The humming was, and had always been, a mourning song.
If God was the source of the Virus, punishment was far too crude a concept. Mystery—that was closer. Just as all suffering had always been mystery, Petra was the shivering embodiment of suffering’s most unfathomable depths.
And God suffered with these people. He grieved.
“Teach me,” she begged. “Tell me what it means.”
The prayer space swelled around her. The many-faced human Nest vibrated in the moonlight.
Her knees gave way and Agnes fell. Gravel stuck in her palms. Tears dropped from her chin and into the red dirt as she wept in Gila’s desert—grieving, along with God, for the world.
Something made her look up.
The face closest to hers belonged to a little girl. It might’ve been Faith, her little sister, with her hair tied back into a ponytail—but it couldn’t be. Yet she knew this small, gem-hard creature was a relative of hers.
Sarah Shiner’s descendant, born on the Outside—her daughter’s granddaughter.
It was no accident Agnes had come to Gila. She’d been brought here, to see this child’s face.
This is the moment. It’s coming now.
Her mouth never moved, yet the girl spoke.
From inside Agnes she spoke, but the voice was really God’s, still and small yet somehow thunderous. It was the first time He’d ever spoken to her in words. Her throat dried up, and her muscles tensed with fear. A sudden, mortal fear, like she’d once felt looking into the yellow eyes of a catamount.
Oh my God, she thought.
There will come a test of your righteousness, the still voice said. If you fail, your journey ends. If you succeed, you will usher in a new age.
This was what she’d expected and feared—the prophetic call. Noah had one, and Ezekiel, and Isaiah, and Jeremiah, too. Their whole lives had hinged upon a few words, shouted or whispered or roared from a mountaintop.
Her life would never be the same.
Then, silence. The message had been uttered; the die cast. There was nothing anymore to hear but the Nest, and the earth, and the whirling, windswept stars.
Agnes stood, smoothing the pleats of her dress to still her shaking hands.
Then, compelled by some force beyond herself, she leaned towards Sarah Shiner’s descendant and kissed her red bristled cheek.
“God bless you.” The very words she’d spoken to Beth. “Bless you in your time of need.”
She stepped back, touching her lips.
A mistake.
Had she made a grievous mistake?
Agnes’s skin hadn’t been pierced. She hadn’t been exposed to the infection. She wondered if the prayer space had protected her.
A test of your righteousness.
The human Nest shivered. What could such a test be?
And what did it mean, that her journey might end?
The prayer space, she realized. I could lose it.
She fingered the scarlet ribbon, trying to believe herself strong enough to work God’s will as a girl, not as a man, and as a stranger in a strange, infected land.
It wasn’t until she stepped out of the prayer space that she heard the out-loud sound of someone coming. Of many coming from the west, in gravel-crunching trucks.
A dozen headlights poured across the desert with stinging brightness. In the distance a car horn blared, and the trucks, dark on the horizon, were coming fast.
Agnes’s stomach clenched.
There’s almost no population left in Arizona, Matilda had said. Only Burn Squads roam the desert now.
Agnes picked up her skirts and bolted for the library. Images of fire and rapturous destruction teemed in her mind. And Max and Jazz had lost one home to a rogue Squad’s flames already.
“Oh no,” she murmured. “Oh no.”
She prayed she’d reach the others in time.
38
AGNES
And he said unto them, “Render therefore unto Caesar the things which be Caesar’s, and unto God the things which be God’s.”
—LUKE 20:25
It was Jazz’s wails Agnes would never forget—her wails and the sound of Max trying to calm her in the library’s gloom.
Matilda and Danny bickered in the kitchen, loudly disagreeing over what they ought to do. Agnes stayed with Ezekiel and Benny in their room. Ezekiel curled up in her lap and lodged his thumb in his mouth.
The Burn Squad had come for the human Nest—Agnes understood that much. If they were anything like the Squad that razed Jazz’s home, they’d burn the whole town along with it.
