Redemption

Hannah and Beth take a road trip with no set destination. They end up in a small, seemingly charming town with its own rules. Soon Beth discovers that all is not so innocent in the town of Redemption,

Dusk settled in gradually as Beth drove, the colour seeping out of the air around her until only a dull grey remained. Streetlights were almost nonexistent in this rural part of the world, and she could only guess that the forms in the fields she passed were bales of hay. Not silent creatures, ready to burst up out of the darkness and swallow her and Hannah up. She glanced over at her friend, whose back was turned to her where she slept, half-sitting and half-lying, in the passenger seat. The soft drone of the engine lulled Beth into a trance, the shadows turning the scenery around her into a semblance of what it was. Only the road was clear to her in the headlights. The same straight, white line, framed by blackness on either side. That line could lead her into eternity if she followed it long enough, she thought, her eyes drifting closed. She'd been fighting sleep for the last half hour, but had willed her eyes to stay open.
She was dreaming of her grandmother's quilt, wrapped snugly around her, the different patterns in the various blocks of fabric swirling together.
Her eyes flew open.
“Hannah,” she almost shouted, and her friend groaned from the passenger seat.
“We need to pull over for the night. I'm falling asleep.”
The problem was, they didn't really know how close the nearest motel was.
They weren't exactly sure where they were.
Somewhere between Maine and Vermont.
The point had been to get away from it all, Hannah had explained a week ago. Less than a month ago, Hannah's son had been stillborn. The subject was now taboo, and Beth knew her friend wanted to get away from anyone who would mention it. Hannah's boyfriend had moved out, the couple broken and blaming each other for the death. For not seeing the signs, for having something in their lifestyle or family history that could have caused the stillbirth.
After pulling over for about five minutes to rest her eyes, Beth started the engine again. Hannah was even more exhausted than she was, so she couldn't drive. But they had to find a place soon. She started driving again, so tired she felt nauseous.
It was pitch dark when she saw the sign, white letters materializing brightly out of the darkness: “Redemption, 5 miles” it read.
A few minutes later she saw the town lights up ahead. “Thank God,” she said, yawning.
The next few minutes were a chaotic turmoil involving a loud raking sound, the squealing of tires on pavement and the women's screams as the car made a 360 degree turn and slammed into a fence.

A woman's soft humming woke Beth from a dreamless sleep. Her entire body ached.
“Where am I?” she asked.
The woman lifted her bonneted head from her needlework.
“Redemption,” she smiled.
Hannah had been more badly injured than she was, and the old woman led Beth to an adjoining room where her friend lay. Her face was bruised where the air bag had hit her left side. She'd been slumped low in her seat when they crashed, and her ribs were probably bruised as well.
Another bonetted woman was helping Hannah sit up to eat some soup.
“Delicious, thank you,” Hannah said after a few spoonfuls.
After the women had left, Beth said they should go to the nearest hospital.
Hannah shook her head. “That's not for 20 miles,” she said. “The only clinic in town is closed. One of the women here is a nurse, and she's coming to see us soon.”
“Oh...tomorrow, then,” Beth said.
The day was bright and sunny, and Beth made her way to the kitchen. They were in a cabin a that had a wood stove and no electricity, it seemed.
Beth did a double take as she saw five people walk past the kitchen window, roped together at the waist.
“What the...”
“It's their punishment,” a woman's voice said from behind her. “They agree to it of their own free will. They walk around town offering their services to whoever needs it. Gardening, cooking, piling wood. Whatever someone needs help with.”
“What are they being punished for?”
“Different things. Little Robert there disrespected his father. Muriel was found to have exaggerated the good health of a cow she sold.”
Beth shook her head and walked past the woman to Hannah's room.
“These people are nuts, Hannah. It's like some kind of cult. We've gotta get out of here.”
“No, they're nice,” Hannah said, taking a sip of liquid from a mug.
“What are you wearing?” Beth asked, pulling down the blanket that covered her friend. “They've put you in one of those shapeless smocks?” She shook her head. This situation was getting worrisome.
