Time Next
Carolyn Cohagan
UNCORRECTED GALLEY PROOF
NOT FOR SALE
Copyright © 2017 by Carolyn Cohagan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Published 2018, Girls With Pens, Austin, TX
Printed in the United States
ISBN: 978-0-9995624-3-7
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Also By Carolyn Cohagan
The Lost Children
Time Zero
For my husband,
who has to listen to more weird facts about
fundamentalism than anyone you know.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The religion in Time Next is fictional, but the cultural practices and beliefs are real. Teenagers all over the United States are currently asked to abide by similar rules and suffer the same punishments that Mina witnesses and experiences throughout the story.
For more information, please visit:
www.timezerobook.com/religious-rules
I distrust those people who know so well what God wants them to do, because I notice it always coincides with their own desires.
—Susan B. Anthony
One
I’m not in the van for long. My eyes have barely adjusted to the dark when the doors are flung open and sunlight pours in, blinding me. A male voice says, “Let’s go.”
Several figures are backlit by the morning light, but I can’t make out faces.
“She isn’t moving,” a woman’s voice says.
“Maybe she doesn’t speak English,” says the man. I can understand him, but he’s speaking with the same odd accent as Beth, like he’s got a mouthful of honey. I suppose I should speak up, tell them I can understand, but I keep my mouth shut. I might learn more this way.
“Poor thing,” says the woman. “She’s probably frightened to death.”
“Or she’s waiting to kill us.”
“Luke! Bite your tongue.” The woman gets closer, sticking her head in the van. Her face is pudgy and pink, her hair cropped short and streaked two different shades of blond. “I’m Bithia, honey. Bithia Dixon. Now come on out. No one’s going to hurt you.”
She reaches a hand toward me, and I shrink into the corner of the van.
“Gilad!” she shrieks.
A large man appears beside her. His face is also pudgy, but pasty instead of pink, and his eyes have a startled look, like he’s just stepped on a nail. His large bald spot is shiny with sweat.
“You’d better go in and get her, hon,” Bithia says.
Gilad scowls. Lifting a chubby leg, he heaves his enormous frame into the back of the van. As he hoists himself up, the foot of his other leg catches on the edge of the platform, and he comes tumbling into the cargo hold face-first. Laughter comes from outside.
“Good heavens, Gilad! What are you doing in there?” Bithia says with irritation.
“Checking the floor for weapons,” Gilad says dryly, then slowly stands. He moves his knee around a few times, wincing. I could rush him, I think, try to knock him out of the van and onto the ground. But he’s awfully big. It would be like rushing the side of a house.
Gilad doesn’t move any closer to me. He puts his hands in front of him, moving them up and down as he talks. “Sweetheart, you need to come with me.”
Why am I his “sweetheart?” I try to pull back more, but I’m as far into my corner as I can get.
“We’re your friends.” His hands still bob up and down, like he’s trying to close a car trunk.
I shake my head. I may not know much about the Apostates, or Queens, or this strange man, but I do know he is not my friend.
He takes a few steps closer, approaching like I’m a tiger who will pounce at any moment, but he’s so large, I’m more like a kitten who can only attack his pant leg.
He smiles, and I’m frightened by his rows of huge white teeth. I’m still staring at them when he shoots out his hand and grabs my wrist. “Got her!”
Without a thought, I bite his hand as hard as I can. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.
“Goddammit!!” he cries, releasing me. I sink back into my corner.
“Gilad! Language!” Bithia leans into the van.
“She bit me!” he says, holding up his hand.
“She doesn’t know any better. Think what she’s had to endure. Poor lamb.”
“More like a wolf if you ask me,” Gilad mutters. He peers down at me. “Listen here, girlie––and I know you can understand me. They’re still speaking English over there, and we know it. You better come with me. Otherwise, I’m gonna get Jeremiah in here, and he’s got a big ol’ gun, and none of us wants to use force. So let’s just do this friendly-like, okay?”
Squinting out the van doors into the light, I can make out a figure holding what appears to be a very large weapon.
Maybe I’ll let Jeremiah join Gilad, and then I will bite Jeremiah, and then he’ll have to shoot me. The idea is almost . . . relaxing. I’m so tired. All I want is to go to sleep. I don’t want to talk to these people. I don’t want to be anywhere where Juda and Grace and Dekker and Rose are not.
“Where are my friends?” I hear myself blurt.
“See now? Was that so hard?” Gilad says. He turns to Bithia. “I told you she knew English!”
“So I owe you a donut,” she says. “Big deal.”
“Where are my friends?” I repeat, wildly impatient now that I’ve decided to speak.
“Why don’t you join me and we’ll find out?” Gilad offers me his hand.
His face is solemn and I trust him more without the smile. I don’t take his hand, but I stand and walk to the edge of the platform, shielding my eyes with my hand.
To my surprise, we’ve arrived at another neighborhood full of brightly painted houses. I’d expected a prison or even gallows, but I don’t find the picturesque neighborhood reassuring.
