by Robert Price
“It’s because of the radiation,” Ginny said.
Mirabel swung back to strike the girl again, this time with a closed fist. As she did, Ginny pulled her doll close, turning the Raggedy Ann’s one good eye up to Mirabel. She hesitated. Report her! rang out in her mind, as loud as the town bell. But there, within the darkness of the doll’s button-eye, innocence reflected back, a glint of need.
Ginny, too, had the same look of innocence, the same obvious need—except her eyes were blue, close to the color of Mirabel’s. And while Ginny had a lot of hair, its color was not much lighter than the thin patches on Mirabel’s head. Sure she looked different than everyone else, but the similarities were there, too. Remove the surface differences, the way the eyelids folded, or how they mirrored each other—perhaps deep down she was the same as her kind. The girl’s ideas were wrong, certainly, but she had not been taught properly—that could be addressed. And if those could change…
Maybe we can change her looks, too.
“Your father was wrong,” Mirabel said as patiently as possible. She relaxed her hand and sat next to Ginny. “Maybe at first the radiation changed us, but we are the way we are because of the Angels. And they are Angels—they came to us in our hour of greatest need and saved us. We owe our lives to them. We are the reflections of our saviors, and we live to serve them.”
Mirabel stroked Ginny’s hair. Dirt clumped it together in spots, but there was so much more than what her people had, and it was soft. “I can understand that none of this makes sense. You will learn in time. I can help you.” Mirabel picked up the photos, avoiding the horrible people portrayed in them. “I am sorry your family was not blessed. It is best to forget them anyway.” Ginny’s head remained hanging down. “Would you want to live here with us, among the Angels’ chosen? Would you want my help?” Mirabel felt like her mother just then, how she could be patient and understanding no matter the issue.
Ginny did not respond right away, sobbing quietly. After a while, she wiped the snot from her nose and looked up at Mirabel. Great pools of tears welled in her lids, cascading down through her lashes in fat drops. “I want help,” she said at last.
Pride filled Mirabel’s heart. She had reached the girl. There was a great amount of work to be done if she was going to help her, but it was a start.
She spoke before knowing she had come to a decision. “If I can help you, you’ll have to be brave. Can you do that?”
Ginny nodded vigorously.
Mirabel would need help, and had only two options.
Timmy lived nearby, and was a kind boy. He could help keep Ginny calm. But he also talked. His parents had once told him a tale much like what Ginny had said—that the Angels were not really divine, but instead were aliens from the skies, drawn here by the nuclear wars. Timmy told some of his classmates before telling his teacher. Within a day the town had come together to stamp out this sacrilege. His parents were offered to—and consumed by—the Angels, while Timmy was given a new home with a family who would raise him right. And while Mirabel knew they were wrong and deserved to be sacrificed, it still seemed harsh coming from their own son.
She could not trust Timmy with this.
Carl, on the other hand, lived just one field further away. He had a deep respect for the Angels, just like the rest of the town, but Carl could keep his mouth shut. When the two of them had started a field fire north of town—Mirabel had actually started it, but Carl was there—they both had played dumb, even when many were blaming Carl. He did have a mean streak, but Mirabel could get him to do things for her. He did just about anything she asked.
He was also big for his age. With what she was thinking, size might come in handy.
Mirabel left Ginny back in the loft once more and headed out across the stunted fields. Buoyed by the thought of helping another, she skipped much of the way. She had always been a helper, but this was the first time she had acted on her own, without direction from her mother or father. She was especially prideful for living the Teachings, specifically the commandment to look out for those less than you. I could make a great Angel.
She found Carl throwing rocks at his family’s pit of legless swine. She didn’t tell him about Ginny directly, only that she had found something big and needed his help. He readily agreed, but pestered her the entire way back.
“What is it?”
“I told you I can’t tell you. But you’ll see soon enough.”
“Did you dig something up?”
They both enjoyed digging in the fields, hoping to find some treasure buried from before. They never did, but their failures only encouraged them. “It’s nothing like that. You’ll see.”
