Unfortunately, time was a luxury they didn’t have. The war was picking up speed. Soon it would reach its tipping point. Other corporations would join in. Sides would be chosen, alliances made and destroyed.
They would be lucky if anyone made it through this time.
He downloaded a newspaper onto his pad and found a place to sit. It was a small corner park with real grass and two trees. He could hear birds singing, probably piped in and played in a loop.
Newspapers, hell, news media of any kind, weren’t allowed below Level 6. It was SoCal’s way of keeping its citizens in the dark, under control. Even broadcasts were cut off, both comm units and vid screens. The best he could do was look for important articles, memorize them, and pass them on. Taking pictures was out of the question. SoCal had started checking comm units and pads a few days back. It was still a random check, but when the whispers had started moving back through the line he had deleted them all.
The first article he read talked about the state of the rest of the country. The continent-wide drought continued, despite what the experts had predicted. On top of that, massive windstorms across the Dakotas and Minnesota all the way down to Texas had devastated entire crops. Food supplies were going to be a lot thinner, and the prices would skyrocket. No one above Level 5 would even notice, but everyone else would.
Water shortages continued. SoCal had tried to buy more from the east coast, but they refused. Everyone was feeling the pinch in the middle of summer, but no one as bad as San Angeles. The insurgents destroying the pumping stations had hurt them, not that you could tell if you were on Levels 6 or 7. Repairing the damn things was taking too long. SoCal would rather put time and effort into a war than into their own city. Their own people.
So far the war seemed to have stayed between SoCal and Kadokawa. There had been some small fights around the Sat cities. According to the paper, they had all been started by Kadokawa. He had never seen them as the aggressor, but then he had never expected them to take over Meridian.
The last article he read mentioned the fighting on Mars. Again, it had been started by Kadokawa. They had tried to take over SoCal’s mines and failed. Casualty counts on the Kadokawa side were high.
It was all bullshit. All propaganda. When you controlled the news and what was allowed into the city, you controlled the population. He couldn’t decide what was worse, the total blackout of the lower levels or the lies up here.
He erased the paper from his pad and began the long walk to Level 2.
LOS ANGELES LEVEL 2—MONDAY, JULY 3, 2141 5:35 P.M.
I lay in bed until dinnertime, not wanting to move or see people, wishing I could just stay here forever. The effort to remain pleasant would have taken too much out of me. I may have dozed off for a while, but it didn’t feel like it. Exhaustion pulled at my bones, making it tough to find the energy to crawl out of bed. I knew I shouldn’t feel this way. I hadn’t done anything that would make me this tired. I sighed and kicked the sheets off, forcing myself to get up and take the three steps to my small dresser. In the drawers were a couple of shirts and my last pair of clean pants. At least I had extra underwear. With water at a premium, the insurgents had set up a laundry service. More clothes in less water was their idea. I should be getting some washed clothes back tomorrow or the next day. I was pretty sure if I asked loud enough, I could get extra pants. Especially since I had saved their hijacking plan for them. I got dressed and put the bobby pins back in my hair, buried deep where they couldn’t be seen.
I stood by my door listening to the footsteps and the sound of people chattering just outside as they walked to the dining hall. There was laughter and the occasional shout. Life as it should be, considering the circumstances. I dragged myself upright and straightened my shirt. All I had to do was imitate what other people were doing long enough to make it through dinner. I had to try, or Pat would end up pounding on my door wondering why I hadn’t kept my promise. I didn’t want to go, didn’t want to lose it in front of everyone, to lash out at the first thing that hurt me, or worse, see or hear something that reminded me of Ian and break down. That wouldn’t be good for anyone.
Missions like the hijacking were easy. I could do my job and not have to interact with people.
When the noises in the hall subsided, I opened the door and merged with the few remaining stragglers. I stared at the feet of the person ahead of me as I walked, attempting to avoid conversation or the inevitable look of sympathy or “how are you doing?” They meant well, but they weren’t helping.
Everyone seemed to know me. Or know of me. I was the girl that left her team behind to rescue her boyfriend. I was the one that got him killed.
The stairwell was still packed with bodies, and the lack of water created a certain ripeness in the air that filled the enclosed space. I tried to step off to the side, to let the people behind me get through first. Then I could wait until the mass was thinner before I got into the dining hall. I fought the urge to go back to my room.
A hand grabbed my elbow, stopping me from getting out of line.
“Hi, I’m Selma. I was with you on the recon today.”
I didn’t recognize her.
“You were a little lost out there. I hope you didn’t mind me getting your attention. I know it wasn’t protocol, but we really needed your eyes. Robert and I both missed the guns you reported. You helped save lives.”
“We lost two of ours. Their driver was alive when I pulled him from the truck.”
“Yeah. I heard we got him to a walk-in clinic. They shipped him off to a hospital for surgery. He should make a full recovery.” Selma shrugged. “I know we’re not supposed to care what happens outside our area, but I hate not knowing. Even if we save the life of someone working against us, it makes me feel good, you know?”