A small crowd of Apostates is gathered around the van––adults and children––watching expectantly. Everyone’s clothing is one solid color: green, blue, yellow, purple. Standing in front of the vibrant houses, they look like a wall of colored pencils.
Like a switch has been hit, they all smile at me, and I’m assaulted by more big white teeth like Gilad’s. A little girl waves but stops when I don’t wave back.
Bithia, who wears royal blue, says to them in a low voice, “Remember your training.” She smiles up at me. “Come on out, dear.”
Hopping down out of the van, I see a few people step back, and one man pulls his daughter into a close embrace, as if I might breathe fire. I wish I could.
Bithia snaps her fingers twice at a blond girl my age, the only one in the crowd who looks bored. The girl steps toward Bithia holding up a shiny silver blanket that blinds me as it catches the sun.
Snatching it away from her, Bithia throws it around my shoulders. “There, there. You’re safe now.”
The blanket crinkles loudly and makes me feel uncomfortably hot. Is this part of my punishment for believing in the Prophet?
“Are you hungry?” Bithia asks.
Am I? I was starving when we emerged from the subway, but I don’t think I want to eat with these people. “Where are my friends?” I ask again.
Bithia smiles with closed lips, pity in her eyes. “They’re with other families, guests like you.”
This is h
ow they treat guests? They assault, separate, and terrify them? “What kind of people are you?!” I ask, my fear turning to anger.
No one speaks. The little girl who waved stares at the ground.
“I demand to see my friends!” I say, frantically looking around, wondering where I can run. I throw off the silver blanket. “I DEMAND TO SEE THEM NOW!”
Jeremiah, the one with the big gun, approaches on my left.
I’m shrieking now. “YOU’RE HEATHENS! ALL OF YOU! YOU’RE EVIL, JUST LIKE MY MOTHER SAID!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jeremiah raise his arm above me. The light catches a needle in his hand. I turn to flee.
And then there is darkness.
Two
When I awake, I’m in a bed, a large fan spinning lazily above me. The room smells fresh, like a spring day. Every surface is covered in vases of flowers: roses, daisies, tulips, and others I’ve never seen before.
The quilt that covers me also has a flower pattern, as does a stuffed armchair in the corner. The crisp white walls look as if they were painted yesterday and the wood floors are light and creamy. Several large windows show treetops; I must be on the second floor.
All the floral patterns make me think of Sekena, my best friend, in her pajamas. I’m miserable with the knowledge that I won’t ever see her again. I would never have come here if I’d thought for a second that I would end up alone. I was only brave because of the others.
Trying to sit up, I realize I can barely move, because the sheets are tucked so tightly under the mattress. I wiggle my arms, trying to free myself.
Looking to my left, I’m startled to see Bithia sitting silently in a wooden chair near the door. She smiles without showing any teeth. “You’re awake!”
I glare at her, but her smile persists.
“Welcome to Kingsboro! I know you’re going to love it here.” Her voice has a practiced quality. “We celebrate freedom and encourage our boys and girls to be anything they want.” She wears a loose dress in the same royal blue as yesterday. “How did you sleep?”
I continue to give her the meanest look I can. A voice inside of me is telling me to stop, that I need to not antagonize these people, but I can’t help it. We went through so much to get here—this self-satisfied woman couldn’t possibly understand.
“You’ve been asleep for more than twelve hours. You must be famished!” she says.
I turn my head away.
“I’m sorry––Jeremiah is sorry––for what he did. But you were agitated, and he panicked. It wasn’t dangerous or anything. It was just a sedative. Heck, I take one myself to help me sleep at night.” She smiles that closed-lip smile. “You’ll feel a lot better after breakfast. Silas is making pancakes.”
I won’t look at her.
“How about a little juice?”
When I don’t answer, she says, “You’ve got to eat something. I just won’t forgive myself if you make yourself sick.”
The idea of taking anything this woman offers is what makes me sick.
“This is your room, dear. Isn’t it pretty? I cut the flowers fresh this morning.”
I don’t respond.
“Will you eat if we talk about your friends?”
I turn to face her again.
“That’s what I thought.” She scratches her hand. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but I get why you’re upset. So, um, I’ll tell you what I can.”
I hold my breath.
“They’re safe. No one’s hurting them. They’re in homes just like this being looked after by people just like us.” She grins as if she’s just delivered the best news I’ve ever heard.
“Will you take me to them?” I sit up as best I can.
“Uh, no. That’s not allowed yet.”
“Not allowed?” By whom?
She scratches her hand some more. “This is why I shouldn’t have said anything. You’ll understand everything soon. I promise, it’s wonderful. Really. I’m just not the best person to explain it.” She stands to leave. “So let’s get you that food.”
“Bithia?” I say.
“Yes?” she says, apparently surprised to hear me use her name.
“I won’t be eating until I see all of the people I arrived with.”
She sighs. “That’s a shame. Silas is famous for his pancakes.”
I cross my arms to let her know how serious I am, while inside I wonder how long I can hold out. I’m so hungry, I feel nauseated.
