by Kyle Andrews
Sim's father was a nurse. He worked the night shift down at the hospital and would be there until morning. His mother was a teacher, but she lived with her new boyfriend in another building. Sim would be alone and nobody would ask questions about Libby being in his apartment, assuming she could make it there in time.
To run would draw attention, so that was not an option. She needed to walk calmly, just as she would on any other night. Fortunately, Libby knew a few shortcuts that would cut time off of her journey, while keeping her hidden. Unfortunately, those shortcuts required long walks down dark alleys.
The first of these alleys was the one which Libby used when she wanted to catch up to Sim before school. During the daylight hours, the alley felt small and creepy. There were garbage cans and empty boxes all around. Though the authorities were usually pretty good at keeping citizens off of the streets, Libby could imagine the stray addict or thief waiting in the shadows. She was not a muscular girl and she'd never learned how to defend herself. If she was attacked, she would die. There was little doubt in her mind about that fact.
At night, the alley was even more eerie. The dark sky above her was like putting the lid on top of the narrow space. She could barely see a thing in the darkness. All she could do was listen and hope for the best—something which hadn't been going too well for her lately.
She walked slowly, hoping to avoid tripping over garbage or people in her way. The last thing she needed was a broken ankle on top of everything else.
The sound of her steps echoed off of the walls around her, playing tricks with her mind and making her imagine that someone was behind her. It took all the will that she could muster to tune them out. She kept moving, putting one foot in front of the other and never committing all of her weight to the next step until she was sure that the ground beneath her was solid and stable.
Almost at the end of the alley, she was longing for open space and the ability to see where she was going. She was almost there. Her body was preparing to run. She was growing more and more confident that there were no sinkholes or bear traps hidden in the darkness, but there was something else. Her right foot landed on something that was definitely not the ground. It made a sound as she stepped on it; plastic scraping on pavement.
With her next step, she heard the same sound. What were these things? How many of them were there? Ordinarily, she probably wouldn't have cared what they were, but they made the ground feel unsteady beneath her feet. They made her nervous about each step she took. They kept her from getting out of there as quickly as she possibly could.
She bent down and felt for the objects on the ground. It wasn't long before she felt one of those plastic things sliding on the ground beneath her fingers. She picked it up and felt its edges. It only took her a moment to realize that she was holding a Civvie in her hand, and another moment to realize that there were more of them scattered across the ground.
She felt for them, trying to get an idea of how many Civvies were spread in front of her, and why they were there at all. Her search ended when she felt something bigger. Paper. An envelope. She picked it up and stood back up as she reached inside. There were more Civvies inside the envelope. Pulling one out, she squinted against the darkness of the alley, trying to see who it belonged to. She angled the Civvie, looking for a bit more light. When she finally saw the face of the Civvie, she let out a gasp. It was blank. They were all blank. She was holding an envelope of blank Civvies, which were illegal. Her fingerprints were all over them. Everywhere she turned, there it was. Hate—or Freedom—would not let her go.
Then there was another sound, like clicking on the pavement. It was quick and rhythmic, moving closer and closer from behind. Click-click. Click-click. Click-click. One-two. One-two.
She searched her memory for something in that alley which might make that sound, but she was coming up blank. It was familiar, yet not.
As the sounds moved closer, Libby turned around, dropping the Civvies but fearing that it was too late. Was HAND going to see her with those blank Civvies? Was Hate going to find her with their contraband? Neither one of these things sounded particularly appealing at that moment.
She scanned the darkness, looking for anything unusual, but she could barely see three feet in front of her. Everything that stood between her and the end of the alley was complete darkness. There could be a squad of murderers taking aim and she would be completely unaware.
She could barely breathe. Her heart was beating fast, yet it felt like someone was squeezing it as hard as they could. Seconds were ticking by. Curfew was in less than twenty minutes and she was only on the first stretch of her race toward Sim's building.
Turning forward once again, Libby closed her eyes and forced herself to take a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, she whispered, “Whatever,” and took off running.
With each step that she took, she heard an echo. After the echo came the clicks on pavement which also echoed off of the walls. Her feet nearly slipped out from beneath her as she reached the end and made a sharp turn onto the sidewalk. She slowed to a quick walking pace and tried to look natural as she moved. Nobody appeared to be paying attention to her. Most of the other people on the sidewalk were probably trying to get home before curfew. She hoped that they were so focused on their own rush that they would ignore hers.
Once she had put some space between herself and the alley, Libby turned around and looked to see if anyone was following her. There were people on the sidewalk, of course. Any one of whom could have been out to get her, but she didn't see anyone that immediately set off alarms in her head. She turned and walked toward the next alley.
The second alley had a fence across its entrance. It was an attempt to keep people from wandering through it, but the attempt had failed. The fence had been broken for as long as Libby could remember, and a person could easily slip through it.
