Hell Followed with Us(28)
I imagine this is what Theo felt as a new death-squad soldier, reeling from a taste of the Flood and desperately trying to keep up. Cormac avoids me, but I still hear him bragging about his rich parents, as if that matters anymore. I ask Aisha about her doomsday-prepper family, and she talks about underground bunkers in West Virginia until she gets distracted by Sadaf. I learn Faith used to be in the coast guard when she goes on a soft-spoken but firm tirade about the inherent cruelty of the armed forces and what a mistake it was to join. We quiz each other on maps of Acheson to make sure we can get back to the ALC if we’re separated. Nick teaches me how to load and unjam a pistol, and I pretend I’m not staring at him more than I’m looking at the gun.
Nobody notices I’m only taking half my allotted water rations and barely any food. The pantry empties quickly. Even when a boy named Micah butchers rabbits and squirrels in the courtyard, it barely makes a dent in how much food we go through a day. Taking even a granola bar makes me feel guilty.
The first respite I get is lunch with Salvador on the second day. We’ve got a back table in the kitchen, and I’m picking at half a can of tuna. The two of us are supposed to be studying Reformation’s floor plans—Aisha found a copy of the blueprints in City Hall months ago, and they’re currently laid out on the table—but I already know the layout, and Salvador insists on a meal break.
I don’t know much about Salvador, and xe seems quite fine with that. My one question about xyr scars is met with a wink and, “Care to tell me why you were kidnapped by Angels?”
I glare.
“Exactly.” Xe leans back in the flimsy plastic chair, gesturing at me with xyr fork. “But I’m curious, so humor me. What convinced you to join? Because the Watch ain’t fun. I’m sure it’d be easier to scrub the floors and let us do the hard shit.”
There’s not much to say. “Nick recommended it.”
“That can’t be all.”
When I frown, xe can actually see it, since eating is one of the few times we take down our masks. I’ve tried waiting around for Nick to eat, but he always takes his food upstairs. Salvador taps at the scar on xyr lip, which has bent xyr mouth into something uneven.
I say, “If I tell you the reason why I’m here, will you tell me about Nick?”
“That’s not fair. Nobody knows jackfuck about him.”
There goes that. I drag my fork through the remains of my tuna. I don’t even like fish, but I haven’t eaten all day, and hunger is starting to make me sluggish. I’m sure there’s some Bible quote that’s woven itself into my skin about sacrifice, or maybe something from High Reverend Father Ian Clevenger’s rambling manifesto, but all I remember is the feeling. Another mouth, more food, I’m sick and shouldn’t bother.
“Really?” I manage. I shouldn’t even be asking about Nick. He’s my commander and nothing else. “That sucks.”
“Well, Erin knows everything about him, but good luck getting her to talk. She’s a steel trap.” Salvador looks over at Aisha, who is sitting on the other side of the room with a book, Faith beside her. “You’d have an easier time getting Aisha to date a white girl.”
Aisha pipes up, “Piss off.” Faith snorts into her cup of water.
I tuck my head in closer. “Wait, she and Faith aren’t—”
“Nope. Besides, Faith is aromantic, and Aisha wants to ask out Sadaf.”
“I can hear you!” Aisha protests.
“So what?” Salvador calls back. “We’re not talking shit.”
I say, “So you know everybody’s business?”
“I do my best. Tomi used half our supply of antibiotics last month when they got a UTI banging Luce, which, ew, why would you. Cormac is a bottom. Erin actually used to have a crush on Nick before she found out he’s gay, and I’m surprised I even got that out of her. Look, give me something, and I’ll give you something. How’s that sound?”
Nick is gay? I rein in my expression before xe notices. I mean, I’d figured he was something if he was here, but…
It doesn’t matter. I’m betrothed. I’m an Angel, I am Seraph, I am the avatar of the Flood. Crushes are a waste of time when I’m just weeks away from being God’s wrath incarnate. Besides, cis gays are the worst. I’ve only been part of the ALC for a few days, and I’m already picking up on strange divides in the queer community. I can almost hear one of the other trans guys mocking cis gays to his friend, wrinkling his nose and whining, “Ew, pussy! I could never!” Like they think not having a dick makes us lower-tier men, like there’s something wrong with us.
It’s just that I don’t get along with the other trans guys here. One turned up his nose at me, and I’ve been too awkward to approach the others.
“All right,” I say. “I’ll give you something, but you have to answer my next question the best you can.”
Salvador perks up, eyes flashing. “Go for it.”
“I said I’m in it just because Nick thought I should be, but—” There are so many things I could say. I could make myself seem selfless, taking on the hardest jobs just because I feel like I should. Or I could hint that someone who forgives me for being Seraph deserves every ounce of myself I can give them. So I say it all, as simply as possible. “They took my dad. I want to make them regret it.”