After the Fire

by Will Hill

  “Outsiders lie,” he says, turning back to face the children. “Listen to me when I tell you so. Outsiders lie. A sickness infects their hearts, a darkness that The Serpent himself placed there and nurtured. A miracle took place before their very eyes, the Ascension of The Prophet and our Brothers and Sisters to their rightful place beside The Lord, but did they see? Did they throw themselves to their knees and renounce their Heresy? Did they plead for forgiveness? They did not, because their poisoned minds would not allow them to accept the truth of what they witnessed. Pity them if you must, but never forget what they are, and who they serve. They will try to break our connection with The Lord, to steer us away from the path, that we alone were True enough to walk, but we will not let them. We will not let them, because ours is the Glory everlasting, and each and every one of you knows that to be the truth. Our Faith is being tested, but this hardship will pass provided we remain strong with The Lord. Our time will come soon enough.”

  Luke pauses. I stare at him with horror churning my stomach, silently pleading with Honey, whose face is curdled with a disgust she clearly can’t – or won’t – hide, not to say a word. I have to assume that Doctor Hernandez and his colleagues are watching this, that they wouldn’t let anything bad happen, but right now this feels a really long way from the safe place he told me that SSI would be, and I don’t like to consider what Luke might do if Honey speaks against him.

  He stares into the rapt faces of our younger Brothers and Sisters, then turns and looks up into the nearest corner of the room. I follow his gaze, and see a camera pointing down towards us.

  “And to the Servants Of The Serpent, I say this,” he says. “You can try to corrupt us, to tear down our Faith and drag us into the dirt. We welcome it, because we are True and we are not afraid. Here we stand, before you. We stand, and when The Lord sees fit, we will Ascend to His side while you crawl on your bellies through the fires of Hell for all eternity.”

  Luke stares at the camera for long, silent seconds, then turns his back on it and kneels down. “Pray with me,” he says.

  The children go to him willingly, taking each other’s hands and forming a circle. Honey keeps as much distance between herself and Luke as possible, but she joins the circle and I’m glad she does, for both our sakes. I hope she understood what I whispered to her. There are things she ought to know, things that only I can tell her, but I can’t when I know other people are listening.

  I kneel down and Aurora gently holds my bandaged hand and Rainbow tightly grips my other. Before he closes his eyes and lowers his head, Luke gives me a long, cold look, and I get the message loud and clear.

  I’m watching you.

  I don’t blame him though. I really don’t. He was suspicious of me for a long time before the fire, and he was right to be. He is right to be. Because here’s the thing that nobody knows, the thing that I can never tell Doctor Hernandez or anyone else.

  It’s because of me that Aurora and Winter and so many of their Brothers and Sisters are orphans, and that so many people are dead.

  It’s all my fault.

  I had nightmares again. Not as bad as last time, but still. Bad. Fire, and blood.

  When I got back to my room yesterday after SSI, there was a bag lying on the desk. I stared at it for a long time before I opened it with trembling fingers, because through the clear plastic I could see things I last saw in my room inside The Base. The knives with the engraved handles weren’t there, and the photo of my grandparents and the page of my dad’s diary are gone, presumably reduced to ash along with almost everything else. My letter wasn’t in the bag. I’m not surprised. The seashell survived though, and so did the stopped watch. My dad’s watch.

  I ran my fingers over its glass face when I woke up, my head still full of the remnants of bad dreams. Then I put everything back in the bag and waited for Nurse Harrow to arrive with my breakfast.

  I didn’t eat very much.

  When Nurse Harrow came back to take me to today’s session with Doctor Hernandez, she asked if I was feeling all right and I lied and said yes. I don’t think she totally believed me, but she didn’t press me about it as she escorted me to Interview Room 1, and for that I was grateful.

  “How are you doing this morning, Moonbeam?” asks Doctor Hernandez.

  I shuffle on the sofa, and shrug my shoulders.

  “Did you sleep okay?”

  I shake my head.

  “Did you—”

  “Were you watching?” I interrupt. “Yesterday, I mean. When we were all together.”

  He nods. “SSI is always monitored.”

  “So is that how it was supposed to go?” I ask. “You thought that was okay?”

  “It isn’t supposed to go any specific way,” he says. “It’s an organic interaction. It goes in whatever direction the participants dictate.”

  “But it’s supposed to help,” I say. “Right?”

  “That’s certainly the intention,” he says. “Can I ask what’s troubling you, Moonbeam? Is it what Luke said?”

  Obviously.

  “I guess I don’t see how it’s helpful for the others to hear that kind of stuff.”

  “I understand that,” he says. “I really do. But Luke’s process is different to yours, Moonbeam, and to Honey’s and Rainbow’s and everyone else’s. People deal with trauma in different ways.”

  “You don’t think letting him talk like that is dangerous?”

  He leans back in his chair. “Do you genuinely think what Luke said is dangerous, or is it hard for you to hear because you don’t believe it?”

  I stare at him as Father John screams in my head, telling me only a Heretic would even come close to falling into such an obvious trap, only someone who was stupid and useless and False.

