The Doomsday Papers

by JanJan Untamed

  “Where is Belle?”

  “In a room similar to this one watching movies. You can watch movies and listen to music while you are here too. There is a library and clean clothing in the closet. You can have whatever you want to eat. Make yourself at home.”

  “I want to see her.”

  “I can’t let you do that. I don’t trust you. This is for your own safety.”

  “Leave me alone.” I hiss angrily. Make myself at home? How can I do that without my husband?

  “You weep for a man who makes you cover your hair and look at the floor. He controls everything you do. His control stretches across miles. He isn’t here and you are still following his orders.”

  “I am proud to cover my hair for my husband. My hair is for his eyes alone. You don’t have to like my ways, traitor. I am not your wife.”

  “I would never treat my wife the way he treats you.”

  “I feel sorry for your wife.”

  “Your blind ideology and manic obsession is a form of mental illness. You have these twisted beliefs and an illogical need to please him because you were programmed to. A woman should have free choice and free will. They should not be trained and ordered about like pets. I hope one day you realize it before your son or daughter is brainwashed too.”

  “I will be proud if my daughter marries a man like her Father. I would disown her if she marries a man like you, traitor. A stealer of women and children.”

  He leaves, slamming the door behind him. May the devil take him in his sleep. It is out of concern for my child that I shower and dress in one of the inappropriate dresses. Half of my arms are bare and none of them are longer than knee length. I tear up a second dress and use part of it to cover my freshly washed and braided hair. After I eat, I use another section to cover my face. I will never turn on a television. I poke at the stereo until it lights up. I poke some more until music begins to play. I know it is ungodly right away but I am too caught up. It is a soulful song about a preacher’s son. “The only boy that could ever reach me, was the son of preacher man.” I let my tears fall and think about him and how true this song is. Only, my boy isn’t called Billy Ray. He is called Jude Hamilton.

  I listen to the song over and over again. I am listening to it when the traitor returns. I assume it’s morning because he is carrying a breakfast tray. It’s hard to keep time down here with no sun for reference.

  “What a pretty dress. I see you are up early to start your day.” He says cheerfully. “Wait, have you been to sleep?”

  “These dresses are inappropriate, Traitor. Can you please see about getting me appropriate clothing?”

  “There is nothing inappropriate about the way you are dressed except for that thing on your head and that rag tied around your face. You look fine.”

  “I do not dress for you. If you will not provide suitable clothing, give me a needle and thread to alter the ones I have.”

  “Aren’t you hot wearing those long dresses all the time? You don’t have to wear them here. This is more suiting of a young woman.”

  “I cover myself out of modesty and respect for my husband. I don’t feel comfortable showing this much skin. You can’t fix me. I am not broken. Please, stop trying.”

  “After breakfast, I’m going to ask you a series of questions about your family history.”

  “Why?”

  “It helps to learn the background of my patients before we get into anything else.”

  I politely refuse.

  “The harder you make this, the longer you’ll be here.”

  He asks me questions all day. Questions that embarrass me and I am not sure have any bearing on a disease. How long have I known Jude? How old was I the first time that I was with a man? What did I mostly drink before the sickness? Water. What did I eat? Food. I answer his questions with my hands on my lap. His questions make me sad and dislike him even more for making me say ungodly things aloud without the benefit of marriage. He is shaming me and disrespecting my marriage by being alone with me like this and speaking to me without my husband’s permission.

  “Why are you crying?”

  “Because you should not be speaking to me and I should not be alone with you. My husband can set me aside for this if he chooses to. He can deny my child and send me home to my mother.”

  “Is that all you think about is him and your child? What about you? When do you worry about you?”

