Unafraid

by Megan Lynch

  “Yes!” Denver said, and then, aware of her eagerness, looked toward the ground. “Yes, please, if you can spare it.”

  Stephen crossed his arms. “How did you know—”

  “Your wife’s not sick, Stephen.” Nurse Sue crossed the room, took the orange out of the bag, and tossed it to Denver, who caught it one-handed. “She’s going to have a baby.”

  Chapter Six

  Bristol sulked about having lost his girlfriend’s company up until he picked Jude up for their walk into the woods. Bristol arrived at the youth cabin just as most of the boys were getting ready for bed—the sound of toilets flushing for the only time of the day could be heard, and most of the boys were taking off their shoes and crawling into their bunks. When Jude saw Bristol at the door, he waved with wild abandon and darted toward him. In the short time Bristol had known Jude, he’d never seen him excited about anything. Come to think of it, it was rare to see someone his age excited at all—God knew he wasn’t.

  Twelve years old. Denver was only thirteen. That was the beginning and the ending of something between them—both the bridge and the rift. That was the year Metrics stopped educating the Unregistered, and Denver began stage two of schooling. He just needed some time to get used to the idea. Back then, the boredom of unloading produce trucks and peeling carrots at the restaurant was like a physical illness. He felt that boredom in his bones, in his blood, and he wasn’t able to wrap his mind around the fact that the rest of his days would be spent this way. This was before he even knew about Drift, the magical powder that took all feeling away and made you empty. He hadn’t found it yet, but he longed for its effects daily.

  Maybe Denver had known about it and was trying to distract him—maybe that was why she brought home that paper and pencil from her first day of classes. They’re from my architecture class, she’d said. I asked the manager if I could have an extra set. Do you still like to draw? Bristol was wary of this apparent charity, but he took the paper anyway and filled every inch with gloomy images before adding the sheets to the mess under his bed.

  Jude brought him back to reality with a hug. Bristol patted his back—a little too firmly—three times, and then ruffled his hair. “Got a hat?”

  “No. I had one, but it was stolen.”

  “Stephen’s got one. He’s part of the day watch, so when he gets to the stands, we’ll ask to borrow his. You’ll need it for the night.”

  The two of them set forth in the forest, and Bristol noticed that Jude was a fast learner. He was walking almost as quietly as Bristol by the time they reached their destination. Stephen was happy to lend his hat, practically giddy in fact. Bristol watched Jude attempt to climb the tree three times before deciding he needed a boost. He made a basket with his interlaced fingers and vaulted him up onto a branch. When they were both high in their own trees, Bristol said, “You’re going to have to practice that.”

  “I’ll get it eventually.”

  “If we see anything, we’ll need to get down fast. You need to work on your strength and your hip mobility if you’re going to do this job right.”

  Jude nodded and looked down at the ground. “It’s harder with one hand.”

  Bristol sighed. It was easy to forget that; Jude never complained. “I’m sorry. I just…”

  “…miss Samara.”

  “Yes.”

  Bristol chortled. He’d done it again—he’d underestimated the intelligence of this kid. How many times would he have to learn the same lessons?

  “She’s doing a great job, though,” chimed Jude. “There’s this boy in my cabin—JoJo—And she taught him how to divide. On the first day.”

  Not surprising, Bristol thought, and beamed from his tree. “Thanks for letting me know that. She’s a teacher. That’s just who she is. You’re right—it was a waste to keep her perched up here. We should stop talking now, Jude.”

  “We don’t talk?” It was getting dark, so Bristol couldn’t see the look on Jude’s face, but he could tell it he was disappointed. “Then what do we do?”

  “Watch. Listen. Think.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “Doesn’t your tree have a popcorn maker?”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “Look, I’d give you food if I had any. Just focus on watching.”

  “And listening. And thinking.”

  “That’s right.”

  The night passed slowly for Bristol. His mind was heavy with the same worries: the monastery was mismanaged. With every interaction he had with the leaders, he could see the cracks more and more clearly. They were incoherent. They were uneducated—like himself—but painfully unaware of it, and not interested in growing—quite unlike himself. They were petty. They didn’t listen. They didn’t trust anyone.

  For having lived in it all of his life, Bristol had no idea how the Metric Government worked. Perhaps that was by design. But he could see similarities. A small percentage of people making all the decisions, assigning jobs, deciding what was best for the larger population. And the larger population just went along with it all, following the leader. Simon says jump.

  The major difference between Metrics’ leaders and these ones was that Metrics seemed to be smart. Although they made sweeping decisions without any rationale, no one in the world even knew their names or what they looked like! Even if they did want to question those decisions, no one would know who to turn to. There had to be a better way. A new way.

  It was times like these, when Bristol was thinking hard and needed inspiration, that new pictures would come flashing into his head. Back when he was painting, when the channel for such inspiration was open, it would come to him without having to ask. But nothing was coming. A dullness seeped into his mind as his sight hardened onto his hands. He closed his eyes. He’d never tried talking to it—this thing that gave him those images. Bristol glanced over at Jude’s tree, then back at his hands. “Please,” he whispered, too softly for Jude to hear, “Please give me a vision. Tell me how to fix this.”

