by Trevor Shane
Max looked at Christopher. Christopher still had no idea who he was or what he represented. “No,” Max answered.
Nine
Reggie could hear Christopher and Max coming down the hall. He could hear the wall of silence that surrounded them. Reggie was nervous. He could barely remember the last time that he’d been this nervous. He’d been scared plenty of times, but the last time he could remember being nervous was more than eighteen years ago when he was hiding in a tiny apartment in New York with a woman he didn’t know while running from the War for the first time. That felt like a very long time ago.
Max led Christopher into Reggie’s office. Like all the others, Reggie stared at the boy. He had a different reason for staring, though. Even though Reggie had never seen Christopher before, he would have recognized him instantly, anywhere. It was the shape of his eyes more than anything else. It was like looking at a shadow of a reflection of someone he knew a long time ago. Reggie tried to reconcile the image of the boy standing in front of him with everything else that he knew. He tried to really look at the person standing in front of him, forgetting about the boy’s history, forgetting about the power that the boy unknowingly had at his fingertips and what someone could do with that power, remembering only a promise that he’d made a long time ago.
Reggie stood up from his desk and took a few steps toward Christopher, meeting Christopher halfway across the room. “Christopher,” Max said as Reggie approached them, “this is Reggie. Reggie, this is Christopher.” The two of them—one a tall thirty-six-year-old black man with graying hair and one a powerfully built but scared white boy three days past his eighteenth birthday—shook hands. “I believe Reggie knew your mother, Christopher,” Max said by way of introduction.
Christopher recognized Reggie from the description in Maria’s journal, focusing on the startling green color of Reggie’s eyes. “I read about you,” Christopher announced.
Reggie nodded. “Would you mind leaving us alone for a few minutes, Max?” Reggie said to the man who had already become the second best friend Christopher had in the world.
“Sure thing,” Max said. He backed out of the office, closing the door behind him.
“So what did you read?” Reggie said to Christopher once they were alone.
“Maria talked about you in her journal,” Christopher answered him.
“So you know that your mother saved my life. In fact, if it wasn’t for her, neither of us would be here. So we have at least one thing in common.” Reggie laughed at his own joke, trying to be simultaneously casual and authoritative. He waited for some sort of response from Christopher, but none came. “Do you know what we do here?” Reggie finally asked Christopher after waiting out the silence.
Christopher nodded. “Max told me.”
“Before or after you got in the car to come here?”
“Before.”
“That’s good.” Reggie walked over to a cabinet that was pushed up against the far wall. “I’m going to have a drink,” he said as he opened the cabinet door. Inside were a bottle of whiskey and a few glasses. “Do you want to have a drink?” Reggie lifted two glasses into the air.
Christopher shook his head. “I don’t drink.”
“That’s probably smart,” Reggie said, sounding more like a father than he wanted to. “Will you be offended if I still do?”
“No,” Christopher said. “I’m a pretty hard person to offend.”
Reggie poured out a half glass of whiskey and carried it back to his desk. He sat down in the chair behind the desk. Following Reggie’s lead, Christopher took a seat in one of the other chairs. Reggie leaned back in his seat and took a long swig from his glass. “So you read your parents’ journals. That’s good. After reading them, do you think you understand how dangerous this War is? How big this War is?”
Christopher thought about his answer, rehearsing it in his head before saying anything. He knew that saying “yes” or “no” wasn’t adequate. “I’ve spent every single day of my life afraid, without having any idea what I was afraid of. Everything I’ve done in my life was done out of fear. The other night, two men tried to kill me in the woods outside the house where I grew up. Instead, I killed them, but I know that I got lucky. Everything else that I know, I read in the journals of the people that you guys keep calling my mother and father, but I get the impression that they didn’t know how big or how dangerous the War was either. Do you know how big and how dangerous the War is?”
Reggie picked up his whiskey and finished it in two massive gulps. “I only know that it’s too big and too dangerous for anyone to make it alone.” Reggie lifted his eyes over the rim of his glass and looked at Christopher. “Especially you.”
“Max already gave me this speech.”
“Yeah, but he didn’t know your mother. Your mother wanted to get you out of the War, and I think I can do that if that’s what you want. I owe her that much.” Reggie stood up and walked back to the cabinet to refill his glass. It would be more than he’d had to drink at one sitting in years. Normally, he kept the whiskey and the glasses in his office only for ceremonial purposes. Today, he needed it. He poured another three fingers of whiskey into the glass. He wondered if he should tell Christopher that the War was getting bloodier, that more people were running away, that more people were getting killed, that some people were even talking about revolution. He wondered if he should tell Christopher about the plans that he already knew about. He wondered if he should tell Christopher what the people talking about revolution said about him. Reggie drank half of the second glass before stepping back toward the desk. He could feel the alcohol already rushing through his veins. Reggie could see Maria in Christopher’s face. He looked at Christopher and remembered drinking with Christopher’s mother and her friend Michael in the apartment in New York. Maria and Michael were famous now. Famous and dead. “Will you let us help you?”