Zeke regarded her solemnly. “Are we going to have to leave this place, too?”
Dread curled in her belly. “I don’t know.”
He buried his face in the cat’s fur. “I thought you said this was our new home.”
Agnes didn’t know what to say. Home was what she wanted more than anything, the safety and the permanence, but God kept ripping it out from under her like a rug.
A door slammed, and Agnes jumped. Someone had left the library.
“Come on, Zeke.”
“No.” He held Benny. “It’s scary out there.”
“I need you to be brave.”
How many times would she have to speak those words before they were finally safe?
They met the others in the lantern-lit lobby. Jazz remained hidden in the stacks.
“My mom went to meet them.” Danny ran his hand through his hair. “She thinks she can convince them to leave us alone.”
“That’s nuts,” Max hissed. “They’re murderous, those Squads. We’ve got to get out of here, right now.”
“Just wait. Wait a second.” Agitated, Danny adjusted his glasses. “They might be more reasonable than the Squad that—”
“Reasonable? Are you kidding me? We could be on fire any minute!”
Danny’s eyes flashed. “My mother put me in charge. Understand?”
Max scoffed. “Why? Because Dr. Know-It-All knows best? My girlfriend is fucking traumatized, and you’re standing here telling me—”
Zeke shrank against Agnes’s side, and she felt a spark of anger. Zeke had been frightened enough for one lifetime. She wouldn’t let them fight like this in front of him.
“Quiet, both of you.” Agnes turned to Danny. “What exactly is your mother’s plan?”
He covered his mouth, stifling a hysterical laugh. “She went—oh my God, it’s so crazy, but so her—”
“She went to invite them for breakfast,” Max spat. “Friggin’ breakfast.”
“Your mother did the right thing.” Agnes feigned certainty. “The hospitable thing. I’ll put the water on to boil. Zeke.” She looked at her brother. “Can you set the table, please?”
Danny looked incredulous. “Are you sure he should be here?”
Zeke silently beseeched her, not wanting to be sent away.
“Danny,” she snapped. “Chicken soup. Heat it up, okay?”
“And what’s my mission, Sergeant Red Creek?” Max drawled sarcastically. “Mac and cheese?”
From the stacks, a gut-wrenching sob.
“Yes.” In a way, this wasn’t so different from dealing with the kids back home. Her voice softened. “But first, check on Jazz.”
Even inside the library, the Captain of the Burn Squad wore aviator sunglasses—a dark, visor-like shield. He was a mountain of a man, taller even than Danny. Like all Outsiders, his smile was unreadable, a white slash. At his throat, he wore a cross that spun the candlelight into gold.
“Thanks.” He coldly eyed the steaming banquet they’d prepared—chicken soup, macaroni, and powdered milk. “But I can’t stay.”
“Won’t you sit, at least?” Matilda gestured to a chair.
He shook his head. “My men are waiting.”
Jazz never made it into the kitchen. Max said she couldn’t bear the sight of his uniform—a black, flame-retardant jacket with silver shoulder patches. Up close, the patches were clearly duct tape: the mar
k of a makeshift militia, hastily thrown together at the end of the world.
No one had to tell Agnes the Captain planned to burn Gila to the ground. She could smell gasoline on him, see the fire in his eyes.
But maybe Matilda could convince him, change his mind. Agnes clutched at the hope.
“My understanding is that you want to stay, correct?” He removed his black gloves, revealing hands laced with pale burn scars.
Matilda crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes. The library is safe.”
“Wrong,” he boomed, and Agnes flinched. “There’s a Nest along your perimeter. It’s got to be blazed.”
Agnes touched her lips, remembering the girl she’d kissed.
“Nests are everywhere,” Matilda insisted. “There’s no place we could go where we wouldn’t have to live with one.”
The muscles in his neck tautened. “What about the military outposts? You heard the evacuation orders. It was foolish to plant yourself here.” His eyes flicked around the room, and when he spoke again, his voice dripped disdain. “And with kids.”
