by Sean Platt
They should be able to leave whenever they wanted; it wasn’t as though they were prisoners. But you never knew how far crazy would go to preserve itself, and The Sanctuary had crazy on discount.
“What do we have to lose?” Mary asked. “What are they going to do? Stop us at the gate? We’re not prisoners. We don’t even have to take the vehicle we came in. We can leave on foot; we’ll find another car in no time. It’s dangerous here, Desmond. I can feel it.”
Desmond started to make an argument about the end of winter, and the snowstorm that felt like it was coming. But he didn’t get more than a sentence deep before one of The Sanctuary’s residents, Estelle, broke the conversation.
“Sister Mary,” she said, “The Prophet would like to see you. He’s at the church construction site. He said he needs you as soon as possible, but not to inconvenience you. Finish what you’re doing and join him as soon as you can.” Estelle smiled, then curtsied and left.
Desmond raised his eyebrows. “What do you think that’s all about?”
Mary shook her head. “I’ve no idea. But if I had to bet, I’d say John ratted us out.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No,” Mary said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Just be aware, and I’ll catch you up as soon as I can.”
“I don’t like it,” Desmond insisted. “The Prophet could do something horrible to you and I wouldn’t be able to stop him. I won’t even know what’s going on.”
Mary said, “I’m not Rebecca, or Sarah. If The Prophet tries something, anything at all, believe me, everyone in The Sanctuary is gonna know. I’ll take that old man out quicker than you can say ‘Hallelujah!’”
Desmond laughed, a broken cackle, but genuine. He said, “I’ll be here, waiting,” then pulled Mary into a hug. “I love you,” he said.
“I love you, too.”
Mary left Desmond with a lingering kiss at the edge of his mouth, then headed toward the church. She saw The Prophet standing by a tall pile of wood, hands folded in front of him, eyes scanning the wall of The Sanctuary. He turned his nose to the gray sky when Mary was just a few feet away. “Looks like it’s gonna snow tonight.”
“Not yet, it’s too warm,” Mary said. “It’ll probably just rain.”
The Prophet shook his head, “I say it’s gonna drop a good 20 degrees. I imagine we’ll be looking at a world that’s white as an angel feather by morning.” He found Mary’s eyes. “Of course, I couldn’t be more excited. I love it when it snows, the way it looks like God is giving the world a brand new chance.”
Mary wanted to look away, but couldn’t. The Prophet held her eyes like slaves. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Mary. Starting over. We’re here waiting for the Gates to open. That means we’re waiting here to keep the Devil from winning. That’s why I’m rebuilding the Church.” The Prophet gestured toward the structure behind him, which was coming along quickly; a frame and roof were already in place. “It’s a testament to my faith in Him. I’m here because The Good Lord needs me. As much as I long to walk through those gates and greet the God who gives us breath, to see my loved ones, including my sweet Ellie Mae, I know I’ve got souls to save and a Devil to beat before I do.”
“Now, Mary,” The Prophet put his hand on her shoulder, “I know you have some legitimate concerns about the way we go about following The Word here at The Sanctuary. I appreciate those concerns, and want nothing more than to answer each and every one, take care of them here and now. While we good people and humble servants are here at New Unity waiting for the Gates to open, we need good people like you and your friends to wait right along with us. The Demons have claimed enough souls already, thank you very much. The Devil doesn’t like what we’re doing. He is building an army. I can feel it as sure as you can feel Paola’s love. If you’re out there in the troubled world beyond our walls, Satan will claim you.”
The Prophet’s voice lowered to a rumble of warning, and he withdrew his hand, yet moved closer to her. “We have something special here, Mary. Something the Demons can’t breach. This truly is a Sanctuary. I know the punishment for that Rebecca seemed about as harsh as the sharp side of a wallop, and I do apologize for the dull weight of the required lesson. But it’s imperative we keep our children from the Devil, now more than ever, and not just from the minions beyond these walls.” He leaned in closer. “We must protect them from the whispers within them as well.”
