Suddenly the onslaught abates and I hear my father’s voice calling for quiet. He climbs onto the cart and stands in front of us, facing the crowds.
He waits for the silence to intensify before raising his hands to head height, his palms down and arms straight.
“The time for retribution has come!” he yells to the crowd.
They cry out in appreciation and begin to stamp loudly, the sound of their cries and the thunderous boom of their feet echoing fiercely.
Birch looks up—fear in her eyes, her voice thin—“What do we do now?”
Chapter Twenty
We cower together in our small cage. There is a wall of people around us, clamoring for our deaths. There are both strange and familiar faces screaming at us, distorted with anger. We never suspected the elders would be waiting for our return after all this time. But we were wrong.
“What are they going to do to us?” asks Abigail. Her voice has a hard edge to it. I know Abigail. I know she won’t surrender willingly.
Delphine points with her bound hands towards the seven crosses that have been hastily erected on the edge of the clearing. A man is busy nailing the horizontal piece on the final cross. There is one for each of us.
“When they open the door,” says Carl. “ …Run.”
“We’ll be shot before we get half a chain,” replies Philip. “I’m not willing to die today. But running now will be a death sentence.”
“Steady does it. Philip is right. We won’t give up without a fight, but it needs to be the right fight,” I say.
My father approaches the cage. His long robes almost reach the ground and his face is gaunt and twisted into a grimace. He has no need for a weapon. Behind him are hundreds with guns and axes, all poised to strike should we make the wrong move.
He unlocks the cage door and turns to face the crowd. One horse shuffles backwards against the cart and the cage wobbles. My father braces his legs against the movement and raises his hands theatrically.
“The heathens who attempted to destabilize our peaceful society have been delivered! Glory Hallelujah!”
The crowd cheers wildly, the roar dissipating in the dark forest. I spot Carl’s little sister standing next to a drawn-looking woman. Delphine’s dog is on a tattered leash next to her. I nudge him and look in their direction.
“My mother and sister,” he replies, his voice breaking. “I don’t want them to see this.”
In front of us, my father is continuing his diatribe. “They planted falsehoods, items intended to test the faithful. They hoped you would believe their lies, but we have stayed the course and the Gods have rewarded us. Glory Hallelujah!”
“Glory Hallelujah!” they scream.
My father turns to us and opens the cage door. He reaches into the cage and grabs hold of my rope. He pulls me from the cage with a sharp tug. I stumble forward and land face-first beside my father.
“Jackson, stop!” yells my mother. “You don’t have to do this.”
My father flinches at her words. The movement is so slight, no one else would have noticed. But I’m close enough to look into his eyes.
Inside I am burning with rage. “What are you going to do? Throw me in the pit like you did to Rich?” I spit out the words.
“Worse, my son. Much worse,” replies my father. He grins maniacally at me and looks totally unhinged. I realize there is no chance of even begging for his mercy.
My father grabs me by the wrists and holds me up. I twist and rotate out of his grip and land hard on the cart. He kicks me viciously in the stomach and I curl into a tight ball, winded. In that brief moment I grab the small object from my pocket and curl my fingers around it. When he lifts my hands again, I submit.
But I’m watching. Waiting for the right time. It’s not over yet.
I’m on my knees now, my hands pulled high above my head. “The first sacrifice,” he yells to the crowd. “ … Will be my own son!”
They stomp and cheer wildly, hungry for my blood. Someone drags me off the cart and I slam into the ground. I hear my mother screaming as rough hands continue to drag me by my bound arms towards the crosses, through the snarling mass of onlookers.
The onlookers kick me as I pass by them. One leather boot catches my nose and blood streams down my face. The people dragging me finally stop at the foot of the cross and drop me to the ground. I’m lying sideways with a view of the roaring bonfire and the seething mob.
Someone hoists me up and a second person makes quick work of tying my wrists to the cross. Next, they wrap a length of rope around my ankles. A final length of rope is wrapped under my armpits and over the parallel beam. Then, they let me go and I am suspended five cubits in the air, overlooking the clearing.
I can see the cart from where they have tied me. The others have their faces pressed against the bars. Birch is watching next to my mother, aghast. I am overcome with guilt for inflicting this further trauma on her.
I need this to end.
I clench my fist tightly; obscuring the object I managed to pull from my tunic as my father beat me on the cart.
Carl is the next to be dragged through the crowd and they tie him to the cross beside me. His face is bloody with one eye horribly swollen. He hangs off the cross with his head down. “Carl,” I yell over the shouting. “Don’t give up. It’s not over yet.”
He raises his head briefly to look at me, and I can see that he’s all but surrendered to his fate.
One by one the rest of my friends and my mother are pulled from the cage and tied up next to me. Philip struggles as they pull him through the crowd, desperately trying to get free. It takes two men to hoist him to the cross and he spits on them. “A day will come when you will be begging for your own mercy,” he yells.
My father walks to the crosses and stands in front of us. A fire burns in the center of the clearing and the wooden door leading to the pit catches my eye. It’s built into a rock face that’s been chiseled flat and smooth.
