Three

by Kristen Simmons

  “What are you doing here?” said DeWitt, stepping into the hall. A muscle in his neck bulged. At the harshness in his tone, my gaze dropped behind him to a picture leaning against the lantern. I’d seen it my first time here—the profile of a young girl with dirty blond hair, laughing.

  DeWitt returned to the room and snatched the photo off the table. He stuffed it in his pocket and grabbed the lantern. Then he cut between us and headed toward the main foyer.

  “Wait,” I said, racing to keep up. “We need to talk to you.”

  “I’m busy,” snapped DeWitt. He glared over my head at Chase. “I don’t care who you are.”

  A heavy feeling settled in the center of my chest—he must have heard something over the radio that had upset him. Another post had fallen. More of our people had been hurt. But if that was true, the other techs would have been called in.

  “I have an idea,” I said quickly. “I know how we can wake the people up.”

  He slowed. Stopped. Took a deep breath. “You’ve got one minute.”

  I uncrumpled the Statute circular I’d smashed in my fist.

  “Look familiar?” When he only grunted, I hurried on. “Everyone knows what the Statutes look like, but what if you could change what they said? If they looked the same, but said something different?” I scrambled for words, sensing his confusion. “Look, if someone changed the words on the flyers to something else—some kind of message—you could reach everyone. That message would be on the front of every business. Kids in school would read it. Half the houses in the country would have it posted on the front door.”

  “Change the words of the Moral Statutes?” DeWitt asked. “To what?”

  “To what’s really happening,” Chase said.

  “You could hide the truth right in plain sight,” I said, thinking of the treason embedded in my mother’s magazines. “Write about the arrests and executions of the Article violators, and the abuse at reform school, and the brainwashing of soldiers, and what happened to the safe house.”

  Chase grabbed my hand. His fingers locked between mine and squeezed, as if trying to hold me in place.

  DeWitt mulled this over. I shoved the Statutes in front of Chase, feeling the plan grow wings inside of me.

  “How often did you look at these—really look at them—when you were a soldier?” I asked.

  He exhaled through his teeth. “Never. Not once, actually. In training we read from a handbook.”

  “Exactly. They’re written for everyone else.” I pulled my hand free from his. “There would be no reason to fight the bases alone. Once the people see the story, they’ll fight with us. It could start a revolution, just like you said.”

  DeWitt ran his knuckles down his cheek. “If it’s subtle enough, worked right into the text, the Bureau might not even notice,” he said. “It could be distributed halfway across the country before they caught on.”

  “They’d deliver our message for us,” I said. “There’s still two weeks before the chief’s party in Charlotte. If we could get it done before then, we’d have a better chance of taking the base, right?”

  Excitement, but also something dark and terrible, swelled inside of me. If this worked, the FBR would be irate. Their vengeance would not be pretty.

  DeWitt was quiet for several seconds. The light from the lantern threw lopsided circles across the ground as he twisted his wrist.

  He nodded slowly.

  “So how do you propose we hijack the message into the Statutes?” he asked.

  For the first time since we’d arrived, Chase’s mouth turned up in a slow, sly grin.

  “We just so happen to know a couple of guys who might be able to help.”

  * * *

  AN hour later Chase and I were sitting around a foldout table in the cafeteria. The council was summoned, and had been arguing since DeWitt had introduced my plan. They all agreed that hijacking the Statutes was a good, although risky, idea, but disagreed on what exactly the text would say.

  “You need to focus on what happened at the safe house,” said Ms. Rita, her hair hidden beneath a red scarf. “Go for sympathy, and then tell them the rallying point and time at the Charlotte base.”

  Patch, the old man who led the fighters, scoffed, tapping his cane against the metal edge of the table. “And if the Blues get the message before the people? Our operation’s blown.” He shook his head. “No, you have to keep it vague. Speak in general terms.”

  “Vague is not relatable,” said DeWitt. “We need the civilians who read this to have something to hold on to. This happened to my cousin, my neighbor, my father. This could happen to me.”