Mary kept her voice steady. “I’m not sure I believe in the Devil,” she said. “At least, not like you do. The kids weren’t doing anything wrong. Not really. Just the sort of stuff that kids do. No, they shouldn’t have snuck out. And they shouldn’t have made everyone worry. And on a practical level, we shouldn’t have spent our resources and risked our people to chase them down and bring them back. But I don’t believe it was ‘evil,’ or ‘the Devil’s’ handiwork. It was a harmless picnic, prompted by an innocent crush.”
“No, Mary,” The Prophet looked down, as though the weight of her decaying faith was too heavy for him to hold his head to the heavens. “There is no such thing as innocence; not anymore. Not now in our second Age of Conscience. Do you know what the Age of Conscience is, Mary?”
Mary shook her head. The Prophet said he’d be happy to tell her if she cared to hear the story, almost as though she was being given a choice.
“A long time ago there was a Garden, and in that Garden the first sin was committed. Once man sinned, God no longer saw him as innocent. And once man was no longer innocent, the Good Lord had to appeal to his conscience. This was called ‘The Age of Conscience,’ and lasted until after the flood. During The Age of Conscience, man was tested on his own conscience – that is, to his knowledge of what was right or wrong. Needless to say,” The Prophet chuckled and wiped his eyes, “man didn’t do so well on that test. Not until after the flood.”
His chuckle died, and his voice grew grave. “Don’t you see Mary; this is our new ‘after the flood.’ God will judge us on how we govern ourselves in the days right after the flood. While we sit and wait, patient for the Gates to swing back open and lead us on the road toward the Glory of Forever, He is watching every single thing we do.”
Mary was losing her patience. She wanted to run away from The Sanctuary, as far and as fast as she could, not stay a moment longer at Bible school. “You don’t have to believe in the Devil, Mary, and you don’t have to acknowledge the Demons who walk before you, even though they’re the very Demons you’ve seen so many times with your own pretty eyes. But I do fear, Sister Mary, that if you cannot see the Demons swimming around us, or believe in the Devil hiding behind the gnarled shadows of everything we do, then Lucifer himself may have you fooled, too.”
Mary was seething. She wanted to tell The Prophet where he could step off with all his condescending bullshit. He had no idea who she was, or what she believed. Nor did anyone behind the walls of The Sanctuary, which was populated by people who wanted protection from the madness outside, and were willing to believe, or pretend to believe, whatever they needed to in order to remain safe, or enjoy some illusion of safety. Brother Rei was crazy enough to believe every word he said, and Sarah, too, apparently. But who knew how many people behind the walls of The Sanctuary were simply choosing one monster over another?
Mary said nothing.
The Prophet said, “We’ve allowed you to stay here, in the safety of The Sanctuary, as a courtesy to Brother John. But it is now time you fell in line with our way of living. You can have a good life here, Mary. So could Paola and that miracle of a child, Luca. But to do so you must break bread at our table, and not just during mealtimes. You are the only citizens of Sanctuary not required to participate, take the oath, or be a part of The Church. I have tolerated it, for you know not what you do.”
The Prophet shook his head and saddened his eyes, letting Mary know how truly sorry he was. “But I cannot allow you and yours to spread a cancer of doubt and sinful thoughts throughout my flock. You are a good, st
rong woman, Mary. I see the way you love your daughter. I see the way you care for young Luca, and the way you carry his heavy burden as though it were your own. There is a place here at The Sanctuary for a strong woman such as yourself. A safe place. But your group must choose. If you stay, you must live as we do; follow our rules and practice our faith. That means all of you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Mary didn’t know what else to do, so she simply nodded.
The Prophet’s hand was back on her shoulder. “I’ll give you three days to think about it. I urge you to take your time and think it over. Consider your safety, and the lives of your family and friends. Think what might happen to Luca and Paola. You are not prisoners here, Mary. You are free to leave whenever you wish. Pick any car you’d like, and drive right out of here whenever you want. I won’t do a thing to stop you. But I will weep a flood’s worth of tears once you’re gone, Mary. Because I have seen what’s slithering through the black beyond those gates, and I will grieve knowing you’re on the road to a fiery hell, and taking innocent children with you.”
