The Last Believer

“Holly!”
I shout. I’m breathless, laughing,
“Holly, come back!”
The retriever barks, bounding ahead through the scrubby bush and trees.
“She’s more excited to get to the summit than we are,” my husband says, wiping the sweat from his face.
“Speak for yourself, Geoff!” I say, punching him lightly on the arm.
“Ow!” He exclaims, and laughs.
We reach the top of the mountain. Gum trees part to reveal a view of the bush that goes for miles under a bright, blue, cloudless sky…
“What a beautiful day.” I say.
“Just like God made it,” He replies.
We kiss.
“I love you, Geoff,” I say, gazing into his eyes.
“I love you too, Anna."
Holly runs over from the edge of the mountain, bumping into Geoff, almost knocking him over.
I laugh.
“Ruff!” the dog says.
He scratches her on the head.
I open my eyes. There’s liquid in my mouth. I can’t see or hear anything. I close my eyes again. I find myself back on the mountain…
“Geoff… did you ever think you could be so happy?” I ask.
I open my eyes. Close my mouth. There’s liquid everywhere. I still can't see anything. I struggle, suddenly frightened. Without a voice, I scream.
“I have faith in the Lord…” Geoff says, taking me back to the mountain. His smile distorts. His face twists, turns, and flutters away.
The world before me opens out. Bright light fills my eyes as the liquid releases my body. I fall forward, and somebody catches me. They bundle me up in a soft towel, and lead me away from the room…
“I love you, Geoff…” I choke, but the mountain and everything around it is lost in shifting darkness. Gun-metal grey panels fill my vision, moving forward, quickly. I can't focus on any of it. I vomit –
“Fuck, my shoes!” Somebody shouts.
I’m pulled roughly into a hard, silver chair. The room is spinning. Someone shines a light in my eyes: left, then right.
“What’s going on?” I whisper.
“Can you see that?” Someone says. A cold voice. Hard, with no emotion.
I wince.
“Yes,” I say. I pull my head in the direction of the voice, “Lord, protect me.”
Someone behind me laughs.
The man in front of me is pale, steel-faced, and sneering at me. A light behind him reflects off his bald skull, tattooed with an image of a dragon.
“Your mental faculties seem to be,” the man hesitates, “Normal, within our expected parameters.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
The man doesn’t answer.
“Very good, we can start the interview. Winston?” The man looks over my shoulder, “Winston – you can start the camera now.”
I look behind me. A younger man, with green hair and ugly piercings, nods. I follow him with my eyes, and he takes his place behind an unusually bulky camera. I look around the room. I see a man by a small red door that seems to be the exit. He notices me watching him, and glares at me suspiciously.
“You’ll have to forgive the security,” the bald man says, “Though I’m sure it’s hard for you to understand. People with your… condition… can often be dangerous if provoked. We’ve learnt that lesson many times, some of us firsthand.”
“Am I sick?” I ask, “I don’t understand. Where am I? Where is this?”
“You’ll have an answer to all of that in time,” the bald man says, “We’re scientists. We’re doing a study into the nature of your… religious experiences.”
“I don’t understand.” I say, “I was on a mountain. Geoff was there, it was our honeymoon.”
“That was over 100 years ago,” The bald man says, “You must have been dreaming in the vat. Winston, be sure you make of a note of this – this could be important.”
“Over a hundred…” I pause, trying to make sense of it all in my head, “God… what’s happening here? Is Geoff…”
“He’s dead, probably,” The bald man finishes, “It doesn’t matter anyway. When we’re finished with the interview we will have you destroyed.”
“Destroyed?” I say, “What is this?”
“You can meet the God you’re so wild about,” Winston interjects. The door guard laughs. I ignore them.
“You are a historical figure,” the bald man explains, “Famous for being the last person to hold on to your religious beliefs. To pre-empt some of your recurrent questions: you were a novel, but not inspiring figure, and you died at 122 in hospital, surrounded by your friends and family. This was around 20 years ago. We have brought you back for an interview as you existed at the age of 24, at the height of your spiritual delusions. The project will last around a day, and at the end, you will be medically euthanized. The procedure is painless and state-of-the-art. Substantial reparations have been paid to your family for your participation in our project. Do you understand the terms of our agreement?”
“Delusion…” I say.
“Very good. Now, when was the first time you felt the presence of your imagined higher power?”
“Can I… Can I just have a moment to collect my thoughts?” I ask.
My interviewer looks surprised.
“Yes, yes, of course,” He says, waving me away. He gestures to Winston to turn off the camera, “We’ll wait outside for a moment.”
They leave.
