As they walked, the men kept to the center of the street, glancing to their left and right, presumably looking for signs of trouble or something out of place. Occasionally, one would meander over to the sidewalk, stopping a pedestrian to examine the individual’s street pass.
Irene and her group possessed such passes, but they were counterfeits. And seeing the level of scrutiny Irene was witnessing out the window, which was relatively quick and unobtrusive, she was confident that their fake passes would stand up to it. Nevertheless, she was grateful they’d arrived at the safe house when they had.
She held her attention on the men as they carried out their routines, which drew them ever closer to the front door of the safe house. Arriving just below the window, one of the men motioned for a young woman dressed in a snowsuit to stop. The woman struggled to retrieve her papers stashed deep within the pockets of her suit. As the man waited, he glanced up in Irene’s direction. And Irene’s recognition of the man was instant. She jerked back.
Believing the darkened window would shield her from him noticing her, she stepped forward again to take a second glimpse, to make sure she wasn’t imagining things.
She wasn’t.
Seemingly satisfied with the woman’s papers, Chris had already moved down the street, meeting up again with the rest of his group.
Irene put her hand to her mouth to squash her panic. She peered back at Charlie, hearing him awaken. Still not ready to face reality, she allowed herself a moment to come up with some explanation, some justifiable reason for why Chris would now be with The Firsts. But all she could think about were those three men who laughed with Ted's neighbors as they took them away to be processed. Had Chris deceived her in that same way? She realized she couldn't answer that question. She hardly knew the man. "Charlie," she said unemotionally so as not to cause Samantha’s family any unnecessary worries.
“Yeah?” Charlie spoke drowsily, and then seeming to realize he was addressing Irene, he quickly rose from his chair. "Everything okay?" he said, coming to her.
Irene's mouth went dry. She swallowed hard, finding it challenging to say the words. “I saw Chris.”
“Oh?” Charlie rubbed his tired-looking eyes. “Well, that’s great.” He stepped closer to the window and peered out. “Where is he? I don’t see him.”
“He was with The Firsts.”
“Oh, man. Was he captured?”
Irene darted him a look, realizing the misunderstanding. “No, he was working with The Firsts.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don't either." Irene shook her head to dispel the most likely explanation, which was that Chris had tricked them.
“Maybe he’s infiltrated The Firsts to find your family?” Charlie suggested.
Irene paused and thought about that possibility. She then realized it didn't make sense. "That wouldn't explain why he's taken a position as a common street sweeper." As Irene spoke those words, the hope she'd been hanging on to ran through her fingers like sand. “How did Chris come to us, anyway?”
"Ah, it was Travis Allen. He referred Chris. Travis was the one who helped us find alternative sites to use in case The Firsts discovered the warehouse. Before coming to us, I think he and Chris were neighbors.”
Anxiousness sprung up within Irene. "Then Travis may hold a clue as to why Chris is now with The Firsts. I'll need to talk to him." Irene looked over at the Allison family. "But before I do, we'll see to it that The Firsts don't take any more of us."
Chapter 8
Irene had no doubt in her mind. Travis Allen was nervous. He sat on his bed, avoiding eye contact with her.
Charlie stood over him and folded his beefy arms across his chest. The stance was meant to intimidate, and by Irene’s estimation, it was doing its job. “How did you know Chris Parks?”
“Chris was my neighbor. You know that, Charlie.”
Ignoring the comment, Charlie continued. “How long did you know Chris Parks?”
“Good grief, Charlie. You come barging into my quarters, acting as if I've done something wrong. What’s happened?”
“When you referred Chris Parks, you told us you knew him for six years,” Charlie reminded him.
“Why are you bringing this up now?” Travis shifted his attention over to Irene.
Charlie cleared his throat. “Look at me, Travis.”
Travis’s left eye twitched, but he did as he was asked.
“We believe Chris Parks is working for The Firsts,” Charlie explained. “Did you know about that?”
“What? Of course not.” Travis moved from the bed and turned his back on his questioners. “Chris is working with The Firsts? That's impossible."
“I’m afraid it’s very much possible.”
Travis paused. "I just can't believe it. I had no idea he was a loyalist. But—”
“But what?”
“But you were right to question how long I knew him. I didn’t know him for six years.”
“How long?” Charlie barked.
"Two months at the most." Travis slumped back onto his bed.
“You put your kids at risk,” Charlie said. “You put this entire warehouse and town in jeopardy.”
“You got to understand.” Travis’s voice was strained and emotional. “Chris brought my family supplies. He kept my kids fed. I didn’t know anything about the warehouse until my uncle referred my family and me. All we had to rely on before that time was Chris Parks. He put his own life in danger to help my family. I wasn’t going to turn my back on him. He deserved to be referred. He’d earned that right for what he did for us.” Travis looked up at Irene again, who, unlike Charlie, had remained silent throughout the questioning. Perhaps Travis thought she was still withholding judgment.
