Into the Fire

by Kyla Stone

  Her vision blurred for a moment as she stared at each sharpened nail. A part of her wished she could be doing something else, anything else. She’d rather be back inside practicing coded sentences on the radio.

  After their meeting last night, Ezra had showed her how to use the CW key and started teaching her the Morse alphabet. She’d sketched out the alphabet in her drawing pad, just like she did with ASL. The dots and dashes weren’t nearly as hard to memorize as she thought they’d be. He’d promised to teach her the shorthand Q-codes as soon as she was ready.

  She’d chosen a code name—Rose. It was her foster mom’s middle name. She missed Gabriella and Jorge so much that she dreamed about them sometimes. But the dreams always ended in a blinding white flash and a black mushroom cloud of destruction and death.

  Nightmares had plagued her for weeks. Vivid, visceral night terrors that took her right back into the horror, to the pain and fear and confusion. Sometimes it was the blast. And sometimes, the nightmares were from before…

  Bit by bit, that awful night from three years ago was coming back to her, in jagged pieces like some gruesome puzzle. She was remembering, whether she wanted to or not.

  “I did it,” Dakota said so quickly that Eden almost didn’t hear her. “That night, it was my fault, what happened to you…”

  You don’t have to do this, Eden signed.

  Dakota just stared at her.

  Frustrated, she looked around for her notebook to write it down. She was used to her inability to speak, but sometimes it still sucked. She had so many things to say, but writing it all down or signing to someone who barely understood ASL left her feeling overwhelmingly inadequate.

  Finally, Dakota shook her head as if she understood. “Yes, I do. I need to do this.”

  Eden settled back on her knees. The truth was, she was both desperate to know and desperately afraid. There was a simplicity in not knowing. A peace. But it wasn’t a true peace. She knew that.

  Tell me, she signed, touching her pointer finger to her chin and holding it out toward her sister. Tell me everything.

  21

  Eden

  Eden watched Dakota take a deep breath. “That night, Jacob dragged me to the mercy room. On his own, without orders from his father or the Prophet. That had never happened before. It was against the rules, but he was angry at me—furious.

  “That day…I was working in the kitchen, clearing up after the men. He and Maddox and a few others were still finishing up their dinner. Sometimes, they liked to be slow so they could flirt with the girls when no one else was around. They might’ve been holy warriors chosen by God to rebuild the new earth, but they were still just guys, hot-blooded and horny like all the rest. They just had to hide it better.

  “I was mopping the floor a few tables away when I heard Jacob say something about you. Something in the way he said it, like he was letting slip some juicy secret he wasn’t supposed to tell—it caught my attention. I stepped in closer, keeping my head down, pretending to concentrate on my work. The guys were focused on Jacob. They were trained since birth to ignore women. They didn’t even know I was there.

  “Jacob started going on about their family being chosen for a great honor. He was all hush-hush about it, but the guys dragged it out of him. Of course, that was his plan all along, to make them feel special and accomplished, that they were in on the secret with him. It deepened their connection to him, their unquestioning loyalty. Just another way Jacob constantly manipulated everyone around him.”

  Eden gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. That wasn’t the Jacob she remembered—the laughing, bright-eyed, golden-haired brother who adored her, who told her fabulous stories and always brought her a piece of forbidden candy, a special treat shared just between them.

  As if she could read Eden’s mind, Dakota frowned. “He was charming for a reason, Eden. And Jacob Cage never did anything without a reason.”

  Eden pressed her lips together, wanting to argue, but she was resolved to listen to all of it, even the crazy, unbelievable parts, even the ugly parts.

  “He finally leaned in, all excited and secretive, and told them the Prophet had chosen you as his seventh bride. That the marriage was some huge symbol bestowed by God Himself to represent the beginning of the Shepherds of Mercy’s reign in the United States—but more importantly, it would solidify the Cage family’s power as the Prophet’s right hand.”

