ONE
CIPHER
There wereno locks on the doors in Promised Land, an observation that shocked and mystified me as I examined the entry to what was to be our new home. We had reunited with the Assholes, and Kitten was checking out our new digs while I inspected the simple twist-and-pull function on a flimsy knob that served as the only barrier between us and the rest of what Brother Larry collectively called “the Fellowship.”
“Deadbolt?” Gizmo asked, having already identified the same security vulnerability as me.
“Yes, for all the exterior doors with door guards as well.” I walked over to a window and inspected the frame where the locks appeared to have been removed. “Windows too, something sturdy that can be drilled into the aluminum.”
“Alarm system?” he asked as he blew a lock of errant red hair that had fallen onto his freckled forehead.
“Definitely. And a way to know if an intruder has been snooping around.”
His hazel eyes went unfocused and a wrinkle appeared on his forehead–his thinking face–likely deciding what devices he’d need to fashion in order to properly secure our home. It wasn’t only the Fellowship members I wanted to keep out, but Rabids as well, who could easily twist a knob or lift a window. At least locks forced them to break in through some violent means, which then alerted you to their presence. The last thing any of us needed was to wake up to a sneaky-ass Rabid munching on our faces. No fucking thank you.
“Cipher, isn’t it great?” Kitten called as he bounded down the stairs like a puppy with too much energy. His curls were wild as he barreled into me and continued to expound, “There’s running water and a wood-burning stove for cooking, actual beds with mattresses, clean sheets, and toilets that flush–you just have to dump some water in the bowl, and out back there’s room for a garden. Macon said the soil is good for growing, and we’re going to build a fire pit too…”
He rattled off a few more of the house’s amenities, and I found myself nodding along with him. This was why we’d trekked our happy asses a thousand miles from Washington D.C. to Bumfuck, Alabama straight through the heart of Rabid Country–for safety and some semblance of normalcy without a police state breathing down our necks.
Hopefully we weren’t simply trading one fucked-up situation for another.
A brisk knock on the front door interrupted Kitten’s rundown. The three of us froze and stared at one another, alert to any possible danger, before I walked over and peered out the peephole–pointless if there were no locks to keep out intruders. A roundish face smiled back at me, the expression made larger by the peephole’s wide lens. A curious neighbor, perhaps? That was probably a thing around here. Cautiously, I cracked open the door.
“Good afternoon. I’m Sister Juniper Jenkins from the Promised Land Welcome Committee, and I’m here to take y’all on a tour of our community.”
Juniper appeared unarmed, wearing a modest cotton dress and leather sandals, her Sunday best even though it was midweek. Her long glossy hair was pulled back in a simple braid, and she had a fullness to her face that spoke to good nutrition. She glanced past me to where Kitten and Gizmo stood, just as bewildered as me, as Artemis, Macon, and Teresa came trotting down the stairs. I opened the door a little wider and Juniper inserted herself into our foyer.
“How is Marion, the midwife?” I asked. It was just yesterday that I’d found her in the woods and brought her back here. She’d been alive but very weak due to blood loss.
“Dr. Foley is optimistic that she’ll make a full recovery,” Juniper said with a smile. I didn’t know who Dr. Foley was, but I nodded, satisfied by that news at least.
“Because of you,” Kitten said and squeezed my hand.
If only he’d known how close I had come to killing her, though to be fair, we’d both thought her wounds were the result of a Rabid attack and not a jungle cat. That one certainly wasn’t on my Rabbit Fever bingo card. It had been a strange relief to watch that tiger take down her horse and realize that I could save her life, rather than end it.
Our group assembled and made introductions, then followed Juniper outside, my gaze inadvertently swinging back to the door of our new home. Rationally, I knew an intruder could gain entry if they really wanted to, but like my gun, knives, and machete, locks made me feel safe. Due to the no firearms policy of Promised land, my own Glock was currently double bagged in Ziplocs alongside my ammo and buried in the woods outside the gates.
RIP, brother.
“Weird, huh?” Artemis said. She too had grown up in a city where locking your doors was the norm. It had become even more necessary once the plague hit and neighbors started looting each other for weapons and food.
“Very weird.” I turned to our guide. “Hey, Juniper, why doesn’t our front door have a lock?”
She beamed, exuding good cheer from her pores, which must have been how she got the job in the first place. “There’s no need for locks in Promised Land, Brother Cipher. We share in everything–food, comfort, work, and community. Stealing from a member of the Fellowship would be like stealing from your own family.”
“And yet it happens,” I said, because surely she wasn’t so naive.
She shook her head resolutely. “Not here. There’s no need for theft when your harvest is bountiful.”
“Is that what Brother Larry says?”
“Absolutely.”
“And what about the Rabids?”
“There are no Rabids, Brother Cipher, thanks to our Health and Safety Committee who work around the clock to serve and protect us every day.”
“No Rabids, no crime, and no nonsense,” I said, repeating the words Brother Larry had said to Macon and me the day we’d first met the man behind the curtain.
