by Donald Brown
Storm’s stomach grumbled once more. Get a bloody move on it, guys!
Many Sanctuarians were shaking their heads at this point and he could only imagine all the impatient thoughts that must be going on in their minds.
Why does this process always have to be so damn slow?
Without warning, one of the undernourished Sanctuarians broke free from the line and charged the food, but he was quickly overwhelmed by two bulky Peacekeepers, who beat the poor man to death with their wooden batons, right there in front of the crowd.
Finally, when the horde of people had reverted to a cold silence, an unfazed Vladimir stepped forward onto a raised wooden platform. He unrolled a long scroll and announced: “His Lord Grace, the Guardian of Sanctuary, Servant to all, happiest person alive, embodiment of selflessness, scourge of greediness, defender of the people, master of death, father of Sanctuarians, and conqueror of individualism, brings you this food and water!”
“The last enemy that shall be destroyed is life!” the Sanctuarians shouted, dutifully giving the salute.
After the salute, everyone clapped and cheered mechanically, but without any true conviction.
Storm heard a commotion behind him and when he turned around he saw a middle-aged man – who had most likely not participated in the applause – being approached by a furious wave of red cloaks. The man obviously did not have the strength to clap, as he appeared frail and sick to Storm. He was bent over and he was desperately clutching his lower back with both hands.
The man registered that he had erred and immediately started clapping feebly, still bent over, but he was too late. They took him away and did not even bother to get him out of hearing distance before beating him to a pulp. As a result of this, the surrounding crowd began to clap faster and with much more enthusiasm, while Servant Vladimir and the Peacekeepers squinted, on full alert, ready to unleash their wrath on another offender.
At last, when Storm’s hands began to ache, a second bell sounded and they all stopped clapping in unison, but only after everyone had peered around warily to see if it was the right thing to do. The only sounds they could hear now, were the clubs still meeting flesh and the pitiful whimpering of the middle-aged man.
Vladimir seemed to be in no hurry. He smirked slightly and only continued when the sound of the Peacekeepers’ vengeance on the man had subsided. “We have great news, my fellow Sanctuarians! Grain production had increased by a full 1% this month and our livestock had increased by another 1%! For the last enemy that shall be destroyed is life!”
“The last enemy that shall be destroyed is life!” the Sanctuarians roared back and gave the salute once more. Storm remembered the animals he had crossed when running from the boys earlier that day. Another 1% probably means another half-dead cow, he thought dully.
Vladimir held his hands in the air. “Furthermore, the Guardian has also managed to capture some of those who are in league with the Outsiders and who are seeking to do the Guardian and our precious Sanctuary harm!”
The Red Cloaks brought forward half a dozen men, who were all handcuffed and had hoods over their faces, to the booing and jeering of the crowd. The perpetrators were placed before the Sanctuarians, on the raised platform and in front of the Servant. One by one their hoods were pulled from their faces and to the crowd’s satisfaction, they saw that these traitors were badly bruised.
The Servant Vladimir strolled over to the first man and asked him: “Do you have something to confess to your fellow Sanctuarians over there?” pointing at the hungry crowd.
The crowd mocked and heckled, making it clear they were not really interested in anything the traitors had to say.
“We–” the traitor started saying, but the Servant immediately interrupted him. “It is not WE anymore, traitor!” he snapped. “You have lost the right to address yourself as such. From now on, you address yourself as I.”
This brought another roar of approval from the Sanctuarians.
The traitor nodded hurriedly and proceeded to look even further down to the ground. “I… I am sorry,” he began in low voice, which was lost over the noise of the crowd and the Servant shouted, “Louder!” while kicking the traitor in the back of his knees.
“I am sorry, sir,” the frightened prisoner started again, speaking louder and more clearly this time. “I was wrong in serving the Outsiders, their ways have poisoned our minds. The Guardian and the Servants are on the right path and we… I,” the traitor quickly corrected himself, “I beg you for mercy.”
