Regenerate

  Finally,

  Government declares national state of emergency after virtual usage death toll soars above two million and under-employment reaches unsustainable levels. Mass Migration Initiative will be rolled out by December.

  A smaller side advertisement reads,

  Having trouble preparing for life in the new, luxurious village communities? Give us a call and we’ll make sure your things are in order and ready to go. Don’t get left on the outside. Call today.

  I wonder what would happen if I called that number. I reach down for my Pocket Palm then remember we left them at home to avoid detection. Even though I don’t use it much, I almost feel naked without it.

  I look around, but Lander is nowhere in sight. As I slide the paper clipping back into place, a smaller, yellowed rectangular piece falls out of the one I’m holding. I pick it up and examine it. It’s much plainer than the other one—no colors, catchy phrases, or bold lettering. It says in a small arc across the top:

  Rally for Freedom meeting tonight at 7 p.m. at the old gymnasium

  Larger letters catch my attention:

  FIGHT THE MIGRATION

  People fought the migration? But it was completely voluntary. What was there to fight against? I decide to keep reading. In smaller print just below, it continues:

  Your support is crucial. Rally to preserve our freedoms and the right to live where we choose. Don’t allow big government to control our lives and our children. Find support and share information about the recent mysterious house fires of citizens who openly oppose the Migration.

  The final line of type is set a space below the rest, and when I read it, the blood drains from my face.

  Keynote address: “Live off grid, survive and thrive,” by Paul and Josephine Caster.

  I can’t fall asleep for the life of me. I glance at the time light projected on my wall: three a.m.

  Why didn’t Grandma Jo ever come to visit? I thought she was just quirky and wouldn’t leave her farm, but maybe there was more to it.

  My fingers find the folded, aged piece of paper that’s now shoved under my pillow and pat it gently.

  My thoughts and speculations about what went on back then gradually drift to Lander. What was he searching for in that dusty, dank place?

  Before we left, I’d asked him if he’d found the “treasure” he was hunting for, and in answer he’d held up an old, rolled-up piece of paper.

  “Nope,” he said. “But I found a treasure map to it.”

  If the treasure wasn’t the paper, then what’s he’s after? His vague answer of “When I find it, you’ll know” was less than informative. I suppose I didn’t tell him what I found either, but I want to ask Jo first.

  My eyes drift to the time stamp again, and I take a long, deep breath. Zeph and Kachina are supposed to come help me order my dress tomorrow. I don’t have super high hopes, but the company will be nice. I sigh and press my eyes shut, at last willing myself to sleep.

  “You two do know you’re crazy, right?” I say, eyeing my pretty-faced assailants. “I’m not wearing a grey sharkskin dress. I’ll look like a skank.”

  Kachina and Zephani frown at me, offering their most pouty looks, but I really don’t care. “Averi,” says Kachina, her hand on her hip, “animal skin silhouettes are all the rage right now. Besides, look how good your avatar shows it would be on you!”

  She pulls up the projector window again, and there’s the perfectly cloned, scaled image of me wearing the dress in question. I swear it shows every curve I have, not to mention a ghastly amount of cleavage.

  “Lander would totally freak out if you showed up in this,” says Kachina.

  I snort. “Psh, I bet.” I don’t really want him to “freak out” on me. I’d much prefer he like me and not think I’m a shrieking dork anymore. Or mistake me for a total ho.

  Zeph pinches the bridge of her nose, her eyes pressed shut. “Come on, Averi, we’ve been at this for over an hour. Good grief, I picked mine in under ten minutes. There has to be something you liked out of all those.” Her hand flashes out towards the “tried and discarded” file.

  Why is she so sour at me lately? “Easy for you; Rax will like you no matter what you’re wearing. Lander, on the other hand, I’m not so sure about.”

  She flips her black curls over her shoulder as her eyes narrow at me. “Lander’s a really nice guy, Averi. You should stop slamming him all the time. I don’t get what your deal is about him.”

