by Will Hill
“That’s kind of a blunt question,” I say.
“Sorry,” says Nate. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“It’s all right,” I say. “Yeah, I miss her. Of course I do.”
“It’s a shame I never met her,” he says. “I think I would have liked her.”
I smile at him. I know he’s trying to be nice, and I’m not going to disagree with him about something I can never know for certain, but I’m not sure he would have liked my mom. Not everyone did.
Including you, whispers the voice in the back of my head. Some of the time, at least.
I wince, and silently tell it to shut up.
“She was Banished the summer before I got here,” he says. “Right?”
I nod.
“So she’s been Gone almost three years.”
Dear Lord, has it been that long already?
“I guess so,” I say.
“Do you buy what people say about her?” he asks. “That she was a Heretic?”
I pause, because Heresy is the exclusive domain of Father John and even talking about it can be viewed as Heretical, if you say the wrong thing. But I trust Nate, and I want to talk about my mom. I haven’t spoken about her out loud in a very long time.
“They found her journal,” I say. “The things she wrote in it were Heretical. There’s no pretending they weren’t.”
“So?” he asks.
“So I guess she was a Heretic,” I say. “By Father John’s definition, at least.”
He nods. “And by yours?”
I frown. “My what?”
“Your definition of Heresy.”
“I don’t have one,” I say. I’m lying, even though I trust him, because some things go so deep that there’s just no easy way around them.
“Okay,” he says. “That’s fine. Maybe we should talk about something else.”
I see disappointment on his face as he resumes walking. I take a deep breath and stand right where I am. After a couple of steps, he turns back and frowns at me.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“Ask me again,” I say.
He narrows his eyes. “Ask you what?”
“About what she was.”
“Okay,” he says, and walks back to stand in front of me. “Do you think your mom was a Heretic?”
“Yes,” I say. “I think she lost any Faith she ever had in The Lord’s Legion a long time before they Banished her. Maybe after The Purge, or when my dad died, or maybe it was just never there in the first place.”
Nate doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me with his bright green eyes, so I plunge on – because when you open certain doors, the kind that are supposed to be kept shut, you just have to go all the way through them and to Hell with the consequences.
“I know I’m not supposed to think about her,” I say. “And I guess she deserved to be Banished, in terms of the rules we all live by. But I don’t think she did anything wrong, Nate. Not any more. Is that bad of me?”
I’m suddenly close to tears. Part of it is rising panic, because if Nate isn’t who I think he is, I’ve just voluntarily handed him enough ammunition to have me locked in a box until the End Times. But part of it – most of it – is an unstoppable torrent of relief. I’ve wanted to say what I just said for such a long time, so long that the unspoken words had started to feel physically heavy, like a weight around my neck.
Nate takes a step closer. “No,” he says, his voice low. “I don’t think that’s bad of you. I don’t think it’s bad at all. But I need you to promise me you won’t ever say what you just said to anyone else, okay? Do you promise?”
I nod. “I promise.”
“Good,” he says. “You can’t trust our Brothers and Sisters, Moonbeam. You can’t trust anyone who isn’t me.”
“Okay,” I say, but his words, and the horrible truth in them, cut me like a scalpel. I can feel tears threatening to break loose from the corners of my eyes.
Nate sees them, and gives me a fierce smile. “Don’t cry,” he says. “It’s going to be all right.”
“How?” I ask, my voice trembling. “How is anything going to be all right?”
“The Lord is Good,” he says.
“I don’t think I believe that, Nate.”
Heresy, whispers the voice in the back of my head, but it doesn’t sound like it’s angry with me. It almost sounds proud.
Nate points at the razor wire coiled along the top of the fence. “Why is this here?”
“To keep our enemies out,” I say automatically.
Nate’s smile widens. “Spoken like a True Legionnaire. Why is it really here?”
“I don’t know,” I say, but I do. I just want him to be the one to say it, because I’m afraid to.
“To keep us in,” he says. “You, me, and everyone else.”
I shake my head, because even though that’s exactly what I’ve come to believe in the years since they Banished my mom, the certainty that has been pounded into me ever since The Purge is too strong to simply push to one side.
“People can leave whenever they want,” I say. “Nobody is forced to stay.”
“Only Amos is allowed to go into Layfield,” says Nate. “The rest of us aren’t allowed outside The Base. And when was the last time somebody left the Legion of their own free will?”
“After The Purge.”
He nods. “People who were loyal to Father Patrick. Do you think Father John was sad to see them go?”
“What about after the Third Proclamation,” I say. “Lots of people left then.”
He nods. “People who had made it clear that they weren’t going to obey the new rule, and who would almost certainly have caused trouble if they’d stayed. If they hadn’t made the decision to leave, Father John would have Banished them within a month. I guarantee it.”
“My mom…”
“Your mom was a Heretic,” he says, grimacing at the word. “She was found guilty of Apostasy, although that wasn’t her real crime. You know that, don’t you?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Having to Banish someone for Apostasy is bad, because it means having to admit that Faith is something that can be lost,” he says. “If Father John had believed there was any way to bring your mother back into line, he’d have done whatever it took.”
