The Revealed

by Jessica Hickam

  Rory picks it up from the grass as I collapse, my face in my hands with relief.

  Skylar’s on speaker saying over and over again, “We got him. We got him.”

  Rory laughs and hugs me. “We did it. We did it!”

  But I don’t return the gesture. I freeze.

  Staring at the streets around me I remember a part of Marg’s email I forgot until this point. Her conclusion to the email correspondence.

  But remember, campaigning in one state will not win you the election.

  I grab the phone. “Skylar, melt the gun, see if you can get any information out of the sniper, then get back here.”

  “Lily?” Rory looks at me warily, her hands still half up in a cheer but they now turn limp.

  I pull the crumpled email printout from my pocket and read out loud, “But remember, campaigning in one state will not win you the election.” I look up at the group. “There isn’t just one sniper. My guess is, they’re everywhere.”

  My mind is turning.

  “What are we going to do now?” Nero snaps.

  “The only thing we can do. We’ll give the world what they’re waiting for. If they expect The Revealed to show up, then we’ll show up.” My mind begins spinning. “I have an idea.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  It’s hard to see over the crowd as I push my way toward the stage. The others follow in my wake.

  Suddenly cheers erupt. Everywhere people begin to scream.

  My father and Westerfield walk out on the stage, each entering from opposite ends. They shake hands and then take their places behind their respective podiums.

  “Good evening,” the host says into a booming microphone. “In just a few moments, our country will change.”

  More screams and frenzied cheers.

  “Follow my lead!” I yell, pushing through the front line of the crowd. There’s a railing blocking people from getting too close to the stage. Rory and Skylar jump over it after me as we race toward the candidates.

  Zared and the others stay back along the gates, creating a blockade against security, which is already heading toward us. No doubt they’ve been waiting for us to make an appearance since my father discovered I’d escaped from the house. If it weren’t for my need to focus, I may have laughed at Zared’s perfectly feigned composure. We have one chance to get this right.

  “Spread out!” I tell my companions.

  “Lily, this better not involve us getting arrested!” Rory yells, eyeballing the security closing in on us.

  “Welcome to this historic night,” the host begins. His name is Riley Fisher, and he’s the most-popular news anchor in the North American Sector. He’s like a reflector on stage. His gold hair is slicked back, so shiny it catches the stage lights and gleams like a beacon. His tanned skin is in such contrast to the pale, dirt-stained complexion of the average citizen. The combined glint of his eyes, hair, and teeth is blinding. He stands up on stage with the microphone in his hand and a dazzling smile on his face, waving between my father and Roderick Westerfield.

  “The results have been tallied,” the announcer continues, “and our country finally has a leader!”

  My father holds himself proudly, giving the audience that killer look of his, as though he’s taking a second to personally connect with each and every one of them. In reality, he can’t see past the footlights on the stage. I know from experience that those lights are so bright it’s hard to see anything but their rays.

  Westerfield stands directly across the stage from him. He’s grinning smugly from ear to ear. It comes across as confidence, but I know what his expression hides. He’s staring above the crowds. If the lights weren’t shining in his face he would be looking to the surrounding buildings, most likely at the exact place where the snipers are waiting.

  I try to follow his gaze, but it’s impossible to pinpoint the locations. There isn’t time to investigate. The announcement is only moments away.

  I grip the stage. Ice spreads from my fingertips like I practiced at the facility. Rory and Skylar copy my gesture, but at opposite ends. Their ice moves faster over the stage than mine. Still, it snakes up the side and across the floor to where the announcer stands.

  If my father won’t get off the stage himself, The Revealed will make him.

  The crowd is so loud now, trumped only by Riley Fisher’s voice through the booming speakers. People cheer and chant, lifting their handmade signs and pushing in as close to the stage as they can get. No one notices the ice yet, which is creeping like a shadow out onto the stage.

  Riley Fisher continues, “After years of reconstruction and months of campaigning, this night finally signals the beginning of a new chapter in the North American Sector’s life. We are a new nation, full of promise and possibility. We have taken pieces of our history and carried them with us, never forgetting the war but instead, learning from it to transform this new nation into what it is today. All it needs is the guidance of strong leadership, which is what brings us to this moment.”

  The crowd erupts, cheering loudly and drowning out all other sound. Riley Fisher waits until the noise dies down and then he waits even longer. All while the ice from The Revealed is wrapping and crackling its way closer and closer to him.

  People begin to notice. There is nervous shuffling from the people at the front of the line—VIPs in a cordoned-off section to the left of the stage spot the ice first.

  “What’s that?” someone asks, pointing.

  Riley Fisher finally opens the envelope he’s holding, not realizing that the attention has shifted away from him. “And the first president of the North American Sector, with fifty-four percent of the votes is—”

  Riley Fisher’s breath catches as the ice wraps around his shoe in thick sheets. He tries to shake his shoe off, but instead, his foot pops out and he scrambles backward, tripping over himself to escape the ice.

  The audience’s silence is broken by a scream.

  “It’s The Revealed!” someone cries.

