Sinking the Messiah

Winner of L. Ron Hubbard’s Writers of the Future Honorable Mention | Quarter 42A 2025

Written by Jamiel Jones

My heart shudders in my chest as it does during every sinking. I imagine it drowns in the frigid waters below and that’s why I can’t feel a thing. Even as I rest my eyes upon Howitt, the last of the Truesky brothers, who sits, bloodied and broken, chained to the railing of the Messiah, there’s not an ounce of sympathy within me. I stand with the rest of the Holy Messiah’s Guards to each side of our prisoner as we watch the prophet of this ship ready himself to address the people.

 Agnus, with his fat, disgusting body that seems to grow more bulbous each day, stands before us. The fabrics of his purple and golden robes stretch to their limits. He pulls his hood back, revealing tattooed inscriptions from the Tablets spiraling his dark, lumpy head. When he talks, spittle flies from his thick lips.

“We here on the Messiah are blessed by the gods!” he says, raising his hands in the air. “We are on this holy ship because the gods deemed it so, and the Truesky brothers spread blasphemy against them. Against the beings who saved them from the Flood. Holy Law Six: Be merciful in honor of the gods’ judgement of humanity but do not let your mercy lay ruin time and time again. I want everyone here, Lower, Mainer, and Topper alike, to understand that as the prophet of this ship, it is my duty to cast out all those who wish to decimate what the gods left behind for us. This ship. The Tablets. And the land we will find on Falling Day. Let none of you forget our gods are powerful! They speak to me, especially the God of Thought, Inquisotus, who reads the minds of those who wish our reverence of he, and his brothers and sisters harm. Let us vanquish this heretic, let us sink him like we’ve done the rest since he refuses to accept the gods’ infinite love and our way of life here on the Messiah!”

The crowd cheers and Agnus turns to us, dark eyes flashing with malice.

“Grearson,” he says.

A man only second to Agnus in terms of my hate, steps forward and spins. He’s scruffy with brown hair and an eyepatch over his left eye. He surveys us, and then his frosty gaze lingers on me like I knew it would.

Grearson smirks. “Zoroa. You’re up.”  

I keep my head high and my lips flat. Resistance is futile. My mother’s life is always in jeopardy. I step out of line, pull Howitt to his feet, unlock his chains, and push him toward the rusty metal plank that’s welded to the Messiah’s bow.

We step onto the plank, and I shove him forward. “Walk. Go on.”

He stumbles, turns, but I block his path. He clings to me. “Please! I’ll repent! I swear!”

I scowl at the pathetic man. His brothers didn’t beg for their lives. They showed resolved. They left with a message and their own beliefs. They died with their freedom.

I pry Howitt away and unsling my rifle, prodding him forward. We make it to the edge. A silver sky rolls out above us, ominous clouds threatening rain. The sea churns below, unforgiving, ready to swallow poor Howitt whole.

“Last words?” I put the end of my barrel against Howitt’s back, my next words carried away by the waves. No one behind me will hear, but Howitt will. “Say something your brothers would be proud of.”

“The gods are fake,” Howitt mumbles. He spins toward me, then screams, “The gods are fa—”

And then my barrel stabs into the man’s stomach and he’s falling backward, off the Messiah. My smile vanishes and I turn. Grearson is there, laughing.

“I had it under control,” I say.

“Oops. Guess my hand slipped.” I try to push past Grearson, but he half draws the sword sheathed on his hip. “You watch! You watch the man you just sent to death, or you can sink next after your mother!”

So, I bite back my words like I always do. I make myself hollow and watch. Howitt flails in the water. His screams scratch at my ears, but no matter how loud he cries, I won’t save him. I’ll watch him die, like I’ve done so many others. He thrashes about through the waves, trying to swim, trying to cling to life. He’s afraid of dying. I can see it in the tremble of his pupils as he reaches up, hoping something, maybe the gods he and his brothers denounced, will grab his hand and save him. Howitt opens his mouth. I can’t hear what he’s saying anymore. Then he’s gone as a wave slams him under and the currents take him away.

On the deck, Agnus lights a candle, sits it at his feet, and then clasps his hands together. “Let Howitt, a lost soul, find his way to the God of Death, Endtimus. Let Endtimus teach him the love of the gods in Hell and let Howitt accept it so his soul may rest in Paradise until the end of time.”

“Amen,” everyone chants. “Glory to the gods.”

Grearson sneers back at me. “Glory to the gods, Zoroa.”

The back of my neck burns and for some reason. It feels as if a crushing weight is resting upon my shoulders, cinching the breath in my chest. That burn from my neck travels all over and my tongue thickens inside my mouth. I have to say the words. Now is not the time to be stubborn or stupid. I can’t fight back. Not here.

Grearson’s eyebrows rise, and he cups a hand around his ear.

“Glory to the gods,” I repeat.

A cold, whistling wind slashes over the deck, cutting the candle’s flame.

