Exodia

by Debra Chapoton

  My family isn’t here. Kassandra was washing diapers this morning and repacking the backpack. She claimed this would be the best time to escape with her father and Katie while I made a commotion at the capitol. I made her promise not to leave today, but I don’t trust her. I should’ve shown her how to use the nano-gun that still hides at the bottom of that pack.

  Harmon nudges me. The crowd behind us erupts in cheers as Truslow appears on the capitol steps wearing a purple robe, open at the front. He’s surrounded by guards and twice as many Krona as before. I look again at Bear and Lydia and Mira and see that they’re cheering, too. Truslow gives a low bow and sweeps his hands out to either side and his entourage bows even lower. But the people haven’t been cheering for him as he believes. Their wild cheers change to boos and they stomp their feet. Little clouds of dust rise up their legs.

  Slowly it gets quiet. I expect Truslow to speak first, but Jamie comes out to his side, points at me, whispers, nods toward the building and I look to the fourth floor. An illusion of blond heads appears behind the unwashed glass.

  My anger surges. I grab the staff from Harmon, pound it on the ground. “Executive President Truslow! Look at all the people gathered here today. They’re not working. They’re not marching in your army or working in your fields or fixing your roads or managing your factories or pulling metals from the mines or building the structures that you demand. Give them the rest of this day and two more to go north, to the barren region, and let them … let us … have our fair. The Red Festival that you promised.”

  I suck in gasps of air, surprised at the flow of words and embarrassed by how silly they sound. I hand the rod back to my brother. The people are yelling, begging, stomping. I glance at the upper windows again. No one is there. I look higher and see dark clouds sneaking in from the west.

  The Executive President waves his arms, quiets the crowd. “Look at the skies,” he yells. “There are storms coming. You’ll never have anything but a Rain Fest. If you try to leave Exodia my soldiers will shoot to kill.”

  I look to Harmon. I kick at the dust and mutter, “Rain fest.” He stabs the rod into the dust I’ve disturbed and immediately the ground explodes with an atomic flurry of ants. People around us jump and frantically brush the biting insects off their legs.

  Someone yells fire ants and I twist my head around to see who it is because the voice is a child’s … so much like Sana’s voice. She would’ve changed rain fest into fire ants just as quickly as Harmon did, but mere words wouldn’t have hurt these people.

  “My Krona men can do the same!” Truslow pushes the men forward and they show off electric beams and round boxes and feathery contraptions, but nothing they do produces ants from the dust at their feet.

  There’s mumbling among the Krona. I hear them clearly. They tell Truslow that such a feat comes from Ronel. They cannot duplicate it.

  I clear my throat. “Since they’ve mentioned Ronel, let me use his name, too.” I say this and endure the burning bites around my ankles as I watch his reaction. It perturbs him that I overheard. “Let us go so all the Reds may meet Ronel.” I watch Truslow grimace, smack his calves, hop from foot to foot. He turns to enter the capitol so I raise my voice louder. “I’ll send swarms of flies on you and your Krona, on the Blues, into the capitol, and into all the Blue houses. You can hear them buzzing, can’t you?” We both look to the rats’ remains, mounded in smelly heaps.

  Truslow shakes his head, grabs Jamie’s arm and pushes through the doors.

  The question was rhetorical, meant to humiliate. Meant to motivate. But by some awesome strange force the flies rise from the rodents’ small corpses, swarm and swoop and multiply. They cover the capitol’s doors and windows and flit around the guard post.

  The people run away. We run, too. It is happening as I proclaimed. The fire ants fall from our bodies as we leave the area. The flies stay around the capitol or follow Blue elbows to Blue homes where they’ll be swatted and smashed as they try to overwhelm their victims. More flies form clouds around us, but they vanish as we go deeper into the Red slum.

  We walk the last block. From several houses away I see Lydia’s front door open. Katie and Kassandra flank their father as they come down the porch steps. Gresham squirms in the sling. Katie wears the backpack. It couldn’t be more obvious that they are leaving. Against my wishes. Against her promise.