  Her tone makes my fists ball, but Kachina steps in before I can retort, which is probably a good thing.

  “Who cares what any of the guys think, right? This is about how we feel in our dresses. Averi, isn’t there anything that makes you feel pretty or cute or something?”

  I bite my lip and try really hard to think of the last time I felt pretty.

  Zeph breaks the silence by making a disgusted sound in her throat and throws herself across my bed. Facing away from us. She pulls out her Pocket Palm and starts scrolling.

  Kachina gives a quick glance in her direction, the corner of her mouth twitching downward, then turns back to me and clasps both my hands in hers. “What about a color you like? Then we could customize a dress around that. For this one last time, I just want the both of us to feel like princesses at our party this weekend.”

  I think for a minute. Princesses. Hmm. The image I saw last night at the library when I was with Lander pops into my mind. “Yeah, maybe if we tweak it a little, I think there is a design I’d like.”

  This is the first time I’ve visited Jo since my attack four days ago, and this time, it’s just Rax, Lander and me. How we ended up this awkward threesome I don’t know. It’s surprising the amount of time Rax is willing to spend away from Zeph, and how often she can’t seem to come with him anymore.

  Everything today seems brighter, more vivid and clear, and not just here at Jo’s. My thoughts are really clear too. So weird. I wonder why?

  Today Jo has us helping patch a hole in her fence. I watch her from behind as she shows us how. My fingers dip into my pocket for at least the fifth time, tracing the folded edge of the old paper. Was Jo some sort of rebel? Was there actually anything to rebel against? I can’t figure out the most tactful way to bring it up, but I have to know. I can’t stop stewing over it.

  “Jo, what were the ‘Rallies for Freedom’ about?” My stomach quivers a little as the words leave my mouth.

  Jo’s arms and hands grow still. She turns her head enough to see me, squinting against the sun. “Didn’t think they’d ever mention those in school curriculum.”

  The eyes of my two male companions turn to me.

  I bite my lip and shift my weight. “They don’t. I overhead it somewhere.”

  Jo puts a hand on her knee to steady herself as she cranes even farther to look at me. “Did you?” Her eyes dart down to my hand still in my pocket then back up to my face. “What makes you think I’d know anything about it?”

  I stammer to find a vague answer. “I, um, I just figured since you were alive then, you know, you might remember something.”

  The two guys look back and forth from me to Jo. Rax’s brow is low and confused, his shoulders pulled up as if to shield himself against the chill wind. Lander’s hands are in his pockets, his arms relaxed, his eyes bright and curious.

  Jo rises to her feet, straightening out. She dusts off her hands. “Let’s break for some cherry cider, shall we?” She nods for us to follow her to the house but stops short at the door. She reaches over and presses a button on the outside of her wall that I think is a doorbell. Instead of producing sound, a small cube slides out of the side of her house. “You kids can set your phones down right here. Wouldn’t want them getting dirty with all this yard work.”

  She opens the lid and we take the hint without questions, sliding our Pocket Palms inside. As soon as she closes the lid, I hear her voice pick up inside the box, telling some story.

  My eyes dart to her.

  A keen gleam in her eye gr
eets my wordless question, but she says nothing. She just leads us over to a stand of pines.

  “What was all that about?” asks Rax once we stop.

  “Don’t tell me you never considered who’s listening in on the other end of those. Have you?” she says.

  Rax blinks with wide eyes. “I guess not. But that’s silly. Why would they do that?”

  She studies him quietly for a moment. “You’re a bright boy. I’ll let you work out the reasons they would have for such a practice.”

  She turns to me then. “Now, we have about ten minutes. After that we need to retrieve your devices before they get suspicious.”

  I gulp. This seems a little intense for such a simple question.

  “To answer you, yes. I know about the Rally for Freedom meetings. But for all intents and purposes, unless y’all are good at pretending ignorance, it’d be best for you if I didn’t fill you in further.”

  Her eyes shift to Lander.

