The Fallow

by Alicia Britton

  Sounded like a job for Gospel, once he was back to his old tricks.

  “And here. . .” Law fanned out the machine-made “composition notebooks” for everyone to take. The paper was remarkably thin and had helpful light blue lines on which words could be neatly applied.

  Blasphemy took one for herself. Virtue looked eager to have one as well. Meanwhile, Herald, rather than hold on to one, shook his head, chuckling once. He tried handing it back. “There’s no time like the present, but . . . I don’t have it in me to write yet. I’m sorry.”

  “I understand.” Rather than accept it, though, Law urged him to hang on to it. “But the Daily did a first-rate job in their smear campaign already. By morning, they will further annihilate our character, our integrity, our substance, calling into question everything we’ve ever accomplished. And they’d continue to do so, even after we’re banished to whatever Hell the Powers that Be see fit for us.”

  “Please!” Herald said in a firm whisper. He then cast his remorseful gaze at Virtue. “Do we have to be reminded of that right now?”

  “My apologies.” Law bowed his head at Virtue, and began second guessing the urgency, for her sake.

  They could wait one more day . . . or until everyone was mentally prepared for their own personal war of words. But there was something about the delay that didn’t feel right. The more their lives stabilized, the less heinous the injustices would play out in their memories and in print. They needed every detail to be as vivid, fresh, and accurate as possible.

  “It’s all right,” Virtue consoled him. “It is,” she said, still gentle and sweet, but, nonetheless, she was being a bit firmer with Herald and his contention with her first statement. Law could practically hear him crumbling—flesh, bone, joint by joint. “I’m ready. What’s done is done. I can’t change that. But what I can do is this . . . If I can make one man think twice. If I can protect one woman from the fate that was almost mine, then I will make my voice heard and my story known.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. . .” Law replied to her while Herald slumped in his chair, crossing his arms and lifting an eyebrow at him as if to say, This better be good. Then he had no qualms about bestowing his disenchantment upon the alarm clock. It sat amid the clutter on the table and it appeared to display the correct time. 12:45 a.m. “Right, well. . .” He thought it was a fantastic plan, but under the weight of Herald’s doubt, the flaws had a way of tying his tongue. “Blasphemy came to me a little while ago, and we’ve been busy putting a few pieces together. And . . . Blasphemy? I’ll let you fill in the rest.”

  She didn’t look appreciative, even though she agreed with him earlier . . . in principle. Granted, she did warn him that Herald would be the hardest to convince. Virtue was the unknown, but she did just say she’d do her part. And if she could make Herald succumb to her wishes with a mere inflection in tone, then maybe. . . ?

  Moving forward without complaint, Blasphemy opened the spiral-bound black book in her lap. For their purposes, it was a gold mine of information. It was a guidebook to all things Fallow. Before then, no one in their party even knew of its existence. There had to be only a few in print, kept far away from the general public’s prying eyes. “Can I see your arm?” she asked Virtue.

  Beside Virtue’s tattoo, Blasphemy held her own. “See? I told you hers was a lot more complicated.” Law met her gaze and encouraged her to go on with a nod. “Mine was fairly simple to decipher, and I pretty much guessed correctly before I even started. ‘L’ stands for Lumber, the 4089 is how I’d be identified specifically, and D17 was where I’d supposedly turn in after a long day of work. But Virtue’s . . . the ‘X’ that Doxy and Parody couldn’t even figure out, means ‘Exclusive.’” She flipped to the page she had bookmarked. “And that brings us to a whole new section.”

  By this point, Herald was on his feet, looking over Blasphemy’s shoulder. “Is ‘21’ her age?”

  “I think so,” Blasphemy replied, skimming through lists that had sub-lists. And those lists had lists. A few moments later, she pointed to a line and said, “Yes, that’s confirmed here.”

