Stealing Liberty

by Jennifer Froelich

  I keep checking my timekeeper. Ten minutes feels like two hours down here. The more time passes, the more my imagination grows. I am only worrying about one ghost now, Reed’s. So when my light finally falls on him up ahead, I am more scared than relieved. My blood turns to ice as I rush toward him, grabbing his arm to convince myself he’s not a spirit, but flesh and blood.

  “Ouch!”

  I slug him.

  “Ouch!” he repeats, rubbing his arm. “What was that for?”

  “Did it ever occur to you to mark these tunnels? How about an arrow on the wall here and there? Or a 'this way'. Would that be so hard?”

  He shrugs. “Guess I didn’t think of it. What are you doing down here anyway?”

  “Rescuing you.”

  He just stares at me for a second, then he laughs. “My hero!”

  I feel myself blush and am glad he can’t see me in the darkness. “Paisley thought you were down here gasping for your last breath. Evidently some of these old passageways can suck the oxygen right out of you.”

  “But you weren’t worried.”

  “Of course not.”

  For a minute we just stand there with the blue light of our Readybeams crisscrossing on the floor. My thoughts return to Sam. “Please tell me you found a way through to the train yard.”

  He nods. “You want to see?”

  I take a step backward. “Uh…”

  He makes an impatient noise. “Come on! You just said I should have left you road signs. Now you’re turning down a guided tour?”

  “I guess it would be helpful if someone other than you knew the way.”

  “Exactly.” He reaches through the gloom, taking my hand. “You ready?”

  I nod and he pulls me forward.

  It’s not far. Only seven minutes when you know where you’re going. Reed and I don’t talk along the way, but he keeps my hand in his. I guess because the floors are uneven.

  “This is it.”

  We’ve reached a gate at the end of the tunnel. Reed pushes it open and shines his light through, showing me the basement of the old train depot.

  “Is the basement door locked?”

  “No, I broke the lock. You’ll be able to get through, no problem.”

  “Well, they will. Adam wants me to ride in the truck with him.”

  “Oh.” There’s a long awkward silence. “That makes sense. Guess I should have marked the walls after all, since you won’t be here.”

  “Oh. Right.” I feel stupid now, but don’t know what else to say.

  Reed clears his throat. “You ready to go back?”

  He pulls the gate shut, and we head back down the tunnel.

  We walk back slowly. It’s reckless, staying in the tunnels this long, taking our time. We don’t talk, but I feel a strange sense of calm. It’s like we’ve stumbled across a frozen moment without complications, a safe place where I don’t have to think about what’s happening above. Strange I would feel this way with Reed, someone I have hated more than anyone else in the world.

  Of course the feeling can’t last. By the time we climb up the ladder, it’s almost light and every bit of reality rushes back to greet us.

  “We need to get back,” I whisper. “Paisley needs to put us back online.”

  I start to step away, but Reed pulls my sleeve, dragging me behind a stack of pallets. He puts his finger to his lips and I freeze. Someone’s coming. Seconds later, Haak appears, walking slowly past, his beady eyes searching from left to right. He stops and glares into the darkness and it feels like he’s staring right at us. I shrink against the pallets and hold my breath.

  He moves on, but we stay put for several minutes. Nothing moves except my heart, which pounds against Reed’s. I can feel his too because we’re still so close (too close) and for some reason, we’re just staring at each other. Then Reed reaches up to move a short strand of hair off my forehead. I know it’s sticking out in all directions. I must look ridiculous, but Reed’s not focused on my hair. He’s staring into my eyes.

  “I know you’ll always hate me, Riley,” he says quietly. “But do you think you will ever, ever forgive me?”

  “No,” I say.

  Then I kiss him.

  Chapter 45

  Adam

  * * *

  I don’t know why I wake early, why I put my shoes on and leave the dorm before dawn. Paisley’s up too, pacing the sidewalk, staring toward the fields.

