“We lost six Stewards to the early lockdown,” Spine says, looking up from the map. “I’ve tried to spread out the non-Stokers through the groups.” I find my name listed in the same group as Spine, Atlas, and Dewey under the heading “Navy Pier.” “The groups are meeting now to determine their team strategy. We have the smallest of the teams, since ours is the most challenging target. The four of us will be working with Huck and Flap. Stacks will join us for the end of the run if he has time after his primary assignment. We’ll work in partners, each starting at a different point, then fanning in to the pier.”
When Atlas and I nod, she continues, “Dewey and I figure we’ll have forty-five minutes at most to hand out the tickets before returning here or to a safe house.”
“There are some that claimed time was on the side of truth, but when the Marshals are dispatched, time will certainly not be our friend.” Dewey turns to me. “The time we gain through the shifting-focus part of this plan will be essential.”
“Stacks will leave for that task in thirty-three minutes,” Spines says, checking the clock on the wall. “He’ll drive to the stadium, plant his evidence, and once he’s clear he’ll call in the tip.”
If it works, the Marshals will believe there is a large group of people handing out pages with the word “verify” roaming the area in and around the White Sox’s baseball stadium—on the other side of the city from where we’ll all be. The government will have to send a lot of their resources to cover that much space. It should make it harder for them to respond quickly to what we are doing on the North Side and increase the window Rose will have to search for information about her brother’s whereabouts.
I hope.
Atlas hands me a bottle of water and a plate with a slice of pizza. The idea of food makes my stomach churn. Between the planning and fleeing the Lyceum and Atlas . . . I haven’t had time to think about the risks everyone is about to take. Now that I am and the time is approaching, I feel ill.
“Trust me,” Atlas says. “You need to be at the top of your game tonight. Eat.”
I take a bite and force myself to chew, even though it tastes like ash. Then I tell the team I had another idea that, if it works, will give us a warning as to when the Marshals learn of our real locations.
Rose answers on the first ring. She sounds tired, but the steely determination that I’ve always envied is present as she tells me she’s on her way to meet her father. “He tried to convince me I should stay home with Mom, but I told him I needed to see that he was working to get Isaac home. I can tell he knows more than he’s admitting.”
“There’s something else I need your help with,” I tell her. “The minute your father starts getting calls that upset him and give you an opening to do your search, let me know.”
“I can do that.”
I think about what could be happening to her brother and swallow hard. “Be careful, Rose. Please.”
“I know how to handle my father.”
That’s what I’m counting on.
“Speaking of fathers . . .” Rose pauses. “Yours called a little while ago looking for you. He said you weren’t answering your phone. I told him you must have forgotten it in my room when you went to get me a latte. Meri . . . he sounded strange.”
I rub my forehead as pressure builds behind my eyes. “He’s just worried. I’ll give him a call. Don’t worry about it. Focus on your dad and on finding something that can help us locate Isaac.”
Rose assures me she’ll be fine and hangs up as Spine yells for the teams to assemble on the third floor to go over the final plans before we head out. I tell my team I’ll meet them up there. When they exit, I take a deep breath and dial my father. He answers on the first ring.
“Honey, I was hoping you’d be home by now.” His words sound strained, but strong and sober. “Rose filled me in on what’s happening with her brother.”
“Then you understand that I have to help her.”
“Rose needs your support, but we have to talk. Why don’t I come by and pick you up. We could get dinner and you can go back to Rose’s after.”
“I’ve already eaten.”
He lets out a sigh. “I know you’re upset about last night. If you let me explain—”
“Explain later, Dad,” I shoot back as fear and frustration and disappointment burst free. “Right now there are more important things than whatever excuse you have this time. I’ll be home in a few hours,” I say as someone shouts my new name from down the hall. “If you really want to talk to me, you’ll be sober when I get there.” I hit End and close my eyes tight to ward off the growing tension. If he’s sober when I get home, I’ll tell him everything, because tonight is about truth, and it is time to end the lies.
Switching my phone to vibrate, I push the ache in my heart to the side and hurry to find Atlas and the others. Spine is standing on a chair in the center of a recreation-style room. Stewards are jammed on worn couches or milling about the tight space. Some tie and retie their laces. Others are huddled in groups, talking intently. The bags of books and papers that were brought from the Lyceum are piled near the door.
Spine nods when she spots me and lets out a loud whistle. Everyone quiets.
Nervous excitement crackles as I weave through the Stewards, almost all dressed in black sweatshirts, to stand next to Atlas and Dewey.
Spine rolls up her sleeves—the book and the flame tattoo on her forearm visible as she slowly turns on her chair to survey everyone in the room. Several Stewards pull up their sleeves or roll down their socks to display the same tattoo.
Finally, Spine straightens her shoulders and speaks with a voice that carries throughout the space. “Atticus should be the one to make this speech.”
I find Atlas’s hand and weave my fingers through his.
“The Stewards were founded because Atticus’s father understood the power of words and did what he could to protect them. Atticus continued to lead that mission, but he decided that keeping the record of our country was not the way we should measure success. He believed that every day the lies presented as truth by our government went unchecked made it harder for the truth to be returned and embraced. And that truth valuable enough to protect was important enough to fight for.”
