Hell Followed with Us(75)

“Of course, Theodore,” she murmurs. The general disappears into the crowd with his men. “I’ll make up the couch for you.”

“Thank you, Reverend Mother.”

We return to the dormitory, dodging people asking for blessings all the way, and Mom sends Theo to wash up for dinner before sitting across from me in the living room. I’m taking up the couch, staring at the empty entertainment center. There used to be a TV there, back when this was still a college dorm. Now there’s a Bible opened to a random verse below a framed photograph of Mom, Dad, and me. It’s the one thing we were allowed to keep when we arrived.

The two of them are beautiful. Mom in a sea-foam green dress, Dad with his grungy band shirt and dress shoes. They’re both so young, so untouched by everything.

And then me, a newborn thing, cradled in their arms.

“You cut your hair,” Mom says.

I grit my teeth. “Dad did.”

“I loved him as much as you did, Esther.”

The name sticks like a thorn, digging deeper and deeper. “You had him killed.”

“I know his passing pained you,” Mom says with a hint of disgust—how dare you grieve what was always His to take—”but you don’t need to be cruel. He made a mistake that affected everyone, and what happened was God’s will. Do you understand?”

I need to pretend I’m happy.

“I understand,” I whisper.

“No matter what, I’m glad you’re home.” She comes over to press her lips to my temple. “Tomorrow is just the beginning. I hope we can put all this behind us.”

Theo comes back. Even though the food is fresh and greener than anything I’ve had at the ALC—potatoes, kale, and hard bread, all grown and made within New Nazareth—the idea of dinner makes my stomach turn. I shut myself in my room and press my temple against the wall until Theo slips in.

“Hey,” he murmurs, bringing me out of the groggy mess of my head. I’ve tried to pray but nothing’s worked. All I can think of is the congregation watching me with awe, wondering when I’ll bring hellfire raining down on the heretics. “How’re you doing?”

“Fine.” I want to rip out his stomach. It’s right there, his guts under a thin layer of cloth and skin. It’d be so simple. Sink my teeth in and take out his intestines like too many worms stuffed into his abdominal cavity. “Keep the door open, or Mom will flip her shit.”

“She just left, actually. Said she needed to prepare for tomorrow, and I should keep an eye on you.” He sits down on the bed beside me. “Told her I could do that, no problem.”

“She hates leaving us alone together.”

“Well, we are engaged.” Believe me, I haven’t forgotten. “Must make it a little more palatable. Let’s get you out of that dress.”

I hate the way he says it, but I hate the dress more, so I let him untie the back. He pulls it down and presses a kiss to the side of my neck, right where the rot has started to reach, and I let him because I have to. I let him skim his fingers over me because I have to. I let him push my hair back from my face and hold me at the waist because I have to.

He lied to me. Fangs, feathers, and flesh shimmer at the edge of my vision. The red stream blooms on my tongue.

But he tries to pull off my underwear, and I make an inhuman noise, my jaw practically unhinging, my too-long tongue curling, saliva dripping over my teeth. No, no, he does not get to touch me, he does not get to touch me like that.

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.