by Jon Cronshaw
8. Rain
The clatter of trays and plates punctuates the blur of tense conversation as Sal stands at the end of the communal hall’s central table, torchlight flickering behind her.
Abel looks up as she drops her hood and pulls her dreadlocks back across her face, revealing trembling lips and fear-filled eyes. The conversations stop as the residents turn to face her, many of them arching their necks to see over their shoulders.
Sal clears her throat. “Before our Lord Jesus Christ was betrayed and sent to be crucified for all of our sins, he ate the last supper with his disciples. We live our lives for God, to do his work on Earth in these end days.” She raises her chin, sweeping her gaze across the room, across the familiar faces. “Be assured, this is not our last supper. We will—” The church bell’s urgent ringing cuts off her words, its loud metallic clang shrill and insistent. She looks around with a panicked look, then steels herself. “It is time,” she says, raising her hands. “We can all do this.”
Abel scoops up a few slices of bread and stuffs them into his jacket pocket. “Grab some food, kid,” he says, turning to David. “Get something for Sis.”
Residents stream from the door and into the night. Abel turns to Sal but does not say a word. She meets his gaze and forces a smile. “Let's go,” she says, her voice cracking.
Abel places a hand on her shoulder and leads her towards the door.
“I should be out there fighting,” she says.
“Your people want you safe — they need you safe.”
Sal takes in a deep breath and nods, reaching out for Abel's hand. “Stay with me,” she whispers. “I need you.”
Abel swallows. “If they manage to get through, I'll protect you to the end.” He leans past Sal and gestures to a dozen or so sticks sharpened to spears. “We should take those.”
They split the spears between them, carrying them under their arms as residents line the fence, brandishing their own sticks. Abel makes out the shadow of Sis perched on the crucifix, her body perfectly still against the night. A few adults lead line of children towards the communal hall, slamming the door closed as the last one piles in.
Abel leads the way as they run across the settlement to the church. “Take these,” she says, handing Abel the spears.
Sal goes around the side, takes a ladder and leans it against the church’s wall. Rungs creak as she ascends. With her back against the roof, she reaches down to take the spears. Shuffling back, she lays the lengths of wood between the waves of corrugated steel that stretch along the roof towards the church’s bell.
Joining Sal, Abel shifts uncomfortably as the corrugated humps dig into his buttocks. He removes his jacket folds in it half and pats it down, gesturing to Sal. “Sit here. It's a bit more comfortable than the metal.”
Sal removes her robe, revealing a knitted sweater and woollen leggings beneath. She gestures for Abel to move across and lays the robe over his jacket. “Now it will be even more comfortable,” she says, forcing a smile. “I think we’re going to be in for a long night.”
“Think you’ll be warm enough?”
“For now.”
Abel nods and looks across the settlement. Towering flames rise from the trenches along the road towards the highway.
A procession of torches emerges in the distance, little more than glowing specks of light, fireflies in the dark. “They're here.”
Sal squeezes his hand as the truck comes into view, ghostly and hellish reflected flames ripple on its surface in shades of orange and yellow. “Is that him?” She points to the king's horse.
Abel squints. “Yep. That's the one.”
The king's men cluster into a huddle as the truck comes to a stop near the first barricade. A few of them make gestures, waving their hands.
“What are they doing?” Sal asks.
“I think it's working.” He points to the truck. “Look.”
A frown passes over Sal's face as the truck reverses for a few metres, then lurches off the road and onto the wheat field, its wheels spinning against the damp earth.
“They're going to struggle to get that thing moved,” Abel says, grinning. “Ground is too wet.”
Sal turns to Abel and nods. “So they're stuck?”
A breath catches in Abel's throat as a sharp crack bursts from Sis's rifle. Sal grabs his hand.
“They're scattering,” Sal whispers. “It's working.”
Abel stands and watches and the king turns his horse around, his arms waving frantically. His men return to his side and the king brings his horse back around to face Trinity, his men charging forward.