“When the Flood came five years ago, only those of us who believed in the Tablets were prepared. Only those of us who believed in the Tablets, survived.” A teller, a skinny man wearing all black face paint stops, his pinprick blue pupils surveying the crowd that strengthens around him. Someone raps drums, and the teller dances as he weaves his story. “The vicious waters from the Sea God, Aquaticus, tore us away from our homes, destroyed our cities—gutted, crumbling concrete, shattered glass, and dark skies. Do you all remember how angry the Sky God, Fable, was? His angry roars and shrieks of lightning forced us out to sea. We have been bound by the God of Sacrifice, Sacris, and suffered the harshest of storms, famines, and diseases. But with the strength from the God of Life, Anuu, we have survived. Do you all know the Tablets Holy Law Four? Endure the world’s cruelty through prayer. Endure weakness. Endure strength. Endure. Endure. Endure everything. We aboard the Messiah, built by none other than the gods most loyal prophet, our precious leader, Agnus, have done nothing but, so let me tell you all that Falling Day is near! It is within our grasp! Because we have repented our sins! We have made the gods happy! Pray with me! Feel the grass between your toes! Hear the whisper of leaves in the soft wind. The birds singing us home. Feel the gods’ love with me and rejoice!”

The teller clasps his hands together and bows. The nearest to him, a mangy group of Lowers who are likely in on the money grab, get on their knees, throw a gold coin into his raggedy hat, and join him in fervent prayer. All the Toppers walk up and drop a few gold coins into his hat. Most of them walk away, but some hang in the back, praying. None of the Mainers leave money, but a few pray, most of them push into the swarming wave of pedestrians who squirm their way through the cramped, wooden and steel streets of the Main Deck. It’s the largest part of the Messiah, with seven streets packed to the corners with Mainers who live in shoe box apartments.

Yandel, a jewel of a woman with a narrow face and mocha skin, tugs at my arm. A salty breeze comes off the ocean, blowing at the light blue headscarf wrapped around her head, revealing tufts of dark hair.

“Zoroa,” she says, emphasizing my name.

I dig into my pocket. “I could give this money to you.” We approach the teller, his cracked lips whispering scriptures from the Tablets. I keep my gaze focused on Yandel. “It could help your mom.”

She pinches my arm, and I drop three gold coins into the teller’s hat.

“Thank you, sir!” he cries, breaking his recitation. “Let the virtuous goddess, Inti, bless you!”

I ignore him, swing Yandel away, and lean close to her ear. “He’s a Lower believer. Out here every day shouting his bullshit stories and scriptures. What does that tell you?”

Yandel stops and turns to me, clutching my face in her palms. Her eyes, something akin to stars, cut through me.

“I need you to stop,” she says. “Stop worrying about my family. We are lucky to have a spot onboard the Messiah. The gods blessed us with a second chance at life, just as they’ve done you. And stop spouting that nonsense heresy, or do you want to be sinking next? I believe in the gods, Zoroa, and you should, too. Let them heal you.”

Yandel’s touch ails the scorch flowing through my veins. I breathe in and out, but my hand still tremors.

“I killed three men last week.” My voice shakes. “Forty-eight people total. That’s how many I’ve pushed off—”

“You didn’t have a choice.” Yandel grabs my hand, her warmth sparks through me. “I know your pain. I do. It’s not your fault those people are dead. They sinned. Agnus ordered the sentencings. You were just doing your job as a man of the gods.”

I push my forehead against Yandel’s. “What kind of gods want their people to suffer like this? How can you keep faith after everything that’s happened on this ship?”

“My faith is my only source of strength when everything and everyone else makes me feel weak. The gods, whether they’re the ones from the Tablets or something else entirely, they exist, and they see us. They love us. And just knowing that feels me with the confidence that things will get better.”

I hold Yandel close. She cleanses my spirit. She’ll get angry if I tell her I still don’t believe so I change the subject.

“Where to next, birthday girl?” I ask.

“Fisher’s Cove. They have the best clam chowder!”

I take Yandel’s hand. Her warmth is all I need. I won’t ever believe in the gods, but I believe in Yandel because she’s saved me more times than she knows.

The shadow from the Top Deck, held up by four giant iron beams planted around the outskirts of the Main Deck, grows lighter and lighter as Yandel and I move closer to Fisher’s Cove, a wooden shanty restaurant with a chimney and the best grilled meats and soups onboard the Messiah. When the sun kisses our skin, Yandel smiles and pulls back her scarf, letting her hair drape over her shoulders. She spreads her arms out, tilts her head back, and spins. It’s like the sun was meant to tickle her pink lips that couldn’t stretch any farther. She’s the only good thing that’s happened to me in these five years. I could watch her dance forever.

Yandel pauses, her stars dimming as she peers at something behind me. I don’t hear them at first, but when I turn, a piercing cold replaces the warmth spreading through my body.

Grearson shoots finger guns at me. “There he is! Just the man I’ve been trying to reach for the last hour! Is your communicator off or something?”

I look at the dark communicator wrapped around my wrist. “Yes. Today’s my one day off. You said you wouldn’t bother me.”

The ugly and pink scar above his left eye that reappears below his patch and stretches down to his chin, crinkles. “I said that?”

“Yes.”

Grearson looks at the two Guards with him and they chuckle. “I don’t think I did. You took the oath just like the rest of us. When duty calls, you answer. We have a problem. A serial group of pick pocketers from Lower have been hitting the Toppers on the Main Deck. Agnus wants it handled. Now. Tell your girlfriend you’ll see her later.”

My fists ball. If I don’t go, my mother suffers the consequences. Yandel knows that. But Grearson knew today was a special day. He’s doing this because I have no choice.