“They had to,” Hannah said, irritation in her voice. She sipped from the mug again, and set it down on the the bedside table. “My clothes were torn. We were in an accident, remember? They had to cut off my blouse.”
“Hmph,” Beth muttered.
It turned out there was no clinic in town. The nurse made house visits, and there was a doctor who lived in another town that could be called, if need be.
But Beth couldn't find a phone, and her cell phone had no signal. Hannah couldn't even find her phone, and didn't seem too worried about it.
“Excuse me,” Beth asked a man who'd walked in, wearing a dark suit and hat. The bonnetted women bowed slightly before him. “Where's the nearest police station?”
“Hello, you must be Beth. I'm Jonah, the mayor of Redemption,” he said, extending his hand to shake hers.
She didn't take it.
“Thank you for letting us stay here and all, but I'd like to get to my car now, and see about getting Hannah to a hospital.”
“Oh, your car won't make it far,” he laughed, and explained that it was pretty much totalled. Someone was working on it, he added.
“Well, I need to get to a phone...do you have phones here?”
No one answered her question, and instead she was ushered back to Hannah's room, where the “nurse” was taking her pulse. A makeshift sling had been made for Hannah's left arm, which had slammed into the car door upon impact.
“A few more days of bed rest,” the nurse said, and packed up her things to leave.
“We need a doctor,” Beth was saying, but no one was listening.
After lunch, she laid down a bit to stop the room from spinning. She'd hit her head in the crash, and wondered if she had a slight concussion. But she couldn't just stay in the cabin all day.
No one was available to take her to her car, it seemed, so she started walking away from the cabin to find it herself.
“Hello there,” she said to an elderly woman in a black dress and veil. The woman looked at her, spooked, as if Beth was a ghost that had snuck up behind her. Beth was taken aback by the woman's vivid blue eyes, that seemed to look right though her, into some other realm. She noticed the cane then. The woman was blind.
“I'm sorry to have startled you,” she said. “But do you know...which way I would go to the nearest garage?”
The woman's expression turned from shock to puzzlement, and she cocked her head, as though listening to a voice only she could hear.
“I'm afraid I don't,” the old woman said, her voice eerily high-pitched. “But all is as it should be,” she added, nodding emphatically.
“Excuse me?” Beth said, then realized the woman was probably senile, or hard of hearing as well as blind.
“Um...thank you,” she stammered, and headed down the road.
As she rounded a corner she saw three children in the middle of the cobblestone road. One girl was jumping rope while the other two held either either side of of it, chanting a song.
“Sarah had a rabbit, and it ran so fast, right through the pasture and out past the town. Out past the town, into the forest, into the forest, and chased by hounds. Chased by hounds, the rabbit was run down. Poor little rabbit, never to be found.”
As creepy as these children were, with their hard stares and dark nursery rhyme, Beth asked, “Can you kids tell me where my car might be? I know someone is working on it, but I don't know who or where.”
The skipping rope dropped to the ground abruptly, and the three kids stared at her condescendingly, as if she did not have the right to interrupt their game. Did they have any respect for adults at all? She wondered.
They were staring at her clothes. She looked down at her t-shirt and jeans, and realized how odd she must look wearing them compared to the plain, grey dresses and bonnets the females of that town wore.
She waited a few beats, but none of them ventured a response.
“Pfft,” she said, shaking her head, and walked past them. One of girls whispered something as she walked by.
“What was that?” she asked, stopping and looking the girl right in the eye.
“You must ask Jonah what to do,” the child said, her authoritative tone ludicrous in her childish voice.
“Jonah. Yeah, well, where might he be?”
The children pointed straight ahead, to a nondescript, white building with a steeple.
“Of course. Why didn't I think of that.”
The people looked to be Amish, or of some belief system similar to the Amish. Their plain clothes, the bonnets, the lack of electricity. She walked into the church, the interior dark. A few candles were lit up ahead, near the altar, where a man knelt, praying.
She stopped at a pew close to the altar, waiting politely until he got up.
Jonah materialized out of the darkness, his smile wide.
