Forgiveness is an underrated, oft-overlooked power.
—AGNES, EARLY WRITINGS
Safe in her sister’s embrace, Beth couldn’t have pulled away if she’d wanted to. Agnes reeked of dust, sweat, and exhaust. And yet, holding her was like sinking into a dream. Her sister’s warmth, her sister’s eyes, were the same as ever.
Agnes pulled away first. Like a comfort-starved child, Beth yearned to be held again. She wanted to reach out and stroke the satin ribbon woven through Agnes’s hair. She wanted to kiss her, thank her for the blessing she’d bestowed.
“The Prophet is here,” Agnes said, shocking her silent. “I can feel him.” Her eyes snapped to Beth’s face, scary fast. “Why isn’t he in the bunker?”
“I found him on the road.” Beth shriveled under her sister’s unrelenting gaze. She’d been wrong about her eyes. They were not the same.
“I hit him with Mr. King’s truck,” she explained. “We’ve been keeping him in the church. Cory says he’s not a threat. Not anymore, anyway.”
Agnes’s eyes latched on to the church spire. “Take me to him.”
“Don’t you think—maybe, the bunker? Agnes, can you save the kids?”
“Yes. But I have to see the Prophet first,” she said. “He has to answer for his crimes.”
Beth wondered at the fierce sister-stranger who stood before her now. Where had she found this confidence, this decisiveness?
A cloud passed over the sun, and a dark presentiment settled in her heart.
She set her jaw, resolving to be at Agnes’s side, no matter what happened next.
Cory sat in the back of the church, his feet irreverently balanced on a pew.
All week, he’d been playing watchdog and jail keep. He didn’t dare let the wily Prophet out of his sight, except after locking him inside his office to sleep.
When Beth stepped into the church with Agnes at her side, Cory did a double take.
“Holy shit.” He shot to his feet, then backpedaled. “I mean, holy cow, Agnes. We’ve been waiting so long.”
Agnes’s boots clicked to a stop. “Cory Jameson. I never guessed it would be you. Thank you for helping my sister. Where’s Rollins?”
He jerked his thumb. “I fixed up an old rocking chair, put wheels on it. He’s parked behind his pulpit.”
“What has he said?”
Cory shook his head, bemused. “He hasn’t spoken a word since he got here. All day long, he just… stares.”
“Good.” Agnes nodded like it meant something.
Cory and Beth exchanged a look.
Was it possible her sister had gone mad in the desert?
On their way to the church, she’d claimed Ezekiel was fine and that she’d brought a band of Outsiders with her. But Beth hadn’t seen any people at all. Only Agnes, walking alone.
Beth snuffed out her doubts like they were a foul-smelling flame. She believed in her sister. She had to. And anyway, conspiring with God had to change a person.
My sister, a prophet. She could hardly believe it.
Agnes strode to the front of the church. Beth followed, and Cory unfroze long enough to hurry after them. Together the three of them stood beneath the dangling bronze cross, looking down at the murderer in his ersatz wheelchair.
Rollins didn’t acknowledge them. Didn’t even move.
Slowly and deliberately, Agnes began unwrapping the bandages that swathed her hand.
“Do you remember me?”
He darted a glance. Looked away.
Beth’s shoulders tightened, remembering how furious his lack of recognition had made her on the road. She didn’t want to see this new Agnes furious.
“That’s all right.” Agnes knelt at his side, close enough to touch the wiry hairs of his forearm. Beth felt Cory stiffen. “My name is Agnes, Jacob. My sister tells me she hit you with a car.” Her tone remained gentle, almost sweet. “What were you doing on the road while your people were trapped?”
“My wives call me Jacob,” the Prophet answered, his voice rough with disuse. “You can call me Prophet Rollins. I remember you now. You’re the girl who ran from the Rapture.”
“She ran from lies,” Beth spat. “She ran from certain death, you miserable—”
Agnes held up her hand, marked across the knuckles with a deep purple band of bruising.
Beth sucked in a breath, and Cory put a hand on her shoulder, whispering, “Wait.”