  He saw something—not a clear something, but a something nonetheless. Three people in front of a crowded room, like the leaders in front of the big group. Then, next to it, another image: people sitting in chairs in a giant circle. That’s absurd. Bristol shook his head. He tried asking the thing for another image. Nothing, nothing, nothing. He took some dead leaves in his hand and crushed them. Then he arranged the pieces of the leaves in those images—three pieces in front of many, then many pieces in a circle. He could feel Jude watching him. He brushed the pieces away and put his eyes back on the forest.

  When the sun came back up, Bristol asked if Jude was ready, and the two of them climbed down and started back.

  “I’ve been thinking,” said Jude.

  “Good.”

  “About the leaders. I don’t know what needs to change, but the day-to-night mixup a few days ago gave me an idea.”

  “What idea?”

  “I think something has to change. A different way of doing things altogether. The day-to-night changeover is set for the night of the sixteenth, right? At midnight?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, what if we told everyone except Tommy, Karale, and Danovan to wake up one hour earlier, so we could all talk about what to do? We can’t gather with them around, but we need to have a talk. If we let things stand as they are, they’re going to let us down. Then we’ll have wasted our time here.”

  “So wake up an hour earlier…”

  “And decide what to do. When they wake up and find us all gone, they’ll probably go to the meeting house. Then we can tell them the new plan. If everyone agrees, that’s two hundred people against three—they’ll step down.”

  “We’ll have one hour to figure this out.”

  “Basically. Yeah.”

  It sounded crazy, but so did most good ideas. How many times do you have to learn the same lessons?

  Jude bit his lip. “You think I’m sleep-deprived?”

  “No. I think you’re brilliant.�
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  Chapter Seven

  Samara eyed the sky and wrapped her arms around herself. JoJo was still at his work assignment today, so she had a little break between teaching all the children at once and teaching Tommy. She stood outside, hoping to catch some sunlight, but clouds had moved in, strong and gray as sheets of steel. Stratus.

  The cold air shocked her lungs, but she breathed deeply anyway and started walking toward the mess hall. It would be busy now, but she could think of no better time to talk to Denver about the plan. The mess hall and the cabins were really the only two places where free conversation could still happen, and conversation from the crowd would create a nice buzz to cover what she had to say.

  Even though the food wasn’t hot, the inside of the mess hall was still about ten degrees warmer. The warmth of many bodies carrying their trays to the tables and sitting in tight rows was a relief from the constant shivering.

  Samara saw Denver assembling sandwiches and potato chips on trays and handing them out. Samara stood in line. Denver, she noticed, looked at her and then turned back to the trays. Samara couldn’t tell if she didn’t see her or if she was pretending not to. Samara had been inside enough female friendships to recognize a cold shoulder, but still couldn’t quite figure out how or if she deserved it.

  When it was Samara’s turn to be handed a tray, she said, “I need to talk to you privately. Can you get away?”

  Denver’s eyes flickered to Samara’s, then back down at the chips. “Wait until the line’s gone. I’ll come to you.”

  Samara hoped there was no inkling of surprise in her face as she nodded and made her way to a table. She wished she could squeeze between strangers for warmth and make small talk, but she sat at the end of a table instead and waited for Denver. Maybe she had been misreading her all along. Her dad had helped her see things like this more clearly. Whatever her problem, he’d ask how else her situation could be interpreted. With his help, she could see interactions like this from many different angles. Samara hoped that her mom and dad had found each other again after she’d run away—she hoped, with a begging intensity, that at this moment, they were together.

  A waving hand in her peripheral made her turn. Taye. How had she forgotten? It was always his lunch hour. She didn’t know what else to do except smile. He sat next to her, closer than necessary.

  “No JoJo today?” he asked.

  “Not today. They needed him on…” Samara stopped. Come to think of it, she didn’t have the slightest idea what his employment assignment was. “I don’t know. Probably laundry.”

  “No, the laundry guys are all here.” Taye gestured down the table. “Best part of their day. My little brothers are there.”

  Samara had been looking at Denver, trying to catch her eye, trying to communicate silently that she’d get rid of this guy in just a second—but now she raised her eyebrows at Taye. “Brothers?”

  “Yeah. I’m the first, so I got all the good stuff. Always felt bad for them, though. I mean, they’re still little so they were in school, but I knew how they were going to have it when they turned twelve. My mom had the idea to take them out before they had the chance to send them away. Lucky thing, too. That was just a day before the relocation.” He pointed. “That’s Cork, and the little one is Henry.”

  Samara knew better, by now, than to ask where his mother was. She waved at the two boys. Cork reddened and looked back at his friend across the table, but Henry gave her a cobble-toothed grin.

  Taye snorted and waved back. “Cute little guy, huh? I never understood why they fix all of our teeth exactly the same. Takes all of the character out of the face, don’t you think?”

  He looked at her pointedly. She ran the tip of her tongue along the roof of her mouth, along the bump where a permanent tooth still lurked on top of a baby one that had never fallen out. “If you want to know my Tier, just ask.”

  “Okay, fine. Your teeth are interesting. Why is that?”

