Rebels

by Jill Williamson

Ciddah walked over to the nonfiction books. Tova just stood there in the middle of the room, holding a book, but Shaylinn couldn’t see the title. Shaylinn turned and wandered to the fiction section. Oh, they had Jane Austen books! Jemma would have been so excited about that.

  “I’ve been meaning to apologize to you,” Tova said.

  Shaylinn looked over her shoulder at Tova. “Really? What for?”

  “My husband was not pleased that your people left the school and so soon. I should have tried to mend the argument. And I did not speak kindly to you, either.”

  Well, that was nice of her to say. “I’m sure our being here is difficult for you.” It was difficult for all of them.

  “Yes,” Tova said, “but it is good too. It will be, anyway. Once your people understand what’s at stake and agree to our terms, you can apply to become Kindred. Did you know that?”

  “No.” But why would they want to? The Kindred wanted to stay underground forever. Who could agree with such terms?

  “We should have started there, I think,” Tova said. “If we teach you what it means to be one of us, you can choose to be cleansed.”

  Cleansed? As if Shaylinn were dirty? Inferior? Was she referring to the biblical baptism? But that was done between a person and God. Who did the Kindred think they were to have the power to clean any person? “But why must we conform to your ways? We have no intention of staying here.”

  Tova laughed. “You are in denial, I think. It’s not possible to leave this place, unless you are a man looking to bring back food.”

  “What about the rebels?” Ciddah asked. “They come and go.”

  Tova’s face went stony. “To rebel against our safety here is to rebel against Providence. Our home is a gift. We were chosen to live here, free and away from the evils above. Those who leave are not welcomed back.”

  “But isn’t Ruston, your own husband, one of them?” The leader, if Shaylinn wasn’t mistaken.

  “My husband, Shane, speaks with the rebels, but he takes no part in their schemes. He helps where he can but does not put himself in harm’s way.”

  Yet Ruston had gone with Levi and Mason the night they’d freed the children. And according to Jemma, he’d also gone out to help Omar and Mason borrow the invisible suits. Could Tova not know? Shaylinn didn’t dare get in the middle of this woman and her husband’s communication problems, so she tried to end the conversation. “Well, thank you for apologizing, but I still don’t think we will be attending your school or participating in your Kindred cleansing.”

  Tova raised an eyebrow. “In time you will, Shayleen. Or you will be asked to leave. We will not tolerate anyone living here who refuses to seek the truth.”

  “What truth? Yours?” Ciddah said. “Truth to you may not be truth to me.”

  “There is only one truth,” Shaylinn said. “If truth is what each of us believed, and we each believe differently, there would be no such thing as truth. Truth stands against what is false. If there is no true and false, light and dark, right and wrong, then there is nothing to guide human morality.”

  Tova and Ciddah were staring at Shaylinn, but this topic always annoyed her, so she pressed on. “I know what you’re thinking: to each her own, right? Well, I’m tired of such nonsense. The world isn’t filled with endless pleasure. There’s evil in this world, and it’s real. There’s evil in our hearts, and it’s real. You may deny that, but I won’t. So if you want our people to swallow your truth, Tova, you’ll have to back it up with the Bible. Because I won’t take authority from your feelings on what’s right or wrong. Feelings change. Truth does not. And my authority comes from my Creator. Anyone else, and it’s nothing more than each man’s pleasure.”

  “You speak in riddles, Shayleen,” Tova said. “But I accept your challenge. I’ll use the Bible to show you truth.”

  “I look forward to seeing your claim,” Shaylinn said.

  Tova left the library.

  Shaylinn felt as if she’d been attacked. What right did that woman have to judge her? She had hurt no one. Still, this was their home, and they had shared it freely with the outsiders.

  “You really believe in one truth for everyone?” Ciddah asked.

  “It depends on the statement,” Shaylinn said. “If I say, ‘Spinach is disgusting,’ you may disagree, and that’s a matter of opinion. But if I say, ‘Ciddah does not exist,’ you know that is false, since there you stand. On the important things, there is only one truth.”

