by Hannah Ross
Wes thought for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, then. We'll do it in the clearing over there. You had better stay here, keep the kid away. Come and help me, Harry."
As the smell of smoke and burning flesh reached her nostrils, Priscilla suppressed the urge to gag again. So this is what hell smells like. Unbidden, unbearable, the thought rose once more. How easy it would have been to get legal status for Ben and Ian. To keep them safe. To live quietly, untroubled. The temptation to do it without consulting Ben was almost too great to resist, especially now that danger sneered in her face, cruel and merciless and deadly. But what about all the rest? Ben's camp. The refugees given experimental vaccines in the Registry camps. The exploited and abused laborers in Pollution Zone C. Who'll protect them? Who'll speak up for them?
She experienced a fresh resurgence of determination, of knowing she had to do whatever she could to make things better. Not just for her, not just for Ben, but for everyone.
It was another stage in her journey. The teenage girl who picked up a backpack and stole away from Silver Oaks turned into a woman who chose to live with her husband beyond the Boundary rather than try and coax him into the life of ease and plenty she had been used to. It made her happy, yes, but this wasn't about doing what would make her happy. It was about doing what was right. And Priscilla knew that even should the unthinkable happen, even if she never saw Ben again, they both made the right choice.
* * *
They were approaching an area where the roads, though old and unrepaired, were in better condition, and using them sped up the little party's progress. They figured that if a government vehicle chanced to go down the road, they would hear the engine from afar, which would leave them enough time to get away.
When the unmistakable rumble was heard that morning, and the travelers made to swerve aside, they saw a stirring behind a thick clump of bushes, and a group of government soldiers poured out into the road behind them, their guns ready, while the vehicle got closer and closer from the front. They were trapped.
"Stop!" a soldier called. "Stop right there, in the name of the law! And show your IDs, now!"
Priscilla, Harry and Wes exchanged panicking glances. They knew just how serious this was. They were only a few moments away from being grabbed and shoved into a Registry camp, and there was no way they could fight against an ambush of a dozen armed soldiers.
"Your IDs and passes," the soldier demanded. "What, you don't have any? Just as I thought. You're Illegals, aren't you? Well, let us just escort you to the Registry, where you can obtain some documents. Going without is punishable now, you know."
Priscilla knew she had no choice. Plunging her hand into an inner pocket, she retrieved what she often hated herself for having, and hoped she wouldn't have to use. She flipped it open and shoved it right under the nose of the soldier.
His eyes widened with astonishment as he looked from her to the framed little card. "I..." He licked his lips. "I'm afraid I don't quite... a Golden Pass?"
Priscilla nodded. "That's right. And I trust you can read."
"Yes… I… you… Miss Dahl, I did think you looked familiar, but I never… I wouldn't expect to meet—"
"I have reasons of my own for traveling incognito," she said with an air of importance, breaking off his half-coherent mumblings. "I insist that you get out of my way now and leave us be."
The soldier could not nod fast enough. "Certainly, Miss Dahl. Certainly. But, please excuse me. Your companions. Their IDs must be screened as well. It's the protocol."
Priscilla frowned, trying to look as formidable as possible. "We have no time for this nonsense. I need to move forward with my escorts. I appreciate your cooperation. Now move aside."
The soldier struggled, evidently torn between the regulations and the authority of Priscilla Dahl and her Golden Pass. The awe of authority won. He touched his cap to Priscilla.
"Good journey, Miss Dahl. Be careful. There are some Illegals out there."
Priscilla and the men moved forward, deliberately not hurrying until the patrol was left well behind. Then they stopped. Priscilla let out a long breath. Wes wiped his sweaty brow. Harry looked sick again.
"Do you think they were the ones who shot those men back there?" he asked in a strained whisper.
"I don't know, Harry," Wes said. "But I know they would have shot us without a second thought if it weren't for us traveling in this company." He glanced at Priscilla.
