First Girl

by Julie Aitcheson

  “I’m Ruth, and this is Zach,” Ruth chirped. “We are your head counselors, and we are so excited to get to know all of you. Welcome!” The dozens of counselors standing behind Ruth and Zach, each one of them an example of physical perfection in their own right, clapped and hooted on cue. The teens on the floor were still too preoccupied with their plates to respond in kind. Finished with her own food, Gabi leaned back against the leg of a padded armchair and took in the rustic décor of the lodge. Trophy heads were mounted high on the walls, some of which Gabi recognized, like the deer. There were still some starved herds of them that risked civilization to forage for food, though the secured greenhouses and indoor waste processing plants ensured there was little to be found. The other heads she had never seen in real life, though some she recognized from her textbooks. There was a moose with long-lashed black eyes and a set of horns big enough to cradle a full-grown human. A mountain lion baring its yellow fangs snarled beside it, and a wolf, preserved from the waist up so that it seemed to be leaping out from the wall, hung over the fireplace.

  Ruth’s whistle cut through the noise as the group finally surrendered their plates. “I know you’re excited to see your friends this weekend, and make new ones of course, but please respect the whistle.” Ruth held out a hand, and a doe-eyed girl with a long braid dangling to the top of her rear placed a clipboard in it. “Thank you, Christina. Now, the first order of business is to pair you with your buddy for the weekend. The buddy system is designed to give you a confidant and partner for the exercises we will be doing to help open each of you to your calling. Partners will be from the same branch, when possible, so that you can continue to support each other after consecration. Some of you are the sole representatives of your branch this year and will be paired with other solos. The teams have been selected at random, and we’ve put you in same-sex pairs, because your partners will also be your bunkmates.”

  “I’d like you to be my bunkmate,” a sly voice stage-whispered from over by the buffet table. The teens giggled and elbowed each other. The voice came from Bradley Fiske, lounging on the floor like a sated cat and leering at Ruth suggestively. Ruth pointedly ignored him.

  “There will be four campers to a team, and you will be responsible for each other for the next two and a half days. You will become like family, and you will raise each other up on the last day for consecration, as our Savior was raised by his Father. Can I get an amen?”

  “Amen!” shouted the counselors.

  “I can’t hear you!” yelled Zach, stepping toward the lounging teens and cupping a hand to his ear. The group of counselors started clapping and stomping rhythmically. Amens erupted around Gabi, as her peers clambered to their feet. The room shook as the crowd sang, “Ay-ay-men! Ay-ay-men! Ay-aymen! Amen! Amen!” faster and louder with every round. Ruth waved her hands in ecstasy, and her mouth contorted, flashing teeth and tongue as sounds erupted from her throat. Zach leaned close to her, swaying with her as her message flowed through him and came out of his own mouth in translation.

  “All will be called to his service,” he sang in a pure, sweet baritone. “He has blessed this gathering and will make his Will known to you. He is calling you and the time has come to answer!”

  The air was charged with the electricity of so many young bodies chanting and moving as one. Gabi had never felt such a seductive tide of energy surging around her, not even in temple. Something about how full of every feeling and possibility they all were was intoxicating when heightened with a sense of communal purpose and power. Gabi found that she wasn’t just singing and swaying along because it was expected of her or because she was Brother Lowell’s daughter, as she did at services. She did it because she wanted to. Instead of trying to shut herself down enough to manage the sensations, Gabi felt wide open, moved to sing and stomp and chant along. She let the amens vibrate her vocal cords and moved her body to the same rhythm pulsing through those around her. It was so good to be a wave in an ocean for once, rather than a lonely puddle barely big enough to get stepped in.

  MARIAN RANDOLPH was her partner? At least twenty other girls from Alder were at Consecration Camp, and Gabi had been paired with her? The logic of it baffled her, not that any pairing would have made sense. Gabi didn’t have any friends or extracurricular activities to write down on the camp survey mailed out beforehand to help the counselors match her with someone. But if anyone in Alder was less like Gabi than Marian, Gabi would have been shocked to know it. By the look on Marian’s face when Ruth read their names aloud, she felt the same way.

