Theo stumbles back, eyes wide, hitting the bed. “Shit,” he whispers, “I’m sorry, I thought—”
“Don’t touch me,” I snarl. “Don’t you fucking think you can.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Just give me some goddamn robes.”
Theo hands me a set of plain civilian clothes and stands a few paces away while I wrap my arms around myself and try to steady my breathing. Breathe, Benji. Keep it together.
“I don’t see you as a girl,” he says, like that’s the problem. Like a cis person would ever get it.
“Stop. Shut up.”
“I’m sorry.”
He’s not.
* * *
Late that night, after Theo has left for the couch and I’m alone, I slip out of bed to the window. I pull Nick’s note from the pocket of my dress and smooth it out, pressing down the folded corners, keeping the writing facedown.
Beside it goes the trans bead lizard. The one he gave me, the one I hid in my pillowcase when we arrived.
I turn over the note. There, in his scratchy handwriting, are two words:
Squad Calvary.
Nick was in Squad Calvary.
I wander out to the living room where Theo is sprawled out on the couch. His lips are parted gently in sleep.
Nick should have killed him.
Lord, allow them injury so that they may turn to You. May they cry out to You. Let their blood mingle with Yours, so that they may be washed of their sins as they pass to You. Let them be judged. Give them what they deserve.
—Angel prayer for the unsaved
The river is monstrous this early in the morning. It’s not as bad as the culling grounds on the other side of campus—in fact, it’s beautiful, the rising sun gleaming gold on the water, the large oaks and maples creeping across the rocky bank. But something can be beautiful and monstrous at the same time. Like Mom. Like the Graces. There are teeth between the twigs only I can see, beside a black bird waiting for an execution. More holes in my head. More of myself eaten away by the virus.
I stand on the riverbank and steady my breathing to keep from collapsing to the stones. I pray, but nothing comes up except Revelation 13:1—And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy.
Hide from the wrath of the Lamb.
Today is the day New Nazareth ends.
The ritual is a private one, meant only for those close to the one seeking absolution. Mom and Theo stand by me while Sister Kipling lingers under the shade of a towering oak. Reverend Brother Ward flips through his Bible, clustered with two other members of the clergy—Brother Tipton and Brother Abrams. I want to hold Theo’s hand, and I hate myself for it.
My bare feet are already in the water, the current eddying around my ankles, and I’m watching where the New Nazareth wall meets the river. Past the wall lies Acheson’s downtown district, with abandoned family shops, boutiques, and all sorts of little things. If you keep following the river downstream, eventually you’ll find the only bridge leading out of the city. From there, Dad’s body. Probably festered and eaten away by now.
Right across the street is the most important. Because Nick promised he’d be there, waiting, watching from the roof of a shop nearby. The Watch promised. That’s the only thing that matters.
The plan is simple. I whisper to the Graces, I rip New Nazareth apart with their claws, and the Watch keeps me safe until they can pull me out into Acheson. Back to them. Back to Nick.
But not yet.