“Forget her,” Jude said. “Let’s swim.”
—
They’d been to the Academy pool several times a week for six weeks, but no matter how hard Jude tried to teach her, Clover could not even float.
Swimming felt about as likely as walking on the ceiling.
She was fine as long as she felt Jude’s hands under her, which was ironic since being touched out of the water usually made her lose any sense of being comfortable in her own skin.
When she felt Jude’s hands on her back under the water, she knew she wouldn’t drown. The second he took them away she sank like a rock, then panicked and came up sputtering and thrashing until her feet were on the pool bottom.
If she couldn’t float, she couldn’t swim. If she couldn’t swim, she couldn’t dive through the portal in Lake Tahoe.
Everything you need to know is where all the information is. That was what Waverly told her, just before he was murdered. They were supposed to be part of a rebellion. The rebellion needed Waverly’s information about Jon Stead and the suppressant and God only knew what else he’d put in that book.
He’d left a quote that made her certain that the place where he’d hidden the book was somewhere that had to do with Thomas Jefferson. She’d been sure it was in the local library, named after the dead president, but it wasn’t. Not in the Academy library either. The Thomas Jefferson wing of the Library of Congress was her next best guess. Waverly had gone to Washington, D.C., to accept his Nobel Prize fifteen years ago; he could have left it then.
If they could get to the notes he kept hidden in the future, though, they might know for sure where he hid the book. The more she thought about how badly she needed to be able to make that dive, the worse her inability to swim got.
“This isn’t working,” Clover said after an hour of near drowning. “I can’t swim. I’ll never be able to.”
“You have to relax.” He was not happy, and Clover knew that if she’d noticed his bad mood, it was very bad. The harder she tried, the harder she failed. She stood in waist-deep water looking at him, shivering more out of frustration than cold.
“This won’t ever work,” Jude said, his voice softer, “unless you relax.”
“The water gets in my nose.” Chlorinated water filled her sinuses, burning like acid, and then came pouring back out every time she came up gasping for air.
“I know.”
His patience made her want to scream. “I can’t breathe under there.”
“You aren’t supposed to!” They looked at each other for a minute. “We’ll keep working on it. We’ll find a way.”
“There isn’t time to keep working on it. We need those notes.”
They didn’t even know where the notes were, exactly. And they couldn’t just ask the man. An hour after he told them about “the place where all the information is,” Clover and Jude had seen Langston Bennett, the head of the Company’s Time Mariner division, murder Ned Waverly.
Clover didn’t even want to think about it. It haunted her to know that Waverly had hidden vital information in the future that only she could retrieve. Only autistic people could travel through the portal. Of all the Freaks—Clover, her brother West, Jude, and the others—only Clover could make the dive.
Clover’s inability to learn how to swim was ruining everything.
“You can’t dive yet anyway,” Jude said. “The lake is too cold until next summer.”
Clover brushed her wet hair off her forehead and worked her way toward the pool stairs. Everything about swimming felt wrong. The way the water made her limbs float so that they moved when she didn’t mean them to, and then didn’t move right when she was willing them to propel her forward. The way she couldn’t take a breath when her brain told her she should. The way she tried to breathe anyway, and water flooded down her throat and into her nose. “I can’t believe how much this sucks.”
“We’ll keep working on it.”
“Stop saying that. We both know it won’t do any good.”
Jude shook his head and looked at her that way he did sometimes that made her stomach knot up. She didn’t know how a look could affect her stomach, but it did. Every time. “When was the last time you weren’t able to learn something?”
She sat on the edge of the pool but dangled her feet in the water. A criminal amount of energy was spent keeping the pool warm enough to swim in all through winter, when most of Reno lived with two hours of electricity a day and slept in front of their fireplaces if they were lucky enough to have firewood.
“I don’t try to do things I know I won’t be able to do,” she said. “You don’t see me trying to fly, do you?”
Jude floated on his back, staring up at red and yellow leaves blowing over the glass ceiling. Clover was pretty sure he was thinking what they both knew but neither had said out loud yet. Even if she managed to learn to swim, it would be a miracle if she could actually make the dive. The portal was deep enough for a submarine to travel through. Waverly had operated diving equipment, including a non-electronic air bladder, to use the portal.
Clover’s sensory issues would make the dive impossible, even if she grew gills and webbed feet.
Jude moved his arms and legs just slightly, so that he floated closer to her. He wore only swim trunks, so most of his body was visible, and for a moment she almost hated him for how easily the water supported him. He could make that dive today. Even the cold wouldn’t stop Jude. The stupid air bladder wouldn’t be a problem for him.
“Oh, my God!” He stood up, suddenly, and one of his feet must have slipped because he went backward into the water, arms flailing. Clover tried not to laugh, but the tension that had bubbled up broke and she couldn’t help it.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Clover, what if we can ask him?”
“What?” Except she knew. As soon as the words came out of his mouth, she knew.
“Waverly was traveling right up to his death, right?”
“Right.”
“If someone watches, they’ll see him.”
Clover’s mind skittered around what Jude was saying, and what it meant. If they could ask Waverly—the Waverly from two years ago—about the book, they could tell him about his death. “Jude.”
