Carl looks straight ahead of him at the back of the tanker.
“Does it matter?” he finally asks.
I can see Patrick looking the other way, trying to give us privacy. “It matters to me. I’ve hated you since that day.”
“I know.”
“So,” I say obstinately. “Why did you do it?”
Carl looks directly at me, so like his father in this moment that I shake my head to clear my vision of Elder Spool.
“You need to let some things go,” he says to me. “I don’t have an answer for you. I was a stupid kid. It doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“Don’t pretend like it was nothing,” I say, touching the scar on the back of my head.
“Why did you let Apollo try to kill Ada?” he asks. The question takes me by surprise. He stares at me intently, waiting for my reply.
I don’t have the words to answer him. He waits until I turn back to the tanker before continuing.
“Life isn’t always black and white, Chris. We all make mistakes. Everyone here has forgiven you, but you’re unable to forgive anyone else. You’re still holding a grudge against Delphine and Abigail.”
“That’s simply not true,” I reply.
We ride through the forest without speaking, the rumble and lurch of the vehicle the only noise. After some time, the engine shifts and the vehicle begins to slow.
Eventually we reach a second river. This one looks deeper than the previous one. Millie pokes her head out the window. “It’s the Susquehanna River,” she yells to us. “Birch is going to have to drive further upstream to find a place to cross.”
We drive along the river until looks wide and shallow. “Hold on tight,” yells Millie from inside the cab.
“I’m sure she is enjoying this,” mutters Patrick.
Our legs are completely saturated as the vehicle makes its way across the river, and I’m glad when we finally make it to the other side. Birch stops the vehicle and the three of us jump to the ground and wait for the others to emerge.
Birch steps down from the driver’s seat and immediately hugs me. I wrap my arms around her in return. The feeling of being wanted, of being needed by someone—it’s wonderful.
We gather together on the track in front of our vehicle.
“I’m starving,” says Rich.
“I can find us some food in the forest,” volunteers Birch.
“I’ll go with you,” says Millie. Patrick decides to go too, and they disappear into the shadowy depths of the oak and bamboo forest.
“Millie said we aren’t too far away from Washington now,” says Abigail. “We’ve made really good time. We should be able to set the bomb before sunrise and get out of here.”
I look at her carefully in the moonlight. She’s my oldest friend. I’ve known her even longer than my own brother. Her parents were like a second family to me and I still feel the death of her mother keenly.
Abigail notices me watching her. “Is everything okay, Chris?” she smooths some errant wiry black hairs on the top of her head.
My eyes come to rest on her hand, which holds Delphine’s.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
The others come back from the forest laden with edible plants and berries. We eat quickly, talking in soft voices and looking around us nervously.
“Let’s go,” says Millie. “I can’t shake the feeling we are being watched. And I want to have a turn driving this beast.”
“When we get close to Washington, stop in the forest a short distance from the river,” I suggest to her. “This vehicle is loud and we don’t want to alert anyone that we are coming. Plus, we will need it for a quick getaway.”
Millie agrees and climbs into the driver’s seat. The last stretch of our epic drive passes quickly. We are all exhausted but spurred on by thought that this is it: our final mission before we head back to the winery and then on to Martha’s Vineyard.
When Millie stops the truck for the final time, I can hear the sound of the Potomac as it rushes onwards towards the ocean. I jump down from the truck and walk a little way through the forest. The river is visible through the trees, black and shiny in the moonlight.
I have a few moments to myself and am thankful for the solitude.
I look across the water and see Washington floating in the middle of the river. Its glass walls and luminescent glow are unchanged from the last time I was here. I can’t wait to be rid of it, to erase all of this from my past and get on with a new life.
When I glance down the riverbank, Yanx’s camp has been packed up and I can no longer see any boats at the small jetty on the beach. I wonder briefly where Yanx and the Washingtonians are. Then I make my way back to the others.
They are busy pulling branches over the vehicle but there’s no way to hide it in the forest. It doesn’t belong here. “Do you think your people will take the vehicle?” I ask Birch. I’m certain they are aware of our presence here. They will be watching from somewhere, perhaps waiting to make a move.
“They might, but I doubt it. This is no use to them. They live quietly and move through the land without detection. This vehicle is large and loud.”
“I hope you are right,” I reply. “I checked the river. There are no boats. Yanx’s camp has gone. Let’s go down to the jetty and figure out how we will get to Washington.”
“I’ll bring the bomb,” says Rich.
We walk quietly down to the sand and stay in the zone between the riverbank and forest. We get close to the empty jetty and quickly cross the sandy bank to stand on the wooden platform. The river below us laps and splashes the piles.
“What do we do?” asks Rich. He’s holding the bomb carefully under one arm.
“Well, we can’t swim there,” says Millie. “The bomb will get completely wet.”
Delphine nudges me, and points under the jetty. I lean down and notice a small rowboat tied to one of the piles. She beams at me when I look back at her.
“Problem solved,” says Abigail.
We aren’t just going to set the bomb off and kill everyone inside are we? I thought we were just destroying the building.
Suddenly, our plan seems foolish. I remember the children playing in the internal garden. “There’s no way I want to blow up a bunch of kids,” I agree.
