After the Fire

by Will Hill

  It’s not just Nate; nobody else comes to see me after lights out either, not like they do Alice and Star and Liza and some of my other Sisters, the ones who are prettier than me. Night-time visits are not supposed to happen at all – the Third Proclamation is absolutely clear, as is the punishment for breaking it – but they do happen and the Centurions are the only ones who have keys to the barracks and they would never unlock the bedrooms of my Sisters for anyone without The Prophet’s permission.

  My door always stays locked until dawn. I guess Father John would be furious if he found out that anyone had touched one of his Future Wives, and that’s what keeps my Brothers away. That’s what I tell myself at least, that it’s because of rules – even though my mom used to tell me to be careful around my older Brothers because men have a switch in their heads that gets flipped around pretty girls and makes them stupid and unpredictable.

  I asked her once if my dad had it and she told me he didn’t have a switch, he was just stupid and unpredictable all the time. It hurt my heart to hear her speak about him like that, but she knew him really well and I hardly ever knew him at all so I guess I have to take her word for what he was like. And it was nice to hear her call me pretty, even though she did it in a roundabout sort of way.

  Anyway.

  Nate hears me coming up behind him and turns around with a smile on his face, the one that always makes my heart beat double-time.

  “Hey, Moonbeam,” he says. “I knew it was you.”

  I smile back at him. “How come?”

  “You have very distinctive footsteps,” he says. “They always sound serious. Kind of earnest.”

  My smile twists into a frown. “What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know,” he says, and shrugs. “Take a listen sometime.”

  “I probably won’t,” I say.

  He grunts with laughter, and nods. “Fair enough,” he says. “You feel like helping me pick a few cucumbers?”

  “Sure,” I say, and fall into step beside him as we head towards the western fence. The sun is beating down directly above our heads, bathing the entire Base in light so bright that it makes everything look brand new, and one of the hardest truths of them all appears in my mind like a punch to the gut.

  I was happy here.

  For a long time, I really was.

  The Base isn’t paradise, no matter what Father John likes to say; it’s actually nowhere close, and never has been. But like everyone, there was a time – when I was a lot younger than I am now – that I was happy to believe almost anything if someone promised me it was the truth. For me, unlike most – maybe all – of my Brothers and Sisters, that time didn’t last for ever.

  It wasn’t Father John’s fault; not then, at least. As he often says, he is merely a human being, as fallible and proud as any other, and even though we were all made in the image of our Creator, we are nowhere close to Holy – that state of Perfect Grace is reserved for The Lord Himself. As a result, I kind of always understood that The Prophet’s words couldn’t just be accepted as irrevocable truth, and that understanding became clearer and clearer as I got older.

  I know – without any doubt – that there is simply no way every single human being in the whole world who lives beyond the walls of The Base is bad, just like I know for absolutely certain that not every one of my Brothers and Sisters is good. Bad and good, False and True: they’re the opposite ends of a whole spectrum of behaviour, not the only two things a person can be. Because life just isn’t that simple. People aren’t that simple, even though I’m sure things would be a lot more straightforward if they were.

  I think Father John understands this, even though he would never say so; I think that’s why he only ever claims to be the messenger, rather than the message itself. But for a long time it didn’t matter to me – when he spoke, even if I doubted the actual words, I still believed.

  I had questions, and I had thoughts that I never told anyone because I knew they would be called Heresy, but I still had Faith – in him and my Brothers and Sisters and in the Legion. Right up until what he did to my mom.

  “Penny for them?” asks Nate, as we reach the chicken-wire fence that surrounds the gardens.

  “Bad deal for you,” I say.

  He smiles. “I know when there’s something on your mind, Moonbeam. Spill.”

  I nod, because he’s right – there is something on my mind, beyond the bittersweet memory of happier times. Something that’s been eating at me since last Friday, and that I wouldn’t dream of bringing up with anyone else.

  “It’s Luke,” I say.

  “What about that little shit?” asks Nate, and I actually gasp out loud, because nobody talks that way about one of their Brothers or Sisters. Not ever.

  “You can’t say that,” I say, hating how like a shocked little girl I must sound.

  “I can if it’s the truth,” says Nate, his smile widening. “Membership of The Lord’s Legion doesn’t automatically disqualify you from being an asshole. Sadly.”

  I giggle. I can’t help myself.

  “Anyway,” he continues, “I don’t think you’re going to tattle on me to a Centurion. So what about Luke?”

  “He questioned Father John,” I say. “Right in front of everyone.”

  Nate shrugs. “And got a whipping for it. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “No.”

  “So what then?”

  I take a deep breath, because I want this to come out right. “He causes trouble,” I say. “Luke, I mean. And sometimes…sometimes it feels like he does it on purpose.”

  “He’s seventeen,” says Nate. “Of course he does it on purpose. He’s trying to work out where he fits in the world, what his place is, so he acts out from time to time. Why does it bother you?”

  “You weren’t here last time,” I say. “It feels familiar. That’s all.”