Stewards around me nod and raise their fists.
Spine turns to face Atlas. “Atticus intended on waging this fight quietly. He did not ask for our help, because he did not want to put anyone else at risk. But he is not here to stand for the truth. He was turned in to the Marshals by one of our own who believed she understood the Stewards and our mission better than anyone else. So we will stand for the truth in his place and hope the truth will set not only Atticus but the entire country free.”
She scans the room again. “This won’t be easy.”
Feet shuffle around me.
“Some of you have trained for months, others for years, to avoid the Marshals and keep the Stewards a secret. Today, we are asking you to use those skills to let the people of this city know what we have been protecting all these years. When the government realizes what we are doing—the Marshals will come.”
Heads nod. A Steward not far from me with a shock of gray running through dark red hair jams her hands into her pockets and looks down at the floor.
When that truth settles, Spine continues. “When you see them, run. Return here or to one of the stations in the surrounding neighborhood. Keep your face hidden if there is any chance you’ll be recognized by anyone in the area. If your real identity is compromised, Index will see to it that you are safely hidden until you can be taken out of the city.”
Spine checks her watch. “At this very moment, Stacks is leaving for his decoy run. Anyone having second thoughts should speak up now.”
The woman with the age-streaked red hair whispers to the person next to her and shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I want to do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.” She then hurries to the door with tears in her eyes.
When the woman is gon
e, Renu steps forward. “We can divide up her work among the rest of the group.” Her eyes are determined behind her dark glasses. “We have it covered. Right?”
A muscular gray-haired man next to her nods. “Damn right.”
Spine’s smile is grim. “She’s right to be scared. What we do tonight is dangerous. The government is counting on us to be afraid. They think fear will keep us quiet, but we will be silent no more. Removing words changed our country to what it is today. Returning them will start the process of giving back the freedoms that have long been denied to everyone—the ones our founders believed in. While they fought with weapons to gain the freedom they sought, the most powerful shots they fired in that fight were ones made up of words. Today you will follow in that tradition.”
Stokers pump their fists as Spine continues. “Be smart. I already know you are brave. For years you have guarded the embers of truth, and now it is time to stoke them into a fire that cannot be extinguished.” She rolls her sleeve over her tattoo and puts up her black hood.
The air is still as she checks the time, then scans the room from one side to the other. I hold my breath.
“You have forty-five minutes to get into your positions. Keep your phones on in case we have any news to share with you. And now . . .” She takes a deep breath and nods. “I wish you all a safe and purposeful ride.”
There are whoops and fist bumps, and under the excited shouts of “Let’s go!” and “For Atticus!” is the sharp edge of fear.
“In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act,” Dewey says, looking down at the battered hat in his hands. “Let the revolution begin.”
“Who said that?” I ask as the first group of Stewards each grab at least two bags of books and papers off the pile near the door and head out. Their jaws are set. Their eyes are bright with determination. My stomach jumps and rolls.
“Funny . . .” Dewey places the hat on his head and smiles. “But no one seems to truly know. When this is over, we’ll have to do our best to find out.”
Finally, it’s our turn.
I pick up two bags and groan under the weight. Awkwardly, I adjust them onto my shoulder next to my much lighter backpack, while the others, even Dewey, heave three or four of them onto their shoulders without flinching.
Spine turns to me. “I’ve put you and Atlas together. Our three teams of two will be approaching the pier from different sides. There will be a lot of people there, which makes it an excellent choice, but it is also the most dangerous. It could be easy to get trapped at the end of the pier without any method of escape. You requested this particular location, but I can assign you to another if you have any concerns. No one will think less of you.”
“My mom used to take me to Navy Pier at least once a week when I was younger.” We rode the carousel and the Ferris wheel and afterward we would sit with our tablets and draw. She with sure hands and a clear eye. I with the hope that someday I would be as good as her. As I grew older, there was less time for those adventures. But we still made a point of visiting as a family several times a year. The last was two weeks before she died. If my mother were here now, it’s the location she would take. “It’s the place I know best.”
Spine nods. “I had a feeling you were going to say that. You’re right,” she says to Dewey. “She’s a lot like Folio.”
I hope so.
Spine goes over our starting locations one more time and reminds me to keep an eye on my phone in case Rose has information to share.
“I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” I assure her.
Index appears at the doorway and motions that the previous group has left the area and the street is clear for us.
Shifting the weight on my shoulder, I start forward, only to have Spine put out her arm to stop me. “There’s one more thing,” she says.
“What?” I ask.
She reaches into her pocket, pulls out a small red bag, and shakes a blue pill into her palm. “This.”
My heart beats in my throat as I stare at the deadman’s switch.
“Every Steward has one. It’s to protect the mission of truth and give you a choice when the Marshals would take all your choices away.”
She holds out her hand to me, and my mouth goes dry.
Just days ago, I had never heard the word “verify.” My truth was what I heard in school and learned on screens and saw when I walked down the street every day. I believed the world was safe because I was told that it was. And maybe the world could have still been safe if I’d chosen to ignore what I know. But I can’t. The truth changed my life before I ever heard it spoken. And tonight the truth will change my life again.
