“My name is Asher. I’m a Thresher. Don’t tell me your old name. Your new name is Faust. Mrs. Black says that you’ve earned it. That’s who you are now.”
Asher led him in prayer, speaking words and waiting for Daniel to repeat them. Daniel obeyed quickly and without complaint, smelling the stew, needing it. Then Asher spoon-fed him, forcing him to take it slow.
They did not speak again until after Daniel had been fed.
Asher leaned in, breaking the bubble of Daniel’s personal space, and sniffed. “You smell bad. No urine or feces, though. Do you need to relieve yourself?”
Daniel shook his head.
“You’ll need to relieve yourself soon,” Asher said. “I’ll wait. You’ll need me to help you.”
“You always get the shit jobs?” Daniel asked.
The slap was fast, hard, and crushing. But the voice was unruffled. “We do not speak like that here. You need to remember that, Faust.”
“I’ll remember,” Daniel said, catching his breath, his voice trembling, but he was unable to stop himself from continuing. “Whoever you are, you’re a freak and a torturer. You know that, don’t you?”
“I am whatever God and the Reverend need me to be. That’s all.”
Daniel heard him stand. “Wait. Asher, hold on. Look, man, I’m sorry. Rough couple days, you know?”
“This is what I know,” Asher replied. “After the food, after the water, then come the questions. It’s always the same.”
Daniel wondered if he could take that as permission.
Asher said, “I told you I would wait. We don’t want you to foul yourself.”
“Do they tell you things? Whoever’s in charge, I mean.”
“Some things, Faust, yes. Things that are right for me to know.”
“My mother—did they tell you anything about her? Please.”
“Your earth-mother? No. Put her from your mind, Faust. She does not matter to you anymore.”
Daniel bit back what he wanted to say in response. He forced himself to think straight. The effort caused him to breathe hard. “How long will I be in here, then? How long until you untie me, take the blindfold off?”
“Not long,” Asher said. “Another day or so. As long as you’re good, I’ll make sure you’re well-fed and maintained until you’re ready.”
Another day? It was unthinkable. Daniel found he had again lost the ability to speak.
“And you’ll have company, Faust,” said Asher. “The collectors are picking her up tonight.”
****
Damascus Teenage Retreat
Afternoon
Classes ended a little late that Friday. Rebecca and Caroline were eager to be away, not only to enjoy as much of their Free Four as possible, but also to check the mail at the sign-in and admittance office. Rebecca had been unable to keep herself from telling Caroline about her family’s birthday card tradition, especially since no phone call had come for her. At least not so far.
Dumb move, she now thought as they hurried down the hall together. If there’s nothing there, she’ll make a thing of it. There’ll be drama.
“Not sure if I’m looking forward to tonight’s communion,” Caroline said as they passed from the classrooms building and jogged across the lawn together toward the drop-off circle and the dorms. “Do you know what some of the kids back in Virginia call the Tribulation in Temptation Vows?”
“The TiTs?” Rebecca ventured.
Even jogging, Caroline managed a giggle. “Glad you said it and not me. Seriously, how did you know that?”
“Everyone calls them that,” Rebecca said, allowing a small laugh of her own. “It’s too easy.”
They slowed to a walk at the front doors and composed themselves before going through. Rebecca hazarded a glance at the table where the post office guy always left the letters. There was a fair pile of them today. Normally residents were not allowed to go pawing through them. They’d have to wait.
They suspected Mrs. Schuster did, though. She was a busybody. Also, she was cordial to Miss Marcy—which, to the residents, automatically made her capable of any petty little evil.
Mrs. Schuster seemed bored at present, absently thumbing through a magazine as the girls approached. It was Friday, “New Kid Day,” but the new kids had all been given the tour and integrated into their classes hours ago. Rebecca and Caroline had already met two of them. Parents would have gone home by now too.
As it happened, Miss Marcy was in the lobby as well, but had not deigned to notice them yet. And perhaps she wouldn’t. There were newer kids to torment now.
“Mrs. Schuster?” Rebecca gently prodded.
She didn’t lift her head. Instead, with upturned eyes and raised eyebrow, she said, “Miss Riggs?”
“I’m sorry. I was hoping for some mail today.”
For whatever reason, correspondence by letter was not frowned upon at DTR in the way that phone calls and personal visitations were. Some kids got letters all the time—mostly the long-timers, though. For most folks a two-week stay just didn’t muster the separation anxiety needed to motivate them to write.
“Mail call’s right before services,” she reminded them.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Schuster now regarded them both. “Well, now. That important, is it? I do think there’s something over there, now that I think on it. Might as well get it now.”
Wordlessly, faces lighting, Rebecca and Caroline hustled to the table.
Miss Marcy’s eyes followed them. She strode over to Mrs. Schuster, seeming to bristle.
Rebecca and Caroline hardly noticed her. But when they found it, the letter was not what they had been expecting.
It was in a bright red envelope, covered in carefully drawn cursive script. It was from Virginia, for Caroline.
Caroline picked it up, clearly confused. She hadn’t gotten a letter from home before. Oddly, she looked like she might cry. Or apologize. Or both.
