Are You Worthy?

Contains psychological tension, implied harm to children and animals, and themes of obedience and worthiness.

Fiona and her six brothers stood patiently at the tree line of their farm in alphabetical order, because Father said order matters when the world is ending.

And one of Fiona’s brothers was not worthy.

The forest breathed in front of them. Fiona craned her head to look up the line they formed, counting each brother to make sure everyone was there. She locked eyes with her eldest brother, Abel. He stood at the head of the line, because his name started with an A. Then came Beau, his face locked in its familiar, bold glare. Cade was next, blonde hair hanging over a devilish grin. Dean next, snot running the length of his forearm as he wiped his nose. Then Evan, who had been having a staring contest with the crunchy leaves of October for the past ten minutes. And lastly came Fiona, because F always came after E; just how she liked it.

She brushed her hair from her face.

Fiona couldn’t quite explain why, but she found herself excited—almost giddy at the thought that Earth was just five days away from becoming a deserted, uninhabitable wasteland. Father had explained this over his famous mac and cheese and meatloaf. He was wearing his signature Monday shirt that night, the blue plaid button up solely designated for that day of the week. His fork scraped against the porcelain, filling the room with what came close to the sound the pigs made when turned into our dinner. “The government will never come out and say it explicitly. They’ve never cared about us.”

Fiona set her fork down gingerly onto the wooden table, sitting up taller in her chair. She could tell that something had been off since the moment Father sat down. The order in which he ate had made no sense to Fiona—no obvious reasoning and no clear order. He cleared his throat. “I don’t want you guys to be scared now. I’m afraid it's been a long time coming, unfortunately.”

“Is that what that thing is in the backyard?” Beau asked as though it were a rotting corpse rather than a set of double metal doors.

Father’s left eye twitched, the way it always did when Beau said something he didn’t like. “That ‘thing’ is a highly protective bunker. One that will protect us when the time comes.”

Beau glanced to his left, to the old wooden seat holding up Cade, a grin dancing across Beau’s cracked lips. Cade snorted, the kind one might hear had they walked through the halls of school with shoes that were twice the size of their own double-socked feet.

Father hadn’t noticed the looks being exchanged by the two boys. That, or he couldn’t be bothered to care.

But Fiona had.

Her jaw had set in a rigid line, that familiar pain weaving its way deep into the roots of her teeth. She wished in that moment she could shake the indestructible teenage boy phenomenon right out of him, rip him back into the present, and scream at him until her vocal cords had been worn down to the bare wire.

Fiona did none of that, of course.

She sat there, feet crossed at the ankles, elbows in her lap, her hands laced and quiet.

In the time when Fiona had found herself lost in her head, Father had taken a moment for each of his six children, with Abel being the first, and Fiona being the last, because that was how it was.

“The bunker, however, does not have room for just anyone.” Father raised a brow. “You must be worthy.”

The dining room was then silent, leaving only the bare framework of their rigid log cabin to dare a quiet cry. Fiona held her breath, as though the act of breathing would automatically make her unworthy, disqualifying her from the freedom granted by this newfound bunker.

After almost a complete minute of silence, Evan braved a question. “How do we become worthy?”

Father tilted his head in a similar manner to one teaching a young child their ABCs. “Well, how is your worth proven here?”

Fiona thought for a moment, staring down at her finished dinner for answers as though they were carved right onto the porcelain. Yet, just before Fiona had opened her mouth, the words at the tip of her tongue, Dean beat her to it. “We make the right choices?”

Fiona’s eyes narrowed at the answer just as Father nodded, leaving her momentarily stunned.

“The correct choices.” He fixed his wired glasses. “Over the next couple of days, I will be deciding who is worthy.” Father stood from his chair, casting long, dark shadows over the dining table. “And those who are not.”

After dinner, Fiona had pulled Father aside. Pebbles sat in the nape of her arms. “Father, can Pebbles be worthy?”

The cat purred, closing its eyes as Father scratched behind its ear. “Oh, Fiona,” he chuckled, leaving Fiona’s chest to sink deeper into her gut. “I’m sure Pebbles can prove her worth.”

Fiona couldn’t remember how she ended up on her bedroom floor, but there she had found herself. She uncapped her sparkly pink glitter pen with her teeth and swiftly added a new rule to her list.

Rule 12: Be worthy.