“So why didn’t he try?” I ask. “Because of what she said to him?”
Nate frowns. “What did she say to him?”
I stare at him for a long moment. I realize I’ve never told anyone what I saw in the Big House the day my mom was Banished, and how few people actually know the truth: The Prophet, the Centurions, Bella and Agavé and Star, and me.
That’s all. That’s everyone.
And my mom, of course. Wherever she is now.
“She told Father John she had never had any Faith in him,” I say. “She called him a snake-oil salesman, who preyed on vulnerable people.”
Nate shakes his head and lets out a low whistle. “Wow,” he says. “I’m not surprised he got her out of here as quickly as he possibly could.”
“He sent Angel to watch her while she packed her things,” I say. “He told him to make sure she didn’t speak to anyone.”
Nate grimaces. “I bet he did,” he says. “That just proves the point I was trying to make. From Father John’s perspective, she was dangerous. It was safer for him if she was Gone.”
“Why was she dangerous?” I ask. “She had never caused any trouble.”
“Because of you, Moonbeam,” he says.
What?
I stare at him. “I don’t…”
“Your mother hadn’t just been looking for a way to leave The Lord’s Legion,” says Nate. “Father John said her journal made it clear she had been planning to take you with her. And you’re promised to him, selected by The Lord to be his wife when the time comes. Can you imagine how it would have looked if your mom had succeeded with her plans? What it would have done to his standing with ou
r Brothers and Sisters if she had managed to take you away from him?”
“But she wanted me to marry Father John,” I say. “She suggested it to him, over and over again, and she celebrated when he announced that The Lord had chosen me as a Future Wife. Why would she have done all that if she was planning to take me away from here?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
Bullshit. You know something you’re not telling me.
“Why don’t I believe you?” I ask.
“I’m telling you the truth, Moonbeam,” he says. “There are things it’s safer for you not to know about, lots of them, but if I knew anything about your mom, I would tell you. I promise.”
I frown. “What things?” I ask. “What isn’t it safe for me to know?”
He doesn’t answer. He just stares through the fence at the desert outside.
“Nate?” I ask. “What things?”
His eyes stay fixed on the distant horizon. “Why is Father John so scared of the Outside?” he asks.
“Because it isn’t safe.”
“Who says so?”
“Father John.”
Nate grunts with laughter. “Of course,” he says. “Why isn’t it safe?”
“You mean why does he say it isn’t?”
“Yes.”
“Because it’s where our enemies live.”
Nate nods. “Right,” he says. “The ones we’ve been told will torture us and abduct us and murder us if they get the slightest chance. But have you ever actually seen anyone out there, Moonbeam? Apart from college kids gawking through the fence, that is?”
“No,” I say. “And I understand what you’re getting at. But for the sake of argument, wouldn’t they be hiding if they were out there?”
“Maybe,” says Nate, and gives the fence a shake. “But according to Father John, the Servants Of The Serpent have tanks and bombs and helicopters that spray gasoline. If that’s the case, do you really think this chicken wire would keep them out?”
“I guess not.”
Nate shrugs.
“So what are you saying?” I ask. “That our enemies aren’t real?”
He shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m saying,” he says. “I’m not going to tell you that nobody out there hates us, and I’m not saying the Outside is some peaceful paradise. But Father John is preparing the Legion for a battle he believes is inevitable, and that kind of thinking has a tendency to be self-fulfilling.”
I frown. “I don’t understand.”
He looks at me for a long, empty moment, then breaks into a smile. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve been talking way too much. We should get back.”
“It’s okay,” I say, because I don’t want him to stop talking and I don’t want to go back to the rest of our Family; I want to stay here, where I don’t have to be frightened about everything I say and where nobody looks at me like the daughter of a Heretic.
“It’s okay?” he repeats. “I don’t know if it is, Moonbeam. I really don’t. But we’re where we are, you and me, so I’ll say one more thing before we go.”
“All right.”
“There’s a room in the basement of the Big House,” says Nate. “It has a door that’s always locked.”
“Where Amos keeps the guns for training,” I say. “I know that.”
“There’s more than just guns inside that room,” he says. “A lot more.”
“Like what?”
He doesn’t answer. He just stares straight at me, his eyes slightly narrowed, as though he’s waiting for me to do something, or say something.
“Like what?” I say. “Tell me.”
He shakes his head. “I think that’s enough for today.”
Anger blooms in my chest. “Don’t do that,” I say. “I’m not a kid, Nate. You don’t get to decide what’s enough for me and what isn’t.”
He smiles at me, a wide, genuine smile that lights up his face. “I didn’t mean for you,” he says. “I’m going to walk back round to the gardens. Are you coming?”
I don’t respond right away. I want him to tell me about the locked room and I’m still deciding whether to be annoyed with him about the “that’s enough” comment, because he definitely wasn’t talking about himself. But I can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t going to tell me anything else right now, and I don’t think I can actually be angry with him when it feels like he might well be my only friend in the whole world.