Rebecca’s shoulders slumped. “It’s okay. Look, don’t make it into a big deal. You should be happy.”
“Did these two even bother to thank you?” Miss Marcy asked. “I mean, you let them go through the mail early, just to be nice—and I don’t think either one of them said so much as a word in return. Tell me I’m imagining that, Mrs. Schuster.”
“No, Marcy,” Mrs. Schuster said matter-of-factly. “I am afraid that slipped their minds in their enthusiasm.”
Caroline tucked the letter into her skirt pocket, either to protect it from the approaching prefect or shield it from Rebecca’s continuing stare.
“Come here,” Miss Marcy said to them.
And they came. It would have been stupid not to.
Caroline was the first to offer, “Thank you, Mrs. Schuster,” but Rebecca echoed her immediately.
“Too late,” Miss Marcy said. “That will be a demerit each, of course. Such a shame, after making it a whole week.”
Neither answered her, but Rebecca’s blood simmered, not just because of Miss Marcy, but also because of her mom and dad and Jenny Dinsmore, Caroline’s letter, and the whole wide, unfair world.
“Two for you, Rebecca, for the look on your face. Better bring some sting cream to services tonight.”
“Is that all, miss?” Rebecca asked, trying to discipline her voice. “May we go?”
“Please. Get out of my sight before you say something really dumb.”
Good advice, Rebecca had to admit. Both girls moved swiftly to heed it.
“And Rebecca?”
Rebecca stopped just for that moment. Inwardly, she was still fuming—worse than ever—but she managed to say, “Yes, Miss Marcy?”
“Happy birthday. Didn’t want you to think I forgot.”
“Thank you,” Rebecca answered.
****
Before dinner, before evening services and straps, Rebecca talked Caroline into opening her letter from home.
Dear Caroline,
We just received your first report from Retreat. Your fa
ther and I are so proud of you. No demerits at all! And your teachers here tell us that the work you send them every day is “consistently punctual” and “of the highest quality.” Congratulations!
I know you miss home. Your friends can’t wait until next Saturday. I don’t want to totally spoil the surprise, but we’ve got something planned.
Now, don’t be upset, but your father has inquired about the possibility of a continuing stay at DTR if things don’t work out at school when you come home. Mrs. James even says there’s a discounted rate for long-timers—which is a huge relief, of course, considering the amount we’re putting away for your college tuition.
It’s just, we want the very best for you. And we know how good it must feel for you, too, having such success so immediately in this new educational environment. Always knew you had it in you!
Love you, miss you,
Mom
“What the hell?” Rebecca breathed, one hand over her mouth.
Caroline’s face was stony, but tears dripped from her eyes and onto the letter. “You shouldn’t say the word ‘hell’ in that context.”
Rebecca shook her head. “It’s like you can’t win. Like you’re being punished for being good. What’s the matter with them?”
“They want what’s best for me,” Caroline said, somehow sounding both calm and utterly defeated. “I blew it too many times before coming here. I just can’t make any more mistakes when I go back. That’s all.” She took a deep breath. “And that’s impossible for me.”
And what would they think, Rebecca wondered, if they knew she’d gotten a demerit at the same time as that letter?
Bells from the mess building announced dinnertime.
Caroline stood, but she let the letter go, let the wind carry it away.
Our clean records are shot, Rebecca thought. Might as well see what’s possible. It couldn’t hurt to just see.
“Coming?” Caroline asked.
“In a minute,” Rebecca answered. “Save me a seat.”
The first part of the plan—Step One, as Caroline conceived it—involved a Revgrav scooter.
And if it was to be done, that step had to be completed right now.
****
Anne Arundel, Maryland
Night
There was only one police officer on the bridge to oversee cleanup. Just now, he concerned himself more with the moorings on the back of his cruiser than with the recovery of the bus. He made sure his precious air-ski was tacked down firmly. He wanted to leave soon. He needed sleep.
The tow truck bearing the Ford Exodus with the crumpled front passed him. The car carrier truck, and the car that had “accidentally” fallen from it, remained. Private investigators, publically contracted, made the necessary adjustments to the scene and took pictures. Another dangled at the mercy of safety cables high up in the scaffolding of the Bay Bridge, retrieving the last of the cameras that would have caught the action on video.
Satisfied, the officer strode over to the gap in the guard rail and stood. One more step and he would fall, taking the same path out of this world that the thirteen occupants of the church bus had taken. Nearly a hundred and fifty feet below him, the black night waters of the Chesapeake Bay reflected nothing on their still surface.
Above that water, near enough for the officer to see their pilots’ faces, three helicopters hovered slowly, cautiously. Beneath them, supported by steel cables, a giant magnetized disk carried the church bus. It was too low for the officer to see past the shattered glass of the windows, all of which would have exploded from the shock of impact. He had been assured, however, that every occupant was still inside and accounted for.
Just as well, he thought. If the world at large ever found out the truth of this…
But that thought did not bear contemplating.
He returned to his cruiser, satisfied that operations were now proceeding apace and according to plan. He got inside and keyed the ignition. His shoulder radio crackled, and he checked the digital signature.
