After the Fire

by Will Hill

  Not even for a second.

  Nurse Harrow holds open the door of the Group Therapy room and I walk through it. I instantly see Luke standing on his own against the far wall and have to stifle a gasp, because he doesn’t look anything like himself. He looks like a corpse that’s been propped upright.

  His skin is grey, and his eyes are sunken and staring. I can see his hands shaking, even from right across the room. He doesn’t look at me as I enter, or give any indication that there’s life behind those empty eyes.

  “He’s not dead,” says Honey, as though she can read my mind. “I checked. He just looks it.”

  I grimace. “That’s not funny.”

  She gives me a look that makes me feel about a foot tall. “I know that, Moonbeam,” she says. “None of this is funny. Do you know what’s going on with him?”

  “No,” I say. I hate lying to her, but I think Doctor Hernandez is right – it won’t do any good for the rest of them to think I’m being told more than they are.

  “It doesn’t look good, whatever it is,” she says. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine,” I say. “You?”

  “I’m good,” she says. “Although it feels a bit like Doctor Kelly is losing interest in me, now that I don’t have anything left to tell her that she doesn’t already know. I think she’s disappointed I’m not more damaged than I am.”

  “You can’t really think that.”

  She smiles at me. “I don’t,” she says. “But she keeps sighing when I answer her questions. I think she’s bored of me.”

  “That could be a good thing,” I say. “If she thinks you’re okay, maybe you’re closer to getting out of here.”

  She shrugs. “Maybe, I guess.”

  “Do you think about it?”

  “Getting out?”

  I nod.

  “I do,” she says. “I don’t know what it will be like, and sometimes it scares me. But it has to be better than this. And a lot better than where we were.”

  I nod again.

  It scares me too.

  We sit on the floor with our backs against the wall and look around the room. Most of our Brothers and Sisters are sat in little groups, playing and giggling and chatting in low voices. None of them are paying any attention to Luke.

  Jeremiah and Rainbow are on their hands and knees, racing toy cars back and forth across the floor. The others are building with Lego and colouring and drawing and tapping excitedly on little electronic pads that light up and make sounds. Honey told me that none of them played with any of the toys and games during the first couple of sessions, the ones that took place while I was still lying in a hospital bed. She said Luke warned them all not to touch anything that had come from Outside. So what’s happening in the room now feels like real progress. Jeremiah has a green car and Rainbow has a bright red fire truck, and they’re making engine noises as they roll them in wide figure-of-eights. Every so often the little vehicles collide, and the two of them fall about laughing. The sound does my heart good.

  Aurora closes a colouring book and wanders over to join them.

  “Can I play?” she asks.

  Jeremiah and Rainbow both nod. Aurora smiles, then digs through one of the plastic boxes, selects a red-and-white ambulance, and sits down next to them. The three toy cars trundle back and forth, their wheels squeaking over the floor, the pretend engine noises like the high-pitched buzzing of bees. I sit in silence next to Honey, watching the three children with a smile on my face.

  Jeremiah moves his car into the middle of the circle. Behind him, Lucy and Winter start singing “All Things Bright and Beautiful”, their voices low and soft and lovely, and he turns around to listen. Aurora wheels her ambulance in a wide arc, then slams it into the side of the green car, sending it skittering away across the floor and into the wall near the door.

  Jeremiah whirls back around, his face colouring red. “What did you do that for?” he asks.

  Aurora recoils, her eyes widening. “We’re playing,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

  Jeremiah hops to his feet. “Go and fetch it!”

  The colour drains from Aurora’s face. She looks like she’s about to burst into tears, but she gets slowly to her feet.

  Honey sits forward, a frown on her face. “Jeremiah,” she says. “She said she was sorry. Calm down.”

  “She did it on purpose!” says Jeremiah, his cheeks flushed pink. “She has to go and get it!”

  On the other side of the room, I see Luke’s head turn towards the little drama playing out in the middle of the floor.