“Well you can’t stop smiling. It must be something good.”
“Oh, it is. But you have to promise—you can’t tell anyone about this.”
“I don’t tattle, you know that.”
She stopped. “I know, but I need you to promise.”
“Okay, okay. I promise. May the Angels take me if I ever tell another living soul.”
“They might at that,” she said.
This only renewed his efforts at guessing.
“Another three-headed dog?
“Another nest of spider-mice?
“Something start growing out of Bess like our pig, George?”
They continued on back to the barn, with Mirabel only smiling at Carl’s attempts.
She entered the barn first. She did not expect Ginny to have come down, and she had not, so she waved Carl in. His eyes darted to every dark corner, searching for Mirabel’s secret. After several seconds he leaned against the shaving stand, staring at Mirabel.
“So?” he asked.
“You remember your promise, right?” she asked quietly.
He nodded in his spastic, Carl way.
“I mean it. This is really important.”
“Yeah, of course I remember it,” he said.
“And you’ll help me with whatever I ask?” She knew the answer, but needed him to say it.
“I’ll help. I won’t talk. Now show me already!”
Mirabel smiled at him before looking up to the top of the ladder. She spoke in a loud voice. “Ginny, you can come down. My friend is here, he’s going to help me help you.”
Carl followed her gaze. His eyes grew large and his mouth fell open further as Ginny appeared over the edge. She came down slowly, still holding her doll crooked in one arm.
“What is it?” Carl said in whisper.
Ginny made it to the bottom, but held on to the ladder. Her eyes stayed on Carl, and Mirabel could tell she was ready to bolt back up.
“Carl, this is Ginny. Ginny, this is my friend, Carl.”
“She’s a Pre!” Carl said, loud enough to be heard outside of the barn.
Ginny flinched, but did not scurry away. Mirabel, though, took two large strides toward Carl and swatted him on his shorter arm.
“Hush!” she said. “What’s the point of swearing you to secrecy if you’re just going to yell it out to everyone?”
He looked away from Ginny to her. “I’m sorry, it’s just…I mean she’s—”
“I’ve already been through all of this with her. She’s different, yes, but she’s not bad. And she needs our help.”
Carl whispered this time, his face bent down to Mirabel’s. “But how? Everyone will see right away that she’s not one of us. You can’t hide her here forever.”
“You’re right,” Mirabel said. She still wasn’t sure they could really help, and with Carl’s reaction her confidence dipped. “I don’t want to hide her, I want to help her. I think we can make her one of us.”
Carl’s eyes stretched open in surprise. “Only the Angels can do that!”
“Well, today we’re Angels then.” She had not meant to say it, and seeing Carl’s face she regretted it immediately, but she knew she couldn’t take it back. “Just think, we can help someone lesser become more. To be better. There is no greater blessing than this.”
H
is face twisted into one of thought as he looked between Ginny, clinging to the ladder, and Mirabel, standing as upright as she could. She knew he could report her for what she had said. She would be sacrificed, just like Timmy’s parents, and Carl would be celebrated throughout the town. Carl was not well liked and this would be a big boost for him. But Mirabel had been one of his few friends, even with his mean streak. Does he like me enough to not say anything?
He finally spoke. “So how do we do this?”
She noted the we immediately and smiled, the right side of her face pulling up to match the pinch in the other. “We start with that.” She pointed to the shaving stand next to Carl. There were all kinds of straps and ropes to secure their cattle, as well as a wide board that lifted up into a low table-like support for those beasts with fewer legs.
Mirabel walked over to Ginny. She brushed the girl’s hair with her hand. “Are you ready to be brave?”
She glanced at Carl, then back up at Mirabel. “Will it hurt?”
Their cattle rarely cried out once strapped in, and Mirabel assumed the same for Ginny. She had seen the animals always walk away afterward, so it shouldn’t be too bad. Even if it did hurt a little, it should be a quick pain, like yanking off a band-aid. “It might, a bit,” she said, feeling better about not lying. “But we’ll only do what we have to, and it will be quick. Okay?”
