Jane crashed through the foliage. Branches bent and snapped. A peal of laughter followed her like a vapour trail. Small animals that hide in dense jungle raised their heads and ran for cover. Dead leaves crunched underfoot. Her laughter drowned out the myriad of other sounds in this part of the world. She was running barefoot, against her mother’s and Pastor Jim’s, recurrent warnings. At this moment these were the furthest thing from her mind. She stopped running and faced the way she came. Panting. Her path had instantly returned to the unspoiled wilderness. She laughed. From the depths of the plants more crashing, snapping and crunching could be heard. Tiny birds leapt from branches. Dozens of tiny, fluttering wings beating the air. Large rats scurried under cover. Eventually, after what to Jane felt like an eternity, Hannah broke through to the small clearing. Both girls laughed.
“I thought you was never going to catch up” Jane said.
“You had a head start. If it was fair, I woulda caught you. You know it.”
"Then I would be stupid to race you fair, then."
Both girls, eleven and a half – the half being very important – looked around. They knew this area like the back of their hands. Each tree, plant and trickle of water. This space was theirs. They spent a moment to get their bearings and Hannah rummaged through her pockets. She brought out two hard sweets that had been wrapped in white tissue paper. Both girls spent a few moments picking the paper off the sweets. They had been told not to leave any traces behind so Hannah started picking up any she could find. The hard, sour sweets bounced around their mouths, clattering against their teeth. They fought the urge to shatter the treats. Jane would wait and savour the sourness. Enjoying the flavours as they flooded her mouth. Hannah would bite down as hard as she could to get the sherbet inside. Hannah had snuck into the storehouse after breakfast and took a handful when the cooks where not looking. Had she been caught she would have received a short, sharp slap from her father. In that moment, the risk was worth it.
“I think we oughta head back soon” Hannah said. Jane nodded. They linked arms and slowly walked back.
Jane and Hannah had been inseparable since they had arrived in town. There were always dozens of children running around. Pastor Jim said that it was a sign from God that meant the town would last for generations. No one understood Hannah like Jane did. They just clicked. In that impossible to define way that you get between best friends. Each day was full of each other and fun and exploration. They awoke in their separate huts. Met at the mess hall for breakfast. Quickly chewed and swallowed and laughed. They laughed at their parents downing endless cups of thick coffee and eggs. They laughed at the younger children who had to go to classes in the rectangular huts on the edge of the main clearing. Because they were older, they had fewer lessons. Their lessons being, Bible studies and History, or as Pastor Jim says, the correct version of the Bible and history. Their fathers worked building the camps. They came home tired and sore every night. They spoke little and would fall asleep on their battered sofas.
Everyone, apart from the cooks, had Sunday’s off. Parents would spend the entire day with their kids. Or at least a few hours in the afternoon. In between Church and the evening meal. Their mothers worked mending clothes, cooking meals, teaching school and looking after the smaller children. Everyone had a role. Pastor Jim said everyone was as important as the cogs in a watch. Jane didn't get that but she assumed it meant she was important as well.
Before anybody knew it, they had fully embraced the routine of the town. The rhythm of life in the camp made sense. It worked because everyone worked.
After fifteen minutes walking arm in arm and chatting about the other children in the camp Hannah and Jane broke from the cover of the foliage. In front of them the path narrowed. Thick trees covered everything but a small, path of beaten earth. Beyond the trees the path dropped off a sheer cliff face that fell into a deep ravine. The ravine was filled by large trees and, according to the grown-ups, man eating cats. To the left of the path was a solid rock face. It was too high and slippery to climb. Both girls felt it was too close to the edge to try anything that could compromise their balance. Without speaking the girls went single file, holding hands tightly. Their sticky skin attracting insects which were swatted away. Jane thought how strange it was that when she was running earlier this path didn’t seem quite so scary. She had bounded along it without a second thought. Now, as she was taking her time, stopping to look down, thinking – over thinking – every step, she felt scared. She could feel Hannah’s grip tighten on her hand whenever they stepped over a large branch. Jane considered that Hannah must have traversed this section easy enough earlier as well but decided to say nothing.
After a slow eight minutes the girls cleared the path and walked out on to a much easier section. Clear blue sky shone through the foliage. A large square had been hacked into the forest. The girls relaxed slightly and exchanged happy glances. They linked arms again and continued with all the determination of a hiker on the last leg of a tiresome journey.
“Can I ask you something?” Jane said. Her thick Southern accent made the final ‘g’ sound round and lazy. Her red hair, now soaked in sweat and littered with debris from the forest, bounced carelessly with every step.