“Damn it. They’re trying again.”
A few of the men and women barricaded near the fence set fire to the ends of spears, hurling them forward. Another snap rings out from Sis’s rifle.
“There’s too much smoke,” says Abel, dropping back to a sitting position. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, one hand tugging at his beard. “I can’t see what’s happening.”
“I can’t watch.” Sal covers her eyes and leans into Abel. He pats her shoulder, gritting his teeth as three of the king’s men smash through the first barricade, sending logs and barrels flying as they fire their rifles.
“They’re through the first one. The smoke’s clearing a bit.”
Sal cries out as a resident is swarmed by four of the king’s men. “I can’t see who it is. I need to go down.”
Abel grips Sal’s arm. “No,” he growls. “You’re not a fighter. You’ve done all you can.”
She turns away as someone screams in the darkness. The first drops of rain patter down on the rooftops, hissing against the raging fires. “Rain,” Abel mutters, opening a palm.
Sis lets off another shot and the king’s horse wobbles for a moment then topples, landing hard on its side. The king goes down with it, his arms flailing.
“She shot the damn horse,” Abel says, bolting to his feet, almost losing his balance. “I can’t believe she shot a horse.”
“I think he’s under there.”
“What?”
Sal points to the horse, now dead on its side. “He’s under it. He might be dead.”
Abel tilts his head, searching around for the king. “I think you’re right. Sis did it. She really did it.” He shakes the rain from his hands and winces as his skin starts to burn and prickle. “We should get shelter. We’ve got brown rain.”
Sal looks up at the sky, then sucks in her bottom lip, nodding.
Abel unfolds his jacket, shakes it, and puts it on, flipping the collar against the rain. He pulls Sal to her feet and picks up her robe. She faces away from him, allowing him to slide the robe onto her shoulders.
Looking past her, he feels her warmth and takes in a deep breath. “Damn it,” he says.
“What is it?”
He points to the horse, his finger trembling. The king’s men push against its side, leaning against its deadweight as they rock back and forth. One of the men pulls the king’s leg free from beneath the horse. The king wobbles to his feet, waving away assistance as he limps forward.
“Spoke too soon,” Abel mutters.
“That’s a shame. What should we do?”
A gust of wind blows from the east, bringing with it a torrent of burning rain. “Let’s go,” Abel says, covering his eyes with a forearm. “We can’t stay out in this.”
Sheets of wood and metal rattle around below them as the wind lets out a low howl. A cow moans deeply as the chickens crash around inside their sheds with panicked squawks.
Sal reaches for the ladder first. “They’re going,” she says. “They’re actually leaving.” She makes a gesture towards the highway as the king’s men run for cover, the king limping behind them.
Abel drops down after Sal and follows her into the communal hall. Inside, beeswax candles flicker with the wind. Children sit huddled in blankets, cuddling up to their mothers. The tables stand pushed against the walls, with the benches resting upside-down.
&n
bsp; “How is everybody?” Sal asks.
A pale woman with cropped red hair gets up, hugging herself, shivering. “We’re okay. Scared, but okay. What’s happening?”
“There’s brown rain,” Abel says. “They’re heading back to their camp.”
“Hopefully, for good,” Sal says.
Abel lets out a sigh, starting as the door crashes open.
“They’re gone,” David calls, bolting inside, almost breathless, as others pile in behind him “Sis took out the king’s horse. You should have seen it—”
“We saw it,” says Abel, standing back as people brush past him, searching for their loved-ones. “Where’s Sis now?”
David looks back over his shoulder and shrugs. “I think she’s still up there.”
“Damn it, kid. She can’t sit out in that. I’ll bring her in.” He goes to leave after the last person comes in, and feels a hand on his shoulder.
“Wait,” says Sal.
“I can’t leave her out there, Sal. That rain burns.”
“You can’t go out like that.” She looks around then gestures to a woman wearing a black and purple waterproof jacket. “Can we borrow your coat for a few minutes?”
