Rebels

by Jill Williamson

  The one with the SimScanner read his SimTag again. “He’s got nine credits.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Strikers don’t get paid much, but that’s pathetic. You spend it all on that fancy outfit?”

  “I thought you were going to take me to the RC or something,” Omar said.

  “Oh, you want to go to the RC, is that it? Someone back in the bunkhouse have you scared?”

  “No. I just thought that’s what happens.”

  “What’s your address, shell?”

  Omar didn’t say anything.

  “Stupid, stubborn strikers.”

  The other chortled. “Say that three times fast.”

  The enforcer used his SimScanner again. “Sector six. Strikers’ Residence. 318. Cohabs are Vita, Jeorn, Arling . . . Prav.” He grinned. “Oh, yes. It’s Prav who’s got you scared, I bet.”

  “Then let’s take him to Prav.”

  “What? No! I missed curfew, and the liberator told me I’d have to see the warden.”

  But the enforcers didn’t care. They dragged Omar to the strikers’ residence and right up to the door to his room.

  Where Prav was waiting.

  “Missing someone?” the enforcer said.

  “Yes, actually,” Prav said. “I’ve been waiting for the little guy.”

  “You want to do it out here?” the enforcer asked.

  “Do what?” Omar said. He caught sight of Kurwin’s wincing expression through the cracked open door.

  Prav held out his hand. “I would, thanks.”

  “Do what?” Omar asked. “Prav, what’s this about, peer?”

  The second enforcer used his SimScanner on Prav’s hand, and Prav walked out into the hallway. His SimAlarm didn’t go off for being out of his room after curfew. Why not? Omar swallowed as the door fell closed.

  “Prav, come on, peer. I just can’t do it, okay? I tried but . . .” Omar tried to pull away from the enforcer. He pushed. Grabbed at the man’s hands and pried his clamped fingers open. Just as he slipped free, Prav grabbed Omar’s shoulder, turned him, and his fist shot out and struck Omar’s jaw.

  Omar’s head jerked back like bone breaking. Throbbing fire engulfed his face. He stumbled against the wall and grabbed it to keep from falling.

  Once his footing was steady, he palmed his jaw. Okay . . . nothing seemed broken. He glanced up.

  Prav was staring down, a sneer on his face. “You don’t get off that easy.”

  Omar lifted his arm to block his face, and Prav’s fist rammed into his stomach. Omar groaned and doubled over, hugging his gut. He gasped for breath, but had barely managed to inhale when Prav struck him again, this time in the side. Omar tottered, off balance, and fell on the floor. The cold tile felt nice on his cheek but stank of urine and bleach at the same time.

  Why did the enforcers just stand there? And why did no one watching through the yellow cameras come to help?

  “You’re pathetic,” Prav said. “Aren’t you even going to try to fight back?”

  “Do what . . . you have to.” Omar choked in a breath. “I’m not working for Rain again.”

  “If you insist.” Prav grabbed Omar’s sleeve and dragged him into the middle of the hallway. “Why don’t you give me a hand with this, peers.”

  The three men beat him with their fist and feet until every inch of him had been bruised or jabbed or clawed or kicked. Without mercy, they showered him with blows. He curled into a ball and tried to make himself smaller, but that didn’t end the pain.

  At some point he awoke. He was being carried through the door of his room. The enforcers had his legs, Prav the underside of his arms. They pushed him up onto his bunk and left him there. The door opened and closed. Then the lights went off.

  Omar lay in the darkness, listening to his own choked breaths and Prav settling into his bunk. He dared not move. His body felt like someone had peeled off the skin and rubbed salt over his rawness. He burned. He ached. Something was bleeding. He was pretty sure he was dying.

  Why die in pain when he could fly?

  Though his muscles protested, he reached up inside his pillowcase and found his PV and the vial of brown sugar he’d earned last week talking to Cacia. He couldn’t see, but he’d done this enough that he didn’t need light. He popped out the nearly empty vial of grass and replaced it with the brown sugar.

  He couldn’t take it all in one breath, but two should do the trick. Then it would all be over. His hand was shaking as he lifted the PV to his lips.

