Day One
Page 26
The crowd is moved by symbols, by icons, by archetypes. The crowd has its own morality, its own religion. We must create a series of images that are powerful enough to motivate the resistance, and we must model what we need them to do.
—AMELIA AOKI
Report: The Image of the Second Civil War
Stamped: Top Secret
JINX
“What the hell are you doing here?” I call back. Who am I talking to? Amelia? Annika? Toby? The only people who are supposed to be in this car are Navarro and me.
More gunfire rings out, and the shouting is getting closer. I have no choice but to put the SUV in gear and steer the vehicle into the dirt road.
Amelia lowers the camera and climbs into the backseat. This puts her right behind Toby and Annika in the middle row. “Copeland is crazy if he thinks I’m going to let the three of you run this operation. I mean, seriously, you didn’t even make it to shore with the bag of gear!”
She was right. Navarro didn’t bother to take the camera with him from the sub. But then, at the time, we didn’t care about making a mockumentary.
In the rearview mirror, I watch the car kick up a cloud of dust.
The Spark sending Amelia to supervise us makes a great deal more sense than putting Toby in charge. But then...why did Copeland put Toby in charge in the first place?
I punch the gas, and as we take off, a sharp smack sounds on the rear window.
Annika screams again.
“Oh wow! I wish I would have got that on camera,” Amelia mutters. “Ammon Carver’s daughter screaming her head off would really boost our metrics.”
A round crack appears, like we’ve been hit by a giant rock.
The Opposition knows we’re up here.
And they’re shooting at us.
Okay. Breathe.
“We’ll try to do more dangerous stuff to accommodate you,” I say.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” Amelia says. She doesn’t seem bothered at all by the yelling or the gunfire. And unlike Toby, Navarro and me, she’s not wet, which means her boat made it safely to the shore. She’s dressed in a teal waterproof jacket with a hood and black fitted pants. Chic. And expensive.
“For?” Navarro says.
“She put the SUV here,” I say. It’s the only explanation for the convenience of the car. Why it was in a location that was so easy for us to see from the harbor. And how she knew where to find it.
I glance in the mirror to see Amelia fiddling with something, probably the camera, in her lap. “You have no idea how much paperwork I had to do to get the bullet-resistant windows,” she says. “Biesecker in Special Effects wanted regular glass. You know. For the look. It took me three meetings to convince the team that your survival was more important than a money shot.”
“Uh. Right,” Navarro says with a grim scowl. “So this vehicle is being tracked. By The Spark.”
Our plan is already a failure.
“Where are we going?” Navarro says.
We speed along, passing by the lighthouse. A couple decades ago, the structure must have towered high above the ocean, but with the sea level rise, waves roll right up to the base. Black mold eats away at the white paint, and the door has been torn off.
“What about Rosenthal?” I ask.
Amelia passes a dark bag into the middle row of seats. “What about him?”
I see Toby in the mirror, opening the bag. It’s similar to the one I lost in the ocean and full of electronic gear. Toby pulls out an e-tablet and...
A phone.
We haven’t been able to use a phone since January. It takes everything I’ve got not to reach behind me and snatch it from Toby’s hand.
Focus.
Rosenthal.
“When we last left the president, he looked like he was ten seconds away from getting captured and killed by The Opposition,” I say. Also. Toby is smiling at Annika and being super casual about, well, everything. He takes her hand. “Toby! Give Navarro the phone.”
“Jinx. I’m still in charge and—”
“Somebody needs to be in charge of finding a map by the time we hit the main road!” I tell him. He doesn’t even notice my reflection scowling at him.
“We’ve set up a bed-and-breakfast in Astoria as a safe house,” Amelia says with a yawn. “Turn on the phone. I had the techs preload the map.”
Well. That solves that problem, I guess. But I really hate this. The whole point of the plan was to take charge of our own destiny. Now Amelia is calling the shots. And she cast us in her war movie.
Toby tosses Navarro the phone. A burner smartphone in a plastic bag. Navarro turns it on and activates the map. The road has become steep and muddy. We barrel up an incline and onto a two-way highway.
“Go left,” Navarro tells me.
I steer left. I should be asking if it’s safe to stay on the main highway.
But.
“What about Rosenthal?”
Amelia leans forward into the space between Toby and Annika’s captain chairs, forcing them to stop holding hands. “I assume the president will be fine. We outnumber them in the bay three to one. But I can get a status update when we get to Astoria.”
The way she says this. Like it doesn’t much matter whether Rosenthal lives or dies.
Sigh.
I have to force myself to relax.
I hate to say it, but the drive is gorgeous. The ocean is on our left, a beautiful gray-blue that stretches on and on. Tall trees that lead to a thick forest flank our right. Above us, puffy swelling storm clouds roll by.
In the seat next to me, Navarro is making clicks on the map. “We need to get off the main road.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Amelia says. “I doubt anyone will follow us. The Opposition believes you’re with Rosenthal.”
