The Salvation State

by Marcus Damanda

  But at Faust’s cross, Asher told them to wait. “You’ll behave yourself, won’t you?”

  After a long moment, Faust asked in return, “What choice do I have?”

  “Don’t answer a question with a question. I want your word, so I can figure out if it’s worth anything. So, again—are you going to be any trouble?”

  “No trouble,” he said, his voice at once angry and beaten. “Let me off this thing.”

  Asher nodded to the kids, who resumed their task.

  They wore uniforms of simple short-sleeved T-shirts of varying colors, all with the Angel Island insignia on the back and with a smaller Second Salvations logo patch on the front. They had matching trousers that ended just past their knees. They were barefoot. The youngest were probably twelve or thirteen years old, the eldest probably the same age as the Threshers.

  We’re right in the middle, Caroline, Rebecca thought, reflecting on how much she hated being the new kid. She hated the not knowing, the need for others to teach her. Even here, where she wanted nothing so much as an immediate escape plan, she would have preferred being the one to help others adjust.

  Once the campers had released Faust and hauled him to his feet, they had eyes only for the Threshers, jabbering like attention-starved geese, annoyingly eager to please.

  “Which serf ya chop first?”

  “Is it true one of the serfs was on TV?”

  “Where now? Orientation or the mess hall?”

  Rebecca got her blood pumping normally again by rotating her arms in slow circles, then touching her toes and stretching her back. She was mildly conscious of the fact that she was soaked. Asher, meanwhile, shook himself in a full-body shudder, dashing water everywhere, eliciting delighted squeals from the younger ones. He took one of them by the head and ruffled his hair.

  Caroline shivered, lips trembling. She stepped next to Rebecca and nodded her head at the adults, who merely stood there, watching over them. “That’s Wendy Scruggs,” she whispered. “She seemed nice back at the police station.”

  Both adults wore normal polo shirts and blue jeans, as well as sneakers. They had nametags, like store employees: Wendy Scruggs and Barney Scruggs.

  And side arms. Naturally.

  Are all the adults here packing heat? Rebecca wondered. “Hope so,” she whispered back. “Will you ever forgive me for this?”

  In an even quieter whisper, Caroline answered, “Mrs. Black did this, not you. She’s horrible—and I think she’s crazy too.”

  “Okay,” Rebecca said, nearly choking the word. She didn’t trust her inner fortitude to say any more than that. But she thought, Thank God for you, Caroline. I thought you were gone already.

  It seemed like they were still being ignored, even as the kids pestered the Threshers as to what to do with the “serfs” next. Didn’t anyone ever teach them it was wrong to talk about people who were right there as if they were somewhere else?

  Presently, Faust joined them in their bubble of otherwise empty space. “Friends?” he asked simply, hands by his sides.

  Rebecca reached out, took one, and shook it up and down. “Friends. Definitely.”

  Caroline followed suit—then, with hesitant reproach, she said, “You shouldn’t have taken God’s name in vain, though.”

  Now it was Faust’s turn to whisper. “We’re not supposed to say our real names either. Christ, that’s gonna suck. Mine’s Daniel, by the way.”

  ****

  The first thing Daniel noticed, as the group ascended a rock-hewn stair that seemed to have been cut straight from the island’s terrain, was that Magda possessed a remote for shutting down sections of the fence. She used it as they reached the top, when they first stood facing the wide wooden entry arch. The steel strings made a popping noise as they de-magnetized, then a metallic whistling as they coiled back into the pole on their right.

  Daniel noticed Rebecca making mental notes too. Her eyes flitted back and forth, and he could practically hear the cogs of her brain turning and clicking. Caroline, however, had her head down and simply allowed herself to be led.

  Carved upon the top of the arch, another bible verse: “Let them give glory unto the Lord and declare His praise in the islands.”—Isaiah 42:12.

  Daniel frowned. When Rebecca and Caroline had been shouting their bible lines back on the skimmer-skis, Daniel hadn’t kept silent out of mere rebellion. That had been part of it, but he wouldn’t have known what to say even if he had wanted to chip in. The truth was, he’d felt rather excluded—and terribly, terribly alone.

