She’d meant to keep a stony, dignified silence. Instead, she found herself pleading, “Captain. Don’t burn the Nest.”
He stood stoic, watchful. The cross at his throat winked in the sun.
“It’s a sin against God,” Agnes said tremulously. In a way, she knew, she was delivering her first prophecy. “I think, one day, you’ll have to repent of it.”
“According to your creed, is saving humanity a sin?”
“Our creeds are the same. At least underneath, where it matters.” She flushed, hearing herself. “And burning the Nests won’t save humanity. The people in them are alive, in their own way. That means something. Don’t you think?”
The Captain gazed at her from behind his aviators for a long time.
Shouts carried from the outskirts of town—the voices of his men, jubilant. Agnes smelled smoke. She imagined the face of Sarah’s great-granddaughter, melting in the flames.
Agnes was only human. She wanted to rail, rage, shake her fist at God.
But He’d been very clear. If she failed the coming test, she’d lose the prayer space and the protection of His care—her and Zeke’s only real protection Outside. So she took a deep breath and resolved to begin the painful work of accepting the mystery of suffering—whether petrified or soft flesh, it was all the same.
She thought of Job: Behold, he taketh away, who can hinder him? Who will say unto Him, What doest thou?
“The nurse has made up her mind,” the Captain said at last. “But your brother is only a child. You should come with me.”
Agnes knew he thought he did a kindness. “Thank you. But we’ll be fine.”
He glanced pointedly up at the sky. “You know a storm’s coming. Don’t you?”
She nodded.
“There’s no safety net out here, no one to call if you’re in a fix.” He stepped closer. “Look, this is against policy. But if anything happens, you can reach me with this.”
He held out a chunky black device with a wobbling antenna. A radio, she guessed.
Agnes let his arm hang. “I won’t need help from you, Captain.”
“It’s a hard world, Agnes,” he said gruffly. “Aren’t you afraid?”
“Why do you care?” Agnes asked, without rancor.
He rubbed his stubbled jaw. “I had a daughter, you know.”
She winced. “Is she…?”
His face convulsed. “Every member of my Squad carries a radio. This one is yours.”
Agnes frowned, taking it. “I don’t even know how to use this.”
He put his hand over hers. “Press the button. Here.”
The radio chittered with static.
“For the next three days, we’ll be rounding up stragglers. If anything happens during that time, press the button. Easy.”
“Thank you.” Agnes didn’t know what else to say.
The Captain nodded, turned, and continued down the path. He was going to meet his Squad and destroy what remained of Gila, as God had destroyed Gomorrah.
Agnes stuck the radio in the bottom of her pack. It was noon, and the sky was already darkening with smoke.
With an effort of will, she turned her mind to the test.
She knew she couldn’t afford to fail.
Everyone was assembled on the steps, supplies heaped on their backs in hefty backpacks supported by metal poles. Matilda had imagined this possibility—that they might be homeless at the end of the world—and prepared with tents and sleeping bags in rainproof fabrics.
Danny had a backpack waiting for Agnes. She would carry her share of the food and camping supplies, too.
With pride, Agnes noticed that Zeke had remembered his cooler.
“I’ll take that now,” she told him. “But it’s still your job to remember it every morning. We can’t lose it anywhere. Understand?”
He nodded, fretfully chewing one of Max’s toothpicks.
“Agnes, are you ready to go?” Matilda asked.
She wasn’t ready. She had no idea why God wanted them on the road, what He had planned, or how much more they’d lose before the end.
But she answered, “Yes.”
It stormed twice on the road where no birds sang.
The first was an ash storm. Gila was on fire.
As the fire grew, smoke blotted the sky. Buildings, books, and Nested people were burning. The wind swirled gray specks into their mouths.
Agnes wept silently for the little girl in the Nest.
Don’t worry about me, she heard a voice whisper in her mind. You gave me your blessing. Remember?