“Well, hello, Beth,” he said. “I'm surprised to see you out and about so soon after your accident. Bed rest might be preferable in the long run, however. You'll find we have everything you need her to keep you comfortable until you and your friend have healed. What may I do for you?”
“Jonah, I need to find our car. I really just need to see it, to see what damage has been done, and to try to...” she was going to say that she wanted to find a way to a phone or police station, but hesitated. She had the feeling they didn't want her to leave just yet. But why? Maybe I'm being ridiculous, she thought. I probably have a concussion, and am not thinking straight. Her head did ache and the room was spinning slightly. The car crash was just last night, she thought. Why don't I relax? I can find the car tomorrow.
Something wasn't right, she felt it. But she was tired. Her head hurt.
“Micheal, can you help this young lady back to the cabin? She's not well. Come on, Beth.”
Jonah and the young man named Michael, who'd been praying earlier, walked her to the front of the church.
“I'll see you tomorrow, Beth. I want you to get all the rest you need.” Jonah smiled and patted her on the back. She followed Michael back to the cabin.
The next day she felt rested, and decided to change her tactic. Instead of raising suspicions by questioning everything, she would do as they asked, smiling as she did so. And she'd stake out the town.
She was going to get Hannah and herself out of here.
The sooner the better.
The first thing she did was put on the grey smock that lay at the bottom of her bed when she woke up. A white bonnet lay beside it, and she put it on, walking into the kitchen. She nodded a good morning to the old woman cooking oatmeal for their breakfast.
“I'm so happy you put on the dress and bonnet,” Tabitha said as she stirred the oatmeal. “You look like one of us now. You'll fit in much better. For the time you'll be here, of course,” she added.
“Of course,” Beth said, smiling as radiantly as she could manage.
After breakfast, she told the woman she was going to go check out the garden in the backyard. Tabitha looked unsure at first, but finally nodded.
“See you later, Hannah.” She looked at her friend from the doorway.
Hannah opened her eyes drowsily and mumbled something, then went back to sleep.
Walking through the backyard, Beth stepped over rows of planted vegetables and then walked back up to the road. The silence was broken only by the low cooing of a mourning dove from somewhere above.
A man gazed sternly at her from his front porch as she passed him, Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. Would he tell her to go back to the cabin? But he said nothing. She smiled and nodded, as she'd seen the other women in town do when greeting someone. He gave a slight nod, but still looked at her as though she might not be worthy of breathing the same air as him.
She decided it was safer to stay off the road, out of sight. A field of corn came to her rescue, and she walked through it along the road, the corn stalks hiding her from view.
A farmhouse lay a few feet away, and as she neared it the sound of someone sobbing halted her in her tracks.
Where was it coming from?
She held her breath and listened more carefully. The sound had stopped.
Must have been my imagination, she thought, and started walking through the field again.
There it was again, quieter, but definitely someone crying. As she moved some high corn stalks out of her path, she caught sight of a wooden structure, the size of an outhouse. Someone was crying in an outhouse. Lovely.
She approached the structure cautiously, looking around to see if anyone was nearby. The sound had stopped and now she could only hear the hum of insects and chirping of birds.
“Hello?” she asked, standing a few feet away from the door. “Is anyone in there? Are you okay?”
Nothing.
She walked around the structure and noticed a window high up, near the roof. The structure was at least ten feet high, and there was no way anyone inside could have looked out. It didn't look like your typical outhouse. First of all, it was absurdly high, and secondly, it was shaped like a triangle, the roof peaked at the top. Strange engravings were carved into the wood, she noticed as she peered more closely.
She got closer and pressed her ear to the wood. There it was again: someone was sobbing within, but very quietly this time.
She knocked on the door, and heard a gasp from inside.
“Can I come in?” she asked. Something just didn't seem right here.
“You mustn't,” came the whispered reply, followed by sniffling.
Beth tried the door, and to her surprise, it opened. Inside was an empty room with a dirt floor, and more engravings on the inside wall. A woman in her 40's or 50's cowered in a far corner, her eyes watching Beth like a frightened animal.