  Good-bye, Shay-Shay.

  His first vape was long. He breathed the juice all the way into his toes. He held his breath through the nausea, waiting for it to carry him into the blissful warmth. The rush had never been as good as that first time, but when it finally came, it melted all the pain off his body. He was safe in this place. Nothing hurt here.

  A flash of white mist formed around him, so thick he couldn’t see past the edge of his bed. Above, the ceiling sparkled and glitter began to rain down. He closed his eyes and he was driving his old motorcycle down the forest road toward Glenrock. Going home. The sky was white above stark branches. Suddenly the road was covered in snow.

  Up ahead, a man was standing on the road. Not a man, but a face. A giant face twice as big as Omar was tall. It was God’s face, he somehow knew, frowning, daring Omar to stand before him and be judged. A path branched off the road and Omar steered the motorcycle onto it, leaving God behind him.

  Something clumped on the floor across the room. He opened his eyes and found himself still shrouded in white mist. His bed shook. Someone was climbing up. No! He would do this his way. His heart fluttered, and he vaped another long drag.

  As he clenched against the nausea, the white mist darkened to gray. Then black. Smoky tendrils drifted toward him, coiled around his legs and arms, his waist. He thought about his motorcycle again, closed his eyes, tried to picture the road in the forest.

  The tingling came, and he was riding again down the dark road. Something was racing him, trying to fly past him. An owl? It was big and black. Not a bird. It had arms. The sky was black now and there was no snow. He sped down a dirt path, his headlight casting a faint glow. And still the creature came, sometimes on his right, sometimes on his left, sometimes above, behind, down by the tires. A flying, hooded shadow. Faceless. Chasing him. Reaching out.

  The road vanished and the motorcycle dove into a chasm. The chasm was the shadow monster, arms grasping, prickly and clawed.

  And Omar saw no more.

  CHAPTER

  15

  I don’t understand why you’re so upset.” Penny was sitting beside Shaylinn on a bench in Kindred Park, watching the children play. “You never really watched the ColorCast, did you?”

  “No,” Shaylinn said. “But I used it to research people so I could write them messages. And now I can’t.” Levi had taken away her link to the Safe Lands. Writing messages had given her a sense of purpose and meaning in this place. Granted, she hadn’t written any in a few weeks. The move and the drama with Tova had distracted her. But now that she couldn’t, she was angry.

  “Just tell him you want it back.”

  “I tried. He said I didn’t need to be writing messages anymore.”

  “Sounds like he needs a message,” Penny said. “It’s not fair. He treats us like children, but he makes us take care of the little kids. We’re doing the work of mothers, but we’re not getting any of the respect. He never used to be like this.”

  “I think he’s afraid. For Jemma. For all of us. And fear makes people do strange things. It makes them paranoid and irrational, stubborn and domineering. They think if things are done a certain way, then bad stuff won’t happen. But that’s silly, because bad stuff happens anyway. We just have to live each day as best we can, treat others the way we want to be treated, and trust that God knows best.”

  “Like with Omar,” Penny said. “Did he really kiss you?”

  “On my forehead, like I told you.”


  “Right. And he kissed Kendall the other way. Do you think he loved her?”

  “No. I don’t think so. He said he didn’t. But, Penny, it doesn’t matter. He’s been liberated. Maybe he really is dead.” Shaylinn didn’t want to talk about this again, but Penny kept bringing it up.

  “Of course it matters! You have to have faith, like you said.”

  “I have faith . . . mostly. But if he isn’t — Until Omar comes back, there’s no point in dwelling on everything that’s happened. That would be like torturing myself.” Not that she hadn’t been, but she was trying not to. “That’s why I need to write messages. Even if I take care of the children all day and help Eliza teach and cook all the meals for Levi’s household, there’s that time when I first wake up or right before I go to bed. I could write messages then. I want to.”

  “Then do it for the people you’ve already written to. Don’t worry about trying to find new addresses. Just be loyal to the ones you’ve got.”

  That was a good idea. “But how will they get delivered? Levi won’t help me. And forget Jordan. He thinks I should be sewing baby clothes for my children twenty-four seven. And I already used the entire bag of fabric Omar gave me.”

