Rebecca followed her example, and they passed inside.
Early arrivals had favored the very back of the chapel seating, or the very front.
Sick, Rebecca thought, even though she still had no idea what was going to happen. Who’d want to be in the front pews for this?
Asher and Magda were up there, parked right next to each other like a young married couple.
They’re expected to be there. Magda’s too nice to want to be there.
Beyond them, just before the pulpit, she noted the altar where they had all received communion was gone. In its place, two black metal chairs were positioned under a wooden table with steel legs. It might have been a carpentry bench, were it not for the hand manacles that had been drilled into its top, two on the left, and two on the right. The chairs were fitted with steel ankle fasteners.
“Oh my gosh,” Caroline whispered, her voice cracking, nearly carrying in the gathering silence. “This is going to be bad, bad, bad…”
“Be quiet,” Rebecca whispered back. She swallowed. “Please.”
At that moment she realized Daniel was standing right by her, with Vex. There was a trio of boys nearby who were waving them over. He ignored them and pointed to a patch of empty seats in the middle pews. The four of them eased past the aisle usher and sat together, even as the final few stragglers also found seats.
No one spoke, but even in the dim light, Rebecca could see Daniel had gone pale. He knew something. Vex must have told him.
She wanted to hold his hand, but she knew she couldn’t. Inexplicably, however, she was glad he had chosen to sit next to her for this. The knowledge in his eyes, the paleness of his skin, didn’t seem to weaken him. It just made him more human. Like herself, Daniel wasn’t truly a “camper” of Angel Island yet, although she hoped he would try his best to act like one.
Rebecca was afraid for Caroline. Her breathing had picked up, even as one of the doors to the chapel opened. And it wasn’t just her steadily growing fear that Caroline would succumb to all of this in the end, that she would become one of them. As tangible as that dread was, she was more afraid that Caroline would lose it right now and be dragged up front for punishment.
The Reverend came in, wearing Jesus robes and sandals. His wrists and feet had been made up to appear as though they had holes in them, red-rimmed and smeared with blood. He stood behind the podium and stretched out his arms, tilting his head passively to the side even as his voice boomed with authority and command.
“Therefore,” he said, “since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us…”
Rebecca could not pinpoint the exact verse. Something in Hebrews, she was pretty sure. Or maybe Acts. She could not think straight.
“…and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith…”
Barney and Wendy brought out the kids whose tally counters had been turned upside down—the boy and girl whose Angel Island names were Merci and Gnash—holding them from behind at the wrists. They were blindfolded and gagged with plain cloth bandannas, and wearing simple white smocks that tied at the neck, as though for art class. Both of them still had short hair. They were relatively new, then. The boy was probably Daniel’s age. The girl didn’t look a day older than thirteen.
Rebecca didn’t think too many people who had been here for any length of time would need punishing. They’d learn to avoid it. Even without knowing what it was, she had a feeling most would do anything to avoid it.
They were screaming, begging, their words smothered behind gags…
“…who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.”
The medical staff came in from the foyer, set their briefcases down at the punishment table, and lent a hand. Barney and Wendy Scruggs needed all of their help too. In their panic, without any seeming regard for future consequences, Merci and Gnash both tried to battle their way free, kicking out, lunging, still screaming.
The Reverend might have been frozen in time, arms still outstretched, head still tilted.
And his teeth. They were smaller than before. And yellow. What on earth?
Caroline clasped her hands in her lap, tears spilling freely from her open eyes.
Looking around, Rebecca saw tears everywhere. Some faces were horrified, but others shed tears of rapture and joy—of excitement and anticipation. A very few faces remained blank and grim. Daniel watched with his jaws clenched.
Someone’s going to lose it.
Her devil’s half suddenly reared up, panicking and selfish, and it whispered, Just don’t let it be you.
They got Merci into the cuffs and leg irons first. Gnash took a few seconds longer, using his whole body to try to wrench himself free and attempting to head-butt captors he couldn’t see. Barney backhanded him across the face, then punched him. Gnash went limp. His nose gushed blood as they forced him into the chair next to Merci and secured him—wrists and palms up.
Wendy pulled open a drawer on the side of the table Rebecca could not see. From it she withdrew a one-handed sledge hammer and a leather-tied bundle of black iron nails, each more than half a foot long. They clattered dully on the tabletop.
Their very appearance nearly caused Rebecca to let forth a scream of her own. She put both hands over her mouth to contain the shriek, just as she had done while hiding from DC in the attic with Miss Paula. She bit her lower lip, fighting it back.
The doctors opened their briefcases. Among a variety of instruments, medicines, and healing accelerants that both suitcases had contained, the doctors picked out several large, empty glass cylinders and removed their stoppers. One doctor marked the insertion points on Merci’s wrists, while the other did the same for Gnash.
Gnash had apparently screamed himself out. He was only crying now—and pissing himself. A puddle formed underneath his side of the table, dripping from the hem of his smock and from his chair. Merci was breathing heavy. It looked like she was trying to force herself into unconsciousness.