  “Are you talking about The Purge?” he asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I think so. Yeah.”

  “Are you worried?”

  I shake my head. “I guess not,” I say. “I just don’t trust Luke, Nate. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make this into some big thing.”

  Nate smiles. “It’s okay,” he says. “And you don’t need to worry. Luke is an objectionable little shit who could have done with being taken down a peg or two before now, but if I thought he was actually dangerous, to Father John or anyone else, I’d already have done something about it.”

  “What would you have done?”

  His smile disappears, as suddenly as if it was never there. “I’d have strangled him while he slept,” he says. “Now come on. Those cucumbers aren’t going to pick themselves.”

  I force a smile as a chill creeps over me. He turns away and I let him take a few steps before I follow him into the gardens.

  Doctor Hernandez has stopped making notes; his eyes were locked on me as I talked.

  “Do you think Nate would have done what he said?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  I shrug. I’m not sure, not one hundred per cent. I know – without any doubt, because I saw it with my own eyes – that Nate was perfectly willing to hurt Luke, although I’m not going to mention that right now. But I genuinely don’t think he would have actually killed him, so I’m not technically lying.

  “Were people punished for speaking heresy?”

  “No,” I say. That is a lie, such a big one that I worry I might burst into flames for telling it.

  “For breaking the rules?”

  “No.”

  “So people weren’t afraid?”

  I don’t respond.

  Doctor Hernandez narrows his eyes. “Moonbeam? Were the members of The Lord’s Legion afraid of Father John?”

  “What did you say?” demands Luke, his voice the low hiss of a snake. “What did you tell the Outsider?”

  His face is barely an inch away from mine and my back is pressed agains
t the wall, while the rest of our Brothers and Sisters watch in silence, their faces stricken. I think about what Doctor Hernandez said about SSI being a controlled environment and I wonder how long this would have to go on before someone came into the Group Therapy room and stopped it.

  “I didn’t say anything,” I lie. “I tried to tell him about Father John, about how The Prophet was ten times the man he could ever hope to be, but he didn’t want to hear that so he sent me back to my room. That’s all, Luke. I swear.”

  He takes a half-step back. I don’t have any idea how long he stares at me but he eventually breaks into a smile and runs his knuckles down my cheek. I try not to shudder.

  “Good,” he says. “You did good. They’re trying to turn us against each other, right when it’s most important that we stay strong. But we’re not going to let them. Are we?”

  I shake my head. The madness still gleams in his eyes, a dancing light that makes me want to puke. It’s the same light I saw in Father John’s eyes at the very end, as everything around him burned.

  “That’s right,” he says, and turns to face the others. “We are not going to let them. The Prophet has Ascended, just as we were promised he would. Our Brothers and Sisters have Ascended, just as we were promised. You saw them rise into the Heavens with your very own eyes, and if you believe that we were left behind by accident then you are lying to yourself, and you have proven yourself False. Each and every one of us is being tested, being challenged to prove our Faith and show that we deserve to sit in the presence of The Lord with our Family. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

  There’s a murmur of agreement, but only a murmur.

  He frowns. “I can’t hear you,” he says. “Do you understand the truth that I am telling you?”

  Another murmur, barely louder than the first. The enthusiasm that briefly filled them the last time Luke spoke about Ascension is gone. Maybe his words, so similar to those used by Father John over the years, have lost their power to inspire in the face of the reality of this room and this place, or maybe the last of the fight has finally drained out of my Brothers and Sisters. Under the bright fluorescent lights of the wide room, they look exactly like what they are: frightened children, a long way from home. I stare at them, my heart aching in my chest, and I glance at Luke and I know that he’s seeing the same thing. He takes a step forward, his fists clenched, and tries again.

  “I know you’re in pain,” he says. “I know you’re scared, and I know you miss your parents. It’s only natural, even though we all know in our hearts that this sinful world is only temporary. But this is not the time to lose heart, my Brothers and Sisters. This, right now, right here in this room, is the moment for us to hold more tightly to our Faith than ever before, to be True to the words of The Prophet and prove that we deserve to Ascend alongside him. Trust in him, as we always have. Trust in him, and I promise he will not let us down.”

  Willow starts to cry. I don’t blame her, not for a single second – she’s only ten years old and she was standing in her mother’s shadow when a bullet ripped off the top of her head. I guess she might be having trouble holding tightly to her Faith at this particular moment, no matter what Luke says.

  He walks over and kneels down in front of her and shushes her as best he can. Gentleness has never been something that comes naturally to Luke, but he tries, which I grudgingly have to accept is something. Willow stops crying after a minute or two, but her face remains a mask of utter misery. How can she be expected to understand the things she saw? How can anyone even begin to try and help her get over them?

  Luke takes her hands. “There are things Father John taught me,” he says, his voice low. “Abilities. Powers. Things that the Servants Of The Serpent will not be able to comprehend. If our Ascension doesn’t come soon, I won’t hesitate to use them. I’ll use them and I’ll free us all from this place and we’ll start again somewhere new while we wait for The Prophet to Call us home.”

