The Undesirable (Undesirable Series)

by Celi, S.

  I hold my lips in a thin line and the action forces Thompson to continue.

  “This place is a safe house,” he says. “The farmer is one of Glenn’s relatives, and his name’s William Morris. His family picked up this place generations ago, and now it’s a cover for the SSR. We stay here on the back 20 acres, and Morris leaves us alone for the most part.”

  I lean forward a little.

  Continue.

  “We own a couple of safe houses, but this one is the closest to the border.”

  “How close to Michigan?”

  “It’s over there.” Thompson stands up and motions for me to join him at the large picture window on the far end of the room. The lush green hills and tall trees of Canada greet us right along with the sun. He points towards a large body of water. “That’s how you get to Michigan. And then from there…” he shrugs.

  “Why can’t I remember any of this?” I study him for a second.

  Thompson reaches down and grabs my left arm. He rotates it and we both regard the bandage on my wrist. He pulls the bandage off my skin. I see a small scab and a bruise.

  “We drugged you,” he says and keeps his voice simple. “We knocked you out a few minutes after you said goodbye to Fostino.”

  “Is he okay?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Thompson does not answer right away. “No way of knowing,” he admits after a long pause. “But we’re sure he’s safer now with you not around. Like I told you before, I think we have some time.”

  Of course. My departure made everyone safer.

  “I still can’t understand this,” I say and my voice hardens. “You must want something from me. I’m not stupid. I know help never comes for free.”

  Outside the bedroom window, Willa and Glenn walk over to the small garden planted forty feet or so from the barn. They carry tools and baskets with them.

  “We do chores here,” Thompson says when he sees where my eyes strayed. “Everyone works together. We work to the same goal.”

  “What is that?”

  “Right now, that goal is protecting you.” Thompson’s eyes narrow. “You’re very valuable to the SSR. Very valuable.”

  “So what do you want me to do for the SSR, since you’ve saved my life?” I snort.

  Jesus. Could I be any blunter?

  “We have a few ideas.” Thompson laughs. “The SSR would love to showcase you safe and sound.” A mischievous smile spreads across his lips.

  I think about Patricia Cooper again with her perfect brown bob and her red suits with the black stripes. I remember all the times I saw her on state television at ribbon cuttings and factory opening days. She has three brown haired sons with Maxwell Cooper. How much do they know? I shudder. They are not only government princes any more. They are my half-brothers — and all under 12.

  “So what—you—um… what?” I reply. “You want to trot me out, put me on some news show or something?”

  “Well, we haven’t decided for sure. We do know we want to blow Maxwell Cooper’s world apart and show everyone his long lost daughter. You’ll help us prove he’s a fraud.” Thompson cups my chin before he continues. “With that face, Charlotte, it’s going to be very exciting to watch what he does when he realizes the SSR and Drew Morgan have you on their side. A secret weapon. An unexpected one. You’ll wake up the people. I know it.”

  “But how will you prove I’m his daughter?” I stammer. “What about the evidence? Any proof?” My mind swims.

  “Oh ye of little faith,” he chides with a grin. His chin-length dreadlocks frame his pearly-white teeth. “The SSR is a vast network. But we do have the proof. We collected and copied it for weeks. We don’t do anything without thinking long and hard about it first.”

  I am not sure if I am ready for a role as the face of the resistance. My thoughts flicker to what I left behind and right away settle on Fostino.

  “It’s almost 11:00 AM.” He takes a few steps towards the hallway. Then he looks at his Hologram Watch and frowns. “We’ve got to go. Target practice.”

  “Target practice?” I blink and then follow him out the door.

  He laughs again. “Ever done a maneuver called the ‘rush and roll’?”

  “No.” I have no idea what he means.

  “Well, come on. You’ve got some things to learn.”

  *

  We walk across the back 20 acres and closer to a small clearing near the creek bed on the farm. As we walk, I smell the crisp sweetness of the deep green grass and the breeze lifts up strands of my hair. I keep a few steps behind Thompson and he walks without acknowledging me or speaking to me.

  When we get to the creek bed, Willa stands about 40 feet from two haystacks with targets on them. She stands next to a gun range and an annoyed sneer covers her face. Thompson breaks the silence with a quick greeting. The annoyance in her face flips to disdain.

  “Hello,” I try.

  “Princess.” She rolls her eyes. Again.

  “Willa’s the best shooter I know.” Thompson does not correct her. He opens a metal box and I see a cache of weapons inside. They glint in the Canadian sun. “Have you ever shot a gun?

  “No.” I regard both of them.

  Willa lets out a sardonic giggle. “Helpless. A helpless little mess.”

  “We’ll teach you,” says Thompson. He hands me a heavy silver Harrington 22 caliber pistol. “Today.”

  The cool metal slides into my hands. I’ve never held a gun before this moment, but I like it. “Is this all you’re going to teach me?” I ask.