How does she know what The Opposition believes?
My teeth are chattering again, and as the gunfire fades into the background, my hands and fingers ache. A couple of the cuts on my palms are pretty deep, and fire shoots through me as I grip the steering wheel.
Navarro reaches for the console and turns on the heater. He must be thinking the same thing as me, because he says, “So are we all thinking that Copeland sold us out?”
Speaking for the first time, Annika says, “General Harlan Copeland? He’s working for The Spark now?”
Warm air hits my face.
“Copeland wouldn’t sell us out,” Toby declares.
Annika doesn’t seem so sure.
I glance behind me. I can’t understand how Annika always manages to look the way she does. The wind blew her hair into an attractive poof, and her camo leggings and green sweatshirt are somehow both distressed and neat.
Also.
“It was Amelia,” I say. It had to be. “Amelia contacted The Opposition.”
Amelia’s face pops up and, for a minute, she stops messing with the camera. “Well, not me personally,” she says. “We needed a compelling sequence to kick off our broadcast.” She resumes digging in her bag and pulls out a small laptop. “We only gave The Opposition about ten minutes’ notice so they wouldn’t have enough time to pull a whole operation together.”
The Spark gave away our location. Because it would look good on TV.
I try to focus on the road ahead. “And you were willing to sacrifice Rosenthal?”
“The general won’t let anything happen to the president,” she says. She bounces up and down in her seat. “Copeland isn’t bad, you know. I mean, unless you think the idea that society can only be sustained by perpetual war is bad.”
“I do think that’s bad,” I snap.
Amelia has her camera back up.
Navarro remains hunched over the phone. “Okay, in a quarter of a mile we should see a farmer’s market on the right-hand side. There’s
a dirt road a few feet after that. Turn there, and I think I can keep us off the main road until...”
“Until what?” I ask.
Navarro is muttering to himself as we arrive at what was once the farmer’s market. The once-cheerful red building is covered in grime and bird poop. A faded sign reading U PICK CHERRIES hangs crooked on a wooden post. Squares of the dirt where cherries once grew are empty. I turn on the road immediately after the market, which leads us into a deeply forested area. Meanwhile, Amelia is crouching down in the space between Annika and Toby, pointing the camera at my face.
“Just like I think that making a TV show when millions of people are dying in a war is bad,” I say, putting my face closer to the camera lens.
What is the point of all of this? And where is MacKenna when I need her?
“But your father meticulously researched how to change popular opinion and use forms of media to influence behavior. Most political campaigns today are using his theories.” Amelia puts her hand on my armrest to steady herself.
Navarro glares at her. “We’re coming to a fork in the road. Take a left.”
I slow down and make the turn. Without looking at the camera, I say, “Dad believed that something had gone really wrong with this world. He felt that he could create complex data models and computer programs to manipulate people into making the right choices. He thought that the ends justified the means, that you could do something wrong as long as you were trying to do something right. But that was a mistake. That road leads to corrupt leaders and a bunch of people with broken moral compasses. Dad lived to regret those theories. They got him killed.”
Navarro shifts uncomfortably in his seat. I doubt he agrees with what I’ve said. The idea that he still sympathizes with The Opposition sticks in my throat a little. But we didn’t have time to drill down on our ideologies.
As usual, Navarro sticks to Dad’s advice.
Focus on what’s in front of you.
“You’re probably going to need the four-wheel drive,” he says.
He’s right. And what he’s calling a road is becoming more of a trail that’s littered with rocks. I have to steer sharply around tall pine trees, and it’s hard to maintain our speed.
Annika moans. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Amelia pivots, flipping her camera into Annika’s pretty face. “Last week, your father, Ammon Carver, made the controversial decision to drop the cold fusion bomb on California. Casualties are estimated as high as thirty-five million. What would you say to the families affected by the violence?”
“Okay, wait a second,” Toby says. He taps me on the shoulder. “Maybe you should turn on autodrive.”
“Naturally, my heart goes out to anyone personally affected by the violence of this terrible war,” Annika says in a voice that’s pretty polished for someone clutching their stomach. “I desperately pray for a resolution before anyone else is hurt.”
Amelia lowers the camera. “Okay, nice. Good job, guys. We’ve got some strong character development footage to use in between the action sequences.”
Action sequences? I have no choice but to ignore this.
“No autodrive,” I tell Toby. “I’m not letting a computer drive this car.” It strikes me like lightning that that is something my father would say.
Navarro snorts. “The autodrive would never let us maintain this speed. And despite what you think, Captain, it’s critical we get off the road and into a less recognizable vehicle. Fast. But...”
“But what?” I shout.
I take a steep decline way too fast. The bumper scrapes against the leafy, rocky forest ground, and we bob up and down.
Amelia is climbing back to her own seat. I’m almost glad when she bonks her head on the roof of the SUV.
