Agnes heard Zeke’s laughter beyond the tent and lurched with panic.
“Matilda, how will he eat? How—”
“Hush. We’re almost done.” Matilda made one last note, then looked at her squarely. “Tell me exactly what happened out there. Leave nothing out.”
Agnes bit her lip. She hadn’t mentioned the prayer space to anyone—not even Zeke.
“It’s okay,” Matilda soothed. “I would never judge you. You know that, right?”
She dearly wanted to believe these Outsiders would always accept her, whatever happened. Hadn’t Jazz felt free to tell her about her butterflies? Hadn’t Danny admitted his nightmares? And Max—hadn’t he always expressed his affection for Jazz without fear of retribution?
Agnes truly believed this Outsider world was a better, gentler place than the one she’d left behind. But still, she held back.
Matilda waited, patient. A perfect silence stretched between them like a length of dark fabric. They might’ve been the only two people on earth.
Something shifted inside Agnes’s chest. God, what a relief it would be to share her inner world with someone else, to divest herself of her last, and heaviest, secret. In many ways, the prayer space was the most important thing about her.
“I call it the prayer space.”
Matilda cocked her head. “Why?”
“I hear things. Sounds no one else can. It feels like praying, but deeper.”
“What kind of sounds?”
“The ground hums. Stars sing. I hear people’s hearts beating. I think—”
Tears blazed in Agnes’s eyes, but hadn’t she learned by now that the best course was to always speak the God’s-honest truth?
“I think I might have discovered my own religion,” she whispered. “Or remembered it. Something.” Her face burned. “The God I know, He’s different from the one the Prophet preached.”
Matilda nodded. “Tell me about that.”
“You swear you won’t think I’m crazy?”
Matilda’s eyes were steady. “I was there, remember? I saw you with the wolves. I saw… something. We all did.”
In Agnes’s heart, floodgates opened.
“God was never the man in the sky the Prophet used to preach.” The words tumbled out of her. “And He definitely isn’t a Him. God is just… interconnection. I hear sacredness running through everything. Whether we hear it or not, another world is singing all the time. Even in petrified creatures. Especially in them, because God wants us to notice. Learn something.” She winced, knowing how egomaniacal she sounded. “I think I’m supposed to discover what that something is. And relay the message. Like a prophet does.”
A wayward wind rattled the tent and brought into their silence the scorched smell of desert. Agnes imagined the Prophet sneering at her half-baked religion, her mushy, ill-defined faith. What, no Laws? No rules? No threat?
With surprisingly little effort, she pushed his image away.
“I’m so proud of you,” Matilda finally said.
Agnes startled. “Proud?”
“When we first met, you were brainwashed. Do you know what that means?”
She nodded, thinking of the Internet articles she’d read about Red Creek.
“It can take a lifetime to recover from a cult experience. But you’ve constructed a new belief system for yourself, and that’s wonderful. It will help you heal. But…”
Matilda fiddled with her pen, and Agnes tensed.
“Sweetheart, I don’t know what to make of your sounds or the way those wolves behaved. But if you’re not careful, this prayer space will kill you.”
Her words were like a punch in the gut. “What?”
“Whatever happened today, it shot your heart rate sky-high and hit you with a one hundred five–degree fever. You nearly died. Agnes.” Matilda’s eyes held hers. “The prayer space, whatever it is, you can’t use it. You have to stop.”
Stop. How could she stop? The prayer space was her calling. God’s gift to her.
But what if it was also a curse?
She’d read the Bible. Nothing in a spiritual life was free. Noah gained a boat but lost his home; Jeremiah wished for death; and Moses never saw the promised land. The prayer space might be a gift, but who could say how much of herself God expected in return?
Your test is over. Now return to Zion.
She picked at the gauze wrapping around her hand, feeling uncharacteristically irritated.
Where was Zion, that everlasting metaphor? Could her message be any less clear?
“There’s one more thing.” Matilda’s voice, suddenly brisk and professional, dragged her back. “Your hand. I have to ask if there’s any chance you’ve done this to yourself.” Her eyes weren’t unkind, but nor were they unwary. “Do you ever think about hurting yourself, or hurting others? It’s important you answer truthfully.”
Agnes slumped.
So Matilda didn’t believe her, after all.
Despite what she’d witnessed, the rational part of her had decided that she was delusional. Agnes could try to explain how her knuckle had been broken in a vision, but what would be the point? Their worldviews were incongruous shards, pieces that would never fit together. She’d be explaining until the stars fell from the sky.
“God tested me,” Agnes said, flatly.
Matilda’s face remained a cautious mask. “I thought your God was more loving, more gentle than the one you left behind.”
Agnes stifled a laugh. Gentle! Yes.
But God contained multitudes—or He wouldn’t be God.
She quoted the psalm. “He looketh on the earth, and it trembleth: he toucheth the hills, and they smoke.”
“Sweetheart,” Matilda said finally. “I’m choosing to believe you. Don’t make me a fool.”
“Hello?” Danny called. “Are you almost done? Can we say hi?”
Matilda touched her shoulder. “Are you ready?”
Agnes nodded.