Ruth Black. She was never late for anything. It was one of her better qualities.
“Hello, Mrs. Black. On my way.”
“I should hope so,” she said. “I need you in New Sinai in two hours.”
He started driving. “That’ll be a bit of a push, Mrs. Black.”
“Not for a cop. You do have a siren, as I recall. An accelerator?”
And interstate authority. He had everything he needed. Why did she always have to be this way? “Yes,” he said.
“It’s just a pickup. She won’t be expecting it. We’ll be done in no time.”
That was probably true. “Have you called ahead?”
“Not until we’re close. I don’t want the headache. I want this to be easy.”
“I’m sure it will be,” he said. But you never knew.
“And I want this done now, DC. It’s late and I’m tired.”
DC turned on his siren and hit the accelerator.
Part Two
Rebecca on the Run
Chapter Seven
Promised Post
Rebecca cut the scooter’s engine. She stepped off, folded the handlebars in, shut off the auto-balance, and manually shifted from drive to neutral. Guiding it slowly up the hill, she glanced back the way she had come, then ahead.
Behind her, Prodigal Sons dwindled, a distant shadow. Before her, the main dorm of Damascus Teenage Retreat loomed, almost threatening in the absence of light. The two halves of the old, now-defunct university rose like flattened fangs on opposite sides of New Sinai.
Things were still going well for her at DTR in spite of today’s demerits. Two in a week was far below the average. Rebecca felt her greatest danger was they wouldn’t want to give her back next Saturday, when the fix was officially declared over at session’s end. Mom would be proud of her for a change.
And so, God, she prayed, please don’t let me blow it now.
Silently, she walked the scooter the rest of the way up the incline. It wouldn’t do to wake anyone at this hour, but if she roused Queen James—well, that would be particularly bad. She told herself she could hardly be blamed for wanting a little diversion on her birthday, especially since it fell on a Friday this year. She reminded herself that she didn’t have to get up early on Saturdays, that she would not need to be anywhere until lunch prep at ten.
Happy birthday to me, her mind softly sang. Happy birthday to me. Happy birth-day, dear Rebec-ca…
The lights were out almost everywhere. Scanning the windows, only the security office looked awake. The old-school streetlamps smoldered at half capacity. She checked her watch. It was one in the morning. So it actually was Saturday. Her birthday was over.
Dad wouldn’t be proud of what you did tonight, the devil’s half of her conscience purred.
Rebecca had kissed Brian tonight. She was fifteen years old, and she hardly knew the boy, and she had sneaked out and kissed him. None of Rebecca’s friends back home had kissed a boy before the age of seventeen. Even then it was dangerous. One could get in big trouble doing that before getting married.
You could be sent to a place like this for two weeks, she thought, considering the irony. Or you could be sent to Second Salvations, after all.
A large flat asphalt expanse stretched out in front of the scooter garage. For twenty yards she’d be right in the open. Goose bumps prickled her arms and the back of her neck, even though it was August and probably eighty-five degrees outside.
What would be the penalty, Rebecca wondered, for “borrowing” a prefect’s scooter?
Well, she then said to herself, if they wanted the garage to be secure, they should have come up with a better password than “JesusC1.” Surely if she wasn’t supposed to go out on a scooter, God would never have allowed her to have seen that.
She’d gotten it right before dinner and tucked it safely out of sight while everyone was still filing into the cafeteria. She’d been a little late for the meal, but no one had noticed. She had been on
time for services and for what came after. The back of her hand was bruised, still sore.
Taking the scooter had been worth it for the sheer adventure if nothing else.
Acceptable risk, Rebecca told herself, racing across the asphalt. I have been kissed. Maybe I even like him.
Brian had been nice too. Mostly. After the kiss, he had joked about giving her a birthday spanking. Rebecca had promised him that if his hands strayed one inch out of her permission zone—which consisted of her hands and shoulders—she’d kick his balls off. His eyes had widened, but in the end, he’d laughed.
Don’t believe me, then, she’d said. I kickbox.
At home she had the trophies to prove it. Once she’d wanted to be a cop when she grew up. Interest had faded after learning two years ago that all police academies were being relocated “in-seminary,” but she still fancied herself a big believer in justice and in taking care of herself.
The sound of a car wheeling slowly up the hill startled Rebecca back to the present. She stood at the closed garage door, which didn’t have a key code on the outside. Beyond its windows, she couldn’t see into the impenetrable dark. Caroline had gotten distracted and left. Or, worse, she had been caught.
No, Rebecca thought, even as the sound of the approaching car grew alarmingly close in her own ears. She would have gone to the office if she’d been caught, and she would have blabbed. They would have come for me already.
If that car was a just a visitor, it would be safe to leave the scooter outside the garage. Chances were a visitor wouldn’t know any better. But it was awfully late for visitors. If the car belonged to someone important, she’d be in serious trouble. They’d suspend her release date at the very least.
As quickly as she could, no longer concerning herself with silence or stealth, she fled to the side of the dorm building, pushing the scooter ahead of her through the high damp grass.
The Salvation State Page 9