by G. K. Lamb
“I agree whole heartedly with you. I don’t want to see Damian throw his life away, or anyone else’s.”
“Together then, we’ll convince them to approach this rationally.”
Victor smiles. His face has healed considerably but his eye is still black and blue. The commotion in the kitchen dies down for a second. A man named Charles is here. To my astonishment, it is Mr. Standish, my apartment’s superintendent. He walks straight into the crowd and begins shaking hands and saying his pleasantries. He seems so much more alive than I have ever seen him before. It is amazing how different people are when they aren’t being watched. Damian stops pacing and retakes his spot of authority.
“Nice of you to make it, Charles. Ok everyone, gather around the computer terminal. Victor is going to project what we’ve found. Try and keep your comments to yourselves until we’ve gone through the information. After that I would like to propose a plan of action.”
Stepping out of the corner, I stride toward the computer terminal.
“Victor and I also have a plan we would like to propose. It is nice to meet you all.”
The gathered people smile and nod. Only Standish seems unsure of how to act. We make eye contact. He is visibly nervous. Damian interjects before I have a chance to walk over to him and convince him that I do not share the same convictions that my mother does.
“Play it, Victor.”
Victor’s fingers dance on the keyboard and the terminal comes to life. The videos, images, and spreadsheets project up on the small screen. The group gathers in close to see.
“The first thing I’m going to show you is a video conversation between Margaret Waters and Undersecretary Ursula Fowler, the subversives’ program operator. This video was shot without Fowler’s knowledge.”
The video begins to play. The familiar, bright living room comes on the screen. Everything is neat and clean the way I saw it the first time. The time stamp on the video shows it was taken almost two years ago. Fowler enters the room and takes a seat in one of the armchairs. Margaret brings tea, sets it on the coffee table, then sits on the couch as far away from Fowler as she can.
“The tea is a touching gesture, but this is not a social call,” says Fowler. “I’m here to discuss the terms of your parole.”
“Which terms do you mean?”
“The contract you signed on your way out of prison all those years ago obliged you to work for the Great Society if ever the Caretakers needed your services. Well now is such a time. I am the head of a top secret program that has been recently activated. You will perform a task for us. You will act as my recruiter.”
“What kind of top secret program?”
“That is none of your concern. You need only do what you are told.”
“And what if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll throw you back in a cell or I’ll send you to the coal pits. It all depends on how generous I’m feeling that day.”
Margaret picks up her tea cup. Her quivering hands splash much of the tea out on the way to her lips.
“Recruiter? I don’t know very many people, and certainly not the types of people you would be interested in. I’m not sure I’m the woman for the job.”
“Believe me, you are the woman. You won’t have to find the people yourself. We’ll find them and push them in your direction. All you have to do is answer the door, pour them some tea, and convince them that they are on the right path.”
“And which path is that?”
“Mine. I’ll give you a script of what to say and things to give them. You are a stepping stone for them, nothing more, but a vital stepping stone. You will weed out the smart and the driven and send me the docile and dependent.”
“I still don’t know why you cannot do this yourself.”
“Because I don’t have to. You will do it or I’ll find someone else. You are not the first person I’ve approached and would certainly not be the first person I’ve thrown back in jail or condemned to the pits when they refused to work with me.”
“Tell me what to do then.”
“Wise choice.”
The video cuts out. The murmuring in the group grows loud.
“Settle down everyone. I know that you have a lot of questions, but Margaret has put together spreadsheets and documents outlining what Fowler’s plan is as she pieced it together. That should fill in the blanks.”
Victor’s fingers once again dance on the input projection and the documents and spreadsheets appear.
“I encourage you to read them over at your own leisure later, but Evelyn and I have already read through them, so I will do my best to summarize. We already knew Fowler was in charge of the subversives’ program and that she was close to activating it, but what we didn’t know is that she has her own agenda. During the last cycle of violence she determined that with enough pressure and prolonged violence she could set the stage for a successful coup against the Caretakers so she could seize power for herself. Over the last two years she has been building her army in secret. Using the Oracle Device, she indoctrinates her initiates far beyond the level Peace Officers and Guardians receive. According to Margaret’s estimation, Fowler has ten thousand fully indoctrinated warriors ready to unleash chaos and bloodshed across this city for her own purposes.”
The group lets out a collective gasp.
“Most unsettling, though, is Margaret was somehow able to learn the starting date for the violence. Tomorrow.”
The groups murmuring and hushed chatter erupts into a cacophonous roar. Damian’s booming voice cuts through the din. He stands by the bolted lockers; everyone turns to face him.
“Time has long since passed for talking. We need to take action. The people need to know what is going on. They need to know that the subversives are part of the state apparatus, that Fowler is planning a coup. We need to strike now.”
“Hear, hear!” the group cries out.
“I propose we arm ourselves and gain entry into the television broadcast center. Then we can communicate with the entire city, and the whole nation, all at once. We have to strike now before Fowler begins turning the city upside down! Then after we’ve made our presence known we will go to the Under City, empty the factories and march with legions of workers at our back. We’ll march all the way to the Halls of Power!”
