The Fallow

by Alicia Britton

  “He’s bent out of shape because he didn’t get any special patient privileges for the night,” Herald whispered, turning his head to the side on the pillow next to Virtue’s ear.

  Not giving her a chance to respond, Law humbled them again with his almighty presence. “For once, I’m not going to argue! But just so you know, I heard that too!”

  “Don’t worry, Law,” Virtue called back, wracked with giggles. Herald was now underneath the blanket, frisky and silly, in an effort to give her the next best medicine—laughter. “I’ll put in a good word for you!”

  At that, Law grumbled something under his breath. He abandoned the abrupt tossing and turning and thumped his feet on the ground. Herald wasn’t quite ready to follow suit.

  But then Law began shuffling toward something. At what must have been the gun scraping off a hard surface, Herald’s head lifted from Virtue’s breast.

  The three of them remained deathly still. Until, finally, Law let out an audible sigh of relief. “She’s here,” he announced. “Put some pants on.”

  Although there was probably only one she in Law’s mind, Herald could think of at least two who could have been arriving. “Did Blasphemy come over with you last night?”

  “She stayed back to keep an eye on things.”

  Smart, on her part. It’d be any day now, but Gospel wasn’t quite ready to take care of himself. And Bernie thought she knew, but in essence, she had no idea what she was getting herself into. None of them did. So far, they merely squashed one nest of parasites. But they belonged to a vast underground network that had no known bottom. Now that they were digging in the right places, what else would they unearth . . . or awaken?

  On his feet, stepping into his pants, Herald also handed Virtue her hospital gown. Soon after, a knock on the front door resonated through the cabin.

  While Virtue was cautiously getting situated, Herald’s head popped through the unbuttoned portion of his shirt. As he adjusted his arms, he was ready to bound out the door, eager to greet Bernie as well and hear what news she had to share.

  “I need to come with you,” Virtue addressed him, her voice meek all of a sudden. She seemed ashamed to say more.

  The call of nature. Of course. He should have asked.

  He turned back, midstride. Balled in her hospital gown and shivering, the blankets removed, and in the full light of morning, she came across as morose and fragile.

  Maybe he was seeing things. Maybe she had been distracted away from the misery for some time. Or perhaps it had been there all along, but he was temporarily consumed by his own ups and downs to notice the extent of it.

  She had restored his strength. And given him his reason to carry on.

  Did he do the same for her?

  Their night together changed things, and yet there was so much that couldn’t be undone.

  “My mistake,” he told her, lifting her from the cot. “I was going to come right back for you,” he added brightly.

  Her reaction was grim in comparison. Her eyes remained downcast, as if he had said nothing at all.

  She only found it in herself to perk back up at the sight of her doctor. Bernie had lugged over crutches and an overflowing canvas bag of goodies. Virtue would get her mobility back. And there appeared to be a few more things for her to wear and possibly something decent to eat.

  Besides her polished grace, even in her sensible autumn attire and hiking boots, Bernie had something else Law was eying. The Divinity Daily. She placed the publication, still ominously rolled in its twine, on the kitchen table. “I haven’t even had a chance to look at it yet,” she said, noticing Law’s fixation as well. “Something tells me I don’t want to know.”

  The tone she directed at Law was like a cold draft, but the warmth she emanated at the sight of Virtue was more than enough to compensate for that. “How are you feeling?” she asked her as Herald placed her on the daybed downstairs.

  Virtue being Virtue, put her best face forward and found very little to complain about. And she busied herself with moving around the cabin with the crutches, though with extreme caution. The floorboards were uneven, the passages were narrow, and the stairs would not be wise to even attempt.

  Meanwhile, Herald was steeling himself for the proposition he was about to make. Could we stay? Name your price. But Bernie suddenly rounded on him in a way he did not expect. “Have a seat.”

  With a penlight in hand and a grave preoccupation with the side of his head, he tentatively lowered himself onto the corner of the daybed, confused and not intending to stay there for any length of time.

  “How’s the eye?” She shined the light right into it without much warning. His eye immediately started watering. It took most of his willpower to keep it open for her.

  He hadn’t given the injury much thought for a good while. No one had mentioned it and without any mirrors available, he had assumed it wasn’t noticeably grotesque anymore. But if it was a cause for her concern. . .

  “It still works.”

  “Is your vision blurred?”

  He considered a lie but settled on the truth. “Yes,” he admitted.

  “Seeing double?”

  He bobbed his head around as he considered that. It also served the purpose of testing out the eye in question. “Sometimes.”

  His gaze flicked over to the staircase. Virtue was hobbling up. He had little doubt about her will to succeed. Nonetheless, he still had to consciously stop himself from traipsing after her.

  It wasn’t her. It was the stairs. They were a death trap for those who had two working legs.

  “What happened to it?” Bernie held out her hands and pointed four fingers down. She told him to squeeze. “Good,” was her reply.

  “An Authority Figure was itching for some batting practice.”

  Law’s glance over was one of minimal interest. He was too captivated by the Divinity Daily. He flipped to page two with haste that shot through Herald’s nerves with every crinkle.

  “Did you lose consciousness?”

