Unafraid

by Megan Lynch

  My baby.

  He didn’t look like a baby, but it was him. Small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, he had translucent skin and large black spots on either side of his head. He was withered, curled into a loose ball, and even through the blood, his blue veins were visible. It was him, this small manifestation of love, not done growing. Not ready to leave her.

  Her mother had snapped her knees back together, grabbed her clothes, and ran back down those concrete steps, with translucent, tiny Bristol still safe in her womb.

  I’m so sorry.

  She held him close. The room was growing darker. Someone knocked on the door, said something, and opened it. Denver was conscious just long enough to hear a woman scream.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Samara took two cups down from the cabinet, but only shook instant coffee grounds into one of them. The sky was turning pink with the promise of a sunrise, but Bristol wasn’t in the common room yet. She’d just wait for him to come down. She held her news inside her, rehearsing what she’d say when he sat down on the sofa. She’d wait for him to take a sip or two so he’d be fully awake for the best reaction. She smiled as she anticipated it; the last time she’d seen Bristol truly surprised was when she kissed him for the first time. She was sure that he’d prefer that kind of surprise again, but this one would have to do in the meantime.

  She was too excited to sit down. She’d been too excited to sleep, too, though she didn’t feel tired at all. It was as if an energy were animating her from the inside out, and—for now, at least—she didn’t need to rely on her biochemical energy. She didn’t need sleep, or food, or water, at least not right now, while the flame inside her was still burning bright.

  She stood at the window, watching the birds peck the yard outside in the half-light of dawn without really seeing them. The clock on the wall revealed that it had been nearly an hour since she’d been downstairs. Where was he? With a sweep of disappointment, she remembered that he had been at the cocktail reception last night. He was probably sleeping in this morning, exhausted from rubbing shoulders with the upper crust of the art world.

  Wait until he heard who she’d been talking to.

  Waiting was the one thing she couldn’t do. She turned to go up the steps to his room. Before she’d gotten to the first landing, however, she heard someone come in the front door.

  It was Bristol and Jude. They didn’t see her, and walked past the steps to the common room. She flew down the steps to follow them.

  “Hey!”

  They turned, and when they saw it was her, they both rushed to embrace her at the same time, resulting in a tangled jumble of arms and heads facing awkward ways. They were all three laughing, though Samara didn’t know exactly what they were laughing about.

  Jude pulled away and patted Samara’s arms, as if to make sure she was really there. “Where were you?”

  “That’s a story that is much too fascinating for this hallway. Let’s get some coffee and sit down.” She looked at Bristol. “Nice suit, handsome.”

  Bristol’s smile was radiant. “It looked a lot nicer six hours ago, before we searched the whole city for you.”

  “You were looking for me?”

  “Yeah!” Jude said. “I saw you get into a limousine at the park! We thought you were in trouble!”

  “I’m not in trouble at all. See, I took Bristol’s advice and asked for a meeting with a reporter. One thing led to another pretty quickly. Apparently, we’re bigger celebrities here than we know—the aid workers have been keeping us from the press—I think they’re just trying to protect us—but the world knows too little about the USA and they’ve been wanting to talk to a refugee to get our perspective. I think that’s why they’re treating you like a rock star.”

  Bristol nodded. “I got that feeling, too. Like I was from Mars.”

  “You might as well be. The USA isolated itself so long ago and there have been such a small number of escapees that no one knows what it’s really like there; all they have are rumors and press releases, which they know to be untrue.”

  “But a reporter picked you up in a limo? That still doesn’t seem right,” Bristol said.

  “No, I’m getting to that. The reporter was so excited that I sought him out and wanted to schedule an interview right away, but I thought I’d check with the group to make sure that was okay. Besides Bristol, none of us have talked to the press, and I wanted to be sure I was saying the right things before I just started talking. He was disappointed, but told me to take my time. Then he said that his boss had an interview that day with the First Minister and invited me to come along.”

  “The First Minister?”

  “As in the leader of the government here. The One of Scotland.”

  Jude’s jaw dropped. “What did you say?”

  “I said yes, I’d love to tag along, and he said he hoped I’d grant him an exclusive interview this week. I was happy to agree to that.”

  “That was wise,” Jude said while his feet dangled off the floor.

  Samara smiled. “I’m glad you think so. So the Secret Service picked me up a few hours later at the park, since the aid organization would be suspicious to see them at Olympic Village, and we all went to St. Andrew’s House.”

  “And you met with the First Minister?” Bristol sounded like he only half-believed her, or maybe he was just that tired.

  “Yes, I did. I sat and listened through the interview, and we talked briefly at the end. She didn’t have much time to talk in detail, but she had two pieces of advice for us.”

  Bristol and Jude leaned over their mugs.

  “One,” Samara said, “we get all the refugees as organized as possible, and try as much as possible to have the same goals.”

  “That’s what I said!” Bristol jolted slightly, and drops of instant coffee spilled onto his fingers.

  “Well, the First Minister of Scotland agrees with you.”

  “What’s the second piece of advice?” asked Jude.