A near unanimous cheer from the assembled group unnerves me. I climb quickly onto a chair so that everyone can see me.
“What Damian suggests is counterproductive. We want to unseat the Caretakers from power because they resort to violence, fear, and intimidation. If you march armed into the streets you are committing the very acts you rebel against! You cannot win freedom from oppression with bullets and fists. It’s too late for us to stop Fowler, but we need to stay resolved as a group. We need to keep the fire of peace, truth, and liberty kindled in these dark times and not stoke the flames of revenge. Instead of fighting, we should all be making sure our friends and families are safe. We need to be patient. We need to lay a proper foundation.”
“Enough talk!” says Damian. “Enough platitudes and hollow words! This girl speaks as if she has truly felt the weight of the Caretaker’s boots on her neck, as if she has trembled in her sleep fearing the Peace Officer’s baton. I will take up arms and fight alone if need be. Those who wish to cower in this safe house until the danger has passed, be my guest, but know that when we’ve won our victory, you won’t be able to live with your shame.”
Victor, sensing that we’re losing the crowd to Damian’s fiery rhetoric, clambers up onto his own chair.
“Evelyn may be young, but she has seen things we can only imagine. She has a wisdom beyond her years and I implore you to heed her warning. If you go out now, the people will mistake you for subversives. Killing Peace Officers does not help our cause; it only creates animosity among the people, especially in the Under City, where most of the recruits come
from! Don’t do this, Damian. We need more time to think about this.”
“I’ve had my whole life Victor. I’d rather die this instant than live another day in this forsaken city.”
“Then I wish you the best of luck. But I cannot condone violence; I cannot stand with you.”
Victor’s eyes stream with tears. Mr. Herrington stands silently next to Victor, sorrow etched into the wrinkles in his face. Damian locks his fiery eyes with Victor’s a tinge of disgust curls his lips.
“To arms!”
His cry echoes in the large open room. Chest up, shoulders back, he strides with pride to the bolted lockers, opening them with a key. The doors swing open revealing row upon row of rifles. Damian grabs one along with a few extra magazines then heads directly for the exit. The group begins to follow his example, casting Mr. Herrington, Victor and I disgusted expressions. Person after person, gun after gun, they file by the locker and out the door—everyone except one, Mr. Standish. The last person exiting the safe house slams the door loudly behind them. We stand in the silence trying to regain our composure. Mr. Standish breaks the silence.
“I was worried when I saw you here that we had been infiltrated by a loyalist, given who your mother is, but hearing you speak just now I have no doubt you truly want change. Peace.”
“I could see your worry, Mr. Standish. I’m glad I’ve persuaded you.”
“Please call me Charles. I’ve never been one for confrontation, but it’s hard to see how we’re going to do this peacefully.”
“I don’t have an easy answer, I don’t think there is one, but we have to keep searching. We can’t lose hope that we can succeed.”
“You amaze me more and more the longer I’m in your presence, Miss Brennan. I think your plan is a good one, but alas, you three are the only family I have left now,” Mr. Herrington says with a sigh.
“The same goes for me. My sister moved to the coast a few years ago and besides her, this group is it,” says Victor.
“What about you Charles?” I say. A tinge of guilt grips me for not knowing if he even has a family.
“My wife Cornelia and daughter Georgette live at the high rise. We can kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, and get your father while we’re there.”
“Doesn’t Miss Brennan have a mother you’re forgetting about?” Mr. Herrington says.
“He’s right, Mr. Herrington,” I say. “We should go there to collect my father. My mother probably won’t come.”
“Well, regardless, Victor and I will do everything we can to help.”
“Hopefully Damian left us the van,” says Victor.
“Indeed, I’m not sure my knees can handle too long of a walk.”
Charles leads the way to the garage. Victor, helping Mr. Herrington, follows him. The van is still there. The last one out, I switch the lights off behind me as I pass through the door into the garage.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Thankfully, the group left the van behind in their eagerness to fight. Victor helps Mr. Herrington into the front passenger seat then takes his own seat behind the wheel. I get in first and let Charles close the door. The van rumbles to life. Flipping the lights on, Victor opens the garage door and pulls out into the lamp-lit street.
“If you head straight six blocks then take a left and go two more it’ll be on the corner. Can’t miss it,” Charles says.
“Sounds like a short trip then. Keep your eyes open for Peace Officers or subversives. Fowler knows where Evelyn lives so she might be waiting for her to return. If the front is being watched do you know a back way into the building?”
“Of course. One block up there is a narrow alley that leads to the garbage pickup and service entrance. You need a code to get in, so I doubt they’ll be watching it.”
“If that’s the case then let’s just head straight there. No reason to risk being spotted in the front if we can go around back.”
“Agreed.”
Even with a plan I feel tense for what’s to come. With Charles’s knowledge of the building I don’t think we’ll have any problems getting to our families unseen, but convincing Mother is the part that is giving me pause. She is so attached to her reality that I don’t know if there is a way to get through to her. No matter how minuscule the chance is, though, I have to take it.