  “Then you have to use names,” said Panda, absently running his fingers over the tattooed list on his opposite forearm. “Real stories, real names.”

  Chase and I glanced at each other. There were too many stories to count, too many people already lost. How could you choose?

  “That list would be a thousand miles long,” said Ms. Rita, speaking my thoughts.

  There was a heap of Statutes on the table, and a pile of freshly sharpened pencils, but as of yet no one had taken any notes. I took one sheet and folded it in half. Then in half again. And again, and again, just to busy my hands.

  “What about your friend with the spinal cord injury?” DeWitt turned to me; it was the first time since we’d arrived any of them had acknowledged us. “A girl who’s beaten mercilessly at the reform school, and then purposefully kept out of treatment so she could be used to scare other girls into complying with the Statutes.”

  “Sweet God,” murmured Ms. Rita.

  I scrunched the thickly folded paper in my fists below the table. Yes, it was a horrifying story, but the last thing I wanted was to exploit my friend. Besides, even if she said yes, Sean would never go for it.

  Before I could answer, Van Pelt, the caretaker of the fields, the red-haired man who’d captured us in the orchard, spoke up.

  “We don’t want this coming off as a sob story,” he said. “It needs to inspire.”

  “Then you need a hero,” said Chase. They all turned to him, myself included. He straightened in his seat. “Someone people know and can look up to.”

  “That’s you, doc.” Panda slapped DeWitt on the back.

  Three’s leader rubbed his chin, lost in thought. “I’m hardly a hero. And I’m not sure my situation’s the most relatable anyway. Most civilians aren’t packing away refugees in their basement like we were.”

  He was looking right at me.

  I swallowed.

  “Right,” I said. “The girl who was sent to reform school when her mom was arrested for noncompliance. Who escaped a Knoxville prison, joined the resistance, and supposedly became the sniper.”

  “There is a certain ring to it,” said DeWitt.

  Chase had paled. “You’d use her name.”

  “Yes,” I said weakly. “You’d have to use my name. It’s already out there—the MM’s broadcasted it on and off since we escaped reform school.” Part of me had known it would come to this when I’d come up with the plan. That didn’t make it any easier to swallow though.

  “People think you’re dead,” Chase argued. “When Cara died, your name died with her.”

  DeWitt flinched. “There’s nothing like resurrecting a hero to get people’s attention.”

  I turned to Chase, feeling a cool numbness override the fear. “The MM knows we’re alive because of that stupid photo from the hospital. They’re already looking for us. We might as well shove it in their face that I’m still alive despite everything they’ve done. At the same time we can tell the people what the FBR is really capable of.”

  “It’s good,” said Panda. “Look at her. She’s the girl next door. Everyone either is her, or knows someone like her.”

  They looked at me like I was some kind of specimen to be studied, all the while considering if my past was traumatic enough, if I’d been innocent enough, if I was strong enough now. It didn’t feel like they were talking about m
e as much as the me they needed me to be.

  I fiddled with the Statutes, strewn across the table while they continued to talk about me like I wasn’t there. My eyes landed on the number that had changed my life.

  Article 5: Children are considered valid citizens when conceived by a married man and wife. All other children are to be removed from the home and subjected to rehabilitative procedures.

  a) Unwed parents may be tried to determine legitimacy of children born out of wedlock. Evidence used in trial may include hospital records, birth certificates, identification cards and so forth.

  a. (revised) Unwed parents may be tried to determine legitimacy of all children below the age of eighteen. Evidence used in trial may include hospital records, birth certificates, social security cards and so forth.

  b) Those parents held in contempt of Section 2, Article 5 by the investigative board shall be sentenced appropriately.

  c) Children’s parental rights are absorbed by the state. Citizenship may be granted at the age of eighteen following completion of rehabilitation.

  “I want it to tell what happened to my mother,” I said, interrupting them. “Since this is my life and all, I think I should get a say in what it says.”

