by Logan Keys
South Anthem dwindles with people barely leaving their rooms.
Manda asks Sephora what we can do, but Sephora merely washes up and shakes her head. “It’s not here.” She points at her stomach. “But here.” And she points at her head and heart. “There is nothing I can do for her.”
Then, at the door, Sephora hesitates and, taking in the level of our desperation, sighs. “There is a place. I knew one girl who said they helped.”
She writes down an address, but grips my arm before handing it over. “You don’t get this from me.”
Sephora leaves quickly after that.
Manda reads the paper. “Um . . . can you take her?”
“Why?”
“Because”—Manda looks down guiltily—“that address she gave you is for a church.”
I play with the paper, conflicted. I’ve never been to church, but I nod anyway. What else is there left to do?
Serena follows me there, listlessly.
I was picturing an actual church, like with a steeple and maybe some stained glass; some grim and Gothic setting here, hidden in Anthem. But this church is just another warehouse in the poorest of the poor areas of Section. One worse off than us, where almost everyone I’ve asked for directions from is homeless or speaks another language.
The last wrong turn we made seems to have put us near the Cantonese-speaking area. Not one of my even passable languages.
Serena walks like she’s in a fog. Plus, she refuses to eat and has grown perilously thin. Manda has fussed and worried, tried everything to avoid this dangerous visit, but it’s becoming clear we might actually lose Serena, so we have to try everything.
Once we arrive, we wait at the back while a man in front of a gathering of four speaks rapidly in Russian. It takes me a moment before I realize he’s the preacher and he’s giving a sermon.
From what little I can decipher, they’re laughing at his joke about roosters in his room and an “everything” soup with a boot in it that he’d eaten once in their country.
Serena sits and stares at the crucifix propped up against the far wall. That thing makes me uneasy; it has to be illegal.
When the man has finished, he strides over, mopping his brow. It’s boiling today, strengthening the odor of humanity.
“Can I help you?” he asks in an accent that’s decidedly not Russian.
“Oh. You do speak English.”
“I do.” His lilt and his smile are both broad. “There’s another night in English.”
“Okay then,” I say, “we can come back.” And I place a hand on Serena’s elbow to leave.
“No,” he says, “I think you can stay.” And he glances at Serena with a knowing look. “Name’s Nathaniel, but everyone calls me Nate.”
“Liza.” I sigh with relief. “And this is Serena.”
Nate notices me eyeing the cross. “Mother is a bit of the old church,” he tells me, and his accent becomes clearer.
“Irish. . . ?” I ask.
“’Tis. Is that English you’ve got there?”
My laugh is stiff. “Yes. Slightly.”
He grunts a noise from his throat. “We’re a long way from home, miss. I’ve seen England since the flood, have you? No? Well, it’s doing a far bit better than my own island, I’ll tell ya that. They’ve not as much food, mind you, but plenty of tea.”
“I miss my mother’s tea.” So, England still has people. How many other regions are alive?
“A true blue blood, was she?” Nate crosses his arms as if he’d known all along.
“Yes. She said coffee was like drinking gasoline. My father disagreed.”
“Probably why they stayed married, then. I know my da was always pickin’ on my ma, and it took me until the last few years to understand it.”
“I know what you mean,” I say. “It’s good to argue about banal things in light of what arguments we have now.”
Nate scratches his scruffy chin in thought. “A philosopher and a royal. What made you leave?”
“Well, I actually never lived there. Even though we traveled a lot, I only visited London once, and it was such a short visit. I always thought to go . . . until . . . well, after.”
“You’ve not been living in Ash City, though. That much is sure.”
“How’d you know?”
He shrugs. “That look of seemingly useless hope is still stamped upon your face.”
My sudden laugh surprises me, but I cover my mouth and check that cross again.
Nate flashes me a grin between his mustache and short beard. “He won’t mind. But if you’ve come to see a preacher, you’re a smidge too late. Preachin’ was my brother’s job. The Authority took him just last week.”
I nod in sympathy. “And you stayed?”
“I’ve no choice.” His gaze wanders over to Serena and back to me again.
My whisper in reply seems so loud in here. “I didn’t know what else to do. She’s been so depressed.”
“These are depressing times.”
An older woman separates from the small group of Russians and catches my eye with a bright smile as she comes over. She and Nate hold some unspoken communication before she turns to face Serena with a softened gaze.
“Mother,” he says, “will you take this one to the back with you? Might be better where it’s more private.”
“Of course. Come along, dearie.” Her accent’s twice as strong as her son’s.
With a cluck of her tongue, she takes Serena’s hand to guide her away.
Nate stops me from following. “Let her speak with her for a moment alone, miss. We’ve seen a good many come in like this, and it does no good to have a crowd.”
“How did you know?”
His expression turns weary and he sits. “Most of the time we have young girls come in here, all pale and sickly afterwards. And they all have that same look, with their hands still wrapped around their middles.”
“What will she say to her? Your mother, I mean.”