 I turn to Yandel and leave her ten golden coins. “Go eat. I’m sorry. I’ll call you later.”

She puts the coins in her purse and rushes to kiss me. “Be safe. I love you.”

I breathe her in. I steal her warmth. Her compassion. Her pureness. Her light. “I love you, too.”

And I turn away, taking all her good things with me because I know that whatever it is I’m about to do, it will be black and ugly. It will break me like it’s done a million times before.

On the Low Deck, there is no sunlight, only the dim glow from hundreds of humming bulbs that peer down into the darkness, doing nothing to combat its coldness. Wooden homes and food stalls cramp the metal streets that groan under our weight and echo the sounds of our boots as we proceed to the next perpetrator’s house. Grearson leads us through a familiar area of Lower. An area I frequent all too often. I wish the burning lanterns, lamp poles, and blinking neon signs would burn through the lump of ice growing in my chest. I wish the fire from the lanterns would leap onto Grearson and roast him alive to stop what’s about to happen.

Many Lowers mill about. They make way for us, glaring and spitting on the ground in contempt. I understand their anger. They were tricked into boarding the Messiah and forced to live in its belly. On land, they were free to live however they wanted. They could go where they wanted. But here, they are considered as garbage and treated as such. Lowers must abide by a curfew on the Main Deck, and they are never permitted on the Top Deck.

We turn a corner and approach a familiar home squished between two others with a red door I helped paint. When Grearson knocks, my heart screams out in panic.

Heian, Yandel’s father, a tall, dark man with walnut-colored eyes and forehead wrinkles, opens the door. “Zoroa? What’s going on?”

My gaze drops to the ground.

Grearson takes over. “Captain Grearson of the Holy Messiah’s Guard here.” He raises his communicator, and a blue light comes from it that forms into a picture of Yandel’s younger sister. “We’re looking for this girl. We were told she lives here?”

“Looking for her for what?” Heian asks.

“She was involved in stealing the possessions of several Toppers. Camera footage and witness testimonies confirm this to be true. Since she’s under the age of fifteen, we need someone from her household over that age to report to the bow of the Messiah on the Main Deck tomorrow at noon for punishment.”

“Lana!” Heian calls back, and soon a girl who looks just like Yandel but with glasses and shorter hair comes to the door. When she sees us, the guilt on her face tells it all. “Were you stealing? Did someone make you do it?” Lana doesn’t answer, and he shakes her. “Answer, girl!”

“Yes! And no!” she cries. “I did it for mom! How else are we supposed to get the medicine the Toppers are hoardi—”

Heian slaps Lana across the face. “Not. Another. Word. We are honest people. The gods’ people! You know Holy Law Two: Do not lie, cheat, or steal. Be honest in the gods’ eyes and they will bless you. You’ve ruined us!”

“The gods aren’t real!” Lana screams, tears spilling down her face. “Just greedy Toppers and ruthless Holy Messiah’s Guards and a phony cult leader!”

Heian raises his hand again, and I push forward, grabbing his wrist.

“Dad? Zoroa?” I hear behind us. I turn and Yandel is there with a bag in her hand. She drops it to the ground. “What’s going on?”

Lana runs off, past me, past Yandel, and down the street into darkness.

Heian pulls out of my grasp. “Lana was stealing.” He crashes to his knees and clasps his hands together before Grearson. “Please, sir, this is my family’s first offense. I will pay back all that she stole, but sinking is too harsh a punishment.”

 “Luckily for you, sinking isn’t the sentence,” Grearson says. “You’ll lose a hand.”

Grearson turns away and Heian lunges for his ankle. “Please! We are the gods’ children. I’ll pay it back! I swe—”

Grearson kicks him away. “Be there tomorrow. Someone of age from your household or face the consequences. If it makes you feel any better, just know that you won’t be the only one handed Lower walking around.”

Grearson walks away, the two Guards from earlier following him. Yandel steps past me and kneels next to her father. “Get up. Don’t ever grovel like that to them again. They are just men.”

“Zoroa!” Heian snaps his attention toward me. “Please! Talk to the prophet. Do something. I need my hands to work. To provide for this family! Please!”

“Dad, stop. He can’t do anything. He’s a Guard. Their oath is absolute. Don’t worry, I’ll go.”

“No!” Heian and I speak in unison.

Yandel rises and stares back at me. A candle near their doorway flickers, making the resolve on my girlfriend’s face that much more painful to see. She’s beautiful when she’s serious. And I already know I can’t change her mind.

“I’m doing it,” she says. “The gods will protect me.”

I lurch forward. “Screw—”

“Go home, Zoroa. I told you to stop worrying about my family. You have enough on your plate. I will handle this. Don’t do anything that will get you in trouble. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Then let me do this.”

Yandel shuts the door in my face before I can reply.

Our mute server, Mikala, places a plate full of roasted duck, potatoes, and asparagus in front of me. She’s a tawny-skinned woman with freckles and red hair.  

On Tuesdays, in the Top Deck church, she preaches lessons from the Tablets in sign language since she’s taken a vow of silence in honor of the Goddess of Silence, Reticenci. She abides by the last holy law, Holy Law Fifteen: Seek the gods’ penance and forgiveness for past sins in silence. Live by silence and be cleansed of worldly filth and forever accepted into Paradise.

