by Lisa Nowak
Chapter 3
Logan
Several days prior, Chicago, Illinois
I inch forward, mindful of my footing. Three of my best men are right behind me. We slink along the canyon floor, watching for tripwires and landmines. As dusk settles around us, each step becomes more treacherous. Acrid smoke from a smoldering village burns my throat, and I stifle a cough in the sleeve of my fatigues. The slightest sound could tip off the enemy.
My team is exhausted. They need rest, but I know not one of them will utter a single word of complaint. They are the very definition of courage and loyalty.
A few hundred feet more, and we’ll be at the base of the hill. If we can get to the top and plant the bomb, we can neutralize this outpost and gain control of the entire sector.
The hard-packed ground ahead, which should be easy to navigate, is obscured by scattered rock and small rivulets of soil, dislodged from the canyon wall by recent bombings. I step forward tentatively and—
“Logan!”
My attention is diverted for only a split-second, but that’s enough. My foot comes down wrong and bam! A flash of sound and light knocks me backward, blowing my legs into a million bloody pieces.
“Turn that thing off, Logan. I need to talk to you.”
The virtual reality is so lifelike, I feel an electric sting all the way up my thighs. I push a button on the armor at the back of my left wrist and the simulation ends, leaving me staring at the inside of my darkened visor. My back throbs from landing on the game room’s floor. I flip up the helmet to see Dad staring down at me. He’s five-foot-eight and thirty pounds overweight—so pale and doughy, you’d swear his skin has never seen sunlight and his only exercise consists of wrestling donuts out of a box. But put his engineer’s brain up against my athlete’s body in an equalized competition, and he’d kick my butt.
He retracts the rear screen, opening the room to expose the furniture in back, and sits down on the couch. I continue to lie on the floor. Even though I know it wasn’t really my flesh scattered all over that canyon, it takes me several moments to recover from the shock.
Dad shakes his head as I finally hoist myself to my feet. “Still playing those shoot ’em up games. I can’t for the life of me figure out how I raised a violent kid.”
It’s got nothing to do with violence. It’s about strategy—about taking a team of men on a dangerous mission and keeping the casualties to a minimum, about outwitting an enemy that has you out-powered, outnumbered, and backed into a corner. But it’s no use trying to explain this to him. He didn’t understand the first two dozen times. He doesn’t get why I play football either.
Still feeling a little shaky, I lower myself onto a chair. “What’s up, Dad?”
He strong-arms his frown into a smile. “I’ve got good news. We’re moving to Portland.”
“Maine?” Inside I’m screaming what the hell? But I’d never disrespect him by saying it out loud. “Well,” I venture, “it’s cooler there at least. That will be good for Zoey.” Of course with superstorms hitting the East Coast every couple of years, and the shoreline being swallowed up by the rising sea, Maine’s problems are nearly as bad as Illinois’.
“No,” Dad says, “the other Portland. Portland, Oregon.”
He can’t be serious. The border’s been closed for four years. “How? Nobody can get into Cascadia.”
“There are exceptions.”
“What—did you buy our way in?” I grin, meaning it as a joke. Sure, we have that kind of money, but my father is the most honest, ethical man I know.
“Of course not!” His expression crumbles into a scowl. “That kind of thing doesn’t really happen. A headhunter from Intel recruited me.”
“Really? That’s great.” It’s a monumental honor. Dad’s a software engineer, and he’s wanted to work at Intel for a long time. They’re the largest, most powerful computer component company in North America, and they’re very selective about who they hire.
But as happy as I’d like to be for Dad, I’m stunned at the idea of moving. I only have one year of high school left, and I’m captain of our football team. Besides, I don’t want to leave my JROTC battalion. I’m sure Cascadia’s got a program of their own, but it wouldn’t be the same.
Of course, I can’t tell him any of this. It’ll just lead to another lecture about what I should be doing with my life. And while I’m not willing to sacrifice my identity to win his approval, I can at least earn some respect by not arguing.
“The important thing is, this will mean getting your sister out of Chicago,” Dad says. “The climate in Oregon will be much easier on her. And a new study just opened up for Magnusson-Bell at Doernbecher Children’s Hospital. One of the treatments is showing real promise.”
It’s the best news we’ve had in years. “Can you get her in?”
“Of course. That’s one of the agreements.”
I’m afraid to let myself have any hope. Zoey’s eleven, and no one with Magnusson-Bell Syndrome has lived past the age of nineteen. Usually, they’re lucky to make it to seventeen.
“I know this is short notice,” Dad says. “But we’ll be leaving next Monday.”
“What?” This time, I can’t keep my irritation to myself. “There are only a few weeks left before summer vacation. Why can’t we wait until school’s out?”
Dad releases a long sigh. “Logan, we’ve already had three blackouts this spring. The weathermen are saying it’s gearing up to be the hottest summer yet.”
For people like me, the heat is only an inconvenience, but for the sick and elderly, it’s deadly. Still, we’re talking about less than a month, and it’s not like we don’t have ways of coping.
“Zoey does okay in the cool room,” I say. The small space at the center of the house is insulated by the rooms around it, so it stays relatively comfortable during our power-outages, which sometimes last for weeks.
“The cool room is a joke. It barely keeps her from getting overheated, and your mother thinks it’s unhealthy for her to be hiding in the dark like a mole.”
He knows as well as I do, Zoey doesn’t care about being stuck in a windowless room. The heart problems caused by her MB have limited her physical world so much she’s had to build a virtual one. As long as she has her computer, she’s happy.
“I know this will be a big change for you.” Dad stands up to signal he’s done with the conversation. “But it’s the opportunity of a lifetime. Not just anyone gets to immigrate to Cascadia.”
That’s true. A good majority of Americans would give everything they own for the chance. And I’m not completely opposed to the idea. What Jefferson Cooper did, leading an uprising and peacefully breaking away from the U.S., is nothing short of amazing. I’d love to learn more about it from an insider’s perspective. But my goal since junior high has been to go into the Army.
How can I do that if I’m no longer a U.S. citizen?