  “You sound like Mason,” Ciddah said. “He loves to argue about such things.”

  “I hate to argue, actually,” Shaylinn said. “But I can’t stand by and let someone hurt another. And the Kindred are hurting people with their ‘truths.’ Zane, for one. They’ve appointed themselves judges over people’s behavior. If I can convince Tova that the Kindred truths come from fear and their desire to control behavior, then I might truly have a purpose in this place.”

  “I’d like to see how you convince her, if you don’t mind,” Ciddah said. “Mason talked about the Bible, and I’m curious what you all think is so great about it.”

  “We believe it’s the Word of God, who is somewhat like what you call Fortune, but also very different.” Shaylinn located a section in the library that was filled with Bibles, and she looked through them until she found one that had wordings she was familiar with. She gave Ciddah a similar one. “If you want to know what Mason believes, you’ll find it in here.”

  Then Shaylinn found some picture books for the children and Ciddah found a book about herbal medicine, and they left.

  The library entrance was only two doors away from Levi’s house, but Shaylinn had to walk Ciddah back to Jordan’s home, which was farther down and around a corner. As they rounded that bend, a man was coming toward them. Though it seemed silly, Shaylinn panicked. Cold fear trickled up her spine and down her arms, pooled in her belly. The interaction with Tova had taken all her effort. She didn’t want to have a run-in with a Kindred man too. She stepped closer to Ciddah, which gave her a bit more comfort, until she recognized the man. It was Nash. Ruston and Tova’s eldest son. Oh, good.

  Nash stopped and smiled at them both. He looked like Zane in the shape of his face and the color of his eyes, though Zane often dyed his hair strange colors like blue and orange. Nash’s hair was a natural brown, as were his eyes. He was a few inches taller than Zane, though Shaylinn remembered that Nash was the elder of the two.

  “Hello,” he said. “We’ve not officially met. I’m Katz, though you probably know me as Nash.”

  “Yes, hello,” Shaylinn said. “This is Ciddah, and I’m Shaylinn.”

  “Do you prefer to be called Katz?” Ciddah asked.

  He shrugged. “I answer to both, though don’t call me Nash when my mother is around.” He raised his eyebrows, flashing his eyes wide as if to hint at the danger such a mistake might lead to.

  “I don’t think your mother likes me,” Shaylinn said. “Any of us, actually.”

  “She’s afraid. If enforcers were to find this place, it would be the end of our way of life.”

  Shaylinn knew that was true, but it didn’t seem like an excuse to be judgmental. Nash/Katz wasn’t being judgmental. He was very friendly. “Do you like living here?”

  “I like being free from all the Safe Lands regulations. But I like the breeze too, and the feel of my feet in the bottom of Lake Joie, and the sun shining on my skin. And I like watching birds fly. They get down here sometimes and flutter about until one of us takes them to the dumpsters and helps them out before they die. I guess I’m like the birds: I know that this isn’t where I was created to live.”

  “That’s very wise,” Shaylinn said. “Do you go to the school?”

  “I’m twenty.”

  “Oh.” He didn’t look that old to Shaylinn, but Zane was eighteen and Nash was older, so . . .

  “Is twenty bad?” Nash asked, wincing slightly with a cute expression.

  “Not at all. You look younger, that’s all.”
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  He smiled, had a nice smile too. “You look older than . . . fourteen, right?”

  “Fifteen in another month.” Why had she said that? Did it really matter?

  “Almost a grown woman,” Nash said. “With me looking younger than twenty and you looking older than fourteen, we’re almost the same age.”

  The comment made Shaylinn blush, and she suddenly felt uncomfortable again. “We should go.” She looked at Ciddah, whose eyes widened, as if getting Shaylinn’s hint.

  Ciddah smiled at Nash. “Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye,” Nash said.

  And they hurried on. Shaylinn looked back over her shoulder. Nash was standing in the corridor, watching them. “He’s watching us.”

  Ciddah looked over her shoulder. “He likes you.”

  Shaylinn almost tripped over her own feet. “Me? Why?”

  “Why not?”