  The council stopped, stared at me.

  “Of course,” said Ms. Rita.

  Chase’s shoulders rounded. There were words inside of him struggling to get free. I could see his jaw working to hold them back.

  “It’s not enough time,” said Patch. “Two weeks isn’t enough time to distribute this message to a whole country.”

  “It just has to spark a flame,” said Van Pelt. “Charlotte is just the beginning.”

  I hoped a spark was enough.

  “You’d do this for us?” DeWitt asked me.

  I put my hand on Chase’s knee. Felt the muscles flex beneath, and then the warmth of his hand covering mine.

  “No,” I said. “I’ll do it for my mom.”

  * * *

  WE spent the next two hours going over any details we might be able to insert into the Statutes. I told DeWitt about my mother’s arrest and Chase filled in the blanks. The words grew sticky and caught in my throat. It was like reliving the worst parts all over again.

  And then, when we were done, we were excused so that the council could meet privately.

  “Thank you for your story,” DeWitt told me, as if I’d given it to him and it wasn’t even mine anymore.

  “You’re kicking us out?” Chase asked. “Now?”

  DeWitt led us to the cafeteria door.

  “I can write it,” I said. “It should be me. It’s my life we’re talking about.”

  “You’ve done your part,” he said, making it clear his word was the last word. “It belongs to all of us now. Stay close. We’ll call you soon.”

  I frowned, feeling somehow lighter without this burden, but infinitely more exposed.

  Chase and I sat on the swings at the small playground just outside the cafeteria, rocking gently forward and back. After a while, Will brought us some food, then disappeared back into the kitchen. We ate quietly, plates on our laps, and watched the light from the standing torches throw shapes against the concrete side of the building.

  “The Expungement Initiative,” I muttered. Chase had used the term earlier when describing what they’d done to my mother in the Lexington FBR base. It was a new protocol, approved by the Chief of Reformation, meant to make the Article violators disappear so the country could start fresh.

  “I can’t believe they named it,” I said.

  Chase leaned forward to put his plate on the ground.

  “It’s the government,” he said, staring at the sand between his feet. “They have a name for everything. Even the things that don’t really exist.”

  I pushed the rest of the food aside. An image of Tucker flashed in my mind. I didn’t know if he’d made it to the safe house yet, but part of me was now glad I hadn’t been sent to find him. The thought of seeing him now, with my mother’s story fresh in my mind, made me sick.

  “I hope this works,” I said.

  Chase didn’t respond right away. “If it works, we’ll never be able to go back.”

  I didn’t know if he meant back home, or back outside of the Red Zone. It didn’t much matter; either was a risk. I rested my head against the cool chain of the swing. “I know.”

  “What happens then?” He’d never asked me a question about the future before. I didn’t know how to answer.

  I pushed back on my heels and let the swing carry me forward. “Remember when we were little we’d see who could jump the farthest?”

  He smiled. “I remember.”

  “You’d always let me win.” I pumped my legs. “I bet I can jump farther now.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said.

  I didn’t jump; I let the momentum carry me back to a stop. And then I walked out of the swing and sat on the crunchy sand against the jungle gym. He came and sat beside me, and I snuggled closer and laid my cheek on his chest.

  “Sometimes I miss you when you’re not even gone,” he said.

  I closed my eyes.

  * * *

  WE were woken some time later by Will’s tentative footsteps on the playground sand. It was still dark outside, so not too much time could have passed. I wasn’t sure when the kid slept; he always seemed to be lurking near the lodge. As he approached, he eyed Chase suspiciously.

  “The doc wants to see you,” he said. “He’s with your dad.” I rubbed my eyes and sat up.

  Chase’s brows scrunched. “My dad?”

  “Yeah,” said Will, spilling bread crumbs as he snatched my plate. He had a twitchy way of moving, always watching over his shoulder as if he suspected someone might be sneaking up on him. Throw some dirt on him and he easily could have been one of the Lost Boys who’d jumped us in the woods. “Who else’s dad you think I’m talkin’ about?” he said. “Big, tall, black hair. The hunter.”