  Samara closed her eyes for a second to remember the moment. The First Minister had looked so poised, so crisp and put together, but not in the same way the Metrics officials always were; she was softer and more natural and less fearful. “Care for each other. Protect each other. Love each other so radically that sacrifice comes as naturally as our next breath.”

  The birds made their morning sounds outside under the pink sky. Samara had spent so much time remembering that moment since it happened yesterday that she was ready to connect back to this one; she listened to the breath of Jude and Bristol and they quietly pondered the First Minister’s advice. Bristol looked up at her face, and as she looked back, she felt the flame of animation quietly tamper down. No longer was she hyper-aware of how her face looked to Bristol. She only wanted to take him in, look into his eyes, tell him, without words, that she was ready to act on this advice.

  “I think,” said Jude, “we should start calling meetings of everyone. Maybe get Kareale and Tommy and Danovan involved again, just out of courtesy, and because they can help us organize, especially now that they don’t have to use intimidation. And we should share everything we know with everyone.”

  “Great idea. How about tonight?”

  “Let’s get to work.”

  “Excuse me?” An aid worker appeared in the doorway. “Are you Bristol?”

  “That’s me.”

  The woman looked extremely uncomfortable. “I have two phone messages for you.”

  “Okay.”

  “They might be private.”

  “You can tell us all. These are two of my best friends,” said Bristol. Jude beamed.

  “Okay…well, the first is from a woman named Cindy? And she wants you to call her right away?”

  Bristol cringed. “Did she seem angry?”

  “Well, yes, she did seem a little miffed.”

  “I’ll call her. And the second?”

  “The second is from your brother-in-law. Your sister is in the hospital in London.”
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  Chapter Thirty-Two

  It was lucky that Bristol was the only one among them who had any money at all, thanks to his overnight fame. He didn’t have to beg or borrow to pay for three train tickets to London; they’d quibbled a bit about who would go and who would stay, but in the end, Bristol felt better about inviting both Jude and Samara along. As far as he was concerned, the Red Sea and its constant demands could wait. He needed to know that his sister was going to be okay.

  On the train, he slept like the dead, waking himself occasionally by choking on a snore. Ordinarily, he’d be mortified by this, but Samara, in the seat next to his, slept with her head back and her mouth hanging open, and that liberated him from having to pretend he was a beautiful dreamer himself.

  Bristol awoke to an attendant lightly shaking his shoulder. “Sir? We’ve arrived.”

  In the streets, he found London to be one of the most unusual places he’d ever been; though the colors were similar to Edinburgh, and the wide river reminded him of home, the structures themselves just seemed massive, as if the city were built for giants. The people here seemed roughly the same size, though. Samara also walked with her head up, surveying the immense buildings spaced far apart. Only Jude went through the city with his eyes forward, unimpressed by the new sights. Bristol always liked this about Jude; he was not easily distracted.

  The hospital staff would only allow Bristol in the room with his sister. He left Jude and Samara in the waiting room with only a television showing a soap opera for distraction. After many wrong turns and a poor choice of elevator, a nurse finally offered to take Bristol to the room.

  “Are you Canadian?” the nurse asked, giving Bristol a side-eye. “You sound Canadian.”

  Bristol didn’t have the energy for the truth. “Yep.”

  “Which part?”

  “The cold part.”

  The nurse scowled but led him until they stopped in front of a wide wooden door. “In there.”

  Bristol knocked softly. When no one answered, he opened the door slowly.

  Denver was in the bed with a tube coming out of her arm. The florescent lights reflected off the all-white bedding, which made her skin look gray. She looked ten years older than the last time he’d seen her. Stephen did, too—he sat on an armchair next to her, but neither of them were talking. They both looked up when Bristol entered, but did not react otherwise.

  “Hi,” Bristol said softly. “How—” He stopped himself. “How are you?” Are you insane? Instead of trying to fix his blunder, he gave Denver a gentle hug around the shoulders.

  “I lost the baby,” she said. Her voice had a raspy quality to it that seemed to come from deep inside her throat.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.” She moved only her eyes down onto the white blanket covering her lap, keeping even the minuscule muscles of her body still.

  “I keep telling her not to say it like that,” said Stephen. His eyes were swollen and his cheeks were chapped.

  “Like what?” Bristol asked.

  “She didn’t lose the baby. It wasn’t her fault.”

  “It was my job to keep him safe. I couldn’t keep him safe.”

  A red spot blossomed on the blanket tucked under Denver’s legs. It was spreading faster than Bristol could react. “Denver…”

  “That keeps happening.” Stephen pressed the call button on Denver’s bed. “She’s lost a lot of blood. They keep saying it’s not normal.”

  A nurse came in, flicked her eyes from the blood to some kind of monitor, and immediately got to work changing her sheets. Bristol backed out of the room, though no one had asked him to go. Denver would usually be the first person to tell him to get out if no one else would, but the woman inside wasn’t Denver anymore. Some part of her, he feared, had died with her baby. He’d expected some crying, some pain, but not this, not Denver connected to machines and disconnected from everything else.