  “Calm down,” repeats Honey. “She’ll get it. There’s no need to shout at her.”

  “She needs to get it now!” says Jeremiah.

  Aurora looks over at us, her face a mask of helpless misery. I get ready to stand up and defuse the situation, but Honey puts a hand on my shoulder and gets to her feet.

  “It’s okay,” she says. “I’ll get it.”

  “No,” says Luke, his voice a low croak. “Aurora, do what Jeremiah tells you.”

  Honey stares at him. “Why should she do that, Luke? And why do you think this is any of your business?”

  Luke turns to face her. He looks like a strong breeze would blow him over, but something has returned to his eyes, a faint version of the gleam I’ve come to dread. The room has fallen silent, and most of our Brothers and Sisters have nervous expressions on their faces.

  “She did something wrong,” he says. “She needs to make it right.”

  “She did something wrong?” asks Honey. “They were playing, Luke. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Everything is a big deal,” whispers Luke. “Obedience is vital. Discipline. She needs to remember her place.”

  Honey narrows her eyes. “And where is that exactly?”

  Luke’s face twists into a frown. “She’s a girl,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “She needs to do what she’s told.”

  “Because you say so?”

  Luke slowly shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Because Father John said so.”

  “Father John is dead,” says Honey.

  “Watch your mouth,” says Luke. His voice is rising, and starting to sound more like it used to. “You just watch your mouth. The Prophet Ascended, just like he always told us he would.”

  Honey rolls her eyes. “You’re an idiot, Luke,” she says. “You’re too stupid to see the truth when it’s right in front of you. To understand when you’ve been lied to.”

  Luke pushes himself away from the wall and stands upright, swaying slightly from side to side. “And what does that make you?” he growls. “A Servant Of The Serpent? Or just a Heretic whore who needs to learn when to shut her mouth?”

  “Luke,” I say. “Please—”

  He looks at me, and the hatred in his face freezes the words in my throat.

  “You tell me which I am, Luke,” says Honey. Her voice is steady and almost friendly, as though they’re having a pleasant conversation. “In fact, why don’t you tell everyone what happened when you tried to make me touch you.”

  The faint colour that has returned to Luke’s face drains away. “Shut up.”

  “Tell everyone about when Moonbeam caught you trying to break the Third Proclamation with an eleven-year-old,” says Honey. “Tell them how Nate Childress beat the crap out of you and left you crying on the ground.”

  “SHUT UP!’ bellows Luke. “YOU SHUT YOUR FILTHY MOUTH!”

  He rushes forward, his hands balled into fists. I leap up from the floor and tackle him at the waist, sending him tumbling to one side as Honey shrinks back against the wall. Luke hits the ground and rolls onto his back, the furious energy that suddenly galvanized him already gone. He stares up at the ceiling, his face full of terrible, uncomprehending misery, and he starts to cry. The sound is awful – thick choking sobs that sound like they’re coming from the centre of his soul – and as he puts his trembling hands over his face, the door opens and two male nurses walk into the
room.

  I hold my breath as they crouch down next to Luke, preparing myself for another explosion. But it doesn’t come. Instead, the nurses gently lift him to his feet and help him towards the door. He doesn’t remove his hands from his face, and he doesn’t stop sobbing as they slowly walk him out into the corridor.

  Broken, whispers the voice in the back of my head.

  Nobody says anything.

  I look at Honey, but she doesn’t meet my eyes.

  The door stands open, until Doctor Hernandez steps through it with a clipboard in his hand and looks around at us all.

  “We’re going to stop this session here,” he says. “If anyone feels they need to talk about what just happened, my colleagues and I will be available for the rest of the day. The nursing staff will be along in a minute to take you back to your rooms.”

  I lie down on my bed and stare up at the ceiling.

  The voice in the back of my head is telling me not to cry, not to waste my tears on Luke, but there’s a lump in my throat a mile wide and saltwater brimming in the corners of my eyes and I don’t know whether I’m going to be able to obey it.