“Sure, you can” Hannah said. Like Jane her accent was Southern but not as thick. She was looking at her friend half expecting her to start talking about Jamie. A boy in the town who they were sure was growing fond of her.
“Was your Momma alright this morning? When I spoke to mine she seemed sad. I asked her something and she damn near snapped my head off. I didn’t see my Pa, at all. But it just isn’t like my Momma.”
“Maybe, she had fought with your Daddy last night. You know how married people get. My Momma says that marrieds argue a lot because they are with each other all the time and get on each other's nerves. I reckon it could be that.”
“Yeah, could be” Jane said, unconvinced. Her mother had seemed distracted and angry.
“You know” Hannah said, with an air of somebody much older than eleven and half – the half is important – “you could ask Pastor Jim to speak to her.”
“Aw, he’ll be too busy”
“Don’t he always say that, that people can speak to him about anything. No matter how small the problem or how small they are.”
“He does” Jane said giggling.
“Well then, you go and do that when we get back to town.” Hannah said with as much certainty as she could muster. Jane walked on quietly, considering what her friend had said and wondering just how to broach the subject with Pastor Jim. If at all. If she said something and it turned out she was wrong then she was in serious trouble. If she said something and it turned out to be really important she could damage her family. If she said something to her mother then she might get into trouble. If she didn't say anything then her momma might feel depressed and lonely. In truth she didn't know what to do. She turned the options over in her mind. Each revolution provided no clear answers.
Pastor Jim ran the town. Hannah’s dad said he was like the Mayor and Town Elder rolled into one. Everyone in the town loved him. Hannah was always a little scared of him. In part because he was a massive man. He knew everyone and everything. His being radiated a power that Hannah couldn't name. Each time he spoke, he made Hannah feel like he was speaking to her and her alone. His eyes, normally hidden behind dark glasses, could look into the darkest parts of a person’s soul and shine the light of God there. She used to be bored in church. Her legs would be restless, her eyes would dart around the dull wooden panels. She would look at the large crosses and hear dull, white men tell her how her government was bad and how she was probably going to go to hell. When the Sunday school teacher would talk about hell she would try her hardest to scare the children. This made Hannah confused. Surely, she thought it would be better to talk about God as loving so you wanted to make him happy. She thought that made more sense than making you scared all the time. When she raised this to the teacher she just told her to shut up. Pastor Jim never did that. He would let the children ask their questions. He would sit on the edge of the stage. His legs, wrapped in his white trousers, swinging happily. Then he would say the child’s name. He knew everyone. He would say: “well, Hannah, that is just about the best question I have had this week.” You felt like you were twenty feet tall; he would explain why it was important to know about hell and the horrors that you’d face. You had to know so you could protect those that you love and those in your community from going there. He said that God would be happiest the day hell was empty. That made sense to Hannah. She liked that about him. He made difficult things make sense.
The late afternoon heat was more oppressive than it had been for a long time. A thick humidity held them in a bear hug. Their progress became slow. It felt like they were walking through setting concrete.
Jane liked Pastor Jim. If she was forced to say what it was she liked about him, she would have struggled to narrow it down. He was funny and made everything sound fun. But then, surely, that was his job. He was clever and that radiated out of him. He had this strange power about him. When he walked into a room, everyone – even those that had come to shout at him – would stop what they were doing and look at him. They couldn’t help themselves. It felt like a strong pair of hands had grabbed you by the head and twisted you so that you was always facing him.
Insects shouted, animals called out to each other, birds sang, rats scurried as the girls walked on. The deep browns and greens of the jungle surrounded them. Happy and calm, arms still linked, they approached the edge of the town.
They reached the road that lead to town. It was a simple dirt track beaten into the earth. Red soil ran in a straight line from the horizon to large gates. The road was cluttered with stones. Jane liked to collect the big ones and take them to her little brother. He would then line them up on his bedroom windowsill. As she walked her eyes were scanning the road for them. It wasn’t the busiest road in the world, and often the girls could stroll down the dead centre safely. Today, though, the road felt quieter. Birds had stopped singing, faint sounds of Pastor Jim talking over the PA system could be heard. Like the memory of an echo. Hannah looked up and could see dozens of large birds circling the sky.
A rickety wooden fence ran from the sides of the road and then off into the jungle. The entrance to the town itself was guarded by a large wooden gate. A watchtower, that was constantly guarded, flanked the gate. Whenever Jane and Hannah approached it they would be asked who they were and what they wanted. It had been asked so often that they would often have try to have fun with guards. Jane would say she was, ‘President Nixon’ or ‘President Eisenhower’. Hannah would say she was called 'Deborah'. The guards would laugh and let them through. Today, was different as the gates hung wide open and the towers were empty. The girls exchanged confused glances.
