Torch

by Tricia Copeland

  Struggling against Troy’s grip, I tried to figure out how things went so wrong. “Owen did this. He killed our friends.”

  Troy’s hands slid to my cheeks. “We have new information now. We know he’s not giving in.”

  “Right, just like I said before. We have to do something.” I tugged at his fingers, trying to pry them from my face, struggled against his grip on my jaw, wanting to run back to the beach, retrieve our friends, or at least their bodies.

  “Shh.” Troy stroked his hands down the sides of my head to my chin. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders, increasing the pressure against my arms as I tried to wriggle out of his embrace. “Stop fighting, Jema. We must rest, be smart. We’ll figure out what to do. I promise.”

  Giving up on escape, I slumped into his chest, tears streaming down my face. He lowered me to the floor, and I snuggled into his lap. We sat silent like that for a long time, and then he started talking about each of our classmates and his memories of them. I added stories, recalling incidences from kindergarten, elementary, and middle school. Turning off the alarm, we let Miles sleep four hours. I lay down beside Avia, hoping I’d be able to fall into the comatose sleep it seemed she’d achieved. Troy sat with his leg against my arm, rubbing my back.

  I woke to the sound of grinding metal and opened my eyes to see Avia using a can opener to pry the lid from a huge metal container. I dreamt yesterday, the last six months. I got the flu and have been in a coma. I glanced to the ceiling and then the walls. No, it was the same refrigerator I’d fallen asleep in. Avia turned the crank on the opener again and again.

  “What is that?” I pushed up on my arms.

  “The only thing left behind—chocolate pudding.”

  “You’re going to eat twenty-plus-year-old pudding?”

  She flung the tool against the wall, and the clang of the metal hitting metal echoed around us. “I just want something normal, something to be the same.”

  I ran my hands down her arms. “It will be, you’ll see. A year from now, we’ll be back in Port Orford, finishing our junior year and looking forward to being seniors.”

  Tears ran down her face. “You’re the worst liar ever. Even if that happened, our friends would still be dead.”

  “I know.” I hugged her to me, staving off the growing pain in my chest, the guilt that lurked under the surface. This was my fault, all of it.

  “What are we going to do?” She rested her face on my shoulder, sobbing.

  I lifted her chin. “We’re going to make their lives count. We’re going to make Butler and his stupid government share that cure if it’s the last thing we do.”

  A creaking noise made me jump, and I spun around to see Miles and Troy approaching.

  “Water.” Troy lifted a container.

  I didn’t want to drink or eat, didn’t want to be breathing. But Troy insisted, and I realized I had to make sure the friends I had left were safe. We sat in silence, me forcing food down my throat, then tucked the wrappers in our bags. Shouldering our packs and climbing to the first floor, we found a piece of glass from a broken window. We angled it so the sun shone through, magnifying the heat from the light, and melted our identification tags. For all Owen and his government knew or may ever know, we were dead.

  We started for our vehicles, running, jogging, darting between, and climbing through buildings, alleys, over walls and fences. Passing through yet another abandoned building, I patted my neck where my ID tags used to be. Death freed us. That was what Troy said. But it felt like a cast-iron skillet on my chest. Not my death, my death would have been a relief, but the deaths of our friends at the hands of our government. The government saddled with the burden of protecting us, the young, the brave, the future. A government led by none other than my own uncle, an uncle who ordered me killed.

  Around noon, we watched from the cover of an abandoned hotel as planes cruised overhead, looking, no doubt, for any changes, signs of survivors. I kept my eyes glued on the sky, waiting, unsure of what I expected, a lightning bolt, God, or Hell to open up and consume me.

  Stopping to rest as the sun set over the ocean, we watched the huge orange ball descend into the water, the haze from the horizon squelching its light. Darkness fell, and the moon rose in the east and traced across the sky. I found I couldn’t eat. The prospect of food made my stomach turn. I watched as Miles, Troy, and even Avia downed a meal with no hesitation. How had the day made her the strong one? Where had my never-serious-about-anything-but-boys friend gone? Who replaced the girl I held in my arms that morning? The one I longed for. We can’t both fall apart at the same time. But I knew the depressing answer to my questions. Yesterday sealed the coffin formed five months ago. She’d been lost the second the outbreak began, and none of us would ever be the same again.

