Enemy of Gideon

by Melissa McGovern Taylor

  Og’s brothers follow their mother in a scattered line. Og and I march behind.

  “What do you mean by two guests?” I ask Og. “Who else is coming?”

  “You weren’t coming, so I invited someone else,” he says, pushing his glasses up his pointy nose. “Oddly enough, he was available.”

  I stop in my tracks. “You invited Arkin?”

  He shoots me one of his trademark smirks. “I thought it’d be nice to get to know the guy my best friend keeps ditching me for.”

  My muscles tense like tree branches. What is Ogden up to? Why did Arkin agree to come? Why didn’t I warn him about Og’s suspicions?

  The apartment door closes several feet behind us, and Ogden’s father, in citizen coveralls, catches up. He drops a lead hand on my shoulder. “Good to see you,” he says. “I know the situation with your sister has made things … awkward between our families, but I want you to know you’re always welcome to join us for dinner.”

  I nod, keeping my eyes on the chief’s. Penski appreciates two things: a firm handshake and strong eye contact. I check those off my list.

  On the first floor, we meet Arkin who shakes hands with Og’s parents. The Penski boys flock to him and occupy all of his attention with questions about the sports he plays throughout the entire stroll to the citizenship center. Arkin converses with exaggerated interest, encouraging their curiosity. Despite his fan club, he manages to exchange a few glances with me. I wait, eager to warn him about Ogden as soon as the first opportunity arises.

  After enduring Mr. Paulsen’s lengthy speech, we settle into the hall for dinner. They will soon serve steak, broccoli, and baked potatoes, a free meal I can’t wait to devour on a typical visit, but tonight worries about fulfilling my task and warning Arkin erase my appetite.

  I gaze across the table at him. The boys once again vie for his attention, so I wait for the right moment to signal him.

  “Boys, why don’t you go sit at the next table so the Guzmans can join us for dinner?” Mrs. Penski says.

  “Can’t Arkin sit with us?” Kory asks with a pout.

  “Give him a rest. We’d like to talk with him too,” Mrs. Penski says.

  The boys relocate to a nearby table, much to my relief, and I take my shot. “I need to go wash my hands.”

  I rise from the table, meeting eyes with Arkin. He gets the hint. “Me too.”

  We meet outside the hall doors near the bathrooms.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “I thought I might be able to help,” he whispers.

  I glance over my shoulder at the camera in the corner behind us, its lens twisting to focus. “Og is suspicious of you. I think his dad might be too.”

  “I’ll be careful. Don’t worry.”

  I swallow, remembering one more detail I have to share with him. “I told him we were … together.”

  He looks bewildered for a moment, but then his creamy cheeks turn a soft shade of red. He glances at the floor. “Okay.”

  My face grows warm, so I rush into the girls’ bathroom and wash my hands. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. No makeup. A few strands of hair don’t lay quite flat with the others. I comb the strands down with my fingers and take a step back.

  Me and Arkin? What was I thinking? He’s too cute for me. Too charming. Guilt creeps into my chest in that suffocating way. Petra is going to be executed and all I can think about is my stupid crush?

  When I return to the table, the food has been served and the Guzmans sit next to Ogden’s parents.

  “Hey there, Raissa,” Mr. Guzman says with his trademark smile.

  “Hi, Mr. Guzman,” I say, taking the open seat between him and Arkin.

  “The steak is excellent as usual,” Mr. Guzman says, shoveling a forkful into his mouth.

  I cut my steak, pondering over how I could bring up the topic of seeing my sister and when it would be most appropriate. I chew my steak and allow my eyes to wash over the table. Beatty sits across from me, glancing at Arkin. She doesn’t look at him the way she looks at the rest of us. A shot of jealousy stings my veins.

  “Chief Penski,” Arkin says, “what is it like being chief of CE?”

  I could have choked on my steak. Why is he drawing attention to himself?

  The chief releases a hearty laugh and turns to Mr. Guzman. “That’s the question of the year. How do I answer that one?”