  I stop near the bushes where I first hid from Lydia when I followed her here. It seems longer than two years ago. I look down, my desire to shrink and hide and turn back time overwhelms me. Do I let them go?

  The sky above changes color; the dark clouds move north away from Exodia.

  My feet won’t move me closer. My hand won’t wave. I stay where I am, locked in a vacuum, and simply watch as first Mira then Lydia then Harmon and finally Barrett all extend a hand, a hug, a wish, a farewell.

  The sunlight shines coldly on them all, making their faces seem hazy. I wait for the light to grow warm again, but that threatening sun only shines more darkly and does nothing to cut the chill. I deserve to be abandoned.

  Kassandra looks my way only briefly, then my family walks away.

  Part III 2096

  Chapter 13 A Desperate Plan

  From the first page of the Ledger:

  He will rescue the poor Reds from oppression and violence. He will rise up against the usurper, for he is noble. Ten times will he try. And on the tenth try he will wrench the heart from the oppressor, the darkness will lift, but the season to flee will be short.

  I SHARE A schoolroom apartment with my brother and sister. Harmon and Mira have been put to work in waste management while Truslow has moved me to three different boring jobs where I’m watched continually. I see Lydia and Barrett at the secret Wednesday meetings. They speak to me, but others sneer and whisper.

  And call me names that parade my failure. I was their hope. They trusted the prophecies and I let them down. In the end we couldn’t force Truslow to let us go. Some would argue that I gave up trying after my family left. But I did try a fifth time, though it seemed useless to do so.

  Harmon hid the rod that we’d begun to affectionately call “Mateo”, that staff of technological genius that the Krona cannot completely duplicate. They desperately want it. My brother endures beatings and torture but Mateo stays hidden as do the other metal cases of impressive technology that Teague hid the day we arrived. I’m spared the beatings because of Truslow’s superstitions. But I’m ostracized, exiled without being expelled, and held in contempt by Reds and Blues.

  For ten months now the government has backed off, but they watch us, wait, try to coax and bribe us and offer rewards to our neighbors. But Reds stick together and though the people have lost faith in me they won’t betray a red elbow.

  By night I dream of Gresham and by day I wonder how much he’s grown, whether he’s walking, and if he talks yet. I also wonder if his little body has any gemfry effects. I hope not.

  Three months ago Barrett raced to Ronel’s outpost and on to his current camp. He returned with a simple message from Ronel to wait until I figured out “a rare ringed anagram”.

  Bear did me a favor and detoured past Usala’s Rock and over to the Luna ranch on his way back. He brought me news that Mr. Luna and Katie had re-gathered most of the herd which had escaped the pens and had been wandering since our capture. I felt relieved about that. They work the ranch while Kassandra tends to Gresham all day. My relief turned to guilt. They were both fat, he added, and I wondered why he would voice such a rude comment about Kassandra. Unless it was a clue …

  I stopped thinking about Ronel’s message and Bear’s strange comment as soon as he handed me the torn papers I hadn’t seen since I stole them from the archives: four pages from the ledger. A parting gift from Kassandra, he said. A parting gift. It meant she was divorcing me, an easy thing to do when there were no prohibitions against it. Our marriage was over.

  I took the ledger sheets and read them then. I’ve read them every day s
ince and I found nothing in them that helps me now. But they’re only four pages out of many. I need to steal the rest.

  “A rare ringed anagram” could only be a word or phrase in the ledger that is circled, ringed in ink. Or maybe blood.

  * * *

  At the back of the gymnasium Lydia stood next to Barrett and steeled herself for another encounter with Dalton. Emotions were a funny thing and they would sneak up on her in those sudden moments when she caught him staring at her or when he said her name or when he tried to make her laugh. She’d fallen hard for him nearly three years ago and those feelings hadn’t diminished.

  She saw him enter the meeting and she tried not to hold her breath as he walked across the old wooden floor. She clasped and unclasped her hands then tucked them under her armpits, tossed her hair to the side, and kept a stubborn grin in check. He was fair game, she thought, ever since Barrett told her that Kassandra had released him. Still, she thought of him as someone else’s, someone’s dad even, and she felt guilty for her longing.

