by Kelly deVos
Before Jinx or I can say anything, they’re gone.
For some reason, they take Toby with them. Like, okay, he’s nineteen and technically an adult. But an hour ago he was gonna walk off on foot and leave the rest of us for dead. He hasn’t acted like an adult since we left for Mexico.
But he gets to go off with the grown-ups?
Because. I guess. There’s something he needs to see.
This sucks.
“All right, let’s go,” Terminus says.
I assume that we’re going back to A to share a room with the thirty other people, but it turns out that there are actually a few other rooms we haven’t seen. One is labeled OVERFLOW BARRACKS. In there, we find a few bunk beds, a more comfortable, dorm-style desk and a private bathroom. The mattresses are even a little thicker.
“This isn’t too bad,” I say, looking around.
Navarro sits on one of the beds and yawns. “I need a nap.”
“You can’t go to sleep,” Jinx tells him in a high-pitched, alarmed voice. “You have a concussion.”
Soldier Two from earlier ducks his head in the door.
“This is Galloway,” Terminus says, pointing to Soldier Two. “He served under Marshall at Fort Dix.”
Using my e-tablet, I make an addition to my Sources page.
Galloway. Tall. Around six feet. About 180 pounds. Black hair. Thirties. Wide nose. Not perfectly straight. Probably been broken.
“What’s your first name?” I ask.
“Why?” Galloway moves closer and glances over my shoulder. “Sources? Sources of what?” He frowns. “I weigh two hundred. And, hey! I’m only twenty-nine.”
“Sources of information,” Terminus explains. “She’s a journalist.”
Galloway’s face turns red. “Does the general know that?” And then. “Write down that I’m two hundred. And...and... I’m one of the only guys who can manually operate one of those damn hydraulic doors. Because I’m up every morning at six and at the weight bench.” He thinks for a second. “Wait. No. You shouldn’t be making reports at all. Unless the general authorizes it.”
Okay. Don’t roll your eyes.
Nope. They’re rolling. Despite my best efforts. I. Am. Making. A. Face.
“I’m not making a report. I’m keeping information for later.”
Galloway continues to eye me with skepticism.
Navarro yawns again. He’s got the air of someone who thinks he’s dodged a bullet. “We have no phone. No way to communicate with the outside world.”
Galloway actually snorts. He points at Jinx. “That’s Max Marshall’s daughter. She could probably climb up on the cliff with a wad of aluminum foil and a hairpin and make some kind of radio transmitter.”
Navarro is alert again. And more grumpy. He sits up straight with a scowl on his face, like he’s now gonna be on the lookout to make sure Jinx isn’t running off to build her own cell phone tower out of bits of trash.
Jinx turns red.
Oh geez. I have to laugh. Galloway’s got her totally nailed.
Navarro scoots back on his bunk.
But, anyway, Mr. Johnson always said, Sources can require persuasion.
“Listen to me,” I tell Galloway. “One of two things will happen. Either we’re gonna die, or we’re gonna be heroes. If we survive all this, people will want to know about us. You know. What we’re like. Why we did what we did. If we survive, I’m gonna tell our stories.”
This mollifies Galloway somewhat.
“Joe,” he says. “Joseph Barker Galloway. Barker was my grandfather’s name.”
Joseph Barker Galloway? Rank?
He notices my scribbling. “Corporal. USMC.”
He was a marine.
“You knew my dad?” Jinx asks. It’s a good softball question. Terminus told us that most of the people here had served with Dr. Doomsday.
The way Galloway regards her, the way all the soldiers look at her, is weird. Really super weird. Like she’s the Lady of the Lake or something. A ghost or an omen they were waiting for, maybe praying for. But one that seems unreal.
“That’s right,” Galloway says. “They had some of us enlisted guys providing air support for the colonel...for Marshall’s unit.”
“What was his unit doing?” I ask.
Galloway shrugs. “Dunno. I was pumping gas into helicopters. People didn’t exactly stop to debrief me, you know?”
I fiddle with my new e-pencil. “Well. How did you end up here?”
Terminus gives the soldier an encouraging nod. “The general already told them about AIRSTA.”
Galloway relaxes. “Yeah. Well. I was working transportation for the colonel on and off for a couple of years. During one of my leaves, he had me out here pouring concrete. Anyway, about six months ago I was running officers in and out of AIRSTA, high-level people, like the general...” He glances at Jinx. “And your father. Anyway, one day, Colonel Marshall comes out of the compound...and the way he looked...the way he was? It was just wrong. He told me if anything ever went wrong to come here.” The man’s shoulders slump. “So here I am.”
“What went wrong?” Jinx asks.
I’m about to elbow her in the gut. I mean, seriously, Jinx? What went wrong is that a corrupt maniac rigged the presidential election and was now in control of our country.
But.
A hard expression works to conceal the sadness in Galloway’s eyes.
“My mother,” he says, flatly. “She was for The Spark. She got taken to the work camp outside Austin. She didn’t make it.”
Oh.
Oh. God.
Jinx saw something in Galloway that I couldn’t see.