  Herald was now eagerly reaching for the notebook he tossed aside earlier. He grabbed a spare pen from the table and began transferring Virtue’s code onto the lines vertically, so he had plenty of space to jot down the meaning of every letter and number. X21-482AVI-T-FBP-DC-MAW.

  When Law pulled over the stool, placing it beside Blasphemy, she handed over the book to him. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  Herald took her place on the filing cabinet, and with Law, they began to decode together, while Blasphemy went over to Virtue. “Do you mind if we get a few pictures . . . of your back and any injuries?” She captured Herald’s full attention. “It’ll be tasteful. . .” she assured them both. “And also powerful. We’ll be called killers, but the Braintrees will be forced to answer for the bruises.”

  Virtue looked unsure. Uncomfortable even. After seeking visual confirmation from Herald, who simply shrugged, leaving it up to her, she took down a visible gulp of the dignity she still possessed and made her own decision. She nodded, turned to face the wall, and slipped her delicate torso out of her hospital gown.

  Law should have left the room. For her privacy and for his own morale. Hearing about it and seeing the actual extent of the damage with his own eyes were two different things entirely.

  Just a glance and Law had to look away . . . and bury his thoughts in the book, which, quite frankly, wasn’t helping him forget.

  T – Achilles Tendons

  DC – Declawed

  “It says here the last three letters specify ownership. MAW. Do you think they’re initials?” Law murmured to Herald.

  Blasphemy apparently heard him too and paused between shots to chime in. “MAW caught my eye for some reason. There’s something familiar about it.”

  Law turned to face Herald. He’d be the one to know. And judging by his expression—blank at first glance, but with closer inspection, it was both flushed with heat and stone cold—it had clicked together for him. “Morton. Aamon. Wersal,” he spoke slowly and deliberately. “The Captain.”

  Herald’s eyes fluttered down toward the page of the notebook. The pen shook right out of his hand. It hit the floor. The light clatter startled everyone out of their false sense of security and thrust them into a grave state of silence.

  Law, ever industrious and the first to channel his anger to the matter at hand, flipped through the pages of the Bible of Barbarity in attempt to fill in the remaining blanks.

  I . . .

  Right when he spotted it, Herald snatched the book out of Law’s hands. He passed it back listlessly after consuming the word for himself. Infertile.

  What was it like watching a friend’s future die in his eyes?

  There were no words.

  “You should go,” Herald choked out, probably through the bile rising in his throat.

  Law nodded and stood, encountering Herald’s gaze as it scrambled for composure. And failed. Then it united with Virtue’s face full of tears. She glanced down at her arm. Without ever hearing the word, she knew too. She had been grappling with the truth all along, and surely had the incisions to prove it.

  And now she knew that he knew.

  “I’m sorry,” Law whispered, settling a hand on Herald’s shoulder. He then picked up Herald’s pen for him. “I think this belongs to you. Now . . . do what you do best. You get even. Make them fall in love with her and hate the men who did this to her.”

  Blasphemy took one last shot of Virtue gazing down at the code on her arm. Even in the dim light, her hopelessness and despair, as well as the black tattoo would cut right through, imprinting a black mark on every soul—those responsible, those who did nothing, and those who didn’t quite do enough.

  Law could preach, Herald could scourge with the written word like the best of them, but it would be Blasphemy and Virtue who would launch a revolution.

  And he was proud of them.

  C
ollecting their belongings, ready to call it a night, Law caught a final view of Herald, not surprised that he was hunched over his notebook, scribbling down the small, neat, even handwriting that was unmistakably Herald. He was already immersed in a tirade about ten lines deep.

  Before that realization was complete, the door burst open.

  Bernie’s presence wasn’t out of place, but the degree of panic she brought in with her was the cause for concern.

  In two words, she changed everything.

  “They’re coming.”

  Chapter 22

  Herald

  “Gather your things.” Bernie went right over to Virtue and removed her IV line from her hand. “Everything. All traces.”