  “How many clothes does Jordan think a baby needs?”

  Shaylinn shrugged. “Plus, I’ll have his son’s hand-me-downs.”

  “Why don’t you ask that guy to help you?” Penny pointed at the playground. Just on the other side of the slide, having just walked in through the corridor on that end, was Nash. He stood talking to Trevon and Grayn.

  “Zane’s brother? I suppose I could.” But Ciddah thought Nash liked Shaylinn, so she didn’t want to encourage him. The few times they’d met, he’d been overly friendly.

  He saw them, then, and waved, though he continued talking to the boys. Shaylinn waved back.

  Penny grabbed Shaylinn’s arm. “He’d be perfect, Shay, because he can go upside but he’s not from Glenrock.”

  Which likely meant he wouldn’t feel obligated to tell Levi. Not that Omar had told Levi about Shaylinn’s messages, but that was because Omar had liked keeping things from his brother.

  “He’s coming!” Penny whispered. “Quick, talk about something interesting.”

  “What do you mean? Was I boring you before?”

  Penny started to laugh, a strange, fake laugh that was overly loud and turned the heads of most of the kids on the playground.

  Shaylinn stifled a groan. “You like him, don’t you?” Penny used to act this way whenever Levi had brought Nodin to the village. “What about Nodin? I thought you liked him.”

  Penny’s eyes bulged. “Shhh!”

  Shaylinn couldn’t believe how silly her friend was being. “Hello, Nash,” she called out. “We were just talking about you.”

  “No!” Penny tried to put her hand over Shaylinn’s mouth.

  “Stop it.” Shaylinn shot Penny a glare. Why would she assume Shaylinn was going to try to embarrass her?

  Nash stopped in front of them and looked from Penny’s face to Shaylinn’s, back and forth. His lips curved in a slow smile. “It was all good, I hope?”

  “We weren’t talking about you.” Penny’s cheeks were beet red.

  “Penny suggested I ask you a favor,” Shaylinn said. “When I was in hiding in the Midlands, I wrote messages to people who’d expressed interest in the rebellion. They were generic messages, but I wanted to do something that would cheer and inspire and give hope to those who needed it. Omar delivered them for me, but now that I’m down here and Omar . . . I have no way to deliver them.”

  “You’re the messenger girl?” His eyes lit up and his smile grew even wider, though that didn’t seem possible. “Zane told me and Dad about you. I think that’s amazing. I’d love to help. On one condition.”

  Shaylinn held her breath and glanced at Penny.

  “You have to write me a message too,” Nash said. “I want to see for myself what’s so powerful about these words of yours.”

  “Of course I’ll write to you. Thank you.”

  Again the wide smile. “Well, my mother is waiting for me, so I should go. But, hey, I have my own house. It’s in block eight, between the greenhouses and the gym. The number is 8 – 2. Bring your letters by anytime. I don’t lock the door.”

  “Thank you,” Shaylinn said, excited that she’d have a way to deliver her messages again.

  “I look forward to that message.” He winked, then waved and walked away.

  “ ‘I look forward to that message’,” Penny said in a mocking voice. “ ‘Bring your letters by anytime. I don’t lock the door.’ ”

  Shaylinn glared at her friend. “Why are you doing that?”

  “Because it’s obvious that he’s in love with you.”

  “He is not.”

  “Is too.”

  “Penny, I can tell that Nash likes me a little. But he doesn’t know me at all.”

  “He wants to.”

  “Perhaps. But that’s not love. Jemma told me love is hard work, not just thinking someone is cute. I love Omar.” And that was really hard work.

  “No one will ever love me,” Penny said. “Nodin is pledged to marry Alawa, and Nash likes you.”

  And Shaylinn suddenly understood why she was so frustrated. Shaylinn had changed but Penny hadn’t. Shaylinn’s time in the harem, the babies, Omar . . . those experiences had forced her to grow up sooner than she might have liked. But Penny had gone to the boarding school with the other children and had seen girls and boys in superficial relationships. While Shaylinn could try and offer advice, she wasn’t sure Penny had the maturity to understand.

