Behold now, I have two daughters which have not known man; let me, I pray you, bring them out unto you, and do ye to them as is good in your eyes.

Genesis 19:8

It’s late, well past midnight, when Jeremiah comes home. He closes the door and stands in the darkness. No approaching footfalls. He’s rooted to the spot. My scalp prickles. 

‘Jeremiah?’

He doesn’t answer, so I stretch out my hand, pick up the matches, and light the petroleum lamp. The room is dipped in warm light. 

There’s blood on his face, his throat, his chest. I push myself off my rug and tell him to sit. He doesn’t move, so I lead him to the bed. His hands are shaking. I fetch water and a washcloth, and start cleaning him off. ‘Did you propose to Silas?’ I ask.

He just stares at me, doesn’t seem to get the joke at all. Maybe he didn’t even hear me, there’s a lot going on behind his eyes. His right cheekbone is bruised and swollen. His lower lip is split, a crack runs through his right eyebrow, his eye is swollen and half shut. I check his hands and wash them, rub the blood off, and pull them closer to the lamp. His knuckles look fine.

‘You didn’t hit back?’ I pull his chin in my direction, make him look at me. ‘Jeremiah?’

‘How good are you at keeping secrets?’ he whispers and that’s when I know it’s bad.

I shrug, because I don’t know how to convince him. ‘I keep a lot of secrets.’

He shakes his head, then nods, shakes it again. I take his hand. Maybe it helps him think.

‘This is more important than anything. More important than your own survival. You must…do your best.’ He stands, snaps open a knife and sticks the blade between two floorboards. He wiggles it along the crack, then along the other crack, widening both.

I’m growing hot when he lifts out the board and retrieves a small silvery thing from the depths below — not much bigger than the nail of my pinky. ‘This place is not safe anymore. You have to find a better hiding spot. Until then, swallow it.’ He holds it out to me. 

His tone dampens all protests I might have voiced. Like a good and obedient wife, I part my lips and he slips the thing into my mouth.

‘It’s sealed and acid proof,’ he says, and I swallow.

‘What is it?’ Maybe I should have asked before eating it.

He replaces the floorboard, brushes dirt into the cracks and grinds it in with his boots. Then he sits down next to me. The mattress sags under his weight. ‘It’s a drive. It contains several exabytes of data. Orbits of satellites. All satellites.’

I let that sink in. I’m growing cold.

‘Satellite specifications and access codes. The entire global network; military, espionage, climate, everything.’

‘Why are you giving this to me?’ I ask.

‘To keep it safe. And one day…’ He clears his throat and looks down at his hands. ‘And one day you’ll use it to destroy them all. Go to Longyearbyen. You’ve been there before. Install the program.’ He dips a finger at my stomach. ‘Wipe out headquarters and shoot all satellites from the sky. Do you understand?’ He looks at me, then. Two sharp, pale blue eyes, pale blonde brows drawn low. Although we’re both sitting, he’s still much taller than I.

‘How do I get in?’

‘You will get in, trust me.’

So he’s hacked the security system of the Seed Vault, too? I’m stunned. I open my mouth to pour out all the questions that grate on the inside of my skull, but only one, the most important of them all, slips out: ‘What does Erik want with me?’

‘I don’t know. He’s planning something with you, that much is clear, but…I haven’t figured out what it is.’

‘He hasn’t told you?’

Jeremiah shakes his head.

‘Does he know you are a spy?’ I ask.

He doesn’t even blink. I’ve made a guess, and yet, it’s the only thing that seems to make sense. 

‘I’m no spy. But I plan well and prepare for all…eventualities.’

‘What eventualities?’

His jaws are working. He inhales, his lungs are rattling. ‘I said I would only ever touch you when you wanted me. I don’t want to break my promise, but I need it…need you tonight. I need you to touch me tonight.’

His gaze sinks back to his hands and I know I’ll never see him again. I know that by tomorrow morning, the time of protection is over. For both of us.

‘Don’t you hurt?’ I ask.

‘Are you really a virgin?’

‘Why’s that so important?’

‘I need to know, so I’ll be gentler.’