  He cocks his head and smiles slyly. “Oh, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s secrets.” His gaze slides over to me and his smile widens.

  It mortifies me that color is creeping into my cheeks. When I glance at Rax, his face too is a bright shade of red and his nostrils are flared.

  Thanks a lot, Lander.

  “Very well,” says Jo. “Back in the day when the Migration Initiative was put into place, there were many of us who opposed it. We wanted to stay in our homes, not be herded into housing complexes like cattle. Our kids were lost to their electronics, true, but we were making do.

  “Being forced to live in those so-called ‘villages’ was a final stripping of freedoms we wouldn’t stand for. Those who did live at the mercy of whomever is in power.”

  “Forced?” I say, rubbing at my forehead. “I thought the migration was voluntary.”

  “That’s what they said in the beginning. Next it became ‘highly recommended,’ accompanied by scare tactics. After that it was mandatory. Then finally, people were mortally compelled to go.”

  Rax’s expression pales and his eyes go wide. “They killed people?”

  Jo’s lips tighten for a moment at the memory. “Not outright. That would’ve sparked a civil war—something they dearly wished to avoid. First, we were cut off from all commerce and outside support. Those who couldn’t sustain themselves had to migrate or die.”

  She nods at me. “That’s when your Grandma Ann finally migrated. Next there were a series of mysterious ‘plagues’ that only the villages had the treatment for. We survivors still amounted to a good number of holdouts, many on the brink of starvation, but managing.

  “Soon, however, it was common for folks to go on a walk, or on a trip, and return to find their homes burned to the ground. For them too, it was a choice of migrate or die from exposure and starvation within weeks. Especially in the winter months.”

  A hush softens her tone. Her eyes gloss over as someone now seeing something long ago. “You see, ultimately they don’t want folks dead; they want them contained. Manageable. Controlled.”

  Lander picks a small branch off the pine tree he’s propped against and examines it. “How did their homes burn up in such a timely way? Do you think someone was spying and set them all on fire?”

  Jo watches him casually turn the stick over in his hand several times before she answers. “We figured it out when a friend’s home spontaneously burst into flames as soon as he crossed over his property line. They linked incinerator devices to our trackers, corresponding with our property lines.

  “We weren’t sure they did this to every home still standing, but the risk was too great to test. Besides, if they were going to do it to anyone’s home, mine would be one of them.”

  My mouth goes dry. “Wait, you’re a prisoner here? You can’t leave?”

  “I wouldn’t term myself a prisoner,” she says with a light chuckle, then sobers. “But in a fashion, I guess you could say that. Yes. I cannot cross my property line or this place will be ashes.”

  My shoulders tighten. I feel angry. Angry at her. Angry at those responsible for all of this. How does she know they rigged this place to blow? Maybe all these years we could have been together. Did she even care that I existed?

  My brow furrows. “If you couldn’t prove or test that they rigged this place, how are you so sure they did?”

  She tucks her hands in the pockets of her apron and smiles at me with gentle, kind eyes. “Oh, my dear girl. Because your Grandpa Paul and I started the Rally for Freedom movement.”

  On the tram ride home, it’s everything we can do not to talk openly about what Grandma Jo told us.

  Lander, as always, is very chill and looks lost in thought, his fist perched under his chin.

  Rax’s knee is bobbing like crazy and he keeps looking at me and pulling the most interesting faces. He also keeps rubbing a hand over his mouth and chin. Man, he would make the worst poker player ever! I’ve got to remember to play a round or two with him. I’ll make bank.

  He clears his throat. “Averi, how did you like visiting Jo today?”

  He can’t leave it alone, can he? “It was nice. Like always.” I roll my next words in my mouth. Whatever, I’ll just throw the poor guy a bone. “I especially loved the story Jo told over our cider.” Jo explained what the prerecorded story was that she played in the box, just in case we were questioned at some point.