“Maybe we should just go home?” asks Rich. “I’ll toss this into the water and we can be done with it.”
We look at the bomb and then the river which seems to beckon to us. “It’s certainly an attractive option,” I say. “But we won’t be done with them. If we don’t bring Washington down, we’ll have no chance of ever changing things. There will always be someone else to take Yanx’s place, to take directions from Washington. Or there will be another group—like our elders back home—willing to trade their peoples’ freedom.”
“He’s right, you know,” says Millie. “Washington has been at the center of it all from the start. They orchestrate and prop up the gangs, giving them fuel and limited tech so they become dependent on Washington. They’re insidious and solely focused on maintaining their monopoly of power.”
“They don’t have the fuel any more,” says Patrick.
“True, but there will be another hold over the gangs. They control the New York State Library. They have the Collection. They have the weapons and tech. I say we do this,” says Millie.
“But how?” asks Abigail.
“I have an idea,” Millie replies.
Millie outlines her plan and we all agree. It’s our only choice if we ever want to move on from this nightmare.
The next thing I know, Rich, Millie and I are in the rowboat. At our feet is the bomb, which is strapped to a small raft we fashioned from fallen branches. The timer is on and ticking down. There are ninety minutes on the display.
“We are lucky the sky has clouded over,” says Millie. “And that the gangs have moved north and Washington’s focus is on the fuel stocks and finding the people from the station. We’d never make it across like this otherwise
.”
“We need to approach from this angle,” I say to the others. “We’ll be out of the line of sight of the guard and our boat is so small, I doubt that their security system will pick us up.”
“What if they see us?” asks Rich.
“Abandon ship and swim back to the riverbank,” replies Millie.
“What we are doing is pretty brazen,” I comment. “Last time I tried to cross this body of water covertly, it cost Sally her life.”
We fall silent at my words and I feel an intense ache that grabs hold of my chest and doesn’t let go.
“We’ll make it back safely this time, Chris,” says Millie. She clasps my hand for a moment and I’m grateful for her kindness.
We cover the distance without incident and row right under the wooden jetty that surrounds Washington. I know there will be a guard at the entrance to Washington and a secure door we won’t be able to breach. But we can easily drift the bomb under the jetty without being seen.
We row right up to the fortified wall. I lift the bomb and raft from the bottom of the boat. It’s heavy and the timer continues to tick in my hands. A shiver runs down my spine as I lower the small raft on to the surface of the water. The clock display says seventy-three minutes. I cover the bomb with a piece of cloth to hide the light from the display. My heart is beating loudly in my chest as I wedge it tightly between a pile and the wall.
I say to the others, “We need to be gone within the hour. We don’t have long.”
They nod.
“Show time,” says Millie with a grim smile.
Rich and I row out from under the jetty and around to where the guard will be standing on duty.
Millie starts to shout. “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot! There’s a bomb somewhere inside. You need to evacuate!”
“What if they don’t believe us that there is a bomb?” whispers Rich.
I’m about to answer him when floodlights hit us. The guard comes running, a massive, lethal-looking weapon pointed at us.
And behind us, rapidly closing the distance—bright lights shining—is a boat, cutting its way swiftly through the inky river.
Chapter Sixteen
The three of us stand, our stance wide and our legs locked against the rocking of the boat. We have our hands in the air. Millie looks confident, her head held high, but I’m close enough to see the tremor in her hands. Somewhere close by the bomb is ticking down ever closer to its explosive finale.
“Who are you?” barks the guard. He’s a menacing silhouette on the jetty. The floodlights are blinding.
“We are friends of Chief of Staff Michelle and Lincoln,” I yell back, trying to shield my eyes.
“Don’t move or you’ll be shot,” the guard calls back in a hoarse voice.
“This was a mistake,” says Rich out of the corner of his mouth, never taking his eyes off the guard. “We are going to be blown up along with the rest of them, at this rate.”
“We’ll get through to them. Ask to see the president,” whispers Millie. The unfaltering floodlights light her face brilliantly. Her short-cropped hair is flat against her head and her eyes dart nervously to the dark depths of the jetty.
Before I have a chance to speak, a loud horn blasts and our small boat begins to rock back and forth wildly as the speeding boat pulls in next to us. It’s smaller than other boats from Washington that I’ve been on, but it towers over our wooden rowboat.
I look over to the boat. There are two familiar faces looking back at us.
“Chris,” yells Lincoln. There’s no humor in his voice. “How did you get here? We have an emergency to deal with. We don’t have time for this.”
“The fuel,” whispers Rich.
“There’s another more pressing emergency,” I yell back. My heart is racing in my chest. This is it. “There’s a bomb. Everyone needs to evacuate.”
“What do you mean?” says Michelle as they debark the boat. She’s standing on the edge of the jetty, her hand outstretched to me. She looks flustered and her face is creased in concern. I grab her hand and haul myself on to the wooden platform.
I catch my reflection in the sleek steel and glass walls. I look unusually pale in the floodlights. Underneath my feet is the timber decking of the jetty, and underneath that is the river, and the bomb.