  This wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t been the key to a movement that threatened the human race’s survival. And because of me, she couldn’t go back. If she and Miles returned to Port Orford and the UNS discovered they were alive, they would assume we might be too. Perhaps they’d be tortured to get information about us. Like Troy and me, Avia and Miles became fugitives the second those bombs hit the boat, killing our friends.

  Squeals emitted from the radio as Miles turned the volume up. Avia and Troy leaned towards the device, but I returned my stare to the dark, letting my eyes drop to the black water. The abyss that held our dead friends and the decoy crew from Port Orford.

  “ELEVEN JANUARY 2070”—a deep monotone voice started—“UNITED NORTH STATES BULLETIN: FUGITIVES, SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD JEMA WALKER AND EIGHTEEN-YEAR-OLD TROY MASTERSON, WANTED FOR TREASON AND MURDER, ALONG WITH AN UNKNOWN NUMBER BELIEVED TO HAVE BEEN INDIVIDUALS FROM PORT ORFORD, SEIZED DAYS AGO BY OUR OWN, WERE FIRED UPON IN THE PACIFIC JUST OFF THE COAST OF CALIFORNIA BY UNS PLANES AS THEY TRIED TO DEFECT. THE BOAT SANK, AND THEY ARE NOW PRESUMED DEAD AS ARIAL COVERAGE AND GROUND CREWS FOUND NO SURVIVORS.”

  “I’m surprised they didn’t use dogs,” Miles commented.

  Troy paced. “We were careful. They wouldn’t have found our trails. But it could be a hoax. You never know what they really think.”

  A new feeling, fear, gripped my chest. It tightened like a vice. The others were dead, but Avia, Miles, Troy, my mother, father, and sister were not. Nave? What would they do with her now that Troy and I were presumed gone? She’d been cure patient zero, the only one with our DNA running through her veins. This realization spurred me to action, and I jumped to my feet.

  “We have to get back to Port Orford. We need to leave now. We have to make sure our families are safe.” Snatching an MRE package from the concrete and ripping it open, I darted to the stairwell.

  “She goes from zero to one hundred in no time, doesn’t she?” Miles waved his arms in the air.

  “We’re going, just like that? She’s not even thinking like a sane person.” I heard Avia yell as I jumped to the landing.

  “But she’s right. We’re wasting cover.” Troy’s footsteps sounded behind me.

  I jogged to the bottom floor. “I don’t know if we can risk vehicles. It’s four hundred miles to Port Orford. It’ll probably take ten, maybe eleven days to get there on foot. That’s ten days that Owen has Nave. Ten days with people dying all over the world and us not doing anything about it.”

  Troy caught up with me. “We should go back to Lovelock.”

  “You’re kidding, right? They know our patterns. Owen probably already cleared it out. We brought as much as we could.”

  “We need a base.”

  “We’ll take everything from the transport. I have my arrows. We planned for this scenario.”

  Wildlife would be more plentiful inland. It would be enough. When we got to the UNS border, we could buy identities and sneak into Port Orford. Dad and Admiral Masterson would have a plan.

  Troy and I argued about driving the transport or stripping it and hiking. Part of me liked the idea of having a vehicle, something to escape in fast. On foot, we would be more vulnerable. But it was a
large hunk of metal. No matter how careful we were, it had a bigger signature than we would.

  I ran through the buildings at a break-neck pace, hopping rocks and debris. I checked my watch. We had five hours till sunrise at best. As my breathing evened out and my muscles settled into a rhythm, Troy’s hand caught my arm.

  “You have to conserve your energy.”

  “It’s only a half-hour to the transport. We can rest then.” I tugged my arm, trying to escape Troy’s grip.

  Conceding to the slower pace, I yanked my hand away when Troy slid his fingers to my hand. I wouldn’t be consoled. I didn’t deserve comfort. This began with me, my family, my mother, my grandparents, my father, my uncle. How could it not be my fault? But I couldn’t rest in my despair. When Nave and Mom were safe, when Owen conceded, when Troy was free, then I would disappear. I cut my eyes to Troy, wondering if I could leave him. The prospect of being without him almost overwhelmed the guilt—almost.