“Okay, well,” Navarro says, scooting back from me. “We can stay off the main roads for a while. But the Columbia River is up ahead. There’s an old bridge that may or may not be flooded. Even if it’s not, it’s several miles long and only two lanes. Once we get out there, we’re exposed.”
“Can we go around it?” I ask.
“Not really,” he says. “That would take hours. Really throw off our timeline.”
“What timeline is that?” Toby asks, leaning into Navarro. “Our mission clock begins tomorrow.”
Navarro jerks his chin at Annika. “I don’t think we’re on the same mission, pal.”
In the backseat, Amelia actually yawns. “I already told you. My team has taken care of everything. Both Washington and Oregon are states controlled by The Spark. The Opposition was already unable to maintain control of federal property in these areas. We lured them to the bay. Put four squads of our best people over there. Provided a super high-profile target. Believe me. The Opposition has their hands full with the resources they’ve got.”
“You’ve never seen how The Opposition operates, have you?” I ask. If Amelia had ever seen Tork in action, she’d know that we’re in real trouble.
“If we could see this vehicle, so could they,” Navarro says. “I guarantee you, someone saw us. And they’re coming.”
We take another small hill and emerge from the trees into a clearing. The area looks like it was once a small neighborhood and is now a perfect place for serial killers to retire. The houses have been abandoned for a while. Long grass grows in front of doorways. Everything is muddy and moldy. Windows have been broken out. We pass a sage green house with a huge hole punched in its roof.
“Someone?” Amelia repeats. “Someone like who?”
After we leave the neighborhood. I follow Navarro’s directions and steer through another thicket of overgrown trees. I barely miss sideswiping a pine tree’s spindle-like branches. I stop the SUV before we emerge from the forest, facing a wide waterway.
The Columbia.
The bridge is about a quarter mile ahead and, like Navarro suggested, it’s a mess. Almost like one bridge built on top of another—like they tried to raise the bridge height once the sea levels really started to change, creating a road on stilts. But even still, waves crash over the sides, some so high that they splash the side windows of the handful of cars driving over it.
“So?” I turn to Navarro. “We could ditch the car and...” Even as I’m trying to come up with a plan, I realize there’s no good option.
“It could take hours to find another car,” Toby says.
“We’re just going to have to hit it,” Navarro says, staring straight ahead.
Okay.
Breathe.
I put my foot on the gas pedal, hard, and we skid out of the forest. We’re only a few feet from the bridge ramp when another vehicle emerges from the trees at a fast clip. It’s a black SUV very similar to ours and makes fast time. In a few seconds, the other car is driving alongside us, entering the bridge in the lane reserved for traffic going in the opposite direction.
“There’s the someone we’re afraid of,” Navarro calls to Amelia in the back.
I glance in the rearview mirror. Amelia’s mouth has dropped open, and she seems to be experiencing her first real emotions ever.
“Oh shit,” Toby says.
“If you have any weapons back there, now would be a great time to hand them out,” I shout at Amelia. She doesn’t answer and my anger surges as I realize she’s actually filming all of this.
Navarro is getting his carbine ready, but he doesn’t have his pack. That means he’s got thirty rounds.
The SUV rams our side. We’re pushed into the side of the bridge. Sparks fly as our car drags along the metal of the railing. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Four shots are fired in rapid succession into my window.
Annika screams one long continuous scream.
The glass is able to withstand the first three shots, with cracks the size of small rocks breaking out, but the fourth one does it.
The glass shatters.
Blood runs down his face and pools up around his neck. A piece of glass the size of a corn chip juts from his left eye.
Oh holy hell.
“Toby!” I yell. “Help!”
I feel around for the rifle.
The window of the SUV next to us rolls down.
I flinch and duck, expecting to face the barrel of a weapon.
I fight against the impulse to close my eyes.
Instead of a gun.
It’s my mom.
Her chestnut hair is pulled up in a high, flattering ponytail that swings as her vehicle hits the potholes in the bridge. The collar of her red jacket flaps in the wind.
“Susan,” she calls out. “Stop that vehicle.
“Now.”
In a world where everyone was fighting for what they believed to be right, I couldn’t stop thinking about this one question. Could justice ever be achieved at the end of a gun?
—MacKENNA NOVAK,
Letters from the Second Civil War
MacKENNA
I frantically wave my arms around and feel all over. The only thing I’m able to grab is a fluffy baby doll wearing a silky nightgown. I toss it at Jo as hard as I can. But she ducks, and the doll’s yarn hair grazes her cheek.
Where in the hell is Terminus?
LEAD: Rogue soldier murders student journalist in abandoned doll factory while morally flexible hacker saves himself.
IMPORTANT FACTS:
-Terminus won’t help me.
-Dad can’t help me.
-Jinx can’t help me.
-I have no weapons.
I have to remember the drills.
Do what you have to do to survive.
I’m on the verge of passing out and of using my last measure of air. But I have to survive. I rally the memory of everything that’s happened since we got stuck in that burning building. The memory of all those people lost at sea on the Booker.