  Blasphemy and Law collected the laptop computer, the notebooks, and the documents they brought in. If they were caught with them, they’d be dead. But, then again, they’d be dead without them. The Authorities had pictures of them from their arrest and processing, and there was footage from the Braintree Compound they could probably use to make the connection.

  “This isn’t everything!” Blasphemy emitted, to everyone and no one. “There’s more in your parlor,” she informed Bernie.

  “I took care of it already,” she replied.

  Herald slipped on his blazer. He had no clue where Virtue’s coat or hat ended up, so he placed the hospital blankets over her shoulders and scooped her into his arms. “Do you think they know we’re here?”

  Bernie darted over to an unassuming book shelf in the corner of the room. She shifted it aside, revealing an ominous black hole in the wall. “They suspected a few of you would need medical treatment. Beyond that. . .”

  She waved for them to follow her. Bernie handed Herald a flashlight. With Virtue in his arms, they were the first to slip through.

  Once they were all within, they clustered around the opening of what could only be . . . a tunnel?

  “What about Caleb?” Blasphemy inquired further. “He was sleeping on the couch. And Gospel!”

  He was too unstable to move.

  “Gospel should be all right. I gave him a fake chart. And Caleb? I thought he was with you. He wasn’t there when I passed through.”

  Herald glared at Law and then Blasphemy. Were they really that complacent about watching him?

  “You gave him a cover story, right?” Law asked.

  “Of course,” Blasphemy sputtered in her defense. “First thing. He can blame us for everything . . . and they should go easy on him. In theory.”

  “And this leads out?” Herald asked of Bernie, glancing into the dark unknown.

  “You’ll end up in the woods.”

  “And Caleb won’t know where we’re going,” Law stated, thinking out loud. “Heck, we don’t even know. Your place?” he asked Herald.

  Herald, in his former life, moved often and to whatever shit-hole had a vacancy. For his latest abode, he had used a fake name and his landlord spoke only in banknotes. But this proved to be problematic. “I stopped paying rent in September.”

  “Ha,” was Law’s dry response. “So did I.”

  The next logical option was Blasphemy’s apartment. But it wasn’t the best idea to bring more danger upon her ailing mother and infant child, who, presumably, were still safe.

  Gospel’s place was all the way on the other side of town and they’d have to venture through the most urban of areas to get there. Plus, Parody and Doxy said they’d be staying there. Though it remained a possibility, it wasn’t a very good one.

  After glancing at where the Authorities could momentarily barge through, Bernie was the one to sigh in exasperation. “There’s a cabin. For hunting. About a mile north. It’s been vacant for years. I’ll explain later.”

  She was dragging the shelf back into position when Law gasped. “What about you?”

  Bernie’s eyes narrowed, as if she wasn’t used to the concern. “I tell them what they want to hear. How great they’re doing. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  But this was different.

  “What if they know?” Law pressed on, pushing himself against the crack of light.

  How long had Caleb been gone? Did he report them?

  Who else knew where they were? Corollary? Bernie’s staff? Did Virtue’s father or stepmother tip-off the Authorities and send them hunting for the infirmed?

  And then there was a knock at the door. “Be careful,” Law hissed as she yanked the shelf the rest of the way into place.

  All sight was gone. All sound too. It smelled of raw earth. Dirt crumbled from the passageway at a mere touch.

  Would this be their tomb?

  It could be if they were careless, clumsy, if they didn’t hurry, or if their escape route was exhumed on either end.

  Herald nudged Law to get him walking. “I’ll hang back,” he supplied, unmoving.

  “There’s only one flashlight and a single gun with three bullets left,” Herald whispered to remind him.

  “Go on without me. I’ll make do,” Law muttered with finality that no one would challenge. “I’ll catch up soon.”

  Hearing only his own stride, he paused for what would be the last time. “I’ll stay with Law,” Blasphemy offered, sensing the reason for his hesitation. “Bernie may need us.”

  Herald didn’t need any more convincing. He hustled out of there. Using the flashlight sparingly, he muddled through the tunnel, Virtue already shivering in his arms.

