The Salvation State

by Marcus Damanda

  She didn’t like the cop’s hand at the crook of her arm, though. She wanted to back-heel him, soften up his crotch a second time. Oh, how she wanted to do that. One good shot, and he’d wear a cup for all future encounters.

  I’ve played this game before. She allowed herself to be helped up into the vehicle. I know this game. I’m good at this game.

  They buckled her into a seat. She could hear breathing next to her and somehow knew it was Caroline. Then, as Mrs. Black urged them both to try to sleep, she felt Caroline’s head rest against her filthy shoulder.

  Rebecca leaned her head in too, hoping it would comfort her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Threshers

  The following comes from a letter written by Reverend Archibald Simmons to Reverend Matthew Black. It very likely marks a transition, transferring the authority of Angel Island from its old leader to its new one. The date places it roughly seven years before Rebecca’s arrival, which also marks the time Black took over. Nobody knows what became of Reverend Simmons, why he retired, or whatever. Maybe he was sick.

  —Daniel Forester, a.k.a. “Faust.”

  The existence of Angel Island is far from top secret, but few know where it lies. Those who do are numbered among law enforcement, the military, and the clergy. And, of course, there are our brothers and sisters who run the other eleven conversion grounds all across our reborn nation, along with a few select officials in government. It is a serious crime to disclose Second Salvations locations to anyone else.

  This is very important for three reasons.

  For one thing, our older newcomers naturally, inevitably, dream of escape. The very thought is problematic, however, if they don’t know where they are. Where would they plan on going?

  Secondly, we suffer no oversight other than our Lord God. We are not so removed in time from Old America as to be immune to the “sensitivity” of the heretical. Our means are essential to our end and holy unto themselves, yet they would be misinterpreted by the world at large. As our numbers increase with each generation, such concerns will fade, but that time has not yet come.

  Finally, we don’t have visitors. Not for the so-called “Forgottens,” at any rate. The children in our care effectively become nobodies upon arrival. We take their possessions, their histories, even their names—all of which they may claim upon discharge, although many never do. Some even remain with us in one capacity or another. Our collective family began as less than fifty. There are nearly five hundred of us now, not counting the thousands upon thousands at the other facilities.

  We are more than a family. We are the second harvest of God, grown from the ground up, spread like sleeping seed across the fertile ground of New America. We are many seasons of kindred souls living within the continuing change of the Revival and encouraging it to new heights of spiritual glory. We are an army lying in wait, ready to move on command.

  When it is God’s will, we will march.

  —Rev. A. Simmons

  ****

  Wearing the blindfold, Rebecca found it only too easy to sleep. After Caroline’s breathing settled from pure panic to its own fitful rhythm of slumber, there remained no reason for Rebecca to fight it. There was nothing to listen to other than the rotor blades. Apart from a few brief exchanges between Mrs. Black and DC, no one was talking. There didn’t seem to be a pilot.

  We’re flying by remote, she thought, yawning.

  At first, drifting off, she thought she would simply doze, float in and out of a few half dreams, ready to spring instantly awake. Instead, at her body’s command, consciousness slipped away from her entirely, as though it had been dropped down a well.

  She had no idea how long she was out. She awoke only when she felt the vehicle settle and all movement stop. After that, just behind her, she heard her captors unbuckle themselves and rise from their seats. She hadn’t heard them in her dreams and wondered if they’d been silent the whole time. But as the unseen blades of the helicopter gradually quieted, groggy voices rose up from underneath them like worms wriggling out of difficult soil. They must have been sleeping too. Probably taking turns.

  Mrs. Black said, “I didn’t authorize the other one. It’s rare enough to take two from the same location, let alone three. They’re not supposed to know anyone at all.”

  DC said, “Never mind that for now. Let it wait. They’re waking up.”

  Rebecca sat forward. How on earth could DC have been able to tell they’d stopped sleeping? They couldn’t have been under scanners. She would have been able to hear the creepy clicking noise they made, like a radiation reader but much louder. Maybe he had some kind of sixth sense only possessed by law enforcement. Or, perhaps, he’d smelled her wake up, like an animal.

