I’d been raised to believe there was no real difference between religion and mythology, but Whoadie’s words spooked me nevertheless. The verse she quoted conjured up a vivid memory of the cataclysmic fire and smoke roiling off the Crystal Palace blast doors as they buckled and warped under a hail of alien laser fire.
“ ‘And they worshipped the dragon which gave power unto the beast,’ ” she said, “ ‘and they worshipped the beast, saying, who is like unto the beast? Who is able to make war with him?’ ”
When she finished, everyone just stared at her for a moment. Then Debbie began to applaud, and Chén and I joined in. Whoadie blushed and looked down at her feet.
“My uncle Franklin loves to quote Scripture,” she said, shrugging. “I been hearing him recite Revelations since before I could walk.”
“Well, I vote for no more Bible verses,” Milo said, raising his right hand. “That seriously creeped me out.”
Debbie nodded. “Quoting Revelations is probably a bad idea right now,” she said. “I think we’re all terrified enough already.”
Whoadie gave Milo and Debbie a look of disappointment before she replied.
“ ‘He which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart,’ ” she recited, still glaring at the two adults. “ ‘His passport shall be made, and crowns for convoy put into his purse—we would not die in that man’s company, that fears his fellowship to die with us.’ ”
They both stared back at her for a long moment.
“What is it with you, anyway, kid?” Milo asked finally.
Whoadie shrugged again. “The only thing my uncle Franklin loves more than quoting Scripture is quoting Shakespeare.” She smiled to herself. “I seen all those Branagh and Zeffirelli movies about a zillion times each, so I know every word by heart.”
Chén typed something into his QComm’s translator, then tilted it toward her.
“You are very smart and you have an amazing memory,” the synthesized voice said.
Even though his compliment came via a computer, it was enough to make her blush again as she whispered, “Thank you.” She and Chén shared another glance. They seemed smitten with each other already, despite the language barrier.
“How old are you, Whoadie?” Debbie asked, clearly trying to change the subject.
“I just turned sixteen last week,” she said. “But I don’t have my license yet.”
“You sound like you’re from New Orleans,” Debbie told her, doing her best to pronounce it N’Awlins.
Whoadie nodded. “I live in the Ninth Ward,” she said. “That’s actually where my nickname comes from. Whoadie is how the locals say wardie. That’s a person who lives in the same ward as you,” she explained. “My parents called me Whoadie ever since I was a baby. I didn’t always like it, because there were some boys at school used to call me Whoadie the Toadie all the time. But then I punched their fucking lights out and they stopped.”
She said this in such a sweet, girlish voice that I burst out laughing. So did Milo. But Debbie looked absolutely horrified.
“Lila!” she said, wincing again. “Such language, honey! Your parents don’t let you swear like that around them, do they?”
Whoadie folded her arms. “Well, no, they didn’t used to,” she said. “But they both died in a hurricane when I was little, so now I get to say whatever the fuck I want.”
“Oh, snap!” Milo muttered under his breath.
“You poor dear,” Debbie said, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Whoadie nodded and looked away, leaving Debbie to squirm in the silence that followed. That was when Milo decided to try to help salvage the conversation.
“Hey,” he said, nodding at me. “Zack over there thought his father was dead, too—but he’s not. Maybe your folks are still alive, too?”
Whoadie glared back at him, then shook her head slowly.
“They drowned,” she said. “I saw their bodies.”
She didn’t elaborate. Milo was too taken aback to even respond. Whoadie turned to look out the window, and I watched her, recalling what Admiral Vance had told me about not feeling too sorry for myself.
“How about you, Debbie?” I asked, desperate to change the subject. “Where do you hail from?”
“Duluth, Minnesota,” she said, giving me a grateful smile. “I’m a school librarian there. I also have three boys, all teenagers now. The oldest is only fifteen.” Her smile faded. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye to any of them. They let me send my sister a text message, asking her to pick them up, but I obviously couldn’t say why.”
“Can’t your husband take care of them?” Whoadie asked.
Debbie glanced down at the wedding ring on her left hand, then smiled at Whoadie.
“I’m afraid not, dear,” she said, meeting Whoadie’s gaze. “Howard died of a heart attack last year.”
Now it was Whoadie’s turn to look embarrassed. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “My boys are tough as nails. I’m sure they’ll get through this fine. I just hope—” Her voice hitched, but she went on. “When I’m allowed to call them later, I just hope they understand why I couldn’t stay with them through all of this.”