Helmud on his back. “Say it for them. Tell ’em.”
Helmud shakes his head. He doesn’t want to hear it.
The girl tucks the boat in her pocket and looks at all of them. “We want our son returned,” she says, her lips pursed as if her mouth doesn’t open all the way.
Pressia nods, encouraging Wilda to continue.
“This girl is proof that we can save you all,” she says and then pulls her lips into a thin tight line, her chin to her chest. Pressia is alarmed by how a face that’s so perfect can look so anguished. Wilda’s cheeks flush and stiffen. Her lips look as hard as knuckles. Still, more words come. “If you ignore our plea, we will kill our hostages . . .” She squeezes her eyes shut, shakes her head wildly back and forth. She doesn’t want to say another word, but they’re in her throat, working her lips. “One at a time.” She starts to lift her right hand, but she grips her own wrist, stopping herself, and starts to sob.
“It’s okay,” Pressia says. She looks at El Capitan and Margit. “Tell her she can stop.”
“Stop!” Helmud says, rubbing his ears.
“But she can’t,” El Capitan says. “She’s not programmed to stop.”
Even though Wilda looks at Pressia wide-eyed, pleadingly, the girl still wrestles her arm from her own grip and makes a small cross on the center of her chest then marks it with a circle.
“The New Message,” El Capitan says wearily.
“What does it mean, They can save us all ?” Pressia never got to be a girl like this—without scars and marks and fusings. This was denied her. They made this girl Pure. Could Pressia have her Purity back? Could she one day see her hand—her real bare hand—again? Could the crescent-shaped burn on her face be erased? What about Bradwell’s birds? What if El Capitan and Helmud could be their own people?
“Hostages, Pressia!” Bradwell says. “They’re going to kill people.” Pressia’s embarrassed that her first thought was of being made Pure again, but doesn’t like Bradwell correcting her either. He puts his hand on the curved wall of the culvert and shakes his head.
Margit says, “They’re going to save us. The hostages will be made new!”
“New,” Helmud whispers to Pressia. “New!”
“The Dome isn’t going to abduct people to make them shiny and new!” Bradwell says.
“The spiders,” Pressia says. “That’s how people will be held hostage and killed. That’s why they’re here.”
“If we give them their son, they can make us all Pure!” the blind woman says.
“Partridge,” El Capitan says, under his breath.
The girl stands up, totters a moment, and then starts to walk toward the entrance.
“Wilda!” Pressia calls.
Margit runs to Wilda and twists her elbow. “You can’t go nowhere,” she says. “You got to tell them to save us!”
Pressia shouts at Margit, “Let go of her! You’re scaring her!”
Margit releases Wilda’s arm. Wilda pulls her arm quickly to her chest, rubbing it, and shouts, “We want our son returned!” But it’s more of a rebuke than a message.
The blind woman staggers to her feet and sways as if drunk. “We can be made Pure! It’s the way of the First Bible. God gave us his only son. We must return him!”
“Stop worshipping your oppressors!” Bradwell says. “You know why you’re blind? They did that to you. They did all of this!”
The blind woman hisses, “What proof have you got? I’ve got the Dome itself! I’ve got this girl! This Pure girl!”
“This Pure girl,” Helmud says, his voice full of hope. Does Helmud think that the Dome can save him? Separate him from his brother and make him Pure? Pressia would love to believe she could be made Pure, shiny, and new, as Bradwell put it. “This Pure girl!”
“Shut up, Helmud!” El Capitan shouts, and then all the voices rise up so loud that they bounce around the culvert walls—even Helmud yells back at his brother, “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”
Wilda squeezes her eyes shut
Helmud shakes his head. He doesn’t want to hear it.
The girl tucks the boat in her pocket and looks at all of them. “We want our son returned,” she says, her lips pursed as if her mouth doesn’t open all the way.
Pressia nods, encouraging Wilda to continue.
“This girl is proof that we can save you all,” she says and then pulls her lips into a thin tight line, her chin to her chest. Pressia is alarmed by how a face that’s so perfect can look so anguished. Wilda’s cheeks flush and stiffen. Her lips look as hard as knuckles. Still, more words come. “If you ignore our plea, we will kill our hostages . . .” She squeezes her eyes shut, shakes her head wildly back and forth. She doesn’t want to say another word, but they’re in her throat, working her lips. “One at a time.” She starts to lift her right hand, but she grips her own wrist, stopping herself, and starts to sob.
“It’s okay,” Pressia says. She looks at El Capitan and Margit. “Tell her she can stop.”
“Stop!” Helmud says, rubbing his ears.
“But she can’t,” El Capitan says. “She’s not programmed to stop.”
Even though Wilda looks at Pressia wide-eyed, pleadingly, the girl still wrestles her arm from her own grip and makes a small cross on the center of her chest then marks it with a circle.
“The New Message,” El Capitan says wearily.
“What does it mean, They can save us all ?” Pressia never got to be a girl like this—without scars and marks and fusings. This was denied her. They made this girl Pure. Could Pressia have her Purity back? Could she one day see her hand—her real bare hand—again? Could the crescent-shaped burn on her face be erased? What about Bradwell’s birds? What if El Capitan and Helmud could be their own people?
“Hostages, Pressia!” Bradwell says. “They’re going to kill people.” Pressia’s embarrassed that her first thought was of being made Pure again, but doesn’t like Bradwell correcting her either. He puts his hand on the curved wall of the culvert and shakes his head.
Margit says, “They’re going to save us. The hostages will be made new!”
“New,” Helmud whispers to Pressia. “New!”
“The Dome isn’t going to abduct people to make them shiny and new!” Bradwell says.
“The spiders,” Pressia says. “That’s how people will be held hostage and killed. That’s why they’re here.”
“If we give them their son, they can make us all Pure!” the blind woman says.
“Partridge,” El Capitan says, under his breath.
The girl stands up, totters a moment, and then starts to walk toward the entrance.
“Wilda!” Pressia calls.
Margit runs to Wilda and twists her elbow. “You can’t go nowhere,” she says. “You got to tell them to save us!”
Pressia shouts at Margit, “Let go of her! You’re scaring her!”
Margit releases Wilda’s arm. Wilda pulls her arm quickly to her chest, rubbing it, and shouts, “We want our son returned!” But it’s more of a rebuke than a message.
The blind woman staggers to her feet and sways as if drunk. “We can be made Pure! It’s the way of the First Bible. God gave us his only son. We must return him!”
“Stop worshipping your oppressors!” Bradwell says. “You know why you’re blind? They did that to you. They did all of this!”
The blind woman hisses, “What proof have you got? I’ve got the Dome itself! I’ve got this girl! This Pure girl!”
“This Pure girl,” Helmud says, his voice full of hope. Does Helmud think that the Dome can save him? Separate him from his brother and make him Pure? Pressia would love to believe she could be made Pure, shiny, and new, as Bradwell put it. “This Pure girl!”
“Shut up, Helmud!” El Capitan shouts, and then all the voices rise up so loud that they bounce around the culvert walls—even Helmud yells back at his brother, “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”
Wilda squeezes her eyes shut
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