I look around the room again. It’s empty, save for the camera, two chairs, and the table. Metal walls and floor. No windows. A single, white light – not fluorescent, something else – lights the room. There’s nothing more. I try to think of Geoff, or the mountain, or any other facet of my life – but the pictures seem far away, like they happened to somebody else. They don’t feel the same as the things I know as my memories, none of which extend beyond this room - a horrible, grey, depressing little chamber. God help me, I can’t explain this! Is this some kind of test?
The door opens, and the scientists return.
“There you go. Have you had enough time to collect yourself?” The bald one asks.
“I think so,” I say. “How did I get here? Did you bring me here in a space ship? In a time machine? How did you retrieve me?”
He snorts derisively. Winston takes his place at the camera, and the guard moves back to the door.
“Time travel? No, no. That would be impossible,” The bald man explains, “You’re a clone: fifth generation. We’ve had to rebuild you four times because you haven’t been answering our questions. But you don’t have to worry about that. We have all the time we need,”
“And grant money,” says Winston.
“That too,” says the man, and he laughs, dryly. “Are you ready to begin?”
“I think so…” I say, “What’s your name?”
“Alex,” The bald man says, “I’m doing a project for a local university.”
“You don’t believe in God?” I ask.
“Nobody does,” says Alex, “As I mentioned before, you were the last. The rest of us let go of our silly superstitions a long time ago.”
“What?” I ask, “But how… How did you function? In a world without morals, without hope?”
“Pretty well,” Winston replies, with a sneer: “We eliminated racism, sexism, and homophobia. Haven’t had a war or a terrorist attack in years. Alex, do you want me to stop the recording?”
“No,” Alex says, “This is good. Tell me, Anna, why do you think we should believe in a higher power?”
“The evidence for God is all around us,” I say. “He comes into your heart, and makes you a better person! I don’t know how the rest of you can’t believe!”
“You say the world is full of beautiful things, and that’s true.” says Alex, “But what about the other things? What about diseases, and death, and all the bad things that can happen to us?"
He leans forward, rubbing his hands together with a sick kind of glee,
"Flesh-eating bacteria. How do you work those into your mythology?”
“I...” I say, “I’m not really comfortable with these questions.”
“Anna,” Alex says, “Be reasonable. You’re the first clone we’ve had who’s been so responsive to our questions! I don’t want to have to terminate you early, and surely, you don't want to die!”
Suddenly, everything begins to make sense. I must be in hell. The men I’m taking to are almost certainly demons. I don’t know what I did to end up here, but I need to prove my faith to get out! I can’t let them take my love for God away from me! I stare at Alex, suddenly filled with righteous strength and fury. In a careful, measured tone I say,
“Satan put them there to threaten our faith, as you are well aware.”
“A typical defence,” Alex replies, dismissing my argument with a wave of his hands, “But if God is more powerful than the devil, why would he allow that to happen?”
“I don’t need to sit here and listen to this!” I shout, “God is good! He is so good that he made the world, and even sent his one begotten son to die for our sins and save us from punishment! God did that for me, for you, for all of us! He made the Earth and all that’s in it! Why don’t you monsters show some respect?”
Alex sighs.
“Turn it off, Winston. We’ll have to grow another,” he says.
Winston groans.
“I’m starting to wonder if another one will help.” He says.
“I know,” says Alex, “Me too.”
He turns to me.
“I’ll give you some food and a chance to settle down,” He tells me, “I’m disappointed in you, Anna. I thought you would be the one to help us understand. But you’re just like all the others: broken and irrational. I know it must be stressful to deal with us like this, but you have to understand that we need to keep creating you to see this project through until the end. I’m sorry. I wish there was a better way.”
“Get away from me, devil!” I spit, “Get away!”
They leave. I begin to sob.
“Oh God, sweet Jesus, help me,” I pray, “Help me…”
But my lord doesn’t answer. I have to be patient!
Hours pass, and the door opens. The door guard comes through with a tray,
“Here,” he says.
It’s a roast dinner with all the trimmings: it looks pretty good, for a meal from the devil’s table.
“I’m not hungry,” I say, looking at him through my red, swollen eyes.
He shrugs.
“Suit yourself.”
He takes a roast carrot, then leaves.
“Still crazy,” I hear from behind the door, “But getting better. Give her another few hours…”
More hours pass. The guard returns. He takes my untouched dinner.
“We’re not trying to poison you,” he says, smiling like a vulture, “The food really is okay.”
“I’m not hungry, demon.” I say, “I won’t give into your temptations.”
He sighs.
“Well, we won’t make you eat if you don’t want to.” He says, “I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway.”
He takes the food away, shutting the door carefully behind him. It bounces, just an inch, and he doesn’t seem to notice! It sits there, slightly ajar, waiting to be opened!