Priscilla hugged Ian to reassure him. The little boy, sensing the tension, had been unusually quiet throughout the entire exchange with the government scouts. "Look, we'll be getting close to Resurrection Town soon and we'll have to split up. I'll explain to you how you can get to where my in-laws live, and you can deliver this letter from me. They will give you some directions on how to find the Resistance fighters. You might even meet some of them at Daniel and Rebecca's."
Soon it was time to part. "Good luck," Priscilla said to Wes and Harry. "Kick those bastards in the rear... but be careful."
"We will be," Wes nodded. "After what we've seen, we have no wish to act cocky. You know what I mean?"
18
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Being back in the Urban Islands was strange. It was so different from the limitless open air of the mountains, the coziness of their small isolated cabin, even the familiar narrow streets of Resurrection Town. But strangest of all was that she could not tell anyone in the family she was in the area; not her mother, not Stephanie, not even Aunt Daphne. Instead, Priscilla knocked on the door of the little apartment where Tilly lived.
"Prissy!" Tilly's dark face registered surprise, shock, and happiness. On her last visit, Priscilla told the woman who raised her that she wouldn't agree to be called "Miss Prissy" anymore. "What are you doing here? I'm so relieved. When you left so soon last time, and we started hearing rumors of terrible things happening outside the Boundary..." Her head shook.
Priscilla nodded, sinking into a rickety chair. "Being around my family, I couldn't help hearing something about what awaits the unregistered ones. I had to get away at once and do my best to warn the Freeborn. They're being treated like chattel now, Tilly. Sent to work in dangerous zones, kept under inhuman conditions. I wish I could do more than I'm doing. I'm only putting some plaster on wounds. Ben is out there, fighting for the Freeborn. And I know I could not love him if he hadn't been that kind of man, but when I think I might never see him again..." Priscilla covered her face with her hands and mumbled something incoherent, to the distress of Ian, who began to whimper.
"Mama, Mama!" he said, tugging on Priscilla's hand to pry it away and peek at her face. Tilly patted her on the back.
"Pull yourself together, Prissy. I know you didn't come here to cry, so why don't you tell me what you're up to? And you, little one, come here. Come with Aunt Tilly and have some cake. Gosh, doesn't he look more and more like you did when you were little!" Tilly beamed at the toddler, taking him by his soft little hand. "I have to push down the waterworks, now. Can't be overwhelmed by memories," she added, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her apron.
"I think Ian looks more like Ben," said Priscilla, wiping her eyes. "You said so yourself before."
"In the coloring, maybe, but he has just your expression. And your spirit, too, I can tell. He's a brave little one, aren't you, Ian?"
Priscilla rose, walked over to Tilly, and put her arms around her old nurse's thick waist. As always, Tilly felt soft, warm and comforting. Priscilla rested her cheek against the older woman's shoulder. "You've always understood me better than anyone else."
"That I have," Tilly agreed, stroking her hair.
"And I know you'll understand me now. I'll tell you everything. I'm only going to remain in the Boundary a few days, and I need a place to stay. I won't give you any trouble, I promise."
"You never have," she said, with a wistful smile. "But it does seem sad that you've come here and won't even tell your family, or see them."
"I can
't stay in their houses or eat at their tables, Tilly. My parents, Stephanie, Uncle Andrew, even Aunt Daphne have their luxurious houses and fancy furniture and private cars because other people are condemned to a dreary, hopeless existence. They have no scruples about making others sick, even killing them, so they can be healthy and lead privileged lives. Even when we were girls, Stephanie and I had your time and attention at the expense of your own children."
"No, honey, no. That was different. I was employed, and paid well, and Mrs. Dahl always treated me decent –”
"Still, there were some things that just didn't seem right. People in my family and others are downright evil and I'm going to do whatever I can to stop them, even if it isn't much."