  Security reaches Romni first and tackles him to the ground. He’s still able to push out his hands, causing a wind to strike the guards with such force that it knocks them backward. Romni breaks free and again grips the stage.

  Zared and the others throw out their hands, and the guns security hold grow hot. The guards drop their weapons.

  “It’s not enough!” I yell.

  Rory reads my mind. “Go,” she says. I jump onto the stage without hesitation.

  “It’s Lily Atwood!” I hear the crowd murmur.

  Cameras flash.

  “Lily Atwood!”

  “You have to get out of here!” I tell Riley Fisher, who is trembling where he stands. “You have to tell them to clear this place.”

  “She’s a member of The Revealed!” someone yells. “The Revealed are here!”

  “No!” I turn back to the crowd, but there are too many of them. “You don’t understand. You have to get out of here.” But my voice is lost among the sudden frantic chatter that fills the air. “There’s someone out there with a gun and—”

  “It’s okay. Lily—” My father reaches out to stop me, but something cracks through the air. He drops to the ground.

  There’s blood everywhere, splattered across the stage and my mother’s dress.

  “Dad!” I scream, falling to the ground beside him.

  I can’t tell where he’s been hit. “Go,” he tells me, his voice stifled with pain. “Go with security.”

  “Dad!” I bend down over him. “Someone get help!” I cry. I pull the buttons of his jacket open and then his shirt, trying to see past the blood. He needs pressure on the wound. But if it wasn’t a clean shot, I know pressure will just drive the bullet deeper.

  No one seems to hear anything, let alone my pathetic cries for help. Now the crowd is running, everyone is fleeing from the scene. They all think The Revealed are to blame. It’s panic. A stampede of citizens—a mob—floods the streets.

  People are pushing over one
another in their scramble to get away. The hum of terror in the air is thick and constant like a shrill scream that never grows out of breath.

  There’s blood on my hands.

  My mother rushes to my side. She doesn’t even look at me, but her presence reminds me of the bigger picture. “Get off the stage!” I tell her. Security runs to my father, and I scramble aside so they can take over.

  I stumble into something; hands reach out for me, but I break free of them. Cold eyes stare at me through the haze of chaos.

  “You!” I turn on Westerfield.

  He’s watching the scene with smug satisfaction carved in his otherwise rigid features. He enjoys the destruction. It feels like I’m looking at him for the first time. I can see the hunger in him—hunger for power no one man should possess. The cunning behind his features, the snake-like deception. He masks it all with a cool calm, but his icy gaze freezes my bones.

  “How could you do this!” I demand, raising my hands, unsure what I’m going to do but certain I need to act. I’m going to wipe that expression from his face. My fists clench. A wind whips around me.

  Westerfield points a finger at me. “She’s a member of The Revealed now!”

  Security pour onto the stage. They are mostly concerned with creating a human shield around my father and mother and Westerfield. They pick up my dad, his body looking suddenly fragile, and carry him from the stage. I can’t see my mother between the bulky bodies of security. Just the wispy ends of her blue dress.

  Someone grabs my shoulders again. “You have to get out of here.”

  It’s Kai.

  “You have to get out of here.” He begins to push me away. “He’ll be okay. I’ll stay with them.” He means my parents.

  I stare for a moment at Westerfield, and consider attacking him. He’s challenging me to make a move. Wind whips around my face. Deep breaths.

  “This isn’t the end.”

  Skylar comes up beside me. “Come on,” he says, pulling my arm.

  “I can’t leave.” I look to Kai and then in the direction my parents were led.

  “We don’t have a choice.” Rory grabs my other arm.

  “No!” I start to pull away, but my eyes stay on Kai’s.

  “Go,” Kai tells me.

  Rory turns me around, her hand firmly wrapped around my arm.

  I run.

  The crowds are dispersing, charging to get out of the gates, spilling onto the streets. Only a few bold reporters stand their ground, filming the pandemonium.

  Paramedics are pushing their way through the crowd to reach my father.

  Rory, Skylar, and I break out onto the streets, getting lost in the panicked masses.

  Rory keeps hold of my arm, ensuring that we stay together. I scramble after her to the parking lot where we left the car.

  “We’re never going to get out of here!” I look around at the blockade of cars also trying to get out, horns blaring, engines revving. The streets are full of people.

  I glance around at the group. Rory, Skylar, Zared, Nero, and Cara. My heart stops, “Where’s Romni?”

  Cara flinches. “There’s nothing we could have done to stop them,” she says.

  “Stop who?” I demand.

  “Security got him,” Zared explains. “There were too many of them. We couldn’t hold them all off.”

  I rake a hand through my hair. This is my fault.

  “We should go back,” Nero says.

  “I can talk to them,” I offer. “Most of them know me and—”

  “And they also know you’re a member of The Revealed,” Cara cuts in. “You saw them tonight. Romni knew the risks—we all know the risks—of being members. We chose to fight for the greater good despite that. Your father wasn’t killed. He’s going to be okay. Romni would say it was worth the sacrifice.”

  I almost laugh at that, doubtful that’s what Romni would say.

  “But who knows what they’ll do to him!” Nero objects. “No way in hell we’re just walking away from here without him.”