I give him a single nod. ‘I’m not sure what to do.’ To be honest, I have absolutely no clue what I’m supposed to do. 

‘You could help me take off my shirt.’

It’s awkward. My hands are clumsy all of a sudden. My heart has lost its usual rhythm. Plopp-plopp it goes, as if blood is only randomly thrown into the organ and splashing back out of it.

The shirt comes off and there are more bruises. They don’t seem to bother him much. He’s built like one of those ancient steam engines. Raw power wherever I look.

‘Are you scared?’ he asks and I shake my head. I’m scared of tomorrow, not of tonight.

I pull off my shirt and step out of my pants. He looks at my small breasts as if lightning has struck him. His hand reaches out, his hard palms, calloused fingers, and then, a gentle touch to my soft flesh. Warmth rushes over my skin. 

‘I want to kiss you,’ he whispers.

‘’Kay,’ I croak and he leans in. My fingers try his hair, trail through it. Soft. Almost white. His lips are gentler than I expected. I feel his teeth graze my nipple, then a warm tongue, hot breath. He groans and presses his forehead against my ribcage. ‘I want you to want it,’ he mutters. ‘I want you to want it.’

‘Yes,’ I whisper. ‘I want you.’ And it’s true. Tonight is outside of reality. Tonight is the calm before the storm. Tomorrow, everything will be washed away. 

A growl rumbles up his throat. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into him as he leans back on the bed. Together we fall. Through his pants, I can feel him harden against me. My hand slides along his length. I pull at his waistband and we kick off his pants.

‘You seem shocked,’ he whispers. 

I nod. It’s as if, now that he’s naked and I am naked too, the heaviness of our decision settles in. That step forward. 

‘Will it hurt?’ I hear myself ask.

‘I won’t hurt you. You might feel a little raw later. But in a very…enjoyable way.’ His pale skin acquires a pink tinge. The corners of his mouth twitch. ‘I hope.’

‘I want to feel your weight on me,’ I whisper into his ear and he says, ‘Yes,’ but then, ‘Not yet,’ and again, ‘Do you want me? Say you want me.’

His hand travels down my stomach and dips into the wetness hiding behind my orange curls. I feel him smile against my collar bone, feel his finger slipping into me and a second finger until he curls them and finds a spot that feels so sweet. I press toward him and move my hips, grind them against his hand and curl my arm around his waist, trying to coax him onto me, because I yearn, I yearn.

He takes his time showing me many, many delicious things one can do with lips, hands, and tongue. And when he finally shifts his weight and presses me into the bed, I sink, I drown, and open for him, and then he enters me and I do feel pain, the pain of separation, the pain of nights wasted and togetherness thrown carelessly aside. I grab him and wrap him up, pull him deeper, swallow and devour him and he comes with a shudder and I with a muffled cry.

———

Erik walks in without knocking. The morning sun has barely risen high enough to slant through the windows. ‘It’s time,’ he says and Jeremiah rises without a word. 

We don’t look at each other. As we agreed.

He leaves and I stay in the house. As we agreed.

Sitting on my rug, I listen to the grinding of boots on hard ground. Low, calm voices. A measured discussion, it seems. He’ll be fine, I think, just when a lone shot is fired. I tell myself to stay seated, to behave like a wife who has been abused and mistreated for months, who is happy her husband is now dead. 

When Erik strolls back in and tells me I’m to dispose of the body, all I can do is nod and stand and stumble forward. Jeremiah lies flat in the dirt, the sun shines down on him, an exit wound gapes at the back of his head. I don’t look there. I look at his mighty shoulders, knowing they’re still warm. I walk up to him and turn him over. He’s heavy. Heavier than he was last night when he softly lowered himself onto me, into me. Even his urgency didn’t make him as heavy as he is now.

‘Where do you want me to put him?’ I ask no one in particular.

‘The pit,’ Silas says. 

I can hear the smile in his voice.

I grab Jeremiah’s wrists and start pulling. Slow progress. I look at his face, white lashes resting on pale skin, droplets of blood caught in them. I think of Snow-white. Red as blood, white as snow, black as…the BSA.

I swallow and keep pulling, keep my head low and my eyes dry.