My father begins to pace from the first cross to the last. The people watching us fall silent and every eye in the tree-lined clearing is on him. When he reaches the end of the row of crosses, he throws his hands skywards and his voice booms loudly.
“The Gods have delivered us the sinners so we can exercise our divine right to retribution. We stand tonight as one, ready to rid our island home forever of those who seek to tear it down. Tonight, we shall see them sacrificed!”
The crowd begins to clap and scream in delight. I look around at the familiar faces but they are all strangers to me now.
Then my mother’s voice rises loudly about the cheers. She’s straining to project her voice. “This man, my…” my mother pauses then spits out, “… husband, he has lied to you all. The sacrifice will not save you. Killing us will not save you. We have been to the mainland. We have seen the truth. We have seen the things they are keeping from you.”
“Be quiet woman!” roars my father. He closes the distance to my mother where she hangs—strung up against the cross. He reaches up and slaps her hard in the face with the back of his hand. Her head cracks backwards against the cross from the impact.
Before I can yell out in protest, there is a shrill blast from a horn blower and the other elders file into the space in front of us. I watch my father closely as he composes himself. One of the elders caries an ornate wooden box I remember from the revel; it’s the box that holds the dagger for the sacrifice.
An intense silence falls over the clearing. I think I see the beginnings of doubt on some of the faces staring at me. Are they really going to kill us in front of all the islanders in the name of the sacrifice?
I take a deep breath and yell as loudly as I can, “My friend Marissa died. Elder Spool shot her and she died. On the mainland, they would have been able to save her.” I search the crowd, making eye contact with whoever will let me.
“My mother died,” yells Abigail, her wiry black hair falling over her tear-stained face. “She wanted to expose the lies that the
elders have been telling us. The sacrifice. The book. None of that will save you from what’s coming.”
“My friend Sally died,” yells my mother. “She risked her own life to save the lives of strangers. And those strangers have been living up in space, orbiting the Earth for generations.”
A low murmuring has begun to ripple through the crowd.
“Silence!” roars my father.
But we keep on going. “We’ve seen the truth!” yells Carl. “We know what caused the great floods and we know Delphine was right. The island could be submerged at any time. My father was wrong. He lied!”
“There’s more out there than you could ever imagine,” yells Philip. His eyes are red and his voice hoarse. I know he is thinking of Marissa. “People can do incredible things. We know truly amazing things.”
The rumble of voices in the crowd grows louder. My father spins to face them. “Resist! Resist the lies. These outcasts have been sent by the Devil himself!”
“Did none of you see the light we left in the forest at West Tisbury? I know you saw the light. I know the elders tried to cover it up. But you’ve seen the truth. You’ve heard the whisperings.” I’m yelling desperately now.
Just as I think we may have a chance, my father pulls the long, glinting dagger from the box. He comes towards me and my heart is pounding in my chest. My father looks up, like a reflection of my own darkness, and holds the point of the dagger close to my throat.
“Jackson, no!” My mother screams loudly for him to stop.
One of the elders has the book and he kneels down before my father. My father begins to chant, the dagger now pressed against my skin. I can feel its razor-sharp edge against my windpipe.
It’s now or never.
I press the button on the small object in my hand and turn it to shine on the wide, flat entrance to the pit. A beam of light bursts from the object, cutting through the darkness, and I hold my hand steady.
Like a wave that ripples across the crowd, people turn to the image I am projecting on the rock. There are gasps as people try to make sense of what they see. My father turns with the others, his grip on the dagger momentarily loosening.
“This is the great flood!” I yell over the sudden silence. “The destruction you see, this is the flooding unleashed by mankind after they heated up the planet. We did this.”
A monster wave is projected on the rock face. It races over the ocean towards an idyllic beach. Small huts line the beach. People live there. And there are people running now. A mother picks up her small son and clutches him to her chest. She runs up the beach, looking backwards at the wall of water hurtling towards them.
But they mother and child are too late. There are gasps from the crowd as the monster wave flattens the beach huts. The tiny figures running up the sand disappear under the water. One minute they are there. The next, they are not.
“This is a real visual recording of the great floods destroying civilization hundreds of years ago,” I yell.
The scene changes to a mighty city, a place so foreign to us it could be another planet. Water has flooded the monstrous buildings of steel and glass. People cling to rooftops that are almost totally submerged, the fear and panic in their faces visceral in its intensity.
Scene after scene of devastation is displayed on the rock wall. My father and the other elder holding the book have both turned and are watching the chaos and destruction unfold.
“It’s not over,” I say, softer this time. “We can still get off the island. We have time to leave before the next floods drown us.” My voice fades away as the images continue unabated.
“Let them go,” says a small voice into the quiet.
We all search for the voice. I finally find a small face, her black hair plaited in twin strands that hang down her back, who has stepped away from the crowd. She stands close to us, her chest rising and falling rapidly and her arms crossed in front of her, hugging herself. It’s Carl’s sister.
