Chapter 36
Joana was ignoring Lupina, the kingpin’s daughter who she so terribly loved.
They walked alongside each other on the uneven street, some gravel scratching beneath their shoes.
Though she lived across the river now, Lupina frequently visited to enjoy the few pleasantries of her hometown and wealthy friends who still lived there.
Once, Joana had resented that — being just connected enough to this place to dabble in the good but capable of turning away from all the bad, and that frustration tripled with Lupina.
She may not have been responsible for the state of town, but her father was.
Or so Joana had thought; it wasn’t as clear to her as it’d been before.
‘Her dad told me that it was the soldiers who infiltrated the criminals, not the criminals who corrupted the soldiers, not really.’ And so Lupina’s father had, perhaps, simply been carved out of something much larger; Joana could kill him and see that nothing would change.
Removing the dark spot on a fruit’s skin didn’t do away with the rot.
“Joana,” Lupina called again, sighing. “Please. Talk to me.” Her manicured hand came over Joana’s wrist, halting her steps. “I came all the way here for you. I crossed the bridge this way even though everyone is running the other way. For you.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” Joana sighed harshly, then she yanked her arm free.
Facing ahead, down the road, she saw the reddened sky of morning, and she felt a sinking weight in her chest. How was one supposed to live during apocalypse?
How was one meant to continue taking steps, continue all the threads of loyalties and love?
It all seemed worthless now. Slow, she turned to look at Lupina, saw the beads of tears tangled in her long lashes.
‘Maybe I’m lucky.’ Joana had lived all her life knowing there would be no growing up, no elder years; she hadn’t let herself dream.
‘But I know,’ she thought, gazing at the girl she loved, ‘you wanted to go to college, again. You wanted to give it one more try. I told you that you could do it.’ Swallowing toughly, Joana spoke more stiffly: “I’m looking for Tadeo right now.
Can you go?” Lupina opened her mouth. “I’m happy that you’re alive, but you should go with your father.
” Then, before she could stop herself: “I hope that guy you’re going to marry is alive too. ”
Lupina froze, lips still parted, before her brows furrowed and face twisted. “You can’t be serious.” A scoff rattled her before she shook her head. “Joana— I never—”
“You never what?” Joana didn’t want to waste time over this, over their relationship, at the end of the world, but her face burned, and the hinges in her jaw ached.
“You never wanted anything serious with me, I know.” And she turned around, began walking again, though Lupina’s rapid footsteps followed.
“You used to tell me you don’t want to be with me; you want to be a girl.
Well, go be a girl. With your man, with your family. ”
“You’re awful,” Lupina snapped, though her voice cracked, enough to make Joana flinch. “God, you’re so awful. Do you even know how mean you are?”
“The world is awful,” Joana said.
“You don’t even try to understand. If it’s something you wouldn’t do, then you think I’m stupid for trying it.
If it’s something you don’t feel, you don’t even try to understand my feelings.
Everything is all about you.” But Lupina’s voice raised higher, and higher, and she snarled: “And you think I’m such a coward, just wanting to make my family happy, when you shoot anyone your dad tells you to without asking questions! ”
Again, Joana stopped, but this time she twisted entirely around, stepped forward so that she almost bumped into a startled Lupina — “Leave me the fuck alone then!” she yelled now.
“Leave me alone!” Her throat was hoarse, betraying all the rawness Joana didn’t want to feel.
“Please. For fuck’s sake, Guadalupe, I can’t do this between us anymore.
Everything is over. This town, this world, and this — you and me.
” Chest rising and falling with almost frantic breaths, Joana stared at her sweetheart, at her sniffling and shaking face.
“We’re both going to die, and we’re headed to different places.
Goodbye, how many times do I have to tell it to you?
Goodbye.” If Joana had the strength, she would have shoved Lupina away, then ran away.
Lupina, however, took a step back, then a sob shook her, erupted from her lips.
Lowering her head, refusing to look, Joana resisted every urge to run after her, to embrace her, to apologize.
But a knife was twisting in her stomach, digging deeper as Lupina’s steps grew quieter, more distant.
‘My Heaven-bound girl,’ she thought bitterly until her love was gone.
“Joana.” Tadeo’s voice, and Joana sharply jerked her face back up, and there the anti-Christ was — one-eyed, ash-stricken, standing a few steps away.