Agnes took the Prophet’s hand in her swollen one. “I’m so glad you remember me. There’s a lot we have in common.”
Anger flared in Beth’s heart. How dare her sister compare herself to that monster?
“God has made His presence known to both of us. For me, divinity manifests in sounds that only I can hear. The tenderest, most loving songs.”
“You’re lying,” Rollins said, but uncertainly. “I could heal with a touch. I cast out demons from the body. I received direct messages from God Himself—”
“No.” Agnes shook her head. “No more lies. I believe you had some power, once. But God never spoke to you. He couldn’t have, because you failed the test.”
The Prophet’s eyes widened. “What test? What are you talking about?” He looked beseechingly at Cory, the only other man in the room. “Get this madwoman away from me!”
Rollins tried to yank his hand from Agnes’s, but she refused to release her grip. The Prophet might as well have been caught in an iron trap.
Good, Beth thought. Don’t let him off the hook.
“Jacob, I understand. For me, the test was terrifying. I nearly failed.” Agnes stroked the ribbon with her good hand, like it soothed her. “But when you lost your power, did you take your frustration out on your people? When you sent them into the bunker, were you trying to have your revenge on God?”
She didn’t sound angry, only sorrowful.
“No.” His voice was hoarse. “I was trying to get His attention. I thought, if He saw how much I was willing to sacrifice…”
Cory hissed air through his teeth.
“God rejects burnt offerings,” Agnes said mildly. “You know that.”
His eyes, awestruck and terrified, were fixed on her face. She kept a tight grip on his hand and seemed to be collecting herself somehow. Watching, Beth felt a twinge of real fear.
“Rollins.” Anguished, Cory exploded. “Where did my father go when he abandoned the bunker? Were you going to meet him? Do you know where he is?”
“Matthew?” The Prophet blinked at Cory. “He washed his hands of this place. Said it had all been a mistake. I was a worm, he said, I lived in the dirt, and I’d dragged him down with me. I don’t know where he went.”
“But then—” Beth watched Cory grappling with this new information. “Did he even try to save my mothers, my brothers?”
An indifferent stare. “He left. That’s all I know.”
“No.” Cory sounded panicked. “That can’t be all.”
Beth touched his arm. “We may never know what was in his heart. You’re nothing like him. That’s what matters.”
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. Politely, Agnes averted her eyes.
“I slept in the forest for a while,” the Prophet continued dreamily. “Then, one night, I decided to leave. Seek a new fortune. See the world.”
Beth wanted to kick him for the longing in his voice. The Prophet could’ve left whenever he wanted. He and his grandfather—they’d invented Red Creek’s lethal Laws. What entitled these men to believe that they, of all people, deserved a second chance?
The dreamy look evaporated. “But what are you doing here, girl? Why did you return?”
Agnes squeezed his hand, though it must have pained her.
“I came to forgive you.” Her voice dropped frightfully. “Jacob, you are forgiven.”
The Prophet absorbed the words like a blow. His fish-white skin, already so pale, blanched.
Beth stared. “You can’t do that, Agnes! You can’t forgive what he did!”
“I could neve
r forgive the crime.” She turned on Beth, her eyes glistening like liquid stars. “But I can forgive the man. I do.”
Even as she spoke, the air in the church shifted, changing. The light streaming through the open door imperceptibly softened, and the atmosphere became vaporous. For the first time in her life, Beth saw beauty in the church. Saw how light glowed in complex contrast with the shadows, shifting and dancing over the hardwood like leaves patterned the forest floor.
Cory’s arm, wrapped around her waist, tightened.
The Prophet sobbed over his hand, still twined with Agnes’s.
Then a stranger walked into the church.
An Outsider man holding hands with Ezekiel.
59
AGNES
First and foremost, love challenges the lovers.
—AGNES, EARLY WRITINGS
Agnes.” Danny shouldered his impossibly heavy-looking backpack. “How could you leave without saying goodbye? And who the hell is that?”
Zeke also glared while Benny climbed his back like a tree. Then he noticed the Prophet.
