Unita awoke to find her bed shaking in the dark. It trembled violently and moved across the floor. Dust fell from the rafters, into her hair and mouth. She went to scream, but abruptly the bed stopped.

Rubbing at her eyes, she cautiously took in her surroundings. The heavily shuttered windows left all unfocused and dark. The creak of timber betrayed the cooling of the farm, but there was nothing else, no sight or sound to hint at strangeness.

The night was as calm as a windless lake.

A sound like thunder and the bed shifted an inch to the right. A glass on the bedside cabinet tipped, spilling water. The lampshade rocked gently, as if caught in a passing wind and the wardrobe door creaked slowly open.

She realised it was coming from outside - beyond the window. Taking some measure of comfort there was nothing in the room that could harm her, she slid out from between the sheets and crossed her room barefoot. She still wore her school uniform, now itchy from the sweat of a deep sleep.

The windows in the farm were shuttered after dark, locked down tight, so not even the slightest flicker of light could escape. Unita had the key, but she still hesitated before using it.

She checked her room one last time, looking for any light source coming from the hall, but all remained as it had been. Taking the brass key from where it rested upon the windowsill, she turned it in the lock. Once it made a satisfying click, she lifted back the shutter and peered out into the night.

All was swathed in shadow, the land a shapeless black mass of vague contour and unfathomable depth.

She waited with her hands pressed against the glass.

Far in the distance, a soft flash of yellow appeared. The glass window vibrated as the noise caught up to her - a distant roar of an explosion.

A moment later, a second flash of colour, then a third, tiny plumes of fire cut through the veil of night in a vivid moment of destruction.

Flickers of dull white shot into the sky, tracing lines that ran across the horizon. Understanding slowly dawned.


They were bombing the city. The Vatican’s Nightime Flyers had reached New York.

***

Close by a siren started up, its plaintive cry a warning to stay inside. Unita heard movement on the stairs, the dim light of the hallway flashed through the gap of the bedroom door. Quickly she closed the shutters.

The voice of her mother called softly from outside, “Are you awake darling?”

“Just a moment Mamma,” she hurried back to her bed and climbed inside.

The door opened and her mother Ashanti, entered the room; she stood hesitating on the threshold, fumbling for the light switch. “Have you been sleeping since school?” she asked.

“Yes Mamma, but the siren woke me.”

Ashanti found the switch and the amber glow of the overhead light chased the shadows from the room. “Me too,” she said with a smile.

“The man on the news said they would never reach the city, and that was only yesterday,” Unita failed to conceal the mounting fear in her voice.

Ashanti came over and sat on the edge of the bed, she looked tired and her eyes strayed across the room nervously. She wore her night-dress with a shawl around her shoulders and her hair tied back in a bun. Her face was bathed in a light sheen of sweat and when she spoke her voice was jittery, breaking often. “You know Unita, they can get things wrong, even with the best of intentions, the Church can slip through our shields.“ She looked down to her hands that shook uncontrollably and tears welled up into her eyes.

Unita had never seen her mother like this before. It made her feel worse, the fear becoming an oppressive, tangible thing. She fidgeted and felt an overwhelming urge to pee.

Ashanti glanced at her and smiled weakly. She clenched her hands into fists and took a long, deep breath. “It doesn’t matter though and you want to know why?”

Unita nodded.

“Because we’re going to win.” It was a statement of fact, backed up by a look of extreme confidence. “And also,” she added with a sly wink, “we have the American Atheist.”

Ashanti looked at the one poster in Unita’s room.

It depicted a mound of dead bodies. All the corpses wore purple robes, marking each as a Church Cardinal. The American Atheist stood proudly over them; his strong hands held the Stars and Stripes, the pole of which dug down deep into the mass of cadavers. He was clad in tight blue leather, which stretched around every muscle, leaving nothing to the imagination - a perfect superman.

Unita’s mother looked at the superhero with undisguised adoration. “He’ll get us through this. He won’t let us down,” she murmured.

“What about his sidekick?” Unita asked, “what about Iron Maiden?” She pointed to the background of the poster, where a sensuous carved suit of golden armour, in the likeness of a woman floated in the sky.

“Of course Iron Maiden will help American Atheist,” Ashanti said, in a matter of fact way, “help take the fight all the way to the Pope himself.”

“She can do a lot of things you know?” Unita pushed. “She has amazing weapons designed into the armour, all types of things…” She stopped talking when she realised Ashanti still gazed at the poster, her mouth slightly ajar. “Mamma, you’re not listening!” She shouted the words to get the older woman’s attention; even then Ashanti had to drag her gaze away.

Several thunderous crashes shook the room and their banter stopped short.

Ashanti swallowed hard. “Right young lady, I want you to come below until the bombing is over. We may be miles from New York, but I’m not taking any chances, so downstairs with me and I’ll see about getting you something to eat. Don’t forget the live broadcast from Attention America tonight, you won’t want to miss that.”

Unita had forgotten about the live broadcast, the first of its type to be tried. The kids at school were saying the news channel were setting it up with Iron Maiden, utilising technology newly invented for that purpose. She desperately wanted to see it.

The room shook again, the explosions much nearer.

“Downstairs this instant,” Ashanti said jumping from the bed, this time Unita felt compelled to obey.


***



The farmhouse was composed completely of solid white stone, with thick dark beams of wood that supported the ceiling. It was here Unita and Ashanti spent their time. A well-stocked kitchen led onto a smaller living area, and a large dominating fireplace provided warmth for the entire lower level. A single black and white television sat high up on the wall, dominating the lounge like a great eye, unblinking and constantly watching.

