The one woman crinkles her eyes at me and says, “You’re a new one, aren’t you, miss?”
The word miss hits hard, the way Sister Woodside did. A knife between the ribs and into the lungs that takes all the breath out of me.
For the first time in my life, I defend myself out loud.
“I’m not a girl.”
That’s it. That’s all I have to say. I’m not a girl. The world doesn’t fall apart. The woman doesn’t spit at me and call me a failure of God’s vision for my girlhood. She just mutters, “Right. Should’ve guessed.”
As if to cut the tension obviously building in the pavilion, Joey pulls the tarp off the sled. “Let’s make this quick!”
It’s something out of Isaiah 25—a feast of wines, of fat things full of marrow. Cases of water bottles, boxes brimming with canned fruits, vegetables, and tuna, and is that peanut butter? Bars of soap, packs of socks and tampons. Batteries, hand sanitizer, and salt. The plastic gleams hard and sharp in the sun, but it might as well be the shimmer of precious metal.
“This is all we could get on such short notice,” Joey says. “Water, nonperishables, hygienics. We couldn’t spare the antibiotics”—Nick huffs—”but hopefully oxycodone makes up for it. Let’s see the goods.”
Nick nods to Cormac, who offers a bag to the woman who misgendered me.
“Should be seven,” Cormac says.
Brother Hutch. Steven. The rookie. Wedding ring. Three others whose faces I didn’t recognize and should have.
The ears come out one by one. Each is held up to the sun, pinched between the woman’s gloved fingers, her eyes narrowed as if searching for something. The ears look strange all on their own, discolored and rubbery. Like they came from a costume shop and got fake blood all over them. As she clears each one, it gets placed on the bench beside her. A little parade of body parts, all ears, all left ears. Probably so the Watch can’t be accused of doubling the numbers.
She pulls out a mangled, fleshy mess. Brother Hutch’s left ear. Or what remains of it.
“The hell is this?” she demands.
“An ear,” Cormac says. “What does it look like?”
She turns it over, inspecting it one more time. “I’m not calling you a liar, but I am saying—” Without breaking eye contact, she flings it into the grass beyond the pavilion. “Not good enough.”
I almost protest, but Nick says nothing so I say nothing too. He just crosses his arms, eyes flickering shut as if begging himself to keep his composure.
Thankfully, the rest of the ears are fine. There are six now, a little two-by-three set resting by the woman’s thigh.
That’s when she gets to the Grace tooth at the bottom. She hands it over to Joey.
“And this?” he says.
Nick answers, “An abomination tooth.” Not a Grace. Abomination. I tuck the vocabulary away for later: abomination. Leviticus 20:13—If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination. Deuteronomy 22:5—The woman shall not wear that which pertaineth unto a man, neither shall a man put on a woman’s garment: for all that do so are abomination unto the LORD thy God. Mom’s voice, hissing behind my shoulder the way the Devil spoke through the fangs of a snake in Eden.
“What makes you think this is worth anything to us?” Joey says.
“It’s another thing out of the city.” How is Nick’s voice so calm? “It’s what you asked for.”
“For all we know, this is from one of those little—” Joey makes a skittering motion with his hand. “Those little bastards. Not anything dangerous.”