For the first time, I looked—really looked—at Selma’s face. She was older than me, but still young. Maybe in her twenties. I thought she was making fun of me, or trying to taunt me into an argument, but I didn’t see anything in her eyes except honesty and relief. I smiled my first genuine smile in weeks. “Yeah, I do.” It felt good to find someone that thought like I did, and my guard came down a notch.
If the insurgents had more people like Selma, especially at the top, things might turn out all right after all. Heck, having more like her in the ranks wouldn’t hurt either.
By the time we reached the bottom of the stairs I knew more about Selma than I knew about most people. She had almost gotten married, but her fiancé had been caught up in one of SoCal’s draft sweeps. She had managed to get away, but just barely. She’d been holding onto his hand the whole time, but when she turned around to pull him along faster, it was someone else—an older woman. The woman had stopped Selma from running back into the crowd, stopped Selma from being drafted along with him.
That’s when she had joined the insurgents. Her goal was to get close enough to SoCal to find her fiancé and get him out. I wished her well, knowing it would never happen. Chances were he was long gone, either in training or already deployed somewhere. If she was lucky, he’d make it and come home to her after the war.
“You know they have quotas to fill?” she asked.
“Quotas?”
“Yeah, the SoCal soldiers. I heard if they get their quota, the rest of the people are let go. If they miss, the soldiers are given an extra shift.”
That was news to me. I’d thought they just grabbed as many as they could. It sounded like a hopeful wish, something for people to hold on to if they were caught.
When we entered the dining hall I stopped, searching for Pat and the seat she had offered to save me. Selma misinterpreted my hesitation.
“Come on, you can sit with us. I’ll introduce you to Robert.”
“No, I . . . I promised a friend I’d join her.” I found Pat and pointed her out.
Selma’s eyes went wide, and it was as though her face mel
ted.
“Oh,” she said. “Oh. You’re that Kris. I . . . I’m sorry for rambling on like that. I . . . I’m so sorry for your loss.”
The will to stand was sucked out of me. For the first time since Ian had died, I’d lowered my defenses and Selma hit me with a hammer. My knees buckled and tears threatened to fall again. For a few moments, Ian had touched me and then been yanked away.
Selma stepped closer, placing a shoulder under my arm before I fell. The room blurred. I struggled to breathe as grief rolled over and through me. I felt myself maneuvered out of the way. A wail built in my chest and I clamped my lips tight, forcing it back down.
Not here. Not now.
My hands shook so badly that Selma grabbed them, wanting to hold them still. She stuttered out a few words, soft, quiet. I didn’t hear them.
Demons thundered through my head, grabbing at memories of Ian—our first kiss, the lingering touch of his fingers on my skin—and shredded them before tossing them in shattered heaps back where they had found them. At some point, I felt the presence of Pat.
“Let’s get her out of here,” Pat said.
She put her arm around my waist and walked me to the exit. Selma trailed behind, not quite sure what to do. People stepped out of our way, staring uncomfortably at the floor as we passed, as though I was diseased.
“What happened?” Pat asked.
“I’m not sure,” Selma said. “We were talking when I realized who she was. Then she started collapsing. I don’t know. I must have triggered something. She was fine. I’m so sorry.”
“Okay. Go get your supper. I’ll take care of her. Talk to the cook and have Kris’s meal brought up to her room. Please.”
Pat didn’t wait for a response. Selma faded away as Pat kept walking, supporting me back to the stairs. She didn’t say a word.
I didn’t have the strength to hold out any longer. The stairwell echoed with the sounds of my pain.
Pat brought me to my room, staying until the food came. I played with it more than I ate, pushing chunks of potatoes and carrots around until she thought enough had made it down my throat. She didn’t try to talk to me, didn’t try to convince me to get help. She just stayed with me, filling my bucket when the water was turned back on. Mostly we sat. At times it was an uncomfortable silence, and I almost wished she would go back to trying to help me.
She turned to face me before leaving, examining my face as though she could see through to my soul. “How long have you been pregnant?”
Cold fear clutched my heart, and I stuttered out a denial that even I wouldn’t have believed. It felt like she had slapped me in the face. Thankfully, she didn’t press the issue.
I locked the door behind her when she left and stumbled to bed, my feet dragging across the worn floor. I crawled under the covers without taking my clothes off.
SOCAL SAT CITY 2—MONDAY, JULY 3, 2141 2:45 P.M.
The room was small and quiet, except for the constant background hum of the satellite. The guards had followed Ms. Peters down a hallway to an elevator, gripping Bryson’s arms until their knuckles turned white. He would have bruises in the shape of their fingers. The elevator had barely held the four of them. By the look of the narrow hall the doors had opened on, its walls covered in conduits and junction boxes and ventilation pipes, this was a place no one went. Not willingly. Even the air tasted stale and metallic.
Ms. Peters and the guards stood and watched as Bryson changed into dry pants and underwear from a shelf. He wasn’t allowed any modesty. The shelf contained nine more pairs, plus an equal number of shirts. All in his size. He tried desperately not to dwell on the implications of that, but failed miserably. The cricket bat leaned against the far wall, beside a desk. Its presence chased away any embarrassment he might have felt changing in front of everyone. What was the point when they could beat him whenever they wanted?
When he was done, Ms. Peters turned to the guards. “Wait outside.”