  The baby was a hope, a laugh in the face of the system he’d grown up with. Metrics tried to control when and how and if they could all have children, then restrict how they grew. Force themselves upon the people they’d grow into. Bristol loved knowing that two people in love could simply make a child when they wanted; that was Nature’s gift to them. Now, more than ever, he hated Metrics and what they had done to all of them. They had ruined Denver’s future all because Bristol existed; they had made her pregnancy fraught with stress and fear; they had encouraged taking responsibility even when the mistake truly wasn’t her own.

  The nurse walked out with a little nod to him, and he went back inside. He wanted to comfort her somehow, but nothing seemed like the right thing to say. He wanted to tell her that they’d conceive another child, but that gave no comfort for the loss of this one. He himself didn’t want another niece or nephew, but the one who was already gone. Instead, after several long minutes, he cleared his throat and asked where the baby was.

  “He’s…” Stephen started to answer, but the words got caught in his throat and he shook his head, as if to say he couldn’t speak anymore.

  In monotone, Denver said, “He’s in the refrigerator in our hotel room. It’s our only miracle that’s come from all this. The maid who found me knew that the hospital would throw him in the garbage otherwise. She came to the hospital this afternoon and told Stephen she thought we had the right to make the choice about where to lay him.”

  Bristol’s teeth caught his lip.

  “Have you thought about where that will be?”

  “Yes—”

  The door opened before she could tell him, and Samara peeked inside. “They told us we could come up after all if we wanted…can we come in?”

  Stephen waved them in. Denver raised her eyebrows at Bristol. “I know it’s crazy, but whenever that door opens, I keep thinking it’s going to be Mom.” For the first time, her voice became jagged and her eyes shut. “I want Mom.”

  Samara ran over to her bedside and held her arms out. Denver sunk into Samara’s breast, her hands still in her lap, her head next to her heart.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Three days later, once Denver was out of the hospital and Stephen had rescheduled the training and the five of them had taken a night train back to Edinburgh, two hundred people spilled onto the sidewalk in front of Daniel’s garden. A hole, not wide but deep, gaped under a cherry tree, not far from the ashes of the burned bush. Sitting beside the hole was a small wooden box, painted baby blue. In the unusually sunny early spring sunlight, the box shone on the grass. Denver, Stephen, Bristol, Samara, and Jude sat in chairs that had been dragged out of the house and placed on the brilliant grass. Nearly everyone else stood.

  “We gather here,” Daniel said to the crowd of refugees and passers-by on the street who’d stopped to listen, “To celebrate the brief but meaningful life of—”

  “Zion,” said Denver.

  “Zion Steiner.” Daniel made a wet-sounding sniff and held the handwritten note close to his face. “He was…loved fully…by his parents and his community…” Daniel’s nose was nearly touching the paper.

  Just before it seemed he would lose his composure completely, there was a rumbling behind the lines of people on the street. The mourners in the garden turned their heads to see what was causing the disruption. Six men in suits and sunglasses walked forward between the crowd. Denver made a motion as if to run for the box, but stopped when the men parted and a woman in a mouse-brown pantsuit stepped through the center.

  “I’m sorry to cause a scene,” she said to Denver, “but I wanted to come and pay my respects. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Samara gave a little squeak but did not speak. Denver stared speechless at this woman, but the woman didn’t seem the least put off. “My name is Cara Clovinger. I am the First Minister of Scotland.” She looked at Daniel. “When you’re finished, might I give a few words?”

  Daniel nodded with wide eyes. “That…that was about all I had.”

  “Then I’ll take it from there.” She
addressed the little gang in the garden. Cameras hovered now, from news crews that they hadn’t noticed before, through the iron bars at the gates. Clara Clovinger cleared her throat. “Though you, Zion’s people, have known almost nothing but hardship throughout this year, this little boy knew only love and warmth in his mother’s womb. Denver and Stephen Steiner did what any parent would do for their child—fought for his future. Together with their family and friends, they have overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles in the hope for a better life for him and for all the children born in this community of brave souls. I bring a message of condolence, also, from an ally of yours still in America, known as the Bird. He wants to assure you that he will continue to work for a better world to bring your future children into, and invites you to join him after you’ve taken all the time you need to grieve your son. I speak for our country when I say we are proud that this boy, with courage in his blood, will be laid to rest in Scottish soil. God rest your soul, little one.”

  Denver winced as Bristol got up and lowered the box into the hole. She felt softer now than she had ever been before, but she still wouldn’t allow herself a breakdown with all these people around. There would be time later to weep in Stephen’s arms, both for Zion and for themselves. Although they’d agreed they’d talk it over with the entire community, there was no question now that both of them would go back and be part of the plan to liberate the USA. She could think of no greater gift she could give to Zion, and she had a great need to give him everything she had, even in death.

  The First Minister stepped aside, and as Bristol piled fresh earth into the grave, Daniel stood and sang:

  Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;

  Ae farewell, alas, for ever!

  Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll pledge thee,