Blood Rights (Freedom/Hate Series, Book 2)

by Kyle Andrews

  It wasn't until that moment that Justin realized the full extent of what he had become over the years. At first, he told himself that he was just lying to protect himself and the people he cared about. That he was putting on an act. But deep down inside, he knew the truth and what kind of person he really was. He now realized that what he had been doing all along was learning how to disconnect himself from what was happening around him. He was training himself to be an entirely different person when he was out in the world—to be okay with the atrocities that he witnessed. The people who were manipulated into hurting themselves. The murders of all of those people that the government claimed had been killed by that mysterious illness, caused by tainted grains and water so many years ago.

  All around him, citizens were medicated to the point where they were numb to their own wants and needs, and as long as Justin walked among those people, he kept a straight face and ignored whatever emotional reaction tried to make its way to the surface.

  Every day of his life was a performance, and so few people ever got to see the real Justin. Now tasked with watching a good man die, he realized how far the performance had come.

  Looking Aaron directly in the eye, Justin said, “Yes, sir. I can do that.”

  44

  It was a strange feeling, being called out on television like that. Part of Libby wanted to just run and hide, but how much farther could she run, and where else could she possibly hide?

  The odd thing was that when faced with the Mayor's speech, Libby didn't feel mortified. She certainly didn't love the idea of turning herself over to him, but at least he'd said it plainly. It seemed like everyone in the Garden had been tip-toeing around the matter for the past month, never directly telling her to her face that Collin Powers' life had been traded for hers. Never saying that it should have gone the other way. She could see the resentment in their eyes and she understood it, but nobody ever said it.

  Now what? That was the big question. She wasn't sure exactly where she was supposed to go or what she was supposed to do. She tried to find those answers, but nobody seemed to want to help her. What was Aaron going to say, except that she should go back to her room and wait for this whole thing to pass? But that didn't help her. It didn't make her feel better.

  For a month, she'd been living with the knowledge that Collin's life had been given for hers. To put it mildly, it sucked. It connected her to him in a way that she never thought possible. Every breath she took felt like a debt unpaid. Now she knew that he was alive, and once again, he was going to die in her place. Was it worth it?

  At that moment, there was a refrigerator filled with Libby's blood. Everything that made her important to Freedom was in that refrigerator, and what else did she have to offer? What could she possibly become that would make her life more valuable than Collin's?

  As she kicked around these questions, and tried to understand how to make it right, Libby wandered the halls of the Garden. This was the place where Uly once walked. In some ways, she felt his presence there. She didn't believe in ghosts, but he was the one who set all of this in motion. He was the one who woke her up.

  The memory of his death still flashed through her mind quite often. It was probably the most vivid memory she had, though the hamburger that Justin gave her came in as a close second.

  Uly's death was horrible, violent, gory. Yet the part of his death that she usually overlooked was now taking center stage. When he died, Uly seemed at peace with it. How did a person get to a point where they could look death in the eye and feel anything but terror?

  After aimlessly wandering through the Garden, Libby eventually found herself standing in the hallway, just outside of her mother's hospital room. She didn't plan on going there, or even remember walking there. It was just the place that pulled at her the most.

  She saw nurses walking past, checking other patients. She saw patients walk past, whispering to each other when they saw her. She hated that. It made her feel as though they wanted her dead... Probably because they did. But it made her feel like she should be okay with death. Like she should be willing to sacrifice herself. Like she should smile when her time came. But no matter how much she wanted to be okay with it, she wasn't.

  Inside the room, her mother was probably still cursing the day that Libby was born. Another person to add to the list of those who wanted her dead, but for completely different reasons.

  Amanda's reaction to Freedom wasn't entirely unlike Libby's. When she first heard Justin speaking about those people and their cause, she was furious too. Maybe Amanda just needed some time.

  She wanted to go into the room. Even though she knew that she couldn't talk to her mother about what she was feeling, she wanted to be in there with her. She wanted to remember what it was like to be that girl who took care of her sick mother, bringing her to the hospital, cooking dinner and covering her with a blanket at night when she fell asleep in front of the TV.

  But she knew that she couldn't be that girl again. The girl she once was lived in a fantasy world, as bleak as it was. If she went into that room, her mother would try to convince her that she was wrong. That she'd been brainwashed. That she was blindly following a group of people who were known to rape, pillage and murder.

  They did make a mean hamburger though. Seriously.

  Libby wasn't in the mood to argue with her mother. She didn't feel like explaining how the world really worked. Maybe she'd have the energy for it another time, but she didn't need to be lectured on that night. What she needed was to find someone who would be there with her, not judging her and not silently wishing that she would go to the HAND building, to willingly have her head blown off. She wanted someone who wanted her alive. Someone who thought that she deserved life. Someone who cared about her, if such a person existed.

  The memory of all those eyes on her flashed through her head. How many people wanted her to die? How many members of Freedom were cursing her name, the same way Amanda did? No matter which way she turned and no matter where she went, there was no safe haven. Her world was growing smaller by the moment.