  But he was almost used to that feeling. Now, as they passed under the arch and onto the long grassy quad of Angel Island, he imagined he had some serious catching up to do. He would have to know things, even if he did not believe them.

  Standing alone in the center of the quad, where four earthen hedge-lined lanes divided the lawn into quarters, stood a granite obelisk—no, a clock tower. Its analog face read 6:10. Underneath that, also ensconced in stone, a broad electronic message board ran a continuous stream of announcements in repeating red characters:

  Seven days till the Lamb. Pentateuch classes postponed through Wednesday. Get well, Mister Hirsch! Seven days till the Lamb. Nineteen minutes until breakfast. Don’t be late! Seven days till the Lamb. Evening punishments 8:00 p.m. Two scheduled. Attendance required. Seven days till the Lamb. Eighteen minutes until breakfast. Don’t be late!

  He looked over at Rebecca. She was reading the message board, her hands in her pockets.

  Two punishments. One of them is probably me.

  He hoped he was wrong and was surprised to find the main reason for that was not simple fear of what the discipline might be—although he was willing to bet it would be pretty bad. More than that, he didn’t want Rebecca to see him getting punished, whatever it entailed. There was something about her. If she had been a student at his normal school, he’d want to ask her out. He’d probably never have had the guts to actually do it, but he would want to. But here…

  Here they were equal, at least for now. Same-day arrivals. She had said she would be his friend.

  What the hell happened to your ear, Rebecca? he wondered.

  “Well,” Magda said when the silence got thick, “Asher and I have to go help get the day ready. Don’t dawdle too much.”

  Asher waved and winked, and the two of them jogged off together toward a low flat-roofed building with another arched sign that read It’s Not Manna. Smaller letters underneath read but it’ll do for this life. Was that a breakfast smell?

  Distantly, Daniel could hear the rest of the Forgottens heading in their direction. The helpers who had gotten them off the skimmer-skis trotted away, presumably to meet the approaching horde.

  Barney Scruggs pointed to a pair of cabins labeled Orientation. One showed a stick-figure girl on the door, the other a boy. “Five minutes,” he said, checking his watch, his voice nasal and bored. “No more than that. Then you have to meet your new counselors.” With that he and Wendy departed for the massive chapel building, leaving the three “serfs” with Philis, Nero, and Drab.

  “What’s the Lamb?” Caroline asked.

  The Threshers exchanged glances. Eventually, Philis just shrugged. “It’s almost definitely Asher. It’s the Ceremony of the Lamb, which marks the end of term. We’re doing it two weeks before Asher’s eighteenth birthday this year. He’s really looking forward to it. He’ll be mad if it’s not him.”

  Rebecca went visibly pale.

  Faust was confused, but then saw something strange. While everyone else was watching the message board, Rebecca took her right hand out of her pocket and dropped something onto the ground by the nearest hedge. She kicked mulch over it.

  “He gets to go home two weeks early?” Caroline asked. But it sounded like she knew better. It sounded like she suspected something awful, which was frustrating.

  Again Daniel felt totally left out.

  “Something like that,” Nero said, his eyes far away and dreamy.

&
nbsp; “Lucky stiff,” Drab muttered.

  “You’ll hear all about it later,” Philis said. “It’s time to get you oriented, or there’ll be nothing left for us by the time we get to breakfast.”

  ****

  They won’t kill him, Rebecca thought. That’s just too—impossible. Christians don’t do that. In the bible, God had even stopped Abraham from doing that to Isaac.

  They did it to Mom and Dad, she reminded herself. They can do it to anyone. They’re sick.

  She pulled on the Angel Island pants and T-shirt. It turned out that, as far as the campers went, clothes were color-coded by age. She and Caroline were both blue. She wondered what color Daniel was.

  Faust, she corrected herself. You have to get used to calling him Faust.