Then he broke down in sobs and the crowd jeered. They had no pity for those actively trying to sabotage them.
Vladimir spoke to each of the captured men and they all repeated different variations of the same story, asking for mercy. This turned the crowd even more restless and disgruntled. These men had worked for the enemy and now they were requesting mercy? A few people in the crowd picked up rocks and started throwing it at the prisoners.
When the last man had offered his apology, the Servant Vladimir held up his hand and the mob quieted down. “They have asked for mercy!” he bellowed, but the crowd began to murmur and shake their heads, not satisfied with where this was going. The Servant then slammed his foot down on the platform and asked, “’But what is the law here in Sanctuary? What is the punishment for treason?”
“DEATH!” everyone shouted in triumph and soon started chanting it.
The Servant gave the Peacekeepers the signal and they walked up to the raised platform. The prisoners all watched Vladimir in shock and the first one even whispered, “But you promised…” before he was flung into the crowd. One by one the rest of the captured men were also handed to the mob, but after seeing the first one flying into the crowd of Sanctuarians, they began to squirm furiously, trying to break free from the Peacekeepers’ claws.
The Sanctuarians easily tore apart the traitors. Storm saw limbs and organs flying and some people shamelessly ate these parts in their desperate hunger.
“Death to the Outsiders!” Vladimir shouted.
“Death to the Outsiders!” The Sanctuarians bellowed back, cheering with vengeance.
Once everybody had become silent again, a third bell rang. “Back into your lines!” one of the Peacekeepers instructed, and the Sanctuarians promptly did so. All that remained of the former traitors were their bones on the ground and some blood surrounding it.
Vladimir nodded in satisfaction and then once again assumed his pompous posture, continuing in a long-winded monologue. “His Lord Grace…”
Storm wasn’t paying attention when the Servant once more cited the litany of titles. He was absentmindedly watching a Sanctuarian who was picking his teeth from the traitor meat still stuck there. Some of Vladimir’s words drifted towards Storm in the end, but there wasn’t anything new; only empty statements such as “The Guardian grants you this food with his power” and “The Guardian blesses your dry throats with this water”.
When Vladimir had concluded his speech, he rolled up the scroll he’d been reading from and gave it to Coco, before the Spiritual Leader stepped forward from where he had been observing everything quietly. He kneeled on the platform and the rest of the Sanctuarians followed suite. “Oh Guardian, bless thee food…” he began to pray, but once again, Storm quickly lost track of the prayer he had heard a million times before.
By the time the Spiritual Leader was done and they were allowed to stand, everyone was shuddering from kneeling in the freezing snow for such a long time. The Servant motioned to the helpers with his hand and they instantly moved towards the steaming pots.
Like clockwork, the line of Sanctuarians edged forward to receive their meager allocated meals.
After what seemed like ages, Storm and Hadrian found themselves second in line and they watched as a white-bearded man gave his cups to the servants, his hands trembling ferociously from either cold, age or hunger. Or perhaps all three. One of the red cloak’s noticed his condition and took the bearded man by the hand with a smile. “Come with us.�
��
“But, we are an essential worker, we do our work diligently,” he stammered.
The Peacekeeper laughed at this. “Of course you do!” he declared, emphasizing the “you” with a bit of foreshadowing.
The bearded man had no choice but to follow the Peacekeeper out of sight. Storm knew what was coming and he hastily turned away as the man’s windpipe was sliced open with a knife; incidentally the same knife used for cutting some of their food. Storm heard gurgling sounds and then a body collapsing to the ground. At least the old man had been granted a quick death.
“Boy-150!” Hadrian called. He was waiting for his brother impatiently, whilst the helper who was holding Storm’s share of the food in his spoon was eyeing him irritably.
Storm stepped forward and noticed once again that the stew had cooled to an icy mess in the pot, while he and his brother had been standing in line.
The helper devotedly dished up the stew, muttering under his breath.