  Zared is firm. “We can’t go back.”

  “I’m not going without him.” Nero slings his bag over his shoulder and takes a step into the crowd before Zared yanks him back.

  Zared points a meaty finger in his face. “Listen here. I respect every member like family. I don’t intend on just letting the government keep your friend. We’ll get him back, but now is not the time. Understand?”

  Nero yanks his arm away from Zared but doesn’t try to run into the crowd again. He crossed his arms over his chest and glares. Romni is his best friend. I don’t blame him for being worried, but I also have enough emotional detachment to see Zared is right. We can’t go back.

  Rory pulls out her phone. “We’ll call Julia and have one of The Revealed stationed at the local drop house come pick us up. We’ll have to stay with the crowd and follow them far enough out to a road cars can access.”

  Skylar nods. “Let’s go.”

  We gather around the television at the safe house we fled to, watching Riley Fisher on the news.

  “This show serves as a continuation for the election’s announcement following the terrorist attack by The Revealed earlier this evening, which left Representative Atwood severely injured.”

  “You know,” Nero pipes up, “anyone with half a brain would realize that The Revealed have never used guns.” He scoffs, “Morons.”

  “They don’t want to see the truth,” Rory replies curtly, crossing her arms over her chest. “The world wants to make us the enemy and so we are.”

  “We would like to take this moment now, to inform you of the results of today’s election. With a record eighty-five percent voter participation throughout the country, partly thanks to the new electronic ballot system, the results are in. With fifty-four percent of the votes, Mark Atwood is the new president of the North American Sector.”

  Just like that.

  I forget how to breathe.

  My father is president.

  My father is president.

  “Well, congrats,” Nero offers.

  “Shut up,” Rory barks, understanding the look on my face.

  I feel conflicted.

  I definitely don’t want Roderick Westerfield to be president, but my father…. I’m not ready for this. After years of knowing everything he did was building toward this moment, it wasn’t real until those words came from Riley Fisher.

  “We are told Represen—excuse me, President Atwood will soon be undergoing surgery following the gunshot wound to his shoulder this evening. However, his camp has released a statement saying, ‘The nation should expect positive change in the next four years, further reconstruction efforts in the wastelands, improved defense measures to keep the nation safe but, above all, an end to the destruction caused by The Revealed. We pledge to stop them—stop them from taking our children and stop them from attempting to ruin the nation we’ve all worked so hard to rebuild.’ No doubt the Atwood administration is thinking particularly of Lily Atwood tonight as they make this statement.”

  The camera switches from Riley Fisher to a replay of the events in front of the White House, beginning with a shot of me leaping recklessly onto the stage.

  “Ms. Lily Atwood was part of the team that was responsible for shooting her father tonight and destroying the ceremony, in one of the largest terrorist attacks we’ve seen since the war,” Riley Fisher says in a voiceover as the video footage continues to play. “A statement from President Atwood himself regarding his election and the nation’s current situation is expected as soon as he has recovered.”

  Oh God I hope my father is okay.

  I need some air. I stand up from the couch and walk outside, letting the breeze waft against my face. It’s a crisp, chilly night, and the longer I stay outside the more the frost begins to bite at my face.

  The apartment we’re staying in is on the tenth floor of a building, and the city stretches out beneath me. I stare out at all of the familiar shapes in the distance. It’
s quiet tonight. The streets are now lifeless. People are afraid of another attack.

  It’s funny how in the span of only a few weeks, I feel so disconnected from the place that should be home. despite having lived in Capitol City longer than anywhere else, I always knew this wasn’t where I belonged. But now that I’ve found my place, it feels entirely different being here. I’m the outsider.

  I rub my hands together to warm them and cover my ears against the frosty breeze.

  I want to say I feel shocked and hurt that my father didn’t believe me about The Revealed, but I don’t. I expected it. Rory was right. The world wants to make The Revealed the villain, and so everything that goes wrong is blamed on us whether it’s logical or not. My father follows the same thought pattern as the rest. I thought the same way only three weeks ago. It’s hard to change someone’s mindset when they are so adamant in their beliefs. It took brain surgery and an assassination attempt on my parents to get me there. No, I definitely don’t blame my parents, but I feel detached from them now. I’m no longer a part of their world. My father is president, and it will probably affect me very little at this point. I will be with The Revealed, not at the White House.

  Maybe someday, in the far-off future, the world will be able to understand the truth of The Revealed, and I will be able to reconnect with my family. Someday I might be able to be in their lives again, but right now it’s impossible. We’re on separate paths.

  It’s the natural progression of children, I think. We all have to grow up at some point, and distance ourselves from our parents to become our own individuals. It doesn’t stop me from missing them, but I know this is the way things have to be.

  I’m happy for my father, though. He’s worked so hard to become president. People believe in him—even The Revealed. They’re right to put faith in him, too. He really wants to do the best job for the new nation. It just turns out that he thinks the most-important part of being president is to obliterate the organization in which I now have my faith.

  Rory walks outside with two mugs in hand. The warm aroma of spices is picked up by the wind.