  “Penny, listen to me. Love isn’t all butterflies in your stomach and staring into each other’s eyes. Eventually, one of you will mess up. And that hurts, trust me. To love someone is to accept him, faults and all. And you have lots of time to find that kind of love.”

  “Don’t lecture me, Shay. I’m not stupid. Just don’t steal Nash from me. I saw him first.”

  Which was totally untrue. Shaylinn had seen Nash while Penny was still living in the boarding school. “I have no intention of stealing Nash. I told you: I love Omar.”

  “I know. But Omar is . . . But if Omar doesn’t come back, you’ll want a husband to help with the babies.”

  “Stop it! You already promised to help me with the babies. Why are you doing this?”

  “Don’t yell at me. You’re not that much older.”

  Shaylinn took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I yelled. I promise I won’t steal Nash, okay?”

  “Thank you. And I’m sorry I said Omar might not come back. Hug?”

  Shaylinn accepted Penny’s peace offering and the two embraced. It seemed to heal all of Penny’s worries, but for Shaylinn, it only confirmed how much they’d changed. The thought made her feel tired and lonely. But at least she’d have her messages to occupy her mind.

  Shaylinn wasn’t supposed to wander the basements alone, but she couldn’t risk anyone knowing what she was doing — especially not Nell, who couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. From the tour Levi had given when they’d first come to the basements, she remembered that she could get to the gym from the corridor by Ruston’s house. So she walked that way, seeking to avoid the park and school and the other houses that people from Glenrock were living in.

  Unfortunately, there were boys in the gym playing basketball. Shaylinn recognized some of the older boys from her day in the Kindred school. She clutched her package of letters tightly and jogged across the center of the gym.

  Someone whistled, which made the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

  “Hey, upsider. Over here!”

  But Shaylinn didn’t stop, didn’t look his way. She reached the other side of the gym and yanked open the door. Once she was on the other side in the dimness of the corridor, she relaxed. She hoped no one had recognized her or would tell Ruston they’d seen her.

  The first alcove on her right was numbered 8 – 8. Then 8 – 7 on her left
. She passed by 8 – 6 and 8 – 5, then 8 – 4 and 8 – 3. She could see the door at the end of the corridor and the word GREENHOUSE written above it, but right before it was the final alcove and 8 – 2 on her right. She stepped into the alcove and knocked, hoping Nash wasn’t home and that she could slip inside and leave the letters on his table or something.

  When no one opened the door, she turned the knob. Sure enough, the door opened. Shaylinn went inside, but she couldn’t see. She caught the door that was swinging shut behind her and held it open until she found a light switch beside the door and flipped it up. The lights flickered on over her head and she found herself in an enclosed entryway. She let the front door shut completely and stepped inside.

  It was no bigger than a half bathroom, and had a coatrack on one side and shelves on the other. There were two coats on the rack and a pair of boots on the floor under them. The shelves were filled with cowpots and planters in dozens of sizes. There must have been a thousand the way they were stacked and crammed on the shelf.

  There was a second door, so Shaylinn knocked on it before entering. She cracked the door a little, and a sweet and powerful smell engulfed her. “Hello?”

  This next room wasn’t dark, but it glowed with electric white light. She crept inside and lost her breath.

  Flowers and plants. On every surface, in pots on the floor along the walls, and even hanging from the ceiling. The heady smells of blossoms mixed with the tangy scents of greens. She could smell hyssop, basil, and lavender the most. She wandered inside, scanning the room for the purple blossoms she loved so much.

  She found a pot of lavender hanging against the wall where the kitchen counter ended. She buried her face in the slender stalks and breathed them in. Lovely.

  She stepped back and tried to take in the house itself. The first thing she noticed was that it was clean. Spotless, really. Not a dish in the sink or the dish rack. The floors were swept, even under the plants on the floor that were growing in big pots of soil. Grow lights lit the room in a soft white glow. Some hung from the ceiling, some were floor lamps, some hooked to the wall with cords running down to the plugs that were closer to the floor. There was no Wyndo wall screen here. No electronics of any type.