  She gave a bitter laugh. “Politics will exist in their new world just like it does in the old. They believe this heavenly utopia will be perfect, but they’re corrupt humans, so how could they do anything but corrupt it?”

  Eden didn’t have an answer for that. She’d grown up believing in the Prophet’s power, in faith that the Prophet would bring about the new Jerusalem, a Garden of Eden here in America that would birth the New Earth of biblical prophecy.

  She’d believed it with her whole heart. And why not? No one had ever told her any differently.

  Until she left the compound at twelve, she’d never seen a TV or a magazine, or set foot in a real school, a mall, a playground, a city. She’d been taught that the world outside was pure evil, full of the demon-possessed wicked souls whose only purpose was to corrupt her into the pits of hell—the depraved, the degenerates, the lecherous and deviant.

  For months after she’d left, she used to hear the Prophet in her head, booming his dreadful proclamations and prophecies, his sinister warnings of fire and brimstone, the very pits of hell yawning open to devour anyone who strayed from The Way even a little.

  At first, she’d been afraid to believe anything anyone outside the compound said. Heathens and heretics lied with every breath. She’d feared Ezra, thought he’d kill her in her sleep.

  Later, during their weeks on the streets, the fear had nearly overwhelmed her.

  It was only after months of Dakota explaining that everyone outside the compound wasn’t evil that Eden began to listen, and it wasn’t until her foster parents, Gabriella and Jorge, that she truly believed it.

  Still, it was almost a year before she got over her terror of cracking open the spine of a book or watching a show on TV, positive that at any moment, the wrath of God would descend upon her in a reign of bloody fire.

  She could still see the fervent, fevered passion in the Prophet’s face as he gripped the pulpit, features rigid and drenched in sweat, eyes bulging as he pelted them with dire warning after dire warning of what was certain to become of them if they gave in to the sins of blasphemy, of pride, of arrogance, and selfishness.

  They will destroy your mind and rip apart your body, and your soul will burn in eternal hellfire…

  She shivered despite the heat. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t seen or heard him in almost three years. It was like he was right there in front of her, engulfing her in terror, his eyes piercing her very soul, judging her fitness for eternal salvation and finding her wanting.

  22

  Eden

  Eden watched as Dakota stared off at some distant spot on the horizon, caught up in her own horrible memories.

  “When I heard what Jacob was saying, when I realized he meant you were going with the Prophet, that your father and brothers were just going to let you go…” Dakota shook her head. “I lost it. This…rage came over me. I forgot all my training, all the punishments, all the trips to the mercy room meant to break me and remake me into something meek and compliant—it all burned away. I was livid. Furious. More angry than I’d ever been in my life.

  “I marched up to them and confronted Jacob. ‘How could you?’ I screamed. ‘How could you do that to your own sister?’ The other guys just sat there, shocked.

  “Maddox—I remember his face. The way his eyes blazed, but his mouth pinched into a flat line. He had this tight, trapped expression he got sometimes when his father was lecturing him or he was being publicly reprimanded—he wasn’t happy about your fate, either, but he was helpless to do anything. And he hated that he was helpless. There’s noth
ing Maddox hates more than feeling impotent.

  “But Jacob, though… He stood up, knocked over his chair, infuriated—and embarrassed—at how I’d dared to speak to him. The others were watching to see what he’d do. He grabbed my arm and slapped me across the face. But that wasn’t enough. Not for someone like Jacob.

  “He was all charm and light on the surface—his father’s chosen son, the firstborn, like an angel sent to Earth to save us all. That’s how everyone treated him. The Sisters all adored him because he always stopped to chat and reminisce with them. He’d carry a laundry load for a few minutes or wash a frying pan while he flattered their cooking.

  “The children worshipped him because he didn’t ignore them like the other older boys they longed to emulate. He’d tell them a joke and laugh with them, pick up the little girls and spin and twirl them until they choked on their own giggles. Remember that?”