But what could a blessing matter now?
“Cover your faces!” Matilda shouted, passing out rags. “Smoke inhalation can kill.”
“What about Benny?” Zeke called. Matilda didn’t hear him at first. He screamed it again, louder. “What about Benny?”
Originally, they’d planned to stuff the cat into one of their backpacks, but Zeke had refused. Now Benny rode on his shoulders, slung around his neck like an ugly, orange scarf.
“He’ll be fine!” Matilda cupped her hands to yell. “We’ll be out from under it soon.”
Agnes hoped so. The prayer space felt wild, out of control. It shot ahead of her, pressuring, demanding, Hurry up, hurry up!
I’m not the one in charge anymore. The thought shivered across her mind. Maybe I never was.
The second storm came near nightfall. Matilda was so anxious to get to Mercy Hospital she hadn’t allowed them to stop except for water breaks.
“Every minute we waste out here, we’re risking our lives,” she said. “Infected creatures, thieves…”
“We know, Mom,” Danny grumbled, his hair gray from the ash. “We get it, okay?”
The rainstorm didn’t start slowly, but came thundering, sudden and hard.
Matilda ordered Max and Danny to plant stakes for tents. Benny yowled, struggling on Zeke’s neck. The boys fought to raise shelter, but they couldn’t do it. The rain was too harsh, and lightning ripped the sky.
In the midst of it all, God spoke. That still, small voice again, clear as a glassy lake. But not without its sense of danger.
A cave. You’ll find it in the wash ahead.
Agnes stumbled, and Jazz caught her elbow. “Are you okay?”
She wasn’t. The breath in her chest felt dagger sharp. She’d never get used to hearing God speak in words.
Nor did she dare disobey.
“Watch Zeke!” she shouted. “Don’t let the cat get away from him.”
“Where are you going?” Jazz called after her.
“To find shelter!”
She left Jazz with her mouth hanging open. Asking, Where?
While the Outsiders struggled, Agnes pushed the prayer space as far as she could. A headache pierced her temple. The prayer space grew stronger every day, and conjuring it now felt frightful, like playing with fire. But what choice did she have?
Her power led her to a steep hill, and to a rain-swollen ravine, now running briskly as a river. She pushed a tendril of hair out of her eyes, listening hard.
There. She heard the cool echoes of a limestone cave, hidden by brambles below.
“Danny! Matilda!” she called excitedly. “Look over here!”
Thunder cracked, juddering her bones. Blue lightning shattered the sky.
Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe.
Her test, she knew, would take place down by that cave, tonight or tomorrow. A powerful shiver worked through her, chattering her teeth and rattling her bones.
What on earth was she doing, putting herself at God’s mercy, knowing full well what horrors He was capable of?
Wind roared, and a powerful sensation of vertigo surged through her. She felt she stood on destiny’s cliff, seconds away from falling, tumbling down.
40
BETH
I will send down showers in season; there will be showers of blessing.
—EZEKIEL 34:26
Beth guessed if she were going to reach out to G
od again, ever in her life, it would be now, while she held a dying Cory Jameson.
She felt dry inside, listening to his labored breathing. Too dry, even, to cry. But though he couldn’t hear, she wanted to say something to him. Wanted to tell him, maybe, not to fear the lake of fire, or that he might soon meet his brothers, in heaven. This moment before the gate opened between the worlds must not pass unmarked, she felt. Cory mustn’t slip away without a final word of friendship—or, better yet, of love.
But you don’t love me, do you? Cory had said. You never did.
Her heart ached fiercely, and she was running out of time. She’d opened her mouth to speak not knowing what words would come, when the deep, unexpected voice of a man startled her.
“It’s open.”
Matthew Jameson.
Beth froze.
What was her husband doing, outside the bunker? And what did it mean for her brother and sisters?
“It’s probably nothing,” Mr. Hearn said.