Slowly, I take the pill from Spine’s palm and roll the blue capsule between my fingers.
“I hope I never need to use it,” I say, sliding the small pill into my front pocket.
“You and me both, Merriam.” Spine shifts the bags on her shoulder. “Now let’s ride.”
Eighteen
The sky is still bright, but the sun is starting to descend toward the horizon as we weave through the people chattering while they walk. We use the Steward CTA cards to take the bus to the stop closest to our destination. Spine goes over the best exits from the pier with a lanky, older blond guy with wire-rimmed glasses named Huck while Dewey chats up a sprite-like girl with at least a dozen piercings and pink-and-black-streaked hair called Flap. Atlas stays close to me as the bus jerks forward. I watch the city streets roll by, anxiety growing with every block.
Are there enough people out tonight to make this plan work? I don’t know. The city streets will be busier in a few weeks when the weather is hotter and there is a festival or concert or art display on every other street corner, but there are enough—I hope—to help us fight back. To give Rose an opening to locate Atlas’s dad and Isaac. To let me finish the task my mother left for me. We just need to reach a few hundred people and get them asking the right questions. That will be the spark. Those questions will get others talking. Hundreds will become thousands within days, and then there will be nothing the government can do to stop the truth from spreading. The Marshals can’t possibly have the ability to silence everyone.
Spine points to the door as the bus jerks to a halt. “This is our stop.”
The six of us climb onto the curb, and Spine checks her phone. “The other three groups have all reached their positions. Stacks will start his run in five minutes. We have to move.”
We reach the end of the next block, and the six of us part ways.
“Five minutes until Stacks is set to ride. As soon as you have passed out all of your tickets, get back to Index’s station,” Spine says. “I’ll send the green light as soon as Stacks gives me the go. With any luck, we’ll be able to spread the truth to a lot of people and give your friend enough time to find what we need.” She nods to the others. “Have a good run.” With that, she starts jogging down the street. Huck and Flap fall in behind her.
Dewey shifts his bags on his shoulder and gives me what he probably considers a smile. “Whatever happens, I know Atticus and Folio would be proud. I will see both of you soon.” With a parting touch to the brim of his hat, Dewey follows Spine and the others into the final rays of daylight.
Atlas and I walk in silence to our assigned starting location—an alcove of a building a block and a half away from Navy Pier. I take out my phone and wait for the message from Spine that will tell us Stacks has drawn the Marshals to the location on the south side of the city and that it is time for us to go.
Atlas eases the zippers of his bags open halfway, and I use my sweaty, shaking fingers to do the same with mine. “Hand out the dictionaries first. Each has one of the papers Dewey created stuffed inside it,” Atlas says quietly. “The less you are weighed down, the faster you’ll be able to run if you need to.”
Good advice, I think as Atlas takes my hand and we wait—together. Just days ago, the city seemed safe. Atlas was a stranger. I felt alone. Now the city is filled wi
th danger, and I can’t imagine navigating it tonight without Atlas by my side.
My phone buzzes.
DAD JUST GOT A CALL. HE ASKED TO KEEP HIM UPDATED.
“I think Stacks has gotten the attention of the Marshals,” I say as my phone sounds again and there is only one word with this message:
GO!
My stomach trips as I shove my phone into my back pocket. Before I can step onto the sidewalk, Atlas grabs my arm. “Merriam, you’re going to run if you see the Marshals, right? You’re not going to try to be a hero.”
“I wouldn’t know how to be a hero,” I say. “We have to go.”
“Promise me.” He cups my cheek with his hand so I can’t avoid his eyes. “Promise when you see a Marshal you’ll run.”
“I can’t help Isaac or your father if the Marshals catch me,” I say. “I promise.”
Relief and something I can’t identify fills his eyes. He brushes my cheek with his hand. I lean into his touch as I study his face, which has become so important to me in just a matter of days. Finally, he steps away and nods. “Then let’s do this.”
It’s strange. In movies, when a character is risking everything there are explosions or major car chases. But there are no fires or floods or things falling from the sky as Atlas and I walk out of the alcove and onto the sidewalk. There is nothing about us walking in the twilight—Atlas in red shorts and a black hooded sweatshirt and me in my jeans and battered blue baseball cap—that would strike any observer as brave. I wonder what quote Dewey would have for this moment as I pull a faded Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary out of my bag, walk up to a dark-haired woman in a dove-gray suit, and say, “This is for you. I hope you read it.”
She looks confused as she takes the book, but she takes it.
Atlas approaches a couple pushing a toddler in a stroller and does the same. Quickly, I move down the sidewalk, pulling books out of my bag and asking people to let me put the truth in their hands. There are gasps of how expensive paper is and some shouts about how we are being selfish for not recycling. A few even wonder if this is a reality show stunt as they take the books from my hands and turn them over, as if waiting for something magic to appear—intrigued by the paper—just as I was when I saw a man arrested for having it. Each time I ask them to read the paper sticking out of the book and dig into my bag for another. Every book I hand out makes me reach faster for the next, until I have no more dictionaries to give and I am reaching for the stacks of papers Dewey created.
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