By Kirsty Nottage

Charlie loved being outdoors. It was one of the main reasons he’d joined the commune. As they packed away the remnants of their meagre picnic, he savoured the gentle breeze that made their sparse rations more palatable. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the portions had shrunk since Brother Malachi’s arrival. He tapped his fingers together—it must be his faulty memory. He was lucky to live in the commune. He’d experienced the hardships of outside.  

The wind howled, breaking Charlie from his thoughts, replacing them with a new concern. The weather had worsened over the last few hours, unusual for the time of year. He glanced at Mary-Anne. “Do you think a storm’s coming?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Should we be preparing?” 

“Charlie, you know Brother Malachi says we shouldn’t worry. The Righteous Angel will keep us safe.”

Charlie nodded. Of course, Brother Malachi was right. But surely preparations couldn’t hurt? He considered speaking out but remembered what happened when Elsie had questioned Brother Malachi’s new methods. Bound for a week, made to eat like an animal. He could still see her tears as the ropes rubbed her wrists raw. He shuddered. He must remain faithful.

As the wind grew stronger, Charlie wished he could check the weather. ‘Stop thinking like that,’ he scolded himself, tapping his fingers together, ‘You don’t want the Righteous Angel to doubt your faith.’

A lightning strike in the distance shot through Charlie’s thoughts and was immediately followed by a growl of thunder. “We should get shelter,” he shouted over the roar of wind. Mary-Anne nodded, and they hurried to corral the pigs before running towards the self-built commune. 

Inside, they found their comrades kneeling and chanting. “Protect us Righteous Angel!” they intoned. Mary-Anne fell on her knees to join them. 

Charlie hesitated. “Where’s Brother Malachi?” 

“He’s conferring with the Angel,” a man replied, tears of hope in his eyes, “He told us to continue our protective chanting. The faithful will be saved.” 

A flash of lightning was followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder. 

Charlie’s thoughts screamed at him to board the windows and fetch supplies, but he knew they were doubts planted by the devil. He tapped his fingers together, then dropped to his knees, joining the chanting.

The first window smashing inwards didn’t stop the chanting and nor did the second. When the wooden walls groaned and splintered, the chant lost its conviction. It was finally stopped completely when the wind tore the wooden walls down from the inside out. 

Charlie curled into a ball, tapping his fingers, until a piece of wood struck his head, ending his movements completely. 

After hours of waiting, Malachi tentatively opened the storm shelter that sat away from the commune. Seeing the calmer weather, he emerged with the higher-ranking members. He checked his phone. “Dammit, no signal.” He glanced at the others, who were staring at the chaos surrounding them. “Come on, let’s assess the damage. It looks like the Righteous Angel has been busy.”