The far away sounds of war continued, with a heavy beat of the anti-aircraft guns and the cymbal crash of exploding bombs. The two women sat huddled together, listening to the cacophony of noise, waiting for the all clear to sound.

At half past the hour, a great blast shook the house, causing dust to fall from the rafters.

“Far closer than the city,” Unita whispered.

Ashanti moaned and bit down deep on her lower lip.

Ten minutes later, the siren’s mournful cry swept across the night. Unita fell back in her chair, feeling the tension ease from her body, to be replaced by a strange sense of euphoria. The Church had missed them both, they got to live, a while longer at least.

She didn’t know how much of this she could take

Ashanti opened a downstairs window, explaining it was good to smell the night air, but Unita suspected it had more to do with feeling faint than any nightly scent.

Unita caught sight of her reflection in the glass. She looked and felt the schoolgirl that she saw. Her hair she normally wore long and tied back, although now it fell loosely across her shoulders. She could make out the delicate curve of her breasts. The thin brown form of her figure. She was fast becoming a woman, but still felt the child.

She looked away from her reflection and instead towards the television. It only displayed the Atheist symbol of atomic energy; the black lines of the atom slowly rotated if she stared hard enough at the image. This was the test signal ready for the start of transmission.

Her excitement grew; a live broadcast featuring the American Atheist and Iron Maiden. It was too good to be true. Imagining the pair in real life left Unita feeling hot, she dabbed at her forehead with the sleeve of her blouse.

Ashanti entered the room carrying a tray of biscuits and two steaming mugs of coffee. Despite the rations they were forced to endure - a necessary side effect of the war - Ashanti would always make an exception for special news broadcasts, like the one they were going to see tonight.

Unita picked up a biscuit, nibbling at the edge. “Do you think we will see Iron Maiden?” she asked.

“Oh sweetness, of course we will. Iron Maiden is never far from the Atheist’s side now is she?”

“I suppose not,” Unita said feeling her excitement grow.

“They say once the American Atheist wins the war for us, he’ll marry Iron Maiden,” Ashanti continued, “it will be the decent thing to do. He does lead by example.” She sounded disappointed.

Unita also felt a sudden dip in her excitement at the thought of Iron Maiden walking down the isle.

She imagined the sensual golden suit in a white wedding dress walking towards the American Atheist who stood there splendid in his tux, his blue mask still concealing his features. She didn’t like the fantasy and took a large chunk from the biscuit while watching the wedding dress go up in flames.

“Mamma. Why does he wear a mask?” she said thoughtfully.

“Because he’s a superhero,” came the stock reply.

“Yes, but why hide who he truly is?” Unita wiped the crumbs from her blouse and looked expectantly at Ashanti.

“Because,” she took a deep breath, “the mask represents anonymity, and in that anonymity, the face of the average worker. He could be anybody we care to imagine, anyone at all.” She ended on a dreamy note, looking back at the television.

“No one around here I’ll bet,” Unita said.

“Yes, but Iron Maiden also wears a facemask, what does she have to hide?” An edge crept into Ashanti’s voice, Unita realised she had pushed on too much of a tender subject.

“Um . . . nothing, but it’s different for her, the armour protects from the evil weapons of the Cardinals, she has to wear a mask or they would aim for her face.”

After a long silence in which neither woman spoke, Ashanti said. “Mrs Johnson from No 59, the one with the five cats, or is it four? I think it’s four, the fat one died recently, buried him in her back garden as I recall. Anyway, her son Ernie, you remember the one who wanted to be an actor before they called him up?” She glanced over quizzically, but Unita shrugged her shoulders with indifference.

“Never mind,” she continued with barely a pause for breath. “He wrote to her last week saying the American Atheist joined his unit. Can you imagine that, having a superhero on your team, Mrs Johnson must be pleased.”

“Did he say if Iron Maiden was with him,” Unita asked too eagerly.

Ashanti scowled. “Yes, Iron Maiden’s also there, keeping up the good cheer.”

She was about to continue when a heavy banging resounded throughout the house.

“The front door?” Unita said.

“But who would be knocking now?”

Ashanti looked nervous and Unita felt a stab of fear. Neither made a move to answer, sitting in muted silence, paralysed by indecision.

The banging came again.

Perhaps it was a neighbour, come to watch the broadcast, or a Cardinal shot down seeking hostages, to bargain his release back to Rome!

“I’m scared,” Unita whispered.

Ashanti reached out and held her hand. “You don’t have to be scared of men and their flying machines,” she said with a brave smile.

A face appeared at the open window, both of them practically leapt from their seats.

“For goodness sake Ashanti, it’s me Nonfather Fletcher, open the backdoor I’ve got Bobby with me.”

Upon the mention of Bobby’s name, Unita’s heart sank.

Girls of Unita’s age already had a string of boyfriends, but Unita felt differently, all the boys she met did nothing for her, in any sense that mattered. Bobby was charming and persistent, so when the final school bell rang, he gave his usual advances and she had reluctantly agreed.

What followed was vulgar and coarse: Bobby’s hands touching, tugging, fumbling over zips with a pained expression. There was none of the love she had come to expect, none of the gentle exploration she wanted. It all became too much, she had fled, leaving Bobby red-faced with his trousers around his ankles, erection in hand.

She hadn’t seen him since. Unita realised she was holding her breath and let it back out with a whistle.

“See, nothing to worry about,” Ashanti laughed and answered the door.