Mary nodded, still not knowing what to do, and thanked The Prophet for his valuable counsel. She was about to return to Desmond and let him know she was safe, even though The Prophet was every bit as crazy as they thought he was, when Brother Rei and John suddenly appeared. John nodded at Mary, then whispered something to The Prophet.
“You’ll have to excuse me, Sister Mary,” The Prophet said, then stepped to the side while Brother Rei stood staring at Mary.
The Prophet’s face went paler than the mask that covered half of it, as he mopped his brow several times throughout the brief exchange. He finally turned to Mary and said, “It looks like we had a tragedy today. Outside The Sanctuary, of course. Brother Scott and Brother Eli are no longer with us. Both struck dead by the Demons. They were out on a run with Brothers Paul and James when the Demons attacked without warning, taking the warm breath of God right along with them.”
John added, “The Demons used the store as a trap. They were waiting for our men when they got there, hiding the entire time. They only struck when they had the full advantage. It was a perfectly plotted ambush.”
Mary stood there, silent, and in shock.
Scott was dead. He was still just a child, and he was murdered by the monsters. Just as Jimmy had been. The Prophet, as misguided as he was, had been right about one thing: This place was the only sanctuary she’d seen that the monsters had yet to breach.
“The Demons are growing stronger,” Brother Rei said.
“No one is a firmer believer in the power of prayer than The Devil; not that he practices it, but because he suffers from it. I suggest we close our eyes and pray that we are able to preserve the safety behind the walls of The Sanctuary The Good Lord has seen fit to give us.”
He took Mary’s left hand, and Brother Rei took her right. They closed their eyes and lowered their heads as Mary stood and pretended to pray along with them, even though every fiber inside her wanted to run.
Mary picked at her dinner, which was an hour and a half later than usual, shuffling the potatoes around on her plate and scooping small forkfuls into her mouth, just enough so she wouldn’t appear unappreciative of all the Good Lord had given them. She chewed with no pleasure and swallowed with less, each bite counting the minutes until she could speak with Desmond and Will again.
After dinner, the three of them gathered in the garden, where they spoke in swift whispers. Mary updated them, then shook her head. “I just don’t know anymore. It’s not that I think this place is safe, because I don’t. And The Prophet’s little talk designed to make me feel safer only made me want to run farther and faster. But I can’t ignore what’s happening outside. It sounds like it’s getting worse, and I’m not sure we can handle it out there alone.”
Will said, “We shouldn’t forget, we’d all be dead right now if it weren’t for the people here at The Sanctuary. Before John and his crew came in like The Cavalry, I was taking shots from the top of a silo with a few bullets to go and an army of crazy bleakers flooding through the gates.”
Mary looked at Desmond, who was clearly swallowing his every other thought. It was tough to argue with the truth of Will’s words, and Desmond dared not. Not now.
Mary said, “Scott didn’t have to die. That is tragic and unnecessary. And I could never live with myself if something we could’ve prevented happens to Paola or Luca, or either one of you guys.”
Desmond looked at Mary. “Will you be able to forgive yourself if The Prophet shaves Paola’s hair and throws her in a box?” Mary wasn’t sure if Desmond meant his words to sound as icy as they had, but she must have looked upset because he immediately said, “I’m sorry.”
Mary didn’t say anything, but she slipped her hand into Desmond’s. Will said, “I’m with you, Mary. I’d never forgive myself either, and I’m the one pushing hardest to stay. So, I say we sleep on it. You said His Holy Worship has given us three days to decide, so I say we take three days to decide. Let’s hit the hay and talk in the morning. The walls have ears and right now they’re likely tuned to our conversation. Early to bed, early to rise; we’ve a funeral in the morning, a wretched surprise.”