  Caroline’s head slid from her shoulder and Rebecca felt her sit up. She started to say something, but Rebecca nudged her with her knee and the words never came. The only sound Caroline made was a helpless little gasp when her buckles were undone and she was led off the vehicle.

  Rebecca waited for her turn, knowing that DC would be the escort, that Mrs. Black wouldn’t be bothered with such mundane tasks. She didn’t have to wait long. Less than a minute later, Rebecca felt her straps come off. Then DC grasped her by both arms and escorted her from the helicopter onto the landing.

  Grass at her feet, wind blowing, and warmth on her face, a dim light trying to penetrate her blindfold—the sun.

  Side by side, Rebecca and Caroline were marched away from the helicopter.

  Other voices approached, younger voices. At least four—no, at least five of them. Boys and girls around her own age.

  “My goodness…”

  “See? Two of them, just like I said.”

  “Hatchet time!”

  “Look at them, so scared and helpless.”

  “Cute!”

  “Who’s got the hatchet? Tell me we didn’t forget the hatchet…”

  “No, no, right here. I’ve got it. Like I have to think of everything.”

  “Give it up, Drab. My turn. Nero, Philis, Magda—the shed. Get the other one. And bring out the wood.”

  Just ahead of Rebecca, the sound of water and motors idling. Not the helicopter.

  She could hear Caroline’s breath picking up. It sounded like she could seize up and hyperventilate at any second. Rebecca was scared too. There was no denying it, even to herself, although she did feel it was a bad idea to advertise that fact. “It’ll be all right,” she said. Her lips trembled as she spoke, even though it wasn’t cold. “It’s not like they’re going to chop us to death on day one.”

  She reeled against a sudden slap. Coming from nowhere, beyond the darkness of her blindfold, it sent Rebecca to her knees. The blow was accentuated by neatly clipped nails that scratched her cheek. She knew it had been Mrs. Black before the woman spoke.

  “You may speak once you’re out of my sight. And not one fraction of a second before that time, unless I give you explicit permission to do so. Your impertinence at the station has already earned you a tally. You don’t want any more. Am I understood?”

  When DC helped her back to her feet, her cuffed hands went to her face and rubbed it. DC forced them back down.

  Remember the game, Rebecca. This is where you start playing it.

  The truth was, she didn’t understand. Not at all. She shook her head. She wanted to add “No, ma’am,” just to show respect. But she wasn’t supposed to speak. She’d have to—

  Mrs. Black struck her again, this time across her bandaged ear. Rebecca cried out loud, even though she had half-expected the second blow, even though the anesthetic muted most of the pain. She couldn’t help herself.

  “You will understand, Rags,” said Mrs. Black. “The others will help you understand. For now, best to do as you’re told without question. Do you understand that?”

  She nodded.

  The cuffs came off. Then, finally, the blindfold. Dawn was breaking.

  Even the soft light of the half-born sun forced Rebecca to shi
eld her eyes. She reclaimed her vision slowly, first confirming Caroline still stood just to her right, then noting the presence of the other kids. Three of them—Nero, Philis, and Magda, presumably—were trotting away from the other two. Another took the aforementioned hatchet from the boy he had called Drab. All five of them looked older than her by at least a year, maybe two. Practically grownups.

  The unnamed one managed to twirl the hatchet in one hand. The blade glittered, steel with a rubber-encased handle. “My name is Asher,” he said. “My friends and I, we’re the Threshers. You have to do what we say.”

  His hair was indeed ash-blond, just like Rebecca’s—straight like hers too—and it was long, parted in the middle, and ran over his shoulders. Much too long for a boy’s hair. His eyes were dark and beady. His clothes, like the others’, consisted of sandals, bell-bottomed trousers, and a waist-length tunic with sleeves that flared at the wrists. It was all gray. Over the left breast, a black scythe was stitched, embroidered a capital T.