Mikala is a person considered most devout to the fifteen gods and does whatever Agnus asks of her. I often wonder if there’s a chip in her brain, too, but when we make eye contact, there is no haze there. She steps away from the table, leaving me, Agnus, and my mother alone. We’re in the velvet-carpeted dining area of our suite around a circular table with a white tablecloth. The chandelier overhead flickers and I stare out of a window to my right. The sky is just as black as the violent ocean that swells beneath it in the storm.

“Zoroa?” My mother, thin and caramel-skinned with wavy hair back in an orthodox bun, has her hand outstretched. “We must pray to the gods for blessing us with nourishment.”

She used to be a vibrant woman, her eyelids and round cheeks boasting color, her hair always in a new style. She used to wear contacts to change her eye color to match her outfits. Now, her left hand shakes as she watches me, her pupils a murky brown. She’s trapped somewhere inside her head. I think the tremble is her way of telling me she’s still alive. That she’s not just a shell. That she’s still my mother and not Agnus’s plaything. I take her hand, and her thumb brushes over my skin. With her other hand, she takes Agnus’s.

I don’t join hands with Agnus, and he doesn’t reach for mine either. We’ve never joined hands in prayer. I close my eyes and bow my head as my mother begins, then open them like I do every night and think about all the ways I could end Agnus in this moment when he’s vulnerable. When he’s foolishly praying to his fake gods from the Tablets, he and the other prophets claimed they discovered deep in the earth. I wonder if the other nineteen ships are as bad as this one. I wonder if the people suffer because of classism. Does their prophet rule like Agnus? My free hand curls around my knife as I watch a grin rip across Agnus’s leathery face. Then he does something he’s never done before. Not in the five years he’s forced me to have dinner with him.

He opens those dark eyes of his before my mother finishes and watches me. I can’t help the scorn that works its way onto my face. If could just plow this fork through his skull, that would be great. That would solve everything. But if I kill him, Grearson will know, and he’ll activate my mother’s chip.

“…Glory to the gods,” my mother finishes.

“Glory to the gods,” Agnus repeats, his gaze still leveled with mine. “Eyvet, dear. Can you go get us some tea? It seems Mikala only brought us wine.”

“Of course.” My mother leaves us.

 “I bet you wish you could stab me, don’t you, boy?” Agnus asks with a smirk.

“Of course not.”

“I’m sure.” Agnus sips his wine. “The gods have told me of the blackness in your heart. May you allow the Light God, Rayosisus, to cleanse your spirit and brighten a new path for you. Everything I’ve done on this ship and before, was for the people, for lost souls like yourself. Why can’t you see that?”

“Because I watched you and Grearson kill my father.” Tears burn in my eyes, but I hold them back. “Because I see my mother every day except it’s not her, it’s whoever you want her to be.”

Agnus sets his glass down. “Your father was a sinner. He stole Eyvet from me long before you were even thought of! He was trying to defame the Tablets! He was a pathetic exe—”

I shoot out of my chair, knife in hand. I could slash Agnus’s throat from here.

He hovers a finger over his communicator. “I can find a new wife. You know that.”

“Then I’ll have no reason to keep you alive anymore.”

“You are an ungrateful brat,” Agnus spits. “I could have killed you, but for Eyvet’s sake, for the gods, I kept you alive. I’ve fed you. Housed you. Gave you a purpose here! Nevertheless, you hate me. It’s nonsensical!”

“What’s nonsensical is the Messiah and how you treat the Lowers and lie about gods that don’t exist!”

“Blasphemy!” Agnus rises from his seat, his stomach and chest swollen with pride and an exorbitant amount of food. “You are angry because your girlfriend is receiving divine punishment because her family sinned. Yes, she sent up her name. These are the rules here on the Messiah because of the Tablets. We do this so the gods are happy. So that on Falling Day—”

“Your gods are fake, Agnus! They’re not real! And you’re a liar!”

Glass shatters behind me, and I turn. My mother is there, mouth gaped open in disbelief.

“Zoroa? What did you just say?” she asks.

“Mom, I—”

“Apologize.” She takes a step forward. “Repent! Get on your knees and repent to them!”

“I—”

“How dare you speak to our prophet like that. After everything he’s done for us. You are here because he wanted us here. Because the gods didn’t want us to drown in the Flood. Because they spoke to him and told him to save us! Repent or leave. I can’t even stand to look at you right now. You look and sound just like your father!”

“You don’t even remember dad!” I yell.

The lines in her face deepen with rage. “I remember a man that hurt me. A man so vile, the gods would damn him to the Thirteenth Hell.”

I storm toward my mother and grab her shoulders, shaking her. “Agnus is controlling you! There’s a chip in your head. You know dad was a good man. He loved us, and Agnus ki—”

My mother fights me away and slaps me across the face, her palm fire. “Go. Do not speak of that heathen to me!”

“But mom—”

“GO!” she shouts.

My heart splits in two. There’s not an ounce of remorse on my mother’s face. She’s never yelled at me before, let alone struck me. I step past her, toward the exit. When I look back, she cries into Agnus’s shoulder. He rubs her back, his dark gaze sowing into my spirit, scorching me with its venom.