  “If I thought what Luke did was dangerous,” he says eventually, “I wouldn’t have allowed the session to continue. I promised you a safe environment, and that is absolutely our first priority. SSI often involves vigorous debate, even disagreement, and it can lead to some challenging discussion, but the environment is controlled and monitored at all times. There is nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Okay,” I say. I don’t believe him, not for a second, but I don’t see any point in telling him so. I just have to hope that he’s right, and I’m wrong.

  “Would you like to keep talking about SSI?” he asks. “It’s absolutely fine if you do.”

  I shake my head.

  He nods. “Okay,” he says. “Great. I’d like to—”

  “Do you have any children?” I ask. The question occurred to me last night when I was waiting to fall asleep and if I don’t ask it now I’ll have forgotten by the time we finish talking about whatever he wants to move on to.

  Doctor Hernandez frowns. “Why do you ask?”

  “You told me your job is helping children,” I say. “I just wondered if you have any of your own.”

  “Fair enough,” he says. “It’s a perfectly valid question. The answer is no, I don’t have any children. Does that concern you?”

  His answer deflates me a little. I thought the question might annoy him, that he wouldn’t like me asking him personal questions rather than the other way around, but it doesn’t seem to have bothered him at all.

  “Moonbeam?” he says.

  He asked you a question, whispers the voice in the back of my head. Does it concern you? Tell the truth.

  “I don’t think it matters,” I say. I’d considered it for a while before I finally fell asleep. “I think you can probably be a good vet without owning any animals.”

  He lets out a bark of laughter, looks horrified for a millisecond or two, then gives in and laughs long and loud, his face turning bright red. I smile, even though it’s obvious he’s laughing at me, because it’s a nice sound to hear.

  “I’m sorry,” he gasps, once he’s just about pulled himself together. “You mustn’t think I was laughing at you. That’s just the best validation of what I do for a living I’ve ever heard. I�
��m going to remember to use it in the future.”

  “Glad to be of service,” I say. I’m still smiling. “How come you don’t have any children?”

  “My wife got ill when she was a teenager,” he says, and my smile disappears. “She’s fine, she recovered, but it left her unable to have children.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He nods. “It’s okay,” he says. “But thank you.”

  “Have you been married a long time?”

  “You’re very inquisitive this morning.”

  “You told me questions were a good thing.”

  He smiles. “So I did,” he says. “I met my wife in college. We’ve been married for sixteen years.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Marion.”

  “Is she pretty?”

  “She’s the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  I smile. “That seems unlikely. No offence.”

  “None taken,” he says, and from the look on his face it’s clear that he means it. “Love changes how you see everything. It blinds you, but in a good way. I look at Marion and my brain can tell me objectively that she probably isn’t the most beautiful woman in the world, but it doesn’t matter in the slightest. She is to me.”

  My smile widens. It must be nice to have someone think that way about you, to know that, of all the people on the planet, there’s nobody they would rather be with. Then I think back to how Father John looked at Esme and Bella and Agavé and all the others, and my smile disappears.

  Doctor Hernandez notices. “Moonbeam?” he says. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Is there anything else you want to ask before we get started?”

  I nod. “Two more things.”

  “I think I can guess the first of them,” he says. “Your mother?”

  I nod again.

  “I put in a request to the head of the task force conducting the investigation into The Lord’s Legion for any and all information regarding your mother,” he says. “He acknowledged receipt, but I’ve heard nothing since. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

  “Thank you,” I say. I don’t know what a task force is, but I’m grateful to him for asking. “I appreciate it.”

  “I told you I would,” he says. “I meant it when I said I won’t lie to you.”

  There isn’t really any response to that, because people always say they won’t lie, but then they always do. And if I know that, then he should know it too, because he’s much older than me and he’s spent his whole life outside in the world.

  “What was your other question?” he asks.

  I take a deep breath. “What’s going to happen to me?”

  He frowns. “We’re going to work through this process together, like we talked about yesterday. Then we’re—”

  “I don’t mean that,” I say. “I don’t mean here, in this room. I mean everything else.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You said there were other people who wanted to talk to me. What’s going to happen when you let them?”

  We stare at each other in silence for what feels like a really long time. I fight the urge to twist and squirm on the sofa and force myself to stay still and hold his gaze and wait for him to answer.

  “I don’t know,” he says, eventually. “I know that’s not helpful, and I’m sorry, but my focus is on working through everything that has happened to you and trying to prepare you to live the rest of your life, whatever it may hold. Everything else is out of my hands.”

  “Will I be going to prison?”

  Prison is too good for you! howls Father John, his voice reverberating through my head. You belong in Hell for what you did!

  Doctor Hernandez frowns. “Why on earth would you go to prison?”

  Panic rolls through me like a tidal wave. “No reason,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. “It doesn’t matter.”

  He looks at me and doesn’t say anything and I can see him trying to decide whether to pick up on what I just said or let it slide and move on.

  “People don’t go to prison unless they’ve committed a crime,” he says. “Is there something you need to tell me, Moonbeam?”

  Yes.

  I shake my head.

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  “Can we talk about something else?” I say, hating the pleading tone that has crept into my voice. “Please?”

