“When the Tribulation comes,” she says with a cold, vicious satisfaction in her voice, “you’ll all be marked with the infernal rabble as prey. You, Nell, Sonia, too.” It takes me a second to remember that Sonia is Glenys. “And you may kneel at the gates of sanctuary and beg till your throat is raw, but there will be no mercy for you.”
No wonder Nell is so messed up, I think.
Before this conversation, I really thought that maybe all the people doing awful things were just being misled by the AI, but I have to admit, at this point, that some of them are just awful people, even if the AI is making things worse.
“The plan was to let Nell see what things were like on the outside—to let her prove her faithfulness. And it was working—she sought out the Catacombs, followed instructions. But you were also there, questioning the word of the Elder, tempting her to destruction.”
I probably ought to keep my mouth closed right now, but she’s brought up the Elder and I really want to know: “Do you know that the Elder is an artificial intelligence? Not a prophet of God but a computer program?”
I don’t see even a flicker of doubt on her face. “All things can serve God’s purpose in his hands. All things can serve the plan.”
“The plan?” I say.
“I was needed for preparations. First at the refuge, then as part of the vanguard, along with Sonia’s mother.”
“Gl—Sonia’s mother is here, too?”
“Yes. If we have to kill you, she’s going to do it.”
“Oh.” I am not sure what to even say in response to that.
“That’s why she’s not guarding you. So you can’t talk to her and soften up her heart. I don’t know that it would have been a problem, anyway. I certainly don’t like you more now than I did before.”
I think of a bunch of sarcastic responses but keep all of them to myself this time. I look at the clock again. It’s 12:18. I wiggle my hands, wondering if I could get the duct tape off if I tried. The problem with that plan is, Ellen is literally sitting there watching me, and if I do get the duct tape loose, I’m pretty sure she’ll just get it back out and do a better job.
I close my eyes and imagine my mother working.
45• Nell •
When we get home, the adults pull out a map of Minnesota and start discussing whether someone’s winterized cabin in Ely would be a good place to go or if heading south, somewhere less frigid, makes more sense. They’re sending out email messages and texts and checking news sites for riots in other cities.
“Why don’t you get some sleep,” Thing Two suggests when she sees me hovering. “You and Glenys both. There’s probably no point in trying to leave before morning.”
“This is it,” Glenys whispers when I close my door. “This is it, isn’t it? It.” She means the Tribulation, and I don’t know what to tell her.
“We’ll be okay,” I say.
“No one’s going to be okay,” she says.
“Then we might as well go to bed,” I say.
Being out in this sort of cold was fatiguing. I am tired and still chilled, but under the quilts of my bed with Glenys next to me, I fall asleep to the noise of the adults murmuring outside my door.
I wake up hours later to a quiet house. Something startled me awake; it takes me a minute or two to realize it was my phone. Someone sent me a text. I extricate myself from the bed without waking Glenys and find my phone where I left it plugged into the charger. I’m expecting a text from Steph, telling me about some new disaster, and for a second, still half-asleep, I think that’s what it is.
It’s not, though. It’s a text from my mother. With a picture of Steph.
Cold washes through my body. The picture was taken in a kitchen. Steph is sitting in a chair, her arms awkwardly behind her, like she’s been tied. There’s a red mark across her face, and she’s not smiling.
Worried about your friend? my mother has added.
I know immediately that she’s trying to lure me in. To use Steph as bait—why Steph is there is a question I can leave for another time. If I ask her where she is, she’ll probably tell me! Not much point in setting out a trap someone can’t fall into. But if I do ask, she’ll know I’m coming.
I can’t text Steph, obviously. I could text Rachel. Will Rachel know where she is, or will I just set her to worrying? Maybe I can ask Steph’s hacker friend, Cat. What was her number? Their number? I try to bring up a mental picture of Steph talking to Cat. Steph used an app, and I saw it—we passed all our phones around a half dozen times today. I picture Steph’s screen, the CatNet app, the chat app …
It’s in the app store and downloads onto my phone. When I open it, I see a single screen with two options: CHESHIRECAT MAY RIDE ALONG and PRIVACY PLEASE. There’s a graphic of an old-fashioned switch like you’d see in a movie controlling factory machinery and it’s pointed at PRIVACY, so I switch it to CHESHIRECAT MAY RIDE ALONG and step out into the living room. “Cat?” I say hesitantly. “Are you there?”
My phone comes to life in my hand. “Nell. Is everything okay? I was not expecting to hear from you,” Cat’s weird voice says.
“Shhhhhhhhhhh,” I say, and then realize I can