  For the longest time, for the vast majority of my life, my response to something as horrible as what just happened would have been to pray, to ask The Lord to look after Luke and help him through his troubles. Part of me still wants to kneel down right now and clasp my hands together and shut my eyes, because I can clearly remember how much better it used to make me feel.

  But that time has passed.

  I know praying won’t help Luke, or me, or anyone else.

  It won’t do a damn thing.

  “We’re looking after him,” says Doctor Hernandez. His face is pale and his eyes are red, like he hasn’t had enough sleep. “We’re doing everything we can.”

  I shake my head. “There’s nothing you can do.”

  “I don’t believe that, Moonbeam,” he says. “Nobody is beyond help.”

  “Luke is,” I say. “It’s not his fault, but it’s the truth.”

  “Who’s fault is it?”

  “Father John’s.” I spit the words. “He dripped poison into Luke’s ears, filling him with hate and horror and darkness. What chance did he have?”

  THE CHANCE TO ASCEND TO THE RIGHT HAND OF THE LORD! screams Father John. THE CHANCE TO—

  I shove his hateful voice away with every ounce of my strength, and feel a surge of bitter pleasure as it falls silent.

  “You were taught the same things,” says Doctor Hernandez. “So was Honey, and all the other Legion children.”

  “I know what we were taught,” I say. “I was there.”

  “There’s no disputing that Luke’s life has been chaotic,” he says. “That underlying issues have been exacerbated by his surroundings and influences. But I believe he can be helped through this. I have to believe it.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I say. “I really do.”

  “But you don’t think I am?”

  “No,” I say. “I think he’s broken.”

  He looks at me for a long moment and I hold his gaze. I’m not going to back down on this, because I’m right. I wish I wasn’t, but I am.

  I know I am.

  Agent Carlyle glances back and forth between me and Doctor Hernandez. “All right then,” he says. “You’re doing everything you can, Doctor, you don’t think it’s going to help, Moonbeam, and everyone hopes Luke is okay. So how about we talk about something else?”

  “Fine by me,” I say.

  Doctor Hernandez nods. “I think that’s a good idea,” he says. “Let’s do that. We ended yesterday’s session with you telling us that Luke never tried to get revenge against you for what you did to him.”

  I nod.

  “And that was the truth?”

  I hesitate, because I’ve already decided what I’m going to tell them this morning. I think it’s the right thing to do, and I’m pretty sure that it’s something I need to do, but the prospect still makes me nervous.

  Be brave, whispers the voice in the back of my head.

  “Moonbeam?” says Agent Carlyle. “Did Luke try something?”

  I shake my head. “He never got the chance,” I say. “Things started to happen really quickly after that.”

  I saw funerals on television when we were still allowed to watch it and some of my Brothers and Sisters have told me about ones they attended before they were Called onto the True Path. They seem really sad, full of black clothes and tears and people speaking in hushed voices.

  Funerals inside The Lord’s Legion are nothing like that.

  There have been maybe half a dozen that I can remember. Not very many, considering how long I’ve lived inside The Base and how many people have come and Gone in that time, but it’s not really that surprising given that most people who find the True Path do so when they’re young and healthy. Father John says The Lord only summons the useful – men and women who are strong and who will work hard for His Glory.

  I asked Amos about funerals once when I was younger, after we buried Marcelo, the oldest of the original members of the Legion, and he explained that Outsider funerals are sad because Outsiders are selfish. They know they won’t ever see the person who has died again – unless they end up occupying the same corner of Hell – and they weep and cry because it makes them think about the end of their own lives, so they’re really just crying for themselves.

  I don’t think my mom would agree with him. I’ll never know though, because I never asked her while I had the chance.

  Anyway.

  The death of the mortal body is celebrated inside the Legion, because we understand what has truly happened: our Brother or Sister has Ascended, to bask for ever in the presence of The Lord. And if you believe that, if you really believe it, like I used to, then how could you possibly be sad? How could you be unhappy about someone you love having risen to a place of eternal joy?