And Beth was galvanized. Patriarchs were coming, her husband among them. How long did she have before they found her? A minute? Less?
She supposed Matthew had loved Cory as much as he was able, but if he’d gotten his way, he would’ve made his son into another monster. He didn’t deserve to see him again—not even as he lay dying.
She set her teeth and slid her arms beneath Cory’s shoulders, dragging him just as she’d dragged him out of the woods. If someone came inside now, she’d be caught. Her only chance was to move fast.
“Feels haunted,” said Mr. Hearn.
“Yes,” Matthew said, heavily. “It does.”
Beth hastily slid Cory down the aisle, heading for the basement door.
From outside, she heard a crushing sound, someone collapsing an aluminum can in his fist. She had no idea how she was going to get Cory down the basement stairs.
“Matthew.” The voices were inside now, echoing in the rafters. “I think someone’s been living in here. See that?”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
She’d left their blankets and supplies behind.
Look, God, I’m not sure I like you very much and I’m positive you don’t like me. But if these patriarchs don’t find us, I promise to reconsider our whole relationship.
It was possibly the sorriest prayer anyone had uttered in the history of the world, yet she drew some kind of strength from it. She managed to sling Cory’s arm over her shoulder and navigate his weight with her hip, pushing and guiding him down the stairs almost like he was walking. Her arms strained and sweat bulleted every bare inch of her skin, but she was doing it.
At the bottom of the steps, her vision swam.
The dark. It felt just like going down into the bunker.
The sound of footsteps made Beth glance up, sharply pulling a tendon in her neck. Cory was slipping lower. Soon his weight would be too much.
Any moment now, Matthew Jameson was going to open the basement door.
The storage pantry. There wasn’t much room, but it was their only chance.
The door at the top of the stairs opened with a stuttering creak.
Beth threw herself and Cory inside.
It was hard to say what was more terrible—the tight, enclosed pantry or the sound of her husband searching for them.
Such a waste to expend this energy trying to hide, Beth thought sadly, such a waste because of course he was going to check the pantry. Had she been expecting a miracle, or was she just plain stupid, or what?
Her hands sought Cory’s face. She felt his cheek, her eyes straining against the dark. He was cold as ice.
A bang in the basement. “Darn it!” barked Mr. Jameson.
As he shuffled around the room, she realized she had one advantage. Like every other man in Red Creek, he’d never been in the basement kitchen before. But Beth had spent hours down here, baking baptismal cookies and funeral cakes under the stern direction of Mrs. King. The pantry was slight, no more than a cupboard tucked between the range and the wall, and he might not realize it was there.
He really might not.
He was close enough now she could hear him breathing.
Oh, why couldn’t he just leave her alone? All she wanted was to grieve for the dying boy in her arms.
“Cory?” Matthew whispered, and Beth went rigid. “Cory, if you’re there, I’m not angry. I want you to know that.” His breaths, closer. And his voice, tender as she’d never heard it.
“If you’re here, please answer.” His voice cracked. Was he—sobbing? “Maybe we did wrong, angered God somehow. I don’t know. But the faithful are so very sick. Red and hard, like demons. I had no choice but to flee. I want you to know that.”
Beth held her breath, her throat thick. She’d known in her heart the bunker was a death sentence. Yet hearing the words aloud shattered a hope she hadn’t known she still held. She covered her mouth with her hand, her elbow resting on poor Cory’s sternum.
My family. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, to keep herself from wailing. My family.
“You always were my favorite child, Cory. Well. Wherever you are, I hope you know you’ll always have my blessing.”
Matthew came closer, closer—then backed away.
He hadn’t discovered them. A moment later, she heard his footsteps climbing the stairs.
You’ll always have my blessing.
It rang a bell, those words. They rang deep in the open wound of her soul—that echoing, grief-struck place.
Sam and the twins, sick unto death. And Cory, blood poisoned in her arms.
Blessing, blessing.