  “It’s my husband’s job to worry about me. If you are finished, traitor, I would like to be left alone to my prayers.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  I pray a lot lately. More than I ever have before. I mostly pray for forgiveness for straying in my thoughts and my sinful ways. Please forgive me and let me see my Judea again. I’m not mistreated or deprived of food and water. I’m not cut open and tested on. When the traitor is sure I am in good health, he takes samples. He takes small vials of blood and swabs of saliva. I’m fed better than I have been in months. The traitor stuffs me with the best of everything and I grow. I beg him to find my husband when I feel the baby drop. I don’t want to have my baby without Judea. I refuse to speak or leave my cell. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I’m afraid. What if something happens? What if they take my baby?

  “Duma—”

  “Mrs. Hamilton.” I correct him for the hundredth time.

  “Mrs. Hamilton, if I could return you today, I would. I realize now that taking you was probably the worst mistake of my life. I thought I was doing my duty to humanity and rescuing you from an abusive situation. Maybe I was wrong. You have withered and lost the wildness that I first saw in you. Your baby is going to be born without his father and it is my fault.”

  “Let me go. I won’t tell anyone that it was you if I am caught. Open the hatch and I will walk away.”

  “If you weren’t due to have a baby any day, I would. I can’t let you go in your condition. If anything happens to you, I won’t be able to live with myself. After your baby is born and you are fit to travel, I’ll take you back to your husband myself. You have my word. It won’t fix what I did but maybe you will say a prayer for my soul after you are home safely.”

  “If you keep your word and you get me back to my husband, I will say a prayer for your kidnapping soul, traitor.”

  “Gavin, my name is Gavin.”

  “That is none of my concern.”

  “You’ve been here for months and you won’t even look at me.”

  “You are not—”

  “Your husband? I know. What did he do? What is it about him that warrants him this kind of blind devotion? Why do you give so much of yourself to him? What does he give you that’s worth letting him decide who you are?”

  “One day, a woman is going to love you the way I love him and you will understand. I’ve been here for months. Has my blood helped with better understanding the sickness?”

  “Do you want the truth?” His blue eyes brighten. “Your blood is like none we’ve ever seen. The early tests that I conducted show that when your blood is introduced to the pathogen, not only does it bond to it, it destroys it. It’s incredible. Were you ever sick as a child?”

  “I have answered all of the questions that I am going to answer about that.”

  “How do you like the baby things I chose?” He changes the subject.

  I glance over at the unopened boxes.

  “All my baby will need is cotton, traitor. Judea’s child will not wear garments chosen by the coward who stole him.”

  “I think I should go before you kill me.”

  “It’s not my place to seek revenge for your transgressions against my family and my church. My husband will want that satisfaction.”

  “Aren’t you afraid I will kill him instead?”

  “That is impossible.”

  “How so?”

  “Because, I won’t let you.”

  “I brought you more of the candy you like and I will see about the cotton.”

  I turn my back on him. His trinkets and candy
will never ease this hole inside me. The traitor gave me his word. It isn’t my place to tell him his word means nothing because he is a proven liar. I don’t trust him. I will never trust him. But, I will use him. He’s trying hard to get into my good graces. It will never happen. He stole me from Judea.

  “If you need me, push the call button.”

  “I will never need you.”

  I need him later that night. I rub my aching back and let out the moan I’ve been holding back. My baby is coming without Judea. When the pain gets to be too much for me to bear, I push the call button. I have no choice. The traitor comes in and goes into doctor mode.

  “Lay down.”

  “We give birth on our feet the way God intended. I have to squat down and you have to leave.”

  “I’m staying to make sure everything goes well. This child is my peace offering to your husband. Take that thing off your face so you can breathe.”

  “I’m fine.”

  The two of us deliver Judea’s son and I make him leave after he helps me get cleaned up. He shouldn’t be here. My husband should be here. I hold my baby and I look down into his perfect, brown face. He is so like his father that I hold him close and I thank God for him. I wish Jude was here to witness the miracle of his birth. The traitor took that away from him. He took it away from us. You had better not cross me again, traitor. I will not be so agreeable the next time. I look down at the beautiful boy nursing at my breast with my heart fuller than it has felt since I got here. My tears fall on him. I put my hand on the empty place beside me. I want to turn into his arms right now and lay on his chest. I want to smell him and soak up his warmth. I want to feel his heart beating under my lips and feel his lips on forehead. He’s not here. I’m crying so hard the room is blurry and my body is shaking with sobs.

