Free Vacation by Jeremy C. Shipp Page A

the wrong section.
    The first priest shuts himself into the other tiny chamber, and sits in silence for a while. Finally, he says, “It started because we wanted to keep one church alive and bright. A beacon of God. Even with our resources pooled together, it wasn’t enough. So we made a deal. At first, we didn’t even know what we were transporting. The Agency didn’t tell us, and we didn’t ask. But eventually, we searched out the truth—perhaps because of guilt, or curiosity, or a little bit of both. When we learned the truth, we should’ve refused to continue. The Agency might’ve killed us all, but this shouldn’t be a problem for people like us. But instead of quitting, we sunk deeper. We have more than enough to keep up the church. Now, we have our…habits to pay for. In this life, and the next. Please forgive me, young man.”
    “I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” I say.
    The priest leaves, and another enters.
    He’s an older man, with a skeleton for a face. He tells me about the Agency, and about his addiction, and then he says, “God alone is the Lord of life from its beginning until its end. No one can under any circumstance claim for himself the right directly to destroy an innocent human being. But what if the act is indirect? Sometimes I think we’re wrong to collect these children here. They are orphans. They would most likely die without our aid. But is this life we give them a preferred alternative to death? I negotiated the treaties between the church and the power players of this region. When the children are old enough, they’re taken by Weis or Blackbeard or the others. We call this adoption. Ha! I hope God can hear my words through your ears. I have faith that he can.”
    Priest after priest, this goes on for hours.
    Afterward, the sindoor opens, and I step out of the confessional. Nearby children point at me and shout, “Monster!” and run off laughing.
    The priests shake my hand and thank me, and they vomit in their pots.
    All the time we’re in this place, the priests ignore Aubrey completely. They don’t talk to her. They don’t even look at her. I wonder if they’re doing this because they don’t want to be more tempted than they already are.
    The sound of planes shakes the glass, but the priests remain as calm as the stained-glass figures.
    When the noise subsides, the priests and children head outside, and we follow. Crates dot the forest clearing. Before long, horses and wagons are brought from behind the church, and the priests and children load the cargo.
    Aubrey and I don’t help.
    After the preparations are complete, most of the priests climb into the wagons, and all of the children return to the church.
    The first priest who spoke to me, speaks to me again, from atop a wagon, reins in hand. “We’re crossing the border. We can’t promise you safe passage, but it is safer with us than alone. Are you heading in that direction?”
    I turn to Aubrey.
    She’s already climbing into the wagon.
    Within minutes the priests among us are asleep, twitching and shivering, and Aubrey and I are left alone in wakefulness. But it doesn’t feel that way. This Vacation must be a dream. Instead of obtaining souvenirs, I leave parts of myself behind.
    Blood and shit and tears.
    This can’t be right.

Part 11
    “You should sleep,” Aubrey says. “We probably won’t get another opportunity for a while. You need the rest, after what happened to you.”
    “I can’t sleep,” I say.
    “Is it the pain?”
    “No, that’s the strange thing.”
    She takes my hand, and rests it in a bowl of fingers on her lap. “My mother and my grandmother were fortune tellers. I would’ve been too.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “They taught me a little before they died.” She closes her eyes. Her fingers curl a little around my palm. “Everyone has an animal spirit inside them. Yours is a bird. This is a problematic spirit to have. Some animals are content staying where they are, but not