Almost definitely, he’d heard the argument, maybe even silently approached to watch it happen.
“I’m sorry.” His face seemed tender, pitying, and it almost made Joana grit her teeth.
“Don’t say that,” she replied. “I’m the one who used you, remember?” Then she looked around at the shabby neighborhood. “What is this place? Why did you come here?”
“No reason,” he answered softly, then cut the distance between them. “I just wanted to clear my head.” Tadeo paused before nudging her lightly. “By the way, I already forgave you. I don’t hate you. Maybe you were using me, but— Well, I know that you were just trying to do good.”
Sometimes, his kindness annoyed her, but Joana often also wondered where it’d come from.
When she’d found Tadeo, he had been like a feral animal, growling and biting at the air, hungry and horrible.
Joana didn’t think she’d done much, nothing more than offer a monster purpose, but maybe that was all it took for a beast not to be a beast. “Whatever you say,” she dismissed, and he smiled, weakly.
“Come. Everyone is looking for you. They don’t even know you’re responsible for those angels that just attacked, so they’re not as angry at you as I am. ”
“I… just saw Dina. You were right.”
“I always am.”
Tadeo frowned. “Well, where are we going?”
“Plaza. I have bad news about Father Tono.”
Dead, apparently. After making their way to the rotunda in the park where Tadeo had earlier done his healing, he saw five bodies laid respectfully beneath pale sheets.
Because the Watchers’ strikes had been few, and so targeted, retrieving the victims had been easy.
But Tadeo, soon, learned that he couldn’t bring the dead back to life.
This didn’t shock him, as his miracles certainly should have limits, but it didn’t make the discovery any less painful.
Father Tono had been a good priest, one of those who read scripture and called inequality a sin, oppression a sin.
Tadeo wasn’t certain of God’s goodness anymore, but he’d believed it more than anything just days ago.
And it had been Father Tono who’d spoken to him privately about this when Tadeo first confessed that there was a monster in him.
‘Do good,’ he’d encouraged shakily. ‘Do good, mi mijo. We’re with you.
But remember that — we’re with you, not behind you.
If you want to help this place, if you want to save us, then we need to save you. ’ We all need to save one another.
Tadeo sat before the corpses, and he said nothing for entire minutes after he’d failed to return life to their bodies, soaking the white sheets in blood.
When the crowd couldn’t stand his silence much longer, each began to fidget, exchange glances, then begin to speak to him of their woes.
They were hungry. A supermarket had been hit, and the power was still gone, just as the plumbing was gone.
If the frequent outages of town before this, due to simple mismanagement, were any consolation now: they had trained the residents a good deal to learn to survive a while without electricity.
There were many coolers stocked with ice still, which should last another few days.
There were batteries ransacked to power ice machines, and boiled river water would sustain them, though maybe not for years.
Worn, Tadeo looked to the hundreds nearby, some children at the railings of the rotunda; behind him, his mother in her wheelchair, his uncles, aunts, cousins, and grandparents stood.
Then, an older woman stepped forward, reached over the bodies, to offer a basket of cactus pads, cut from her own garden, some dry beans, and tortillas.
“No,” he’d said, automatically, trying to gently push her wrinkled hand away. “I can't take this, and you're hungry. There won't be enough food for everyone left soon.”
“But you’ve healed us,” said the woman before him, a flood of people pressed up behind her, peering up at their Messiah. “Let us offer you something in return besides our prayers.”
“Prayers?” Tadeo echoed softly, seeing Dina’s face again in his mind, the serene, cool smile he’d had. “Who do you pray… to?” Some of Tadeo's family tried to interject, as if trying to explain what he’d meant for the women, but her face brightened some.
She said, “Well, to you.”
“No,” Tadeo whispered again, though he wanted to snap it. “Don’t worship me. I’m just a man. I’m not God or Jesus or…” He stared at the bowls of food again. “Please don't worship me.” ‘I’m a false prophet. Don’t do it.’
Tadeo’s grandfather stepped up behind him, set his hand on Tadeo’s shoulder, squeezed, and told the boy, “Just accept the food, Tadeo. We haven’t eaten much either.”
“But people will starve soon,” Tadeo whispered. “Welo, we can’t hoard the food. We shouldn’t…” He stared at the bowls, and then he shut his eyes, breathed.