  Marian wore a week’s ration of black eyeliner and mascara in dark moons around her eyes and was sarcastic and opinionated. She never hesitated to object if something penetrated her shroud of apathy enough to rile her and paid little heed when she was admonished for vanity or smelling like cigarette smoke. There was no actual rule against wearing makeup, but simplicity and humility were virtues that got a lot of airtime during temple services. Marian had never been caught smoking, and no one could figure out where she got her cigarettes, which were not rationed to anyone under twenty-one. The mystery could have been solved without too much digging, only most people were a little scared of Marian Randolph. When the sullen girl showed up at the school for her first day two years ago, she was as likely to throw a punch as say hello. Rumor had it she’d come from Willow, one of the remote branches that still suffered regular attacks by raiding Tribes. Willow had come late to the fellowship, and its branch status had been suspended more than once due to low conversion rates. There was still a lot of division within the branch, as many remained loyal to the Tribes and weren’t convinced that Unitas was the only ticket to survival.

  Marian attended temple services, as all fellows were required to do unless excused by the council, but she showed up alone. The other orphans came to services with a foster family or kids from the group home. The only thing she and Marian had in common, Gabi realized, was that Marian was a loner too. She was never seen hanging out with anyone, and though the girl took great care to cultivate her look, she didn’t seem to care for boys any more than Gabi did. At least Marian had never openly bullied Gabi, unless eye-rolling as though incredibly bored by someone could be considered bullying.

  The third member of their group was a tall, doughy boy from Spruce named Jordan. Gabi figured he must have been big due to some glandular problem, because Spruce was at ground zero where the Strain had first taken hold, and food was scarcest there. Though Unitas policy was to distribute all rations equally among the branches, Spruce was made up of western Wyoming, northern Utah, and eastern Idaho—areas easily cut off from supplies by weather. Nothing grew there, not even in greenhouses, so everything had to be brought in by the trucks or Witness teams on their way to the coast. Jordan looked at Gabi with shy interest when his name was announced, which Gabi returned with a friendly nod. When the counselors announced the name of his “buddy”—a short, freckled kid with fidgety hands named Peter—Gabi thought Jordan might collapse into a boneless pile with relief. Peter looked a little shifty and weasely, but he didn’t exude the suppressed violence of a true bully. Obviously Jordan was no stranger to the Bradley Fiskes of the world.

  “Your dorms and bunk numbers are posted on the wall,” Ruth said after the last teams were announced. “Take some time to get settled in and get to know your teammates. We’ll have a predinner activity back here in the lodge at four thirty, so please be on time. Everything counts!”

  There it was. The reminder that although the atmosphere was relaxed, undercover Witness team recruiters were among them, evaluating their every move. Not everyone wanted to serve the fellowship as a Witness. It was arduous, scary, and often deadly work, but everyone wanted to be asked. It was both common and easy to flub the exam to avoid serving, but not being recruited was a badge of mediocrity. The buzz quieted at the subtle reminder of the recruiters’ presence. The campers filed past the notice board for their rooming assignments in nervous silence.

  THE GIRLS’ dorm
contained orderly rows of bunk beds with brightly colored numbers affixed to the ends. These faced in toward the narrow walkway that stretched from the entrance to the communal bathroom on the other side. Pairs were given numbers that allowed them to sleep side by side, supposedly so they could whisper their innermost secrets to each other after lights-out. The volume rose as the room filled with the excited banter of new friends. At least one of the counselors assigned as their dorm monitor was surely a recruiter, and no one wanted to be caught slacking on their assignment to bond. Gabi didn’t have any idea how to proceed, and Marian didn’t seem the least bit interested in making the first move. Gabi scanned the objects littering Marian’s bed for a conversation starter.

  There were some wrinkled clothes in various shades of black, gray, and navy blue, a leather-bound journal, a small zippered pouch that Gabi guessed contained Marian’s supply of eyeliner and mascara, and a flat, tarnished case the size of a hand. Gabi sucked in her breath, bolstered by the growing ease with which she was now able to command it. “I like your case!” She had to shout to be heard, and Marian jumped in surprise.