  How could she ever forget? Dakota’s assessment wasn’t far off. These were all the things Eden recalled with fondness about her oldest brother, too.

  “Maddox loved him. Loved him and resented him at the same time. But Jacob treated him like crap, like something he wanted to scrape off his shoe. Though only when no one else was around.

  “Those boys, those sons of Solomon Cage, they wore masks, both of them. Maddox to survive that hateful place. Jacob so he could curry the adoration he craved while still feeding his streak for cruelty. They both developed a cruel streak. It was beaten into them, I guess.”

  It was true that Maddox had been cunning, often snide and deceitful, prone to rages that made him dangerous. He’d struck her more than once when they were young.

  But in his own way, he always came skulking back to apologize, offering her candy he’d stolen from Sister Rosemarie’s stash to make it up to her.

  Jacob, though…

  Eden shook her head, wanting to disagree with Dakota, to tell her she was wrong about him, but frenetic images filled her head—Jacob seizing her arm, leaving bruises in the shape of fingers. Jacob leaning in close, hissing, Look what you made me do.

  Once, Jacob had left a gun outside instead of cleaning it and putting it away; Eden had watched him come inside without it. When it was found in the woods a week later, filthy and covered with dirt, leaves, and bugs, Jacob had immediately blamed Maddox.

  Maddox’s screams of outrage had done nothing; he’d been dragged to the mercy room, receiving the whipping instead of his brother.

  Another memory came to her then: she and Jacob strolling alone in the woods, checking Jacob’s traps. She must have been eight or nine, for she remembered wearing the soft daffodil yellow dress that tickled her ankles, an eighth birthday gift from the Prophet.

  They’d come across a young gray fox with its bloody paw caught in the metal trap. Blood stained its muzzle; in its desperation to escape, it’d attempted to chew its own paw off.

  Eden wanted to ask him to let it go, but she knew better. God gave them the creatures of the Earth to rule over for this very reason—for pleasure, sustenance, and dominance.

  “Kill it quickly,” she pleaded.

  Jacob only smiled. He squatted in a clear spot between two stubby pine trees and watched in fascination as the fox struggled, suffering.

  Something about the way Jacob looked—his eyes so bright, his gaze intense, that pleasant smile still on his face, like he was enjoying it—sent a sickening jolt through her, made her stomach churn uneasily and her skin prickle.

  Eden turned her eyes away. She was crying, begging him to put a stop to it. He ignored her. After thirty minutes of agony for both Eden and the fox, Jacob finally pulled the hunting knife he kept sheathed at his waist and slit the animal’s throat.

  “Thank—” Before she could get the words out, he turned and cuffed her so hard her ears rang.

  “Look what you made me do!” he snarled.

  By the time they’d returned home, he was all smiles, jovial and laughing, the brother she knew and loved again. She didn’t tell her father, her stepmother, or Maddox about the fox. She didn’t tell anyone.

  She hadn’t known how to tell them. She knew she’d be admonished for even mentioning it. She did the only thing she could—she buried the awful memory down deep and never thought of it again.

  She never asked to walk with Jacob to check his traps again.

  Eden looked up. Dakota was watching her. “You remember something.”

  She remembered everything.

  The heat and the bugs and the trees and the cabin disappeared. Everything faded away beneath an onslaught of memories.

  23

  Eden

  In her memory, Eden was carrying a basket loaded with clean, freshly washed and dried linens from the laundry lines to the single men’s bunkhouses to change their sheets—when she saw them.

  Dusk was falling. Bats swooped over the trees in the indigo sky, devouring the mosquitos that plagued them. To the south, the water lay still and placid, unbroken but for the occasional splash of a fish. The croaking of bullfrogs and the buzz of cicadas filled the hot evening air.

  She was sweating beneath her long skirt and button-up blouse, but at least her restrictive clothing kept some of the bugs at bay. She paused and pressed the basket against her side so she could free one hand to rub her sore, aching head.