  There was only one person here who could possibly be confused as Chase’s father.

  “You mean Jesse,” I said. “Chase’s uncle.”

  Will’s mouth pulled to the side. “I ’spose.”

  “Why do you call him the hunter?” asked Chase. Jesse hadn’t been assigned to any hunting party as far as I knew.

  “I seen him before,” said Will, checking behind him. “In the woods. He thinks I don’t remember, but I remember.”

  It was possible he’d seen Jesse hunting from the safe house—Jesse had said they’d had run-ins with the Lost Boys before.

  “You mean before DeWitt brought you here,” Chase said.

  “DeWitt didn’t bring me nowhere.” Will snatched his plate. “I go where I want.”

  “My mistake,” said Chase.

  At the sound of footsteps from inside the lodge, the boy paused, and lifted his nose like an animal who’d caught a scent.

  “They’re at the graveyard,” said Will quickly. “It’s—”

  “I know where it is,” I said, then wilted a little when Chase’s brow cocked in my direction. I was surprised DeWitt had left the lodge without us knowing. We must have slept through it.

  Before we could ask any more, Will sped away.

  “Jumpy,” said Chase.

  “At least he’s not trying to catch me in a net,” I said, frowning as Will disappeared back inside the cafeteria. It was possible that he could have seen Chase’s uncle in the woods. For an instant, I pictured Will throwing a net over the man twice his size and couldn’t help but grin.

  Chase smirked. “I guess some people can be rehabilitated after all.”

  “What can I say?” I said with a sigh. “I’m not Sister material.”

  “Definitely not.”

  I elbowed him in the side. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He laughed, then abruptly cleared his throat. The blood rushed to my skin. I could still feel his fingertips trailing down my arm, his grip, firm and warm behind my bent knee. The heat of his
breath on my neck and the way we both fumbled, and trembled, and finally found each other.

  I became acutely aware of my hands and how they dangled awkwardly at my sides. I needed to do something with them. I settled on chewing my pinky nail.

  “To the graveyard?” he asked.

  “Right,” I said. “Yes. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER

  14

  A NERVOUS energy sparked between us as we walked outside and entered the woods. This night had changed things; the usual butterflies I felt in his presence had tripled in size. My skin felt like it glowed when he looked at me, like I was the only girl in the whole world, and when he took my hand and his thumb ran up the side of my wrist I thought of one thing alone: I could not lose him. Not now. Not ever.

  I wanted him to say something, anything, but he seemed to be waiting for me to do the same.

  The sky was still dark, and the soft ground was blanketed with a wispy, gray mist. As the woods grew denser, I took the lead, having known the way to the cemetery. I started talking about Rebecca’s rehab with Dr. DeWitt, searching for something to fill the silence, and when he didn’t make a sound I glanced back to make sure he was still following.

  His brows were drawn, his expression serious, and something small and silver flashed between his thumb and first finger.

  I stopped. He nearly bumped into me, pulling up at the last minute. Chase Jennings was many things, but never distracted.

  “Whatcha got there?” I asked. I knew what it was. His mother’s ring. He kept it in his pocket. It was all he had left from the time before, and he carried it for luck, the same way I still wore the Saint Michael pendant on the chain around my neck.

  I would have been lying if I said I didn’t sometimes wonder what it would look like on my hand.

  Slowly, his gaze traveled from his hand to my eyes, and my breath caught.

  He swallowed.

  A hundred thoughts crossed paths in my head, but before I could make any sense of them, someone approached from the shed. The dry leaves crackled beneath his boots.

  “Who’s there?” Billy’s voice came through the trees.

  Chase stuffed his hand back into his pocket. He had a panicked look on his face, like the time my mom caught him sneaking out my window after midnight, and I couldn’t help but giggle. When he returned a shy grin, my heart tripped in my chest.