“Was there a meeting today? Like a special sermon or something?” Hannah said.
“Not that I know of” Jane said. Her voice tinged with an edge of concern.
“Are you sure? It is awfully quiet”
“I don’t think there was anything. Could have been an emergency thing. Like when they thought the water was poisoned. Pastor Jim called everybody in and we had to drink from those large barrels. Remember?”
“Yeah. Yeah. It could be something like that.”
Corrugated metal rooftops burned like hot plates in the sun. Each hut had their door open. Which was not unusual. No one stole anything here. Mainly because, as her father said, no one has anything to steal.
One of their favourite places in the entire town was the vegetable garden. One reason was because they were given fresh strawberries or tomatoes. One or two of the older ladies, the grandmothers that couldn’t be left at home but weren’t too sick to travel, would laugh and pass them fruit before saying, “don’t tell your momma, young Miss Hannah” or “don’t you be telling anyone else; they’ll think you’re my favourite here”. These little rituals became part of the rhythm of the town. The old ladies in head scarves and thin yellow dresses that fell vertically from their bird like frames would look out for them and always selected three or four of the biggest strawberries for the girls.
Now, the garden was empty. The fruit had been picked. The garden, once teeming with a multitude of life, was desolate.
“Jane, Jane, Jane” Hannah shouted as she ran out of her family’s hut. “Jane. Where is Momma? Where is Daddy? My house is empty. It looks like everyone left in a mighty hurry. Everything has been thrown around. Momma would never let us leave the house like that. Where are they?”
“I don’t know. My home is empty as well. It doesn’t make sense. They wouldn't leave without us, would they?”
“No, they wouldn’t do that. Would they? No, not my Momma. She wouldn’t leave without me. No. Could she?” Hannah said, as she began to doubt everything she was certain of this morning. Every hut and every work area had been emptied of people. Tools were left on benches, as if they were forgotten. Stools and chairs were overturned. Papers fanned out of doorways like they were dropped while the person carrying them had done a hundred-meter sprint. It was like everyone they knew had been taken up by the Rapture. All the while Pastor Jim could be heard over the PA.
His voice, calm but urgent, rode on the dying breeze. “They have given us no choice” he said. “They are coming. They are coming. Take your children. Come on. Come on. They are coming.”
As they headed deeper into town, the silence became more and more oppressive. Both girls instinctively slowed. A dog walked out of one of the huts and gave a lacklustre bark before dropping its head and sniffing the ground.
In the centre of the town Pastor Jim had built a large stage. It was similar to the stages used at a local music festival. Three sides of the stage were blocked off by blue tarpaulin, which would flap slightly in the wind. It rose ten feet from the ground and was a few meters deep. Pastor Jim had placed speakers on either side of the stage that had been connected to a microphone. Which, at the moment, led on its side. On the ground, in front of the stage, neat rows of seats had been set out. They covered the whole town square. Luckily, the part of the jungle the new town had been built in it rarely rained. Tables covered with cups and large punch bowls had been placed below the speakers. Next to these large blue vats had been heaved up by some of the stronger men.
“They have given us no choice. They are coming. They are coming” Pastor Jim said.
As the girls approached the silence was replaced by a low, constant droning. Like a choir of insects.
“Take your children. Come on. Come on” Pastor Jim said.
A sickly-sweet smell rolled across the grass like a thick fog. They walked around the corner and were confused by what they initially saw. At first glance it appeared that everyone in the town was led down. Sleeping. Jane and Hannah exchanged worried looks.
Rows and rows of people, whole families, were led down. They stretched out across the whole space. Seemingly endless rows of people. Some people were hugging each other. Some people held their children. Some slept on their own. Hannah and Jane stopped and looked at each other. Why would they all sleep in the middle of the day, in the middle of town, why were the all so still? Why weren't any of the men snoring? They'd all heard the women complain about their husbands snoring.
“What’s going on?” Hannah said.
“I don’t… I don’t know. Why is everyone... sleeping?”
“Are they sleeping?” Hannah said. Tears pooled in her eyes. She rammed her hands into her pockets and rolled the remaining sweets in her pocket.
“Should we... get closer?” Jane said. Her voice trembling though she tried to look brave. She wanted, needed, to get closer. To see for herself. To quieten that voice in the back of her mind that told her something was wrong. That something was very, very wrong. Yet, she couldn’t move her feet. Her body refused to move closer. Hannah wasn’t moving either.