  Two buildings from our transport vehicles, our heat-signature alarms sounded. We froze and scanned our surroundings. Locating a stairwell, the four of us tiptoed through the opening, climbed two floors, and huddled on a landing. The monitors showed two large areas of increased temperature right where we’d left the Jeep and transport truck. The UNS had found them. A chill rippled down my spine, thinking UNS men had been on the ground. I held my breath, wondering if this move had been a huge mistake.

  Seeing no other heat signatures, we darted to the next building, climbing up a few levels and scanning again. With slow, quiet steps, we crept to the wall and peered down into the alley where we’d left the vehicles.

  Smoke rose from each burned carcass of metal. It didn’t matter, not really. We’d brought everything with us in our packs. Only gas remained in our vehicles. Fuel and evidence, fingerprints, dust from Lovelock, hair strands, and perhaps fibers from our clothing, Troy explained. He had a good brain, was good in crisis. In my state, I wouldn’t have remembered the prints and other evidence. But did they matter? The UNS believed we were dead, right? Still, we couldn’t be too careful. Perhaps they still watched. Another wave of an icy sensation crawled over my skin. Would we ever be free?

  We sat there for an hour waiting in silence, and not seeing further activity, I advocated for heading north, to cross the Bay Bridge. The others considered it too risky. There was no right answer, no route that would be one-hundred-percent secure, and we had to cross before sunlight offered no cover. Deciding on the Bay Bridge, we started to run and weaved through the city from building to building. Miles focused on the scanner, Troy the sky and listening for anything out of place, and Avia and I on what we could see in the darkness surrounding us.

  At the bridge, we slowed our pace and descended to the lower level. We walked in a diamond formation fifty paces apart, reducing our heat signature. Miles took the lead with Avia and me at points and Troy bringing up the rear. My heart pounded in my chest as rock crunched under my feet. Four miles of nerve-racking ultra-vigilance and I wanted to scream once we’d cleared the metal structure. But we had an hour till dawn, an hour to get distance between us and any trace of our existence.

  Keeping our positions, we passed abandoned houses, and I longed for my home in Port Orford. Tears hung just beneath my eyes, and I willed them away. My emotions swung the gamut, vacillating between anger and grief, wanting to be held, consoled, and repelling the thought of human interaction. I breathed in the cool night air. I had to think, not feel. A soldier would strategize and act. We needed to be soldiers, for Nave and my mom, for our friends. I wouldn’t let their sacrifice be wasted.

  This determination soothed my rage and sorrow. We’d been through, was it worse, yes, but we’d been through a lot. We’d been used before. This was no different. I had to think like Troy. We were free. I wondered what passed through his mind. Whether he was plotting how to make sure our friends’ lives meant something or whether he was dreaming of disappearing to a remote island. For a second, I considered that and then realized, no, he was already a soldier. Although he’d once planned to lead a civilian life, family, country, duty came first for him. He wouldn’t leave his mother, father, or Port Orford vulnerable.

  As first light broke, we sought shelter from the heat and satellites that zoomed overhead in one of the homes lining the desolate streets. Sleep deprivation and emotional decisions never ended well, so we’d decide what to do once we were all fresh. Leaning rotting mattresses over the doors and windows, we rested in shifts. I couldn’t wind down and took the first watch, pacing for an hour before I wore out and sat, back to the door, to keep guard. Going back to Port Orford was the right move. It had to be. Our fathers would know what to do, how to get Nave and Mom back, how to force Owen to give up the vaccine formula. Everything will be fine once we were back home.

  Rested, we switched on the radio, listening to stories of riots in every major city protesting use of force to stop our group from defecting. The report stopped short and a tone for a national emergency announcement sounded.

  “TWELVE JANUARY 2070”—a deep monotone voice started—“GENERAL ZHOU HAS ANNOUNCED A NINETY DAY DEADLINE FOR THE UNS TO RELEASE THE ANTIGEN AND VACCINE FORMULA FOR THE DEADLY VIRUS SPREADING THE GLOBE. UNS LEADERS HEADED BY CMDR. BUTLER HAVE REPEATED THAT THEY ARE WARY TO HAND OVER THE CURE BECAUSE OF FEAR OF SHARING THE TECHNOLOGY. SCIENTIST SAY SUCH KNOWLEDGE CAN BE USED TO CREATE NEW, MORE DEADLY, STRAINS TARGETED AT VARIOUS POPULATIONS. AT THIS TIME THE CURE WILL NOT BE SHARED. AS STATED EARLIER, ONCE THE SPREAD OF THE VIRUS HAS BEEN MITIGATED IN THE UNS, CMDR. BUTLER ASSURED THE EC HIS SCIENTIST WILL SET UP PRODUCTION FACILITIES IN EUROPE AND ASIA.”

