She did not like the sermon. It was loud and muscular and simmering with hate, and she struggled to reconcile it with the gentle conviction of her new companions. She watched Peter and Miriam as the sermon raged on, and she could see a tension in them too. They smiled at the pastor’s jokes, but they didn’t laugh. They nodded at his pithy aphorisms, but they didn’t shout amen. They shifted in their seats and shot glances at Nora, and she kept waiting for them to lean in and whisper, It’s not normally like this! But they held their ground. They pursed their lips and flexed their jaws and nodded.
And then the pastor left the stage, and the music started again. And the music is nice. The music washes away the sermon’s lingering stink, and Nora thinks of her mother’s church, its hellfire homilies followed by lovely chorales, and then fellowship in the foyer, tea and jelly donuts, and the weekly potluck dinners—and yes, the study sessions after the meal, the scripture, the guilt, the confusion—but then card games! Laughter! Homemade dessert! She thinks maybe she thinks too much. Maybe she should close her eyes and plunge into this warm pool.
But as she is bracing for that plunge, someone sits in the empty seat next to her.
Miriam peeks around Nora’s head to see who it is, then frowns warily. She mumbles something to Peter, but Nora isn’t listening. She is trying to decide what to feel as she stares at the side of her friend’s face.
Julie doesn’t speak. She doesn’t even look at Nora. She watches the band play, but Nora is fairly sure the wetness in her eyes isn’t from the music. Nora is disarmed. She forgets her urge to run.
They listen to two more songs together, eyes locked firmly ahead. The first is about war, judgement, the earth burning away. The second mentions blood sixteen times. Both have joyous melodies.
When the third song begins—something about the depravity of the flesh—Julie finally looks at Nora. There is hurt and confusion in her red, round eyes, and Nora feels things she can’t process in this place. She gets up and rushes outside.
She stands in the empty town square and looks up at the stars. Why do they look so big? Like fat globes of white fire?
Julie stops beside her and follows her gaze skyward. The music is muffled now, reduced to a slow swirl of soothing tones. It’s far lovelier without the words.
“Remember when we camped on the stadium roof?” Julie says. “You and me and Perry and the guys from the foster home?”
Nora doesn’t respond. She scans the sky for Orion, for Venus, something familiar to make the world sane again.
“And Perry made a campfire and I tried to roast Carbtein and it just exploded? And the coals slid off the roof onto the gate guards and they thought they were under attack?”
Even the moon looks alien, menacing the earth with its razor sharp sickle.
“And then we got really high and started making up new constellations?”
Nora sighs and stops searching. “Phallus Minor,” she murmurs. “The Little Dick.”
Julie points at a curving cluster on the western horizon. “Is that yours there? Whorion?”
A small smile forces itself onto Nora’s face. “We were so mature.”
Julie lets out a wistful sigh. “I can’t believe I’m saying this about those years but…simpler times.”
“Twelve-year-old Julie would have clawed your eyes out for that condescension.”
Julie shakes her head. “Fucking kids. We really thought we’d seen it all.”
“We’d seen a lot,” Nora says, dropping her eyes to the ground. “But yeah…there was more.”
Julie turns to face her, and Nora forces herself to meet her gaze. “Do you want to talk?” Julie asks her.
Nora shakes her head.
“Okay.” Julie glances back at the church. A tall figure with bad posture is silhouetted in the doorway. “I don’t either. Let’s go for a walk.”
“Where?”
Julie turns her back on the tall figure, and it wanders off into the dark. “Introduce me to your brother.”
Nora’s earlier anxiety feels foolish as the kindly old matron of Redemption Hall welcomes them at the door. She leads them to a padded room full of Mostly Dead children, some free to roam, others strapped to their bunk beds. Addis has not been carved up by scientists or used for target practice. He’s sitting on the floor with the other children, playing quietly with a pile of toys. Or rather, picking them up and examining them like an archaeologist identifying ancient tools.
“Addis,” she says, “this is Julie. My best friend.” She takes a deep breath. “Julie…this is my brother.”
Julie crouches down and smiles, her throat clenching with emotion. “Hey, Addis.”
He looks up from his study of the toys and begins to study Julie. He stares at her very hard, until she starts to squirm. Then he smiles.
“Whoa!” Nora says, shooting Julie a wide-eyed glance. “That’s a first.”
“He’s gloating,” Julie says. “He destroyed me in that staring contest. Not that I stood a chance against those eyes.”
But Addis is not gloating. He is not playing a game. He’s not smiling because he’s in a good mood or because Julie is pretty and speaks to him with respect. He’s smiling because he knows her. Because he remembers a day long ago when her voice reached out to him, echoing through empty streets and piercing the fog of his fever, a ringing rebuttal to the skeletons all around him: You’re not dead.
“Those damn yellow eyes…” Julie mumbles. “What do they mean, Addis?”
The matron sidles up to Nora and clears her throat. Julie blinks out of her reverie and stands up.
“Sorry,” the old woman says, “but we’re settling in for the night and we need to find Addis a bed.”
“Can’t he just stay with me at the Hostel?” Nora asks. “You can cuff him to my wrist. He won’t hurt anyone.”
“I’m so sorry, dear,” the matron says with a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure Addis wouldn’t cause any trouble, but we just can’t take the chance of having the Dead loose in the community at night, no matter how close to cured they are. You understand.”
Nora nods reluctantly. “Yeah.”
“He’ll be safe at Redemption Hall. Our Dead brothers and sisters are as much a part of God’s plan as we are.”
“Yeah.” She ruffles Addis’s hair. “I’ll see you in the morning, Adderall. Be good, okay?”
Addis watches them leave. Julie shoots him a final glance as she closes the door. He smiles again.
Nora and Julie walk in silence. At the bottom of the hill sits the guest housing: a huge, dilapidated manor that Peter and Miriam called the Hostel.
We’re all tourists on this planet, Peter explained. We should never think of it as home.
All the other tourists are still at the service, or perhaps at the “after party” to discuss the sermon, so the house is empty. Nora and Julie’s footsteps echo in the unfurnished rooms. The floorboards groan like weary old men. Finally, Nora unties the knot in her throat.
“Are you here alone?”
They have stopped at the bottom of the narrow staircase leading to Nora’s room. Julie shakes her head.
“Where are they?”
“They’re here.”
“Is…” She pauses, tenses, forces through another knot. “Is he okay?”
“He’s okay.”
Nora nods to herself. “Where’s R?”
“Here. Somewhere.”