Love in an Undead Age, A.M. Geever [best contemporary novels txt] 📗

the Prophet, the sanctuary was bursting with people. The undertones of anxiety and fear that Miranda had experienced preceding the Faith Walk were absent. The inhabitants of New Jerusalem believed there was nothing to fear. Or in some sad, sick cases, anticipate. The nagging disquiet that began when they had been summoned for the sermon had blossomed into full-blown fight or flight. Mario, Doug, everyone in the group felt it.

They tried to sit scattered throughout the crowd to emphasize that they were fitting in and accepting New Jerusalem’s customs, but the Prophet’s Guard shepherded them into the front row, right in front of the pulpit. So much for lessening group cohesion. Miranda sat between Mario and Doug. Mike sat on Mario’s left, Seffie and Connor to Doug’s right.

Even now, in the middle of what felt like a full-blown crisis, Miranda felt distracted and anxious but not about their current situation. She did not understand why the revelation that Mario still loved her had thrown her so badly. Emily had told her as much. She had not believed Emily, but that wasn’t it. This was about her.

She was even more hyper-aware of him now, but it was more than proximity that had her attuned to where he was and what he was doing every single second. He had brushed against her as they went through the door earlier. Her entire body had leaned into it, even though she had not actually moved toward him. She could still feel it, the reaching for him. It was driving her crazy.

As a hush fell, murmurs of ‘All-Father be Praised!’ and ‘As the Prophet Commands!’ began to grow from the rear. Miranda turned around and saw Jeremiah, surrounded by a phalanx of his guard. He looked excited. Finn followed his father, stony-faced and eyes forward, along with his cousin Dalton. Miranda turned to look forward as the procession passed by, praying the dread she felt was only her imagination.

The Prophet strode to the pulpit. Behind him, high on the wall, was the outline of a hollow man. Its white edges seemed to leap from the dark background like a malevolent gingerbread man. Finn and Dalton sat on a short bench against the wall on the Prophet’s right; the Prophet’s Guard stood in a line behind him.

“My Children,” the Prophet called out.

“God All-Father on Earth, Master of the Hollow Men,” the people answered. An expectant hush filled the room.

“It is never easy to be among the Heavenly Father’s Chosen. On all sides, unbelievers and blasphemers will assail the Truth of Our Righteous Judgment. Those of Us who have been chosen must be ever vigilant. The sin and decadence of the outside world will always try to undermine and pervert the holy teaching of your God All-Father. We must guard what We have built. Yet We must also open Our Heart to the Heavenly Father’s will. We must be open to others, as He is to Us, so that We may offer Our Salvation to those who seek it.”

The Prophet paused. He looked from one side of the room to the other.

“Our purpose in building this refuge was not just to stand apart from the old world that Our Heavenly Father has condemned, but to serve as a beacon of His Righteousness. A beacon that will shine so that others might join Us and know the Truth of Our Judgment. It is a difficult balance that We seek to maintain.” Jeremiah reached into his pocket and set a squat red vial of vaccine serum on the pulpit. “But We fear this balance may be in peril.”

Miranda felt the crush against her chest, as if she’d taken a punch to the solar plexus. Murmurs of apprehension filled the sanctuary. Almost instantly, Doug was on his feet.

“That belongs to me,” he said. “It and several others were taken from my things yesterday.”

“You admit that it is yours?” the Prophet said, surprised.

“Of course. They’re antibiotics.” Doug waited a beat before continuing, a note of doubt now tinging his words. “Is that a problem?”

“We reject the fallen world and all it stands for.”

Doug shrugged. “I’m sorry if I offended you, Jeremiah. It didn’t occur to me. It’s just medicine.”

“It is blasphemy!” the Prophet roared, spittle flying from his teeth.

The Prophet’s anger made the assembly grow restive. Miranda grabbed Doug’s arm.

“Don’t do this!” she hissed. “Don’t make yourself the target.”

Doug winked before shaking her off. “If this is a problem, we can be on our way.”

The room grew quiet once more. Miranda could feel the change, the tension in the air. All eyes were on Doug. When she looked around, she saw fear on the faces of the people surrounding them that anyone would defy the Prophet so brazenly. Finn and Dalton, their supposed allies, stared at them. The Prophet’s Guard bristled. Miranda had a sudden flash of déjà vu: a line of police at a demonstration, back when people did things like demonstrate. The Prophet’s Guard looked just like the police had then, right before they started cracking skulls.