  The uniform looked comfortable. Frightened as she was in her current condition, Rebecca felt a stab of jealousy, and she had a passing wish that her own uniform would be something like what these Threshers got to wear.

  Neither she nor Caroline answered him. Mrs. Black was still right there. Rebecca was certain the boy had spoken just to see if either of them would be stupid enough to respond.

  As her eyes readjusted to the spreading sunlight, Rebecca saw the helicopter—blades beginning to turn again with a slow whump whump—was at the far edge of a field of untended grass. Beyond were rolling hills and forests, not unlike the terrain of DTR and Prodigal Sons. However, looking ahead of them toward the sun, there stretched a lake so wide that the shores upon either side were barely to be seen and ultimately disappeared into the distance.

  On the ground everywhere lay scattered shoes. Sneakers, dress shoes, flip-flops—even pumps—lined the shore in total disarray. There were hundreds of them. Some were relatively new by the look of them. Others were so old, their original shapes and colors could hardly be guessed.

  Rebecca glanced at Caroline’s feet, shod in the bright blue Water Walkers she was so proud of. Gonna lose those. She hoped it would not be too upsetting when it happened. It also occurred to her, nonsensically, that a long game of trying to match up all those shoes might be fun in an OCD kind of way.

  In the background the unmanned helicopter lifted off and flew away. Rebecca noted it went west, away from the sun. That’s where we came from, then. That way’s New Sinai.

  She returned her attention to her current situation.

  Apart from the shed—which the three Threshers now opened, passing inside—there were no other buildings. There was, however, a lengthy wooden dock with three long piers jutting out over the lapping water. Perfect place for fishing.

  Five odd-looking skimmer-skis idled, tied to posts along the central pier. They were front-heavy, their noses pointing down and nearly dipping into the water. Fanning out from their undercarriages, the skis themselves curled up at the front and stretched flat at least a half yard beyond the little flags at the back. And yet they were small—single-seat vehicles. There’d be no room for her and Caroline once the Threshers got back on them. On each one gold lettering on a blue background read: Second Chances at Second Salvations—Rejoice, young one, in thy youth, but know that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment. (Eccl. 9:11)

  There was a larger vessel hitched to the pier on the far left, a long black motorboat with six plushy seats behind the piloting wheel.

  “Not for you,” Mrs. Black said, as though she could read her thoughts.

  The shed door closed. Returning, two of the Threshers dragged a heavy burlap sack behind them with thick black cords. The boy—Nero, no doubt—led before him a third prisoner, wrists tied together at his waist and still blindfolded. He still wore normal clothes: sneakers, corduroys, and a black-and-gold Pittsburgh Steelers football jersey. He stumbled as he walked. His blond hair was matted and sweaty. His face was bruised, bristling with stubble. He was pale, disheveled, and dirty.

  Rebecca empathized.

  The group met on the first planks of the dock, facing the central pier. Everything—the grass, the water, the late summer wind—smelled so clean. There wasn’t even the hint of a fuel smell.

  Solar-powered. They could leave these running all day like this. Maybe they even do.

  Nero took the blindfold and rope from his prisoner. Blue eyes smoldered with wrath. One of them was swollen.

  Rebecca liked him instantly.

  An ally. Yes. That’s one for sure.

  “Feet,” Mrs. Black said.

  New panic and confusion lit in Caroline’s eyes. Rebecca could see it—Caroline had no idea what was expected of her. Thankfully, however, the boy did. He peeled his shoes and socks off without further direction and handed them sullenly over to Nero, who promptly tossed them in opposite directions back into the yard.

  Caroline’s love for her particular pair of shoes did not make her a fool. She swept them off immediately, just as soon as she understood, and one of the girls—either Philis or Magda—disposed of them just as Asher had with the boy’s.

  Rebecca wiggled her toes and suppressed a sigh of relief. What about your shoes, Mrs. Black? Those look nice. What about DC’s?

  “Knees,” Mrs. Black said.