When she was sure he’d gone, Beth pushed open the pantry door, letting its rusty hinges whine. In the dark, with the only sound the roaring of blood in her ears, she thought of Agnes, who’d blessed her, once.
You have my blessing, Beth Ann. Her sister had spoken in the strangest voice—deep and low, almost sacred. God bless you in your time of need.
Beth touched her cheek where her sister had kissed it, thinking she’d never been more in need than she was now—never more alone.
When she took her fingers away, a miracle. Her own slender fingers glowed, physically glowed, like small embers. Soon color and heat consumed her whole hand. She realized with a start that she wasn’t breathing.
“My God,” she whispered.
Her hand shone translucent, reddish, like she’d pressed the head of a flashlight against her palm and flooded her skin’s tissue with light. Only no external source was responsible for this radiance. No source, anyway, that Beth could see.
But I laid my hands upon her head and they glowed crimson, a blessed, holy color, the Prophet had written in his diary. Her sickness, like a demon, cast out.
Agnes hadn’t entirely abandoned her, after all. She’d left her with this blessing, and it was powerful. Was it really so unbelievable that a miracle could happen in this church? Was it really so strange that her sister might still be protecting her, even now?
Maybe. But she cared for Cory too much to let him go without a fight. Caring for him in this church was the best thing she’d ever done. The most selfless, loving thing.
And she had nothing left, anymore, to lose.
“I love you, Cory,” she whispered.
The words weren’t true until they struck the air like a match, and then, there was nothing truer. All of a sudden, she could feel God—or something like Him—hovering in the air. All her heart’s spaces filled with love for the boy in her arms, and for her lost sister, too. Hadn’t she always suspected that Agnes’s quiet, calm love was vastly more potent than all the Prophets’ hate combined?
All she had to do was imagine her standing there.
Agnes.
For the first time in a long time, Beth wasn’t afraid.
She placed her glowing hands over Cory’s thigh, over his festering wound. She braced herself for nothing. Or, just possibly—please, God—for something huge.
41
AGNES
But
your message burns in my heart and bones, and I cannot keep silent.
—JEREMIAH 20:9
Sunday morning. Exactly one week since she’d run away. Agnes opened her eyes in the cave where they’d sheltered, sensing her time had come.
I could lose the prayer space today. I really could.
Her heart sank like a stone, contemplating the unbearable loss. She turned towards the light streaming through the cave’s entrance, soft and misted after the rain. She hoped to face her test before the others woke.
But God, she’d never been so afraid. Not even standing at the bunker door.
Jeremiah Rollins. I know what your test looked like.
Seeing Sarah Shiner, desire overwhelmed him.
Jacob Rollins. I can guess your test, too.
The Prophet was rumored to be a harsh man, especially when it came to his less obedient wives.
But for herself, what would temptation look like? What bright, shiny apple would God hang from His forbidden tree?
“Agnes? Where are you going?” Sleepy-eyed Zeke sat up under the cave’s low ceiling, arms wrapped tightly around Benny.
“There’s something I have to do,” she whispered to him. “Alone.”
She motioned to the others, still sprawled sleeping across the limestone earth. Danny used his backpack for a pillow; Matilda clutched the barrel of her rifle. Max and Jazz curled into each other, as Mary and Faith used to do.
“Something secret?” He was suddenly alert. “Can I come, too?”
She wished she could take him. There was something unutterably lonely about going to face her mysterious God.
But she shook her head. “Not this time.”
He looked warily at the streaming sunlight. “What if there are red creatures outside?”
She leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “I’ll tell you a secret. Red creatures are afraid of me.”
His eyes widened. “How come?”
She winked. “I’ll tell you as soon as I know.”
And that’s when Agnes realized that, come hell or high water, she meant to succeed. The prayer space had become as precious to her as her own life, her own private font of miracles, and so, she determined that she wouldn’t lose it. Not for anything.
Agnes at the End of the World Page 22