Hell Followed with Us(17)

“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.”

A lot of Graces aren’t actually the massive, terrifying monsters the Angels have adopted into their ranks. Graces like those are a rare blessing, where the mass of mutations creates something useful. Most of the time, your body shatters into something just shattered. Dad and I found one a few days ago: a person turned inside out, lungs bulging as they gasped for air again and again.

That’s when it dawns.

The Vanguard are too afraid to do this themselves.

With all the skulls and flags, the firepower and muscle, they can’t handle what the Watch does. They’re too scared to fight back, so they’re using kids to do it instead.

Nick says, “It killed our friend.”

Silence.

“Right,” Joey finally says. The tooth goes next to the ears. “My condolences.”

“Is that enough for you?” Nick says. I can hear the grit of his teeth, the tension in his jaw. “We’ve done what you wanted.”

Joey says, “It’ll have to do,” and turns to the man beside him. “Two cases and all boxes but the big one.”

The big one: the one with fresh socks sticking out the top and pill bottles peering from the seam in the cardboard.

Salvador cries, “What the fuck, man!” Cormac lurches forward like he’s itching for a fight, and Nick just makes a quiet, broken sound. Even I can’t help myself.

“You can’t do that!” I protest. I turn to Nick. “Can they do that? They can’t just do that, right?”

“Stand down,” Nick warns us.

“One of those ears just wasn’t up to snuff,” Joey says. “Sorry if we’re a little cautious these days. We’re low on supplies too. Everybody is. And we decide what’s worth it. I’m sure you kids understand.”

“We made,” Nick grits out, “a deal.”

“And that deal,” Joey says, “is contingent on you doing your jobs. Look, kids. We go through a lot to get this to you. We’re taking this away from our own wives and children on the promise that you’re making the city safer for us.” I knew it. “We thought it was a good deal at the time. And if this is all we get on our end, maybe our families will decide this isn’t worth it.”