  “Jesus!” the girl yelped, looking like Gabi had just burned her with a match. Gabi looked nervously toward the dorm monitors. Taking the Lord’s name in vain was antidoctrine, and punishable by reduced rations. Marian’s gaze followed Gabi’s. “Oh, relax. They can’t hear a thing, and if they did, they would never suspect Brother Lowell’s sainted daughter of breaking the rules. I’m the black sheep in this herd.” Marian sat on the edge of her bed and leaned back on her elbows. “That is for sure the loudest sound I have ever heard come out of your mouth, Lowell, but I still didn’t catch it.”

  “I said I like your case.”

  “What, this?” Marian picked up the metal tin from the bedspread and turned it over in her hands.

  “Yes. What’s it for?”

  Marian’s head snapped up, eyes flashing. “None of your business, is what.”

  Gabi recognized the conversation-ending cut in Marian’s tone, but if Gabi couldn’t at least keep the girl talking, she would fail at the very first task she’d been given in full view of the counselors. Since niceties weren’t going to work, Gabi changed tactics.

  “Is that where you keep your cigarettes?”

  “Why? You want one?”

  “Sure, why not?” Gabi wished she could have taken a photo of Marian’s expression. She would treasure it forever as a reminder that she, Gabi Lowell, was full of surprises.

  “Don’t you have a lung thing?” It was Gabi’s turn to be surprised. Not only did Marian know who she was, but she knew about her illness. That was something.

  “I’m getting better. It’s no big deal.”

  “Yeah, well, never mind,” Marian said brusquely. “My stash is precious, unless you have rations to trade. Anyway, I don’t want to be responsible for making you pass out or have some kind of fit.”

  “I don’t have fits,” Gabi snapped.

  “Well, that’s what it looks like when you get all wheezy and blue, is all I’m saying.”

  “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “Right. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

  Gabi was losing the struggle to keep Marian engaged, and they still had ten more minutes of forced bonding time before they were supposed to meet up with Jordan and Peter for more of the same.

  “Why are you even here, Marian?” Gabi asked in a last stab at drawing her out. Marian rolled onto her back and put an arm over her eyes. “I mean it. Why did you come to Consecration Camp? Do you even care if you get called or recruited? Because it’s not gonna happen if you act like you do in school.” Gabi leaned toward Marian’s bunk. “You know they’re watching us all the time. You might not care, but I do, and I am not going to let you mess this up for me.”

  Gabi didn’t recognize the bite in her voice, and she wasn’t sure she liked it, but it worked. Marian rolled toward her, mascara smeared from the corner of her right eye to her hairline.

  “You think I would even be here unless the council forced us transfer kids to show up? Oh, sorry, I mean ‘encouraged.’ Your old man and his buddies encouraged me to come. Wasn’t that nice?”

  At the mention of Sam, the bravado that had emboldened Gabi to cross swords with Marian deserted her. She couldn’t defend Sam when Marian’s accusation was the least of his possible crimes. Marian pounced on Gabi’s troubled look. “What, did your daddy ‘encourage’ you too? Is he embarrassed that one of his offspring isn’t a shoo-in for a council seat because she didn’t get called early? But it doesn’t really matter if you get called, does it? You’re set no matter what. You could pull all the crap I do and no one would hold your rations over your head and tell you that you can serve or freaking starve like they do in Willow. So why are you here?”

  Was Marian actually suggesting Gabi had it easy? That being born sick, shriveling in her brother’s shadow, losing Gram, and being betrayed by the man she thought was her father gave her some kind of advantage? It was too much.

  “Because I don’t belong here, either!” Gabi snarled. “I need to be a Witness. I need to get out!”

  One of the female counselors standing by the door rang a large brass bell. “Time to go, ladies! The rest of your teams are waiting in the main hall!”