They left, leaving the bat behind, as she pointed to a folding chair leaning against the wall. For a brief moment, he had the crazy idea of grabbing the bat and smashing his way out. But if he did, what then? He had nowhere to go.
“Please, get the chair. Put it there, and sit.”
Bryson almost ran as she lowered herself into a chair. She waited until he had done as she had asked, his hands shaking, the chair slipping in his grasp, memories of the last time he’d been questioned by her washing through his mind. Images of the guard and the cricket bat made his vision blur.
“As I told you earlier,” Ms. Peters said, “the chip is scrambled. We will find the key eventually, but I thought I would give you a chance to speed up the process.”
“You have the encryption key I used. I didn’t do anything—” The words came out fast and jumbled.
“You know where lying to me will get you, don’t you?”
“I’m not—I—” Bryson’s gaze flicked over to the bat and then studiously returned to Ms. Peters’ face. He didn’t want to think about that.
“What is the key, Mr. Searls?”
He looked straight at her, trying to appear as open and honest as he could. “I gave you everything.”
Ms. Peters rose and perched lightly on the edge of the desk. She leaned in closer to him. He pushed himself deeper in his chair, his entire body suddenly hot and sweaty in the temperature-controlled air.
The chair folded in on itself and he lay sprawled on the floor, unable to inhale.
Ms. Peters stood over him as he struggled to regain control, passively watching his face.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Please, I’m telling you the truth,” he cried.
She sat back in her chair and watched as Bryson picked himself up. Once he was seated again, a guard came in, placing a box in front of her before standing behind him.
“Do you know what this is?” she asked.
Bryson shook his head.
Ms. Peters open the box, revealing a tiny glass bottle and a syringe. Hands clamped onto his shoulders, holding him in his chair.
“This will help us get the truth out of you. There’s no need to worry, the effects aren’t permanent and only last a short while. Plenty of time to get what we want.”
“Truth serum?” Bryson blurted out the words.
“No!” Ms. Peters laughed. “I would have thought someone as intelligent as you would know there’s no such thing. This simply helps remove any inhibitions you have. You’ll be fully cognizant of what is happening. You’ll be able to understand any other inducements we may choose to use.” She looked at the bat. “Let’s begin, shall we?”
The guard moved an arm around Bryson’s neck while the other arm pushed down on his head. His world faded to gray and he felt a sharp prick on his arm before the guard let go.
She questioned him for another half hour before returning to her seat.
“You appear to be telling the truth, Mr. Searls.”
He flinched as she grabbed the bat and walked past him, banging on the door.
“Bring him back to his work area.”
The guards were as gentle taking him to his lab as they were in getting him to the room. Bryson didn’t relax until he stepped through the airlock. All the tension was replaced with a self-loathing and hatred so intense it threatened to consume him. One day, he would take back what that woman had stolen from him. He didn’t know how, and he didn’t know when, but it would happen. Or he would die trying.
two
LOS ANGELES LEVEL 2—TUESDAY, JULY 4, 2141 12:07 A.M.
PAT STOOD IN the hallway. Kris’s denial was proof enough. Damn Ian. He should have known better.
This was the first time she had seen Kris break down and cry, and it tore at her heart. Even though it was something Kris needed and should have done long ago, she wished it hadn’t happened in public. Kris would never get
over the loss of Miller if she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, let herself grieve. Someone as young as Kris shouldn’t have to deal with something like this. Though it wasn’t the first time.
Maybe she thought she was too strong to feel the pain. Maybe she thought it wasn’t what people did. Pat remembered the story Kris had told back at the training compound on one of those long, cold winter nights when everyone else was asleep. Kris’s parents had been killed and she had been thrown into a halfway house for over a week until they could find her aunt and uncle. A week where she had been left alone. No friends, no family. No shoulder to cry on. Just a dirty crumpled pillow in a smelly room filled with other rejects.
When her aunt and uncle had finally come to pick her up, they were no help, practically strangers to her. Her aunt had told her to stop crying, to get on with her life. They’d put her into a new school and made her work for her keep. How much of that was part of their own grieving process, Pat didn’t know. It was no excuse though. No matter how unprepared you were for bringing a thirteen-year-old girl into your home, you figured it out. You helped them get over the pain and the loss, and to heal.
Pat snorted. She’d spent too much time with her own therapist. It didn’t matter. She was right, and she knew it. Kris needed more support than Pat was able to give, someone who understood how the human psyche worked. Someone who could help.
Her comm unit beeped in her pocket and she pulled it out. The kitchen, most likely the cook looking for more supplies. A wave of anger swelled in her chest, and she immediately quelled it. She wasn’t really mad, and certainly not at the head cook. She was disappointed.
When everything had settled down from the failed attempt to save Miller, she, Kris, and Kai had gone back to Doc Searls, promising to help him find his son. They’d arranged it so that Kris believed she would be a part of it, when really they wanted to give her time.
Maybe it had been a mistake.
After that, they’d returned to the insurgents, and been accepted into the ranks. It hadn’t been easy, especially with Kris leaving everyone behind to rescue Miller. The insurgents had needed convincing from Kai to let them join.
The Rebel Page 4