All at once the tent was crowded. Zeke made a beeline for her lap, Max and Jazz sat almost on top of each other like always, and Danny settled cross-legged on the ground at her feet, looking drawn and anxious.
She feared she’d horrified him—that she’d horrified all of them.
“I’m sorry,” she burst out. “Please believe I’m really, truly sorry.”
Silence. Zeke froze, his arms around her neck.
“Sorry?” Max barked. “Are you kidding me? You saved us from those wolves. They could’ve trapped us in that cave.”
She blinked. Max wasn’t angry.
Now that she looked closely, she saw that none of them were. There were no glowering faces, no quick-fire hatred or righteous distrust. They were giving her the benefit of the doubt. She’d never felt so safe among other people before. So safe or so loved.
“I didn’t save you,” she said. “I endangered you. I’m the reason those creatures showed up in the first place. It was a kind of test.” She looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry.”
“Agnes, can you look at me?” Danny asked. “What test? Who was testing you?”
“God, obviously,” said Jazz.
Agnes blinked, surprised.
Danny shook his head. “Sorry. But I don’t believe in God.”
Max’s lips curled upwards in a smile. “Me neither, but I’m starting to reconsider.”
Matilda cut in. “Why don’t we let Agnes tell us the story in her own words, from the beginning?”
The beginning. It seemed centuries ago.
Don’t hate me for not telling you, Danny.
Agnes held Zeke, inhaling his childish scent and trying not to think of the future, or what the loss of his insulin might mean. The story was what mattered now.
She began:
“When I was a girl, I used to hear the earth humming. When I looked at the sky, the stars would sing…”
44
AGNES
The mystery of illness has been with us since the beginning, but the Virus forced us to
look into its eyes and know its name.
—AGNES, EARLY WRITINGS
The sun set as Agnes finished the story of how God came to speak to her.
Her arms tensed around Zeke. He slept hard in her lap while the Outsiders stared at her with varying degrees of disbelief and confusion. She tried not to look too closely at any one of them; their stunned silence sufficed. She thought heavily of Jeremiah, the loneliest prophet in the Old Testament—the one who no one ever believed.
But Agnes already had a great deal of practice being lonely. She didn’t need converts and she’d endure anything, as long as Zeke was safe.
Only, he wasn’t safe anymore. It was past dinnertime, and without a bolus or a basal rate, she didn’t know how on earth she was going to feed him.
His body doesn’t make the hormones it needs to survive, Matilda had said when they’d first met. You can’t pray him healthy. Without medicine, he’ll die.
In the tent, the memory gutted her.
Zeke can’t die. He can’t.
“Matilda.” She sensed a blackness encroaching. “Matilda, what’re we going to do—”
The nurse lanced Zeke’s finger while he slept, then flashed the number Agnes’s way.
“Look,” she said. “He’s all right, sweetheart. He is.”
“He has to eat eventually,” Agnes murmured.
“Yes.” Matilda nodded. “We’ll feed him protein. Beef jerky won’t raise his blood glucose. Max, will you put him to bed? We’ll check him again in an hour. And every two hours after that.”
Agnes felt light-headed. When Zeke was first diagnosed, she’d had to check him every two hours. She’d gone weeks without a solid night’s sleep, creeping through the trailer so the other kids wouldn’t wake. The very idea filled her with memories of panic, guilt, and fear.
Taking Zeke from Agnes’s arms, Max shot her an encouraging—if puzzled—smile.
Jazz bent to whisper in her ear, “I believe, you know. I believe every word.”
Then Danny, Agnes, and Matilda were alone in the tent.
Danny, meet my eyes. Danny, will you, please?
He looked down at his hands. Instinctively she’d known her story would affect him most. After all, hadn’t he wanted to kiss her once?
She refocused. “Before we had insulin, he nearly died, Matilda.”
“Yes, but this is different. We’ll keep him carefully controlled. As long as he stays regulated—”
A nightmare of an idea sprang to mind. “He vomits when he’s afraid.”
Matilda shook her head sharply. “It’s very important that doesn’t happen. We’ve got to prevent dehydration, minimize stress.”
Danny spoke up. “The hospital. Can’t they send an ambulance?”
Don’t send an ambulance, her mother had once said. The neighbors can’t know.
Agnes shivered.
“I’ve been calling,” Matilda said. “Their phones must be down. I’ll keep trying.”
Agnes straightened, nerves buzzing. “So, we walk. We just keep going and hope we get there in time?”
“Walking will help lower his blood glucose.” Matilda removed the pen from behind her ear, fiddling with it. “Listen, sweetheart, I know you’re frightened. But there’s no reason he can’t survive the next few days.”
“You really think so?” Agnes whispered.
“Yes. I do.”
“Matilda,” she asked suddenly. “Do you believe in God?”
Danny looked sharply at her.
“Sure, sweetheart.” Matilda shrugged. “More or less. But we won’t need Him. Not once we reach Mercy.”
Fear crashed over Agnes in jagged waves.
Now return to Zion.
But where on earth was that?
God. She screwed her eyes shut, and in perfect silence, her mind screamed. I want to be faithful, but where?
Agnes checked Zeke’s blood glucose, then went to find Danny.