  Shaylinn all but ran the rest of the way to Jordan’s house, eager to put a door between her and Nash. She didn’t know why she’d wanted to get away. But Nash had made her uncomfortable. And now she missed Omar more than ever.

  CHAPTER

  10

  Omar stood in front of the incinerator, feeding dead chickens into it one at a time. He wasn’t supposed to let it burn with the door open, but he liked the heat on his face and the way the feathers shriveled into flame and ash. Some of the smaller feathers didn’t burn right away, but danced around in the hot air above the flames, the heat making them float.

  It reminded him of a story Jemma had once told the children, about a balloon that flew through the sky and carried people. He remembered the debate Mason had gotten into with Uncle Colton when the older man had mocked the story as impossible. Mason had disagreed, said that hot air was lighter than cold air, or some such scientific answer. Omar didn’t understand it, but he wondered if such a thing might help the Owl fly again.

  The Owl. He should forget all about such fantasies. The Owl was dead. As was Omar. The sooner he resigned himself to that, the better. Hope was deceitful. Hope was for fools.

  Yet he watched the feathers fly, wondering. For hope was also tenacious.

  When his shift ended for the day, he trudged along with the other strikers to the strikers’ exit. There was segregation in this place. Strikers’ bunkhouses and residences, strikers’ exits, strikers’ restrooms. There were even some restaurants, shops, and clubs that prohibited strikers from entering. They were filth here. Criminals. Failures. Like they hadn’t all been duped by the Safe Lands government. If only the Owl could fly over that wall and tell the truth to the people.

  Liberation wasn’t death, but it was a prison sentence, even for “reputables.”

  Outside the gate, Omar headed for the cafeteria in his residence. He’d decided to spare one credit a day for a meal. Eating out of the trash was too low, and Omar felt low enough as it was. He staggered across the street to the sidewalk that would lead to the striker cafeteria, and a man stepped in his path. A large man in orange. Omar made eye contact with him and was startled to find a pair of dark eyes already fixed on his.

  Omar stepped aside and muttered, “Excuse me.”

  But the man turned and walked with him. “You Omar?”

  Omar stopped walking. “Who wants to know?”

  “Tamera of Elias.”

  The words froze time. His mother’s name? Omar’s mouth opened, and it took him a moment to formulate a reply. “You know my mother?”

  “She tasks in sector one. Wants to see you.”

  His mother was alive?

  “Come with me,” the man said.

  Omar nodded dumbly and followed the man. “How do you know her? And how did you find me? How did you even know to look for me?”

  “I live in the sector five bunkhouse with your brother Mason. He told us you were here. As to how I found you, that’s my business.”

  Sure.

  “But how do you know my mother?”

  “I first saw her in a café. A man started choking and she helped him. I’d tasked as a medic for years, so I recognized her medical training and decided to strike up a conversation. That’s how we met.”

  Which only left Omar with more questions. “When did this happen?”

  “The end of June. I’d been here for just a few days when we met. And she hadn’t been here long before me.”

  That fit the timeline.

  His mother was alive!

  “Why does she want to see me?” Omar had enough problems. He didn’t need to add motherly lectures to that list.

  “Your mother loves you. Isn’t that reason enough?”

  “How could she? After everything I’ve done?”

  “How badly do you want an answer to that question?”

  Omar stopped walking. “This is my punishment. I deserve to be here. But my mother doesn’t. And Mason doesn’t. Seeing them . . . It will only make me feel worse. Tell them I’m sorry.” And he turned to walk away.

  But the man grabbed Omar’s arm, his grip squeezing to the bone. “I’m not asking if you want to come, boy. You’ll come. And you’ll be respectful. You hear me?”

  The man had such intensity that Omar could only say, “Yes, sir.”

  The man shook Omar’s arm. “You going to walk on your own, or do I have to drag you?”

  “I can walk fine.” But the fright had unnerved him. That, coupled with his fatigue from a long day’s work in the pen, brought on the shakes. And he’d left his new PV at home where it wouldn’t be vaped all at once.

  The man released his arm and nudged Omar to a nearby bench. “Hey, take a seat.”