“You’re only hurting yourself,” she says. “It’s no skin off my teeth.” But I can tell she’s anxious. After a moment of silence, she adds, “I’ll tell the others what you’ve said. But I can tell you, it won’t go well. Ram doesn’t respond to blackmail.”
Is Ram her boss?
“In the meantime, there’s a bathroom here, if you need it.” She points to a door by the window.
I don’t want to comply with Bithia in any way, but I really need to go. I try to push back the heavy quilt. She comes over to help me, adding to my suspicion that the tightly fitted blanket was meant to hold me in place.
When I stand, I realize that I’m no longer in the Twitcher uniform that I arrived in. I’m wearing a long white nightgown, thin and sheer. “Who changed me?” I say, horrified.
“Me and my daughter, Tabby. Don’t worry. There weren’t any men around.”
“Who gave you the right?” I ask, feeling violated in a way I can’t express.
She seems taken aback. “Your clothes were disgusting, child. Ready to be burned, in my opinion. We were doing you a favor.”
“Don’t do me any more favors!” I say, walking into the bathroom and slamming the door.
I burst into tears as soon as I’m alone, but I cover my mouth, determined not to make a sound.
Who are these people? What do they want with me? When I remember Nana and her words––“thinking of you out there, free in the world, will keep me alive and smiling”––I can’t stop crying. I gave up so much to be here. I gave up Nana.
But she also said that whatever is here can’t be worse than what is there. Rayna said we had to leave because of the coming war between the Convenes and the Deservers. If she’s right, then I should be home helping my people—my family, Sekena, the Laurel Society—not wasting time with shady Apostates.
I shake my head. Why am I torturing myself with these pointless thoughts? I can never go back. Damon and Mr. Asher are dead. Mr. Asher was working directly with Uncle Ruho. The Twitchers will never stop looking for me. Mrs. Asher will hunt me down until her dying day. The thought of her––her beautiful face and cruel smile––makes me cold with fear.
I stop sniveling. I’ve got to be realistic about my situation. I don’t like Bithia or Gilad or the strange way they’re treating me, but they haven’t put me in a cell, beaten me, or cut off my head. I should be grateful for that.
And I have nowhere else to go.
I have no intention of trusting them, but perhaps I should give them reasons to trust me. And then they will tell me about Juda and the others.
After I use the bathroom, I open the door and face Bithia with my head turned slightly down. I try not to grit my teeth as I say, “Can I please have some pancakes now, Mrs. Dixon?”
She walks over and takes my hands, which I find disconcerting. “Of course, dear. Of course. And just call me Bithia!”
I nod and force a smile.
“Tabby found some old clothes––I mean, old to her. They’re very nice––and everything’s in the closet over there.” She points to a door by the window. “Help yourself to whatever you want and then come downstairs. I’ll tell Silas to heat up the griddle!”
She saunters out the door.
That was it? All I needed to do was agree to eat, and she would leave me alone?
I explore the room. I’m able to open a window, but I’m too high to climb down or jump. A large lawn spills out beneath me and big colorful houses stand to the left and right.
All the drawers in the furni
ture are empty––I find nothing I could use as a weapon.
I go to the closet, having deciding to follow Bithia’s instructions for now. I discover a space as big as our kitchen at home. Stepping inside, I see more clothes hanging on the upper and lower racks than I’ve ever owned in my life. And everything––pants, skirts, blouses, T-shirts––is the same horrible shade of yellow-green. Does Tabby like to walk around looking like a giant asparagus?
In addition to the wretched color, many pairs of the shorts and skirts are cut above the knee. I can’t possibly wear them. The tops are mostly sleeveless and many of them look like the undershirts I wore when I was too young to wear a bra.
The closet has a strong, musky smell. Sniffing the sleeve of a blouse, I realize that it’s the clothes. The blouse smells slightly soapy, so I know it’s clean, but it also has a rich, brassy smell. Tabby must use a lot of perfume. I don’t like the idea of wearing her clothes or her scent.
Looking down at my gauzy nightgown, I know that I have no choice.
I finally choose a pair of green pants in a thick, heavy fabric and a top with long sleeves and a high neck. Surprisingly, all the clothes touching my skin, no matter their texture, are silky soft.
The top is tighter than I would like, and I’m relieved to find a loose sweater folded on a high shelf. The sweater is navy blue and reaches nearly to my knees, making me feel almost like I’m wearing my cloak, which makes me calmer.
My feet are too large for any of the closed-toe shoes, so I have to settle on a pair of sandals. They’re white with silver buckles, the same as the ones Beth wore—Beth, the young girl who turned us in so easily.
Remember not to trust anyone.
I don’t have a hair tie, so I use the mirror in the bathroom to finger comb my hair as best I can. I barely recognize myself. My eyes are lined with dark circles; my skin is so chalky it looks gray. Bithia said I was asleep for twelve hours, but I look like I haven’t slept in years. Perhaps food will help.
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