Verify

by Joelle Charbonneau

  Margaret curls up next to me as I pull out the paper and pencils Dewey demonstrated for me so I knew how to use them. Then, I start creating a list of locations. The resistance of the dark-tipped pencil as it runs along the paper is strange, and I break several black tips off the pencils as I work.

  The Magnificent Mile

  Navy Pier

  The America First Theater

  Wrigley Field

  Grant Park

  The signal for my phone cuts in and out, and Margaret swipes at me when I move around looking for better reception. While I appreciate the Stewards’ lack of internet connection, not having it makes it harder to search for street festivals, concerts, and sporting events located near the places I’ve already identified. In between bouts of no-signal messages, I also look up the addresses of the two television stations in the city and add those destinations to the ever-growing list.

  When Atlas finds me, I’m surrounded by pages filled with cross-outs and additions and ideas. He hands me a bottle of water and a sandwich and tells me Dewey’s bags are slowly being relocated to Index’s station.

  “So far Scarlett and Holden haven’t noticed,” he says. “Spine is having a few of the Stokers creating problems they have to solve in order to distract them. Dewey is hoping we’ll be done in another two or three hours. Once they’ve finished, Dewey and I will come back to get you. Dewey said he gave you their plan for tonight.”

  “I think I have a better idea,” I say. Quickly, I explain my hope of creating a fast and furious spectacle of information that will be impossible for anyone to ignore. When I’m done, I wait for his reaction as he studies the map his dad helped create. “What do you think?” I ask.

  He purses his lips, and I recognize the flicker of loss and worry that flashes in his eyes before he turns to me and smiles. “I think Dewey is going to be impressed again. But we can’t cover all these locations. Not with a few dozen people. If this is going to work we’ll have to focus on five or six places and do our best to reach as many people in those zones as we can.”

  He’s right.

  I break the rules without guilt and feed bits of my sandwich to a purring Margaret as I circle the sites I think will have the most people in attendance tonight. Then I call Rose to give her an update. She listens to my ideas, and I can hear the hope in her voice as she helps me winnow down the list of locations even further. Gloss magazine dispatches photographers and reporters to events around the city all the time, and Rose is a well of information as to what types of events are the best draws and even has an idea for how we can use a different location to create an extra distraction—one that will hopefully give us more time to get the truth out to the city.

  My phone cuts in and out as Rose gives me a quick update on what is happening aboveground. Her father claims to be in negotiations with the gang he’s blaming for Isaac’s kidnapping but says the police don’t have any leads as to where Isaac is being held. Despite the terrible connection, her anger comes through loud and clear, and she is glad to play her own part in our plan. By the time Atlas returns to tell me it’s time to go, I have settled on six specific areas in the city that will be the main focus of tonight’s rebellion. I just hope I’ve chosen well, because time is ticking and there is no telling how long we have before Isaac and Atticus are either killed or shipped out of the city to who knows where.

  “Dewey and Spine are waiting for us in the tunnels,” Atlas says as I fold up Dewey’s map and shove it and the list I’ve created into my bag. “Are you ready?” he asks, holding out a hand.

  Margaret barely looks up from her nap as I pull my hat down low over my forehead, put my hand in Atlas’s, and say, “Let’s go.”

  The Lyceum is humming with low conversations and hurried activities as the time remaining until the lockdown dwindles. I spot two Stewards hugging each other before one hurries toward an exit. It must not only be Spine and her Stokers who aren’t interested in giving up their freedom for safety.

  Spine and Dewey are just inside the tunnel when we duck through the exit.

  “Are all the Stokers out?” Atlas asks as Spine turns and we fall in step behind her.

  “All but four,” Dewey answers.

  And Spine explains, “They wanted the chance to convince a few of their friends to join us. They promised to be at the exit station in thirty minutes for their assignments. We could use the extra help.”

  We turn the corner and slow as we come face-to-face with Scarlett and two Stewards I’ve never seen before.

  Scarlett slows. “Spine, just the person I’ve been looking for. I’m concerned with reports that a number of Stokers have yet to return from their final runs. I assured Holden they would be back before the doors are locked at midnight, but he is worried . . .” Her voice trails off and her eyes narrow as she spots me standing in the shadows behind Spine. “What is Folio’s daughter doing here? I thought I made it clear we didn’t need any distractions right now.”

  “I’m leaving,” I say. “You don’t have to worry about me distracting anyone.”

  “That’s good to hear, but it appears you have already caused a distraction. Dewey . . .” Scarlett steps forward, and the two Stewards accompanying her follow suit. “You don’t often leave the Lyceum.”

  Dewey shrugs and says affably, “Just stretching my legs.”

  “Well, I’m certain there are things that could use your attention back in the Lyceum. Which is where we all belong. Atlas, make sure your rider doesn’t get lost on her way out. Spine, if you could come with me. Holden and I have several items we need to go over before the lockdown starts.” She and the other two Stewards sweep past us. When Scarlett realizes Dewey and Spine have not moved, she turns back. “Are you coming?”

  “No,” Spine says, folding her arms over her chest.

  “No?” Scarlett lifts her chin. “What do you mean, no?”