“Let them go!” This time the voice is stronger. It’s Carl’s mother. She boldly steps into the space occupied by my father and the other elders.
“For the love of your dead husband’s memory, step down, woman,” says my father. “Step down before you say something you regret.” There is an edge of warning in my father’s voice, but Carl’s mother doesn’t heed it.
“There’s more going on here than they are willing to admit,” continues Carl’s mother in a loud voice. She looks at her son strung up on the cross with deep, unwavering love.
She turns to face the crowd, the scenes of flooding and destruction playing alongside her, and then steps directly in front of my father. “I’ve seen the secret cache kept by my late husband, Elder Spool. There were many strange objects from the mainland that they kept hidden from us. But worse… there were books about the sea levels rising. Delphine was right.”
I can see my father’s profile from where I hang. Rage is rippling over his face, barely contained. Without warning, he charges at Carl’s mother. I scream out a warning, “Look out!”
But it’s too late. He collides with her, knocking her to the ground. There’s a collective gasp from the crowd as the senior elder wrestles the woman on the ground.
The little girl, her black plaits swinging, runs to them. She’s screaming for her mother. She grabs hold of my father and tugs at his robes. He swings his arm back and flings her to the ground.
“Get off her,” screams Carl, thrashing against the ropes binding him.
Max the dog is barking and snarling menacingly. He takes hold of my father’s sleeve, trying to tear him off Carl’s mother. The little girl screams loudly. Next to me, Carl is yelling obscenities.
The scene is chaotic. I don’t know where to look.
Suddenly there’s an agonizing scream. Then my father pushes himself off Carl’s mother, his robe wet with blood. He has a satisfied smile on his face, and Carl’s mother lies in the dirt, bleeding from a gaping wound in her chest. The dagger lies bloodied and discarded on the ground.
“Let me down, I’ll kill you,” screams Carl.
The little girl is sobbing. She folds herself over her mother, blood staining her tunic and her hands as she tries to close the hole in her mother’s chest.
“Someone, untie me,” yells my mother. “I can help her. I can save her.”
The crowd watches in shocked silence. Behind them the projection continues to play, this time showing another huge wave that smashes into a massive green statue of a woman holding a torch. The image shakes up and down as my hand trembles.
As though operated by a collective hive mind, the crowd surges forward, towards us. The elders start to fire on them and I watch in horror as the spray of bullets mows people down.
But the sheer numbers continue to advance. The elders don’t stand a chance against the enraged islanders. One by one, the elders are overpowered.
My father is the last to be captured. He roars angrily and struggles against the hands that hold him to the ground. “The Gods will destroy this place! You’re all doomed to the fiery pits of hell.”
But still they come.
Warm hands cut me down. My mother is carried to Carl’s mother and I join my mother at her side. “Get me bandages, needle and thread, alcohol. Quickly!” my mother yells.
The medical supplies are brought to us quickly and we work fast, staunching the flow of blood and repairing the damaged muscle and skin. Our patient cries out in pain and someone holds a flask of strong spirits to her lips. She drinks the foul liquid and splutters. I can’t help but think about Rich and the instantaneous pain relief the Washingtonians gave him.
Carl joins us and holds his mother’s head in his lap.
“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you, Ellie.”
And then later, as his mother’s face turns deathly pale, “Please, save her.”
I’m so focused on helping mother and treating Carl’s mother that I pay little attention to the surrounding activity. It’s only when we finish the final s
titch that I sit back and look around.
The elders have been rounded up; their weapons stripped. They have been herded into the cage. I can hear my father inside, ranting about the punishments that will soon rain down on us.
Close by, there is a group of the injured being tended to by other island healers. And there are also the dead. I count six bodies laid out next to one another, covered by a cloth.
“The loss of life, it’s so senseless,” I say to my mother.
She nods somberly.
“Will she be okay?” whispers Carl, indicating to his mother. His little sister has curled up in his lap, her hands and tunic still stained red from their mother’s wound.
“She’ll be fine,” replies my mother warmly. “She’s a strong woman. She will survive this. I need to go and help the others now, but I will be back to check on her.”
There is a group gathered by the door to the pit watching the projection. Someone holds the tiny object given to me by Ben.
Days ago, near the fuel stockpile facility when he passed me the bombs, Ben had given me the tiny object. “Show them,” he said to me. “People need to see things with their own eyes. It’s easy to believe what you’ve been told until the evidence is right there in front of you.”
“How did you get this footage?” I asked him.
“We had pretty impressive drone technology back then. The television stations were running images from the devastation on the twenty-four-hour news cycle for months, until they too submitted to apocalypse.”
Not much of what he said to me that night made a lot of sense at the time, but he was right. The islanders had to see the great floods, and the technology that had been kept from them, with their own eyes.
I say goodbye to Carl and his family and look for Birch. I find her sitting with Delphine and Abigail. There’s a group of islanders sitting around them listening spellbound. Delphine is writing an explanation of the Greenland glacial dam and how sudden, catastrophic flooding could occur again at any time. Abigail reads the words out to them and they listen intently.
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