  “What?”

  She tells me about Reed. About Riley. “They’re both dead,” she says. “I know it.”

  I run toward the shed.

  I’m almost there when I see Haak in the distance, getting closer. I step under the awning, ducking behind the tractor.

  Which is where I am when Reed and Riley come through the hatch.

  I open my mouth to warn them, but Reed already hears. He pulls Riley behind the pallets. They become a shadow, even to me.

  Haak comes in, sniffs around. I don’t move, even when I’m sure he sees them. He moves on, but I stay still, watching their shadow. Waiting for it to separate into two shapes.

  The more time passes, the more I feel like I can’t breathe. I can see more than I thought. More than I want.

  Reed shifts first, touching her.

  My hand curls.

  You hate him. Tell him to stop. Push him away.

  But she doesn’t.

  She doesn’t.

  I close my eyes, but I still see too much. I see it all.

  Chapter 46

  Xoey

  * * *

  I read somewhere about how people used to mark the passing of time with sand in an hourglass. It sounds beautiful. No chiming in my tragus implant, no bright digits or alarms. Just soft sand, dropping into a pretty mound. But tonight I imagine being trapped inside the hourglass, desperately trying to stop the sand from falling. I want to block it or knock it over. I want to break the glass: anything to make time stand still. Nothing works. Time is piling on top of us. It will not stop, no matter what I do.

  “Xoey, it’s time.”

  I nod. My heart pounds. The band Middlebrooks brought in is shifting behind me in their seats, raising their instruments. I am frozen in place, staring at the rows of students who stand at attention in front of the library. Watching them just makes my heart beat faster, so I shift my focus to the blue and yellow bunting, the flags and balloons. They all dance, bobbing and swaying in the wind. Some have come loose, hanging out of place or trailing on the ground. Several balloons have broken free to drift off in the sky.

  Middlebrooks is beside herself. Wind has come to Windmill Bay, just to ruin her party.

  “Xoey!”

  Her voice is urgent, her eye twitching. She squeezes my arm and prods me forward. My wig itches, the heavy braid thumping against my spine, and my new uniform feels stiff as I mount the stairs and bow to President Amaron.

  He looks the same up close as he does on the pixel wall. A slim, gray-haired man in a dark suit who smiles as I approach the microphone. I swallow a knot in my throat. When I force myself to focus on the students again, I notice how still they are, how expressionless. Like Sentribots. Then I find Oliver and he winks at me. I am instantly calm. The band plays the introductory notes of the national anthem. I take a deep breath and begin to sing:

  "Rise up and join hands,

  In your guild, across the land,

  Let our republic ever endure.

  Tremble tyrants and traitors,

  Unite, citizens and neighbors,

  Until all loyalties we procure.

  Our hearts beat in time,

  Our minds only climb,

  Leading us from peaceful shore to peaceful shore.

  Resist the enemy,

  Of intolerance and bigotry,

  Hand in hand, we will cry out, 'No more!'”

  After the last note, I turn to shake the president’s hand then rejoin the ranks, my legs trembling as I stand at attention in front of Riley.

  The president m
oves to the podium. “That was beautiful, wasn’t it? Thank you, Sophie.”

  “Sophie?” Riley whispers in my ear.

  I would shush her, but I feel like the cameras are still focused on me. We are not supposed to make noise. Middlebrooks said we can smile or “look interested”, but nothing else.

  “Don’t even clap until the end of his speech,” she admonished us. “We’ll add applause at the appropriate times during editing.”

  “Good afternoon students,” the president continues. “I want to thank you for your warm welcome today and for letting me interrupt your studies. I imagine most of you don’t mind. I know when I was a student, any excuse to put off math was most welcome.”

  He pauses, waiting for us to laugh. When greeted by nothing but bland expressions, he glances at Middlebrooks, whose eyes widen in alarm. She recovers though, taking a quick step forward and nodding encouragingly. I’m sure his pause will be edited out of the final broadcast, which is supposed to air live from Sand to Sand.