  “Of course not,” Thompson snorts. “Rule number one: always keep some form of protection on you. Always.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The next three weeks become an immersion course in guns, survival skills, and information about the “real” world — life outside the walled off life I’d led for 18 years. Willa and the others teach me how to shoot to kill, how to find medicine in the woods, how to make shelter when there is none. My body and my mind change as I learn every day.

  At first, it’s tough. I am not very good at the new routine. I can’t run, I can’t shoot, and I can’t handle a knife during self-defense training. My muscles ache and deep bruises pop out of my skin as my body takes a beating during the exercises. Thompson calls me Butterfingers after I drop the knife a few times, and Willa turns up her nose at my 10:30 pace for a one-mile run. Even so, I am determined to get better and stronger. I must know the truth about the life I left behind.

  Cooper, it turns out, does not hold on to his power very well. They show me articles, video, and photos of the struggle inside The Party. He may be the Supreme Leader, but he has supreme challengers. Thompson and Trina point out the freedoms of Canada, the way they can walk to the store or the gas station without fear of questions or intimidation. Every evening we eat fresh fruit and vegetables from the garden next to the barn. At night, it is quiet outside the room I share with Willa.

  We start every morning with a five-to-eight mile run through the fields of the farm and then up the shoreline to the small town of Amherstburg. There, they tell me how the town played a part in the Underground Railroad of the antebellum era, and how the town has a rich history as a safe haven for freedom.

  “The people here, they understand.” Willa says one morning about two weeks later as I struggle to keep up with her run. “So we chose this place.”

  Along the shoreline, I make out Grosse Isle, MI, some of the homes, and businesses. The ones closest to the water look burned, abandoned, and vacant. None of the boat launches keeps boats anymore. A huge fence with spiral barbed wire lines the west side of that road — a sign to me that The Party has been there, too.

  “So strange,” I say between huffs and steps. “It’s weird to see home from the outside: so constricted
, so damaged.”

  “It is.” Willa nods in between the slaps of her silver running shoes on the pavement. “I thought too, when I first saw it. But the people here, they’ve told us how different things used to be. Even 20 years ago, they used to go back and forth between the borders. They would drive from Detroit over to Windsor, Canada and back again. Only needed a passport. Took five minutes, Wilson said once. I can’t imagine.”

  “How did you get me over here if the border is closed?” My lungs change as we hit mile six of this run. My breaths turn deeper and even. I am getting better at this.

  Willa gives me a sideways look. “You know, The Party’s a little…” She breaks off for a few seconds and thinks of the word. “The Party’s a little distracted.”

  “And?”

  “Well, it means we found holes in the system. And then we found you.” I realize we’re in Northern Amherstburg. “We should turn around,” she orders. A few blocks into the return route, she picks the conversation back up. It is the most she has talked to me on these workouts; it is the least disdainful her tone with me has ever been. “We’ve spent a lot of time figuring out the ways we can infiltrate. The lake helps, and so does the fact that this is a small town.” A conspiratorial smile passes over her lips.

  “I’m sorry about your family.” I decide this is my chance to connect with Willa. “I am. It must have been awful to watch them die like that, to see them murdered right in front of you.”

  “Yes,” Willa says and frowns. We have just one mile left until we reach the farmhouse. “My mother and I were best friends. Sounds like a cliché, but it is true. I hate Maxwell Cooper. I hate what he stands for and what he wants to do.”

  “He killed my mom, too, you know,” I choke out between labored steps. “Well, at least, The Party killed her. They shot her during one of the selections, during The Count, before they made us work at the factory.”

  She stares at me instead of the road. Even though we run fast, her face grows pale.

  “They didn’t tell you that about me?”

  “No,” she says, and I notice her pace slows down with the weight of my news. “They didn’t say that at all. I didn’t know.”

  “Yep.” I add. “I don’t know if he knows she’s dead, or if he even cares. But she is. And it hurts. Well, it hurts me.” I peek behind me, still afraid someone, somehow, has followed me to Canada. No one is there. We round the corner and her voice gets quieter as the run nears its end.

  “I want to destroy Maxwell Cooper,” Willa says after a long moment. “And I will make sure that happens. Believe me.”

  I nod in agreement.

  With each step, I watch the white farmhouse on the SSR’s property come closer into view. The farmhouse gleams and glints in the Canadian summer sun. I wipe the sweat beads on my forehead and decide we had a good run. Morris and Thompson wait for us to return on the front porch. About 40 steps away from the wood porch, I see the cross expression on Thompson’s face and the grave expression on Morris’. I have never spoken to Morris, but I can tell right away that something is wrong. The wrinkles on the old man’s face deepen as we get closer to him.

  Oh God. Not good.

  Willa and I come to a slow stop once we’re in front of the wide wooden steps of the front porch. I put my hands on my hips and narrow my eyes at Morris and Thompson. Willa speaks before I do.

  “What is it?” she demands in between gasps for air.

  Thompson glances from her to me and then back again. “It’s Harrison Corners,” he says after a long moment. “We have some news from there. Not good news.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  My face pulls into a tight line the same second all the muscles in my legs start to shake. I take a deep breath.