“It might take a while, because it’s getting cold, but think about it. He couldn’t stay away. At least this way, we’ll know where his hiding place is.”
Clover crossed her arms over her body and willed herself to relax. Jude’s idea was a good one, but the repercussions were too big for her to wrap her head around. Could they save Waverly, months after he’d died? “He’ll be coming from two years ago. If we can find his hiding place—”
“Yes,” Jude said, maybe reading her mind.
“But I don’t know. Jude, I don’t know if we can—”
“It’s something. It’s a start.”
He held his arms out to her. She came down the stairs and wrapped hers around his neck, letting her legs float out from under her. He held still, and let her find a comfortable position.
Maybe if she got used to the sensation of floating, she could actually learn to swim.
—
Bridget Kingston sat at the end of her bed Saturday morning with her knees pressed together and her hands folded in her lap. Her back was ramrod straight and she kept her eyes on Jude, avoiding Clover.
“I’m not going,” she said, “I have to study.”
“What are you talking about?” Clover leaned forward into Bridget’s line of sight. “You have to come.”
“I have a lot of homework.”
“Who cares about homework?”
“I care, okay? My father is the headmaster. How is it going to look if I just stop turning in my work?”
When they first came back to the city, it was Bridget who pushed Clover and Jude for frequent trips to the empty, hulk
ing shell of a casino that somehow had a wireless net signal. The Dinosaur was the only place where they could talk to West and the others.
Last Clover checked, Bridget was supposed to be in love with her brother. And West was definitely in love with her. Bridget should have looked forward to Saturdays as much as she and Jude did. Plus, the Dinosaur was their place. Clover was far more comfortable there than she was in the dorm room she shared with Bridget. Being there reminded Clover that she was more than an Academy student. It didn’t make any sense at all that Bridget would rather sit here and do homework.
“Homework, for God’s sake,” she said. “Come on, we have to go.”
This was the second week where Clover felt like they were begging Bridget to come with them. Jude had told her he thought she was just trying to lose herself in her own more familiar world. Maybe it was a reaction to the stress of the weeks when they were outside the city.
“Don’t you think it’s time to tell Isaiah about all of this?” Bridget didn’t even look at Jude now. Her eyes were on the worn industrial carpet. “He deserves to know. We should tell him.”
“All of what, exactly?” Jude asked. Clover reached for Mango and he dragged his broad face over her palm before pressing his head against it. “That West isn’t dead? That we talk to him? Should we tell Isaiah, the guard, about the other Freaks and how they escaped from Foster City? How much do you want to tell him?”
“Isaiah’s not a guard.” Bridget’s face flushed when she heard herself. Isaiah had been a guard for three years, since he turned sixteen. “Not like you mean, anyway.”
“No.” Clover looked at Jude for confirmation. He just shook his head. “No, it is not time to tell Isaiah, Bridget.”
There was just too much at stake. So far only the Freaks knew that the suppressant everyone, everywhere, received every day was an unnecessary addictive substance. A single dose of Xanverimax, the medication Waverly brought back from the future, was enough to keep the virus at bay.
Clover reached up and touched the suppressant portal implanted at the base of her skull. The daily doses she’d taken her whole life had no Xanverimax in them. They were solely designed to keep control over the survivors.
Only the Freaks knew that Ned Waverly had been murdered. Only they knew about the ranch Waverly had prepared for them outside the city. Only problem was, they weren’t sure, yet, what to do about it. That was why Waverly’s notes were so important. And that was why telling Isaiah, who was a Company guard even if Clover had known him her whole life and wanted to share Bridget’s faith in him, was a dangerous idea.
“He’s a Freak,” Bridget said. “I’m telling you, he is.”
“Why risk it?” Jude sat on the edge of her desk. “What am I missing?”
“Nothing.” Bridget closed her book and stood up. “Let’s go.”
“You haven’t already told him, have you?” Clover asked.
Bridget shook her head once, then went to stand at the door. Clover clipped a lead to Mango’s collar and shot Jude a look before they all left the dorm.
They walked outside into the cool autumn air. November was a crapshoot in Reno. Some years it was pure winter; others, summer came back and took hold so warm days gave way to cold nights. This was an Indian summer autumn, and all Clover needed was a light jacket to stay warm.
“What’s wrong with her?” she asked Jude. Bridget walked so stiffly, she was nearly marching. “Has she said anything to you?”
“Nothing is wrong with her,” Bridget called back over her shoulder. “Even her hearing is just fine, thanks.”
“Sorry,” Clover said. “But you’re acting so—”
Clover stumbled when a woman stepped out from between two buildings and cut her off, literally and figuratively. Clover almost didn’t recognize Leanne Wood. Her Time Mariner trainer had lost weight and her face was so gaunt she looked ten years older than she had the last time Clover saw her. Bridget and Jude stopped walking, too, and they all stared at each other until Clover said, “Leanne? Are you okay?”
“We need to talk.” Leanne’s voice was hoarse, like she had a cold or had been crying for a long time. She pointed at Jude. “Me, you, and him.”