I think about Toby right then. And Charles. The cost of all this.
It’s personal.
Mom once said that feeding an army was a job but feeding a person was an act of love. She resisted looking at the big picture. I’m not sure if she even knew the big picture existed. She fed anyone who came to the restaurant, whether or not they could pay.
It’s always personal.
Galloway clears his throat and refocuses on Jinx. “Did Marshall say anything to you? Tell you what they were doing?”
I force myself to stand up straighter and write AIRSTA and North Bend, Oregon on my e-tablet. “We already know what they were doing. They were hatching a secret plot to blow up a bunch of banks, kill thousands of people and frame my father for it.”
Terminus stares down at his shoes. “I... I don’t think so,” he says very slowly. “I think the violence at First Federal... I think that’s what The Opposition was doing to detract attention from what they’re really planning.”
I almost can’t take another breath. “What are they planning?”
“Something worse,” Galloway says, gloom settling into his features.
Terminus moves toward the desk. “Did Marshall ever mention Project Cold Front?”
“No,” Jinx says. Except something in her face says that maybe he did.
Navarro keeps his face in the shadows created by the bunk overhead.
Terminus moves to plop down into the tan leather chair at the desk.
This snaps Galloway to attention. “Nope. No time for lounging around. The general wants us to go for their truck. He thinks it’s unwise to leave it out there in the open.”
The they is us. We are them. They’re going for our camper.
“Let’s go,” Galloway says.
Navarro pushes himself off his bunk. “I’m going too.”
“What?” Jinx says, taking a few steps toward him. “You have a concussion. I’m supposed to monitor your headache and—”
His face turns red. “Susan, I’m fine. I’m supposed to stay awake. Which is going to be a lot easier if I have something to do.”
“I don’t know...” Galloway hedge
s.
“It’s my truck,” Navarro tells him indignantly. He’s already straightening his jacket. “I’ve been floating in a river. My socks are still wet. I’d like some clean clothes. And if we’re staying here, it would be great to have a toothbrush.” He pats his jacket where his side holster is. “Where’s my gun?”
“We can set you up with basic supplies.” Galloway’s face falls into a frown. “But I’m not giving you a gun.”
“I’m going,” Navarro says. He stalks out of the room.
I can’t help but feel that he wants to get away from us.
“Then I’m coming too,” Jinx says, following him into the hall.
Terminus and Galloway leave as well, and I hear fragments of a mumbled argument. “The general” and “unnecessary risk” and “follow orders.”
Jinx returns after a few minutes.
Alone.
LEAD: Student journalist and daughter of legendary hacker stuck in scuba cave.
Not much of a story, Mac.
Jinx throws herself on the bed. “The general ordered us to remain in the barracks until 17:00,” she says, doing a pretty good impression of Galloway’s brusque drawl.
I write Project Cold Front on my e-tablet.
“So Dr. Doomsday never mentioned the Cold Front thing?”
Her forehead scrunches up in confusion, and she does that thing again where she reaches for a necklace that she’s not wearing. “No...and yet...it sounds so familiar...”
I want to mention Navarro and his weird behavior, but I don’t know how.
Her gaze darts all around, like she’s hatching an escape plan. “What do you want to do?”
I don’t get to answer.
My brother’s face pops into the doorway.
“Good news,” Toby says with a grin. “The general is gonna help us. We’re going to California.”
We’ve been told that our diversity will make us strong, and yet when a wise man builds a house, he does not choose the materials at random. He does not meander in his garden haphazardly picking up stones for his walls. His house is built of bricks, and each is the same as the next. And the house will stand.
—AMMON C. CARVER, Chairman, General Advisory Committee
Memo for the Record
re: Project Cold Front
Top Secret; Initialed as received by CMM
JINX
My stomach flops uncomfortably. “California?”
Mac says what I’m thinking. “If Charles is in Oregon, why would we go to California?”
And how would we get there?
Didn’t we just find out that California has seceded from the Union?
Toby is grinning like a Cheshire cat. “The general has a plan. He’ll explain it better than I can. But basically, he thinks that once we get to San Francisco, he can arrange ground transportation to North Bend.”
“You seem awfully thrilled,” MacKenna says in a sour voice.
I have a feeling his attitude change has something to do with what I saw on the TV in the main lab.
But I hope not.
Toby’s head disappears from the doorway.
“Hey! Where are you going?” MacKenna asks, following him out the door. But Toby must have already disappeared into one of the other areas, because after only a few seconds, she comes back into our room and grunts in frustration.
“What’s up with him?” I ask.
“What’s up with Navarro?” she shoots back.
The motions of my stomach shift to a warm flutter. Navarro...he was...was acting odd. But then, we’d been shot at and jumped off a cliff, and he’d bashed his head on a rock.
MacKenna rolls her eyes. “Ugh. Stop thinking about how he looks in a wet shirt for a second. You don’t think it’s a little odd that he insisted on going back into the ultra-mega-creepy forest with Terminus and the merry major?”
I try to be casual. “Your dad practically tossed us off that cliff. Gus has a concussion and...you know him. Doing recon is part of the drill.” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice when I add, “It’s what I should be doing.”