“Sure,” I say eventually. “Let’s go.”
He nods, and I fall into step beside him as we walk north along the line of the fence.
He’ll tell me about the room in the basement later, I think. I’m sure he will. It’s not like either of us is going anywhere.
“I didn’t know about Nate,” says Agent Carlyle. “When you asked me about him before, I mean. I was telling you the truth.”
I smile at him. “I guess I have to believe that, don’t I?”
“I hope you can.”
I shrug. “So who was he working for?” I ask. “The same people as you?”
Agent Carlyle shakes his head. “He was ATF,” he says. “You know who they are, right?”
I nod. They were on Father John’s list of evil agencies of the Government. “Alcohol, tobacco and firearms.”
He nods. “That’s right. They sent him in after the package was intercepted in Lubbock. It seems like only about five people knew he was there.”
“Do they know if that included Father John?” I ask.
“Nate’s case file is classified,” says Agent Carlyle, “but I talked to one of the agents in his section, and they don’t think John Parson knew. The current theory is that he asked Nate to be a Centurion in good faith, and only accused him of being a spy to save face after Nate turned the offer down. They don’t believe Parson would have given him a night to reconsider if he had suspected the truth.”
I grimace. “I think they’re probably right.”
He nods.
“So I never actually knew him then?” I ask. “The real him, I mean. The person I thought was my friend was a lie.”
Agent Carlyle shakes his head. “That’s not true,” he says. “Undercover agents are trained to deviate from their actual personalities as little as possible. It’s a lot easier to be convincing when you’re not pretending to be someone else. So the person you knew was real.”
“Was his name really Nate Childress?”
“It was.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any way I can see him?”
Doctor Hernandez winces. “I don’t think we’re at that stage in—”
“Forget it,” I say, and look back at Agent Carlyle. “If you talk to your colleague again, ask him to thank Nate for everything he did for me. Tell him I’m grateful.”
“I will,” he says. “You can count on it.”
“Thank you.”
“Why do you think he told you those things?” asks Doctor Hernandez. “About the Legion’s enemies, and the locked door in the basement?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve thought about it a lot, especially after he escaped, and I think maybe they were things that were eating away at him, that he just couldn’t keep in any more. And I like to think I was the only person he trusted enough to say them to. But I don’t know.”
“He took a big risk,” says Agent Carlyle.
I shrug. “He knew I wouldn’t tell anyone,” I say. “Or at least, I hope he did. I’d have gotten in trouble too.”
“As much trouble?”
“No,” I say. “But it wouldn’t have been good for either of us.”
“Do you think he trusted you because he could see you were struggling with your own faith?” asks Doctor Hernandez.
“That would make sense, I guess,” I say. “But I don’t know what he saw.”
He nods, and makes a quick note in one of his books. “Are you happy to keep going?” he asks. “We can stop if you’d like?”
I shake my head.
“I want to finish this.”
Agent Carlyle smiles. “All right then,” he says. “Can you tell us what happened the day after you made your call to the Layton County Sheriff? The seventeenth?”
Calm, whispers the voice in the back of my head. It’s all right. You’re all right. It’s going to be okay.
“The day of the fire,” I say.
They both nod.
It’s going to be okay.
I close my eyes and cast my mind back until I can feel the heat, and hear the gunfire, and smell the blood and the dust.
It’s going to be okay.
I take a deep breath. I open my eyes.
I start to talk.
I’m walking across the yard when I hear something.
While everyone else was finishing breakfast in Legionnaire’s Hall I went to talk to Honey, to let her know that I was thinking about her, that she hadn’t been forgotten, but Amos appeared behind me before I managed more than a few words and dragged me away, his face as dark as thunder. I heard Honey say “Hello” before his hand landed on my shoulder, so I knew she was still alive at least, even though her voice was weak and it sounded like her throat had been lined with sandpaper.
“Are you stupid, girl?” asked Amos. “Are you determined to make things worse?”
I shrugged off his hand. “I’m talking to my Sister,” I said. “There’s no rule against that.”
“Your Sister is being punished for Heresy,” said Amos. “You can talk to her after she’s made herself right with The Lord. Not before.”
“And that’s okay with you?” I asked, my face filling with angry heat. “That’s just fine?”
“The Lord is Good,” growled Amos. “Now get the hell out of here, and be glad I don’t reckon this is worth concerning The Prophet with.”
I stared at him for long seconds, my head throbbing with fury, then turned on my heel and strode away towards the yard.
The noise I can hear now is low and distant.
The dirt road that runs from the Front Gate to the highway is almost two miles long, but when the wind is blowing in the right direction we can hear the occasional rumble of a far-off engine. We can’t see the vehicles themselves, because the road snakes between two low hills that block the view to the south, so I like to guess what they are – the big trucks we used to see lumbering along the highway when we were still allowed to go into Town maybe, or yellow buses full of children, or families in cars and mobile homes, singing along with the radio at the tops of their voices.