  Raxtin’s face brightens and he draws a deep, eager breath. “Yeah! Absolutely. No one tells stories like Jo does. I was glued to every word.”

  “Me too. The ending really caught me off guard.” We’re doing pretty good with our code talking.

  “Same here. I wonder what other stories she could tell us.”

  A loud snort comes from Lander. “You two are pathetic.” He shakes his head and turns to look out the window again. “You’d think you’d never heard a tall tale before.” He blows hot air on the window, fogging it up, and then traces his finger in it.

  Is he referring to the story Jo played in the box, or insulting the validity of Jo’s actual story? Either way, it makes my blood boil and the hair on my neck rise. “And one would think you’d heard every exciting tale ever and are bored of them. I personally love a compelling narrative.”

  He answers flatly while continuing to doodle. “Naive people usually do.”

  My eyes narrow and I glare at him, but he never turns to see it. Why is he upset? Lander is usually the one who’s cool and levelheaded. Heck, he’s the one who called it from the very first visit: Jo really did help with a rebellion.

  Cold washes over me. Was that actually a random guess that day, or did he somehow already know? And if he did know, how and why? Who exactly is Lander?

  Chapter Seventeen

  I haven’t used the stylist bot since I was in seventh grade, back when I looked like an over-powdered clown for school each day. For some reason, gobs of makeup and high-stacked hair were all the rage at that age.

  Lander should be glad I’ve developed a more tactful, tasteful fashion sense since then. Although I did consider visiting said hideous styles of the past this evening, just to get back at him for his snide comment on the air tram yesterday.

  In the end, the fact that this is my last village birthday celebration, and that I’ll have to stand in front of everyone during Rax’s speech, overpowered my vengeful inclinations.

  While the bot puts the finishing touches on my hair and makeup, I drum my fingers on my shears, trying to keep calm. It helps, but only a little. Why does it help at all? I glance down at the antique in my lap and close my fingers around them. Where did I even get these? I’ve always had them, at least as far back as I can remember. Why have I never thought about it before? I’m pretty sure none of my friends use old gardening tools as coping mechanisms.

  So why on earth do I? Good grief, I’m weirder than I thought.

  I slip the shears beneath my chair and out of reach, then give my hands a shake to clear my thoughts. It doesn’t work. My worries about tonight come
right back. All my nerves are wound and coiled to the point of snapping.

  “There is no need to be anxious, Averielle,” says the bot. “Trust me, you look gorgeous.”

  “Thanks,” I respond. Not that a robot has feelings to be thanked.

  I actually do think I look pretty, so why am I nervous? All I have to do is play it cool so I don’t have another attack this year and I’ll be good.

  I run through my head again the standard itinerary for the evening. Lander will come get me. We’ll go to the community birthday dinner. At the end there will be the speeches, a toast, and finally the dance. Which I don’t even have to stay for if I don’t want to. Easy. No need to freak.

  I look again at my reflection and how my fingers keep winding around each other as if they have a will of their own. Who am I kidding? I’m a wreck!

  “Incoming chat from: Mom,” says Ivi, startling me nearly to death.

  I press my hand to my chest and take several deep breaths. “Receive.”

  “Oh, Averi! You are the picture of beauty, just like I knew you’d be. I’m so glad you found someone to be your escort. I didn’t want to tell people you went by yourself. He will be so pleased when he sees you.”

  He won’t be pleased until he sees me all dolled up? Does she think I blackmailed him to go with me?

  “I love that bright peach color on you,” she coos.

  “Thanks, Mom. It’s actually called coral.” Why I’m bothering to tell her I don’t know, because she’s already talking before I finish my sentence.

  “The stiff white lace around your shoulders will go perfectly with Grandma Ann’s pearls I gave the stylist.”

  The slender, silver bot holds up a gleaming white string of flat, oval pearls inter-strung with three diamonds.

  Seeing them fills my eyes with tears and a knot forms in my throat. Gran wore them every year at my party. “Oh, wow. Thanks, Mom.”