Why they didn't want people walking down this alley was a mystery to her. It looked more or less the same as any of the other alleys that she had seen around town. A bit wider than the last one. Maybe a little bit brighter, but not much. There was more graffiti on the walls, probably because this alley was supposed to be off limits and the allure of tagging it was made greater because of that fact.
Libby was not as familiar with this alley as she was with the first. She would not take this alley to catch up with Sim on his way to school. This was only for getting to his apartment, and she was almost embarrassed to admit that she hadn't used it much at all.
She walked cautiously, listening for footsteps or clicking behind her. It was strange how isolated she felt, even in a city full of people. She could see others walking past the entrances of the alley, but they were like figments—faceless, nameless and completely useless to her now. If she sought help from any one of them, they would likely call the authorities and she would be arrested.
The thought angered her. She hated Uly for doing this to her. His secrets and lies were bleeding all over her, infecting her. She had no say in it. She had no way to escape it. And to make matters worse, Uly was dead. The weight of his transgressions now seemed to rest on her shoulders.
Then there was Justin. The boy who told her things that she didn't want to know and threw her into the world to fend for herself. He was alive. He could fix all of this if he really wanted to, yet he was choosing to save himself and leave Libby to figure things out on her own.
That part might not have been as fair as her anger toward Uly. She did leave Justin behind, after all. She probably would have smacked him in the face if he tried to follow her. She knew all that, but it didn't stop her from hating him. She even hated Collin Powers, just because he was the only other face of Freedom that immediately came to mind.
Sim was her one hope. He was the only person that she could trust to not be a part of this mess. He would be just as lost as she was, and that's what she needed right at that moment. She needed someone who would be completely baffled. Someone who could know how she felt about all of this, and h
elp her figure out what to do next. Maybe someone who could stand outside of her mess could see an easy answer that she was missing.
The fence moved behind her. As soon as she heard it, she jumped and turned around, holding her hands in front of her as though she could defend herself from an attack. Her eyes moved across the alley, from side to side and from the fence to where she was standing. She saw nothing, but there was a sound. Not the clicking that she'd heard before. This was the sound of someone breathing heavily, as though they had just run a good distance. It was unmistakable. Someone was following her.
“H—Hello?” she said, sounding far more nervous and weak than she would have preferred.
There was no answer. Whoever was in the alley with her was not willing to make themselves known. If it was someone hunting her down, they were horrible at their job. Even her untrained ear heard them coming from a mile away and the element of surprise was lost for them.
That thought probably should have been more comforting than it was. Instead, Libby immediately came to the conclusion that if this person was going to try to kill her, they felt no need to remain quiet and surprise her. The only reason for not showing themselves right then was to taunt her. They wanted her to be afraid.
“If you want to kill me, just do it,” she said. Still weak, but slightly less nervous than before.
She didn't want to die, but if her options were to either die quickly and be done with it, or to be taunted for the rest of the night before being killed, she would rather just get it over with.
There was no response. Whoever was following her didn't care what she preferred. They knew the way they wanted this to play out and what she wanted meant nothing.
She stood there, watching the darkness for several minutes, waiting for the gunshot to blow a hole through her flesh, or the knife to be slipped between her ribs, but nothing happened. She heard the breathing which never seemed to slow, but she never caught sight of the person following her.
After waiting far too long to begin moving again, Libby turned and walked out of the alley, calmly and as though she weren't in fear for her life. As though curfew weren't quickly approaching, and she wouldn't be a sitting duck for the authorities if she was the last person on the street once time ran out.
She walked down the sidewalk, noticing fewer people than before. Most were safely tucked into their beds or curled up in front of the TV by now. She envied them.
Her mind was moving in ten directions at once. She pictured herself being caught, hauled into the HAND building and told to explain herself. She could explain the Uly situation easily enough with the truth—give or take a detail or two—but she couldn't explain why she was running. They would want to know why an innocent girl was hiding from the police. She had no good answer for them, except that she didn't want to be mistaken for a member of Hate. Maybe if she cried and pleaded enough, they would eventually believe her. But what if they didn't? What if they decided to throw her in jail as a precaution? Could she survive in a prison full of terrorists and constitutional extremists?
She pictured herself arriving at Sim's home and collapsing into his arms. Aside from her own bed, those arms were the warmest, safest place that she could imagine at the moment. It was a far better fantasy than prison.
Then she imagined herself arriving at Sim's apartment building just before curfew, only to be attacked from behind and pulled into the middle of the street, where she would suffer and die a slow death before anyone was allowed out of their homes to help her.
As she pictured it, she could almost feel someone's hands on her back. Her imagination was playing tricks on her, but it was so vivid. She could practically feel the knife inside of her already.
The clicks returned, just faintly. She could hear the breathing behind her, keeping pace with her. She just had one more dark alley to go. After that, she could make it to Sim's building with streetlamps lighting her way, as long as she did it quickly.