He was keeping watch for red creatures that night, while the embers of their campfire slowly died. It was a lonely job, but someone had to do it. They couldn’t forget that the desert brimmed with danger.
“Agnes?” Danny sat on a fallen branch near the fading fire, Matilda’s rifle in his lap and a textbook spread out before him—reading, to keep awake.
As she approached, he closed his book quickly. But not before she’d gotten a good look.
He read: AN INTRODUCTION TO PSYCHOLOGY.
Agnes had a guess what psychology might be. “You don’t have to hide that. I expected you’d be skeptical.”
He reddened. “You know, there’s some evidence that most psychic experiences have a basis in neurology.…”
She sat beside him, cradling her throbbing hand. “I don’t know what any of those words mean, Danny. What I do know is that my experiences have a basis in God.”
That made him laugh, at least.
“I told you in the library, remember,” she said. “I told you that I hear God all the time.”
He threw up his hands. “I just thought you were flirting with me.”
She blushed. “That, too.”
His eyes danced upwards, scanning hers. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
She leaned against the tree trunk, its bark rough and reassuring against her lower back.
“I suppose I knew you wouldn’t believe me, and it’s so lonely, to be disbelieved.” She studied his profile. “Do you really think it’s all in my head?”
“No,” he said hurriedly. “Of course, not all. The wolves… maybe you have some kind of immunity… some kind of repellent, antiviral factor…”
“Or maybe,” she said gently, “it’s like I said: I talk to God.”
The stars were whirling, her skin tingling. His whole body strained towards hers—she could feel it. But could two people of such different faiths ever really understand each other? Love each other, even?
“Did you want to kiss me back at the library?” she asked.
“Well—” He flushed. “Yes.”
“Do you still want to kiss me?”
“Agnes, can I see your hand?” They were nose-to-nose now. “My mom doesn’t understand how it could’ve been broken. Neither do I.”
She swallowed, held out her wrist. In the fading firelight, he unwrapped the bandages, revealing the crater of her third knuckle and the bruises, spiderwebbing out from there.
“Oh, Agnes.” His voice broke. “Whatever’s going on with you, it’s too much. Too hard.”
With every fiber of her being, she urged him to understand. “This is my path. I wish you could travel it with me.” She paused. “More than anything, I wish you still felt like you did before.”
“You can’t know what I feel,” he scolded her. “God can’t tell you that, too.”
“You’re right. I’m only guessing.”
“Don’t.” He wrapped his arms around his knees. “I’m my own person, not some puppet in God’s play, and neither are you. Agnes, a martyr complex isn’t a good thing. It’s—”
“I never said I was a martyr. A prophet is completely different.”
He took an exasperated breath. “Define prophet. Can you do that?”
“You think I’m claiming to be something I don’t even understand?”
“Schizophrenics often claim to be messiahs,” he said. “Hundreds every year. But if you’re schizophrenic, it’s not your fault. It’s a sickness, I would still love you—”
Anger flared in her chest at his blind obstinacy. “Did you forget about the wolves? Did you forget—” She stopped suddenly, mind reeling.
Helping you escape was the best thing I ever did in my whole damned life, he’d told her back at the library. And if that wasn’t love, what was?
She looked at him again and saw not a stubborn boy, but a terribly frightened young man with his heart on the verge of breaking.
“A prophet is not a martyr or a messiah,” she said. “In the Bible, God appoints a prophet to interpret His word in times of change. The
ir most important job is to keep God alive through history. To explain how His teaching still applies.”
Danny peered at her, relief pure and plain on his face. “Is that all?”
She hesitated, sifting for the truth. “Sometimes, they have other tasks.”
He nodded, blew out a breath. “Other tasks aside, what you’re describing is like a preacher or a college professor.”
She stifled a laugh behind her good hand. College professor? Really, Danny?
But who cared what framework he used to understand her life, as long as he was trying to understand?
“Danny, I wanted you to kiss me in the library. But I wasn’t ready then.” She paused, thinking of the test, when she’d announced the meaning of her God to her ghosts and to herself. “I am ready now.”
Her bandage lay coiled at his feet. Her arm was still awkwardly suspended between them.
He bowed his head and tenderly kissed the crook of her elbow.
She gasped.
“That didn’t hurt, did it?”
“No.” A tremor worked through her. “It was perfect.”
“Interpreting the world in times of change,” he murmured. “Okay.”
He kissed her elbow again, then the side of her shoulder, then her neck.
And then he was kissing her mouth and Agnes was kissing him firmly back, trying to fill all her lonely, frightened places, her ache in the night.
She couldn’t wrap her arms around him like she wanted to; she couldn’t put both hands on his broad back. But as the kissing went on, the pain in her hand mysteriously began to fade—a phenomenon for which she had no doubt Danny could provide some medical explanation. Yet, as she began to be able to touch him, hold him, she thought their kissing made them more spirit and less flesh. More breath, and less indifferent air.
Mindful of Matilda’s warning, Agnes never stepped into the prayer space. But she believed that if she did, she’d hear wonders and miracles in the heat that built between them.
As they melded together, she fought the urge to say, amen.
Agnes at the End of the World Page 24
