallow hard. “I came close once, though.”

  “Is that right? I'd never done it until... Well, I never had any reason to do it, did I? Not until he jumped into bed with that woman from next door. I gave him the best years of my life, too. Should've just left years ago and found a man who could actually give me kids. Instead I let my tubes shrivel up, although the doctor says they're knotted anyway so... I dunno, maybe I couldn't've done it either. How's that for a marriage, eh? Two sterile people banging away.”

  “I have to get out of here,” I reply, turning to look over at the door.

  “Catherine,” she says suddenly. “That's my name, what's yours?”

  “Clay,” I whisper.

  “Clay? What the hell kind of a name is that?”

  “It's...” I pause, before turning back to her. “Rebecca.”

  “That's a bit more normal. There's a Rebecca in the Bible, you know. She's a wife and a mother, and a good woman.”

  “I'm not any of those things,” I tell her. “I never will be, either. I just... Rebecca Layton. That's the name I was born with, but as a kid I kind of conflated the middle parts to Clay and it stuck. Then after my father died...” I pause again, shocked by the fact that I just blurted out something so personal after years and years of hiding my real name, of pretending that I was christened Clay. “I know you probably don't believe me,” I continue finally, “but I really have to get out of here. Staying just isn't an option, not for anyone here. If I'm still here tonight, the whole station will be destroyed.”

  “Sounds dramatic,” she says with a grin.

  “The worst part,” I continue, “is that I don't even know what he wants with me. I just know he won't stop until I'm his, and then I guess he'll do whatever the hell he wants with me. He thinks I'm special.”

  “A special little snowflake, huh?”

  “I don't feel spec
ial,” I reply, looking down at my hands. They look so normal, so bland and unmemorable. “I can't deny certain things, though,” I mutter to myself. “If something dies, it should stay dead. Anything else is unnatural.”

  “You're not wrong there,” she replies. “The living and the dead shouldn't mix.”

  “But sometimes they do,” I continue, turning to her, “and maybe... Maybe there are forces out there that try to put things right, to keep unnatural things from happening. That makes sense, doesn't it? When something really bad happens, I mean something truly awful, you can't just ignore it.”

  “Huh?” She pauses. “You've lost me now.”

  “Maybe that's what happened,” I whisper, keeping my voice low so that she won't hear me. “Maybe the world can't really recover from what happened at Rover's Ridge.”

  Ten years ago

  “Move faster, girl!” Mr. Kenseth shouts, pulling me along the dark tunnel with such force that I bump into the wet brick wall. “They're everywhere now!”

  “Who are?” I ask, stumbling and almost falling as my feet hit some kind of pipe on the floor. “You're hurting me!”

  “Who do you think? It's the cops, Clay. The government went them to shut us down, and they won't play fair. Sure, they talk about taking people alive and upholding the rule of law and justice, but I guarantee you that they've got orders to kill us on sight. The last thing they want is for a man like me to be able to preach and spread the word about Attaroth.”

  “I want to go back to Mom,” I tell him. “I might still be able to wake her up.”

  “Her meat body is finished,” he replies, stopping suddenly. “This ladder leads up into one of the external buildings. From there we can get into another tunnel that leads off the compound altogether. I always meant to link the two tunnels, but I never had time.”

  I listen to the sound of metal banging against the wall, and suddenly a shaft of light appears above as Mr. Kenseth slide open a hatch. He grabs me by the shoulders and hauls me up, lifting me until I can see through the hatch into a small, bare room.