The rain doesn’t bother me. I don’t even feel it as I walk through the empty streets of the Main Deck. Glowing lights from the windows above peer down upon me. A worthless, hollow man who can’t save his mother or girlfriend. I’m not even a man. Just a boy who’s harbored anger and done nothing about it. I punch the nearest wall and let tears stream down my face. I talk big, but each time when push comes to shove, I do nothing. I let Agnus and Grearson have their way and lead me around like a circus animal. But what can I do? It’s two against one. And if I count every believer on the Messiah and everyone who is afraid to say they don’t believe in the Tablets or the gods, then I’m vastly outnumbered. 

I pound the wall again, then dig into my shirt, and pull out the last possession of my father I have left. A golden pendant my mother used to always wear before she was chipped. I flip it open and a picture of my smiling father shines inside, the golden sheen eating away at the darkness gripping my heart. In the picture, my father’s dark face showcases his latest piercing, a nose ring he got right before Agnus and his Guards took complete control over the city. His amber eyes are ablaze with pride, and soon I get lost in them. Everything comes back. His voice. His smell. His laugh. The secureness I felt around him. The rocking of the Messiah and the crashing of the waves against its hull fade when I close my eyes.

*

We were chopping wood to prepare for the ship building outside the city where we lived. My father was a tall man with working hands. Every time he swung the axe, the rings around his majestic mane of locs sparkled in the sunlight. That day, together we had felled six trees. Sweat soaked my father’s shirt, his muscles bulging through the fabric.

“Come here, boy. Bring the water,” he said, sitting on a downed tree.

I pulled a flask from our sack and sat beside him. “Should we call it quits for today?”

He slapped a hand on my drenched back. “We need at least four more trees. We need to do our best, too. If what the scientists say is true, the water will rise way over land level within the next two years. I want to make sure we are prepared. That the ship we’re building will withstand any storm.”

“What about the prophets and their ships? Have seen you the footage? Their ships are massive. They’re like floating cities.”

My father frowned at the excitement in my voice and sighed. “Zoroa, you’re fourteen. In two years, you’ll be a man. It’s time you understand things about our world. Me and the others who moved out here left the city because of the prophets. Do you know what’s happened to others around our world who followed the prophets? The prophets rule their lands, their wealth, and resources. Everything. And have many of the citizens believing in their Tablets and their gods they claim the Ancients left behind for us to find. For us to believe, but do you know what the Tablets and their gods really are?” I shook my head, and my father continued. “It’s a step backward for civilization. A way for a few humans to control the many. To keep us in line while they live lavish lives and sit at the top of the world. It’s slavery, my son. Another chain I don’t want you or anyone I love wearing.”

“But if it’s not real, how come it’s engraved in the stones? The Flood? The twenty prophets? The fifteen gods? The Holy Laws?” I asked. 

“The stones are manmade. And I know one of the prophets from back in the day. He’s not a good man. I don’t know how he got tied up with that organization, but I don’t want anything to do with it. I don’t want to be chained.”

“But their followers are growing. It’s all they talk about in the news,” I said. “What if we don’t have a choice? What if we have to accept the gods?”

My father cusped his large hand around the back of my head and brought our foreheads together. “I love you, my son. So, while I am here, there is never anything you will be forced to do by another if I have anything to say or do about it. Remember, you always have a choice. There is always free will. You can always fight back and find a way that’s right for you. Promise me that you’ll always think for yourself and do what you think is right. That you won’t back down just because everybody else is. That you’ll fight.”

I reached for my father’s free hand, and he gripped onto mine tight. “I promise, dad.”

*

I snap out of my trance and clutch the pendant. That’s right. I made a promise. If I don’t stand up now, then it’s all over and I’m the man who lied to my father. I’m done backing down. I’m done falling in line. I’m done breaking.

This is my choice.

It’s time to fight.

The Lower Deck is full of traffic, many floating through the darkness, their guts in sync, an ominous bellow crying for nourishment that isn’t poisonous. A Lower with missing teeth hisses my way when she sees me in my Guard uniform. Another group of them scatter like rats when I push into the middle of the street. It’s unusual for a Messiah’s Guard to be on the Lower Deck this late. But soon, as I flow through the streets with a torch raised above me, and a few Lowers recognize my face, they hover around me as moths do to light. I wonder if they can see the resolve etched into the lines of my face. I wonder if they can feel the fury over the years thundering in my chest. I wonder if their stomachs growl with hunger for revenge against Agnus and Grearson. The men who sank their friends and families and forced them to watch.

“Zoroa?” Yandel pushes through the crowd and grabs my free hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m fighting,” I tell her, and pull away. The crowd continues to swell around me and then I raise my voice over the raspy whispers and spin as I speak. “I offer you all a choice! Freedom or death! A chance to have proper food, not the poisonous rations and scraps from the Top Deck. A way to hold your loved ones close and not fear they’ll be thrown out into the sea. Equality. But we’ll have to fight. Every single one of us. Once we start this, there’s no going back. It means going against Agnus. The Messiah’s Guards. The gods. It means being a sinner. A heretic. If we lose, they’ll throw us all overboard. But if we win, we’ll see the green pastures and the trees Agnus hangs over our heads. We’ll breathe fresh air and run along land again. We’ll be free like we were before the Flood. If you’re with me, raise your fist. I can’t do this without you.”