  Mr. Guzman wipes his mouth with his napkin. “According to you, it’s like being sent through a meat grinder.”

  The two men laugh, and the wives watch on, smiling and shaking their heads. Beatty rolls her eyes, nibbles some baked potato, and returns her attention to Arkin.

  “But really, Arkin,” Chief Penski says, “it’s an honor and a privilege to serve the city-state like my forefathers. It’s hard work, though. It’d be loads easier without those enemies to worry about.”

  Arkin flinches. Mrs. Penski jabs her husband with her elbow and gives him a warning glance. He returns his attention to his food.

  “So your sister’s an enemy?” Beatty asks, pointing her sharp eyes at me.

  “Beatty, that’s inappropriate,” Mrs. Guzman says, keeping her voice low.

  “Why? I want to know about them!” Beatty yells, causing the citizens at the nearest tables to glance at her.

  “You’ve been eavesdropping again on me and your mother,” Mr. Guzman says. “I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

  I can’t let go of Beatty’s words. Why can’t we talk about it? Why not appeal to Chief Penski right now?

  “My sister is an enemy,” I say, putting down my fork. “She’s in custody, and I need to see her again.”

  The chief stares at me, and his jaw tightens. I have him cornered.

  “We should discuss this in private,” he says.

  “I think Raissa should be able to see her,” Arkin says.

  I sit up in my seat. What is he doing?

  Helping, a voice in my head answers.

  I return my attention to Chief Penski. “I know I won’t be able to see her on her last day. Please let me say good-bye.”

  I intended my plea to be an act, but I force back burning tears. Petra might not make it out alive.

  “She’s a good kid, Chief,” Mr. Guzman says. “There’s no harm in letting her in.”

  Penski purses his lips. “Come at four o’clock on the day before her sentence is carried out.”

  Arkin smiles at me, flooding the hope back into my heart. Things might turn out okay.

  ►▼◄

  The meetings with Arkin become my reason for getting up each morning. I can’t deny my attraction to his good looks and personality, but I drink his encouragement like cool water on my thirsty tongue. During the day, we talk about school and Mom, careful not to bring up anything against Code. In the evenings, he shares verses from the Bible with me, promising God has a plan for me and for Petra.

  “But you have to be prepared,” he says in the brisk quiet of our meeting place. “If anything goes wrong, you have to believe Petra will be fine.”

  “How could she be fine? She’ll be dead,” I say, remembering Mom’s words from my childhood and the frigid darkness of nonexistence.

  “She’ll be in Heaven,” he says, “in God’s presence.”

  “But she hasn’t given sacrifices to God or followed all of those Old Testament laws,” I say, remembering the long list of commands I browsed through while learning about the Israelites.

  “I think you’re ready to hear about how God fulfilled the Law through the Messiah,” he says.

  “You mean, the Messiah came?” I ask.

  “This is the best part,” he says, not withholding his excitement.

  He thumbs through his Bible and starts reading the Book of Matthew aloud. I sit in wonder, hanging on every word.

  “I can’t believe it,” I say, shaking my head as I see the sleeping infant in my mind’s eye. “God became like us?”

  He nods, his eyes shining in th
e candlelight. “You have to read the rest of Matthew to see what He does.”

  I can’t wait to get home and keep reading.

  I stand. “It’s getting late.”

  “Your meeting with Petra is one week away. We have to prepare for her escape,” he says. “I want to take you to my home.”

  “To Philippi?”

  He nods. “There are some people I want you to meet.”

  My imagination runs wild with images of the people from the outskirts: gaunt and filthy with rags for clothing. Despite my friendship with Arkin, the images remain.

  He hands me a slip of paper. “Meet me at this location tomorrow morning at eight.”

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday,” I say, tucking the paper into her coat pocket. “I don’t know what to tell my mom.”

  “Tell her I want to spend time with you. Doesn’t she know we’re together?”

  He winks at me, and my nerves unravel. I manage a self-conscious smile.

  “Okay, I’ll tell her,” I say, “but isn’t that a lie?”