* * *
She didn't set up a meeting with Linda and Troy in Tilly's apartment. It was too risky, and Priscilla already felt pangs of guilt for even implicating Tilly by staying with her. So the next night, after she put Ian to sleep and received Tilly's assurance of watching over the child, she slipped on a dark hooded sweater and walked down shady alleys and narrow streets blazing with cheap neon signs to the place where the two disfavored reporters were supposed to meet her.
The shady little bar was dark, crowded, and filled with cigarette smoke. People at the bar vied for refills of drinks, with service given in preference to those who hollered loudest. Cheap, catchy music blared in the background. Nobody paid Priscilla the slightest bit of attention. She looked around with a fleeting curiosity for this watering place, so different from both the dignified cocktail parties of her birth circle and the freeform celebrations in Ben's camp or on his parents' farm, where creative homemade brew flowed plentifully. She pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind when she noticed a slender woman get up and wave in her direction. She recognized Linda from Kate's description.
When she reached the table, Linda smiled and said, "There you are. Sorry for the place. Not very glam, I know, but we had to choose something nondescript. Do you want a drink, or shall we go now?"
Priscilla gave a nervous shake of her head. "Better go at once."
Linda nodded, hoisting her large handbag. "Come on, Troy, finish your beer. We're going." Troy gulped down the remaining contents of his tankard and slid out from the booth.
* * *
Linda and Troy occupied a small, sparsely furnished apartment which they rented under a fake ID. Priscilla stared at the yellowing wallpaper with its garish flowery pattern, and felt an involuntary shudder of disgust. I can't imagine living my life in a dark and dingy place like this.
"So, this is easy," Linda said, leading her to a tall, rickety chair in the middle of the room. "You sit here... and start talking. About all of it. All the things you overheard, listening in to your father's conferences with Pearson."
Priscilla's legs suddenly felt they were made of rubber. "I'm afraid this is going to turn into incoherent mumbo-jumbo. I haven't even made any notes."
"Don't worry. We can edit the whole thing later. What we need is material to work with. As much as you can give us."
Priscilla nodded and sat down on the chair. Troy's camera, fixed on her face, made her want to duck aside. She never did take kindly to cameras, which were more of a thing for Stephanie. Her throat suddenly felt like parchment. "I think I might have a drink after all."
"Sure," Linda said, walking over to an old, faintly buzzing refrigerator and rummaging inside. "What will you have? A beer? Coke? Orange juice?"
Priscilla drained the whole glass of juice in one go and nodded. "I'm ready," she said, looking straight at the camera while Troy fiddled with it.
"Fire away, sugar," Linda said.
"My name is Priscilla Dahl, and my father used to be the president of the United States. Or, to be exact, what was left of them. I grew up in a bubble of luxury and riches. I had everything money could buy. But very early on, I realized my father was not the kind of leader our country needs. He was corrupt. He was greedy. He was unprincipled and cruel. And so was the entire administration of the White Tower."
When she was done talking, she took a glimpse at the clock on the wall and, with great surprise, realized more than an hour and a half elapsed without her noticing. Troy looked tired but pleased. Linda was nodding in satisfaction.
"This is absolutely fantastic," she said, patting Priscilla on the shoulder. "I'm afraid you won't be very popular with your family once this comes out, though."
Priscilla shrugged. "I'm not much of a favorite with the Dahls and the Van Wullens anyway. Where are you going to run this?"
"On a bunch of websites at once," Troy said. "They'll try to block some of them, of course, but they can't shut down the entire Web. And the harder they try to ban this video, the more eager people will be to watch it."
* * *
When Priscilla got back to Tilly's place, Ian was still asleep.
"Perfect little angel," Tilly said with great satisfaction. "He woke once and called for you, but I rocked him and sang to him a bit and he went right back to sleep. He seems to like old Tilly alright."
"Who wouldn't?" Priscilla said with a warm smile as she patted Tilly on the shoulder. She went to look at the sleeping child, his brown curls strewn across his pillow, but she couldn't stand still. She flipped open her laptop, and began rotating through the websites where she knew her video would appear.