  “Of course, it won’t run live,” Paisley said. “They’ll delay it long enough to edit out anything they don’t like.”

  The president clears his throat and continues. “I’m not just addressing you today, but students all across the republic. Students who, like you, are searching for their place in society, searching for a path leading them toward their happiest outcome. It’s hard, I know. Especially for those of you here, who have been misled by your parents, abandoned by those who should have been the first to demonstrate true citizenship. It’s not fair, and we feel bad about that. We want to help you repair the damage they’ve done and get back on track.

  “It won’t be easy. Rehabilitation never is. Still lots of weeds along the road to make you stumble. Rocks to stub your toes, hills to slow you down. But today, I’m asking you to set your feet in the right direction. Take the first step by taking my hand.” He holds it out toward us. “Let me lead you to the top of the hill. Just wait until you see what waits on the other side! It’s a beautiful thing, let me tell you. Something your ancestors dreamed of. A society where all citizens are useful, protected from the inequalities that plagued this continent for so many generations, until we cried out, becoming a people who said, ‘No more!’”

  He smiles again. “That’s right, we fixed the problem. We became a society where bigotry and intolerance are not tolerated. Where wealth is shared. Where the guilds keep you on the job. Where our job as your government is to keep you safe, healthy, and productive. I know that’s something you all want to be part of. And together, we can get you there!”

  My gown is beautiful. Ice blue satin, fitted to the waist then billowing out in lavish petals of tulle. I have never worn anything like it, or the makeup caked on my face, or the wig pinned to my head. When I study my reflection, from the intricate braids and ringlets to the hem of my gown, I don’t see myself. It’s not Xoey in the mirror, just a puppet in a pretty costume.

  “You look like Cinderella!” exclaims Middlebrooks.

  I shake my head. She’s no fairy godmother and I am just a girl who must bow, dance, and sing on command. Someone who would rather cut her strings and get back to the anonymity of my ugly uniform.

  I turn away from my reflection and glance around our dressing room. It is one of our largest classrooms, where desks have been converted to makeup tables and three-way mirrors and dress racks line the walls. Mostly, it’s packed with girls and the women brought in to help us: makeup artists, stylists, tailors.

  Fill-in mothers.

  I wonder if I am the only one who resents it. Everywhere I turn, girls are sparkling in every color of the rainbow: not just their dresses but their eyes and lips and the artful temporary tattoos some wear across bare shoulders and backs. Most laugh and compliment each other. Some even twirl, dancing already. They are beautiful. Every one of them, and sudden tears spill over my eyelashes, splashing down my painted cheeks. I never let myself cry for Sam. Now I can’t stop. I weep for him and for all of us. Those who will escape tonight and those who will be left behind.

  Middlebrooks rushes toward me. “No, no. Honey, you’re smearing your mascara!” She grabs a handful of tissues and begins dabbing my cheeks.

  I sniff. “I’m sorry. I have never used it before.”

  “Well, no matter. We can fix it. So long as you promise not to mess it up again! Just look around. Everyone is happy! You should be too.”

  She’s not helping me feel better. A month ago, at least some of these girls were carving American flags on the bathroom walls. Now those small signs of rebellion have all but disappeared, buried under the excitement of a party.

  I take a second tissue and let her guide me toward a makeup table. I have to lift my ridiculous dress just to sit down. I focus on Middlebrooks rather than myself in the mirror.

  “I am worried about Sam,” I say.

  Her expression freezes. She grabs a makeup brush and powder. When she speaks, she sounds defensive. “You saw Samuel in his uniform this morning, lined up with everyone else. He behaved perfectly.”

  I nod without comment. We both know his appearance was horrifying. His eyes were bruised and red rimmed and he has lost so much weight over the past four days, his new uniform hung off his shoulders. I suppose being just about catatonic works for military precision, so long as Middlebrooks’ video editors are ready to pixel brush the details.