My dad’s work, computers he built, code he wrote, it’s all over the place around here. I should be checking out the machines, testing the encryption key, researching my brother’s location...and instead I’m stuck...in here.
“Let’s look around,” I suggest.
“Can’t,” MacKenna says flatly. “The general posted a guard at the end of the hall. That’s why I had to come back. We’re confined to this area. We can access the barracks and the kitchen only.” Her face settles into a grumpy frown. “Why does everybody get to do what they want except us?”
She’s pale with worry. Something is bugging her.
“We said no secrets,” I remind her.
She takes a minute to adjust her ponytail, moving to the desk. “Before those soldiers grabbed us and brought us here, I caught Toby trying to leave.” Mac takes the chair where Terminus was a couple of minutes before.
“Leave? What do you mean?” I ask. Toby was unhappy. And different than he was before. But we were all unhappy.
And different.
MacKenna goes on with her back to me. “I mean, he got Dad to let him stay behind in the camper because he wanted to take off.”
“On foot?” A jittery electric shock runs through my veins.
Her ponytail bobs up and down. “He had some vague and stupid plan to go south.” She whirls around in the chair, staring at me with her big brown eyes. “One minute he’s telling me that he thinks we’re on a suicide mission, and then the next minute he’s in here acting like he did that Christmas he found a brand-new bike under the tree.”
My breath catches. Oh, it can’t be.
“What?” she asks sharply.
When I don’t immediately answer, she says with more force. “No more secrets.”
I find myself fluffing the pillow on the bunk. Which is a stupid waste of time because it’s filled with a cheap material and will never be more than a fabric blob.
Finally, I say, “I saw something. When I followed Navarro back to the main lab. You know who else is going to Oregon?”
“Who?” Mac growls.
I can tell from the expression on her face that she already knows.
“Annika Carver,” I say.
MacKenna shakes her head slowly.
“They were showing it on the news. She’s basically on a publicity tour. Going to military bases. Meeting with state lawmakers. Trying to build good will for Carver,” I say.
“Oh Lord, was the political princess all dressed up in her Sunday best and giving her royal wave?” MacKenna mumbles, “Elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist,” as she does a pitch-perfect impression of Annika’s gestures.
I nod. “Yep.”
MacKenna drops her hands into her lap. “Perfect.” But she perks up. “Let’s see if we can get more info from Terminus when he gets back.”
This, too, had been bothering me. “So, you’re friends with Terminus now?”
The Terminus who helped frame her father for murder? The Terminus who was part of the reason we were on the run? The Terminus who was working with...my mom.
Her face goes red and she turns around again. “And what? You’re not friends with him? You’re the one who spent all your summers at computer camp with the guy.”
“That stopped after I realized he wrote the code that framed your dad for murder.”
“Maybe he didn’t have a choice,” she says.
I groan. “You said there’s always a choice! You said we’re here because of a series of choices. That our choices define us.”
MacKenna returns to writing on her e-tablet. “I know! I mean, I think I do. And I still believe that. But. I don’t know how to make sense of what’s happening. I just... I just...”
Oh no.
I get up off the bunk and go across the room. I lean against the desk so I can see her face. “You like him. Like like him!”
“I do not,” she says, too fast and with too much force.
I sigh. “He was working for The Opposition.”
“So was your father,” she says. “And unlike Dr. Doomsday, Terminus didn’t get Ammon Carver elected or invent the Steel Curtain.” Her words come out in a rush. “And, in case you haven’t noticed, Navarro is for The Opposition.”
“Gus isn’t for The Opposition,” I say, even as cold doubt creeps over me.
MacKenna pushes her chair away from the desk. “I keep trying to remember the old me. The one who spent all my nights writing profiles of David Rosenthal. The one who spent my allowance on markers and poster boards to make signs for our yard. The one who used a whole can of blue glitter on letters that spelled THE SPARK. Sometimes, I feel that me fading away.”
“The Opposition wants a world where might makes right,” I say.
She nods. “But look at where we are.” She waves her hands around, pointing at the cave walls. “Your dad built this place. We don’t know how or why or when. We’re here with a bunch of outlaws, and what binds us together isn’t an ideology, it’s...it’s...”
I know what it is.
“It’s love,” I say in a whisper. Or at least feelings. My dad led me here because he loved me. Jay is here because he loves his children. The soldiers are here because of the way Carver’s regime has affected the people they cared about. Navarro is here because he...
I fight against a blush.
My thoughts are interrupted by MacKenna, who’s still talking.
“Yeah exactly. I told myself, Everyone’s for Rosenthal. Because I thought that this is a world where we all want the same things. I thought we all wanted cake on our birthdays, and hugs, and to be treated fairly, and to find someone to share our lives with. Instead we have this world. Not only do we not agree on what’s right, this world is full of good people doing bad things and bad people doing good things for the wrong reasons,” she says.
There it is. This is the world we’d inherited. It’s complicated.
And messy.
But Terminus? He told us what he’s about.