“What if I don’t want to run?” Christopher asked. Reggie held his breath during the pregnant pause that followed the question, waiting to see what Christopher would say next, trying to think of how he would respond if Christopher told him that instead of running he wanted to fight. If he asks to fight, Reggie thought, do I still have to keep the promises that I made or can I tell this boy who he is? Can I tell him that he alone possesses the power to end this War? But the dilemma that Reggie was almost wishing for never crystallized. “What if I just want to go home?” the boy said, and Reggie once again remembered that Christopher, with all the power he had, was still a boy, and he remembered why he’d made the promise in the first place.
“You can’t. You run with us or you run alone.”
Christopher knew what that meant, but he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what choice he had, but he wasn’t ready to forsake his parents in Maine or Evan without thinking about his options first. “I need to think about it,” Christopher finally answered.
Thinking is dangerous, Reggie thought. “Okay,” he said. “You can stay with Max tonight. I’ll let him know. But you don’t have a lot of time. Staying in one place for any amount of time is dangerous. I can’t guarantee that you’ll be safe here.”
“I understand,” Christopher said.
Reggie stood up and walked toward the door. His legs were already wobbly from the liquor. He girded himself and walked out the door to find Max. Reggie closed the door behind him. Christopher watched the door close and then he was alone in the dimly lit, windowless room. He had an urge to get up and pour himself a drink from Reggie’s whiskey bottle. He fought it. He knew that it wouldn’t do him any good. He didn’t know anything that would.
Ten
Alejandro scooped up a handful of sand from the beach and let it slowly sift through his fingers. The sand was as fine and white as baby powder. It was still cool from the night before. The sun would heat it up soon enough. Before long, the sand would be so hot that you would barely be able t
o walk on it.
Alejandro looked down the beach. It stretched out in front of him, curving around the blue water of the Pacific Ocean. The waves came crashing onto the shore, endlessly battering it into submission. Dozens of palm trees lined the back of the beach where the white sand turned quickly into jungle. From where he was kneeling Alejandro could see the entire mile-long beach. He was alone. The beach would get more crowded later, but not by much. The tourists hadn’t discovered this beach yet. Alejandro knew that they would find it eventually, but probably not for another few years. Still, plans were already being drawn up to move the Intelligence Center. The fact was that they’d put the Intelligence Center where it was, in the jungles of Costa Rica, specifically because of how remote the place was. As the world encroached on them, the relocation plans would have to be taken more seriously. After fifteen years working at the Intelligence Center, Alejandro had heard all the talk. He also knew that if everything went according to plan, moving the Intelligence Center would become a moot point. They wouldn’t have to move it. They could simply stand by while the jungle reclaimed it.
One way or another, it would all be over in less than seventy-two hours. All of what? Alejandro couldn’t be sure. He tried to stay positive but couldn’t imagine the world without the War. So instead, he focused on what he had to do. He knew that he couldn’t control anything else or anyone else. He had to play his part and then have faith. Whether the War ended or not, this was going to be something.
Alejandro stood up. Some of the white sand still clung to his hands so he wiped it off on his jeans. He looked out over the water. A boat would be coming soon—a boat full of people and weapons—and Alejandro would be there to greet them, to pull them ashore and to tell them the plan. Before that, Alejandro said a silent prayer to himself and hoped that Christopher knew what he was doing.
Eleven
It was well past midnight when Christopher first heard the noise. He had been drifting in and out of sleep for over three hours, but the sleep wouldn’t stick. Christopher kept thinking about the decision he was supposed to be contemplating. He kept hearing Reggie’s voice saying over and over again, Staying in one place for any amount of time is dangerous. I can’t guarantee that you’ll be safe here. So Christopher was awake, lying on the pull-out couch with his eyes closed, when he heard the light knock on Max’s condo door. Christopher opened his eyes and looked at the clock. It was a quarter past one in the morning. The knock wasn’t loud, but that didn’t make Christopher feel any better. For as long as he could remember, the sound of knocking on a door had terrified him. It was fear bordering on a phobia. He lay still for a moment, trying to make sure that he was actually awake and wasn’t merely having a nightmare. He heard the faint rapping sound again and knew that this was real. His heart began to pound, his body excited by the confirmation that it was right not to let him sleep. Christopher had to remind himself that he really couldn’t trust anyone. Dangers lurked everywhere and now one of them was knocking on Max’s door. As quietly as he could, Christopher stood up and tiptoed toward the hallway.
Max had heard the knock too. Christopher peeked through the crack in his door and saw Max already standing in the hallway. Max had offered to let Christopher sleep in his bed, but Christopher refused. He was pretty sure that he wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway, so he figured there was no reason to waste the bed. All the lights in the condo were off, but enough light came in through the windows for Christopher to see in blacks and whites and grays. Christopher looked over at Max and stepped into the hallway. Max looked scared. Seeing the fear in Max’s face jump-started Christopher’s heartbeat again.
