The voice says: You’ve got them now, girl.
Mother Eve says: Let them lock us in. The Almighty will work Her wonders.
The voice says: Doesn’t Sister Veronica realize that any of you could just open the window and climb down the drainpipe?
And Allie says in her heart: It is the will of the Almighty that she has not realized it.
The next morning, Sister Veronica is still at prayer in the chapel. At six, when the other sisters file in for Vigils, she is there, prostrate before the cross, her arms outstretched, her forehead touching the cool stone tile. It is only when they lean forward to touch her arm gently that the women see that the blood has settled in her face. She has been dead for many hours. A heart attack. The kind of thing that could happen at any moment to a woman of her age. And, as the sun rises, they look towards the figure on the cross. And they see that, engraved now into his flesh, traced with scored lines as if carved with a knife, are the fern-like markings of the power. And they know that Sister Veronica was taken in the moment that she witnessed this miracle and so had repented of all her sin.
The Almighty has returned as promised, and She dwells in human flesh again.
This day is for rejoicing.
There are messages from the Holy See, calling for calm and order, but the atmosphere among the girls in the convent is such that no mere message could bring stillness. There is the feeling of a festival in the building; all the ordinary rules seem to have been suspended. The beds go unmade, the girls take what foods they want from the pantry without waiting for mealtimes, there is singing and the playing of music. There is a glitter in the air. By lunchtime, fifteen more girls have asked for the baptism, and by the afternoon they have received it. There are nuns who protest and say they’ll call in the police, but the girls laugh and strike them with their jolts until they run away.
In the late afternoon, Eve speaks to her congregation. They record it on their cellphones and send it across the world. Mother Eve wears a hood, the better to preserve her humility, for it is not her message she preaches, but the message of the Mother.
Eve says, ‘Do not be afraid. If you trust, then God will be with you. She has overturned heaven and earth for us.
‘They have said to you that man rules over woman as Jesus rules over the Church. But I say unto you that woman rules over man as Mary guided her infant son, with kindness and with love.
‘They have said to you that his death wiped away sin. But I say unto you that no one’s sin is wiped away but that they join in the great work of making justice in the world. Much injustice has been done, and it is the will of the Almighty that we gather together to put it right.
‘They have said to you that man and woman should live together as husband and wife. But I say unto you that it is more blessed for women to live together, to help one another, to band together and be a comfort one to the next.
‘They have said to you that you must be contented with your lot, but I say unto you that there will be a land for us, a new country. There will be a place that God will show us where we will build a new nation, mighty and free.’
One of the girls says, ‘But we can’t stay here for ever, and where is this new land, and what will happen when they come with the police? This isn’t our place, they’re not going to let us stay here! They’ll take us all to jail!’
The voice says: Don’t you worry about that. Someone’s coming.
Eve says, ‘God will send Her salvation. A soldier will come. And you will be damned for your doubt. God will not forget that you did not trust Her in this hour of triumph.’
The girl starts crying. The cellphone cameras zoom in. The girl is thrown out of the compound by nightfall.
And back in Jacksonville, someone watches the news on the television. Someone sees the face behind the cowl, half hidden in shadows. Someone thinks to themselves: I know that face.
Margot
‘Look at this.’
‘I am looking at it.’
‘Have you read it?’
‘Not all of it.’
‘This isn’t some third-world country, Margot.’
‘I know that.’
‘This is Wisconsin.’
‘I can see that.’
‘This is happening in goddamned Wisconsin. This.’
‘Try to keep calm, Daniel.’
‘They should shoot those girls. Just shoot them. In the head. Bam. End of story.’
‘You can’t shoot all the women, Daniel.’
‘It’s OK, Margot, we wouldn’t shoot you.’
‘Yeah, that’s comforting.’
‘Oh. Sorry. Your daughter. I forgot. She’s … I wouldn’t shoot her.’
‘Thanks, Daniel.’
Daniel drums his fingers on the desk, and she thinks, as she finds herself thinking quite often, I could kill you for that. It’s become a constant low-level hum in her. A thought she comes back to like a smooth stone in her pocket to rub her thumb across. There it is. Death.
‘It’s not OK to talk about shooting young women.’
‘Yeah. I know. Yeah. Just …’
He gestures at the screen. They’re watching a video of six girls demonstrating their power on one another. They stare into the camera. They say, ‘We dedicate this to the Goddess’; they’ve learned that from some other video, somewhere on the web. They shock one another to the point that one of them faints. Another is bleeding from the nose and ears. This ‘Goddess’ is some kind of internet meme, stoked by the existence of the power, by anonymous forums and by the imaginations of young people, which are now what they have always been and ever shall be. There is a symbol; it is a hand like the hand of Fatima, the palm containing an eye, the shock-tendrils extending from the eye like extra limbs, like the branches of a tree. There are spray-painted versions of this symbol appearing now on walls and railway sidings and motorway bridges – high, out-of-the-way places. Some of the internet message boards are encouraging the girls to get together to do terrible things; the FBI is trying to close them down, but as soon as one goes another springs up to take its place.
Margot watches the girls on the screen playing with their power. Screaming as they take a hit. Laughing as they deliver one.
‘How’s Jos?’ says Daniel at last.
‘She’s fine.’
She’s not fine. She’s having trouble with this power. No one knows enough to explain what’s happening to her. She can’t control the power inside her, and it’s getting worse.
Margot watches the girls on the screen in Wisconsin. One of them has a tattooed hand of the Goddess in the centre of her palm. Her friend shrieks as she applies the power, but it’s not clear to Margot whether she’s crying out with fear, pain or with delight.
‘And we’re joined in the studio today by Mayor Margot Cleary. Some of you might remember Mayor Cleary as a leader who acted swiftly and decisively after the outbreak, probably saving many lives.’