“There is but one way to deal with corruption, of the flesh or of the spirit,” the Prophet replied. “It must be cut out before it spreads, as you and your followers shall be!”

Half of the members of the Prophet’s Guard standing behind the Prophet moved forward. Miranda heard footsteps behind and turned to see more approaching from the rear of the sanctuary. The space between her and her companions and the people seated behind them swelled, like an invisible wave flowed between the rows, pushing them away from danger. As if being seated near them was enough to make them culpable too. A moment later, rough hands seized her and the others, dragging them into the aisle.

Doug struggled with the guard attempting to shove him to his knees. Even though the guard was larger, his difficulty controlling his prisoner was plain.

“This isn’t necessary!” Doug shouted. “The mistake was mine! You don’t need to punish the others.”

“They will be as you have molded them,” the Prophet sneered. He snatched the vial from the pulpit, dropped it to the floor, and crushed it under his foot.

“No!” Mario cried, trying to get to his feet. Mike slipped the two guards holding him and lunged forward. The Prophet shied back from the pulpit in surprise. Behind him, Finn and Dalton sprang up into defensive positions. Mike almost reached them before two guardsmen set upon him with clubs. A blow connected with his temple and Mike crumpled, groaning, to the floor. They dragged him back and dumped him, semiconscious, next to Connor.

The Prophet murmured something to the guard closest to him, who handed him a bag. The Prophet loosened the drawstring and dumped the contents on the floor. Red and blue vials hit the rough wooden planks and rolled across the dais. The Prophet nodded, and the guardsmen began to trample them.

Miranda stopped resisting the man who held her and fell limply to the floor. The grip on her shoulders loosened. She pulled free, rolled onto her side, and slammed the heel of her good leg into the guard’s knee. A bark of pain and the man went down. As she snatched the man’s club, the pain from her injuries receded. She lunged toward the dais. A single red vial rolled toward her. All she needed was one vial, for someone to escape with it, and—

Blinding pain exploded against the back of her head, then she was looking at the ceiling. The room spun, and something warm and wet dripped down her neck. She turned her head toward the dais. The vial still rolled toward her. It was too far away, but she reached for it anyway. A roar of helpless fury savaged her throat as a boot crushed down, splintering the fragile glass. Puddles of liquid, all that was left of their hopeful undertaking, littered the dais.

She must have blacked out, because the next thing she knew Mario leaned over her.

“Are you okay?”

Mario was yanked away. Miranda tried to climb to her knees but was knocked back down.

So this is how it would end. The fury, the rage, that exploded in her chest left Miranda unable to breathe. They were going to be killed. There was nothing she could do to stop it. This madman would ruin everything. The world would stay the same.

The Prophet’s commanding voice cut through the noise. “Start with their leader.”

Miranda raised her head. Two guards grabbed Doug and dragged him forward. Another walked toward him, wielding a sword.

“All-Father, wait!”

Miranda turned toward the interceding voice.

“Would it not be more fitting to make them walk with you, All-Father?” Finn asked. “To let them feel the hand of the Heavenly Father’s Judgment directly?”

“We walk to testify our faith,” Jeremiah said. “Not to punish.”

Finn nodded. “Of course. Forgive me, All-Father, I do not mean to anger You. It is just…they have seen Your power, the miracles You have wrought.” Finn glanced at Miranda, then back to his father. “Might not even one of them have accepted Your truth, All-Father, even if they do not yet realize it?”

The Prophet’s eyes narrowed. He looked at his son as if he might turn into a viper, but then his expression softened. He looked at Miranda.

“Our son reminds Us that even We cannot know the heart of another,” Jeremiah said. “We are the instrument of the Heavenly Father’s Judgment, but not its arbiter.” He turned to Finn. “We shall walk Our Faith with these,” he pointed vaguely in the direction of Miranda and the rest, “in the morning. That will be sufficient to make ready. Confine them.”

“As the Prophet commands,” Finn replied, bowing low.

The Prophet motioned for two of his Guard to join him. As he left the building, people began to cry out, “As the Prophet commands!” and “Praise to Him, the God All-Father on Earth!”

Finn called to his cousin and the remaining Prophet’s Guard. Miranda was hauled to her feet. She sought out Mario as she was shoved toward the others. He caught and steadied her.

“You’ve got a