  Omar sat.

  The man stood over him, looking down. “What’s your juice?”

  “Brown sugar.”

  “Walls, boy. Best to let go, okay? Don’t go looking to find more. I’ve worked with a lot of addicts. The good news is, it’s hard to get the stuff. So that’ll help you get clean.”

  Omar looked at his shoes. The thought of losing his PV was more than he could bear. He wouldn’t tell this man about the PV or Rain or the deal he’d made with her or what he’d already done. It would be his secret. He’d had to ration the vial of brown sugar she’d given him. But one vape a morning wasn’t enough to keep the shakes from coming late in the day. He needed to earn more, but he really didn’t want to do it Rain’s way.

  “I know,” the man said, “you don’t want to get clean. But you’ll be happy when you do. Trust me.”

  When his strength returned, he followed the man into Cibelo. “Who are you, anyway?”

  “My name is Richark Lonn. Most people call me Lonn.”

  “No way! The rebel leader? We saw you get liberated!”

  “That’s right kid. And the rebels haven’t stopped fighting.”

  Really? Omar hadn’t thought there was a way to fight from down here. He wondered what Lonn had meant by that. Was it a chance for the Owl to soar again?

  Lonn opened the door to a diner and held it, motioning Omar to enter first. He stepped inside, thankful for the cool air-conditioning.

  “Omar!” Mason stood from a table in the back and strode toward Omar, smiling. He gripped Omar’s shoulders and squeezed. “Come on.” He pulled Omar back to his table, but their mother had stood and was already running toward them.

  She met them halfway and embraced Omar, squeezed him. She smelled vaguely like some kind of stimulant, though he couldn’t name it. Behind her, Shanna and his aunt Janie stood beside the table, staring at him.

  Tears flooded his eyes. He was guilty. They all thought so. And he couldn’t deny it. Their husbands were dead because of him. And they were in this place because of him.

  His mother kissed his ear, his cheek, his forehead, then pulled back and took hold of his cheeks and really looked him over. She looked well. Healthy. Her eyes were filled with tears, some of which had already spilled down her cheeks. She was tanned, as if she’d been working outdoors every day all summer long. “My son,” she said.

  Omar shook h
is head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  She took his hand and pulled him toward the table. “Sit here.” She pushed him into the booth. There were white paper placemats on the table and Omar longed for a chance to draw on them, the first paper he’d seen in days. “Shanna? Will you order Omar a chicken dinner? Chicken was always his favorite.”

  “Not chicken,” Omar said. “I’m working in the slaughterhouse now and . . .”

  “Say no more,” Mother said. “What would you like to eat?”

  He was tempted to ask for a salad, which was the only meal he could think of that might be created in a way that wasn’t horrifying. But he was too hungry for lettuce. “Is there soup? Tomato, maybe? And some bread rolls?”

  “I’ll ask,” Shanna said.

  Aunt Janie slid into the booth across from him. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “How are you, Omar?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “Is it bad in your bunkhouse?” Mason asked.

  Omar frowned at his brother. “Not really. I’m in the residence, though. You’re in the bunkhouse?”

  “The liberator told me Renzor wanted the worst for me,” Mason said.

  What did that mean? “Is it that bad?”

  “Yes,” Mason said. “But thankfully Lonn is there to act as my guardian angel.”

  “God is looking out for us, still,” Mother said. “Don’t give me that look, Omar. I have seen things you wouldn’t believe. God has not abandoned us. In fact, I think he brought us here.”

  “What?” Omar couldn’t believe it. “Why would you say that?” Omar’s selfishness had brought them here. Nothing else.

  “These people are trapped,” Mother said. “But we came and reminded them that there’s something else out there. Hope.”

  There it was again: hope. It was haunting him. Omar wanted to say, “Hope for what?” but he held his tongue. He didn’t want to fight.

  Shanna returned with a bowl of red liquid and a plate of bread. She set it before Omar, then sat next to Aunt Janie.

  “Thanks,” Omar said, tearing off the end of the bread and dunking it in his soup. He bit into it, and the warmth and tartness of the soup was delicious.