  He laughs. Then, to my shock, he leans in and presses his warm lips against my cold cheek.

  “Good night, Raissa,” he whispers.

  I freeze as he slips out of the building and disappears into the night.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The morning sun breaks through my bedroom window, sneaking into my eyelids. I sit up with a jolt and check my wristband—seven o’clock. I’m not late for my appointment with Arkin at the unfamiliar address on the slip of paper. How I awoke so early, I don’t know. I spent much of the night reading the Book of Matthew, growing more and more astounded by the one called Jesus.

  My heart ached when the people punished Jesus, the gentle, peaceful Savior, for doing nothing wrong. It sounded like Petra. She wouldn’t hurt a fly, and yet now she faces death. The very thought burned me up inside as I read about Jesus’ painful death on a wooden cross. How could they kill God in the form of a man?

  By the end of Matthew, I stared at the page in a daze. Jesus rose from the dead. How could that be possible? Jesus’ last words in the book echo in my mind: “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

  Could it be true? Could the Bible be a real record of history? Arkin believes this and so does Petra. But can I believe it too?

  I shake off my questions and slip into a fresh coverall from my closet. In the living room, Mom throws on her coat. Her complexion looks brighter, and she doesn’t have her hair tossed up but brushed over her shoulders.

  “I’m meeting a co-worker for breakfast and going to the market,” she says.

  “You look nice,” I say, crossing my arms and cocking my head.

  “Thank you,” she says. “I’m finally accepting what’s happened to Petra.”

  My arms drop to my sides. “Accepting it?”

  “It’s the Code. As loyal citizens, we must accept what’s happening and recognize that Petra has broken the Code. She’s an enemy of Gideon, and she must be punished.”

  Mom’s words make me light-headed. She sounds mechanical, like the automated voice on my wristband. Is she losing her mind? Now, more than ever, I know Petra has to escape.

  “I’m going to meet a friend,” I say, slipping my boots on.

  “I’m guessing not Ogden,” she says.

  “Arkin,” I say without thinking.

  “The one you ate dinner with a while back?” She doesn’t disguise her surprise.

  I shift on my feet and nod, remembering his kiss. “We’re kind of together.”

  She smiles, the first one I’ve seen from her in weeks. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

  “It didn’t seem important,” I say.

  Her face falls. “My bug is growing up.”

  “I’ll be back for dinner,” I say, buttoning my coat.

  I can feel her eyes burn my back as I exit the apartment.

  Outside, Gideon’s streets swarm with activity. Saturdays and Sundays bring lighter foot traffic, but more horse-drawn carriages take up space on the cobblestone roads as citizens travel from one side of Gideon to the other for visits with family and friends on their days off. I pull the slip of paper from my pocket and examine the address. I map it near the southern edge of Gideon, not anywhere near the Blind Spot. Curiosity and a longing to see Arkin and the outskirts propel me through the crowds twelve blocks south of my home.

  The city buildings shrink with each block I cover. More and more pines, oaks, and maples overwhelm the landscape. The cobblestone road fades away until clay dirt lay under my feet. I soon stop in front of my destination. A red, wooden sign reads the address on my paper and Hollis and Sons Horse Farm and Taxi Services in gold lettering. Down a gravel path, I find a red stable surrounded by trees and enclosed in a wooden fence. Horses nibble at dead grass in the pasture, wearing blankets draped over their backs.

  At two minutes before eight o’clock, Arkin pedals up to me on a red bicycle. He wears his backpack, low and bulging. I try not to stare at him. I still can’t believe such a guy kissed my cheek. Did I imagine the kiss? The warmth spreading over my cheeks in his presence answers the question.

  “So what did your mom say?” he asks.

  “She was fine with me meeting you,” I say, “but I don’t know what to do. She’s given up on Petra. She’s saying crazy things.”

  He dismounts the bike and opens the gate.

  “Like what?” he asks, pushing his bike through the fence.

  “She says Petra’s an enemy and she deserves her punishment.”