  Her stepmother, Sister Hannah, had bound her waist-length hair into a French braid as usual. When she was angry or frustrated, which was often, she would bind it so tightly that Eden’s scalp would burn all day. Today was one of those days.

  Before she could resume her task, something snagged her attention. Across the wide clearing with the firepit, the Adirondack chairs, and the picnic tables, she caught the flash of familiar blond hair and broad shoulders. Her brother, Jacob.

  He was striding toward the mercy room, a plain cement block building next to the infirmary. He was dragging someone with him, gripping a hank of her hair. The girl stumbled behind him.

  Eden adjusted her grip on the laundry basket, waved the mosquitos out of her face, and glanced around. The clearing was empty. All the adults were in the chapel for Wednesday night prayer meeting, except for the patrols along the perimeter fence and the sentries in the guard platforms at the front gate.

  Jacob should be in the chapel, but he wasn’t.

  She’d seen plenty of people brought to the mercy room for various punishments, but it was always supervised by her father or the Prophet. Not like this.

  The hairs on her neck prickled. Something was wrong.

  Eden took a tentative step closer, squinting in the gathering gloom to make out the figures, and sucked in a sharp breath.

  She recognized Dakota’s reddish auburn hair. She was pulling away, writhing and grasping at Jacob’s hands like she was trying to escape.

  Eden twisted around, looking again for someone, anyone, to give her direction, to tell her what was supposed to be happening, to either stop this or give their blessing to allow it to continue.

  A hundred yards away, light emanated from the opened cafeteria doorway.

  She recognized the lean, wiry frame of her other brother standing in the doorway, the light glowing around him like a halo. His hands hung limp at his sides.

  Maddox just stood there, staring out into the night.

  She shifted her gaze back to Jacob and Dakota. Jacob fished his keys out of his pocket—Eden heard the jingle, heard Dakota give a low moan that sent shivers up and down her spine.

  Jacob unlocked the door, hauled Dakota inside the mercy room, and shut the door quietly but firmly behind him.

  Eden tightened her grip on the basket. For several long, eternal minutes, she stood without moving, full of indecision. She should go straight to the men’s cabins. She should finish her work quickly and hurry to the chapel, where she was expected.

  That’s what she should do, what she was supposed to do.

  This was none of her business, none of her concern.

  Her brother was a Shepherd, the chosen among the ch
osen, set apart by the Prophet and God himself. Who was she to question his actions?

  But the sound Dakota had made…

  She longed to ignore it, to just walk away. Push it out of her mind like a thousand other things she made herself forget or ignore.

  She could get close, just walk by. It wouldn’t break any rules. She wasn’t doing anything wrong.

  Her feet moved almost against her own volition, swishing through the grass still wet from the major storm that had ripped through the Glades earlier in the day. An owl hooted from the cypress trees.

  The frogs were in full-throated singing mode. The trills of birds and insects followed her as she crept closer.

  The clean sheets in her arms smelled of the lemon soap she’d used to scrub them. Dakota had helped her even though she had her own chores to finish. Dakota was her friend. Dakota looked out for her when no one else did.

  Eden shuffled closer, the low concrete building looming larger and larger, menacing and dangerous.

  She stood in front of the door and listened to her own rapid breathing. How many times had she watched people enter that door hunched and sorrowful, and exit slumped and weak, trembling and weeping, sometimes unconscious?

  She’d never questioned it.

  Never, not until now. The way Jacob had moved—stalking angrily, but also furtively, like he didn’t want anyone to see. Like he was doing something wrong.

  She could still turn away. She could still forget she’d seen anything.

  Slowly, she lowered the laundry basket. She reached out and touched the door handle, half-expecting it to be locked.

  It wasn’t. In his haste, Jacob had neglected it.

  Eden turned the handle and opened the door.

  24

  Eden

  Eden moved silently into the mercy room and closed the door behind her. The stale air stank of sweat and charred coals, bleach and something else, something sharply metallic she could almost taste on her tongue.