  It’s a beautiful day when we finally bury Horizon; the air is warm, the breeze is gentle, and the sky is a bright, brilliant blue, as though The Lord has seen fit to acknowledge his Faithful servant’s arrival by crafting a moment of perfection for those left behind.

  The Centurions locked the doors last night, and I’m already washed and dressed and waiting when I hear footsteps stop outside my door. There’s a metallic clunk before it swings open and Bear peers in at me, his weathered face pale in the early morning light.

  “Brother Horizon’s gone,” he says. “Did you hear?”

  The six of us in Building Nine lay awake most of the night, listening to Horizon’s coughing and spluttering getting weaker and weaker, aware that he was surely coming to the end of his path. Not long before dawn, a deep silence finally settled over The Base, and we knew.

  “I heard him go,” I say. “The Lord is Good.”

  “The Lord is Good,” says Bear. “Come on. It’s time to say goodbye to him.”

  I follow him outside. We waste no time burying our Brothers and Sisters, because what would be the point of waiting? The person we loved is gone, their souls and memories and everything they were; all that remains is the physical body they inhabited.

  My Brothers and Sisters are wandering into the yard from every direction and gathering in front of the Chapel, where a plain wooden table has been set up at the foot of the steps.

  Lying on it, his hands crossed on his chest, is Horizon.

  His eyes are closed and his skin is waxy grey, but he looks so completely at peace that my heart races with happiness at the thought of his suffering having finally come to an end.

  Father John emerges from the Big House and walks towards us. It’s normally a nervous moment each morning when we see The Prophet for the first time, as his mood sets the tone for the day that is to come – if The Lord has given him bad tidings overnight, we know to expect extra hours of work and the most basic meals, whereas if The Lord has given him reason to rejoice, the day lights up and stretches out happily ahead of us. This morning, however, there is no unce
rtainty, and no nervousness; everyone, including Father John, is ready to say goodbye to their friend.

  Bear, Angel and Lonestar – the three remaining Centurions – are stood in a row behind the wooden table. Horizon was one of them for more than a decade, and the pain on their faces is bright and clear. Because even though their Brother has Ascended and even though they know – without a shadow of doubt – that they will see him again when the End Times come, grief is not a choice that anyone makes, no matter what Amos told me: it’s involuntary, rising up without your permission from a place you can’t control.

  Father John places a hand on each Centurion’s shoulder in turn, then stands in front of them and looks out across the silent mass of The Lord’s Legion.

  “My Brothers and Sisters,” he says, his voice low and vibrating with conviction. “My own Family, who I love most on this Earth. We are gathered on this beautiful morning, in the benevolent gaze of The Almighty Lord, to celebrate the Ascension of our Brother Horizon. I know that there is pain in our hearts, because we are all human and we are all flawed, but this is not the time for grief, or for sadness. This is the time to rejoice in the Glory of a life spent on the True Path, and give humble thanks to The Lord for Calling His Faithful servant Home. For Horizon, there will be no more pain. For our Ascended Brother, there will only be joy, absolute and everlasting. The Lord is Good.”

  The crowd echoes the words as one. I look around and see eyes glistening with tears, see my Brothers and Sisters holding hands and leaning against each other.

  “Horizon is gone from this world,” continues Father John, “but we know, in time, that The Lord will Call each and every one of us to the place where we will see him again, where every Brother and Sister who has Ascended will be waiting to welcome us into Glory. The Lord permits no man to know when his time will come, but I trust in my heart that it will be soon for us all. I pray it will be. And until that glorious day, when the End Times arrive and we vanquish The Serpent and every one of his Servants, we will follow the example of our Brother Horizon. We will keep our feet on the True Path, our hearts full of the Light of The Lord, and we will serve Him in all His Glory. Pray with me, my Brothers and Sisters.”