  “Let’s get your face fixed, and you can go find him,” Middlebrooks says brightly. “Encourage him to smile. I’m sure he will be handsome in his tuxedo.”

  “I’m not worried about how he looks. Director Kino—”

  “Was angry.” Middlebrooks’ eyes dart to mine then away again, but her cheeks are suddenly bright pink. “She’s had time to calm down. I feel certain she’ll decide against any additional punishment.”

  I stand up, lifting my skirts out of the way so I can twist around and face her. “You don’t understand her at all, do you?”

  She can’t think of anything to say. The door opens and Riley and Paisley come through, still dressed in their uniforms. Middlebrooks pushes past me.

  “Girls! Where have you been?” She drags them to the makeup tables while beckoning two stylists. "Quickly! They need to be ready in thirty minutes!”

  Riley and I share a look: a question I ask, which she answers with a quick nod. She and Paisley were successful then.

  I leave the room. I have to lift my skirts just to walk down the wide staircase but manage to keep both my shoes. Reed is waiting for me at the edge of the courtyard.

  “You look…uh, interesting dress.” He turns away, scanning the crowd. His jaw tightens.

  “Tell me,” I whisper.

  He takes my arm and we walk toward the fountain.

  “Paisley checked the train schedule about an hour ago. It should be here by nine o’clock. As long as the president’s still here, Sam will be on the dance floor with the rest of us when it’s time to sneak away.”

  “And if the president leaves early?”

  “You know what to do.”

  I take a deep breath. “What if I mess it up?”

  He shrugs. “They’ll take Sam back to his cell, and I’ll break him out.”

  “Have you talked to him?”

  “I told him we were getting him out of here and to follow Paisley’s lead when the time comes.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Not much.”

  “It’s okay. We’ll make it work.”

  I want it to be true, but I’m honestly not sure. I feel ashamed when I realize I haven’t prayed these last few days. I suppose it’s because I have been so terrified. It makes no sense, but it’s true.

  I’m so sorry, Lord. We need you now more than ever.

  “What about everything else?”

  “Just follow the plan.” Reed pats my hand and scans the crowd. I’m sure he doesn’t realize he’s still frowning. “It’s all going to work out.”

  When the sun goes down, the lights go on: thousands
of them strung from the eaves of the library and cafeteria, through the new trees, and even crisscrossing from building to building.

  “To bring the stars closer for our magical night,” said Middlebrooks.

  But even Middlebrooks cannot tame the wind. It sweeps across the courtyard in gusts, whipping through the trees, making the lights sway. I see her near the library, yelling at her camera crew and glaring up at the darkening sky.

  The courtyard is filling up with students now: boys in dark suits and girls in bright gowns. Middlebrooks told us it was traditional for men to dress alike and for women to “each shine in her own way.” I’m not shining. I’m fighting the wind, which is tugging on my wig and lifting my dress, threatening to reveal the real girl underneath.

  A dance floor covers the lawn between the library steps and the fountain, large squares of wood shipped in by train yesterday and set in place this afternoon by a crew of students. When I crossed the courtyard earlier, I saw Xu and Brock among them. Brock wasn’t working, but still whining about Sam’s attack. I see him now near the flagpole and my hands curl into fists.

  My mom taught me vengeance belongs to God. “He can righteously weed out the wicked and punish them with justice,” she said. I know I should trust Him, but I am impatient. I want Brock to suffer now for all he has done. I indulge in a few seconds of violent fantasy, then manage to feel ashamed. I shake out my hands and turn away.

  Reed has wandered off but the band is back, tuning their instruments on the library steps. I check my timer. In twenty minutes, they will start their set list of about twenty songs. I will sing five of them.

  “Your songs will be scattered throughout the first half of our evening—” Middlebrooks clapped her hands as if this was good news, “—which will give you plenty of time to dance!”