  He stares at me, then writes a long note in one of his books. “Of course we can talk about something else,” he says, when he finally raises his head. “I think that’s a great idea. So here’s something I’ve been thinking about since yesterday’s session. I noticed a reaction when I talked about routine being important. Would that be a fair observation?”

  No shit.

  I nod.

  Doctor Hernandez sits back in his chair. “Why don’t you tell me why?”

  Amos is the only person allowed to go Outside.

  Every Friday morning he disappears in the red pickup that Dezra left behind after he was Gone, and he returns five or six hours later with the truck’s bed piled high with tinned fruit and flour and diesel and dried pasta and beans and heavy sacks of seeds. Amos isn’t a Centurion, but he and The Prophet were called to the True Path together which is why the task of gathering supplies – a necessary evil, Horizon calls it – was given to him: The Lord told Father John that Amos is least likely to be tainted by the world beyond the fences of The Base.

  Father John obviously can’t go himself – the Servants Of The Serpent would murder him if they were given even the slightest chance. But the Outside is dangerous for all Legionnaires, even the very Truest; it corrupts and seduces, and its darkness seeps into even the purest heart. So as soon as Amos gets back, while my Brothers and Sisters are unloading the supplies, Father John always takes him straight into the Chapel to cleanse him and bless him and make sure his feet are firmly on the True Path.

  Amos came to the desert with The Prophet, years and years ago now, and he likes to say that all he ever found Outside was despair. He has told me lots of times – far more than I can remember – that Father John saved his soul from certain damnation, and that he would lay down his life for him without thinking twice.

  I always tell him I hope that won’t be necessary.

  Today has been no different to any other Friday. Everyone waved Amos off not long after breakfast, then got on with the endless jobs and chores that keep The Base running smoothly and keep our Family healthy and happy. I spent the afternoon with Honey working on a barren patch of ground on the edge of the eastern gardens, hacking heavy stones out of the stubborn earth and hauling them into a pile behind the Chapel. It’s hard work, and I’m tired and running with sweat. As a result, even though the sky has started to darken, it doesn’t occur to me that Amos isn’t back until I’m walking to my room and Nate wonders aloud what might be taking him so long.

  There’s a long moment of silence. Most of my Brothers and Sisters have gathered in the yard, as they usually do at the end of the working day before the bell rings for dinner, and I see several of them frown and glance in the direction of the Front Gate.

  “It’s gone six,” says Bear. “Do you reckon I ought to tell Father John?”

  But the second he finishes his question, we hear something in the distance. The dirt road that leads from the gate to the highway is the best part of a mile long, so the rattle of the pickup’s engine reaches our ears long before we see the glow of its headlights.

  Lonestar jogs across the yard and opens the Front Gate. Barely thirty seconds later Amos drives through it, so fast that Lonestar has to leap out of the way to avoid getting swiped. There’s a squeal of brakes and a choking cloud of dust as the pickup skids to a halt in the centre of the yard, and when Amos gets out his eyes are wide and his shirt is spotted with blood.

  “Jumped,” he gasps. “Outside the hardware store. Three of ’em jumped me.”

  Nate strides forward, a frown on his handsome face.
He’s always so calm, so good whenever anything bad happens.

  “Are you hurt?” he asks.

  Amos shakes his head, and takes a deep, wheezing breath. “I’m fine,” he says. “Took a couple of licks before I made it back to the truck, but nothing worse. They chased me, Nate. Can you believe that? Two trucks of ’em, chased me almost through to Lubbock before they got bored and quit.”

  “What started it?” asks Nate. I stare at him as he speaks, at the firm line of his jaw and the spots of red that have appeared high on his cheeks, like they always do when he’s angry. I know I should be paying attention to Amos, because he’s hurt and something horrible has clearly happened, but I’m staring at Nate instead.

  I stare at him a lot.

  “I didn’t do nothing,” says Amos. “I was unloading my cart and this fella asked me where I was from. He wasn’t really asking though, you know? He already knew.”

  “What did he say?” asks Nate.

  “He asked me if I was one of those God’s Legion faggots,” says Amos, his face flushing crimson at the memory. “Then he asked if I’d fucked my daughter today.”

  A chorus of outrage rises from the crowd that has gathered around the pickup. There are shouts of “Heresy” and “Serpent” and several of my Brothers and Sisters momentarily close their eyes in prayer.

  “What did you say to that?” asks Nate.

  Amos smiles grimly. “I told him I don’t have a daughter.”

  Nate’s laugh echoes across the yard. “Good answer,” he says. “I’m going to guess that’s when he jumped you?”

  Amos nods. “Him and his buddies.”

  “Did you retaliate?”

  The question, delivered in a familiar low rumble, doesn’t come from Nate. As one, the crowd turns towards the Big House. Father John is standing on the porch, his long dark hair fluttering in the cool evening air. He’s wearing the same grey shirt and jeans and boots he always wears and his piercing eyes are fixed on the man standing beside the pickup.

  “No, Father,” says Amos. “I got myself loose, then I ran.”

  Father John nods. “Well done,” he says, and favours Amos with a tight smile. “You have served our Lord just as truly as I would expect.”