The woman’s eyes widen. She shakes her head.
“Please, it’s just for a few minutes. I promise he’ll return it.”
There’s a long pause before the woman gets to her feet and wriggles free of her jacket and hands it to Abel.
He offers a smile and pulls the jacket over his head, adjusting the elastic strapping around the hood before going back outside.
The rain pours around him, water cascading from rooftops, gathering in puddles, descending in streams towards the crater’s midpoint. Raindrops pummel his back and leak down his neck and along his sides. He pushes forward, his open palm raised to the sky.
Squinting, he makes out the crucifix against the night. He darts between buildings, keeping his head tucked low until he reaches the main entrance. A burning sensation throbs against his neck.
Fumbling, he undoes the rope holding the fence closed. He grips the edge of a wooden sheet and heaves the gate open, sliding it along the ground, feeling its weight as water pools around his boots.
Fires hiss in their trenches as thick white smoke fills the air around him. He skirts around a wooden frame, dipping his head beneath jutting spikes. His eyes fill with tears as he blinks away the rain. “Sis?” he calls, looking up at the cross. “Where you at?”
The crucifix towers above, shrouded in shadow and obscured by the smoke. He glances around, his eyes following the trail towards the highway. With the flats of his hands, he pats the crucifix and calls out again. There’s no response.
“Damn it.” He smacks against the cross again, flinching back as a shot of pain goes up his right arm. His eyes sting with the rain when he looks up again, trying to make out Sis’s shape. He rubs the back of his neck, raw like sunburn, and goes back into the settlement, closing the fence behind him. “Sis?” he calls, looking around again.
He follows the path towards the crater’s centre, his feet slipping as the ground turns to mud. A cow rests on its stomach, its head flat against the dirt as it moans in a low, mournful drone. Stopping, Abel reaches down and pats the cow’s side, her fur rough and sopping with rain. “It’s okay, girl.” Her ribs expand beneath his palms, muscles quivering.
Abel gets up and skirts the path towards the communal hall, the trail brimming with flowing water.
When he reaches the hall, he pushes the door open with a shoulder and gasps. The air inside is thick with the smell of sweat and fear. A few people stare at him, wide-eyed, relaxing when he pulls the hood down.
“Any luck?” Sal asks, walking over to him.
Abel unzips the jacket, brushes away the water, and shakes his head. “No sign. She’s not up there.” He hands the jacket back to its owner and flexes his fingers, now bright pink from the rain.
“Ouch, your neck look sore,” Sal says, taking in a sharp breath. She turns to the residents. “Will someone get some fresh water from the kitchen? Maybe a cloth?”
A short man with deep-set eyes jumps to his feet. “I’ll sort it,” he says, moving toward the door to the kitchens.
“It’s a mess out there, Sal,” Abel says, crouching down to unfasten his mud-caked boots. “All the water’s going to the centre.”
“God must be looking out for us,” Sal says. “The rains forced those raiders to turn back.”
Abel yanks the boot from his right foot and pulls off a sodden sock clinging to his skin. Freeing his foot, he wriggles his toes and rubs at his sole, clammy, and coated in blisters. He grits his teeth.
“Looks painful.”
“Yep. That rain’s going to bother me for days.” He rubs at his foot, wincing as a blister pops, clear pus oozing from a sagging balloon of skin. Turning to his left foot, he removes the boot with ease, and drags the sock away from his skin, frowning with the effort.
He looks up when the man returns with a cloth and bowl of cold water. Sal gestures for Abel to lean forward while she cleans the exposed skin around the back of his neck, wringing the cloth between dabs. “I wish Jacob was here,” she says. “He’d know what to do.”
“It’s already starting to feel alright. You’re doing fine.”
“Anywhere else?”
Abel makes an awkward look then nods. “I think there was a leak in the jacket. I’m pretty itchy round here.” He gestures along his chest and sides.
“Take your shirts off then. The quicker we get you cleaned up, the less it's going to irritate your skin.”