  As he got closer Dalton gave in to a habit Lydia was fond of: he ran his left hand through his hair and tucked the longer ends behind his ear. She had thought he was handsome when his head was shaved last year and she thought he was even better-looking with his hair grown out now, even though his beard looked scraggly. His magnetism came chiefly from his eyes. When he looked at her she wanted to believe he saw into her soul. She was sure she could see his. And she loved him.

  “Hey, Bear. Hi, Lydia.” Dalton bumped elbows with both of them. Barrett moved a step so Dalton could stand between them. Lydia dropped her arms to her sides.

  “We’re gonna do it tonight,” Barrett whispered. The meeting was about to begin and Korzon was taking over for Teague.

  Dalton frowned. “We? Who’s going with you?”

  Barrett pointed and Lydia opened her palms. With a tiny smile and the lilt of a question in her tone she said “Me.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  “Why not? I’m the perfect distraction.”

  Lydia could tell that Dalton was conflicted. She put her hands on her hips and added, “I never told you, but I met Truslow’s son once. I think he likes me. I’m pretty sure he’ll be happy to show me around the capitol. One way or another either Bear or I will get those ledgers.”

  Dalton gave a low grunt and leaned against the block wall, arms crossed. Lydia tried her hardest not to reveal with her behavior that she was hiding a secret. Sometimes it seemed as if Dalton could read her mind. She wanted to reassure him that everything would be fine; she almost touched his arm, but reached across and punched at Barrett’s shoulder instead.

  “This guy’s been in and out of tighter places, besides he owes me a mission,” she said.

  Korzon got up on a chair to be heard and people shushed one another. The meeting lasted barely fifteen minutes. Reports of tainted food ended the list of problems. Most of the people eyed Dalton. They blamed him for the bloody water last year and the dead rats, the biting fire ants, and the pesky flies. When Truslow had refused the mass departure the day after the Lunas left a miserable Dalton moped around for several days, then he threatened the Executive President with contaminated food. Somehow his threat came to pass and Reds and Blues alike suffered for weeks, hungry and weak. This new report of food problems meant Dalton, Harmon, and that rod of wonder were the main suspects.

  Dalton shook his head slowly at Korzon. There was no way he was responsible this time.

  Lydia stepped in front of Dalton. “It’s not Dalton’s fault,” Lydia said, speaking up over the nasty comments that were gathering volume. “It’s because of the poor conditions and long hours at the food plant.” She raised her voice louder. “But if it was brought about by something Dalton did then we should get behind him. Barrett brought back word from Ronel–” The crowd went silent at Ronel’s name. “–and we need to be ready to leave. We will get our miracle.”

  “We’ve heard that before,” a man to Korzon’s right said. “We endured the spoiled food, the lack of clean water, suffered the ant stings, hid from the rats … Weren’t all those Ronel’s or rather Dalton’s doing?” People began to grumble agreement; several started to shout over one another.

  It took Korzon several minutes to gain back control. He wanted to hear from Barrett. Barrett moved to the front, snaking through the crowd and drawing attention away from Dalton. He spoke of his treacherous journey, his short stay with Vinn and Carter, and his detour to check on escaped Reds. When he reluctantly spoke of the message from Ronel about a rare ringed anagram, he was met with snorts and scoffing laughter. Lydia and Dalton ducked out into the hallway.

  “They haven’t completely lost hope, you know.” Lydia kept step with Dalton as they walked toward his shared quarters. “I still hear people singing about Bram O’Shea.”

  “Yeah, people that don’t realize that’s me.”

  They reached his apartment and stood awkwardly at the door.

  “So … when are you going to the capitol?” Dalton put his hand on the knob, fumbled for the key.

  “About eight o’clock.”

  “But that’s too early. There’ll be people everywhere. Late diners.”

  Lydia gauged the concern in his eyes. There was no use keeping a secret. “Actually, I have a date with Jamie … a late dinner at the capitol. They say the food is– What? What’s wrong?”