In a way, he was right. Irene recalled what she’d considered earlier. The Opposition wasn’t made up of military or CIA types. They were just ordinary people. And when someone brought food to their families, then it was taken at face value. She couldn’t fault them for thinking anything bad about such an individual. She couldn’t blame them for not considering some ulterior motive. But Travis had lied about Chris. And in lying, he knew he was disregarding measures that helped keep the warehouse safe.
“As Charlie said, you put all of us in danger,” she began, “but there’s no way to turn back the clock. Chris knows about the warehouse—the town. We need to focus on what’s coming next. It’s just a matter of time before The Firsts show up at our door. You’ve found alternate sites for our operation. Unfortunately, now, you’ve also created a situation where we’ll need to use them.” Irene turned to Charlie. “We’ll need to evacuate.”
“I agree,” Natalie stated, coming through the door. “Because there's been an explosion at the safe house.”
“The safe house?”
Natalie moved deeper into the room. “Someone planted a bomb inside the house," Natalie clarified. "But it gets worse. The bomb killed a couple of third-shift patrolmen. They were standing right outside house when it went off.”
Irene dropped her arms to her sides, feeling taken aback.
“So was the target the safe house or the guards?” Travis asked from the bed.
Everyone turned to him, including Irene.
Natalie shook her head. “We don’t know yet.”
“Could it be that other group with the business cards?” Charlie asked Irene. “Dave showed me their card and said he’d shown it to you too. I believe they call themselves UG.”
Irene thought for a moment. "If it was that group, then they managed not only to kill two guards, but they also bombed the safe house of a fellow opposition group. I don't see the sense of that."
"The Firsts, of course, are blaming Roger for the attack," Natalie inserted.
"Of course they would, but we didn't—" Irene paused, remembering something.
Charlie took a step toward her. “What?”
“Harvey Smith. Where is he—right now?”
"He was due back this morning," Natali
e replied. "I had a scheduled meeting with him and his crew, but he . . . never showed. No one did. I just figured they forgot or got delayed. But now that you mentioned it, I'm wondering . . ."
“Me too, Natalie.”
“So what are you saying, Irene? Are we suspecting, Harvey?” Charlie asked.
Irene pivoted to him. “Remember how he told us to turn off that kerosene heater when we left? I even remember getting irritated that he kept asking me to do it.”
“He was pretty adamant about that, wasn’t he?”
“At the time, I thought he was just worried about wasting kerosene, but now I’m thinking that switching off that heater somehow began a timer—”
Charlie didn’t respond, seeming unconvinced. “But it may just be a coincidence that Harvey is MIA.”
“And his entire crew?” Natalie added.
Irene nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I’m beginning to believe they did it, and I think I know how. Harvey had everything so well scheduled and planned out. He must have known we’d be well out of the way when the bomb went off. He wanted to kill those guards, and he was willing to sacrifice one of our safe houses to do it.”
Irene sat on the bed next to Travis as a sense of defeat and tiredness came over her. Harvey and his men were naïve if they believed that they could win a war with The Firsts by carrying out terrorist attacks. She realized that she was not only fighting an outward enemy but also one within that could be their undoing.
“So we evacuate," Natalie said.
Irene looked at Charlie for his input.
“I guess even if Harvey wasn't involved, like Natalie said, The Firsts are blaming us for the attack. And if Chris hasn’t told The Firsts about our location yet, he certainly will take the opportunity to do so now.”
Irene’s head swirled with attempts to find some other explanation for Chris’s and even Harvey’s actions. But she needed to use the evidence before her. “Begin the process to evacuate. Roger has given me the authority to do so if needed.” As she said the words, she began to feel the possibility of finding her family slip further away.
…
In addition to evacuating the warehouse, transport to and from town was suspended. The tube was placed in lockdown which concealed and blocked its entry point at Kingston’s mansion. To access it would require the discovery of the control panel’s location. Since Chris didn’t possess this knowledge, Roger and the rest of the town were safe for now.
With the town closed off, the alternate sites, including the old mill near the outskirts of the city where Irene was now stationed, became permanent housing for those who’d been recently rescued. This created a new problem. With the option to flee currently unavailable, those at these sites were beginning to consider what apparently Harvey had already decided: that a war with The Firsts was necessary. The desire seemed to grow mostly among the young whose memories of the last war were hazy at best.
“The Firsts erased my parent’s memories,” Irene had overheard one young man say. “As far as my parents are concerned, The Firsts killed me.”
"It's worse than that," his friend said. "The Firsts made it as if you never existed.”
The young man had struck the table with his fist. "And for that, I'd like to make them not exist."
Irene tried to discourage such bravado by giving a series of speeches on how The Opposition had battled The Firsts, perhaps not with guns or swords but in other ways. It had fought against them by helping people escape their processing system that promised manufactured peace under their control. In other words, The Opposition had waged war against becoming a herd of sheep.
But Irene curled her own hand into a fist as she thought of the young man’s experience. She knew if she were younger, she, too, would have wanted to fight a more literal war, particularly against one specific individual who she’d misjudged entirely.
“No sign of The Firsts at Kingston’s place today,” Natalie said, interrupting Irene’s thoughts as she entered the old mill’s kitchen.