“Thank you, Dr. Seuss,” Desmond said.
The trio said good night. Mary returned to her room and tucked Paola in for the night before slipping beneath the stiff sheets of her hard bed, where she tossed and turned for hours, thinking about everything from Desmond to escape.
Everything felt wretched, and none of it right. They were all in grave danger if they left. She knew it like she knew that water was wet. Yet as certain as she was, she had no idea what to do. How long could they live at The Sanctuary before the cult came to punish one of them for some imagined sin?
And then there was the guilt, lying in bed with a dull ache between her legs, wanting nothing more than to have Desmond fill it. They’d not managed to sneak off a single time together, and as sad as it was to admit, they were both afraid of what would happen if they were caught. Mary was too goddamned old to feel like she was in high school, and she shouldn’t have to bury her needs. She was wet and hungry, lying face down, filled with guilt for thinking about Desmond inside her, even though young Scott, barely old enough to scrape a razor on his face, would be six feet under in just a few hours.
Mary felt a chill imagining The Prophet’s sermon, talking about how Scott could finally feel the Glory of strolling through the Gates to meet the Good Lord, after “bravely fighting off the evils of the approaching Demons” in his few final minutes.
When she finally fell asleep, Desmond disappeared, her mind filled by Ryan instead. He was lying still, as a young, black boy and an old, black man in a wheelchair hovered above, wiping a cloth across his face. He slowly opened his eyes to the bright light pouring in from the open windows. “He’s awake, Gramps!” the boy said.
Ryan looked like he could barely move. “I thought you was never gonna wake,” the old man said.
“What happened?” Ryan said, barely coherent.
The old man said he was safe and that the monsters were gone. Ryan was confused, asking questions and barely comprehending the answers. They hydrated him with water and told him again that he was safe, said he’d been out for five days after the monsters had bitten him. His eyes fluttered shut, and his breathing collapsed. His head fell back against the pillow.
That’s when he saw Mary.
Ryan said. “Is that really you? I’ve been searching for you everywhere”
“You have?”
“Of course,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you and Paola for months.”
Something swam inside Mary’s head, telling her she’d been in a similar spot many times before. “Is this real?” she asked. “Are you really still alive? I know I’m dreaming, but are you dreaming, too?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he said. Ryan smiled the same smile that had brought her to her knees more times than she could count. He met her eyes
. “Are you and Paola really alive? I was almost out of hope.”
“We are,” Mary said. And though she didn’t know why she said it, or even where it came from, she added, “Look for the broken cross. You’ll know it when you see the stone walls. We need you to get here before the monsters attack.”
Ryan turned to dust before she wandered through another series of dreams, not one of which she later remembered. When she woke the next morning, she had thoughts of Ryan at the front of her mind, like she often did, but didn’t remember anything beyond that he’d been in her dreams.
She was awake for less than a minute when a queasy feeling rolled through her belly again, and sent her racing to the toilet. She made it just in time, as she vomited mostly fluids into the toilet.
Mary had felt that same feeling once before, 13 years earlier. The last time she had wanted dill pickles and green olives for 10 weeks straight.
There was life growing inside her, whether The Prophet would like it or not.
Forty-One
Luca Harding
Kingsland, Alabama
The Sanctuary
March 24
10:29 p.m.
Luca stared out the window at The Box of Shame, thinking about Rebecca and feeling the empty inside him that reminded him too much of the Terrible Scary. Scott had been killed by the monsters today, or the Demons, as everyone here called them, so Luca was alone in the room, trying not to feel sad. But it wasn’t working.
He washed his face, brushed his teeth, missed his family, then got back into bed with his face to the wall. He lay like that for 15 minutes, before he couldn’t stand to stare at the flickering shadows of tree branches on his wall any longer. He flipped to his other side so he could stare out the window at The Box of Shame, standing alone beneath the moonlight, illuminated by a thin shaft of silver raining from the sky like a spotlight on the girl’s sadness.