She shut the notebook, holding it tightly to her chest. Yet, just as she went to slide it into its designated spot underneath her pillow, she froze.

A dead mouse lay on her pillow.

Pebbles then hopped up onto her bed, purring as though she had made the right choice.

Fiona narrowed her eyes.

The wind whipped by her with such force that she hadn’t realized she couldn’t see until moments later. Fiona couldn’t help but think the wind had a personal vendetta against her. She ran her fingers over her tongue, collecting the stray hairs that had somehow made their way past her closed, cracked lips.

Father then cleared his throat, grounding her to the dry dirt, a lightbulb flicked on in a dark room. The wind whistled a mocking tone. “Evan, why are we here?”

“Because I left the gate open,” he quivered, his lower lip trembling.

Father nodded approvingly. “Are you worthy?”

Fiona watched a tear slide down the side of Evan’s red cheeks, then be blown horizontal by the wind. He sniffled. “No. I am not worthy.”

Father nodded before grabbing the shoulder of his jacket. Before Fiona could even think to say another word, they had already been consumed by the forest.

***

Fiona’s name rang out within the thick cabin walls. She dashed from her room as though it were on fire, her heart pounding against her ribs as if trying to break free. She stood tall in front of her Father. “Yes, Father?”

“Go help Beau and Cade feed the chickens. They should already be outside.” It was a simple task, one her Father had barely looked up from his newspaper of lies to task her with. Yet Fiona knew it was more than just feeding their hens.

She hurried from the log cabin and out into the yard. Not even ten minutes ago, she had been watching the raindrops race each other down her windows. But now, as she stood outside in the cold, in what she would deem as uncomfortable rain, she couldn’t help but frown.

It was as though the Earth itself knew its end was near, the rain its only way of communicating its dread and fear of the end. Fiona’s shoes soon began to grow damp.

She soon found Beau and Cade lugging two bags of chicken feed from the shed. Fiona’s eyes widened in horror. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like we’re doing?” Cade said, tilting his head in mockery, a bully rather than an older brother. Fiona had grown used to it, being the only girl, but sometimes it still stung.

“That’s an entire year's worth of feed.”

Cade craned his head over his shoulders to look at the bag of chicken feed, as though he had not known it was there. Beau shot Fiona a sharp glare. “Why are you out here anyway?”

“Father told me to come help.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t need your help,” Cade said. Fiona scrunched her nose as he turned away.

Beau laughed before flinging his bag of chicken feed over his shoulder, realizing it was probably the smarter choice to carry it rather than drag it. Yet just as the bag had lifted off the ground, the bottom seam split free, sending the feed flying in one big half-circular motion.

Beau, Cade, and Fiona all stood frozen, as though someone had paused time.

That was not the correct choice.

He is not worthy.

Fiona’s inner voice was so loud, so bold, so sudden, at first she hadn’t thought it was her own. She could swear it had been said out loud from someone bigger, older, wiser.

Beau whipped his head towards Fiona. “Don’t tell Father.”

A desperate plea, one Fiona did not hear often.

But it was too late.

Fiona had already bolted across the yard and into the house, ripping Father from his newspaper of lies. “Father!”

He sat up from his spot on the couch, looking at Fiona as though she were an alien rather than his only daughter. “Fiona?”

“Beau—He—He—” She tried to speak, tried to explain how Beau was unworthy. How Beau would put everyone in danger and how he must be dealt with—but the words just couldn’t come quick enough.

Beau came bursting through the door. “It was an accident!”

Father’s face darkened, the way it always did when things were out of order. “What happened?” A demand rather than a question.

One that required an immediate answer.

As they stood over the chicken feed, Beau glared daggers at Fiona, as though this were all her fault. As if she were the one to be so careless as to fling an entire year's worth of feed over their shoulders without thought.

They all waited silently for Father to speak.

Father sighed with his whole chest, the kind of sigh you would only see in an exhausted parent. “Was this really a mistake?”

“Yes, Father, I wouldn’t lie!” Beau said, desperately.

Father’s lips pressed into one solid line before speaking. “Go inside.”

Fiona snapped her neck towards her father, eyes bulging, as though her Father had just set the house on fire. “But he made a mistake—he’s not worthy.”

Father turned to look down at her. “It was a small mistake, Fiona. He can still be worthy.”

“No. It can’t,” Fiona said, her voice slowly drowning in the rain. “That doesn’t make sense.”