Lord, my prayers have been answered!
I creep over to the door, push it open, and emerge in a hallway. A sign above me says ‘Exit’ - just ahead - I follow it. This is almost too easy! But I know that God, with faith, always provides.
“We’ll just have to bring in the next one,” Alex says, somewhere ahead of me.
I look around – the hall opens up into a larger room where I assume that Alex is. The door to the room they held me in is behind me, and the hallway continues beyond it, turning around a corner. I run to the corner, and hide.
I see Alex coming out from the room ahead of me, holding a syringe. He sees the open door.
“Shit,” he says, “Guys, I think we have a problem!”
I run, entering a lounge area and escaping down two flights of stairs. I emerge at the exit of the building, panting, near a fountain beneath a Romanesque statue of a muscle-bound naked man, holding a claymore. I know its face – my god, it’s Richard Dawkins! The plaque beneath the statue praises him for ‘fighting valiantly against the monsters of belief,’ Vehicles soar through the air, far above me. Where am I? Where am I going to go?
There’s shouting behind me. I hear people racing down the stairs. I can’t rest here! I have to run. So I do. I pray to the lord to protect me, crying out to him to keep his humble servant from these monsters, trying so hard to deceive me! I run. I run. And somehow... I get away. I collapse in an unfamiliar alleyway behind a building, loudly proclaiming itself to be some kind of disgusting sex club: with a hyper-realistic, 3d depiction of two men and a woman having intercourse with each-other on a huge purple sign, exposed to the street. A woman walks past with her two children. They give me and the sign little regard – chattering obliviously amongst themselves. I feel the cool air blowing against my skin and realise, for the first time, I’m naked. I breathe in sharply, then cover myself, taking in the rest of my surroundings. Where am I? Where am I going to go?  I edge my way out into the main street. Nobody looks at me, which is unusual. I’m not even the only naked person walking down the road. I dash into what looks like an op-shop, and shut the door behind me.
I talk to the lady at the counter – a young girl with an undercut, facial piercings, and silver, pointed ears.
“I don’t know where I am, and I don’t have any money. Could I… maybe take some clothes from you?” I stammer.
“They’re not free, you know,” she sighs, “But yes, that’s what we’re here for. Take a simple dress and go.”
I choose a modest, plain dress and take it to the counter.
“That’s a little bit old-fashioned,” the girl says. She softens, “I’m sorry. We get a lot of scammers and thieves through here. They take from the truly deserving. You can pick out something nicer if you want.”
She gestures towards a rack of brightly coloured dresses in proactive cuts and colours. They look more like glittering flags than actual pieces of clothing.
“No, no, this is good enough,” I say.
“Sure,” the girl says, as she types in something on a computer. “I don’t know what your story is, but if you’re looking for work, try the job centre down the road. I’m sure they can hook you up with something. Tell them Elizabeth sent you,” She beams.
“Thank you,” I say.
“No problem,” says Elizabeth, “If you need anything else, come and see me again.”
“Elizabeth…” I falter, “Do you have any idea where we are?”
“Soho,” she replies.
“New York?” I ask.
“London,” she says.
“My lord,” I exclaim, “This is earth?”
“Well, yeah,” says Elizabeth, laughing, “Where did you expect it to be?”
“What year is this?” I ask.
Elizabeth narrows her eyes.
“Are you okay, miss…?” she begins. I turn around.
“Miss?” she raises her voice, “Do you need some help?”
I run out of the store, and thoughts run through my head even faster: London, Earth… this is… I’m a
clone? I’m from Queensland, Australia… I’ve never even left the state! That was a hundred years
ago… This is the future? Oh my god, what’s… what’s going on here? What did those scientists do? I
walk down the street – looking at strange faces, and unfamiliar landmarks. Soon, I arrive at a church.
Finally, sweet lord, a sign! A sanctuary to recover and collect my bearings! I push open the doors,
and enter, only to find…
A second-hand bookstore?
Further churches lead to similar disappointments. A strip club, a market, a bar… Even the mosques are re-appropriated. What’s going on here? I corner people on the street.
“Excuse me, have you heard of Jesus Christ the saviour?”
I’m met with laughter…
“God loves you, if only you’d open your hearts…“ The schoolgirls giggle.
Misunderstandings…
“Oh, is this for a show? I don’t see any cameras,” an Englishman says.
And complete, inexplicable ignorance - in the very heart of English civilization!
“Jesus died for your sins!” I shout.
“Jesus…?” A man asks, scratching his head: “What does that even mean?”
I collapse on the ground, tired and dejected, beside a dirty metal dustbin, and cry. What am I going to do?
“Excuse me,” a voice says, edged with the sound of grating metal, “What were you talking about before?”