No more waiting. No more worrying. Libby ran as fast as she could, not caring who saw her anymore. Surely, people would understand a girl running for her life just before curfew.
She turned down the last alley and didn't slow down. She didn't care if she tripped or twisted her ankle. She ran as though she could see everything as clear as day, when the truth was that she could barely see at all. One window, high above her, allowed for a hint of light to escape one of the buildings. But it was an indirect light, coming from an inner room and filtering through doorways. It was hardly any help at all.
Somehow, she managed to make her way through the alley and come out the other side unmutilated, but she didn't stop to celebrate the victory. She just kept running, faster and farther than she would have thought herself capable. She didn't stop until she climbed Sim's stairs and pulled open the door. It was then that she allowed herself to look back.
The street was empty and curfew was in place. Streetlights were shutting off, throwing sections of the street into darkness.
Sitting on the edge of the darkness, Libby saw a figure in the middle of the street. It was a dark figure, watching her with as much interest as she watched it.
A dog. A big, beautiful black lab, with its tongue flopping out of the side of its mouth. Panting.
Then the lights went out and the dog disappeared into the blackness of night. She could hear its nails clicking on the pavement as it moved away from her.
24
Sophia was watching a sitcom on TV. It was an older show, still full of propaganda, but funny enough to entertain even those who hated the system and disagreed with the moral message at the end of each episode.
The apartment was dark, except for the glow of the TV. Different colors were flashing across the walls as the show switched angles and locations.
Sophia had a smile on her face through the whole thing. She laughed out loud at many of the outrageous jokes, which had the sound of being politically incorrect while remaining inside the boundaries of socially acceptable speech. There were subtle jabs at those who rebelled against the government. Sophia's smile faded with each of these jabs and she shook her head.
“See, now why do you have to go and do that? Why can't you just keep politics out of this? Why can't you just look pretty and say funny things?” Sophia yelled at the TV. “I have half a mind to shut the damn thing off right now.”
But she didn't. She went on watching the show and laughing at the funnier jokes.
Collin was watching her from the kitchen. He was pacing back and forth, catching glimpses of the show here and there as he went. But he wasn't interested in what they had to say. He was more interested in Sophia's reaction to it.
Why couldn't they keep politics out of it? Because the media was political. Every person writing those shows had an opinion, and if their opinion differed from the federal memo that week, they would never be hired to write in the first place. As a result, one side got a voice. One side got the chance to take subtle jabs and act as though it were a foregone conclusion that people like Collin and Sophia were evil. And since there was nobody to counter that voice, subtle jabs worked their way into the minds of the people. Their points were hammered over and over again through the years, until there didn't seem to be any question about them. If you disagreed, you were stupid because 'everyone knows...'
The longer he paced, the more annoyed Collin grew. He hadn't been outside in days. He couldn't go anywhere or do anything. He was trapped. He was hiding. It was pissing him off.
Sophia laughed again. A week earlier, Collin might have laughed too. He used to love that show. He watched it with his mother when he was younger and it was full of fond memories. Except it now seemed like one more cog in the machine.
'Everyone knows' that Hate is evil. Try to tell them otherwise and the alarms in their heads would go off. You're lying to them. They don't know how or why, but you must be.
'Everyone knows' that the authorities are here to help us. They give us food and medical care. Unless we're bad. Then they punish us.
Just don't try telling that to most people on the street.
'Everyone knows' that members of Hate love violence. They want to hurt you. They want to kill you. They want to violate you in mind and body. They want you to suffer.
'Everyone knows' that if they say so on the news, it must be an unquestionable fact.
The propaganda machine only worked one way, and there was nothing that anyone could do to fight it. People only had access to books, movies, shows or music that the government approved of. They'd weeded out most copies of the unapproved texts. They ensured that the truth couldn't get out. That the only debate being had was on their terms.
Oh great. Another episode was starting.
Collin wanted to get out of that building and run until his lungs couldn't stand it any longer. He wanted to breathe fresh air. He wanted to scream so loud that everyone in the city could hear him.
But it was after curfew, so he wasn't allowed to be outside, fugitive or not. Fresh air was only available for those who had permission to breathe it. The entire country was one giant prison, and every citizen was a prisoner. Yet, what would they tell you if you ever pointed this out to them? That crime rates had dropped sixty percent since curfew was enacted. Use of foreign fuels had decreased dramatically since cities began cutting power to street lights and office buildings at a certain hour. It's not lockdown, it's progress! 'Everyone knows!'
Collin came close to punching the refrigerator as that last line rang through his head like a gong, but he restrained himself. He didn't want to tear apart Sophia's apartment just because he was in a bad mood. It would accomplish nothing. Just like everything else he had done since joining Freedom.
Even the sound of their name seemed foolish to him now. They weren't free. If anything, they were more oppressed than anyone else in the city, because they lived in hiding. They lived in fear. They ran from their oppressors, scurrying through the darkness like cockroaches. Freedom was a joke.