  Willow nods, and manages a tiny smile.

  “You’re so full of shit, Luke,” says Honey. “Don’t lie to her.”

  Willow’s smile disappears and she looks up at Luke with eyes that are suddenly wide and full of uncertainty. He doesn’t even glance down at her though; his gaze is fixed on Honey.

  “You’ll see,” he says. “Oh, you’ll see soon enough. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

  “You’re wrong,” says Honey. “I know exactly what you are.”

  Luke gives her a smile that doesn’t contain the slightest trace of humour, then turns his attention back to Willow. “Don’t listen to her,” he says. “Everything is going to be absolutely okay. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  I stare at him.

  I stare at him and I don’t say a word.

  I don’t say a single word, because I think he’s wrong.

  Even now, after the fire and the bullets and the blood, there is still something to be scared of.

  And I’m pretty sure I’m looking at him.

  Doctor Hernandez opens the door of Interview Room 1 at two minutes past ten but doesn’t step through it and head towards the desk like usual. Instead, he stands half in and half out of the room and gives me a wide smile that doesn’t look totally convincing.

  “Good morning, Moonbeam,” he says. “How are you doing today?”

  “I’m fine,” I say. I can feel my forehead furrowing into a frown. “Aren’t you coming in?”

  His smile remains fixed in place. “Of course,” he says. “But if it’s all right with you, this morning’s session is going to be a little bit different. Do you remember me telling you that there were other people who wanted to talk to you?”

  Unease flutters in my stomach. “I remember.”

  “Great,” he says. “Okay. So. One of them would like to talk to you now. How do you feel about that?”

  “Who are they?” I ask.

  “His name is Agent Andrew Carlyle,” he says. “He works for the FBI. Do you know what that is?”

  GOVERNMENT! screams Father John, his voice thundering through my head. GOVERNMENT! DON’T TELL HIM ANYTHING! RUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!

  I shake my head. I don’t need him to know that Father John denounced the FBI and all the other Government agencies as Servants Of The Serpent almost every Sunday morning.

  “It stands for the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” says Doctor Hernandez. “They work on very serious crimes, crimes that are bigger or more complicated than local police forces can handle on their own. It’s important to say right up front that him wanting to talk to you doesn’t mean you’re in any kind of trouble, and that nobody is going to make you answer questions you don’t want to. But it would really help the investigation into what happened to your brothers and sisters if you were willing to talk to him, and at least listen to his questions. And I honestly think you might find it useful.”

  “Why does he want to talk to me?” I ask. “I don’t know anything.”

  “He just wants to ask you about what you saw,” he says. “What happened during the fire, and before it. So what do you say? Will you talk to him?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Always,” he says. “But it will make the work that you and I are doing a lot easier if you cooperate with him. I’m sure that must sound like horse trading, and maybe it is, but it’s also the truth.”

  “Quid pro quo,” I whisper.

  He frowns. “Exactly,” he says. “Where did you learn that?”

  From Horizon. When I was little, and we were still allowed to learn things.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. I must have heard it somewhere once.”

  “You’ll talk to him then? Agent Carlyle?”

  I shrug. “I guess so.”

  His smile reappears, as wide and unconvincing as before, and he ducks back through the door and pulls it shut. I stare at it, trying to slow my accelerating heart.

  Stay calm. You’re the only one who knows the truth, and they can’t mak
e you tell them. They don’t know anything. So just stay calm.

  Doctor Hernandez walks back into the room, followed by a man carrying a plastic chair. He’s taller than the psychiatrist, with dark hair parted neatly on one side and blue eyes that stand out against skin that looks like it’s spent a lot of time outdoors. He’s wearing a dark grey suit over a white shirt and he nods at me as he sets the chair down.

  “Moonbeam,” says Doctor Hernandez. “This is Agent Carlyle.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” says the – Servant Of The Serpent – newcomer. “How’re you doing this morning?”

  “I’m okay,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady as I look up at him. “You?”

  “I’m just fine,” he says. “Thanks for asking. And for letting me sit in.”

  Like I had a choice.

  “No problem,” I say.

  Doctor Hernandez starts unloading his notebooks and pens as Agent Carlyle slides off his jacket and drapes it over the back of his chair. When he turns back towards me I see an angular black shape nestled in his armpit and something seizes inside me as I realize what it is. For a second I just stare, and then I’m scrambling up the back of the red sofa, my eyes widening. My bandaged hand slams against the wall and the pain is awful but I barely notice it as a scream rises in my throat, a scream it takes every last little bit of my strength to hold in.

  “Moonbeam?” asks Doctor Hernandez, his voice full of sudden urgency. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head. If I open my mouth to tell him, I know the scream will get out, because all I can see is Agent Carlyle’s gun and all I can hear is the thunder of automatic fire and the whine of bullets and the screams of my Brothers and Sisters. The bitter scent of burning fills my head and everything swims and I’m suddenly sure I’m going to faint.