  What if he gave up his search? What if he doesn’t care anymore? What if he started over with his new wives? What if he thinks I’m dead? What if he is dead? Oh God. Please don’t let him be dead, even if he doesn’t want me anymore. What will I do if he doesn’t want me back? I’ll beg him to let me stay. I can still be useful and my son needs me. I would never take my son away from his father. The church will teach him how to take care of himself and his family. In the church, he will learn to thrive under any conditions. If Judea doesn’t accept my child, he will be an outsider. Neither of us will be allowed in the church again and my mother will turn her back on me. Jude would never do that to our son. I have to believe in him and trust he would never do that to me.

  My son is three months old when they come. They come like storm troopers with their prototype guns and protective suits. They crowd into my room and make me feel small. The traitor said we are healthy enough to survive the walk home. I doubt if these people are here to walk me home. I pick up my son and I back against the wall. I’m barehanded but this is where I will make my stand.

  “Dr. Antonov, you have outdone yourself. Your research has put us years ahead of the pathogen and we are starting human trials immediately. The subject and the child are being moved to a more secure location. People are looking for her. They set up road blocks and have scouting teams scouring the desert. They’ve killed more soldiers than we can spare.”

  “She’s married and her husband wants her back. I have what I need. I am returning her to him.”

  “Her blood is the key to curing this thing and you want to give her back? I can’t let you do that. I have orders from people higher up than you. There is a plane waiting to fly her out of the country.”

  “Who is higher up than me? Who gives me orders?”

  “The man who ordered us to kill you if you offer resistance. He thinks you have grown overly fond of the subject and your judgement is compromised. He says he’ll finish it himself.”

  “She did nothing wrong. She doesn’t deserve a life in a cell.”

  “It isn’t your decision to make. She has twenty minutes to prepare for travel.”

  They march out of the room. Ten men stand guard outside the door. The traitor is throwing things into a bag.

  “They won’t listen to me. Bind the baby to your body and do as they say.”

  “I will die here before I let them take me, traitor.”

  “Let them take you. Don’t fight. I will figure it out and come after you.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I use a strip of cotton to cradle Judea inside of my dress. I tie it around my shoulder and layer on as much clothing as I can. The traitor hands me the bag.

  “I have to go but remember what I said. Don’t fight them.”

  The traitor leaves me alone. I am forced into the elevator at gunpoint. The pressure makes my ears pop on the way up. I’m nervous and praying that when the hatch opens, my husband is here to save me. If I try to escape, they will shoot me in the back. There are too many of them. I need Jude. The soldiers don’t take me out right away. My feet are shackled like a prisoner and I am seated at a table in some sort of meeting room. A woman is sitting at the table. We hug and her hand goes to the bundle against my chest. Belle. Did they hurt you? I test her sign. She shakes her head no and points back to me. No, they didn’t hurt me.

  I want to go home. Her lips say silently. I am finally beginning to lose hope. If we make it into the air, we’ll never see our people again. I can fight and die or I can let them take me and try to find my way home. How can I swim an ocean? How can I walk a mountain terrain? How can I live without Judea? I wipe my eyes. I have to stay focused. This is not the time to turn into a simpering victim. I’ll be a hero when I carry my son through the church gates. Judea is searching for me. Maybe he’s already here. Maybe he’s outside waiting to take us home.

  “Let’s move.” A trooper snaps from the doorway.

  “You are distractions. I spend nights between your legs that I should be spending looking for my wife. You are both lovely women and serve me well, but I should be alone when I find Duma. You are returning to Texas with an escort. I will come for you after I find her and my child.”

  “Are we in disfavor, husband? Have we done something wrong?”

  “No, Sweetheart. You’ve done nothing wrong and I am not displeased with you in any way. This has already taken months and it could take years. This place is full of men and it isn’t safe for a woman in Francesca’s condition. Take her home and take care of her. If I am not there for her when the time comes, you will help her with the child. It is your duty as my second wife, Jenni.”