Nobody moves. This means Agnus’s brainwashing strategies over the years have won. I’m a deadman walking. Tomorrow I’ll sink. A draft, that reeks of mold and piss, tickles the back of my neck where the hairs stand at attention. My knees buckle. I’ve lost before I could even begin. I lower the torch—

“I’m with you!” A voice calls out and I turn. It’s Heian. “Agnus and Grearson are cruel. Holy men are merciful. They lead us with lies and deception!”

Then another fist punches the air. “Screw the gods!”

And another. “Let’s fight!”

More and more fists rise in solidarity.

Yandel takes my hand again. “Are you sure about this?”

I nod. “We have to do this, Yandel. Whether the gods are real or not is up to each individual but what’s more real is the inequality here. The deaths. We stop that, then we move forward.”

Yandel raises our hands into the air and the Lowers chant my name.

The Top Deck is quiet when I return, but I don’t go back to the suite I share with my mother and Agnus. I travel through the narrow, sterile white halls to a place I haven’t neared since I first boarded the Messiah. A place I promised myself that when I return, it would be to end a life. The lights flicker overhead, and darkness takes over until I reach a steel door with a blinking red light over it. I knock three times and wait. There are no footsteps from the other side. Is he awake at this hour? I don’t know the chip doctor’s schedule. I just know he exists, and that he’s my only chance at saving my mother and Yandel.

After a long while, the door slides open by itself, and I step inside a dark room with a glowing computer in the back right corner. The door closes behind me and the lights blink to life, revealing the chip doctor, a short and pale man with curly, brownish-gray hair on the sides of his head that’s too big for his thin body. He has a giant nose and small eyes that grow larger when he places thick glasses over them. He wears a gray shirt under his white lab coat, and khaki pants.

“I thought you were one of the Guards,” he says. “But it’s you. I knew this night would come. Are you ready for the consequences?”

I point my pistol at him. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.”

The chip doctor sighs, a disappointed look on his face. “Then leave. I’ve no use for you.”

I charge forward and grab the small man by the scruff of his shirt. “But I’ve got use for you.” I shove him toward his computer. “Deactivate my mother’s chip.”

The chip doctor’s shoulders rumble with laughter. Tears come from his eyes, and he takes off his glasses, wiping them away. My finger itches. This man is just as responsible for the loss of my mother as Agnus.

I press my barrel between the chip doctor’s eyes. “Hurry! Do it!”

“I’m not. I can’t. I won’t. So kill me,” he says with a silly smile.

A fuse snaps inside me. I pistol whip the man to the floor, then kick him in the gut, and he curls into a ball, shaking with laughter. The pain he has caused must be funny to him. I swing my boot into his face. Still, he laughs.

“You erased her!” I stomp on the chip doctor.

“You took away the last family I had left!” I kick him in his ribcage.

“You turned her against me!” I smash a fist into his nose.

And I don’t stop. I keep crushing the chip doctor until that stupid grin is gone and blood leaks from every orifice on his bruised face. I push him onto his back with my foot. Red dribbles from his mouth onto the concrete floor.

He coughs and retches beside him. “Why…did you…stop?”

“I need you to deactivate my mother’s chip. Get up.”

“You can’t beat them… nobody can. So, just kill me and… get it over with. I put the chip in your mother’s brain. I made her Agnus’s puppet. So, get your revenge and then go shoot that bastard!”

I kneel next to the chip doctor. Does he hate Agnus too? I always assumed they were accomplices. What would make him chip my mother then?

“What did they do to you?” I ask.

The chip doctor smiles, teeth stained red. “What they do to everyone. They took someone I love and threatened to kill them if I didn’t help. I had no choice, and I can’t help you because my daughter and granddaughter are Agnus’s prisoners.” He pounds the floor. “And the worst part is, my daughter doesn’t even know it because she’s blinded by faith! He made her cut out her tongue! So, when she prances around serving him tea and biscuits he doesn’t have to hear her speak! Religion doesn’t do things like that, but Agnus, that devilish man, does!”

“What is your daughter’s name? Your granddaughter, too? I’ll save them, if you help me. I have a plan. It’ll work. I swear, it’ll work.”

“Mikala is my daughter’s name. Marie is my granddaughter. She’s seven now. Heard she sings in his church.”

I help the chip doctor sit up, then pull him to his feet. He coughs and that’s when I read his nametag.

“Ross. Dr. Ross,” I say, and he looks up at me. “I know Mikala. She’s our main server. I can save her and Marie. Help me, please. You’re the only one that can make this all work. Without you, we fail right here, right now.”

“We?”

I smile. “We’re not the only ones who are sick of Agnus, Grearson, and the Toppers. Will you do it?”

Ross asks a question of his own. “Remind me again, what was your father’s name?”

“Zoraon. Why?”

Ross holds out a hand. “Your father was a good man. He knew the truth. I’ll help you.”

“The truth?”

“The so-called prophets are just an elitist group who provided inaccurate claims about a possible major flood. They used the rising water levels and previous flood damage from the storms to their advantage to convince everyone of their gods and Tablets. There never was a great flood, Zoroa. The land you lived on is still there, untouched. In fact, there’s a bunch of land out there. They lied to us all.”

I take Ross’s hand and squeeze. “Maybe their gods will save them.”

The smile that Ross gives me is dangerous. “I doubt it.”

Cold gun barrels and rough hands wake me. Grearson and three other Guards surround me in my room.

“Rise and shine, princess.” Grearson sneers. “You are off duty today since your girlfriend’s being punished.”