Michelle helps Millie on to the jetty as I lean down and put my hand out for Rich. Soon we are all standing on the jetty. The guard takes a step back, deferring to Michelle and Lincoln. I can’t shake the feeling that the wooden platform beneath me is about to explode under my very feet.
Lincoln glares at me, his hand on his gun, tapping his foot impatiently. “We really don’t have time—” he starts to say.
“There’s a bomb,” I say quickly. “You need to get your people out of here.”
“What the heck,” booms Lincoln. He’s yelling but my brain is not processing any of his words.
“Chris, is this serious?” asks Michelle. Her dark eyes bore into me. “Is there actually a bomb somewhere?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Who did this? How do you know?”
I glance at Millie. “We overheard a plan and followed them here. They were from one of the gangs. We don’t know them.”
For a moment everything else fades away. I can’t see the moon or the twinkling stars. I can’t hear the incessant waves splashing against the jetty piles, or Lincoln yelling into his communicator.
There’s just Michelle and me, staring at one another—human to human.
What were we thinking?
“How long do we have?” she asks in a low voice.
“I don’t kno—”
“How long do we have?” she asks again. She reaches out and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Please, Chris.”
It’s so hot. My skin is burning where she touches me. I turn away from her and say, “It will explode in less than an hour. It’s under the jetty somewhere.”
“Where, Chris?”
I suddenly feel sick. “I don’t know exactly where.”
“What type of bomb?”
I pause for a long moment. “I don’t know.”
Michelle’s eyes widen. She looks as though she’s about to say something else to me. But instead she speaks into her communicator in rapid, urgent tones. “Get me the president. We need to evacuate immediately. I need security. There may be an explosive under the jetty.”
And like that, the spell is broken.
A piercing alarm begins to wail. The noise is ear splitting. The Washingtonians rush towards the entry doors and we are swept along behind them. The doors open and we run through them and are inside.
“Aren’t we going the wrong way,” whispers Millie urgently to me.
“We should help get everyone out,” I reply.
“I don’t want to die in here, Chris,” she says, staring at me.
“So go,” I say. “Go now, while you still have time. Both of you.” I shrug and hurry to catch up to the Washingtonians.
Inside, the alarm is quieter but there is a loud voice that repeats, “All citizens evacuate immediately.”
I hear the squeak of shoes on a rubber floor between the wail of the alarm and the voice on repeat. I don’t need to turn around. I know it’s Rich and Millie.
We are running down the main corridor now and the place is a hive of activity. I vividly remember the last time I ran down this long, wide corridor in the dead of night. Now, people are running and yelling and the damn voice continues to repeat its dire warning. “All citizens evacuate immediately.”
Unlike when Ada and I broke in and crept down this corridor, the sensor lights have been switched off and the whole place is flooded with light. Ahead of me, Lincoln is talking into his communicator. “Get me Yanx. Urgently. What? Just transmit an SOS to her personal communicator. Tell her we are evacuating. She needs to get here.”
A group rushes past us in the opposite direction. They are heading towards the entry and the jetty beyond. They are wearing heavy protective su
its, presumably designed to reduce injury should the bomb go off.
“Michelle,” I call out. She’s a couple of chains ahead of us and about to disappear around the corner of the next arm of the pentagonal main corridor. “Michelle!”
We reach the corner and stop. There’s no sign of Michelle and Lincoln. We’ve lost them in the crowd of people.
“All citizens evacuate immediately,” says the voice.
“Now what?” asks Rich. He’s out of breath and sucking in air hard.
“We need to get out of here,” I say to them. “Come on. We can make our way to the marina and check for anyone left behind as we move through Washington.”
The others quickly agree and we duck into a hallway and run blindly for a few moments. We stop in a narrow hallway with a series of doors with numbers on them. It’s quieter here. The alarm is wailing and the voice continues to issue its dire warning, but the hallway is deserted.
“What’s the best way to the marina?” asks Millie. She’s bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.
“Let’s just go back to our boat,” suggests Rich.
“We could, but it might be gone. We didn’t tether it to the jetty,” I say. “The marina is on the other side of the island. Let’s check here for any people left behind. Then on to the marina where we can easily lose ourselves in the crowd and escape when we get back to the riverbank.”
“We’ll stand out in these clothes,” says Millie.
“All citizens evacuate immediately.”
“All citizens evacuate immediately.”
“We are running out of time!” yells Millie in frustration.
She’s right. What the hell are we doing?
“Let’s change our clothes here,” I say, pointing into the room next to us. The door has been left open and it’s a bedroom, with a large raised bed in the center and a small table against the wall. There’s a small light and a stack of books on one the tables.
Rich points to double doors imbedded in the wall. “In there,” he says.
He reaches for the handle and the door swings open. Inside are rows of stiff shirts and pants in the style favored by the Washingtonians.
We quickly shed our clothes and wrap ourselves in the new garments. Millie’s shirt is too big and she tucks it into her pants. I look us up and down. We don’t look like Washingtonians, but we’d pass a cursory glance. I hope that in the panic of the evacuation we will be able to mingle with the others and escape when the opportunity arises.
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