  The strange thing was, she'd walked away from the closest thing she had to that haven. Justin wanted to be there for her and she wasn't willing to let him. It was a stupid mistake that she kept making. Someday, she would walk away from him and he would never come to find her. Fortunately, that day had not yet arrived.

  “You're not going in?” Justin asked.

  She hadn't even noticed him walking toward her, she was so caught up in her own thoughts. When she saw him, she wanted to tell him how sorry she was. He was always her best friend, whether she knew it or not. But she didn't say that. Instead, Libby gave him a halfhearted smile and said, “I've been playing out the conversation that I would have with her in my head. Over and over.”

  “Who wins?”

  “Neither of us,” she replied. “Everybody loses.”

  Silence fell between them. There was too much that needed to be said, so none of it ended up being said at all. But the silence wasn't as awkward as Libby would have expected. Just being there, standing next to someone who she knew had her back was enough to slow her emotional spiral.

  Still, all good things must come to an end.

  “Aaron asked me to go to the HAND building. I'm leaving in a few minutes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he wants to know whether or not Collin Powers' death is going to mean anything. He wants me to be in the crowd so we'll have a real idea of what people are saying and feeling. But...”

  Justin stopped talking and looked down, the way he always seemed to do. He was struggling to find words, so Libby waited patiently.

  After a few seconds, Justin said, “I know that he won't know we're there, but I think we have to be. Not to gain intel. Just to be there. So he's not alone.”

  “When he dies,” Libby added, nodding and getting what Justin was saying, though he didn't seem to expect her to. “You're right. People should be there.”

  “Yeah,�
�� Justin agreed, but he didn't seem terribly thrilled about it. He looked past Libby, down the hall, and then back to her. He said, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  Libby smiled, as though it were the funniest notion in the world. She was nowhere near being okay, but she wasn't going to tell him that right before he had to leave. So instead, she said, “I'll be fine. You can take a night off of worrying about me.”

  Now it was his turn to smile at the absurdity.

  It seemed as though Justin wanted to tell her something else, but he didn't. There were probably a million things that she wanted to tell him as well, but there wasn't the time for it.

  “Will you close your eyes when it happens?” she asked, picturing the scene in her head. The cheering crowd. The spray of blood.

  He thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. As much as he might have wanted to, he wouldn't ignore his duty. That was what had always made Justin a stronger person than Libby. A better person.

  “I should go,” he told her.

  “Stay safe,” she replied.

  “You too.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  His only response was a smirk.

  There seemed to be so much more to that moment than what they were actually saying. She could almost feel the shift in her perspective happening as she spoke to him, but she didn't let on. She just let him go, so he could do his job without worrying about her.

  Once he was gone, Libby turned toward her mother's room and stared at the door. She didn't go inside.

  Instead, Libby thought about everything that Justin had told her. The duty to be there in the crowd, even if Collin Powers never knew it. The duty to keep his eyes open and not ignore what was happening, just because it might be painful.

  Except, it wasn't Justin's duty that he was performing. It was hers. She owned Collin's death as much as he owned her life. If Collin Powers was going to be sacrificed in order to protect her for a second time, she should be there. She should look into his eyes. She should stop running and hiding, and become a person who would face life head-on, without closing her eyes. She should be more like Justin.

  As that thought occurred to Libby, her stomach began to turn. She felt as though someone had reached into her chest and was squeezing her heart. She couldn't breathe. All she could think about was the thing that was about to happen, and it was making her sick.

  The air of the Garden no longer seemed sufficient. She felt as though the walls were closing in around her. She couldn't catch her breath. She needed to breathe. She needed to get out of there.

  45

  Collin was forced to stand in the main lobby of the HAND building, behind large, reenforced doors which had frosted class panels on them, preventing him from seeing what was going on outside.

  He was still shackled, but his mind was clearing up. He thought that he could even speak clearly if he wanted to, but he hadn't tested that theory. Instead, he listened.

  Beyond the doors, he could hear a crowd gathering. At first, there were only a few people waiting to see him die. They had cheered for the Mayor on command, and when the cameras stopped rolling, they were quiet.

  The people coming now were far from quiet. He could hear chanting and screaming, though he couldn't make out what they were trying to say. 'Give us his head' maybe, or 'Justice is dead' but that one seemed less likely. For all he knew, they were asking for bread.

  There was no way for him to get a feel for that crowd. He couldn't look any of them in the eye. He couldn't see any signs that they might be carrying, though he hoped to read at least a few before he was put to death. If they were creative, it might help to lift his spirits in those last few seconds.

  Inside the building, the Mayor was pacing. He'd placed his cards on the table and now he was waiting to see the other side's hand. Collin could tell that he was nervous, and he enjoyed watching the Mayor squirm like a worm on a hot sidewalk.

