The Volunteer

by J B Cantwell

  Chapter Seven

  The hours that followed passed slowly. It had only been late morning when we’d gotten to the house, and now we had all day to ourselves. I found myself sitting on Paul’s couch, nodding off.

  “Here,” he said, taking a small pillow from an adjacent chair and handing it to me. “You might as well rest. You’re going to have a tough time tonight no matter how good a swimmer you are.”

  “Thanks,” I said, accepting the pillow. “Just for a little bit. Okay?” I glanced at Alex, and he, too, leaned back into the sofa cushions, closing his eyes.

  “You know, you’re both welcome to use the guest room. It might be more comfortable for you than this lumpy old couch.”

  “I’m fine right here,” Alex said, and I knew he wanted to be ready to run at the earliest sign of betrayal.

  I flopped sideways down onto the pillow and closed my eyes.

  But sleep didn’t come.

  Instead, flashes of horror filled my mind. The Stilts falling into the water. The feeling of pain, so acute, where my chip had been yanked from my scalp. The look on my mother’s face when I’d come home. The look on Kyle’s as the light had left his eyes. The backside of Lydia’s head, waiting.

  Soon, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I sat back up. I was surprised to find Paul napping right across from us on the loveseat. Maybe to guard us. Maybe to make sure we didn’t run.

  It was possible he was just fooling us, waiting for the authorities to arrive.

  Possible, but not probable. They would have been here by now.

  I hadn’t told him the details of my plans to help the Volunteers. We really didn’t know Paul at all, but that didn’t mean we didn’t needed allies. I wondered how many other people were like him, people who had left the States for good and taken refuge in Canada. How many others might there be who would gladly take the place of the massacred Volunteers?

  I thought back to those horrible moments when Manhattan had begun to flood, when the Stilts had become no more. I hadn’t trusted Alex then. I’d thought maybe he’d been brainwashed, told to act like he was on my side, when he was really trying to stop me from taking out the transponder buildings. But, in the end, I was wrong. He was on my side, after all.

  The Service could’ve killed me ten times over for what I’d done.

  I was still here, though. Still fighting. And now, so was he.

  I stood up from the couch and quietly made my way into the kitchen. I was hungry again, and that sleeve of cookies I’d seen earlier in the day was on my mind.

  I took it out of the cupboard and sat down at the kitchen table, trying to keep the crinkling sound of the wrapper to a minimum. I took a tentative bite of one small, perfect cookie, crispy and sweet, and then began eating them by the handful.

  How luxurious this life of Paul’s was. I stood up and looked through his cabinet for the second time, noting that there wasn’t a single sleeve of nutrition squares in the whole place. Then, I had an idea. I opened the freezer, hoping beyond hope. And there it was.

  Ice cream.

  I grabbed it from the freezer and took a spoon from the drawer as quietly as I could. I was just about to take my first bite of french vanilla when I saw Paul standing in the doorway.

  “Oh, don’t mind me,” he said, taking a spoon for himself as well. “Shall we share it?”

  I smiled, relieved. “Sure.”

  I had been worried about a reprimand when I’d first noticed him there, but now I found myself sitting across the table from someone I was already having a hard time not trusting. A friend.

  I hoped I was right.

  I told him.

  “I’m going to blow up the lens system.”

  He went quiet. He placed his spoon down gently on the table, frowning.

  “And what will that do, exactly?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “I mean, what’s the point?”

  I sat back in my chair, surprised.

  “To save us,” I said. “All of us.”

  “From what? Technology?”

  I frowned. “From the government’s control.” He still looked unconvinced. “Our whole world is made up of screens. On the streets, in the stores, even inside our own eyes. We don’t see each other anymore.”

  “Okay. That’s fair. But what’s in it for you?”

  I paused, considering.

  “For me? There doesn’t have to be anything in it for me, does there?”

  “Of course it does. You feel stuck in a system that you can’t escape from. Will taking that system down free you?”

  “Yes, of course it will. It will free—”

  “What if they don’t want the change? What if they’re happy with the way things are?”

  “That’s ridiculous. How could anybody be happy with the way things are?” I was starting to get angry. How dare he question my motives? I was clearly working for the good of the people.

  “I’m not saying they’re happy, per se. But I suggest you think about what you’re doing a little more before you do it, or before you attempt to do it. You could easily fail.”

  “Who asked you?”

  He smiled and picked up his spoon again. “You did. When you decided to tell me your true mission. And here’s the thing. People are used to living their lives the way they know how. If you take that familiarity away from them, ‘freeing’ them, as you say, you will upend everything. It will throw the whole country into chaos.”

  “Not for the poor people,” I said.

  “No? Where do you think their food will come from? What will happen to their jobs? In the days following you wiping out the lens system, there will be hunger, homelessness, crime. There will be no way to pay for goods. People will die. Or, at least, they could.”

  “People will want the change,” I argued. “Do you think they liked being bombed by their own government? Do you think they thrive on eating nothing but nutrition squares day in and day out? And what about the environment? I’ve been on the ocean. I’ve seen—”

  “You’ve seen the result of a two hundred years of abuse. In all places, all countries. I get it. But you need to think about the bigger picture. You’re not understanding the consequences of what you seek to accomplish.”