“What's your name?” Beth asked, unsure of how to approach this woman. She looked almost feral, like an animal that has been removed from socializing with other animals and people for so long that it could lash out at any moment in fear.
“Margaret,” the woman said in a loud whisper. She seemed to relax a little. “I haven't seen you before. Who are you?”
“Oh, I'm Beth. I'm not from here. My friend and I had a car accident. We've been here two days. My friend is recuperating in a cabin, not far from here.”
Margaret looked stricken as she listened to Beth, and she shook her head and turned to face the wall.
“What's wrong? Why are you in here by yourself? I heard you crying. Why don't you come out. We'll get you back to your family and..”
“No!” the woman said, spinning around to face Beth. “This is the chamber of penitence, no one can leave for forty days.”
“What? That's insane. You can't be serious. That door was open, you could just leave.”
Margaret shook her head.
“What about food? And...going to the bathroom?” Margaret gave her a puzzled look. “The outhouse. Urinating. Et cetera.” Did these people not know what a bathroom was?
“They bring food and water twice a day. They bring a pan.” She motioned towards a corner where a metal bedpan sat. “But...I'm hungry,” she added. “They won't come back now until sunset. They didn't bring much to eat this morning. Or drink.” She looked at the floor, tears spilling down her face.
“Margaret, I don't know what they make you people believe, but this place is not normal. You know it, and I know it. This is a cruel punishment, and inhumane.”
“But I...it's because I didn't attend one of Jonah's meetings. It's obligatory, unless you are sick.”
“Forty days for that? You people really are brainwashed. I'm getting out of here, Margaret, and you're coming with me. After we get Hannah out.”
She stepped towards Margaret and took her hand. At first the woman wouldn't budge from her spot in the corner, but she eventually let Beth pull her towards the door. She wasn't even halfway out when she started screaming.
Beth pulled her back in. “Are you crazy? Do you want to draw attention to us?”
Margaret pointed to the engravings on the walls. “They keep watch. Jonah will know.”
“Who keeps watch?”
“The sigils! They're meant to keep watch, to make sure we stay on the right path.”
“Really.”
“Yes. You must remain on the path that's been chosen for you,” she said, as though reciting a commandment.
“I'm leaving Margaret. I'll be back with some food later.”
She shut the door, wishing she had not stopped at the structure after all. The women at the cabin would be wondering where she'd disappeared to, and she had to find her car.
After she'd made her way back to the cabin and had lunch, she snuck out again, this time sticking to the road.
A boy of about twelve surprised her and himself as he climbed out of a ditch on the side of the road, a gleaming green frog in his hand. “Oh,” he said, and dropped the frog, who hopped off.
“Hello, there,” she said, putting on her most winning smile. “I'm Beth. Who might you be?”
“George,” he said, water from the ditch spilling from his pants and shoes onto the ground.
“Well, George, I'd like you to help me out with something. I need to find my car. Can you show me the way?”
He shook his head, and started past her.
Beth thought about how she could keep him from walking away. “The frog, that was a nice frog you had there.”
He turned around, face contorted in terror. “Please,” he said, “Don't tell anyone. I wasn't supposed to catch frogs anymore. I'm sorry, really sorry about it. Please.”
“Oh, I wouldn't...” Beth thought a moment. “Let's make a deal, George. You take me to my car, and I won't tell about the frog.”
“But I don't know where they took it...I just know where the crash was.”
“Take me there, then.”
They walked about a mile down the road, and he turned onto a path in the woods. After another mile or so, they were on the road that led into the town. Beth even saw the sign: Redemption.
She wandered around, looking for an remnants of the crash. She found some broken plastic, from some part of the car, strewn on the side of the road. Her eye caught something glinting from just inside the woods across from where she stood. When she reached the object, she picked it up gingerly. It was a long strip of rubber, about two and a half feet wide, and maybe five feet long, studded with nails. Some of the nails had bits of black rubber on their tips. She dropped the object and backed away, moaning, “No, no, no...”
“Miss?” the boy said, watching her from across the road. “We shouldn't stay here too long. They might start to wonder, you know? We could get in a lot of trouble.” His voice faltered on the last word, and he swallowed hard, looking around to see if anyone had followed them.