  Part of orientation had included a long-overdue shower with real soap, if no shampoo. She’d also received a gift bag, which contained, among other daily necessities, a toothbrush, toothpaste, hand sanitizer, a comb, a palm-sized copy of the New Testament, a rule book, and a pamphlet of prayers for every occasion. The front of the pamphlet showed a steepled pair of hands. She wondered if Nero had drawn them. They were really good.

  The stalls were partitioned, and she heard Caroline leave just as she had finished cleaning up. She wasn’t surprised. Even after the skimmer-ski baptism, Rebecca had still felt the need for a much longer shower than her friend had. She supposed they would catch up in the cafeteria or mess hall or whatever they called it here.

  Or at the latest, they’d meet up in their cabin. Another part of orientation had been receiving their living assignment. To their mutual surprise and relief, they had been assigned to the same quarters.

  Mrs. Black would not have done that. She would have separated us.

  Or maybe they still planned on using Caroline against her. When Rebecca had turned off the shower, Caroline’s conversation with their counselor, Mrs. Harrell, had abruptly ended. Rebecca hadn’t been able to make out any of it.

  Can’t think like that. There’s no point. They’re keeping us together, and she’s my friend. That’s what’s important.

  Rebecca fingered the comb, then what was left of her hair. She sighed. No need.

  Without announcing herself, Mrs. Harrell opened her partition and looked over the area. Rebecca had folded the wet towel, leaving it on the bench, and stuffed all her old clothes in the waste bucket, exactly as told. She’d washed her hands after. She had been totally obedient.

  “Looks good,” Mrs. Harrell said. “And I promise you won’t have to put up with this again for a long time, so long as you’re not hiding anything right now—and don’t do anything outrageous during your stay here.”

  The scanner again. Rebecca restrained an exasperated huff, but she came up perfectly clean. I have to get back to the quad. I can get my key ring back now.

  “Let’s have a look at that ear,” Mrs. Harrell said, reaching for the bandage.

  The tingle had ratcheted up to a full-on burning sensation, just as Dr. Freed had promised it would. She hoped it would not get any worse. He’d said that she’d received a hearty helping of accelerant paste and that the stitches were dissolvable. She could have the bandage off whenever she felt ready.

  Since her counselor was ready, she guessed that meant she would have to be too.

  “Wow,” Mrs. Harrell said, looking it over until her gaze felt downright uncomfortable. “Oh well. That’s what you get for running, I guess.”

  ****

  By the time Rebecca arrived at breakfast, the hall was mostly empty. She’d been given a pass so as not to be counted late, and she’d found Caroline sitting alone near the back. It was seven o’clock, which meant breakfast was officially over and gave her exactly one hour before morning services. That hour was counted as part of their free time, and it seemed the other blue-shirted Forgottens were more interested in going outside than in meeting the newcomers.

  There was an older boy seated alone near the entrance. His bowl-cut black hair was still very short, so he was probably relatively new as well. He was wearing sunglasses and staring straight down at his empty tray. His lips moved continuously. Rebecca didn’t come close enough to make out the words of his meditation or prayer or whatever it was. He had the distinct look of not wanting to be bothered.

  The cafeteria servers said nothing to Rebecca as she received her tray, and Mrs. Harrell had been very clear that she was not to speak to them either.

  They are not worth your notice, she had said. They’re not even really people, in the strictest sense. While here, they’re servants, indentured for criminal behavior—and the lowest form of human life on Angel Island.

  The tray had a plastic cover, voice-programmed to open on the word “Amen.”

  Reentering the hall from the food line, it was the back wall that demanded her attention, even as Caroline waved her over. There she found the huge Absolution Tally Board Mrs. Harrell had mentioned. Most of it consisted of small rectangular black screens against an alabaster background—hundreds of them, unreadable from here. But Rebecca knew those screens had names on them, the sins of every camper displayed there for all to see. The categories of transgression, like the uniforms, were color-coded, and listed on the far left of the display.