  “People aren’t going to die. It’s not like that. I would think that you could understand it. You left, yourself. Didn’t you ever think about how things could be different?”

  “Of course I did. But—”

  “But you only looked out for number one. Maybe what you’re not seeing are the consequences of us doing nothing. The rich, they have everything. I’ve seen their stores, their jewels. I’ve seen the commercials. I know how people live.”

  “Some people, yes,” he said. “But those people won’t be hurt by the system going down. It’s only the lower class, the Oranges and the Reds, who will suffer.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  Our conversation had awakened Alex in the other room, and he walked into the doorway just then.

  “What’s going on in here?”

  Paul and I sat staring at one another, him serenely, me angrily.

  “Our host here was just telling me that my idea, that the Volunteers’ idea, is garbage. That it will do nothing but lead to more suffering.”

  “You told him?” His tone was incredulous.

  I could feel the redness creep up my neck and onto my cheeks, ashamed that I had done so without his agreement.

  “Sorry. I just thought …”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Paul said. “I’m not going to tell anyone. I’ll keep my eye on the news, shall I? Revolutions have been started on little more than the situation now in the States. You just need to be aware that things aren’t going to change overnight. It will take years to rebuild. And you’d better position yourself and be ready to take responsibility for that. Maybe it would be best for you to plan coming back to Canada after all, when all is said and done. You’ll be much safer here.�
��

  And for the first time, I made a realization I’d never thought of before.

  “I don’t want to live in Canada. I want to live in my home country. I’m an American. I want to fix my America.”

  He shook his head sadly.

  “Child, it will take you a lifetime, and a dangerous one at that. There will be no peace for you there. Not ever. People will remember you. Some favorably, yes. But those who don’t agree, those with power, they will seek you out. You will be part of the resistance for the rest of your life. And you will never be safe.”

  “I’m already not safe,” I spat. “I haven’t been safe since the day I was born.”

  I slammed my spoon down on the table and stood up, popping the top back onto the ice cream container and walking to the fridge.

  I wasn’t hungry anymore.

  The rest of the afternoon dragged. I was no longer tired, only angry. I couldn’t believe that Paul hadn’t been supportive of me and my plan. He, himself, had fled the country when he’d been my age. He had known what I knew now: that the whole system was a broken mess.

  I regretted telling him. Not for the risk I’d taken, but for the splinter of doubt he’d introduced into my mind.

  Was he right?

  I’d planned before that I would flee to Canada shortly after successfully taking down the transponder buildings. It was an easy enough plan. I’d never imagined a world where I would be forced to stay, where I would be in constant danger for the rest of my life.

  Did I mean it? Did I really want to fix my America? And if so, why had I been planning to leave it behind? Who would take the blame, the fall, for whatever chaos ensued if I were to simply walk away?

  What angered me most was that there was a ring of truth to his words. He’d taken a year of planning, of hoping and fighting, and turned it on its end.

  I wondered what would happen after, if I would be killed instead of heralded.

  But then, that was a question I had to ask myself most days that I’d served in the Service. Would today be the day someone put a bullet in the back of my head? Tomorrow? Someday, someone was going to figure it out. Surely, there would be some sort of conduit of information that would make it back to the generals of my country. Even if it didn’t happen before I made my attempt, it would happen eventually. And when it did, nobody I knew would ever be safe again.

  Chapter Eight

  I stepped into the backseat of Paul’s sedan. I wore the same t-shirt I’d put on that morning, just in case we were stopped by police. Though, if we were detained, our game would be over.

  Maybe, if we were caught, I could tell them, too. That my goal was to take out the evil system that controlled all American citizens. Our work. Our caste. Our lives.

  Maybe they would let us go, once we explained.

  Alex bent over and climbed awkwardly into the front passenger seat, his head grazing the roof of the vehicle. He hadn’t bothered to try on any more of Paul’s clothes. He’d looked ridiculous, even more so than in a wetsuit.

  At least we weren’t back walking on the road.

  I hoped the drive was short. I didn’t feel good about my last interaction with Paul, and his words still haunted me.

  He settled himself into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. The little car sputtered to life, and he turned to us.

  “Are you ready to do this? You’re sure you don’t want to stay? It’s not too late. I could—”

  “We’re not staying,” Alex said. And I was glad for the strength behind his words.

  Paul put the car into gear and began to back out of the narrow driveway.

  “Okay, then,” he said. “But I’ll tell you what. You’d better make a plan. If you’re right, and most of the Volunteers are out of commission, you need to be able to rely on each other.”

  “We do. We—”

  “I know you do. That’s not what I mean. You need to have a plan together. What if one of you gets hurt? Or caught? What if you get separated?”

  I went quiet for a few long moments.

  I had always planned on taking out the buildings on my own, though with instruction from the Volunteers. Now, they were gone, and Alex was in on it. Could I really manage to do it all alone without his help?