  “I want to be useful to you and my family.”

  “I know you do, Honey. It’s one of the things I love about you. I don’t say it much but I do. I love you too, Francesca. I’ll feel better knowing you are both with the church. You are leaving with the convoy on Monday.”

  “Yes, husband. God speed.”

  “God speed, wife.”

  He rolls over on top of her and kisses her as he looks down into eyes that were probably bred into her. What if another man is doing this with Duma right now? What if someone is forcing her? Or worse, what if she is doing it willingly? Jude pulls his softening dick out of her with a swear and moves away. What is he doing fucking and falling in love with these women? Duma is out there probably begging whoever has her to let her come back to him. He leaves the bed and walks over to the dresser where he lights a precious cigarette.

  “Did I displease you husband?”

  “Go to sleep. I am not displeased.”

  “Yes, husband.”

  Jude’s standing around waiting and feeling sorry for himself when she’s out there somewhere waiting for him to come. He is coming alright. He got the red headed girl pregnant for Christ’s sake. He turned out to be his father after all. It’s done and there will be no abandonment or burials in the south field. They are a part of his life. He’ll discuss it with Duma and tell her about the child. She’ll be hurt and confused but she’ll understand. What if she doesn’t? He needed to be out there with the men looking for her. An army showed up two weeks ago with an unlikely hero at th
e lead. The church was back to help him search.

  Jude wakes the next morning beside Jenni after a fitful sleep. Where is Francesca? Probably puking her guts in the toilet. It’s time to get back out there. When Francesca missed her time of month, she was too shy to tell him. The task was passed to Jenni who was blushing with pleasure and pink with pride for him. Her eagerness to please him reminded him of Duma. It hurts him to think about her. He hugged and kissed them both after he found out about the baby but his guilt was too big to experience any joy. How can he be happy about hurting the person that means the world to him? How can he be proud of hurting Duma? This baby will ruin them. He slings his pack over his shoulder and checks his guns again. His plan to slip out of the house unseen is thwarted when he sees Francesca sitting on the sofa. What is she doing up so early? Why is she crying?

  The cold desert air hits me like a slap. It’s cool, fresh, and as welcome as rain after a drought. I reach up to pull the scarf down. I want to feel the wind on my face again. I catch myself with shaky hands. What am I doing? Where are my rescuers? I am shoved hard from behind when I slow my steps. Belle catches me before I fall. I walk slowly on purpose. If someone is here for me I want to help them. The next shove is a punch to my back that sends me stumbling again. The weight of my heavy baby doesn’t bother me but I want appear weak and vulnerable. I want them to think I’m afraid. They won’t expect whatever I do when the time comes. The closer we get to the helicopter, the more afraid I really am. My feet slow to a stop. I am lifted under each arm and carried with my feet dragging. I feel like I am being dragged to my death. I feel like they are dragging me to the box. No. You can’t do this. You can’t take me away. Judea. My dearest love. I don’t want to go.

  I am pushed into one of five helicopters with Belle and a handful of troops. The pilot lifts off before we are even seated. A hand reaches out and grabs me before I can jump. I’m strapped into a seat and a gun is leveled on my baby. I stop moving. I was going to jump to our death but I won’t let him shoot us. I sit back and cry inside. We climb into the sky like a big dragonfly. I am never going home again. I adjust my fussing son and put him to my breast under my clothes. He will never meet his father. The soldier sitting across from me is the one who shoved me. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me through his mask. He is looking at me like he can see through mine. He stands up and crosses over to me. His fingers brush over the scarf on my face before he pulls it down. This is when he goes flying out of the open door into space. All hell breaks loose and after seconds, there is only one man standing. The one who is supposed to be flying. He drops his empty weapon and rushes over to me. I hold my breath when he lifts his mask away. It’s the traitor. I am happy to see my enemy has kept his word. He takes his seat again.