They’re taking the blood from this. What will they do with it? Is there a blood bank or something?
She knew better, though. Whether or not there was a blood bank on Angel Island, punishments were not being used to supply it. No, this blood would be used to supplement the Lambs’ blood next Sunday morning.
How much human blood had she consumed in her double helping this morning?
Hardly any, she said to herself, forcing the bile down with her screams as Barney took up the sledge hammer and positioned it over the marking on Gnash’s left wrist. There’s almost a thousand of us. Hardly any, hardly any…
She remembered the sermon, the lesson about truly understanding the suffering of Jesus. And she repeated to herself, They’ll be perfectly fine in a few days. Perfectly fine. Perfectly fine…
Barney held the nail still, steadying it over Gnash’s wrist. Gnash’s fingers jerked and twitched like a tortured spider.
Don’t. No, please…
Barney hammered the nail through with two short, heavy blows. Almost half of it was now visible under the table. And it started dripping right away.
Throughout the chapel, as fresh screams erupted from Gnash’s lips—higher now, and recharacterized by anguish and something like disbelief—dozens of parishioners held up their hands and pulled back the sleeves of their ponchos, revealing their own scars. Philis was one of them.
And there, up front, as though in solidarity, Wendy did the same.
A few of them called out, as though by possessing these scars they had special permission. “Praise his name!”
One of the doctors held the blood cylinder under the table, catching the blood that now flowed freely over the nail.
“All glory to the Son!”
The cylinder filled quickly.
“Jesus is with us!”
The
Reverend blinked, but he never moved.
When Gnash lost consciousness, the doctors brought him back with smelling salts while Barney readied the second nail. While he hammered it through, at the other end of the table, Wendy cooed soft whispers to Merci and stroked the back of her neck.
****
If I fail to make the Kingdom of Heaven when I die, Ruth thought, studying the little pill in her hand, this will be the reason why.
Ethinyl Estradiol.
Charlie, who the campers called the Ferryman in secret, brought her the pills every month, along with all of the food and other supplies they imported from the mainland. She was certain he brought in forbidden things for certain campers as well, and he was more than likely the provider of whatever device had leaked the knowledge of Rebecca’s story. How the kids managed to pay him, she had no idea. Perhaps the Ferryman was a pervert. It didn’t really matter. If the Reverend knew what she knew, Charlie would not be Angel Island’s Ferryman much longer. He would be terminated in every sense of the word.
Ruth could not have that. The pills were rare, manufactured in secret, and terribly expensive. In the time it took to reach an arrangement with whomever ultimately replaced Charlie, there was a chance, albeit small, that she would become pregnant.
Ruth did not want a biological child of her own. She was already mother to so many.
And if she did have to bear a child, she didn’t want it to be his. The Reverend was a conduit to power—a slimy, contemptible man of limited vision that had been forced upon her. No, if it came to that, she’d find a consort among the rest of the staff, or perhaps even a Thresher, and pretend the child was his. He’d never suspect.
But that was a true last resort. The very thought filled her with loathing and apprehension. Weighing everything, there really was no choice.
Ruth needed the pills more than she needed the black-market campers caught.
She cleaned out the glass with the Reverend’s teeth in it thoroughly. Then she refilled the glass and palmed on the computer. She stowed Matthew’s “perfect” teeth in their proper place while the machine booted up.
She took her pill while studying the new applications.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sacred Trusts
Rebecca had no idea how Caroline held it in until punishments were over. She was amazed at how well she had handled it herself, since she had been caught between the need to scream and the need to puke from the moment Wendy had revealed the hammer and nails to the congregation.
They’ll be perfectly fine in a few days.
After the nailing, after the blood collection, Gnash and Merci had been treated. Their wounds were stitched on the spot, then slathered with purple accelerant paste and bound in white cloth. They’d been given shots, which had quieted them but had not put them to sleep. Wendy had then released them from the punishment table and stood them up. She’d taken away the blindfolds and gags. At the last she took their bloodied smocks, leaving them naked before the assembly, too feeble or traumatized to even cover themselves with their hands. No one looked away. They had been told to bear witness, and that was enough—enough of an excuse for many, enough of a deterrent for the rest.
Wendy had brought them robes, kissed them on their foreheads, and hugged them.
They’d hugged her back. Squeezed her. Cried with her, while Barney walked away, disappearing through the door whence he had come.
Somewhere in the midst of all that distraction, the Reverend had disappeared too.
****
Once outside the chapel, Caroline hurriedly stumbled away to the side of the building and was violently sick.
I can’t be here. I won’t make it. I’ll screw up.
On her knees in the grass, clutching her stomach—heaving up her dinner of lamb chops, green beans, and mashed potatoes—she felt a circle gather around her, even in the continuing rain. Rebecca would be in that circle, she knew, and Daniel. But there were others. She was the last act of the show, and people didn’t want to miss it. Dozens of shadowy, hooded ponchos stood silent, watching her.
They’ll hurt me. They’ll kill me.
