Gods Under The Dome

12.2

《Matthew》

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The crowd in the Hall goes silent as they watch with awe the image of Councilman Dove. The woman who'd heaped praises and swallowed her Sunshine Vitamin dry begins to cry. Councilman Dove focuses on me as though no one else matters.

The crying woman shoots to her feet, gives him a salute, smacks her chest so hard I think she might topple. Dove's gaze drips over her like liquid metal, like mercury edging closer to its next victim. She gapes, ready and willing to swallow whatever her Councilor might say next.

"Pr-praise Dove!" she howls emphatically. Her knees tremble. Tears stream down her cheeks. "Praise Dove! For He is Truth-sayer! The Truth will--"

"ELOHIM."

With one word from the Councilor's lips, the woman stills. The room stills. Dozens of eyes glow violet. Jaws go slack. Drool dribbles down chins, splattering like spring rain onto the tile floor. Eerie silence overtakes us.

Dove turns back toward me, smiling. It's the same smile he gives in all his press conferences and televised public outings, but much the way Izzer's smile died before it reached his eyes, so does Dove's. There's no love in his gaze, no sympathy or compassion. His eyes serve up fury, cold, impassive, the thing of nightmares.

My mouth goes dry.

"Now we can talk in private," he turns to the room and in another booming voice commands the crowd to disperse. All at once, people get to their feet and head toward the exit.

"You are not allowed in here," Dove calls from behind them. "Emergency dispensary maintenance. Return to your homes and get some sleep. You all look so very tired."

Dove's smile spreads like a disease across his dark skin after the room has been emptied save for myself, Matthew, his sister and the two guards who seemed unhampered by Dove's use of the trigger word. "I would have liked to meet in person, Ten, when you graduated, but I'm afraid circumstances tend to change in..." He rubs the stubble along his chin. "In unforeseen ways." He nods at Matthew.

Tears run over Matthew's cheeks as he continues to gaze at his sister's body lying motionless on the floor. Blood trickles down her forehead, giving her brown bangs a coppery tint.

"She's," Matthew trembles. He bites his lower lip. "Lyra needs help."

Dove waves lazily to one of the gunmen which prompts him to yank Lyra up by her collar. A fistful of floral patterned dress in his hand, the man drags Lyra behind him, the heels of her shoes clinking off the floor. Matthew winces as the man props her up against a nearby table leg, her chin resting on her chest. Blood continues to drip down her face, smattering the white petals of her daisies.

Matthew screams. "Please! Ple-please, help her!"

Lyra's eyes flutter open. "B-big brother?" A moan escapes her as she  struggles to form words, her mouth opening and closing like a door on loose hinges. She manages a whimper before being able to utter, "It hurts."

Matthew claws the ground, reaching for the hem of her dress but the gunman ordered to watch him, rams the butt of his gun into Matthew's back. He howls in pain and folds forward. Again, Dove seems only concerned with me and that singular focus makes me want to piss myself from fright.

"We know about the Collective."

Lines of Dove's digitized face blur before resharpening to form the square-jaw of our nation's leader. Guess the signal's not that strong. "They like to think they are rebelling, but we have known about them for years. Sometimes it's best to let people play out their war games. Helps rid them of excess energy." He says this as though Della and the others were over-active children in need of added playtime. I'd only been with them for a few days if that, but there was nothing childish about their iron determination to blow up everything FUA related. If anyone could topple the government, Della had the best chance.