  Herald sighed. “I’m fine. Really,” he said, squirming away from the onslaught of “care.”

  He was about to get up and read over Law’s shoulder. But Bernie wasn’t at all swayed and stepped back in front of him. “Look here.” Bernie pointed at her nose. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  She held out her hands by the side of her head and flashed a few fingers up and down.

  “One, three, four, two.”

  She paused to assess him with a brief squint, seemingly astounded that he passed. “You’re lucky. But your blood pressure. I don’t even have to check it. . . .”

  He could tell by her scolding look. It was through the roof. Why was he not surprised?

  Law closed the paper at the same time Virtue began thudding her way back to the first floor with a steady rhythm. She turned toward the bathroom. The moment she was behind the closed door, Law sprang to his feet and bounded over.

  “We’ve got a problem,” he divulged so that only Herald and Bernie could hear him. “Does Blasphemy know?” he asked Bernie.

  “Know what?”

  He shook his head, as if rattling his thoughts into order. “They used our processing photos and the Braintree security footage to piece together our identities.” He addressed Herald this time. “They know me, they know you—”

  “We were out in the community not that long ago,” was his answer for that. “We knew this day was coming.”

  “Let me finish!” Law flared in return. “Leviathan Braintree of all people was quoted, saying, ‘God’s judgment is at hand.’ He was the one to identify Blasphemy and he linked her service at the Compound to Caleb, and that to the murder of four of his brothers. And she. . .”

  Had a mother and child who relied on her income . . . and her discretion.

  Herald was spurred to action as well. He’d need warm clothes. It would be nice if they were clean. They’d certainly draw less attention that way. But who had time for that?

 
And Virtue. . . “Can she stay here?”

  “Alone?” was Bernie’s pointed response. “I-I suppose,” she went on, the sputter further articulating her qualms. “Take as long as you need. But . . . I can’t stay with her.”

  He waved her off, aware of that. Virtue was moving about and doing much better. Otherwise, Bernie said what he was hoping to hear. They could live there, at least for another night or two, and could work out the details later.

  “Do these sinks work?” Law asked Bernie as he slipped into his coat. He was already fiddling with the faucet before she could answer.

  “They should. There’s well water. And gas lines are connected. If you light the pilot downstairs, you can make it hot.”

  No time for that either, but all in all, this was good news. The faucet gave Law some resistance, but eventually he had a trickle going. He splashed it on his face and rubbed a hand through his hair. Though far from his dapper best, Law still managed to pull himself together in record time and with better results than he did the day prior.

  Herald wasn’t so sure he could achieve anything close to that. It would take more than a splash of water.

  But he went down that route too. At least its chill was invigorating. Where was his blazer? Upstairs. He ran to fetch it. Law was holding the door open for him upon his return.

  Passing Bernie, less than pleased, and about to leave with Law, Herald stumbled before crossing the threshold into the cold unknown. Virtue. . .

  He had to tell her where he was going and why, and that he wasn’t sure when or if he’d ever return. The conversation wasn’t one he was looking forward to having. Not on the go. Not ever.

  And that’s when something—everything?—came crashing down on their shameful excuse for a plan. The bang, the break, the shatter originated from the bathroom. It shook the cabin, rattled some sense back into him, and broke his heart as well. And he didn’t even know what had happened yet.

  Bernie took the lead, throwing the door open. Herald was beside her not more than a moment later and Law sidled up next to him. The three of them—older than Virtue, arguably wiser and more “enlightened”—and yet nothing they had endured or accomplished could have prepared them for this. . . .

  Virtue’s crutches dropped to the floor and she slid against the wall into a seat of broken glass. “I’m sorry!” The words, the tears, and trickles of blood poured out of her crippled body and damaged spirit. “I was trying to take it down. That’s all,” she sobbed, and then she buried her hairless head against her knees and below her blood-streaked arms.

  The mirror she tore down had been bracketed to the wall. Upon its removal, she peeled off the wallpaper by a wide margin and took down chunks of the plaster with the frame. And the glass broke into what must have been a million shards.

  Virtue intended to get that mirror down and destroy it to silence . . . even if she died trying.

  “You can go,” Herald choked out. “I’ve got this under control.”

  While Bernie crossed her arms and lifted an eyebrow at him—a clear, Are you sure about that?—Law patted his back in support. “Get some writing done. She’s not the only one who’s counting on you.”

  Before long, they both left him there. He was alone with an eye that practically had its own heartbeat and a disaster that would take much more than a broom to clean up. But it was a start, like a breaking ground ceremony on the life he hoped they could still build together. Pebble by pebble, if that was all they could carry.

  He found a broom and dustpan in the pantry aside the kitchen. They allowed for him to clear the area and secure a place to sit beside her.

  “Is it something I said?”

  Chapter 23

  Blasphemy

  Blasphemy had Law with her. That was it.

  Though she had nothing but the highest respect for him and appreciated any help she could get, they were tragically unqualified for the havoc in their midst. They didn’t have the numbers, weapons, or know-how to do much other than watch their surroundings crumble to ash.