  No way.

  I didn’t have a way to get my hands on an EMP, and now that I knew how they worked, I understood that I had little chance of being able to build one.

  Maybe I could just blow the buildings up. I understood the basics of C4, and I would certainly learn more as the year went on. Then, on my yearly week off, I would attack. I had planned to run, but that was up in the air in my mind now, jumbled up with other feelings, other plans.

  If I went in with the C4, there would be casualties, but only the guards who patrolled the buildings.

  But I had no way inside. My plan had done nothing but fade in brilliance since the attack on the city. I felt a knot of worry in the pit of my stomach; it had been growing as each day had passed.

  “We’ll work that out on our own,” I said, feeling both irritated and oddly grateful for the advice. Maybe we shouldn’t be heading back so soon. Maybe we should have spent our time in this relatively safe zone planning. Everything had been so vague up until now. But we had called the Service, told them where we were, and that we were still alive.

  No. It was time for Paul to drop us off and for us to continue on our own. Helpful as he had been, and as much as I’d told him, we would be better off without him knowing every detail.

  I imagined what it might be like, turning around and returning to Paul’s home with him to plot everything out. The three of us would sit around his kitchen table, going over maps and schematics, planning our route, our weapons, our method of attack.

  It would take more than wishful thinking for me to pull this off.

  One step at a time. You’ll be in the river in ten minutes.

  One thing Paul was right about was that Alex and I did need a plan. We needed to figure out what we would do if we were separated, or if one of us didn’t make it, couldn’t help. We would have to take our time once we arrived back in the States. We could walk for half a day, say we were sidetracked, attacked on our way across the waterway. No one would know. We could make our plans then, away from the control of the Service.

  And suddenly, I realized something I hadn’t thought of before. Alex was with me, was going to be with me every step of the way. He hadn’t said as much, but I had a hard time imagining that he wouldn’t do anything he could to be by my side. It was dangerous. More dangerous, even, than battle. And I was grateful for his help, because I didn’t have anyone else I could turn to.

  The maps I’d imagined; I didn’t have anything like that to show Alex. And it wasn’t like we could pull it up on our lenses, not without being caught and executed as soon as the Service was able to catch up with us. They could see our precise location on a map, could see what information we looked at on our internalized computers. But they couldn’t hear us, and they couldn’t see what we saw of the world outside our infiltrated eyes and minds. I didn’t know this for sure, and I’d always been careful, but the Volunteers hadn’t given it a second thought. I had been safe with them, my vision and my voice still my own. There was no reason to think any differently now.

  The car turned off the road and Paul pulled it into a small parking lot. In the distance, the Ambassador Bridge that stretched from Canada to the U.S. was lit up against the dark night sky. We would have to stay away from it. The light reflecting in the water would make us more visible.

  “We’re here,” Paul said as he cut the motor and flicked off the lights.

  I was pleased to see that, but for a handful of cars, the parking lot was deserted. The clock in my lens read 2200 hours. It was early still, but the blackness of winter had already descended. People would be inside bundling up, not walking around in thirty degree temperatures.

  Paul turned in his seat. “I want you to promise me something.”

  I eyeb
alled him, unsure.

  “I can’t do that,” I said. “You know I can’t.”

  He let out a frustrated breath.

  “Well, then think about it at least. Get your story straight. You’ll need to plot out each action you plan to take. If you’re right, if the Volunteers really are wiped out, you’ll receive no outside help. It’s too big of a job to do on your own without knowing the plan backwards and forwards before it’s time to implement it.”

  He paused then, and dropped his eyes for a moment. Then, he looked up and looked me straight in the eye.

  “You will both probably die.”

  Die.

  My heart squeezed tightly within my chest.

  Die.

  Possible. But probable?

  Yes.

  Words rolled around in my brain. Terrorist. Leader. Enemy.

  Martyr.

  All at the ripe old age of eighteen.

  “We won’t,” Alex said, and Paul’s gaze shifted back toward him. “We’ll figure it out.”

  Paul let out a deep breath, one that he’d been holding tight for what seemed like hours.

  “You know where to find me,” he said, putting one hand on Alex’s shoulder. “If you need help, if you decide to come back, please don’t hesitate.” He turned back toward me again. “I’ll make sure to leave the key underneath the fifth pot.” He smiled, and his eyes were suddenly glassy.

  He was a good man.

  I opened the car door and stepped out into the frigid night air, then leaned over and stuck my head back in.

  “Thanks, Paul. For everything. For listening.”

  It had been such a risk, what I’d done. I should’ve kept my mouth shut, I knew. But at some point I had known I would need to talk to someone.

  “Anytime, kid. And hey,” he called after Alex as he squeezed his way through the car door. “Don’t be strangers. If you pull it off, I hope I’ll see you again.”

  I smiled.

  “You will.”

  The water was colder than I’d remembered from just thirty-six hours ago. I tread water next to Alex as we made our way out into the freezing river. I turned, hoping to see Paul one last time, to wave. But all I saw were the red tail lights of his car turning out of the parking lot.