“The roads…”
“Are unsafe, yes.” He flexed his scarred hands. “Luckily, we’re not just cleaning up wreckage. We’re also collecting stragglers.”
Max huffed, and the Captain spun on his heel. “Something to add, son?”
Max paled. “I don’t—” He glanced at Zeke, as if drawing courage. “I don’t believe you. You people murdered my family.”
Danny glared daggers at Max.
But Agnes watched the Captain.
He was the one on whom everything depended: their home and the existence of the human Nest. The final resting place of Sarah Shiner’s great-granddaughter.
He eased his sunglasses off slowly, revealing silver scars that crowded his eyes like crow’s-feet. “I’m sorry to hear that. We had noble intentions, but not every Squad stayed on mission. Not every captain respected policy.”
Matilda held up her hands. “Captain, we’re taking precautions—”
“How? For all you know, the Nests could wake up one day. Turn on us in a flash.”
“It’s not a war.” Matilda’s pitch climbed. “It’s an epidemic.”
“More like a war.” His voice had roughened, turned gravelly as the desert outside. “But we’re on your side. We can protect you. See you to safety.”
“This place is safe,” insisted Danny. “We haven’t seen any walking red creatures. They must all be Nested already. Why can’t you leave us alone?”
The Captain shook his head, looking for all the world like he regretted the necessity of burning Gila to the ground.
But Agnes didn’t think he really did.
Watching him, she thought Matilda was right. He saw himself as a soldier in a mysterious war. True belief ran through his veins like poison, and true believers were always the same.
“Policy is, we burn.”
Matilda blanched. “There has to be some way to file a complaint—”
“All due respect, but that’s the old world you’re thinking of. If you want to travel with us, I’ll need your decision now.”
Agnes sagged. How could this happen? God watched over Gila. Didn’t He?
“Well, kids.” Matilda dropped the words like an anchor. “What do you think?”
Danny took Agnes’s hand, their fingers twining, gripping in a room smelling of gunpowder and lighter fluid. Warmth traveled up her arm.
“I’ve heard things I don’t like about the military outposts,” he said. “Too many guns, not enough food—”
“That’s right.” Max sounded relieved. “We’re better off on our own. Anyway, Jazz wouldn’t—she’d never—”
“I see,” the Captain said flatly. “And where do you plan to go, alone?”
“Mercy Hospital,” Matilda answered quickly. “It won’t take long by car.”
“Ah.” The Captain slid his glasses back onto his face. “I’m afraid that’s no longer an option.”
Matilda’s false smile fell away. “What?”
“The gas in your vehicles has been requisitioned by the Burn Squad, under Ordinance 2.81 of the state of Arizona. We’ve already siphoned your tanks.”
“So, you’ll give it back now.” Max’s voice quavered. “Right?”
The Captain considered him. “No.”
“Are you kidding me?” Max was nearly shouting. “I mean, is this a joke? What are we supposed to do? Walk?”
“I believe I’ve laid out your options quite clearly.”
Agnes felt desperation rising like bile. Walking or driving, she didn’t care how they got to Mercy. But burning the Nest, any Nest, was wrong. She could feel it.
She opened her mouth to say something—anything—then closed it. What if the Squad’s arrival wasn’t a mistake? What if they were never meant to stay here?
She remembered: There will come a test of your righteousness.
She felt the blood drain from her face, and Danny shot a fast, concerned glance at her.
“If you’ve made your choice, I’ll need to see some identification,” the Captain said.
“Why?” Matilda demanded. “You’re not the law.”
“We like to know who we’re dealing with. Hand them over.”
The Outsiders moved smoothly for their wallets, but Agnes had never owned one. The Captain studied one ID after another, giving a sharp nod to each.
Then, expectantly, he turned to Agnes and Zeke.
“I don’t have a driver’s license.” She tried not to squirm under his scrutiny.