“Oh no,” Zeke moaned. “Oh no, oh no!”
Agnes hastened to him, rewrapping her hand as she ran.
Holding Zeke’s head to her shoulder, she scowled at Danny. “How could you?”
Danny stood his ground. “Sorry, but we’re coming with you.”
Though Agnes still meant to face the end alone, she felt thankful to see their faces one last time. The sense of her death had wrapped itself around her throat like an oppressive hand. Even with Beth and Cory, she’d felt lonesome.
She glanced at the door and Danny spotted her hopeful, hesitant look.
“Max and Jazz are helping the Captain,” he said gently.
“And Matilda?”
“My mother’s staying with Amber and her baby.” He swallowed, and she saw his recurring nightmare in his eyes like the moon reflected on water. “So, you see, it’s just us.”
“I came, though,” Zeke said. “Max told me to stay, but I wanted to be with you.”
“Ezekiel,” Beth whispered, taking a hesitant step towards him.
Zeke stretched his arms up, and she lifted him like he was still little, nuzzling his nose with her own.
“You can come with me to the bunker door, but no farther,” Agnes told Danny.
The discarded Prophet wept, sniffling. It was impossible to know how much he really regretted the choices he’d made, and how much he only regretted the result. But the man meant nothing to her now. He was only a blotch, a stain on the hardwood floor.
From behind her, Agnes heard a fast, whispered conversation. “Beth, I should stay. Should I stay? To make sure the Prophet doesn’t—”
“Yes.” Her sister sounded relieved. “Someone has to.”
“I wanted to see the miracle,” mumbled Cory.
“I know,” Beth said sweetly. “I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Be careful.”
Cory really loves her, Agnes marveled.
Danny stepped forwards. “I’m Danny. You must be Beth, and…?”
Cory stuck out his hand. “Cory Jameson. Welcome to Red Creek, Danny.”
Agnes felt her sister’s eyes seeking hers. But she avoided them. She didn’t have the heart to explain her relationship to Danny now.
Her right hand throbbed, and inside her, a storm brewed.
Hurry. You’d better hurry.
She set her shoulders and straightened her spine. “It’s time to go.”
They walked through the meadows and fields, past the lake, to the grass where the bunker lay buried. This was the land of Agnes’s childhood, the realm of the wide white sky and bee-spun glades. Hope lodged in her chest like a seed.
“Danny.” She stopped on a weedy rise. The sun played on his hair and she thought he’d never looked so handsome. “I need you and Zeke to wait here.”
His eyes darkened.
“We’ll wait,” Zeke answered for him. “We’ll wait for the twins and Sam.”
Benny jumped from his shoulders. He rolled playfully in the yellow-gold grass.
“I’ll see you soon,” Danny said.
Agnes opened her mouth to correct him; decided to say nothing.
She focused on the buried hatch in the ground. “Beth, you’d better wait, too.”
She didn’t answer right away. Agnes tore her eyes from the beckoning abyss and the sight of her sister’s face, streaming with tears, shocked her.
“I thought you trusted me,” Beth stuttered.
Danny pulled Zeke a short distance away, giving them their privacy. Benny followed after his boy at a loping pace, his eyes tracking a white cabbage butterfly.
“I only want—”
“To protect me, I know,” she scoffed. “Agnes, how can you shut me out again?”
Agnes rolled her eyes up to the sky. No one drove her half as crazy as her sister.
“It’s just too dangerous, Beth. Anyone who goes down into the bunker isn’t coming back.”
Green eyes narrowed. “How can you know that?”
Agnes shrugged. “I believe it. I suspect it.”
“Fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “But I’m still going with you.”
Insufferable.
Agnes put her hands on her hips. “Do you want to die? Is that it?”
Infuriatingly, Beth smiled. “I’m not going to die.”
“How do you know?” she demanded.
Beth pursed her lips, and Agnes remembered her sister as a stubborn, impish child.
“I can’t die down there, because I haven’t seen Outside. I haven’t gotten a tattoo, I’ve never ridden on an airplane, and I don’t know what all is out there to see. No, I’m not dying today.” She shook her head emphatically. “No way.”