“She’ll tell her that she can heal; that what’s lost in this way won’t always hurt so bad. She’ll open up to Mother more than to you or me; she has a way of handling these types of delicate things, you know. She has ‘the touch.’ Gets through to them.”
Relief loosens my spine, and I sit, as well. We’d both felt so helpless, Manda and I. What could we possibly know about children lost?
Nate asks, “I suppose you have questions, yourself?”
“Me? Not really.”
“Have you been raised in the faith?”
“No. My father said everyone’s path is his alone. He learned this through watching my mother pass.”
“Your father sounds very wise.”
“He was. He believed in something, though, I think. In his own way. He used to say music was his religion, because it had life and its own spirit, that it was proof there is more to this world than just breathing. I think that’s where I stand, as well.”
“That makes a lot of sense. But something else brought you here. I believe that, too.”
“Maybe.” I smile back at his own smile. “I thought you said you weren’t a preacher?”
He laughs.
“What did you do before the flood?” I ask.
“I’m a microbiologist. Mostly, my work was in the field. My brother, Collin, and I, we fought fiercely for years over what to believe. To think, those types of fights used to matter so much. . . .”
“And now?”
“We found a common ground, built this place—”
His expression is grim while in thought, and Serena returns, interrupting the rest of what Nate wanted to say. She has more color in her face than I’ve seen in a long time, and although she’s still quite sad, her steps aren’t as slow and filled with despair.
She says she promised to visit again,
and I tell her that we will.
— 56 —
Jeremy’s at my door, wearing that detestable guilty look.
He reaches for my hand, and his fingers tighten around my wrist. “Come on.”
He leads me back toward the wall on our side. We arrive at its base, and I’m shivering slightly from the very thought of how big and tall it is.
Jeremy finds the part he was looking for and guides me into an elevator shaft. “We have about a half-hour,” he says. “This side of the wall is dead for a while.”
We go inside, and he presses the button.
It’s a slow ride to the top, and for some reason I don’t want to break the silence. I’m suddenly worried.
With a hiss and a jerk, the elevator stops, and Jeremy rattles the doors open along the track.
A strong wind immediately blows inside.
I follow, carefully, even though it’s wide enough up here to build two houses side-by-side.
The view takes my breath away. We’re in the clouds, grey and lifeless, but far below sits the old world.
“It’s like a jungle down there,” I say.
“Yeah,” says Jeremy. “It all grew back after we left it alone.”
Most visible are the treetops, and off in the distance lies an old city. I can’t remember which one, and I really don’t care, because Jeremy is acting strange, which is making me nervous.
I drag my gaze away from history, turn to face him. “What’s wrong?”
He sighs, and the wind lifts his hair. Without looking at me, he quietly says, “Liza, we need to say goodbye.”
“Why?”
His shoulders slump, and he finally faces me, my hand still gripped inside his larger one. “You can’t get hurt. Not for me.”
I pull free and cup his face. “The people are finally angry, and they have every right to be. I’m not as innocent or weak as you think, Jeremy. I can help.”
He shakes his head, searching my face.
“Jeremy, I want to. I need to.”
“Why?”
I cross my arms. “You don’t get to ask me that. You don’t know what it was like; you can only imagine.”
He turns toward the edge again, and instantly I feel guilty. This boy has a past, too. A brutal one. In my hypocrisy, I’ve dismissed his pain. Still, how can he not see? The rebellion needs every person it can get.
Jeremy withdraws and shoves his hands deep into his pockets. We’ve left off touching one another again. Something’s changed between us. “You think I don’t know that?” he says, and his eyebrows knit together. “You’re the strongest person I’ve met, Liza. And it’s not that you couldn’t handle what may come. You can. It’s just that . . . there are things I haven’t told you. If certain people knew who you were, or how important you were to me. . . ? This isn’t a request; I’ve known all along you wouldn’t listen. But it doesn’t matter. . . ."
“Then tell me—”
“I’m leaving.”
My stomach drops. So he’d brought me here, as a goodbye. What a strange place to tell me unless . . . he’s going out there.
I glance down at the remnants of civilization. “You can’t just leave.” Panic’s starting to take hold of me. “We’re all in danger, whether we want to be or not. What are you going to do? Where will you go?”
Jeremy leans forward until his forehead almost meets mine, stopping just before they touch. “You stay clear of the mess when it comes. At least promise me that.”
He’s not going to tell me. It’s all a secret. And even with his face so near to mine, even with my heart skipping so many beats, my resolve firms. “I can’t do that. I can’t promise I won’t keep trying to help. I’m already too far in.”
His teeth gleam in the darkness, and he shakes his head. “So stubborn. A patriot to the end.”
Coldness pools in my spine. This is it. Doesn’t matter what I say. He’s leaving.
We both look down at the world—the old one, still waiting for someone to come along. It’s been growing, healing without our abuse.
“And what do you do it for,” I say, slow and sad, “if not for patriotism, Jeremy?”