The other Guards lift me from my bed and all morning they follow me around as I brush my teeth, take a shower, eat a bagel, and dress myself. Grearson checks my body to make sure I don’t have any weapons, and then I’m escorted to the Main Deck, to the bow, where a crowd of Toppers and Mainers await. I spot Heian and Lana, and a few other Lowers off by themselves, hands clasped together in prayer.

The sun’s out today. It reflects off Agnus’s oily, fat head as he stands before Yandel and three other Lowers near the plank. There’s not an ounce of fear in Yandel’s gaze. She keeps her head high, and her hands together near her waist.

I’m forced to stand with the rest of the Guards, of course monitored and held by the three who were with Grearson earlier. The one-eyed bastard himself sharpens a machete on the plank. He looks pleased, eye closed, humming a tune.

A Guard cuffs me in the ear. “Eyes forward! The prophet’s about to speak.”

Agnus walks forward and bows. “Hello, my beautiful people. Thank you for joining me here today. It is with great sadness that we are here under the gods’ eyes to punish those who have sinned. May Endurastarus, God of Pain, remind them and their families that we serve powerful beings. Beings who gifted them a spot on the Messiah. Who fed them. Who gave them a place to lie their heads. Who kept them from drowning. The four you see here today are not the offenders but are akin to them. Those offenders were caught stealing from others aboard our home. We are family here, so there is no need to steal, and yet they found themselves greedy. Ungrateful. Jealous. So, now, each of their kin will lose a hand in their place. It is a law ordained by the Goddess of Law, Rulaa, herself! Straight from the Tablets. Holy Law Eleven: If one is caught stealing, they should lose a hand. But if that hand is of a tender age, then next of kin will take their place. Lust not for things which are not yours as the gods provide all that you need.” Agnus turns toward Yandel and the others. “Remember Holy Law Four. And remember, the gods love you all.”

“Yes, Prophet,” the four say.

“On your knees. Repent until your name is called,” Agnus commands.

I watch Yandel lower herself. She places her forehead to the ground with the others, and together they repent their loved ones’ actions. Their failure to educate them. Their lack of prayer. Their ungratefulness. Their greed. Then a man is called toward the plank first. He walks past us and places his left hand on the plank. Hopefully, the Lowers get here soon. Sacrifices are necessary. We all agreed to this.

“Do you love the gods?” Grearson asks.

The man nods. “Yes.”

“Did you repent your child’s actions and your failure to educate them?”

The man nods. “Yes.”

“You understand that if this happens again, the gods want to see you sink?”

The man nods. “Yes.”

“Endure.”

And Grearson raises the machete. I turn away before he brings it down, but the sound of metal hitting metal is all too clear. Moments later, the man’s scream echoes over the waves and vibrates through metal beneath my feet. His family runs forward and carries him away, and then the next name is called. A woman, a mother, loses her hand next. Grearson tosses the hands into the ocean and then calls the third name.

Where are the Lowers? They should be here by now. I make eye contact with Heian. The anxiousness on his face doesn’t help. Yandel’s alone now, repenting to false gods and humiliating herself. I take a step forward and a Guard pulls me back. Another ear-splitting wail ruptures my spirit.

“Yandel Heartfellow,” Grearson calls. “Step forward.”

Yandel rises, tears bleeding down her cheeks as she passes us. She places her hand on the plank.

Grearson grins at her and asks, “Do you love the gods?”

“I love them more every day,” Yandel says.

“Did you repent your sister’s actions and your failure to educate her?”

“Yes.” Yandel’s voice shakes.

I can reach Grearson from here if I attack the Guards right now.

“You understand that if this happens again, the gods want to see you sink?”

Yandel nods and closes her eyes. “Yes.”

I lurch forward as Grearson raises the machete. A Guard tries to pull me back, but I spin, punch him in the face, and take his gun. When the others try to stop me, I place the gun to the Guard’s temple. 

“Stay back!” I drag my hostage toward Grearson and switch my aim to him. “Drop the machete! Hands over your head!”

Then, late, the Lowers stampede onto the bow with pipes, broomsticks, and knives. It takes a moment for everyone to access the situation, then its chaos. The Guards charge the Lowers.

“Drop it!” I say to Grearson.

He lowers the machete, then at last second, flicks it at me. I shoot and duck behind my hostage. The machete tears through his throat and he falls.

Grearson tackles me from the side, punching me in the face. He rips my gun away, and I reach up, curling a hand around the back of his neck but he rolls sideways to his feet.

He rams a boot into my ribcage, then draws his sword. “Get up. At least die on your feet like your daddy.”

I pick myself up and look at Yandel. “Go! Get your family somewhere safe.”

“I’m not—”

“I’ll be fine,” I say. “I’ll make it back to you.”

“You better,” she says and runs off toward her father and sister.

I take a sword off the dead Guard. “You killed your own guy.”

Grearson circles me, shrugging. “That’s your fault. Clearly, he was worthless if he let you get the better of him.”

“How pious of you.”

Grearson smirks. “Come die. Like father, like son.”

I scream out with a slash. My arm rattles from the impact of our swords clashing. Grearson slides off the attack and tries to lop off my head, but I duck with a quick thrust that he knocks aside.

 “You’ve never once beaten me in our sparring matches,” Grearson says as he sashays forward, and swings his sword through the air. “What makes you think today’s gonna be any different?”