  She had learned so much about herself, what she was capable of, and how to survive in recent days. With the guidance of her streetwise peers, they even managed to get and stay a few steps ahead of their enemies. And they had accomplished what most would consider impossible.

  But there was always something. Some in. A chink in their armor they could exploit. A lucky break. A source. A plan. A team of many to figure it all out.

  And now? It was the very definition of hopeless.

  Incited by their failures and losses, the Authorities were taking no chances. They would strike back without restraint. And they were waiting . . . for someone to care and make their sad attempt to help those who couldn’t help themselves.

  “Can they do that?”

  Law lowered the binoculars. “Who’s going to stop them?”

  They were fortunate to have made it this far. They were in the heart of the Shipyard District, hiding in the building directly across from Blasphemy’s apartment building. At what must have been the end of their lucky streak, their street-side room with a fire escape had been relatively easy to break into. Not a bullet was wasted—they had so few to spare—and it was temporarily vacant.

  They had been waiting there for a while, wondering if—heaven help them—an opportunity would present itself.

  Just across the way, the Authorities were building a massive pyre.

  As if to set the mood for massacre, the clouds were racing through. It was a day that appeared and felt as dark as night. The brutal autumn wind was howling and rattling the glass. And judging by the sizable army before them and the stakes currently being placed, the fire would be lit any minute.

  Without a doubt, they were looking for her and questioning the people she used to know, some of whom she had befriended.

  She had lived there her entire life. Some of her closest neighbors had resided there for as long as she could remember as well. The majority of them had to know she gave birth to a child less than a year ago. She worked three jobs, walking to and fro in the chill of winter, past the point anyone would believe her “weight gain” excuse. And she had been taking pictures for Herald until the day she delivered—a messy, near-death affair that nearly took place on her bathroom floor. Luckily, an elderly neighbor at the end of the hall was once a midwife. She saved two lives, asked for nothing in return, and never spoke a word about it, postponing the inevitability of Fallowhood for her and her daughter.

  On the brink of destitution, Blasphemy was begging to get her other jobs back the following day, claiming she had been deathly ill. She certainly looked the part! They took pity on her and said yes. But she still couldn’t afford to buy a wedding ring to fool anyone and no man had a noticeable presence in her or her mother’s life.

  The walls were thin. The halls were narrow and crowded with doors practically on top of each other.

  And yet no one blew the whistle.

  But that was before their own lives were in jeopardy. Would they turn against her? And would it matter? Were they doomed regardless?

  It was unlikely they knew much that would be of interest to the Authorities. Her mother didn’t even know of her alias or her reason for having one. And unless her neighbors handed her and her Chronicles associates over to them, their lust for revenge and domination would go unsatisfied.

  Yes, they were all in danger. And would the carnage stop at her building? Or the next? Or the one after that?

  A morbid hunch led Blasphemy to believe that her mother and child were in there too, buckling to the onslaught and inquisition. Or were they gone already? Dead? Or taken away for a punishment more apt for their crime of blood relation?

  Once her neighbors began exiting the building, their brutal shadows ensuring their cooperation, Blasphemy grabbed for the binoculars. She wiped away the condensation with her fist and placed the binoculars against the windowpane.

  “Careful. They may see you,” Law warned her, his patience and composure irritating at
a time like this.

  People she knew by name were already being secured to stakes. The next person out that door could be Hannah, the daughter she cursed herself for not returning to sooner. Everyone else’s hardships were the priority. Always. And where were they now? When she needed them?

  “We have to do something!”

  “It’s a trap. You know that.”

  Of course she fucking knew that! The phrase, smoke them out, took on a whole new meaning for her.

  Body, after body, after body, they were tied up. And lastly, they placed her mother, front and center, as if they knew Blasphemy was watching. “That’s her!”

  Mom to her. Rosemary or Rose to everyone else. And her mother did know everyone in that building. She had such a fine memory for the personal details, something Blasphemy could never quite emulate. She had so many more important things running through her mind at all times and she couldn’t be bothered.

  As they bound her to what would soon be a fiery Hell, they pulled Blasphemy’s daughter from her frail embrace.

  Hannah’s wail pierced right through the glass and chaos. She was silenced, finally, behind the doors of a white van. The servants of the Redeemer would determine her fate. Punishment was all she would ever know. Even death would be more humane.

  Law set a hand on her shoulder, startling some of her tears loose. “Have some faith.”

  “In what?” she cried out. “In you? Or God?”

  “How about yourself. You’ll know when it’s time.”

  “Will I?”

  Could he be any more evasive?

  Some partner he was turning out to be! She sniffled in her weakness . . . and overpowered it with rage.

  She had to be tough. She was on her own. Law was a mere whisper in her ear. It wasn’t even convincing.

  As the van drove off, the fire was in the process of being lit. And she was ready to kick through the glass. She was prepared to offer herself in exchange for the hostages. They were simply using them to lure her in and make a statement. God’s judgement is at hand.

  The gusts of wind gave the flame a bit of trouble. But once they hit just right, it enabled the fire to tear right through the hay. The smoke billowed to the rooftops. It was accompanied by screams of . . . fear. The begging for mercy would soon follow.