Beth stared at the rubber object on the ground. It was a spike strip, something the cops sometimes put out on roads to stop criminals they knew were coming that way. They had been mostly outlawed, due to the dangerous potential of the accidents they could cause.
Jonah and his town of brainwashed religious nuts had caused the accident. They had wanted Hannah and Beth to stay here. And if they were willing to go to such an extreme, Beth was almost certain they wouldn't want them to leave.


When she got back to the cabin, Hannah was up and walking around, helping the other women put dishes away. Her left arm was still in a sling, but every now and then one of the women would hand her a dish to put in the cupboard with her good arm.
“Hannah, I have to talk to you,” Beth whispered to her. “We have to leave - tonight. These people are dangerous.”
Hannah laughed. “What are you talking about?” she said loudly, catching the attention of the other women, who looked over at them curiously.
“Seriously,” Beth whispered. “Won't you just listen to me for once?” She sighed. “I'll be in the bedroom. I need to talk to you. Alone.”
Hannah finally joined her after what seemed an eternity of dishes clattering together and cupboard doors being opened and closed. The other women had gone outside.
“What is so important?” she asked, sitting on her bed.
“They put down a spike strip, to make the car crash.”
“A what?”
“You know, what the cops put down, full of nails, to bust tires. When  criminals are coming down a road.”
“And you know this...how?”
“I saw it today, in the woods near the crash site. It was obvious, Hannah. They wanted us to crash! We could've been killed!”
“I think you need to lie down, and take it easy. You probably have a concussion,” Hannah said, not meeting her friend's eye. Instead she took another sip from the mug on the bedside table.
“Why are you always drinking that? What is it?”
“It's milk.” She took a sip. “Mother's milk.”
“Mother's milk? Not breast milk, I hope?”
Hannah shook her head. “Cow's.”
“Okay. What else is in it?”
“Milk, honey and some spices. It's delicious. It helps to calm me. You should try some.” She handed the mug to Beth, who looked at the murky, white liquid inside. She took a small sip. It was sweet, but tasted grainy. She finished the mug and put it back on the bedside table.
“You drink that stuff all day long,” she said, eyeing Hannah. “Why?”
Before Hannah could reply, Margaret knocked lightly at the open bedroom door and walked in.
“We should tell, her shouldn't we?” she asked Hannah, and Hannah nodded, smiling.
“Come into the kitchen.”
They sat around the large, wooden table, joined by Margaret and a younger woman named Martha. Beth was alarmed to see a look of disconnected bliss on Hannah's face, as if she'd just been told she'd won the lottery and the shock hadn't worn off. She still wouldn't meet Beth's eye, but gazed around the cabin and outside wistfully, as if she'd entered some kind of paradise.
“Redemption is a town with plenty to offer, and work for those who want it,” Margaret began. “We grow our own food, and supply vegetables and milk to the neigbouring towns. Our milk is known county-wide for its exceptional quality. We are also known for having the second-largest granite quarry on the east coast. Hannah has decided to stay on with us and learn the farming business, and we are very happy to have her.” She paused. “You are welcome to stay as well, of course.”
Beth's expression soured, her forced friendliness transformed into a look of panicked disbelief. “I have a life outside of here, as does Hannah,” she stared at her friend, who just looked at the table. “We have friends, family, jobs...” she felt lightheaded, and the room seemed to tilt slightly. She closed her eyes and opened them again. The room seemed back to normal.
“I have nothing to go back to now, Beth,” Hannah said. “You know that. That life is over for me.”
“Margaret, Martha, listen. Thank you very much, you are kind to offer us a home here. But my friend isn't thinking clearly, obviously. It's been two days since we've been in a car accident. Hannah hasn't even been outside of this cabin!”
“It is you who's not thinking clearly!” Hannah yelled, backing her chair up and standing up so quickly her chair almost fell over. “If I decide to stay here, that's my choice. And you should stay, too. I don't need you making trouble for me, snooping around and trying to find something wrong with this place, when there's nothing wrong!”