The streets are choked. Vehicles swoosh by, illuminated by the harsh neon of the billboards up above. Vehicles back up at traffic lights. Belching black fumes from their exhausts mingle with the relentless stream of soot and ash from above. Like the belly of a maleficent beast, the tides of filth turn without end. The world outside the van mirrors the maelstrom of nerves writhing in my stomach. With each passing minute, we grow closer to the apartment and I grow closer to nausea. How will I convince Mother to leave? Will I be able to get her out the door? Will she let me leave again or will her fingers dig into me and never let me go? But even if I get her to leave with us, Father may not be home. He has been getting home so late it could be another hour or two before he stumbles through the door. Could I wait that long? Could I stall Mother, keep her from changing her mind? The questions, doubts, and fears of the coming confrontation have been brewing for months, but up until now they were fictions, another day’s hardships. Now that they press upon me, I fear I will not be able to bear them.
As Victor turns into the alley, the roaring volcano threatens to burst and it takes a great deal to press the bile down. I take a deep breath. Calming my racing mind, I take these final moments to regain composure. Cutting the headlights, Victor pulls the van behind the massive garbage bin. The service entrance shares little resemblance to the polished façade of the entrance hall. Ash mounds high alongside a small mountain of trash waiting to be collected.
“After you two go inside, I’ll turn the car around and keep it ready to go. I don’t know how long it will take you so we’ll wait patiently. But do be as quick as you can. The city feels off tonight, on edge.” Victor’s words are full of fear. The ride over must have been plaguing his mind too.
“Don’t worry, Miss Brennan I won’t let him leave without you.” Mr. Herrington says, smiling. Even now he radiates with a collected calm I couldn’t fake if I wanted to.
“I appreciate that, Mr. Herrington.” In a flash, images of him parenting me dance gleefully in my mind. A different childhood, a different life, but a better one I think.
I lean forward and give Mr. Herrington a kiss on the cheek.
“For luck,” I say.
Charles opens the door and clambers out. I jump out after him.
“Stay close. I’ll take us through some maintenance passages to the service elevator. From there I’ll let you go up to the top and I’ll head to the bottom. When you have you parents, it should be as easy as retracing your steps,” says Charles.
He sprints to the door, and standing under the single yellow bulb hanging above him, punches in the code. The door clicks open and we waste no time getting inside. The door closes with a loud crash. The point of no return. Charles starts down the hallway. I stop him with a hand on his shoulder; he turns to look at me.
“Good luck, and thank you, Charles.”
Charles grins then leads the way down the service hallways. The farther I venture through the service paths in the building it strikes me how little I know this building. The areas I normally traverse are shining and clean. The hallways are wide enough to stand two abreast and the ceilings are tall with soft lighting. The service paths on the other hand are hardly distinguishable from the alleys. The veneer of our civilization is paper-thin.
We twist and turn through the building at Charles’s urgent pace. Without him here to guide me I don’t know if I’d ever make it to the elevator. In the repeated pattern of concrete and wires on the walls the elevator could easily be missed. Charles pulls open the control box of the elevator and calls it.
“We’ll he
ad to the top first. That should give you some more time. It should be easy for me to grab my family, they’ve been ready for a day like this, but I think you’re going to need a miracle to get your mother out of that apartment.”
“Good thing I saved my last one.”
I give Charles a sarcastic wink. He grins in amusement. The elevator’s opening doors break our moment of comedy. I step in first. A heavy odor of garbage, oil, and ash hangs heavy in the stagnant air. Charles follows and presses the button for my floor. The elevator jerks to life. I have to reach my arm out and grab the wall to keep from falling. Instead of the soft whirring I normally enjoy in the residence elevator there is a high pitched squealing and grinding. The noise does little to inspire confidence in the machine.
Reaching the top, the elevator jerks again. The doors grind open.
“Just retrace your steps and I’ll see you and your parents in the van.”
“It will be nice to meet your family,” I say.
Charles smiles. I crouch low and step out. The elevator doors close behind me. Alone in the hallway, I look around to get my bearings. Looking at the door numbers, I should be able to turn the corner in front of me, go down six doors, and be at my apartment. At least it’s close. Crouching up to the corner, I take a quick glance up and down the hallway in both directions. Empty. Standing up, I run down the hall. One, two, three, four, five. Stopping on six I take a quick breath then grab the knob. The door is unlocked and swings in at my touch. This can’t be good. Not ready to face what’s inside, I press on anyway.
The room is brightly lit. Looking straight down the hallway I see my father sitting on the couch facing me. His face looks pale. Mother is out of sight but already I know something is very wrong. The television’s light isn’t bouncing off the windows and Father is sitting there without making any attempt to greet me. I’m walking into a trap, but I have no other options at this point. I step cautiously down the hall. Passing the empty kitchen, I step into the living room. The trap is sprung. Near her bedroom door is Mother without her mask. For the first time in months I can see her face. It’s a far cry from what I remember. Her eyes are sunken into black pits. Her skin has faded to the point of nearly being translucent. Even across the room I can see the web of slender blue veins crisscross her face. She looks dead inside. The fear has beaten her passion leaving her little more than an animated corpse. I could have stayed locked on her for hours, studying the decay so apparent in her face, but a looming presence in the background pulls my eyes away. Standing behind her are two Peace Officers with rifles.