  Dewey smiles. “We have decided Hans Christian Andersen was correct. Just living is not enough. One must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower.” When Scarlett just gapes at him, Dewey lets out a sigh and says, “We are leaving the Lyceum, Scarlett. We aren’t interested in the safety of the shadows.”

  “The Marshals are closing in,” Scarlett says. “Look what happened to Atticus.”

  “Atticus wished for people to learn the truth,” Dewey says. “You refused to listen.”

  “Because I understand how important it is to protect the truth at all costs,” Scarlett snaps back.

  “The truth can only be protected if it is not hidden,” Atlas says. “We have to fight their lies with our facts. If we hide, they win.”

  Scarlett turns toward Spine. “The lockdown is essential.”

  “The lockdown will keep those inside the Lyceum safe,” Spine says. “But what of everyone else? We are tired of hiding.”

  “‘We?’” Scarlett’s eyes widen. “The missing Stokers . . .” She whirls to face her two Stewards. “Get inside the Lyceum. Tell everyone Holden and I have ordered the rails to be changed to red. Set guards at the door and prepare to close them when I arrive. No one is allowed to leave the protection of the Lyceum as of now.”

  “You can’t force people to stay who don’t want to,” I say as the two race off to do her bidding.

  “I will do whatever I must to protect the Stewards. Even if it means protecting them from themselves.”

  “You’re taking away their choices,” I say. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be fighting against?”

  “I don’t need a child to tell me what I’m fighting against,” she snarls.

  Atlas steps forward. “My father believed it was time to—”

  “Your father would have led the Marshals right to us if he had been given the chance. I stopped him from putting the Stewards in danger.”

  “It was you?” The words are barely a whisper as horror spreads through me. “You said you stopped Atticus. How did you stop him?”

  “You called the Marshals?” Atlas demands. “What about
you being worried that he would tell the Marshals what he knew and how he could reveal where the Lyceum is?”

  “I didn’t tell them he was a Steward. Just a person asking strange questions about words and paper. Your father lost his way, and I was certain he would use the deadman’s switch before telling them anything about the Stewards, if for no other reason than to make sure they never found you.” Scarlett takes several steps backward. “I will keep the Stewards safe. And when people are ready, the truth will be waiting for them.” With that, Scarlett vanishes into the darkness.

  “Wait!” Atlas lunges after her, but Spine cuts him off and when he tries to get around her she shoves him back. Hard.

  “Move!” he yells, trying to go around her, only to have Spine shove him again.

  “I get it. I do, but going after her won’t help us find him. Keep it together,” Spine barks as Atlas struggles to get free. “Scarlett said she’s locking down the Lyceum early. That means we have to get out of here now.”

  As if on cue, a loud, grinding whine echoes in the tunnel.

  “Let’s go!” Spine releases Atlas and bolts down the tunnel, and we race after her. The creaking sound grows louder as our feet pound the ground and flecks of dirt begin to fall from the ceiling above.

  We turn the corner. More dirt and shards of rock rain down as a loud thud echoes and the tunnel shudders.

  “That’s the first entrance being sealed,” Dewey yells. “The others will be right behind.”

  We race down the tunnel. Dust and debris make it hard to see. Dewey keeps pace with Spine ahead of me. I’m amazed at his speed and grateful for the bouncing light he holds aloft for us to follow.

  We turn a corner and another tremor shakes the ground. The echoing sound of something slamming into place rings loud, as does the grating creaks of the gears.

  “That’s the second door dropping into place!” Atlas shouts.

  “The next two won’t be far behind,” Spine calls, and somehow manages to run faster as she calls back, “Hurry!

  I try to shut out the grinding metal and concentrate on running. The ground slants upward. Atlas yells that we’re getting closer. I try to remember how far it is to the entrance we came through, but it is impossible to get my bearings. The thick, chalky taste of clay fills my mouth. My heart strains against my chest.

  “There’s the opening!” Spine hollers.

  I see a glow through the haze far down the tunnel to the left, clench my fists, and run as hard as I can.

  My heart jumps as another crash rumbles through the tunnels. Dirt showers from above from the force of another entrance slamming shut. The third of four. The last one will be sealed in moments.

  I stumble. A rock cracks against the back of my head and I crash into the uneven ground—hard.

  Pain spins.

  The gears grind louder.

  I push to my knees. Something hot and wet trickles down my neck, and I blink to bring the world into focus. Spine climbs into the opening. Dewey and his light are right behind.

  “Meri!” Atlas shouts and starts back toward me.

  “Get out!” I yell as I climb to my feet, ignore the blood running down my back, shift the bag on my shoulder, and run.

  My head throbs. The tunnel shudders. Dirt falls faster from above. Spine shouts that I’m almost there. Atlas waves from the entrance as if willing me closer. The grumbling of the gears swells as I reach out, take Atlas’s hand, and am pulled inside.

  I gasp for breath and put my hand against the back of my head as something swooshes behind me. The ground jumps under my feet, and I turn as a solid steel panel slams down, sealing off the entrance I just climbed through.

  Seventeen

  “And here I thought it would be close,” Spine jokes, brushing dirt off her shirt.