Tilly was puzzled. "Why are you so twitchy, Prissy?"
Priscilla couldn't bring herself to explain, though. Not until her heart leapt when she saw the new window on a website. She clicked it and watched herself, looking strangely impassive, say, "My name is Priscilla Dahl..."
Tilly watched the video with her, open-mouthed. "This... this is what you went away to do, Prissy? Tell all those things you've overheard years ago?"
Priscilla nodded. "You think it was a mistake?"
Tilly shook her head. "No, I just... I didn't know they were so... so shameless about it all. The poor children they sent out to live or die. And those people who were told lies so they wouldn't attempt to have babies. Why did they do it?" She looked like she might cry. "Who are they to decide who's good enough to live and who isn't? Oh, Prissy, honey, I'm sorry you grew up hearing it all. I do wonder if Miss Stephy…"
Priscilla shook her head. "No. Stephanie never cared to know what Father and Frederick Pearson and Uncle Andrew are talking about in the office. She thought it was too boring. She probably still does. Who cares if people are dying, exploited by the Van Wullen Enterprises?"
They were watching the video for the third time when the website unexpectedly crashed. Priscilla sat up straight, heart hammering. Could it be? She reached for her phone.
Linda's voice was strained with excitement. "They're on to it! Too late, though. We have it spread over hundreds of websites. It will take them hours to get rid of them all. And we've already had hundreds of downloads! People are going to pass this video along, even if it can't be found online anywhere. They can't stop it now."
It was very late at night. Priscilla closed her eyes, exhausted. She almost felt as if she could hear the buzzing of social media, the indignant exclamations of people: "They've lied to us for so long. They've always exploited us. Why shouldn't we believe people are dying now, falling victims to experimental vaccines, or to impossible work conditions in polluted regions? We want the truth. Let us hear the truth about our government so we can make an informed choice for once."
I know my brother-in-law's tactics. Ned has even less subtlety than father did. He'll try to brutally repress those who dare to question his regime. He'll try to stomp on anyone who might pose a threat to his winning the next election. But he can't win this, though. Banned websites and blocked accounts will only make people more eager to get to the information they're trying to suppress. Tracking emails will make people more ingenious in sharing the video. It will go viral. Every person within the Boundary will see it.
Priscilla smiled in the darkness, though she felt like crying. I've done my part. Now we'll just have to wait.
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19
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Ned Thornton gnashed his teeth so hard it was a wonder they didn't splinter. "How dare she go over to the side of this trash and start slinging mud at her own family! Isn't it enough that she threw everything away and went to live with that good-for-nothing hobo? I swear, Steph, if she weren't your sister I'd have her taken care of the usual way."
Stephanie tore her eyes away from the screen with great difficulty. "I had no idea Dad and Frederick Pearson discussed these things in the house. I always wondered what Prissy found so interesting about hanging outside Daddy's office door."
"You mean you knew she was eavesdropping and didn't do anything?" Ned sounded extremely annoyed.
"Now, Ned," Andrew Van Wullen said. "This isn't Stephanie's fault. She and Priscilla were just kids growing up in the same house, with the same upbringing, too. This just goes to show there's a bad apple in every family."
"Yes, yes," Ned said, seething with impatience. "But the question is, what are we going to do about it? We've already pulled the video down from every website and have a social media alert going on, but it seems this just makes people all the more eager to share the damn thing. Yesterday we arrested twenty people at an illegal screening in someone's slum apartment."
"You're going about this the wrong way, Ned. If you put all your efforts into repressing this ridiculous video, it makes people think you're afraid. It gives the impression you have something to hide."
"Well, but you do, don't you?" Stephanie said, giving her uncle a sharp look.
Andrew shook his head. "You know how it goes, Stephanie. People demand absolute transparency in return for their votes. They think they're entitled to know everything. But that's an illusion. There are some considerations only those in charge can properly weigh. Running a country isn't a reality show."
"So, in other words, there are some things you don't want people to know."