  Attitude

  Blasphemy

  Slacking

  Out of Order

  Lasciviousness

  Undermining

  Tardy

  Intentional Disobedience

  Out of Bounds

  Neglecting Commandments

  Earning ten of those tallies in a week or six in a day earned you a punishment. The board cleared Saturdays at midnight, and discipline was meted out on Sundays. As the board would have so recently cleared, very few of the little black rectangles flashed with any sort of color—but…

  You’ll find you have already earned one from Mrs. Black, her counselor had advised her. A pretty purple one for attitude. And Faust really does have an early jump—three red ones for blasphemy. Unbelievable.

  Mrs. Harrell had not told her what punishment really meant, even when she had asked.

  You’ll know soon enough.

  Rebecca sat across from Caroline and prayed, although she wasn’t particularly hungry. Her friend waited for her, fork down, while she did it. She finished with “Amen” and could not help but find it kind of cool when the lid unlocked.

  And the food did smell good.

  “Check this out,” Caroline said, holding the rulebook open with her left hand while forking up another breakfast sausage with her right. “On holding hands: Campers are not to hold hands at any time other than prayer. A boy and a girl wishing to express an appropriate level of Godly affection may, however, walk with one another on the common grounds. Campers aged sixteen and seventeen may, while doing so, each hold opposite ends of the same object, such as a stick, providing the object is not wet.”

  Rebecca’s rulebook was closed, still in her gift bag while she focused on breakfast. “You’re making that up,” she said, half smiling, amazed at herself for being able to find humor in anything. She opened her milk carton. “Don’t make me snort this all over the table.”

  Caroline palmed the book flat and slid it to her. “Truth. See for yourself.”

  Rebecca was about to look when Daniel located them and sat at their table. She was instantly distracted, because he had sat on her side, not Caroline’s. It probably meant nothing. Still, she was glad he was on her right, not her left. She wanted to cover up her elf ear with her hand but forced herself not to. It wasn’t like she could go around for her whole life like that.

  “Okay if I sit here?”

  He was wearing red, which meant he was sixteen.

  “Sure,” Rebecca said. Looking around the near-empty mess hall that was It’s Not Manna, she saw those few who were still finishing breakfast seemed to have free rein as it pertained to sitting with members of their own or the opposite sex. And that, she had to admit, was one thing this place had over DTR and Prodigal S
ons. “Free country, right?”

  The sarcasm was a reflex. Daniel—Faust, she reminded herself, his Angel Island name is Faust—made her nervous. Sarcasm was a good defense against nervousness.

  Daniel seemed to get it. “I’ve heard about free countries. Read about them in books.”

  Caroline, oblivious to the tension, tapped her open book.

  Rebecca returned her attention to it. Saw the rule. When she felt Daniel’s eyes following hers, she slid the book so he could see it too.

  “Already broke that one,” he said. “Think anyone noticed?”

  “Huh?”

  “Already held your hand.” He nodded to Caroline. “Yours too. Remember?”

  “Holding hands and shaking hands are not the same thing,” Caroline said, and Rebecca was inclined to agree.

  “How long does a handshake have to be before it counts as holding hands, then?”

  Rebecca considered. “Got to be, I don’t know, maybe five seconds. Or maybe you’re safe if you keep shaking them the whole time.”

  “We’re supposed to use this afternoon to go over rules,” Caroline said, as if they didn’t know it. “Make a question list, then see our counselors again. So…”

  “Yep,” Daniel said. “If we’re allowed to do that in a group, I’m in. Should be fun.”

  Rebecca nodded. She waited for Daniel to pray before starting her own breakfast. Caroline had put her fork down again as well. If they had come all together, along with everyone else, Rebecca supposed this little ritual of interruption would have been unnecessary. Someone would have led them in prayer, collectively, and they’d have dived in together with a chorus of “Amen.”

  “Amen,” Daniel said without praying, and started his breakfast.

  ****

  By the time they were finished eating, they were entirely alone in the mess hall—except for the boy who sat muttering by the entrance.