Max’s condo didn’t stand out in any way. It was on the edge of the development. You had to make a few turns to find it. You wouldn’t stumble upon this place if you were lost. Whoever was knocking on the door had found them. It was a two-bedroom condo, with both bedrooms upstairs. Max had turned the second bedroom into an office with the pull-out couch. The office, the bedroom, and a bathroom were the only rooms upstairs. The stairs ran down into the living room. The ground floor had the living room, dining room, kitchen, and another bathroom. From the window in the upstairs bedroom, you could climb out onto the roof.
Max walked over to Christopher. His footsteps were silent. “Go into my bedroom,” Max whispered. “If anything sounds suspicious, leave through the window. When you’re safe, call Reggie. Here’s his phone number,” Max said, handing Christopher a slip of paper. Max looked Christopher in the eyes and then gestured at the piece of paper. “Nobody has that. Nobody gets that. Die before anyone else gets to see that number.”
“Who do you think is knocking?” Christopher whispered back.
“It’s probably nothing,” Max answered, “but just because they knock doesn’t mean that they’re going to wait for an invitation to come inside.”
Max made his way down the stairs. Christopher walked toward the door to Max’s bedroom. Then he stopped. If they had found him here, if they had come for him here, he wasn’t going to be able to escape out the bedroom window. If they’d come for him here, there would be no escape. Maybe he could escape if they didn’t know that he was there, if they’d only come for Max. So, Christopher thought, the only thing that escaping would mean would be that I was too chickenshit to help my new friend. So instead of walking into the bedroom, Christopher waited until Max had gotten all the way down the stairs and then he followed him, checking each step ahead of time to avoid any loose or creaky floorboards. Once he was halfway down, he stopped and listened.
He heard Max open the front door. He could only assume that Max had looked outside to see who was there before opening the door. Still, every muscle in Christopher’s body tensed when he heard the hinges squeak as the door swung open. The paranoia didn’t stop now that Christopher knew who was watching him. It only became worse.
Then Christopher heard Max speak. “What are you doing here?” he whispered to whoever was on the other side of the door.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Christopher heard a woman’s voice respond.
“Why didn’t I tell you what?” Max asked.
“Don’t be a jackass.” Even standing in the darkness around the corner from her, Christopher could hear the frustration in the woman’s voice. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to pick him up?”
“Reggie wouldn’t let me. He wouldn’t let me tell anyone. He didn’t want to take any chances.” Max sounded apologetic.
“Because you’re the only one Reggie really trusts,” the woman said. Max didn’t respond, making Christopher wonder if what the woman was saying was true. “Why are you acting so weird?” the woman asked Max, followed immediately by, “Why won’t you let me inside?” When Max still didn’t answer, it finally hit her. “He’s here, isn’t he?”
“I’m sorry, Addy,” Max said. “I’ll tell you everything as soon as I can, but you really should go. It’s dangerous.”
“You want to know what’s dangerous, Max? Not letting me into your fucking house. That’s what’s dangerous.” And that was that. Christopher could hear the woman step inside and could tell from the silence that Max had done nothing to stop her.
Christopher didn’t move. He stood still in the darkness on the stairs, not knowing what else to do. He noticed that neither Max nor the woman made any sound as they walked. They moved liked ghosts, like they didn’t even exist. Christopher saw them before he heard them. They walked beneath him, past the bottom of the stairs and toward the living room. They sat down in the darkness, Max in a chair facing away from Christopher and the woman on the sofa with her shoulders square to Christopher but her face turned toward Max. Even through the darkness, Christopher recognized her. She was the confused woman from the compound that Max had made eye contact with.
“Tell me what he’s like,” the woman said as soon as they sat down.
Max didn’t hesitate before answering. “He’s like the rest
of us were when we were sixteen and we first heard about the War except that he’s two years older, twice as smart, and three times as paranoid. Oh, and he’s the only person I ever heard of who got their first two kills before their eighteenth birthday was over.”
“He what?” Addy asked. Max simply nodded in response to her question. “Two kills?” Addy asked, barely believing it.
“Yeah. They went after him. He lived. They didn’t.”
“What are you guys going to do with him?” Addy asked.
“Reggie wants us to clean him.”
Addy wasn’t sure if she was surprised. She understood. He was merely a boy, but it seemed such a waste. “What does he know about the War?” Addy asked. Everybody wanted to know what he knew.
“His parents left him journals. I’ve told him a little bit. I don’t know what Reggie told him.”
“So he got most of the information from those journals?” Max nodded. “So most of the information that he has is eighteen years old?” Addy asked. Christopher hadn’t even thought about how things might have changed since Maria last penned an entry in her journal. He’d been too focused on how crazy the world in the journals was to think about how the world might have gotten even crazier. “Shouldn’t someone tell him what’s been going on for the last eighteen years? Shouldn’t someone tell him about everything that’s happened?”
Christopher listened to Addy’s question and his nerves made his body twitch. It was only one slight twitch, but the movement was enough. Addy caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye. She looked up through the darkness toward the stairs. Christopher saw Addy’s whole face, her sharp features, her thin lips, her pupils enlarged by the darkness. “Maybe you should tell him,” Addy said to Max while motioning toward the stairs. Max turned until they were both staring at Christopher through the dim light.