Now you are worried about efficiency?
But he had perhaps judged the situation too soon, for the servant missed the cup completely, sending the stew falling to the ground where it joined the rest that had managed to miss its mark, forming a brown puddle in the snow. Mumbling an insincere apology, the servant delved into the pot for a second scoop, this time filling the cup appropriately. Storm gave his best fake smile, feeling his cheeks straining at the exercise. He hadn’t practiced smiling in a while; he should catch up on that back home. “The last enemy that shall be destroyed is life,” he said and, taking his cup, he walked away.
Up to that point, the early evening had been pretty uneventful, even by Sanctuarian standards.
But then they heard a shout and a cry for alarm behind them. Both Storm and Hadrian wheeled around at the same time and saw a man trying to pry a pot away from one of the helpers.
Storm registered to his astonishment that it was John, their neighbor, who was completely hysterical, as if the Jacobites had taken hold of him. The helper fought back and shoved John away from him. Being so weak, John’s knees gave in at the slightest pressure and he fell on his back, moaning pitifully.
Vladimir rang the bell and called out: “Kill him!”
While John was laying there, a sudden transformation occurred within the rest of the Sanctuarians, as their focus fell on the man cowering on the ground. An animal instinct awoke in them, an instinct that had been drilled into each one of them from an early age: the desire to protect the group and destroy any attempt to weaken their unity.
The helper who had been assaulted acted first on this impulse. He picked up a piece of wood and pelted over towards John to beat him up. Most of the Sanctuarians in close proximity followed suite, using their fists to punch John. The ones who couldn’t reach him, cheered on those who were engaged in delivering the punishment, or tried crazily to climb over the punishers, in their desperation to dispose of John.
Hadrian placed his cup down in the snow and proceeded to cheer them on as well. Storm, however, stood where he was, conflicted. Half of him, the half experiencing the same need for assimilation that had been taught to him, wanted to join in. The other half made him hesitant, as a totally unexpected and somewhat strange natural feeling of compassion washed over him. He envisioned the countless times the other boys had beaten him, or his superiors had punished him, and the act where John had warned him of Jamie and his gang’s whereabouts. He felt sorry for John, as well as repulsion in what he was witnessing. He just stood there, watching the entire spectacle, appearing outwardly calm and yet experiencing an intense battle of wills deep inside his soul.
And then something even more mystifying happened.
His vision was slowly blinded by something… above him! He gazed upwards and saw for a brief moment a slight parting in the clouds, with sunlight streaming through, falling directly upon him. The others, engaged in their savagery, went on completely oblivious as to what was happening. Storm was paralyzed with disbelief as the sunlight enveloped him. For the first time in his life, he was seeing light streaming through the clouds, an actual opening in the sky and Sanctuary not bathed in darkness. And it also fell on a mysterious structure in the distance! Storm saw that it was revealing a building on the edge of the mountain. From there he saw an old woman, with stringy hair standing at the edge of the crowd, staring at him. And then, just as quickly as the sunlight had arrived, it vanished.
When he came to his senses, Storm realized that he had been strangely fortunate in being near enough to the crowd to appear to be part of it. He peered around to see if anyone had noticed what he had just experienced and observed that the old lady was now gone.
Then the Servant brought out the bell once more, ringing it and signaling for to the Sanctuarians to stop. The carnage ended on cue and each Sanctuarian, in complete serenity – the complete opposite of what they had just expressed – resumed their original positions. John lay there in the snow, totally ravaged and barely recognizable, while the helper smiled at the next person in line, who had to step over the bleeding man to receive his dinner.
Storm watched, almost in a trance, as the situation returned to normal. He vaguely recognized Hadrian walking over towards him. Hadrian picked up his cup, which was still standing perched in the snow. Storm’s eyes moved from John and he turned to walk away with Hadrian, back to their house.
They travelled in silence, Storm still contemplating what he had just experienced, whilst noticing that Hadrian’s hands were covered in blood.
