“The world is awful,” Joana said.
“You don’t even try to understand.If it’s somethingyouwouldn’t do, then you think I’m stupid for trying it.If it’s somethingyoudon’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 thinkI’msuch 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 Toño.”
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 Toño 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 Toño 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.
Dante was at the outer side of the rotunda railing, crammed between two kids peeking in to watch Tadeo perform his miracles.With his arms crossed, the soldier was keeping watch of the streets, finding them too quiet.‘Maybe my betrayal won’t ever come.Maybe the army doesn’t care about this anymore.Maybe Tadeo will be safe from what I’ve done.’Then, Dante heard the crowd’s awed gasps and shouts, and he felt the children beside him jump in excitement.And so Dante turned, already expecting a miracle; even still, he felt his breath hitch.In Tadeo’s hands, where he’d taken two bowls of food, there were suddenly dozens, stacked over each other, wobbling, beginning to tip.
“Take it,” Tadeo was whispering harshly, weakly.“Please.”But Dante’s face cringed in sadness at the misery in the anti-Christ’s voice.
For hours after this, the stars above town watched the anti-Christ and gurgled; the dim sun had set again, and the blood moon had risen.Tadeo remained in the plaza after his miracles this time, sitting on the grass beside his mother’s wheelchair.He rested his head on her lap, listening faintly to the chatter of humans nearby.‘I’m scared for all the places on the Earth without me.Who will starve off their famines?’He’d heard trumpets when he’d stared at Dina, his destroyer.‘How long do we really have?’How long could he protect his people?
Tadeo’s gaze flickered up to his mother’s peaceful face.“Survive,” he whispered.“You told me that’s all I had to do,ama,pero para que?”What for?
His rest of his family was off with crowds around smoking grills, searing the meats at highest risk of not surviving another day.A finalcarne asadabefore the apocalypse.Somebandas, musical groups of regional music, had appeared, had all joined together.Some of those who’d beenmariachiswore the traditional uniforms, others were intejanasand jeans, others in sports jerseys.Lifting trumpets to their mouths, strumming guitars, and beating drums — the bands played for their families who’d come to listen and for all the other survivors.
“It’s all my fault,” Tadeo whispered to her.“I love you.”There was a stray dog, wandering nearby, and one of the grillers tossed her a piece of fajita.“I love you and dad.”He nuzzled her lap.“Everyone else too.Wela.Welo.Tío.Everyone.I know how this ends.I know I'm going to burn.But you’re going to go to Heaven.”Closer to the food, some people were starting to dance.“Don't miss me, please.Just… tell dad that I loved and missed him.And I never wanted to do this, any of this.I really love you both—” Coughing up his tears, he watched his mother’s pants dampen.“Neither of you deserved this.God doesn’t give us what we deserve.God doesn’t give us anything at all.Don’t forgive him in Heaven.Ama, don't forgive God for what He’s done.”
The crunching of grass, over and over, approaching.Sniffing, Tadeo wiped at his eyes, squeezed his mother’s knee, then turned to see a cousin walking over with curved, sad brows.Behind her, Dante was wearing his sunglasses despite the darkness.“Tadeo,” his cousin called softly.“I'll stay here with your mom for a bit.Go eat.”Far above, the stars still hung, glowing weak like timid lanterns.
“I'm not hungry.”