For this, Father only provided her with a smile, one that looked more painful than happy.

Some mistakes are forgiven?

A deep, unsettling pit grew within Fiona’s chest.

And others aren’t?

Fiona then looked up.

She was standing outside alone, the rain once again filling her sneakers.

***

The woods lurked around them as they walked along the ledge above the river. Fiona stared down at the rapids below, the glistening reflection of the sun mesmerizing. Her mind was suddenly flooded with memories.

Good ones. Happy ones.

Structured ones, Fiona thought.

She was surprised at how much joy a body of water could bring her.

A gust of wind suddenly weaved through the trees, throwing Fiona off balance. She stumbled backwards, falling atop a hidden root with a thud.

Cade’s heinous laughter filled the background. “Hey snitch, are you going to help us or just lay there?”

Father had tasked Fiona and her brothers with collecting wood for their fireplace, and for the bunker when the time had come. He had always liked the wood by the river.

If there’s water, there’s life, Father said in his cheery voice, thrusting the handle of the red wagon into Fiona’s open hands. Just don’t get too close!

Fiona glared at Cade over the clearing, her movements announced through the crunches of leaves that littered the ground. Just as she was about to pick herself up, a hand was held out just inches from her face.

The hand was attached to Abel, whose face was locked in its signature stillness. She waited for only a moment before taking it, pulling herself up off the ground and wiping the dirt off her jeans. Abel turned away before Fiona was even able to show her gratitude.

She soon began filling their red wagon with thick sticks, Abel providing a reliable beat as he chopped down a small tree a few yards away.

Father had only trusted Abel with the axe. He said Fiona was too young.

She watched the blade as it cut through the woods with ease, the sun catching the edge of the blade.

“So, Fiona. Do you think you’re worthy enough for the bunker?” Beau said.

Fiona turned, the question sending chills up her spine. She glared at Beau. “Yes.”

He snickered, looking to Cade for support. He smirked. “What about me? Am I worthy?”

Fiona refused to answer, leaving Cade and Beau to snicker. Abel strode over, his grip tightening around the axe. “Leave her alone, guys.”

“Why?” Beau said, tossing a log into the red wagon. “She should know the truth.”

“What truth?” Her voice was quiet, a mouse in a room full of cats.

“She’d believe Father if he said the sky was pink.” Beau added, his face morphing into an expression Fiona had never seen before. “Father’s crazy. And before we know it, he’ll drag us all down with him.”

Abel remained quiet.

Fiona furrowed her brows, determined to have her voice heard. “Father’s not crazy.”

“Oh yeah?” He tilted his head. “If he’s so sane, then why does he have a phone?”

The woods fell silent, as if Beau had condemned the whole forest.

Fiona didn’t know if she was breathing. Couldn’t know. “What?”

“Yeah, Cade saw him last night. He hides it in his bedside drawer.” Cade glanced their way after hearing his name, tossing a stick into the wagon without looking. “He cut the TV cords because they could ‘track us’, but yet he has a phone.”

Fiona looked to her left, watching as Dean collected sticks a few yards away. She then stared at Beau as though he were not real at all, a figment of her imagination.

Her voice was barely a whisper. “No. That can’t make sense.”

“It does.” He tilted his head, gesturing to the forest. “The world is not ending. Father just… decided it was.” He then zoned in on Fiona, speaking to her as though she were a young child. “He’s. Crazy.”

Fiona’s eyes fell to the floor of the woods, scanning each leaf. Those words had struck Fiona, as though she had been physically hit. She could feel the blood pouring into her chest, her ears ringing.

Beau then spoke up. “And lord only knows what Father did with Pebbles. Haven’t seen that cat in days.”

Abel’s eyebrows scrunched. “What?”

“The cat? Fiona’s cat? She's missing.”

Abel turned to Fiona, as if to confirm it true.

Fiona then looked up, the words coming easy. “She wasn’t worthy.”

Silence pressed in around them.

Beau stared at Fiona as though he had never seen her before that moment. He took one distinct step back before turning away, continuing Father’s task.

The water raced below now louder than ever.

Fiona let the cold, forest air run through her lungs, breathing it with relief.

She was relieved. Almost exhilarated.

Because Fiona didn’t care if Father lied.

Didn’t care if the world was ending or not.

All she knew was that Beau was not worthy.

And Fiona knew how to handle the unworthy.