Margaret and Martha exchanged a look of silent understanding.
Beth shook her head and went to lie down. She had to think. How to get Hannah out of here. First things first: she had to get to a police station. Or a phone, to call one.

That evening a healing ceremony was to be held in the cabin. Beth felt an increasing sense of sleepiness, mixed with a peaceful calm. Her limbs felt heavy, and it was a struggle to focus on what was happening.
The Mother's Milk, she thought. It must be drugged. She'd finished the mug earlier on purpose, to see what effects it would have on her. And she'd been proven right.
They were drugging Hannah.
The front door flew open, almost hitting her where she stood near the kitchen sink, holding onto the counter to stop the room from spinning. A man and woman walked in, heads lowered, heading to the far end of the front room. Beth noticed a thick, black line had been drawn a few feet away from the back wall, and the man and woman stood behind it, facing the rest of the people in the room.
About twenty people were packed into room, candles the only light. A group of children held hands in a semicircle in front of the man and woman, who now had their arms outstretched, wrists upwards.
“Marjorie and Tom, you will now receive healing for your crimes, since you both have repented.”
“What did they do?” Beth whispered to a tall girl beside her. The scene didn't seem real to her; it was like being in a strange dream she couldn't wake from. Maybe I am dreaming, she thought.
 The girl glared sternly at her, as if it didn't matter what the man and woman had done. The point was, they had broken some sort of rule.
“Seriously?” Beth said, looking around her in disbelief.
“Shh!” one of the children hissed before turning back to the man and woman. The children in this town seemed to have an authority over things. Which was creepy, Beth thought.
Jonah stepped up with a long piece of iron, now hot from where he'd had it in the woodstove.
“No...” Beth breathed, instinctively stepping in front of the two “sinners.”
“Get back to where you were!” A thin woman shrieked at her, the shadows streaking across her face making her expression demonic. Beth shrunk back into the crowd, avoiding the hot iron.
Jonah touched the hot iron once to the woman's right wrist, and then another time to the man's. Beth cringed as she heard the sizzling sound of burning flesh, but neither Marjorie nor Tom cried out in pain. They still held out their wrists, even though the pain must have been severe.
“These marks you bear will be the ligature marks of the righteous, who have owned up to their sins and undergone the healing ceremony,” Jonah said in a monotone, as if he'd recited these lines many times before.
“Repentance is a salve for the troubled soul,” the other people in the room said, even Hannah. How had she known to say this? Obviously they'd been teaching her things about their practices, and Hannah was eating it all up like the gullible woman she'd always been.
“Pain is only temporary, a fleeting bane of our existence,” Jonah went on.
“All is as it should be,” the crowd replied mechanically.
Marjorie and Tom bowed slightly to Jonah and he put a bandage around each of their wrists. It was as if they were thanking him for their ordeal.
Beth headed for the door. She stormed past Hannah, who was a lost cause at this point, and struggled to open the front door. It opened too quickly, almost knocking her down. A heavyset, middle-aged police officer stood in the doorway, looking at her with mild annoyance. His gun was holstered at his side.
“Thank God, officer, you're here.” Beth hugged him, sobbing. “These people...they need to be arrested. They just burned two people - branded them. It's corporal punishment, officer, and it's illegal. The whole town's brainwashed, and...”
“Slow down, honey,” the officer said, gently removing her arms from around his own. He smiled at Jonah, who'd just entered the kitchen.
“Officer Kent, good to see you again. I see you came for the homebaked goods.” He winked and nodded towards the table, which was laden with pies, cookies and other desserts.
“Wouldn't miss a healing ceremony for all the world,” the officer replied, and Beth backed up, feeling like someone had punched her in the gut.
“What? You know what goes on here?”
“Redemption has its own ways. It's been that way for centuries,” Officer Kent said curtly, biting into a cookie. Crumbs fell down the front of his shirt, but he didn't notice, or care.
“Officer Kent, I made your favourite: lemon meringue pie!” Martha said joyously, as if this fact was the highlight of her entire year.
“I thank you kindly,” he replied, and she served him a piece.