“For freedom,” he replies in all seriousness, realizing I won’t change my mind, either. “What else is there?”
My jaw hardens as I spot a tiny little house that’s all but a shack. “Justice.”
— 57 —
In her anger, Joelle’s run out on me. It’s almost daylight, and she’s upset enough to put herself in danger—in the sunlight.
Every minute wasted in one direction costs me two in another. Split right down the middle is exactly how I feel about now; I’m desperate to find her, not to mention furious and wanting to kill her when I do.
In my mad rush through the regular barracks, I’ve drawn attention and almost transitioned twice during the search.
Finally, outside, I spot a group of soldiers standing around Cory in a horseshoe-shape, all surrounding a single person on the ground.
Joelle.
Just like the fake reality back in the jungle, she’s there, ready to catch fire. She’s covering her face, writhing to avoid the rays as the sun swells beyond the lip of the earth, and Cory’s holding everyone back with his mind control.
Joelle’s in his grasp, too. Stuck where he’s put her, to await the burning.
Waco’s closest and fighting, barely moving inches in his attempt to help. His head turns from side to side like he’s stuck in molasses, and his drawl’s slower than usual. “You’d better hope you don’t run out of energy before the sun comes up, Cory. That little princess will suck you dry to your last capillary.”
Joelle hisses in answer. She’s wrapped her hair around her throat and face to protect her eyes from the bright horizon.
I creep up behind Cory, hoping he won’t notice me until I break his neck.
But before I can grab him, he flips around, and instantly my change begins. The monster’s been waiting for any slip of control, and before Cory can invade my mind, my body starts to stretch. A sound that’s more it than me erupts from my mouth.
But the monster can’t finish, because the world slows its spinning. Everything winds down. Air feels sucked out like a vacuum, muting sound. I can’t move, but my brain provides a name in explanation: Simon.
If you can call anyone our creator, Simon’s it. The Underground’s one scientist to undergo the rays himself, only he took it one step further. I’m told he died many times in the process, trying to become the perfect Special. His marks are burned off, proof that he’s a failure like the rest of us. Rumor has it they need two to start a new race: like an Adam and Eve who will be a game changer for our planet.
Now, Simon’s slowed time itself until my heartbeats have become long seconds apart. It’s unnerving, and the first I’ve ever fully felt his Special. He’s impervious to it, though, and his long trench coat flaps in the breeze. He watches us like he did that night Joelle and I fought in Gothenburg. That’s Simon. Always watching.
This time, I see something else in the shadow beneath his fedora.
Disappointment.
When I move my eyes down to Joelle, I find an empty space. Cory’s disappeared, too, along with everyone else.
When time restarts, it’s just me and Simon.
I jerk backwards from where he’s appeared a foot away from me.
“Thomas,” he says, “are you ready?”
“Sir?”
He tilts his head like someone who’s long since lost his humanity from ages spent in the otherness outside of time. “You will have to lead them. Do you believe that you can?“
I frown as doubt fills me.
“Do you believe in this war against the Authority?” he asks.
I hesitate, and like magic, a girl appears from behind Simon. Her eyes are unfocused, blind. She’s tiny,
dressed in a white smock stark against brown skin; barely ten years old, if I had to guess. She approaches and lays a hand on my arm.
Then, I’m seeing nothing . . . before seeing everything all at once; visions like a movie reel, so fast, it’s impossible to keep up. People herded like cattle, heads shaved: Cancer. Camps, prisons, citizens in agony, suspended, hopeless, and crammed into uniforms with black helmets: Guards. Streets filled with blood: Anarchy in Anthem.
They’ve rounded up crying girls who hold their protruding stomachs. Too many mouths to feed; another child without a license.
A doctor approaches one, while she screams as they hold her down.
So . . . much . . . blood. And all of it rising in a massive wave.
With a yell, I break away from the oracle, tripping over my feet and falling backwards.
I’m alone.
— 58 —
My things are packed. Joelle’s fine. Unharmed, that is. “Fine” is not how she is otherwise. “Fine” is as far away from my Jo-Jo as anything could possibly be. Nothing I can do about this part of our life. We always knew it would come to this.
“You’ve changed,” she says.
Two words that wound me fatally. I hadn’t realized the last of me was still thriving, even here, and I was content in our little pocket. Now, our pretend house has been tainted, and I want to blame Cory, but Joelle hadn’t said he was the one who’d changed. It was me. And she’s right.
This isn’t the first time that’s happened. Before, I’d changed purely because everything I’d wanted as a kid left me, like mist, overnight. My entire idea of what could have been was robbed from me. Dreams to play football. Dreams to leave Brookhaven. Of college, of girls, of being a somebody, anybody, even a lesser version of myself would have sufficed. Instead, I was left with this new me, someone I can’t trust, whom I don’t even know.
Joelle needs me.
And soon I won’t be there for her.
“You remember what you said when we left Brookhaven, Tommy?”
Daisy’s here again. I squeeze my eyes shut, though I still sense her there beside me.