  Nero took the boy’s shoulders and urged him to his knees. The girls did the same for Rebecca and Caroline. They faced one another in the center of the group, points of a triangle, while the Threshers walked around them in a slow-moving circle. They introduced themselves, one at a time.

  “Nero. I draw the pamphlets.”

  “Philis. Not Phyllis with a Y. It’s short for Philistine. Don’t ask. I babysit the lambs and goats.”

  “Magda. Girls’ devotions and sanitation manager.”

  “Drab. Laundry manager and exports.”

  “Asher. Boys’ devotions and accountancy intern.”

  And then, all together, crossing themselves, said, “Blessings of the Lord.” They stopped, facing inward.

  Mrs. Black stepped past them into the middle of the triangle formed by the newcomers. “To that,” she said, “you will respond.”

  And they did, although the still-anonymous boy looked particularly bitter about it.

  “This is Faust,” Mrs. Black said, indicating him with a dismissive finger. “Not so long ago, he told a Solomon interviewer he’d give anything to have his earth-father freed from Doubter’s Prison. So touching. Such blasphemy. Silly child. The devil nips on the heels of comments like that. Got your wish, though, didn’t you?” She patted his head, ran fingers through his hair, and flicked his ear.

  His pale face reddened.

  Rebecca figured Caroline would be next. She was quite certain she herself would be introduced last, the big prize. Caroline had been an afterthought. To Mrs. Black, Caroline had been nothing more than a bargaining chip—now, she wouldn’t even have that much value. Rebecca, on the other hand, was the resident celebrity, although the thought did not exactly make her heart swell with pride.

  But she was wrong.

  “And this little heretic is Rags,” said Mrs. Black. “She’s a filthy one. Dirty in body and soul, starved for a cleansing both within and without. There’s evil on her. Can’t you just smell it?”

  The Threshers nodded. Nero and Magda giggled.

  Yeah? All I need is an hour in a good hot bubble bath. That double chin of yours would require surgery. Rebecca directed her eyes down and watched the water under the wood. She didn’t like to contemplate what the expression on her face would betray.

  “But this one,” Mrs. Black said, kneeling right in front of Caroline and cupping her cheek. “This poor child was led astray, to the injury of her spirit. She comes to us as a young bird with a broken wing. We will help her. She will fly again by the grace of almighty God.”

  Caroline’s breath caught, a suffocated sob.

  “You will let u
s help you,” Mrs. Black finished. “Won’t you, Wren?”

  Caroline brushed a tear away and nodded.

  ****

  The first order of business was the hatchet.

  “Rags will be first,” Mrs. Black said. “Then Faust. I’m afraid our little Wren will have a heart attack if she’s made to set the example.” She tilted her head toward Asher, then pinned Rebecca with her gaze. “You’ll be brave, won’t you, Rags?”

  Asher stepped forward. Again he twirled the hatchet. “No need to get up,” he said, kneeling in front of her. “Actually, I need to you lie down flat and keep still. Hands by your sides. Close your eyes.”

  Rebecca hesitated.

  “It’s a faith-building exercise. I won’t hurt you unless you move. Do it.”

  She lay down, her breath quickening. Panic threatened as he straddled her and sat on her knees, then pushed her face to the right with his palm. As the thudding of her heart grew painful against the confines of her ribcage, she found she was praying. Her brain would not work properly, and she found herself reflexively mouthing the words to the Lord’s Prayer.

  “That’s good,” Asher said, even as someone else knelt right next to her head. “But if you’re going to do it, do it aloud.”

  Magda, giggling again, took Rebecca’s ponytail and pulled it taut.

  Rebecca prayed aloud. She knew what was coming. It wasn’t so bad, she supposed, so long as Asher was as good with the hatchet as he evidently thought he was.

  She’d gotten to “Thy kingdom come” when the hatchet came down and her ponytail came off. Caroline shrieked. Rebecca opened her eyes to see Magda fling her mud-encrusted tail to the other Threshers, who cheered, tossing it back and forth and joking about how gross it was.