Beth sat down in a chair, feeling dazed and nauseous. When the officer had finished his pie, Jonah handed him a box with an entire pie in it to take home, his right hand under the box. Beth noticed the envelope in Jonah's palm, almost hidden under the bottom of the box. Officer Kent took the envelope and stuffed in his pocket, not making much effort to disguise this action. It was as if everyone knew he was taking bribes, so why bother hiding it?
Heart pounding furiously, Beth made her way to the door, pushing past Officer Kent in her haste. She had no more time for niceties with these people.
It was time to get out of this town. She would come back for Hannah later, once she found some sane people, and uncorrupt law officials to accompany her.
As she struggled with the door handle again and finally got it open, she didn't notice the alarmed look that passed between Jonah and Officer Kent. Jonah's eyes narrowed, his lips pressed together into a thin line of disapproval.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“The outhouse,” Beth replied, and bolted outside.
Jonah sighed and looked at Officer Kent. They nodded to each other knowingly, all semblance of good humour drained from their grim faces.
Something would have to be done about the girl.

Beth was running through the woods as the shadows lengthened. If she could get to the granite quarry, she could bypass the town and reach the road from there. The boy had told her so. She couldn't risk the townspeople trying to stop her.
It was getting dark, and she could barely see anything in the woods. She should have waited until dawn to make her escape, but she couldn't stay one more minute in that cabin. Stumbling, she fell over a tree root and onto her knees, her hands hitting the ground hard. She heard soft cries coming from somewhere near the tree, barely audible. Crawling towards the sound, she saw a pair of eyes glinting at her from inside the hollowed tree. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw four other sets of smaller eyes, gazing out at her. An animal, with her young.
“It's okay,” she said softly, backing away from the tree.
A furry creature emerged from the tree. A small dog? No, a fox. It stood its ground, staring at her fiercely.
Beth stood up, brushing the dirt from her knees with her palms, which were still stinging from the fall. She didn't take her eyes off the fox, afraid it might charge her. She walked slowly backwards, until she was about six feet away, then made a wide berth around the animal and kept walking towards the quarry.
It was almost pitch dark when she reached the edge of the woods, but there was light up ahead. A muted, yellow light. She made her way across a field of long grass, the night coming alive with fervent whispers as she moved through it. It was just the rustling of the grass that made the sound, she told herself, although she could almost make out particular words every now and then as the whispering continued. She stopped and listened. Nothing. When she started walking again, the whispering recommenced. A shiver crept up her arms and down her back, the hairs on her arms standing on end.
Almost there, she told herself. To the quarry, and then to the road...
The field crested upwards into a hill, and when she got to the top she stopped dead in her tracks. A circle of tall stones surrounded her. They looked like oversized tombstones, covered with inscriptions. When she peered more closely, she saw that strange sigils were carved into the stone facing. In the centre of the circle was a statue of a woman, holding a baby. Her mouth was open and her eyes wide in an expression of distress. An arrow pierced her heart. An uneasy feeling of grim suffering emanated from the entire place, and Beth hurried through the stones, hoping she hadn't upset some pagan god or goddess this town worshipped.
But she didn't believe in gods. They were a product of mythology, superstition. Something to give meaning to people's lives, something to strive for, to hope for. An afterlife, an answer to the eternal question of why we must suffer, and die.
The light was coming from tall torches surrounding the rock quarry, Beth realized as she approached it. The vastness of the quarry filled her with awe as she came to stand before it, looking down into the deep pit that lay behind a tall fence. When she gazed upwards, she noticed the fence was lined with barbed wire at the top. There was no scaling that.
She didn't intend to. She just had to go around the quarry, on the east side, the boy had told her, then she would see the road.
Murmuring now, from behind her. Was she imagining it? She whirled around to look at the circle of stones she'd come through, but it was too dark to see if anyone was coming towards it from the woods.
The ground was strewn with gravel around the fence, and her feet made a crunching sound as she walked. It was too loud, she thought, and she walked more quickly, before she attracted attention. The place looked deserted, but there could be security guards lurking around.