There’s a long pause as Abel looks around at all the faces. “But—”
Sal shakes her head. “No one’s going to look.”
Abel nods and lifts the layers of T-shirts and sweaters over his head, separating them and squeezing away the worst of the water before laying them on the ground, cold spreading across his back.
He rolls his shoulders, folding his arms against his chest.
Sal signals for him to turn as she looks him up and down. “You’ve got a lot of scars. I didn’t realise you were so skinny. You should eat.”
“Just clean me up,” he mutters. “I’m getting cold here.” He flinches, sucking in a sharp breath when the damp cloth makes contact with his back.
“Try to keep still,” Sal whispers. “It’s blistering around here.”
A bolt of pain spreads across his back when Sal prods at something squashy. “Damn it.”
“I don’t know what that is,” she says. “When Jacob gets back, we’ll get you looked at.”
“I’ll be fine,” Abel grumbles, reaching down for his clothes. He glances at Sal, holding her gaze for a long moment, and then looks down. “Thanks.” He catches David grinning at him, and frowns.
Sal takes his hand and offers him a smile. “You can get dressed now.”
Abel pulls on his clothes and goes over to the door. “I’m worried about Sis.”
“If there’s one person here who can improvise, it’s her. God has a plan for her.”
“Even though she’s a killer?” Abel asks. “What was it about ‘thou shall not kill’?”
“When there’s hope, there’s forgiveness. And where there is forgiveness, there’s redemption. You of all people should know that.”
Abel takes a deep breath and nods. “What now?”
“It’s been a long night. We should all try to get some sleep.” Sal turns to address the others. “You can stay here tonight, if you choose. If you prefer to sleep in your own homes, just be mindful of the rain. I think children should stay here.”
A few people get up and leave, while others stay where they are, rolling out coats as pillows and huddling inside blankets.
Sal drops her gaze and purses her lips. “I fear that we have lost one of our community. I am not sure who it is, but we will recover their body in the morning. I will pray for them as I know you will too. But for now, we should sleep.”
“What if they co
me back?” Abel asks in a low voice.
“In those rains? We’ll be safe until the morning. I’ll get a few people to keep watch.”
Abel yawns as a wave of tiredness washes over him. “I could do with a sleep. Where’s good for us?”
“The traders’ accommodation is free. Just take a room.”
Abel nods then looks towards the door, pulling on his socks and boots. “You ready to run, kid?”
“Run?” David asks, giving a confused look. “I’m staying here.”
Abel shrugs. “I could do with a soft bed. I’m going to brave it.”
David looks across the floorboards. “A soft bed does sound good.”
“You make sure you have a good sleep,” Sal says. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for us.” She leans forward and kisses Abel on the cheek.
Flushing, he leans away and shifts his gaze to the ground. “No worries.” He turns to David. “You ready, kid?”
Abel leads the way outside, running full-speed across the settlement as the rain pours around him, lighter than it was before, his boots sliding against the mud.
Reaching the first trader’s hut, Abel opens the door and falls over Sis’s push-bike, crashing onto his side, writhing with the pain in his shins. Sis sits up on the bed and looks down at Abel. “What you want?” she asks in a sleepy voice, stretching as blankets hang over her shoulders.
“Sis!” Abel smiles then winces. “You’re alright.”
“I came when they leave. I’m tired. Watching too long.” She flops back onto her pillow and rolls over.
Abel looks over his shoulder to see David leaning against the door. “It’s Sis,” he says as David pulls him to his feet. “Looks like we’re sharing, kid.”
9. Meat
Abel rubs his eyes and pushes David’s bare foot away from his face. The clanging of Trinity’s church bell rings out with urgency. He leans over and shakes David’s arm. “Wake up,” he whispers.
“Huh?”
“Wake up.”
“Wha—” David sits up and slides his feet over the edge of the bed, yawning. “What’s that ringing?”
Abel blinks then jumps to his feet, throwing on his clothes and dragging on his boots. “Come on,” he says, bolting outside.