Natalie moved closer to the small writing desk where Irene sat. “You need to consider what I said earlier.”
Irene looked out the kitchen window to a spot in the yard where presumably the owners, who’d converted the mill into a home, attempted a garden. Brown stems and wilted yellow leaves were all that remained of the plants after the harsh winter had taken its toll.
But it was springtime, and thankfully, Charlie was familiar with growing things. He planned to dig up the garden and start fresh with some plants he’d started from seeds. With the town cut off, they would need fresh vegetables along with the meat they’d obtain from the local wildlife. It was funny that after all that had happened, Irene’s most important task was still trying to put food on the table.
“Wouldn’t he have gone through with it by now?” Natalie’s voice was strained as if she were frustrated by Irene’s inattention.
Turning from the view, Irene gave Natalie what she seemingly wanted, for Natalie continued more calmly, "As I said weeks ago if Chris wanted to betray us, wouldn’t he have told The Firsts?”
“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t mention his name.”
Natalie drew in some air. “I did some digging. I had Dave ask around city about Chris again.”
“Good grief, Natalie. That was dangerous. What if The Firsts had captured Dave?”
“I did it for you.”
Irene stared at her. “You’re putting this on me?”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I sent Dave out because you told me, in private, you still had mixed feelings about Chris because of how he seemed affected by the town."
“He was affected because he finally had information to betray us.” Irene shifted away, knowing she'd based her statement on a somewhat insincere premise. On the opposite end of her theory that Chris had infiltrated The Opposition for The Firsts, stood a speck of hope that the man who’d rescued her was not working for The Firsts at all.
“Because of Dave,” Natalie continued, “we were able to discover something.”
Irene peered up at Natalie but didn’t interrupt.
“You know Mac Donaldson?”
“Of course,” Irene said. Mac Donaldson ran a black-market processing shop in the city. Somehow, he’d found a way to replicate The Firsts’ technology and make money doing it. Some suggested he knew the original inventors or that he stole the technology from The Firsts. Either way, he’d found a way to process people.
Not knowing about The Firsts' forced processing, some still went to Mac to erase their memories. With him, they could choose for themselves what they wanted to forget. The Firsts did little to stop this type of black-market enterprise. It probably mattered little to them since the individuals who were paying to get their memories erased would shortly have it done for free and by force by The Firsts.
“A friend of Mac’s informed Dave that, right about the time when we got back to warehouse from town, a man matching Chris’s description came to Mac’s shop.”
Irene furrowed her brow in disbelief.
“Mac’s friend,” Natalie continued, seeming unaffected by Irene’s reaction, “said that Chris paid Mac to get processed." Natalie paused, perhaps to allow the news to settle in for Irene and for a conclusion to be drawn from it. "It's possible that the memories that Chris got erased were those of The Opposition and town. And if that is true, then Chris didn’t betray us. And if he didn't betray us, then we can evacuate our remaining escapees.”
Irene put her hand to her forehead. A part of her wanted to believe what Natalie was saying. It would fit with the fact that The Firsts hadn't yet raided Kingston's mansion. However, her skeptical side held on to its doubts, and she voiced those concerns, "Are you certain about this? If you're wrong—”
Natalie glared at her. “I would be last person to put town in jeopardy.”
Irene knew that to be true. The half-finished tattoo on Natalie's neck attested to it. Irene gave her a quick nod.
"Good." Natalie clapped her h
ands together. “I’ll go and tell others.”
Irene didn't follow. Doubts still lingered, but hope was gradually taking its place. And if Irene allowed herself to believe Dave's news completely, she would be astonished by what Chris had done for the town, The Opposition, and perhaps . . . for her.
Chapter 9
Reheating the soup made from Charlie’s summer vegetables, Irene looked to the garden behind the old mill. It was harvested except for a few large, ripened tomatoes still dangling from their stems. Irene decided she would take those last fruits with her to town along with some other remaining supplies. Charlie would be pleased she'd thought of it.
As she poured out a serving of soup for herself, she glimpsed something in the corner of her eye. Resting her bowl down next to the stove, she leaned toward the window to investigate further. Wildlife often thought their garden a restaurant, and she readied her hand to tap the glass if she caught sight of a deer or a rabbit.
Not seeing any sign of either critter, she returned to her lunch. "Are you sure you don't want any soup?" Irene shouted to Charlie, who was packing supplies in the other room. The pair was the last to remain at the mill or at any of the other locations, for that matter. They'd evacuated every one else. It had been a slow but steady process that had taken up most of the summer.
Not getting a response, Irene wiped her hands with a dishcloth and strolled back the hall. “Charlie?” she said as she drew closer to the room.
Noticing that the front door had been left ajar, she squinted through the slight opening out into the driveway. A man zipped past. Irene jumped back.
"Charlie?" she asked, but the man she saw was not of Charlie's build. And as her mind reconstructed the person she'd seen, she realized what the man was wearing.
She snuck back toward the kitchen. Seeing a knife on the cutting board, she grabbed it.
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