  “You’re hurt.” Dewey lifts his lantern and digs out a handkerchief, which Atlas presses to my wound.

  “I’ll be fine.” I wince. “But I could use a Band-Aid and some aspirin.”

  We follow Spine through the pedway to the exit station, Atlas holding the cloth against my cut as we climb into the elevator and head aboveground. When the doors open, the buzz of conversation washes over me.

  “We were wondering what happened to you.” Index comes around the corner. She takes one look at us and frowns. “What happened?”

  “Scarlett initiated the lockdown early,” Atlas explains. “If anyone else wants to go down, you’ll have to tell them the Lyceum is closed.”

  “But why?” Index asks.

  “That’s a longer story than we have time for right now.” Spine glances at Atlas. She clearly doesn’t want to bring up Scarlett’s betrayal of his father in front of him. “If we are going to be ready to spread the truth tonight, we need to get our plan together and give my Stokers time to prepare.”

  “Here.” I pull my notes and the map out of my bag and explain the plan Atlas and Rose helped me come up with. “These locations should be filled with enough people to make this work,” I say, showing them the five I have starred. “Scheduled events will be starting at those places in the next few hours.”

  “What’s this one?” Dewey points to the sixth location I have circled on the page.

  “Have you ever looked at an image you see every day and realized you never noticed parts of it before?” I ask. “A good artist knows how to force the eye to focus on the thing they want to be seen. This—” I point to the sixth location. “This is our attempt to change the focus.”

  Spine nods. “Atlas, see that Merriam gets patched up. Dewey and I will assign teams to hit each of these locations and brief them on the strategy.” She glances at the clock on the wall opposite the elevator. “We have two hours to put together our game plans.”

  “Come on,” Atlas says as Spine and Dewey follow Index to where the Stokers are waiting. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  “I’m really fine,” I protest as he nudges me toward an open door at the other end of the hall. When he flips on the light switch of the sterile beige bathroom, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and let out a small shriek. My face has taken on a gray, dusty color, and there are smears of blood and dirt on my neck and ear.

  Atlas digs a fluffy, turquoise-blue hand towel out from the sink cabinet and runs it under the water. “Take a seat and let me see how bad it is.”

  Wincing, I remove my hat, sit on the closed lid of the toilet, and shift my hair to the side to give him a better view.

  “It could be worse,” he says as he gently presses the wet cloth to the wound.

  “I guess I’m lucky I have a hard head.” His fingers brush back my hair as he works on cleaning away the blood and dirt, sending a cascade of jittery bubbles through my chest.

  “Sorry if that hurt,” Atlas says. “I’m trying to be careful.”

  “It didn’t hurt.”

  His eyes lock with mine, and the warmth inside me spreads. He runs his thumb across my cheek, then shakes his head, breaking the moment. “I think there are bandages in the medicine cabinet.”

  I push to my feet and head to the sink to wash my face and arms as Atlas rummages through the small white cabinet and comes up with antiseptic spray, gauze, medical tape, and a bottle of aspirin. “Index keeps things stocked, just in case of emergency.”

  I stay standing. Atlas pushes my hair out of the way again. I wince at the sting of the antiseptic spray while attempting to ignore the whisper of Atlas’s warm breath on my neck as he affixes the bandage.

  “Better?” he asks, lifing my hair to cover his handiwork.

  “I think so.” I turn to face him. Now that there are no medical ministrations to be done, the room feels smaller. “How about you?” I ask as I look up into the face that in a handful of days has become so familiar. “Are you okay?”

  “Truth?” Atlas takes a seat on the closed toilet lid. “I don’t know.” He drops his head into his hands and takes a deep breath. “I’ve known Scarlett my entire life. She’s like family. She worked with my dad fo
r years. I never dreamed she’d turn on him or the Stewards. Or me.”

  “She doesn’t think she did.” I kneel next to him and try to put into words what I saw and feel. “She wants the truth to be protected and wasn’t willing to see there might be another way.”

  His head comes up. “I want to believe he’s still out there somewhere. That he’s alive and he’s doing whatever he can to stay that way.”

  I put my hands on his and hold them tight. “If he’s anything like you, he won’t give up. And we won’t give up doing whatever we can to find him.”

  A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of Atlas’s mouth. “You know, when we stood on that bridge, I was certain giving you a ticket was the worst decision I’d ever made.” He turns one of my hands over and presses his lips against the center of my palm. “It might be one of the best.”

  “Only one of?” I say lightly, even though I have never felt less like joking.

  Atlas flashes a quick grin. “That’s something we’ll talk about later.” He grabs the blue hat off the sink, brushes off the dust, and gently places it on my head. Then, with a playful tug of the brim, he adds, “For now, we have work to do.”

  Index escorts Atlas and me to the second floor. The smell of pizza and the hum of voices make it almost seem as if a party is happening, but there is nothing celebratory about the “war room” into which Index ushers us.

  Dewey, Spine, and several other Stewards are huddled over the map. My stomach tightens as I notice the papers that have been tacked on the wall with the names of the locations I chose to carry out my mom and Atticus’s mission. Under those locations are lists of names.