I block his attack, slip off it, and back away. We circle one another.

“Because I’ve been holding back. My father taught me how to fight outside the city,” I say. “All your lessons were just warmups compared to what he put me through.”

Grearson burst into a fit of laughter. “I remember sliding this very blade through his heart. He wasn’t that good.”

“Good enough to take your eye.”

Grearson lunges, goes low, and I leap back. He keeps pace, slashing at me. All I can do is weave and spin and parry his attacks. He doesn’t give me a chance to start a sequence of my own. He pushes me back. Our swords spark against one another’s.

And then my back hits the railing of the Messiah. Shit. Well, what did I expect? Grearson has years of experience on me. He was a soldier before the Flood. And he’s a grown man. I’m only nineteen.

Grearson plows his boot into my gut, knocking the wind out of me. I keel over and he takes a handful of my locs, pulls me up, and punches me. My head snaps to the left—blood flies. The ocean swirls behind me, waiting for Grearson to flip me over. I feel my grip loosen around the hilt of the sword, then I hear it clatter to the ground.

“You’re all talk.” Grearson grabs me by the scruff of my shirt. “You’re worthless. A nobody. I should throw you overboard, but I want you to watch your mother foam out of the mouth as I fry her brain!”

He pulls me closer, then tries to toss me, but I send my knee into his groin. The blow disorients him, and I get behind him, shoving him into the railing. He tries to turn but I take his head and bang it into the metal. Pitiless toward his now limp body, I smash his head into railing again and again and again until I’m out of breath, until Grearson’s an unrecognizable mess. He crumples to the ground, sputtering blood.

I take his blade and kneel over him. I should stab him through the heart like he did my father, but this will be better.

I hover the sword over his face. “You’ll die sightless and be just like your God of Darkness, Obscurindity. Enjoy your trip to Hell.”

And I dip the blade into his eye.

The Guards protecting my suite lie on the ground unconscious. I step over them, gun in hand. Agnus sits at the dinner table with my mother, finger over his communicator.

“Here we are, you sinful boy,” he hisses. “Look at what you’ve done!”

“You did this, Agnus. Not me.” I approach the table.

“Stay back!”

“Do it.” I reach for him, and he presses his communicator.

The look on his face when my mother doesn’t collapse or shriek is pure delight. He presses his communicator again, dumbfounded.

“It’s over, Agnus.” I take him by his robe and sling him to the floor. “It’s time for you to pay for all the pain you’ve caused.”

“You will burn in the Thirteenth Hell for this! I am Agnus, prophet of the Messiah, hearer of the gods, one of the chosen! How dare you! How dare—”

I raise my gun and squeeze the trigger, hitting Agnus in the shoulder. He cries out like a child. “You are nothing but a liar! A liar with two choices: one, I send a bullet through your skull here, or two, I let the people decide what to do with their prophet? Maybe your Endtimus doesn’t want you yet.”

Grearson stands surrounded by Lowers and Mainers, bound and blindfolded. They prod him with sticks and throw things at him as they force him toward the plank.

“Sink! Sink! Sink! Sink!” the crowd chants.

I step through them and pull Grearson onto the plank.

When I push him toward the edge, he stumbles, turns. “Zoroa!”

“I’m here,” I say. “Last words?”

Grearson sticks his chin to the sky. “I regret nothing!”

“Good. It’s better that way.” I lean in close, my lips to his ear. “We poured the spoiled meat you guys were feeding to the Lowers into the sea. I’m sure the sharks will be happy to have something fresh.”

“Wait, no!”

I shove Grearson. He balances on the lip of the plank, back to the sea.

“Help me!” His pants darken with piss.

I place myself in front of him.

“Zoroa! Please! I’ll do anything!”

Grearson slips but just before he falls, I grab him by his shirt. “Anything?”

“I’ll be your servant! I’ll bow to you! I’ll do whatever you want!”

A grin splits my face. “I want you to hold your breath.”

And I let go of Grearson. He plunges into the black ocean, the waves swallowing him whole.

I turn and the crowd cheers. Then another group of them brings Agnus forward. I hop off the plank and let the people do their thing. It seems they’ve decided.

“Unhand me!” Agnus yells. “I am your prophet! You cannot do this!”

Several Lowers force Agnus onto the plank. Then everyone else pokes him with their sticks.

“You will be damned!” Agnus shouts. “All of you! Falling Day will not come—”

Someone smacks Agnus across the face with their stick and then the rest batter him back. He tries to keep his balance on the edge, but his weight pulls him down. Agnus disappears overboard with a loud splash, and the people go wild.

Seagulls squawk overhead as I stand on a grassy hill with my mother and Yandel. A red sun dips below the ocean, creating the most beautiful death I’ve ever seen. The Messiah groans as it sinks into the sea. More and more of the ship disappears, my pain vanishing with it. When the Messiah’s gone, Yandel kisses me and my mother leans her head against my shoulder.

“Do you remember anything yet?” I ask her.

She nods. “Me and your father used to watch sunsets like this. I’m sorry I forgot.”

My mother cries and I pull her into me. She shudders in my embrace, and I squeeze her tighter. Yandel rubs the small of my back, and with soft eyes, my focus shifts toward the radiant orange sky, a smile printed across my face.