When they reached the front door of their house, Hadrian stopped and turned towards Storm. He then asked the obvious question (the one that had been puzzling Storm the entire time): “Why didn’t we join in?” Hadrian wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even disappointed. He was simply curious. His sincerity took Storm completely off guard.
“We…We didn’t want to,” Storm replied honestly.
Hadrian stood there for a moment and Storm detected a faint hint of admiration, but just as he noticed it, it disappeared and was replaced by his brother’s usual dismissiveness. “We think too much Storm. That is very selfish,” he said in a reprimanding voice, opening the door and entering their tiny home.
Storm stood there for a moment, thinking about what his brother had just said. His eyes travelled to the skies again and he could see a faint yellowish outline in the clouds, where the sunlight had streamed through earlier.
Yes, it was selfish of me, he admitted
A single tear rolled down his cheek as he followed his brother into their house.
17
“What do you think happened?”
“He must have done it himself, there is no way that Dorothy could have done something like this, besides he is a war veteran, Dorothy doesn’t know how to handle a gun, let alone overpower him.”
“Is she alright though?”
“Let’s find out.”
A hand gently slapped her face and when Dorothy came to, she was flat on her back with a small crowd of people surrounding her.
Frieda, Tom, Mr. Meyers, Miss Flaunders, Dan, Miss Pennyweather and Father Dennis were all there, as well as a few others whose names Dorothy did not know. They had heard the gunshot and her scream and had come rushing from the center of town, which was less than a mile away from the Lake’s shore.
Her eyelids fluttered open and Dorothy could see that – beyond the people’s heads – the green Willow branches now appeared to be drooping much lower than before, almost as if they were crying.
Weeping Willows.
She then noticed that there was blood on her clothes. Her eyes travelled to the broken jar while it all came back to her with a shock.
George was dead!
He had committed suicide right in front of her. As the disturbing images flooded into her mind, her skin was burning up and the inside of her mouth felt as dry as a desert. Before she could even ask herself why George had done it, the answer popped into her head like a shooting star: the witch!
The witch cursed us o
n our wedding day and it is her fault that my husband is now dead, Dorothy thought with a shattered heart.
She lifted her head slightly and noticed how the sheriff and his deputy were hunched down at the shore of Lake Zion, inspecting George’s body, where it was halfway submerged in the shallow water. She was about to scream in horror, when an immense contraction pain shot through her lower body, all the way from her tummy to her inner thighs. A deep groan escaped her mouth as her head fell back onto the soft grass and she momentarily forgot about her husband’s untimely death.
Father Dennis was the first to speak. “She’s alive! It’s a miracle, thank the Lord Almighty!”
How long have I been out for?
“Are you all right, Dorothy?” Mr. Meyers asked calmly. He was dressed in the same multi-colored silk suit he’d worn at the wedding.
“I… I think so,” Dorothy answered in a rasping voice. “I must have passed out and…” She stopped in the middle of the sentence as yet another contraction pain rippled through her body. “Ouch! Aaargh!” she screamed, sounding like a wounded animal.
“Oh my soul!” Frieda suddenly exclaimed, staring intensely at a moist area beneath Dorothy’s buttocks.
Tom clasped a hand over his mouth. “Is that? Is that…?” he muttered.
“No, it’s not urine, you moron,” Frieda said sternly. Then she shouted, “Somebody! Call Doctor Ron! Dorothy’s water just broke for God’s sake!”
Turning on his heels, Tom began to sprint towards town, while shouting over his shoulder, “Hang on Dorothy! I’ll be really quick!”
In the haze of the incredible pain she was suffering from, Dorothy felt slightly reassured. Although she didn’t sit around the same fire as Tom – hell, they weren’t even in the same camp – she was glad it was him who was running to call the doctor. Barring a few youths, Tom was the fastest man in Zion, drunk or otherwise.
“Are you having any contraction pains?” Frieda asked with some concern in her high-pitched voice.