Lying facedown on the floor, her chin propped on a pillow, Hannah giggled. Her hands gripped the ever- present Rebekah, a threadbare doll with an olive wood face and stone eyes. She smiled up at Nevaeh and said, “Look at my feet.” The little girl’s legs bent up at the knees, and she crossed and uncrossed her ankles as fast as she could. “Is that funny?”
The things that entertain a six-year-old mind, Nevaeh thought. “Very funny,” she said and sat on the rug beside her. She began rubbing Hannah’s back. “Getting close to bedtime, Hannah, honey.”
Hannah craned her head around to look at her. “I don’t want to be Hannah anymore,” she said.
“You don’t? Who do you want to be?”
“Alexa.”
“You were already Alexa,” Toby said without looking away from the soldiers. “About a hundred years ago.”
“I don’t remember. I like it.”
Nevaeh nodded. “Okay, then, Alexa it is.”
“And I want dark hair.” She flashed teeth as tiny as kernels of corn.
Nevaeh lifted a handful of the girl’s locks and let it fall onto her back. “That’ll be very pretty,” she agreed.
Toby gave Nevaeh a double take and tapped his cheek. She rubbed her face, felt a crusty smudge, and scraped at it with a fingernail. Dried blood.
“Whose?” Toby said.
“Nobody you know.”
“You went without me?” Sounding disappointed. “Does Ben know? Is that why you’re fighting?”
“Not with Ben,” she said. “Creed’s the one being difficult.”
Toby nodded. “For a long time. Just like Kayla and Saul and…”
“Shhh,” she said. “Creed’s not going anywhere.”
Jordan got all the dolls aligned and stood on the toy box. “Go,” he said.
Toby raised the beanbag and shook it, closing one eye.
“Hey, batter, batter,” Jordan said.
“Quiet,” Toby said. He hurled the beanbag, picking off a single soldier.
“Oh yeah!” Jordan said. “I’ve beat you like ten thousand times.”
“Right,” Toby said.
“ More than ten thousand. I wrote it down.”
“Show me, then, you little puke.”
“ Tobias,” Nevaeh said. “How old are you?”
“Fifteen.” He grinned. “Give or take.”
She shook her head. “Be nice.”
“Tell that to them.” He cocked his head toward the door. Ben’s and Creed’s voices had grown loud. The accusations and insults reverberated off the stones and bones and drifted into the bedroom.
She said, “Takes a lot to wear down Ben’s patience, but I guess-”
Something crashed in the corridor, followed by a pained scream and angry yelling.
Nevaeh sprang for the door. Toby hopped up, and as she passed him, Nevaeh punched him hard in the chest, knocking him back against the wall and onto his butt. Rubbing his chest, he groaned and said, “How old are you?”
“You know I always collect,” she said and winked. She went through the doorway. Framed by the light coming from Ben’s room, the two men struggled in the corridor. Creed had Ben pushed back into the skull wall and was pounding at his head with a book. Ben had a handful of Creed’s shirt, while the other hand pistoned into his ribs.
Hurrying toward them, Nevaeh considered letting them beat each other senseless. Creed deserved it, and heaven knew she’d wanted more than once to shove Ben’s books down the old man’s throat. But without really thinking about it, she ran up behind Creed and hooked her arms under his. She shot her foot out, striking Ben in the chest harder than she intended, and pulled Creed away. Before Ben could follow, Toby inserted himself between them and stiffened his arms.
“Now, boys,” Nevaeh said. She glared at Ben over Creed’s shoulder.
Sweat glimmered on Ben’s bald dome. The book had opened a small cut at the corner of his eyebrow, and blood trickled over his cheek. He panted and stared Creed down. Then he knocked Toby’s arms away, snatched the book out of Creed’s hand, and brushed past them into his room.
Nevaeh shoved Creed down the hall. He stumbled and fell to the floor between Hannah- Alexa — and Jordan, who’d pushed themselves against opposite walls. He rolled over to scowl at Nevaeh.
She jabbed a finger at him, said, “We’re a family, Creed. A tribe. Sometimes you have to just go along with what the rest of us do.”
Creed ran the back of his hand over his lips, smearing blood. “Not this time,” he said.
“It’s happening,” she said. “Live with it.”
Jordan stepped forward and held a hand down to Creed. Nevaeh knew the boy wasn’t used to strife among them. It wouldn’t surprise her if he also gave Creed a hug and expected everything to be better. But when Creed was up, Jordan simply backed up to his spot against the wall.
Alexa sniffed and wiped away a tear. Creed ran a hand over her head and smiled softly at her. He frowned at Nevaeh, turned, and walked away.
Ben dropped into the chair behind his desk. He pulled a handkerchief from a drawer and dabbed his forehead. He looked at the blood and shook his head. What had gotten into him? He was used to debating theology with the others. He should not have let Creed get to him.
But he knew what was bothering him. For some time, doubt had been seeping into his thoughts, trying to corrupt his convictions the way moisture rusts metal. Creed’s words had rattled him; he’d felt them strike his heart-and had felt his heart repel them. It wasn’t logic combating illogic. It was stone ignoring the stroke of a gloved hand. He was hard, yes; all the Tribe were, they had to be. What he felt now was something different. He didn’t know what it was, but something wasn’t quite right.
He lowered his head. God, is that you? Are you talking to me through Creed? Soften my heart, Lord, make me hear…
But before long, all he could think about were the plans they’d made to attack the city, about their massive strike against evil. He tightened his lips and nodded. It was the right thing to do. It had to be.
His fingers slid under the Bible on his desk and slammed it shut.
[20]
The knife slipped, pinging against Jagger’s metal hook. He sat in a stout wooden chair on the third-floor walkway in front of their apartment, whittling on a thick branch he’d found in the monastery’s gardens. The physical therapist in Virginia had suggested the craft as a way of becoming dexterous with RoboHand. At first he could barely hold a piece of wood, let alone clamp it tight enough to accommodate the knife’s pressure. But now his biggest worry was leaving indentations in an area of wood he’d already sculpted. He’d even mastered using his non-hand to work the knife, which he did to initially shape the piece. Then he’d switch the knife into his real hand to whittle in delicate details.
He blew on the unfinished product and held it up into the glow of an amber porch light. Carved into the branch was the face of an old man-his scraggly beard flowed into the grains of bark; deep wrinkles etched his forehead, formed perfect crow’s feet, and arched from his nostrils to the corners of his mouth. A bulbous nose perched over a grim mouth. Almond-shaped eyes awaited pupils.
“It’s Gheronda!” Beth said, stepping onto the terrace from their apartment. “Shame on you.” She held out a wine glass. When he set down the knife and took it, she filled it from a green bottle.
“A face like that,” Jagger said. “How could I not carve it? I’m flattered you recognized him.”