  Shaking, Gabi rose and turned to join the flood of girls exiting the room, but Marian’s long fingers latched on to her wrist and wouldn’t let go. Why had Gabi told this awful person her most secret desire? Why had she said it aloud so she could hear how absurd the idea sounded, even to her own ears? Gabi yanked and twisted, but Marian held fast as the dorm emptied.

  “My name isn’t Marian,” Marian said quietly once they were alone. “It’s Marnie.” It was a different voice, more pliable and tentative. Hoping she wasn’t mistaking the opening, Gabi stopped resisting.

  “Where are your parents?”

  “They were missionaries.”

  “You mean Witnesses?” Witness work was based on the old missionary model of outreach, education, and aid employed before the Gathering In. Afterward, the council concluded that that its main flaw had been a lack of emphasis on conversion. This oversight left people free to practice their own religions, creating divisions deeper and more charged than race, class, or politics. According to doctrine, this division was what tore the old world apart and brought the entire human race to the brink of collapse.

  “No,” Marnie snapped, all softness evaporating. “I mean missionaries. My parents helped people no matter what god they worshipped, because they believed that’s what it meant to have faith. They didn’t beat, brainwash, or starve people in the name of God.”

  Gabi tried to process what Marnie was saying, but it was like hearing that the sky was under her feet. When Marnie talked about beating and brainwashing, she clearly meant the Witnesses. No, Gabi corrected herself. Beating, brainwashing, and starving. An image of Marcus and Nicolas’s wasted bodies flashed through her mind. Could the Witness teams be involved in what was going on at the Care Center? But joining a team was her only way out of Alder. She had to stay focused on getting out, and getting help.

  “Where are they now?” Gabi asked, bracing for more venom, but Marnie was somewhere else as she spoke.

  “According to the fellowship, they were both killed when Tribal bandits attacked them while they were on their way to a training in another branch.”

  “But that’s not what happened?” Gabi prompted.

  Marnie looked at her for a few silent beats, then stood and nudged her toward the exit.

  “No. It wasn’t. Come on, we’ll be late.”

  JORDAN AND Peter stood on the fringes of the swarm in the hall. As she and Marnie entered, Gabi spotted Jordan with his ungainly bulk and Peter working some invisible puzzle with his hands.

  “Man, we’re just going to crush this thing, aren’t we?” Marnie snorted. “The outcast, the invalid, the dough boy, and the spaz. A winning combination.” The two girls had forged an uneasy truce wh
en Marnie revealed her real name back in the dorm, but it hadn’t improved her disposition. Talking about her parents and relating how all newcomer orphans were “encouraged” to take biblical names to make blending into their new branches easier had been enough to harden her again. Marnie didn’t say so, but Gabi could tell this was yet another injustice for which the sullen girl blamed Sam.

  “I’m not an invalid, and you don’t even know them.” The best way to get anywhere with Marnie was to stand her ground.

  Peter pushed himself away from the wall as the girls approached, lifting his chin as if daring one of them to punch it. “Hey, I’m Peter. Are we going outside or what?”

  “I-I left my coat back in the dorm.” Jordan stepped toward them, keeping his eyes on the scuffed toes of his boots. He was at least a head taller than the other three, but his posture was apologetic. “But I can go get it. Whatever you guys want.”

  “Come on, it’s only, like, fifty degrees out there,” Peter objected. “I thought you Spruces were supposed to be tough.”

  “Let’s do this,” Marnie said. “I need a smoke.” She started toward the door, and Peter followed close behind.

  “I need my coat too,” Gabi called after them. “We’ll catch up.” She smiled at Jordan, but his eyes were still cast down.

  THEIR BREATH made puffs of clouds in the afternoon air, which created a camouflage for Marnie’s smoky exhales. Marnie had found a spot near one of the ramshackle tent platforms that was far enough upwind from the counselors that the smell of burning tobacco wouldn’t reach them. Gabi noted a sheen of perspiration on Jordan’s upper lip where his face peeked out from his fur-trimmed hood and suspected the function of the coat was not protection from weather, but people.