Bunker Bird

5. The Bishop

The Church is the Manuals' keeper.

The Bishop is the Church's master.

The Manuals of the Bunker, Vol. 2, Verse 1

They had arrested my father?

I stared at Marge, incredulous. "What? The bishop wouldn't do that." The bishop was justice, the Manuals told us so. I shook my head. "Why?"

"One of the guards said it's because your father has failed in his duty. Because he couldn't fix that swamp."

"But that's chicken shit. The craner says it's because—"

"Shush!" She held a finger to her mouth. "You've gotta get away from here. They're looking for you, too. You've gotta hide, real quick."

"Hide?" I couldn't believe her words. "Why should I hide? It's the Church we're talking about. Father will explain it all to the bishop."

"Mom's right, Tim." Ed put his hand on my arm. "You should hide. Maybe just until your dad has explained everything to the bishop."

"But there's no place to hide." I gestured at the space around us. "Neither here nor in the upper cavern."

"There is, outside the caverns, in the tunnels," Marge said. "Ask the craner. He can—"

Her words were cut short by a hubbub from the square. Curious, I peered around the corner of the hut.

The bishop had emerged from our house, his yellow robe unmistakable. My father stood right behind him. The people's murmur ceased.

The bishop cleared his throat. "Good people of the bottom village." He paused, a serene smile pushing back his fleshy cheeks. "May the Church bless you and guard you against the birds of evil." He raised his hands for the blessing, and everyone bowed to him in acknowledgment.

"The Bunker is testing us," he continued. "It is testing us with hunger and thirst. But this test is a blessing." He paused and spread his hands, palms facing the ceiling. "Why a blessing, you may ask. It's a blessing because it will make us stronger. It will teach us to care for what we have. It will make us smarter and more attentive. And it will help us distinguish between title and skill."

Title and skill? What was this about?

"As you know, one of the swamps has stopped working. I've asked this man here..." He gestured at my father. "I've asked him to fix it. His official title is foreman. But was the foreman able to fix the swamp?" He paused and took in the audience.

No one moved except Frankie, who crossed his arms before his chest and let a sneer bloom on his face.

"No." The bishop shook his head and looked at his feet as if the thought weighed heavy on him. "Your foreman wasn't able to fix the swamp. So what does this tell us about his skill?" He took a breath and pointed at my father again. "He lacks it."

I couldn't believe my ears—my father knew what he did. It was only Marge's iron grip on my arm that prevented me from storming onto the square and arguing my father's case.

My dad took a step forward, his face flushed now. "But it's not the swamp that needs fixing. It's the pumps that don't work."

"The pumps?" The bishop raised his brows. "The Engineers built the pumps, and the Church ordered them to be perfect. They can't fail."

"But—"

"Be quiet. You will be heard at the trial." He turned towards Wolfe. "Captain! Have this man bound! Then search the village for his family."

"His family?" Wolfe frowned as he tugged at his ear.

"Yes. Wife, kids, all the lot. They need to be questioned."

"You have to leave right now." Marge seized my arm. In a daze, I followed her and Ed as they dragged me towards the vegetable gardens.

"Run, hurry! Find the craner!" she hissed. "He'll know what to do."

"What about you? You're his sister."

"They're not interested in me. I'm just an old woman." She looked back at the village. There was no one in sight.

"But..." I looked at Ed. "The craner said the pumps are the problem. That's why the swamp is not being drained. You're good with machines. Can't you fix them?"

Before he could reply, Marge squeezed my hand. "Go! There's no time for this now." Her finger trembled as she pointed towards the lower end of the cavern, where the crane's grapple hung right above the bloody swamp that had brought the bishop and the guards down on us.

I was in a daze. The Church had arrested my father—that couldn't be real! There had to be some mistake.

Arrests were rare. Sometimes, people got locked up for a night, for being drunk or for fighting. But these weren't real arrests. The actual arrests were for crimes, such as thieving or—worse—blasphemy. A trial would follow, and if found guilty, there was only one sort of punishment—death.

I'd seen that once, a hanged man. I had been in the upper cave to carry the waste from their dump to the chute. And there he was—a man from the upper cavern. I knew him only by sight, not by name. The rope tied to a scaffold above him bit into the flesh of his neck. Blue lips in a swollen face—his eyes nearly popped from his head.

A slap hit the back of my head.

"What's the matter with you?" Marge held her hand high as if ready to strike me again. "This is neither the place nor the time for your daydreaming. Move it, dammit. Right now."

"I—"

"Go, or I'll smack your head off."

When she was mad, there was no stopping her. I raised my hands in defense and nodded. "Sure, Marge. I... I'll be going." I swallowed and looked at Ed. "I'll talk to the craner. Maybe I can hide somewhere with him."

"Sure, man." He held up his thumb, but he was frowning.

I turned my back on them, not wanting them to see me in tears.

"Take care," Ed called after me, right before I started running.