Shaun Jeffrey: Dead World

“Mornin’ Anna. Been to market I see.”

“Yes, but there’s not much choice.”

“Ah this damn weather’s playing hell with the crops. I’d better get out to the gardens and find what’s ready to be harvested.”

Anna nodded and then entered her cell. Although the interior only measured ten feet by eight, every available space had been utilised. Collapsible bunk beds lined the walls. Anna and her husband, Isaiah, shared a large one on the bottom, while their kids took the upper ones. A ladder attached to the wall allowed them access. Paintings done by the children decorated the brick walls and a few wood carvings sat on a small shelf. Clothes were kept in boxes. There was a toilet in the corner of the room which had to be emptied every day — sometimes more than once. For the sake of privacy a screen could be pulled around the toilet. Candles dotted the room, many of them almost burnt out.

A small desk occupied the back wall, surrounded by ancient books. Isaiah sat there at the moment. He was so preoccupied with his reading, head bowed over a book that he didn’t look up when Anna entered. She placed the baskets on the floor and started putting the fruit and vegetables in a cupboard. Most of the food was eaten raw, but there was a communal cooking area outside where they could cook over fire pits.

Once she had finished, Anna sat on the bed and stared at Isaiah. His brown hair fell across his face and he chuckled at something he had just read, his shoulders falling and rising.

“Want to share the joke?”

Isaiah looked up. “Anna. I didn’t hear you come back.”

“Obviously. So what’s so funny?”

“Nothing really. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

Isaiah shrugged. “It’s nothing.” He closed the book and stood up, stretching his arms as he did so. Tall and slim, his fingers brushed the ceiling.

Anna sighed impatiently. “When are you going to get rid of all those books? We need the room and they’re just in the way. You should burn them. At least that way they’ll be useful.”

Isaiah’s jaw dropped momentarily and his eyes widened. “I’ll be calling you Captain Beatty next.”

Anna frowned.

“He’s the protagonist in Fahrenheit 451 who hates books.”

Anna shook her head. “Get a life, Isaiah. There’s proper work to be done rather than burying your nose in books.”

“Reading and writing is important. My job is to teach people.”

“That’s not a job. Tending the gardens. Guarding Sanctuary. Making clothes. Selling items. Cleaning. Those are all worthwhile jobs.”

Isaiah shrugged. “One day I’ll prove to you how important my work is.”

“Well the boys need more of your attention. We never see you. You’re gone before we wake up, and you hole up in here all day.”

“You know my work here is important.”

“And we aren’t?”

Isaiah reared back as if receiving a physical blow.

“How can you say such a thing? You and the children mean the world to me.”

Anna bowed her head and composed herself before looking back up at her husband. “I know you love us, but actions speak louder than words, Isaiah. The things you say aren’t going to teach Ben how to tend the land. Words won’t help Lucy with her cooking; you know those are things only you can do.” She bowed her head again and whispered, “And words certainly won’t keep me warm at night.”

Isaiah sucked in a breath. “I’m not talking about this. Certainly not here. Certainly not now.”

“If not here, where? If not now, when? As I said, it’s not as if you make yourself available…to any of us.”

Isaiah threw his hands up in defeat and turned back to his books, effectively dismissing his wife. Anna sat in silence for a moment. She felt a rush of heat from her cheeks; wrung her hands together in her lap, then without another word she stood, smoothed her skirt, grabbed the basket with the better quality food she hadn’t unpacked, and walked out of the room.

She stormed towards one of the annexes, free arm swinging wildly, fingers clenched into a fist. Sensing her ire, people stepped aside to let her pass. Towards the end of the corridor she stopped outside a door, composed herself with a couple of deep breaths and then knocked. Not receiving a reply, she opened the door and stepped inside.

An old woman sat in a rocking chair below the high window. She had a faraway look on her wrinkled face, her lips moving rapidly as though in a silent prayer. The woman had thinning grey hair scraped back from her face, giving her a severe expression.

“Good morning, Mother Charles.”

Mother Charles stopped rocking and her steely eyed gaze came into focus as she stared at Anna. Her lips continued to move in silence for a moment or two, her stony expression cold enough to make Anna shiver.

“What?” Anna asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“As though judging me.”

Mother Charles snorted. “It’s not for me to judge. That’s God’s job.”

“Which one?”

“The true one.”

Anna stepped closer and placed the basket on the floor.

“I always say exactly what I mean, child. You of all people should know that by now.” Mother Charles leaned in close, the old wooden chair creaking, and grabbed Anna’s wrist, making her wince. The old woman’s grip was surprisingly strong. “You recognise what I’m saying is the truth.”

Anna stared open mouthed, eyes wide. “That’s blasphemy.”

“And what would you call what you do with the priest?”

Anna froze.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mother Charles chuckled. She released her grip and stared back into space, lips moving in silence. A second later, the rocking chair began squeaking again as she resumed her previous activity.

“Mother Charles? Did you hear me? I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” She hated the way Isaiah’s mother could be so cynical. She also hated the privileges afforded her as a member of the Council, such as the better quality food. “Anyway, whether you’re listening or not, I brought your rations for the day. I’ll send one of the children to check in on you later. Or perhaps your son can come and visit for a change.”

Mother Charles continued to rock without responding. Anna sighed and exited the room. The moment she reached the hallway, she leaned against the wall, breathing hard. Her hands were shaking and she let out a little groan. If Isaiah’s mother knew the truth…

Anna set the cutlery out on the wooden table top. The implements were ancient, their dull patina showing the signs of age. A breeze blew through the open arched window, bringing with it a faint, musky, rotten stench. Candles spluttered in their holders, adding the smell of melting wax to the potpourri. Wooden rafters held aloft the vaulted ceiling. Anna shivered. She didn’t like the church with its echo of ghosts.

She set down a fork, jumping when someone ran a hand up her arm. She spun around and stared at Roman Quail, the leader of the religious order. His short black hair framed dark eyes and emphasised his square face. Dressed in a long red robe, he stood before her, his grin revealing predatory teeth.

Anna glanced nervously towards the door. “Roman, please. We can’t do this anymore. What we’re doing is not right. And… and sooner or later, someone is going to notice. If we’re caught—”

Roman’s grin widened. “No one would dare speak out against me.” He ran his hand back up her arm.

Anna flinched, his touch leaving goose bumps in its wake.

“Besides, it’s not like you haven’t been enjoying yourself.”

Anna bit her lip and ducked her head to hide the blush that coloured her cheeks. She tried to pull away, but Roman grabbed her arm tightly.