“Learner’s permit? School ID?”
“No.”
The Captain eyed her. “Where are you from, exactly?”
“Red Creek.”
He snapped to attention. “What’s the news up there? Anyone need our help?”
She gripped Danny’s hand, too hard. Help. Where was “help” the night the Prophet condemned his people to the bunker? Where was “help” when Agnes and the kids were growing up unschooled or when her fifteen-year-old sister was married off?
She stared at him, so flooded with anger she couldn’t speak.
Zeke piped up. “If you go to Red Creek, they’ll shoot you to death.”
Beside her, Danny stilled.
The Captain knelt stiffly in front of Ezekiel. “What do you mean by that, son?”
Agnes strained to hear him. “They hate Outsiders. More than anything.”
“I see. And do you hate Outsiders?” The Captain’s head swiveled, hawk fast, to Agnes. “Does your sister?”
“My sister loves Outsiders, but mostly, I think they’re weird.” He brightened. “I like the movies, though. Batman’s my favorite.”
The Captain chuckled and held out his hand. Gravely, Zeke shook it.
Agnes exhaled.
“Vacate the premises by noon tomorrow.” He stood. “You won’t want to stay any longer than that.”
Danny and Agnes walked him to the door, and he left in a swirl of gasoline fumes. Realizing their hands were still linked, they glanced at each other in embarrassed surprise. But there was no time to mutter apologies and excuses.
From the kitchen came the wrenching sound of Danny’s mother weeping.
They stood rooted in place, listening while steadfast Matilda broke down.
Danny turned to Agnes, his face riven with worry. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I brought you here because I thought it would be safe. For you, for your brother.”
Her heart softened, because he was apologizing to her again—this time, for the state of the whole Outside. She wrapped his hand in both of hers and held it beneath her chin. His smell had become familiar, comforting.
“I know, Danny.”
“Do you?” He peered at her. “The world was never like this, before. Never so uncertain.”
Agnes marshaled all her faith. “It will be safe again, one day. I believe in you Outsiders, you know.”
Danny smiled gratefully, if sadly, at her. “You have more faith than anyone
I’ve ever met,” he said. “I’m starting to think it’s some kind of superpower.”
Agnes squeezed his hand, but inside, she wondered if she could bear to lose another home. If the wound, so soon reopened, would ever have a chance to heal.
39
AGNES
I answered thee in the secret place of thunder.
—PSALM 81:7
The next morning, while the others finished packing, Agnes returned to Jeremiah’s well, to say goodbye.
What she really wanted was to see the little girl in the Nest one last time. But focusing her power, she sensed the Squad members had already assembled there. She heard every invading footfall, every excitedly beating heart. They were going to incinerate the Nest, the library, the entire town.
In the prayer space, she couldn’t even hate them for it. They were God’s creatures, too.
She pressed her belly against the well’s stone lip, bending to read the message again. There is no greater sin than to deny God’s gift to you.
Feeling like she’d swallowed a mouthful of hot, black sand, Agnes began to cry.
Hard as the Laws of Red Creek were, they promised that if you followed them, God would always support you, protect you, love you. But the still, small voice had spoken to Agnes, its message resoundingly clear. From now on, God would no longer be her port in a storm. From now on, He’d be something very different: the force that moved her, challenged her, pushed her even to the breaking point.
She’d read the Bible. God didn’t ease the way for His prophets. More than one of them had wished he’d never been born.
A twig snapped behind her. She spun around.
The Captain stood on the path, his hand hovering over his gun. “What are you doing out here? And alone?”
She tipped her chin defiantly. “Saying goodbye.”
“You’re so attached to this infected place?” He looked around, sniffing the air. “It reeks of them.”
“I only smell wind and air.”
“Lucky you.” He paused, staring. “Are you armed?”
“No.”
He frowned. “You’ll get yourself infected, or worse.”
Agnes at the End of the World Page 21