After, what felt like the longest time, they moved. They approached the first couple they saw. It was an older women. She was led on her stomach. Her right arm folded under her head. Her white hair hidden underneath a colourful headscarf. She wore a long, thin dress that was decorated by flowers. As they got closer they saw that her eyes weren’t closed. The old woman’s eyes stared out. A fly walked down her forehead and settled onto her eyeball. Her husband, on his back, next to her stared upwards. His mouth hanging open. Flies walked over his stomach and gnarled hands.
“What’s happened?” Jane said, “where is Momma?”
“That’s not possible. They can’t be" Hannah said through a torrent of tears.
"They can't all be what? Hannah, they can't all be what?"
The girls walked around the elderly couple.
Babies. Woman. Children they had played with just this morning. Lay still. Their faces scrunched in grotesque masks of agony and fear. Thousands of unstaring eyes faced them.
Jane spotted Pastor Jim on his back near the foot of the stage.
“No, no, no” she said as they ran over to him. His shirt was half unbuttoned. His stomach protruded through and was swollen. His dark glasses were at an angle. A large pool of dried blood circled his head like a halo. In his right hand he held a large gun. His voice was still giving instructions from the speakers. His bell-bottomed trousers moved in the slight breeze. From the stage he had appeared god like. Here, among the bodies. Covered in blood and urine. He looked more human than ever.
“Momma” Hannah screamed. She ran towards the fourth row of bodies. Awkwardly stepping over people she knew. Her mother was sat on a chair and leaning to the right. Her arm dangling, like a stopped pendulum, her head at an awkward angle. Her eyes were closed, and a calmness had spread over her features. To Hannah, she looked so young and unreal. Like a waxwork of her mother. Hannah grabbed her mother’s face. She positioned her face to meet hers. In between deep, guttural sobs she called out her name “Oh, Momma, Momma, Momma. What's happened, Momma? What's happened?"
Jane searched for her family. The stench of vomit, of urine, the sticky, sickly tang of spilt Kool-Aid overwhelmed her senses. Nothing made sense and she moved as if in a daze. Like she was trapped in a lucid dream.
From the corner of her eye, she saw movement. The tiniest jerk of a hand, a twitch of a muscle. An insignificant reaction to the outside world. Hope flooded her body. If someone was alive they could say what had gone on. They could be her mother or her father or her brother. Someone, anyone, that she knew. She stood motionless. Waiting. Scanning the sea of corpses. to find that movement again. She held her breath and focused. Her eyes darting left to right. Right to left. Then the movement happened again. A twitch of a wrist. Jane started to head towards the movement. She tried, often unsuccessfully, to avoid stepping on the bodies. Some bodies were piled two or three deep and toppled over when Jane knocked into them slightly.
She saw that the wrist was from a woman. It was thin and encircled with jewellery that shone in the sun She recognised bracelet. It was her mother’s arm.
“Momma” she cried out. Relief and pain intermingled in her scream. Hannah’s sobs and screams, Pastor Jim’s voice, the buzzing of the flies, all faded into the background. Her pace quickened and she broke out into a full run as she got closer to her mother.
“Momma. It’s Jane, Momma. It’s Jane”.
Jane’s heart stopped when she finally made it to her mother. Her father was on his side, holding her brother tightly. Both were dead. Her mother’s wrist twitched again.
“Momma, Momma. It’s Jane, Momma. It’s Jane” she said as she knelt down. The arm twitched but her mother’s eyes stared off into the distance. Unseeing. Cold. Deep, red scratches criss-crossed her eyes. Shakily, Jane reached for her mother’s hand. Her hand moving almost imperceptibly as it covered the distance. Her repeated call of: “Momma” had sunk to a little over a whisper. Closer now. Her mother twitched. Closer now. Fingertips touching fabric of her sleeve. Her fingers on the cold skin and hard bone. A giant rat darted from under the wrist. Huge and soaked in blood and gore. Its face fierce and angry. Large yellow teeth dripped with blood. It squeaked at her and then ran off into jungle. Jane’s screams filled the empty spaces of Jonestown.
Thank You!
Thank you for reading this story, my first of I hope many on this blog and I hope you enjoyed it. Remember we're looking for your submissions. Feel free to contact us here or email us your submissions to: oldandautistic@outlook.com. Fiction, non-fiction, poetry or book recommendations are all welcome. Let's create a safe space for all the neurodiverse readers, writers and creators!
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