“Now?” Clover asked.
“No, not now.” Clover suddenly placed the strong emotion she saw on the woman’s face. Leanne was afraid.
Jude put a hand on Clover’s elbow, as if to stop her, but she knew better than to tell Leanne where their secret place was.
“What about your house?” Leanne paced a few steps, limping just slightly on her prosthetic leg. “Can you meet me there? At curfew?”
“Why?” Clover asked. “What’s wrong?”
Leanne nodded once, as if she were agreeing with someone, although no one but her had made a suggestion. “Meet me there tonight?”
They would be stuck overnight if they did. Reno had a sundown curfew. It had for all but the first few days of Clover’s life. “Can’t we meet somewhere on campus?”
Leanne looked truly appalled for a moment, then shook her head. “No. No, campus won’t work.”
“I’m not spending the night out,” Bridget said. When all attention turned to her, she took a step back and said, “I mean, are we all going to sleep at your house, Clover? Even her?”
“There’s plenty of room,” Clover said.
“We don’t even know her.”
“I know her.”
“Bridget Kingston, right? You don’t have to come. In fact, it would be better if you didn’t.” Leanne’s voice was flat. She looked at Bridget with almost no expression. Bridget physically bristled, her eyes narrowed, and her back stiffened. “Unless you’re going to tell your father you saw me. You’re not going to do that are you?”
“What? No, I wouldn’t—” Bridget looked genuinely offended, and for some reason that made Clover feel better.
“Clover, I really need to talk to you. It’s important, or I wouldn’t be here.”
“We’ll be there,” Jude said.
Leanne looked at Jude, then Clover again, then walked away before either of them could change their minds. They watched her until she disappeared around the corner.
“Jesus,” Bridget said. “Could she have been any ruder?”
Jude turned to face her. “Maybe you should go back to campus. We’ll tell West you said hello.”
Something passed between the two of them that Clover couldn’t quite pick up. A look, but also a strange silence. “Seriously, what’s going on?”
Bridget gave a tight little smile, then turned and left, back toward campus.
After she was gone, Jude sighed. “Dropping like flies.”
Clover had a strong visual of flies falling like rain from the sky, which was followed closely by a memory of standing in the rain with her head tilted back and her mouth open to catch the drops. She shook herself once, hard, which caused Mango to make a soft woof. “West isn’t going to be happy. About any of this.”
“I agree,” Jude said. “Let’s go.”
For history does not long entrust the care of freedom to the weak or the timid.
—DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER,
INAUGURAL ADDRESS, JANUARY 20, 1953
Three months ago, Clover didn’t know Jude. She didn’t know any of the Freaks, except for her brother and Bridget, and she’d never been inside the Dinosaur. Now, the idea of going back to her house tonight and sleeping there was upsetting. The Dinosaur felt more like home to her than the house she’d lived in all her life.
“My dad might be there, you know,” she said as they walked upstairs toward the fifteenth floor of the hotel. The part they’d made their own. “At my house, I mean.”
“Do you really think he will be?”
She didn’t. Jude knew she didn’t. She hadn’t seen her father since the first day of classes. He came to the dorm room she shared with Bridget, sp
ent fifteen minutes making miserable small talk, then left. “What do you think Leanne wants to talk to us about?”
The door to the eighth floor, one landing above them, flew open and banged against the wall. Jude stepped down to the stair she was standing on and used his entire body to press Clover to the wall as someone yelled, “Holy shit!”
A loud noise, almost but not quite a scream, echoed around the stairwell and Clover threw her hands over her ears. Mango went crazy, barking and throwing himself against his lead, nearly ripping Clover’s arm out of its socket.
“Oh, no.” Jude sighed and took a step away from Clover, taking the dog’s lead.
The commotion at the doorway went suddenly quiet , and two voices whispered something that Clover couldn’t make out. Jude shined his hand-cranked flashlight upward. The circle of light illuminated round faces with expressions of such pure and classic shock that Clover had no problem placing the emotion.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Jude asked.
“Who the hell—Oh, no, oh, God—” One of the voices went from demanding to terrified in the space of a few words, and the screaming noise was back. Clover would have crawled right through the wall Jude had her pinned to if she could have. He shortened Mango’s lead just as the dog lunged against it. Two huge Canada geese half ran, half flew down the stairs. A wing flapped against Clover’s shins and she cried out, which made Mango bark even louder.
“Quick, get back inside,” the voice above said.
“Wait a minute.” The eighth-floor door started to close. Jude sprinted up the steps and grabbed it before it did. “Jesus, Tim, it’s too late now.”
“Great.” Clover came up the stairs behind Jude. The geese were still honking and flapping around, not too far down the stairway from her. “You know each other. Can we get out of this hallway before they come back? Please?”
Tim opened the door wider. Two more boys stood on the other side of it. When Clover shined her flashlight at them, their faces were red and splotchy.
“We could have caught them,” one of the other boys said. He didn’t look more than twelve.
“Not likely,” Tim said, “since they been chasing you for the last half hour.”
Rebel Nation Page 3