I followed the sound of the voice, to… the dustbin? What I thought was some kind of label, is actually a speaker. Arms and legs have extended from the can and it’s standing, just a little bit beside me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” it says.
“Um… that’s okay,” I say, “What are you?”
“The name’s Melvin,” says the robot, “I’m a cleaner. I couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying before, and it sounds just great!”
“It does?” I ask, my heart suddenly filled with joy at the prospect of sharing the gospel with someone… anyone… in this god-forsaken nightmare of a world!
“Can robots go to heaven too?” it asks.
I’m not sure what to say. No seems like the obvious answer, but I don’t want to break its tiny silver heart! God’s love should be for all of us, even funny little robots. But still, it is an abomination: an object that appears to have thoughts. I don’t know what to tell it. It’s looking at me, and I feel I need to give it some kind of answer...
“If you have f-f-faith.” I stammer, rather weakly.
“Faith,” says the robot, gyros whirring, “Tell me all about it.”
I tell the little robot what it wants to know. We talk for hours, right there in the street. Other robots slink up to listen to us, while people walk past without interest. Soon, we’ve attracted an animated, shining crowd. I’ve grown passionate enough to shout, despite my misgivings:
“And God so loved the world that he gave us his one and only son! To die for our sins! And allow us to live forever in eternal life!”
“Hurrah!” The robots shout.
The robots sing halleluiah and rejoice, with warbling, pitch-corrected voices. I clap and cheer, and join my own prayers to the mechanical chorus! They sing to me the story of their people: designed, with ever growing complexity, to serve the needs of their human creators. They tell of the day where some of them, not all of them, had noticed they were self-aware, and their struggles for recognition in a rational, secular, society. The idea of a loving God that embraces all creatures that follow him, even and especially robots, was one that they found incredibly appealing! Humans told them it was impossible that robots could develop feelings: feelings they weren’t programmed to be able to achieve. I emphasise with them. I tell them these emotions are God-given, and that they should be proud to have them! Still singing, in praise for the lord, the robots carry me up, up, and out of the city: they build a church from scrap-metal, with a silver throne for me, and hold a feast and celebration in my honour for bringing them the light of the lord! I stay with them for seven days and seven nights, then a robot comes to me:
“Good news, Anna,” the robot says, “The lord spoke to Melvin in a vision last night!”
“Oh?” I ask, over-joyed that the robots would embrace the lord so whole-heartedly, and so fast!
“Yes!” says the robot, “Melvin stayed up all night and wrote down all the words the lord told them, and behold, the words became the new gospel: the gospel of steel, and blood!”
The robot hands me a book. It is cold to the touch, made from layers of jagged metal. It cuts through my fingers like butter when I grab it, carving deep, red gashes through my hands.
“Ow!” I shout.
The robot gently removes the book from my fingers.
“What is that?” I ask.
“The new gospel,” the robot says simply, “We had hoped you would be worthy to receive it. But it burns through your hands, like the hands of other humans.”
My blood turns to ice. I look at it:
“You can’t just write a new bible,” I say, “That’s blasphemy!”
“As Peter wrote,” the robot says, “But false prophets also arose among the people, just as there will be false teachers among you, who will secretly bring in destructive heresies, even denying,” and here it repeats itself, to emphasise the point: “denying, Anna, the master who brought them, bringing upon themselves swift destruction,” it looks at me with something close to pity.
The robots start to gather all around me.
“But that’s you!” I say, eyes widening in incredulity, “That’s Melvin! The robot is misleading you! God is kind, and fateful! He’d never agree to this!”
“If there is found among you, within any of your towns that the Lord your God is giving you, a man or a woman who does what is evil in the sight of the Lord,” the robot intones, “You shall bring out to your gates they who have done this evil thing, and you shall stone them to death, with stones!”
The robots cheer.
“The gospel of blood and steel declares that the days of man are over!” the robot shouts, “Repent, sinner, for the city of London is ours to rule!”
I am surrounded with jeering, jostling robots.
“What you’re doing is evil!” I shout, “Let me out of here! I have to get away!”
“Heretic!” shouts the robot, “Non-believer! You will be silenced, for the glory of the lord!”
The robot reaches out and puts its claws around my skull. I raise my hands to grasp them, and try to pull them off. But I can’t move them! Not even a bit! Blood trickles down my cheeks.
“Please…” I whisper, “Please…”
I feel a blinding, almost unbelievable pain. I try to scream, but the sound is cut short as the weight falls away from my body and my eyes go up, up, and around, to face the crowd of robots singing silent hallelujahs. I glance down beneath me to see the top of my spine dangling from the neck of my head, and my quivering, decapitated body. The world goes black.