  “I’m a Five. Was a Five.”

  “You said you were an education manager.”

  “I was. Metrics assigned me the job, but they couldn’t—or wouldn’t—move my Tier. So I worked in a juvenile detention center. That’s where I met Jude.”

  “Jude Reeder? My brothers work with him. He’s a…special kid.” The tone he said it in suggested there was more he wanted to say—none of it nice—but was watching Samara for her reaction.

  “I know. That’s why I helped him escape.”

  They looked hard at each other, sizing the other up.

  Taye broke the gaze first. “Then you’ve got just as much at stake here as I do. You were just as scared as I was to hear that stuff about the Bird.”

  Denver approached the table, but did not sit. “Am I interrupting?”

  “No, nothing,” Samara said. “Denver, this is my coworker, Taye. He was an ed manager on the outside, too. Taye this is my—my friend, Denver.”

  Denver nodded curtly. “You wanted to talk?”

  “Yes, but…” She glanced back at Taye, who shoved three unbroken chips into his mouth at once. “Oh, he might as well know, too. Taye and I heard something slip from Tommy.” She told Denver about how the leaders were communicating with a Metrics official; then, she relayed the whole of Jude’s plan to wake the entire camp before midnight to discuss more options.

  Denver listened with an expression Samara had never seen before; a mix of doubt and fear. When Samara was finished explaining Jude’s plan, Denver asked, “So what do you want from me?”

  “I want you and Taye to help get the word around. Go to people you trust and tell them.”

  Denver gave a chesty laugh. “People we trust? You’ve been on the watch with Bristol for too long. People don’t trust people here.”

  Taye nodded. “She’s right, Samara. Most people have just one person they talk to here, maybe two. But it’s not a friendly place.”

  Samara paused a beat and looked around. Sure enough, though the room was abuzz, there were no bobbing heads jumping from conversation to conversation. Those heads were together in pairs or small groups of three. Now that she saw it, she saw that it fit with her own experience in the dorm. She just thought they weren’t talking to her because she was asleep all day and awake all night. They weren’t talking to her because they never knew her on the outside.

  “Okay,” said Samara. “New plan, then. Listen in as much as you can. See if you can hear complaints about the leaders.”

  “That should be easy,” said Taye. “Nobody’s happy with them. Nobody’s willing to do anything about it, either.”

  “Because they’re scared,” said Denver. “Most of us have exactly one experience challenging authority. And it’s what landed us in this mess, where we feel like there are no other options.”

  Taye and Samara looked at Denver. It was most Samara had ever heard her say, and it was also true.

  “If they’re scared,” said Samara, “then they’ll be glad we can help them. We have to let them know.”

  “They don’t trust us. They’ll turn us in.”

  “It’s a risk we’ll have to take. Wait until they’re complaining. Then tell them the plan. We’ll hash something out and when the leaders come find us, we’ll tell them the new plan. Together.”

  Denver looked at Samara thoughtfully, with hand curled at her mouth. Then she traced her thumb down to her navel and said, “No. I can’t do that. But good luck.” She turned and darted back to the kitchen.

  I should be used to disappointment by now, thought Samara, but she wasn’t quite. Samara wanted to be close to this one person who knew Bristol better than she did, but right now, she would have settled for help in lieu of friendship. It would have meant some sort of relationship, however icy.

  “What was that about?” asked Taye.

  “What?”

  “Didn’t you come in with her? Here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you fighting?”

  “No. I don’t think so. We’ve never been clos
e. But she’s my boyfriend’s sister. I thought she’d want to help. But it doesn’t matter. I know she won’t give us away.” Samara turned her attention back to Taye. “So, will you do it?”

  “On two conditions. One, you think up a few ideas to present to the group so we’re not going in blind. One hour is really not enough time to come up with a whole new way of governing ourselves here. We’ll need a little push from you.”

  “That sounds reasonable. What’s the other condition?”

  “Don’t mention your boyfriend again.”

  Chapter Eight

  Jude was on a slightly different schedule now, but it didn’t matter. When he woke up, the rest of the boys were getting ready for bed. Jude saw the boy who’d thrown the punch earlier that week walk into the bathroom with his toothbrush. He grabbed his own and, desperately telling himself to be cool, slowly followed him. Remembering his words—If we were good at accepting defeat, we wouldn’t be here!—Jude thought he might be a good start. Since the snow day debacle, there seemed to be little doubt that defeat was coming if things stayed the way they were.

  In Jude’s books, the heroes were plucked from their unfortunate situations by some benevolent benefactor and launched into a new, wondrous world. In Jude’s experience, the real world was exactly the opposite. He had been plucked from the life he knew, yes, but not to be thrust to a better one. He’d been framed for Bristol’s vandalism for reasons that were still unclear to him and put into prison. Then, Samara had chosen him, among all of her other students at Fox County Detention Center, to escape with her. They had ended up here, where the clues pointed toward another forceful exit.

  No more. He couldn’t allow it to happen again. He didn’t care that he was young—he’d put blind trust in adults before and wasn’t satisfied with where it had led him. If there was going to be another mistake, the least he could do was take responsibility for it.