  I jumped to my feet. “This is it. We must take him out. There’s no question, we have to get that formula to the EC and they only way to do it is seize back our country.”

  Silence hung over our group and I studied their faces. Avia was the first to speak, advocating for returning home to Port Orford. It would be torture to let our loved ones think us dead. Troy lamented the risk of returning to the States, that we couldn’t go back to Lovelock, and didn’t think Glenwood Cavern would be safe either. Miles sided with Troy, noting the chances of being recognized in the States. My chest tightened as I realized I would not see my father anytime soon. We had to stop my uncle.

  We studied the maps and debated for an hour. Finding a robust cave structure with multiple entrances just hours south of the UNS capitol of Des Moines, Iowa, we agreed that would be the best location to scout from and recruit a like-minded team to plan a coup. It lay sixty miles from the UNS border, a mile west of the Mississippi River, and offered an underground space big enough to hide an army. With plenty of tree cover, we could train outside during the day.

  Traveling north across the continent, we’d hug the border, staying far enough away to avoid detection. I marveled at how the rising temperatures had shaped the land. A desert, so uninhabitable during the summer months that few animals traipsed the landscape, reached from California east to Kansas, but jungles predominated on the eastern seaboard. Avia and Miles knew of several encampments of dissenters that left the States in protest, believing the UNS should share the cure. We would visit those.

  Next, we contemplated our identities. The UNS plastered pictures of Troy and me, the Bred One, the Native One, everywhere. Changing our hair color could make us stand out more, Miles noted. Without hesitation, Avia slid the scissors from her med kit and started snipping her hair off. She had me trim the back into a short pixie cut. I marveled at how different she seemed from our days of dreaming of boys, dating, first kisses. I tugged on my ponytail. My hair meant so much to me. I hated the idea of cutting it.

  Did that make me weak? Was Avia braver than me? Had I gone soft? Or was I numb? Did I think nothing would happen to me? Or that it didn’t matter? None of these prospects were acceptable. I needed to care, if not about my own life, for Nave, Mom, Dad, and Troy. They were worth fighting for even if I’d given up hope for myself. But I’d lost so much, and I hated that Owen was t
aking this last thing from me. Still, it had to be done, so I let Avia chop off the long braid and shape my hair into a chin-length bob.

  Troy kissed my lips as tears ran down my face. “You look beautiful.”

  I swiped the water from my cheeks, angry that I was crying over hair.

  Our names were the last item to address. I adopted Jewel. I always imagined if I had a daughter, I’d name her Jewel. Jewel Grace, precious, strong, and merciful. That’s what I aimed to be, strong, a protector of the weak, savior of the broken, yet friend to the one in need, forgiving of those that like me had done things in the name of family and survival that might not have been so pretty. Avia chose Amelie, adapted from the name Amelia, Amelia Earhart who was the first female aviator to fly solo across the Atlantic. Miles adopted the name Mace, as he decided he would be a weapon fighting against Butler’s regime. Troy, using his grandfather’s name, became Turner.

  Standing in a circle, we spoke of our friends one by one—Night, William, Bridge, and each of the others—remembering small incidences, paying tribute to their lives. Afterwards, we sat around the fire, heating our meals in silence. Lifting our packs, we stepped onto the porch, Avia—Amelie, I switched in my head—stopped short. “This is crazy? Who’s going to follow us? We’re teenagers, who would trust us? What are we thinking? We can’t take down the government. What if we did what we threatened to do and sent you and Troy to the EC? The Earth Council could distribute the cure fairly, and Zhou would back down. World crisis averted. No army, no coup needed.”

  Miles, now Mace, rolled his eyes. “We’ve been through this. How do we get them out? We can’t unless we go back to Port Orford, and that puts us and our families at risk. If they defect, Port Orford is still a treason state. It could still be months if not years before the EC figures out how to make the cure. People are dying now. Butler is the problem.”

  “How long is it going to take to build an army to take on Butler? We said we’re going to Utah, then Colorado, walking? It’s going to take just as long.”