  He honestly had no idea who this girl—Libby Jacobs—was, but he liked her. Whatever she had done to get under the skin of the Mayor was no doubt impressive. He wouldn't have been so openly hostile unless she somehow threatened the entire system.

  It didn't take a genius to figure out that Libby Jacobs was probably related to Uly Jacobs. His sister, maybe. But who was he? Just a boy who had been gunned down by the authorities, as far as Collin could tell. But there must have been more to it.

  “Time?” the Mayor asked.

  “It's been an hour and fifteen minutes, sir,” one of the HAND officers replied.

  There were other people in the lobby as well. Staff members from the Mayor's office, whispering back and forth about the political impact of his actions and how they might be able to spin the situation in the press. Whispering was futile in the lobby. Whether by design or by happenstance, every sound was amplified and echoed. Every footstep on the marble floor sounded like that of a horse, stomping through the room.

  The Mayor glanced in Collin's direction. He seemed to be questioning whether the Jacobs girl would show herself, or if they would be executing Collin instead. For some reason, Collin found it a little bit offensive that the Mayor didn't look too excited about the possibility of watching him die. The girl was obviously more important.

  This meant that Collin wanted to die. Well, he didn't want to die. He preferred to die, so that this girl could go on living and whatever was causing that sick look on the Mayor's face would grow and thrive until any facade of caring for the common people of the city was irreparably damaged. Then the citizens would be forced to take action.

  “I didn't even want to do this,” the Mayor said, attempting to speak only to the aid by his side, but the whole room heard. When he realized this, he looked around at everyone else and said, “Our orders are coming from the Governor, with the approval of the the President himself.”

  “Hot dog,” Collin muttered with a smile. “I'm famous.”

  One of the HAND officers struck Collin in the gut with a fist that felt like it was made of cement. Collin doubled over, gasping for air.

  “Are the agents spread out?” the Mayor asked one of the nearby HAND officers.

  The officer nodded and said, “Forty-six of them are in the crowd now.”

  Agents. This was a twist. The Mayor must have been referring to Secret Service agents. They were officially recognized as the division of HAND that was responsible for the security of government officials and their families.

  Unofficially, they were the spies of the authorities, some of whom lived among the common citizens, gathering intelligence. People knew that they were out there, but only in the same way that people knew about the phantom HAND officer with the hook hand who preyed on teenagers, or the way they knew about Bloody Mary. They were myths, whispered about at elementary school lunch tables. Nobody ever knew who they were or where they were.

  Collin heard his first solid piece of information about the undercover agents from a friend of his in Freedom, who had married one of those agents. She played the stupid little wife, while monitoring his calls and communicating his actions back to Freedom. Their marriage lasted seven months before she was forced to kill him and go underground.

  He once asked her if she ever really loved that man. She didn't answer him.

  For some reason, memories like that conversation were coming back to Collin as he stood there, listening to the people in the lobby of the HAND building talk. All those people that he'd met over the years, who had sacrificed parts of their souls because they had no other choice.

  He didn't want to die. He wanted to live to see a better world. However, if that wasn't going to happen, he was willing to die so that the better world could be created without him.

  “Any word?” the Mayor asked those other people, growing more and more impatient by the minute.

  “Nothing yet,” the senior HAND officer replied.

  The Mayor looked toward Collin and told him, “Apparently, you're not worth very much to them.”

  C
ollin smiled as much as he could force himself to smile, and said, “Apparently, she's valuable to you.”

  Once again, Collin was punched in the gut as hard as that officer could punch him. This time, after he had doubled over and gasped for air, he stood straight again, and he could feel his shirt clinging to his chest. Looking down, he saw blood soaking through.

  There was a baker, Carl Hitchens, in his base, who rarely had the supplies needed to bake. Officially, he was a assigned to a clothing store. How that happened, Carl neither knew nor cared. He did the job with little thought or effort. The baking happened over the course of several years, with scraps of supplies here and there. Learning to bake was an act of rebellion for that man—maybe the only stand he would ever be able to take. His bread was unlike anything Collin had ever tasted before.

  When Collin thought about the people in his base that night, he didn't think about them crying over him, or trying to plan an attack that would free him. He imagined them as they were when he knew them, and hoped that they had already done whatever grieving they would need to do. He didn't think of himself as a remarkable man, so he didn't expect a year-long period of mourning by everyone who knew him.

  The Mayor checked his watch, mumbled something with the word 'damnit' in it. Then glanced back at Collin. When he saw the blood on Collin's chest, he cringed. After all, the elite did hate to see the mess of hardship up close.

  46

  Justin arrived at the HAND building and took a look at the crowd that had gathered to see Collin Powers executed. There must have been hundreds, if not thousands, of people. It had taken him a while to reach the building, since he couldn't very well show up in a van full of Freedom members. They had to walk all the way from the Garden, splitting up and blending into the crowd along the way.

  Rose was there, somewhere, along with several other Garden members that Justin didn't know very well. It was probably for the best. If anyone was caught, it would do none of them any good to have a full list of members on the scene, along with personal details.