Ginny nodded lightly, and squeezed her doll tight.
Mirabel guided her over to the stand. “We have to strap you to this table. They won’t hurt or pinch, just hold you tight so you don’t hurt yourself.” Pa had said how the straps were there to keep Bess from hurting herself, and Mirabel knew it to be true. She had Ginny lean back against the tilted board and slipped a strap across Ginny’s chest. Next, she secured another strap around her feet.
“Carl, can I get you to lift the stand?” Mirabel asked.
Carl came over and Ginny, with her arms still free, pulled the doll close to her face.
“He’s okay,” Mirabel whispered as Carl lifted the board into a flat table and secured the support.
“Can I keep Ann with me?” Ginny asked.
Mirabel had already thought of that and realized Ginny’s arms needed tying down, too. “Let’s put her over here instead, so she can watch.” She took the doll from Ginny—it required a bit of a tug—and placed it on a shelf next to them. The doll slouched forward, its one black button eye looking down upon its owner.
Ginny sniffled a bit when Mirabel secured her arms but didn’t complain, or say anything at all. She did keep glancing at Carl, but he stayed a couple of steps away unless Mirabel asked for his help.
“That doesn’t hurt, right?” Mirabel asked.
“No,” Ginny said. She had tried shaking her head at the same time, but Mirabel had a strap across her forehead. Head to foot, Ginny was secured tightly and completely immobile.
There were many tools spread across the barn. Carl helped her gather them up, suggesting the biggest scraper or the largest-toothed saw, but Mirabel already had an idea of what they needed and kept telling Carl no.
“What about this?” he asked, holding up a low-heat torch.
She was about to say no once again, but saw the block of wax next to it—what they used to seal the larger scrapings—and pointed at it. “Grab that, too.”
They arranged the tools around the base of the stand—a bucket of water, a pair of rusty shears, a couple of different sized knives, a small scraper, rags, the torch, and the block of wax. Mirabel kept finding Ginny’s eyes on hers, big, fearful, and shiny with unfallen tears—but also full of trust.
Please let this work.
“Where do we start?” Carl asked.
We’re doing the Angel’s work. Where should we begin? “With prayer,” she said.
Mirabel took Ginny’s right hand in one of hers and gestured to Carl to take the other. Carl offered his smaller hand, contorted into a hook and connected to his fused arm. Ginny hesitated, but after seeing Mirabel nod, she took it gingerly. Mirabel closed the loop by grabbing Carl’s large fist.
“Let us pray,” Mirabel said, like her father did before the start of each prayer. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, hoping Ginny would follow her example. “Our Angels, come from heaven, hallowed be thy gifts, thy kingdom brought, through war hard fought, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily pain, and cleanse us of our flaws, as we cleanse those who trespass against us.” Mirabel took a quick peek: Carl had his head bowed, and Ginny—who could not bend her head—had her eyes squeezed tight.
“Accept the will of Ginny, the sacrifices she’s about to make in order to be one of your chosen, and allow our hands to work your miracles, making her into one of us, in your names, for your worship. Amen.”
Both Ginny and Carl repeated the “amen” in unison.
With a squeeze of Ginny’s hand, Mirabel asked, “Are you ready?”
Ginny’s eyes had dried, and she beamed at Mirabel. Happiness filled her smile. “Yes,” she said. “And thank you.”
Mirabel started with Ginny’s hair. She used the shears and hacked through a large chunk, close to the scalp. She had to work the blades to cut instead of pull, and Ginny winced through it.
“That just looks like a bad hair cut,” Carl said, standing beside her.
He was right. This is going to be harder than I thought. “What do you suggest?” she asked.
Carl grabbed a small handful of Ginny’s hair in his meaty hand and bunched it up tight. With a quick tug, he yanked the hair free.
The girl screamed. It was a good sound, like how the rest of her own kind sounded at times. It was the sound of thanks, of worship of their saviors. Tears poured from her eyes.