She was halfway to the eastern edge of the quarry when she heard it. Chanting. It was unmistakable: people were coming up through the woods behind her. She looked back and caught sight of wavering, fiery globes of light, high in the air, approaching steadily.
Torches.
The townspeople were coming for her.
Running now, her breathing becoming more ragged and fast as she told herself to keep moving, no matter what. She wasn't a runner, or a jogger, although she had a regular exercise routine that consisted of pilates, swimming and walking. Her knees ached and she felt like she was was going to suffocate from lack of air, but the adrenaline kept her pushing forward.
When she rounded the corner of the quarry, she gave a strangled laugh of joy, tears streaming down her face. Bent over, hands on her knees, she struggled to catch her breath. Just a minute or so of rest, until she could start again for the road.
Something was wrong. The air was too still, the chanting had stopped.
She closed her eyes and stood up, knowing what she was about to see even before she opened them again.
A group of townspeople with torches faced her from the road about twenty-five feet ahead, their faces still, eyes unblinking. She couldn't make out individual features in the gloom; they seemed like one unit. An army of men and women in wide-brimmed hats and bonnets. It would seem ludicrous if not for the expression of malice in their gaze, fixed on Beth.
“I just want to get out of here,” she called out to them after a few moments of eerie silence. “I want to go home. Please let me pass.” She paused, but there was no break in their silent stance. The flames of the torches flared wildly as a wind picked up from the east.
Beth looked behind her. Just as she thought. A similar group of townspeople stood behind her, torches held high.
She started walking, insanely, towards the group near the road. They would let her pass, she thought. She would just walk right through them. What were they going to do? Restrain her? Drag her, kicking and screaming, back to the cabin?
A woman in the front of the group reached out her hand towards Beth, opening it for her to see the object she held. A rock. A very large rock.
A threat.
Beth stopped, about fifteen feet away from the group now. She stared challengingly at the woman, who didn't move, but met Beth's gaze with an equally challenging look. That was when she noticed rocks in the other townspeople's hands as well.
“Suffering is the path to redemption, my dear,” a tall man said behind her.
Jonah. She shook her head at him, smiling sardonically.
“How very Christian an ideal,” she said. “If this is what your religion is. What's with the wounded mother in that circle of stones? Your own version of Christianity?”
A memory surfaced at the corner of her mind, from her Bible School days as a child. Her parents had been Presbyterians, her religious upbringing full of terrifying stories of fire and brimstone, the cost of disobeying God. Hell, she'd learned, was a place where your soul could be cast for simply doubting the precepts taught you by your parents, your community.
Silence descended upon the place again, a feeling of ominous deja-vu creeping up on her. She was not the first one to be here, she thought, surrounded by these people. Two hundred, four hundred years ago, there had been another Beth, with a different name, facing these same people, wanting to escape them. Ready to be obliterated by them.
The two groups started walking forwards, encroaching on her.
Beth ran back towards the stone quarry. The groups didn't move any faster, but changed their direction, following her towards the rock pit. She climbed onto the fence and hoisted herself up, the thin, metal wires strung horizontally across it cutting into her palms. The pain didn't faze her. Adrenaline spurred her on, up, towards the top. She heard murmuring again behind her as Jonah's group came to a standstill behind her, watching her climb. A man's quiet laughter pierced the silence. It was the easy, indulgent laugh of a parent watching a child perform an action that they knew would fail, like trying to jump for a forbidden apple that lay too high on a tree.
Her palms were bleeding when she finally reached the top, dripping onto her clothes and the fence. She stood up at the top, a deadly bundle of barbed wire between her legs. The wind picked up again, whipping her hair around her face. She looked back, craning her neck to see Jonah and struggling to keep her balance on the fence at the same time.
She smiled at them, then looked ahead of her again, at the stone face of the quarry. The rock looked back, impassive, hard, eternal. Inscrutable. She jumped.
Hannah's eyes flew open. She'd been dreaming, a sweet, blissful dream, one she couldn't quite remember.
It was done, she knew.
“All is as it should be,” she said, and reached for the cup of Mother's Milk.