  He was too fired up to feel the cold even though it was taking an immediate toll on her. She didn’t even have a sock to protect her exposed foot. And the perilousness would worsen once they met their fate outside.

  They surfaced from beneath a few boughs of pine, placed strategically to shield the hole in the ground.

  It was a bitterly cold and windy night. The rain from earlier had hardened into ice and a coating of frost. It gave everything underfoot a slippery crunch. And yet the Gods did bestow upon them one blessing of note. The sky was clear. It gleamed bright with moonlight, and through the treetops, Herald could pick out the North Star.

  And before he could get too far lost, the rugged land and dense growth gave way to what almost appeared to be a path. Maybe it once was. Or it could have been the gulley for a spring stream to cut across. Either way, it wasn’t smooth enough to bolt through, but it was a much more manageable passageway than their surroundings.

  Already on the outskirts of town, there was truly nothing behind Bernie’s manor. Only woodland. Judging by its height and breadth, perhaps it had always been that way.

  Hearing no gunshots or screams. Seeing no fire or lights on their tail, Herald seized the opportunity to set Virtue down on a fallen log and rest for a second.

  “I’m sorry.” Virtue’s tears were audible in her sinuses and in the unevenness of her tone. “I can try walking.”

  While his lungs were on the verge of collapsing, her hand stroked his cheek. It pushed him past his moment of weakness. “No. I can manage.”

  “Are you sure? If you help me, I could possibly—”

  No, no and no. He silenced her doubt by easing himself between her bare knees. They didn’t have time to disagree. And he didn’t have that kind of energy.

  But he didn’t quite expect the reaction he received. Not far removed from their possible demise, and yet her breath hitched. Her body tensed. Despite what they had been through—what she had been through—what he had put her through—she still, surprisingly, wanted him back. And he could put the past out of mind enough to respond.

  The heat that flared between them was sudden, explosive, out of place, and yet, unavoidable somehow.

  It was all so chaste, however. The hospital gown was loose. There wasn’t much going on beneath it. But he only allowed himself to touch her face and neck. And her lips to his.

  Anything beyond a kiss would have to wait. It was done and over with in record time for them, but what a deep and arousing one it was!

  “Here.” He turned around. And helped her scoot onto his back. “It s
houldn’t be too much farther.”

  It was a little less strenuous to carry her that way. And it was a lot more intimate. Plus, it helped them both stay warm. The blankets were draped over his shoulders as well. Perhaps that made it seem easier to bear the weight of two over a distance that had to be more than a mile. Admittedly, his sense of direction may have been responsible for what seemed in excess.

  Nonetheless, a quaintly sized cabin cropped up. It was surrounded closely by trees. Few had been cleared. It blended in so well, it was amazing they had found it all. The logs looked black and the roof had so many dead leaves and pine needles piled on top of it, it was also a miracle the structure was still standing.

  The steps were almost rotted through. They were especially treacherous with his balance already compromised. The unenclosed porch wasn’t a great deal sturdier. The door, as one might expect, was locked.

  Before checking below the floor mat, he first swept a hand through the eaves and almost immediately came across a key.

  The door opened with some noisy resistance. But he worked at it slowly and kept it contained.

  Greeted with the scent of must and soot, and a darkness that was too dense to navigate, he clicked on the flashlight, just to get a quick sense of the layout.

  The space was crowded with clutter and four seasons of outdoor equipment. It certainly wasn’t roomy, but it was larger than it looked from the outside, and certainly cozier than his most recent living arrangements, the lighthouse included.

  The cabin had a sitting area with a daybed sofa along the wall. The woodstove in the center of the floor acted as a room divider. In the kitchen area, there was a wash basin, a few spots of counter space, and a table with six chairs. The bathroom in the front corner of the house, though not particularly spacious, had the basic amenities, including a claw-footed tub with a curtain and a showerhead.