Where the hair had been a bald patch now gleamed bright red and dotted with blood. Once it stops bleeding, it’ll look like my head.
She knew they were on the right track.
“More,” she told Carl.
He worked her hair in small batches, plucking her head like a chicken. The results were patchy, and one chunk of her scalp hung in a flap from where he grabbed too much.
“Let’s try the wax,” Mirabel said.
Carl started the torch—something her Pa would kill her for lighting here in the barn—and she cut a hunk of wax into a bowl. All the while, Ginny continued to cry out in near-panicked gasps. Mirabel patted the girl’s arm. “It’s okay, honey,” she said. “This is going to work great.”
They heated the wax together, and Mirabel set to pouring it across the girl’s head. Ginny screamed again. It required a steady hand to hold the flap of skin down, have the wax cover it, and avoid having it burn Mirabel’s hand, but she worked with care. The wax formed a bubbly, ripply surface across Ginny’s skin—an impressive mimicry of the skin over Mirabel’s left ear.
We could be sisters. This idea warmed Mirabel’s heart. I want her to be my sister. She kissed Ginny’s forehead just above the eyes, a place reddened by the crying but otherwise untouched.
Ginny screamed out.
Mirabel looked at her, confused. Then, out of the corner of her eye she caught a flash of light.
Carl held the torch at Ginny’s feet, waving it back and forth.
“Carl!” With two large steps she jumped between the two and yanked the torch away. “What are you doing? We’re not trying to hurt her, damn it!”
He slouched down, bending away from her fury. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking.”
She wanted to strike him, harder than she had slapped Ginny, but she knew it wouldn’t help. Instead, she killed the flame and set the torch on the shelf, near the doll. She returned to Ginny’s side.
The girl continued to cry in loud spasms.
“I’m sorry, Ginny. I won’t let him hurt you again.” She smoothed down the patches of hair that remained on her head as she talked to her, like her mother did when Mirabel was upset. “We’ll try to finish quickly so it can all be over.”
Ginny’s cries remained loud, noisy thing
s. While the sound might be good, Mirabel feared it could also become too much—and she didn’t want anyone surprising them. She grabbed one of the rags, soaked it in water, and shoved it into Ginny’s mouth.
It helped considerably.
From that point onward Carl remained attentive and helpful, never straying from Mirabel’s side.
They opened wounds, removed skin, and sealed it up again. They carefully poured wax over one eye, just enough pinch it down to a slit, and across her ear, flattening it to her head.
It was tedious work, but they altered as much as they could while trying to keep the pain minimized. Mirabel already thought of herself as a big sister to Ginny, taking care of the younger girl, comforting her frequently, and overall making sure she would belong. It was a good feeling, clean and pure.
Mirabel guessed it was later afternoon. The prayer bell will ring in an hour or so. She knew she could not bring Ginny today, she would need at least a few days of healing before she could introduce the girl to the rest of the village. That would be the real test. There, in the presence of the Angels, Ginny would officially become one of them.
If we’re successful.
Yes, but Mirabel was confident now. Ginny was bloody, but altered significantly. With just a little healing, she should look right.
But can I control what she says?
Somehow reading her mind, Carl raised the point more succinctly. “Should we take her tongue?”
It was a good question, and not one Mirabel had considered. Even through all of the crying, Ginny had heard it too and her one normal eye locked on Mirabel’s, as large as could be. A subtle side-to-side shaking of Ginny’s head was all she could do to plead for them not to do it.
“Do you know how to read or write?” Mirabel asked her.
Ginny wiggled her head again—no.
Without her tongue, she would not be able to communicate at all.
“Take it,” Mirabel said.
Carl did most of the work, forcing Ginny’s jaws open and holding onto the tongue. It bothered Mirabel how much Ginny struggled, and her own eyes teared up as she sliced through the meaty appendage. Once removed, she tossed the tongue to the side for later feeding to the animals.