  Dalton kept his lips tightly pursed. He shoved the key back into one of his belt sacks and looked up the hallway. Some people were walking back to their classroom-sized apartments and Barrett was passing by them.

  “And what about Bear? Is he going on this date, too?”

  “Sort of. He’s my chaperon.”

  There were all kinds of post-Suppression implications to that which Dalton didn’t want to consider.

  “Ready, my lady? We need to take a quick dip in that homemade blue dye.” Barrett tilted out his arm for Lydia to grasp.

  “Listen,” Dalton warned, “you have to be ready for anything. The ledgers may have been moved, re-shelved, destroyed … that room may not even be used for archives anymore. And if they catch you–”

  “We know, we know, but they never caught me before.” Barrett used his free hand to calm Dalton with a steady back patting.

  Dalton gave them some suggestions laced with warnings.

  * * *

  Lydia laughed at Barrett when he showed her the disguise he intended to wear.

  “Did you steal those?”

  “Mm, more like borrowed,” he said. He fanned out the wide-sleeved blue shirt and slipped it over his head. “It’s old. One of those vintage ‘never-needs-washing’ shirts.”

  “But it’s hideous.”

  “Goes with the pants.” He pulled the silken blue trousers up over the skin tight pants that were his daily wardrobe. He adjusted his belt sacks over the top and snapped the shirt down tight. “Stylish, huh?”

  “Sure and the guards will never recognize you through the tears in their eyes from laughing so hard.”

  “Just wait.” Barrett took two things out of his backpack and disappeared into the bathroom. Ten minutes later a darker, different version of the same handsome young man emerged.

  Lydia’s mouth dropped. “What? How? Wait a minute. Who are you and what did you do with Bear?”

  Barrett held a razor in one hand and a jar of some kind of gelatinous brown goo in the other. “Do I look mysterious?”

  “What does that do? Your cheekbones are higher, your eyes wider apart … did you always have a cleft in your chin?”

  “Did I ever tell you about the time I had to pass as a girl right after my dad returned?”

  Lydia allowed herself a giggle. “Your clothes are still too weird.”

  “You’ll be surprised at how well I’ll fit in at the capitol. And what are you going to wear, my lady?”

  “I’ll find something in my mother’s closet. And stop calling me that. This isn’t some sort of fairy tale.”r />
  “Oh, but it might be.” Barrett clucked his tongue a few times while he took a small package from his backpack. He pulled out a ball of material. One shake and a beautiful blue silken dress shimmered and billowed.

  She grabbed it from his hands and held it up to her neck. “Beautiful. Thanks. But it looks a little too big.”

  “On purpose. You need to wear your regular clothes underneath. We may have to do the Cinderella thing at midnight.”

  * * *

  They arrived at the capitol guard gate in an approved vehicle borrowed from a Blue sympathizer. The license would not arouse any suspicions. They parked and walked to the entrance where another guard escorted them on to a waiting room and left them unattended.

  Barrett noted Lydia’s apprehension. “Nervous? That’s not your style.”

  “I was just thinking about the punishment for breaking the law against intermarriage.”

  “Intermarriage? You’re not going to marry this guy. This is just a date.” He studied her face and added, “Dating is not a crime and besides,” he glanced around the room, “everybody here is a Blue.” He wanted to wink at her, but wasn’t sure if they were being observed from some hidden device.

  “You’re here as my chaperon. Think about it. Every political marriage in our lifetime, heck every Blue marriage, has involved the proper announcement, chaperon, tattoo verification, and so on.” Lydia crossed her arms.

  “I thought you’d only met this Jamie once.”

  “That’s right, but he was very, um, attracted to me and said that his father’s new wife was going to arrange a marriage for him unless he found someone on his own. He asked me to come with a chaperon.”

  “But Lydia …”

  “I know, I know. I should’ve told you,” she tapped her elbow, “but I thought maybe I could help the … you know … and look how convenient this turned out.”

  Barrett’s eyes darted around the room. He moved as close as possible and whispered near her ear. “We’ll get in, get what we need, and leave.”