  He turns to look at a camera halfway up a nearby light pole and frowns. “We should talk about this later.”

  As we approach the stable, a woman wearing dirty coveralls steps out into the sunlight, leading a white and brown horse by the reins.

  “Good morning,” Arkin says. “Is Sted here?”

  “He's cleaning stalls in the back,” she says. “You can park your bike against that wall.”

  He follows the woman's instructions, and we enter the stable.

  The stench of horse sweat and dung fills my nostrils, and much to my disappointment, the building offers no relief from the dry, bitter cold outside. Without the sunlight touching it, the stable air chills me to the bone. My thoughts reflect back to the Book of Matthew. Jesus was born in a place like this.

  In an empty stall, we find the man named Sted spreading fresh hay on the floor. The thin man looks old enough to be a grandfather but strong enough to have many years of life left in him. Beyond his gray beard and deep forehead creases, stark blue eyes shimmer.

  “Can I help you?” he asks.

  “We need safe passage,” Arkin whispers.

  He smirks. “Then you’ve come to the right place.”

  Sted gestures for us to follow him to the stall across from the one he was cleaning. A black horse with a white patch on its muzzle waits with its head hanging over the door.

  “I remember you,” Sted says to Arkin. “You arrived in January. Are you all settled in?”

  He nods. “I’m anxious to see my family, though.”

  “That’ll be nice,” Sted says.

  “We plan to be back before sunset,” Arkin says.

  Sted gives the black and white horse a gentle rub on its neck.

  “This is Piper,” Sted says. “She’ll take you exactly where you need to go with the password. You remember it, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir,” Arkin says.

  “Then I’ll get her saddled up for you. Meet me at the back of the pasture.”

  While Sted walks toward the front of the building, we finish walking the length of the stable and step back into the warm sunshine.

  “Do we have to ride a horse?” I ask.

  “What’s wrong with horses?”

  I cringe at the memory of a CE horse knocking me down in the crowded streets as a young girl.

  “We don’t get along well,” I say.

  “You’ll get along fine. Horses are wonderful creatures, and they don’t ap
preciate being disliked.”

  “As long as you know how to control it,” I say, “I guess I’ll be okay.”

  He smiles and shakes his head at my apprehension. His pace across the pasture slows, and his eyes search the scenery as his expression falls.

  “Your mom sounds like she’s being manipulated,” he says. “Has she made any new friends lately?”

  “She’s having breakfast with a co-worker right now,” I say. “That’s pretty unusual for her.”

  “A plant. CE will put them in place to keep a close eye on the prisoner’s relatives and to persuade them to stay faithful to the Code.”

  “It seems like she did a complete turn-around out of nowhere,” I say. “I wish I could tell her everything I know and make her understand.”

  “You can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

  The weight of the burden pulls me in two different directions. I long to run into CE headquarters in a passionate rage, demanding they free Petra. The other part of me wants to work in secret with Arkin and the other believers to save her. Then we could escape to the outskirts into a new life free of the Code. But what kind of life would that be?

  A few minutes later, Sted rides across the pasture on saddled Piper.

  “You’ll have to ride behind me,” Arkin says, “so I need you to put the backpack on.”

  He slips it off and lugs it toward me. I struggle to keep my balance as I take the weight into my hands.

  “What’s in this thing?” I ask, heaving the pack onto my shoulders.

  “Food and other necessities for my family,” he says.

  “They always run low on supplies this time of year,” Sted says. “It’ll be a real blessing right now.”

  Arkin slips his foot into the stir-up and mounts the horse with ease, as if he’d done so fifty times before. I clamber on behind him with Sted’s assistance.

  Sted points. “There’s a secret back gate about thirty yards into the woods straight back.”

  Arkin turns the horse in the gate’s direction.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Sted asks.

  He nods his head toward Arkin’s arm.

  Arkin gasps. “Thank God you remembered!”

  Sted chuckles and shakes his head. “And they say old folks have short memories! Boy, if you rookies were in charge, we’d all be in a world of trouble.”