Agnes’s first instinct was to argue, but something about her sister’s tone—infuriating as she was—gave her pause. After all, she knew her destiny. Was it really so crazy to think Beth might know hers?
“Agnes. Your hands.”
She looked down. Though she hadn’t consciously stepped into the prayer space, her hands glowed brightly, baring every ligament and vein.
I don’t have much time.
She extended her good hand to her sister, little finger stretched out. Relief swept her sister’s face.
“No more secrets,” Beth said.
“No more secrets,” Agnes promised.
“Beth.” Suddenly, it was hard to catch her breath. She was so hot. Feverish. “Listen. When I tell you to close your eyes, you do it. Promise me.”
Beth nodded, eyes wide.
Agnes’s hands glowed brighter. She shoved them into her pockets. Danny and Zeke stood stiffly, watching them.
Zeke held up a hand, like waving goodbye.
I won’t see him grow up. She panicked. I’ll never know what kind of man he’ll become.
But in her heart, she knew that he’d be fine. He’d have Beth, and his Outsider family, too.
Agnes and Beth walked to the bunker’s edge, turned the shrieking crank, and threw the iron hatch open. Stairs plunged downwards, disappearing into tortured shadows.
Agnes took one last look up at the sky. It was morning blue, with lavender gilding the edges. She’d seen that exact shade on thousands of mornings. This would be the last.
Descending the stairs with Beth at her back, she felt terribly glad she didn’t have to go into the suffocating darkness alone.
60
AGNES
I wish I could tell you that before the end, I wasn’t afraid.
—AGNES, EARLY WRITINGS
The Nest filled the bunker, a crimson forest. Overhead a single light bulb swung back and forth on its cord. Agnes smelled rotten food, human waste, and the Nest—earthy, like unwashed hair. Instinctively, she scanned for the kids. Beth dug her nails into Agnes’s arm.
“What is this? Why are they melded together like that?”
Agnes remembered the theories of her Outsider friends, whispered around
late-night campfires. Jazz believed humankind had disturbed the natural world, pushed it to extinction. Danny believed the Virus was a biological aberration science would soon control. Max simply said, “Sometimes, shit happens.”
The world might never know the truth. Not understanding God’s ways was where fear was born—and misinterpretations, both willful and not.
But it was also where beauty began. The burning human need for faith.
She wiped sweat from her brow. “No one knows why they Nest together. Beth, when it’s finally over, you’ll have to make sense of it in your own way. Everyone will.”
Agnes rubbed her temples. She felt God’s thunderous voice amassing, preparing to speak in this room full of red limbs and gem-hard skins.
“I never told you about Sarah Shiner,” Agnes said urgently. “But there’s something in our history. Something important—”
Beth’s eyes gleamed. “I know all about Sarah. I found her name in the Book of Begats. I’ve been wondering what happened to her after she ran.”
Agnes sucked in a breath of foul air. “She had a great-granddaughter. I found her…”
In the Nest the Burn Squad destroyed.
In her mind, that little girl represented all the pain the Virus had inflicted. No matter what happened today, Petra had torn wounds that might never fully heal. But she wanted Beth to know: One woman in their family had succeeded in making a life for herself Outside.
Prayer space heat swept through Agnes’s body like an arid wind. She doubled over, groaning.
“Agnes? What’s wrong?”
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
“Let’s find the kids.” Her head swam sickly. “I want to say goodbye.”
They inched along the Nest’s perimeter, studying face after face.
Beth and Agnes both fought panic. Crystal skins bristled whenever they got too near. They had to be careful not to snag their dresses on a petrified fingernail; had to be careful, lest their horror get the best of them.
It would be all too easy to fall to the ground and never get up again.
Beth spoke names aloud, like prayers: “The second Mrs. Hearn and her son, Jacob; the little King boy, Joe; Jeremy Sayles; Patience King; Angela Rollins…” Her voice faltered. “Dear God, Agnes, all these kids!”
Agnes at the End of the World Page 30