Rebecca knelt next to her and rubbed her back, even as a fresh heave showed she still had some supper left to lose. “Okay, Caroline, okay—” Rebecca started soothingly.
“Wren!” Caroline managed between lurches, fingers curling in the swampy, muddy grass. How hard was it for Rebecca to remember? Why were she and Daniel so stubborn on that one little thing, which meant nothing at all—the disregard of which would get them in trouble for sure if they didn’t get with the program in a hurry. She wanted to shout her Angel Island name again, drive home the point, but she was dry-heaving now. Her body didn’t believe it had emptied itself, even though it clearly had.
“Yes, Wren. I’m sorry. I’m here. It’ll be all right.”
Through the corner of her eye, she saw Rebecca turn her gaze to the onlookers. The tone of her voice was less tolerant than her words.
“A little space, please? I’ve got her.” More softly, she added, “Not you, Faust. You can stay.”
Oh, could he, now?
Caroline knew she could be a bit of an airhead from time to time, but she wasn’t an idiot. Something was developing between those two, and whatever it was would be dangerous on Angel Island. They were Forgottens, and Forgottens could not be boyfriend and girlfriend. They’d read the rule book, same as she had.
They were crazy.
She spit into the grass and the dirt, waited for another bout of sickness that did not come, and clenched her teeth.
They were trouble.
She’s my friend, she told herself, feeling Rebecca’s hand continue to rub her back in slow, gentle circles. Rebecca would never be the enemy. Underneath it all—worse even than the Reverend himself—was Mrs. Black. She was the danger. Anything bad that anyone did here would be the doing of Mrs. Black, directly or indirectly. Caroline was sure of it.
Not Rebecca, and not Daniel.
They’re trouble, one part of her mind insisted. Whether they mean to be or not. They’ll get themselves deep in it. They’ll drag you down with them, and you’ll play second fiddle to anything they do. Not a partner. Not anymore.
The circle dispersed, although both Rebecca and Daniel remained by her side.
“I’m fine,” she said, staring into the mud.
“Can you stand?” Rebecca asked, taking her arm. “Is it too soon?”
Before she could answer, another voice cut in.
“Wren,” Philis said, reaching down and taking her other arm. Together, Philis and Rebecca helped Caroline to her feet.
Daniel deferentially stepped back and didn’t interfere.
The rain still washed over them, but it was beginning to relent. What had been a downpour was now just a shower. They stood under it, soaked to the skin, their ponchos shimmering under lamplight.
“The thing for an upset stomach,” Philis said, still holding her arm even after Rebecca let go, “is soup and crackers. Maybe half a ginger ale. Come on. Let’s see if we can raise the help at It’s Not Manna.” She held up a set of keys. “If no one’s there, we can heat it up ourselves.”
Must be nice, Caroline thought, allowing herself to be led, being a Thresher.
Daniel and Rebecca started to follow, but they didn’t get far.
“Just us,” Philis said over her shoulder. “Sorry, but it’s cabins for you two. Lights-out in fifteen minutes.”
****
Rebecca and Daniel were alone. For the first time, Rebecca could not help but think. She asked, “Where’s your friend? What’s his name again?”
“No idea,” Daniel said, looking around. “Don’t know where he is, and I don’t know his name. But his Island handle is Vex.”
She watched him. He really was making a show of it, checking all around to make sure no one was watching. What was he afraid of? The weather had cleared everyone out, and they had the high wall of the outer chapel for cover too.
�
�He’ll be okay,” Daniel said. “Half the time I don’t even think he’s really blind.”
“For real?” It was a wild thought. Why would Vex fake something like that? And how could he pull it off with doctors living on the Island?
“I don’t know. But he’s a lot more independent than he let on this morning at breakfast. Anyway, I’m not worried about him.”
“Good to know. What are you worried about, then? Something’s bugging you.”
He was peeking around the corner of the chapel, then turned another full circle. Satisfied, he returned to her. He reached underneath the poncho and into the pocket of his Island-issue shorts. “This,” he said, holding something out to her in the palm of his hand.
Plastic and metal. Familiar.
It was her keyring. Daniel had kept it this whole time. He must have retrieved it on the way to breakfast after orientation. He must have seen her drop it beforehand.
“Daniel,” she said. For that moment no other words would come. All she could do was stare at it, her precious keyring, the thing she was sure was going to get her into all kinds of trouble at any moment.
She thought, Thank you, God. Thank you.
But—
She snatched it out of his hand.
He hadn’t given it back to her at breakfast. He hadn’t returned it to her during their late-morning study. He’d held on to it all through their afternoon study too. He must have known how scared she would have been.
Why had he done that to her?
And as if he had read her mind, he answered, “Someone else might have found it, and I don’t know who you trust.”
Neither do I, said her devil’s half.
To which her other half answered, Yes, you do. You trust him. He could have been caught with it himself. You trust Caroline and Miss Paula.
But trust had burned her before. Trust had started all of this.
The Salvation State Page 27