  Thompson barrels ahead with his words, as I stand speechless on the walkway. “One of our spies managed to get a message to us,” he exhales. “I’m sure you’re not surprised that The Party searched for you pretty hard for the last few weeks.”

  Fostino.

  I swallow and my tongue expands in the back of my throat. The sun beats down on us while Thompson talks.

  “Of course they can’t find you,” he continues. “So they’re getting pretty angry. Rounding people up. Punishing people. Counts, camps, killings. The whole bit.”

  Fostino.

  I am seconds away from crying, but I hold it back. Instead, I put my hands on my knees and focus on the gravel. Thompson’s next words pulse through my ears even though he keeps his tone of voice even.

  “And there’s more. We have it on good authority they plan to liquidate the whole town in the next three to four days if they don’t find you, Charlotte. No more Harrison Corners.”

  Fostino.

  My stomach churns. My knees tremble. Any second I will collapse onto the gravel rocks.

  What will happen to Fostino? Is he still alive? What about his family? God, why didn’t I tell him the truth? And what about the rest of my hometown?

  “You okay?” he asks in a coarse voice. Wilson walks down the stairs and puts a hand on my back. I shake my head and pull myself upright.

  “No, I’m not okay,” I cry out and it comes out as a shout. “This is not okay. Everyone I know is going to die!” I don’t even bother to wipe the sogginess on my face away. I know my face turns red. I don’t care. The three of them stand there for a few moments.

  “I’m not going to sit here and do nothing,” I insist after a while. “Not if we know this. Not now.”

  Thompson keeps his voice even, steady. “We aren’t doing ‘nothing’. We have people on the inside. You know that. We’re getting the people out of Harrison Corners that we can.”

  “Like who?”

  “Some of our people, of course, and people that we know are sympathetic to us.” Thompson’s eyebrows knit together and he scratches his forehead. “Everything that happened in Harrison Corners since The Party reopened Coleman Athletic has caused some new people to come over to our side.” He crosses his arms across his chest. “In a way, I guess that’s a good thing.”

  “What about Fostino?” I ask.

  “What about him?” Thompson says. He and I stare at each other; in an instant, it’s as if we are the only two people on the farmhouse porch. “He’s a member of the Homeland Guard, right? He’s part of The Party. We don’t save Party members. Especially if a whole town is being eliminated by The Party.”

  Several beats pass. I’m the one to break the silence.

  “We need to save Fostino,” I plead. “We have to go back there and get him out. This is not right. We have to do something!” Then, I take a deep breath. Thompson, Morris, and Willa regard each other. Their blank faces give them away.

  They don’t want to save him.

  “He can’t die.” My voice rises with every word. My anger grows. “No way. Absolutely not. Unacceptable.”

  “It’s unacceptable for us to risk everything on a member of The Party. He’s in the Homeland Guard. We did a check on him when we found out about you. He’s a true believer.”

  I shake my head. “He’s not. I know he’s not.”

  “How do you know that?” asks Willa. I snap my head over to her as I remember that she and the others are hearing every word of this argument. She has folded her arms across her chest, too.

  I look from her to the rest of the group. “He might seem like one, but I know he’s not. He questions things. He’s conflicted. He’s not just going to follow everything The Party says.”

  “When I read his file, he looked pretty much like he wanted to follow The Party.” Thompson shrugs. “So he’s a confused kid. I’m not sure that means we should risk everything.”

  I put my hands on my knees and take a few deep breaths. Then, I summon all the strength inside me to stand up and look at each one of them.
“Look, before I met you all, but after my mother died, I didn’t have anyone. No one.” With each word, my resolve grows stronger. “Fostino took care of me. He broke the rules. He gave me food, found me a safer place to stay, and he worried about me. He didn’t ask for anything in return. No one ever did something like for me. Not my mother. Not anyone.” By the time I say the last sentences, the words don’t scare me. “He loved me. He showed me what love really is. You can’t tell me someone like that is a true believer.”

  “Okay. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, he does come with over to our side. What about his parents, and his sister?” Thompson breaks the trio’s silence. “Her name’s Farrah, right? What about them? That’s a lot of people.”

  I grit my teeth and take a few purposeful steps toward the porch. After I walk up the stairs, I take a moment to meet them all in the eyes. I’m determined. I have to save Fostino. I will save Fostino.

  I love him.

  “I know you want me to join the SSR and I wanted to, too, but I won’t do it unless we go back. We have to go back for Fostino. At least. I’ll go back alone to get him and his family if I have to. I have to warn them.” I walk in the house and slam the wooden front door before I hear their reply.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Trina darkens the doorframe to my room about an hour later. I have taken a place on the sparse twin bed where I count the tiles on the floor. I know its Trina because her silver slip-on shoes enter my peripheral vision. She sits down on the bed beside me even though I don’t acknowledge her. I’ve cried so much in the last hour I can’t cry anymore. I sniffle and try to count the wooden boards on the floor underneath the rug.