by JM Butcher
Bathroom duty. Check. Mowing the lawn. Check. Painting the garage. Uncheck.
I guess I finished most of my chores today. Mom and Dad will be content, I suppose.
Screw the chores. I have an excuse. The Coats got him. They shipped my brother out West. Washburn did it. I’ll kill Washburn. I’ll kill the Coats. Where can I buy a gun? It’s on. Brian, I’ll find you. If Mom and Dad don’t help, screw them.
Mom and Dad go on a camping trip. Brian and I like camping trips. I guess Mom
and Dad needed this one. Patching things up when Brian is at-risk, though?
That’s why they went. Selfish.
Each grouping has its own theme. I’m seeing the pattern of how the software works. Now, it’s time for the narrative synthesis. Right on cue, it comes up.
Mom and Dad go on a camping trip, trying to patch up things when Brian is at-risk. Dad is selfish. He knows Brian and I like camping. He cares more about patching things up than he cares about Brian.
And he gives me chores? I did them. I cleaned the bathroom and mowed the lawn. I didn’t paint the garage. I guess I can finish the rest before they get home. Otherwise, they’ll have to be content. Screw the chores. My excuse is justified.
The Coats took Brian at the orders of Washburn. They shipped my brother out West. Where can I buy a gun? I’ll kill the Coats and Washburn. It’s on. If Mom and Dad don’t help me, screw them. Brian, I’ll find you.
Three blinking green checkmarks appear on top of the words. A loud voice comes from an intercom. I can’t see where it’s located. A-LIST TARGET. A-LIST TARGET. ALL HOUNDS. ALL SUITS. REPORT TO THE CONFERENCE ROOM.
Instantly, half of the monitors go black. The individuals at those stations quickly get up and start moving, leaving everything at their stations behind. I look at Makayla’s station, but she’s gone. I turn my head and think I catch a glimpse of her hair. The stampede is too chaotic to be sure.
I’m bumped from behind. I grab the side of a desk to keep me from eating floor.
“I told ya to stay outta the way, hotshot.” Gia spits on me and vanishes into the pack.
Hayden helps me up. “Okay, that’s enough. We need to go.”
“What’s going on?” I demand.
“We don’t want to be in the way. We need to go. Now.” Hayden isn’t playing around this time. He looks anxious. He grabs my arm, pulls me into the flow of traffic, and holds on tight. We sneak forward in the crowded passageway. We come to a four-way intersection. The pack turns left. Hayden and I squeeze through straight ahead. I’m not sure how we weren’t trampled. We’re safe.
I detect more footsteps coming from the unused path at the four-way stop. Hayden struggles to keep me moving, but I rip my arm away from him and watch five figures rush across the intersection, mixing in with the others. They wear red jackets, black pants, and eye patches.
I face Hayden and shove his back into a wall. I have him pinned pretty tightly; he doesn’t dare to resist. “You told me there weren’t any Gray Coats! You liar!” My grip on his shoulder slides up to his throat. I don’t squeeze yet. “What is this damn place?! What happened to that hand-over-your-heart crap?” I let go, but not before I give him one final shove into the wall.
Hayden reaches behind his head, feeling for a bump. The wall got his head pretty good. I’m satisfied. “Dang, Maggie. You’re a feisty one. Those aren’t real Coats,” Hayden says. He looks disappointed that my faith in him weakens. “If you don’t believe me, Johnny will tell you.”
“Let’s go find Johnny then.”
Holding the back of his head again, Hayden takes the lead. Another metal door with a key card lock comes into view. We stop ten paces in front of it, and he knocks on a door to the left.
“Who is it?” A voice from inside calls. It sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.
“It’s Hayden. I brought her, Johnny,” Hayden answers.
“Her?” I say. Hayden shrugs his shoulders in response to my piercing gaze. I should have shoved him harder earlier.
The door opens. I hear the person from within say, “Thank you. I appreciate your service, Hayden.” The person isn’t in view yet.
When brushing past me, he whispers, “Maggie, you can trust me. I promise.” The tone of his voice returns to normal, as he says, “See you soon.” Hayden walks away with his head down and one hand rubbing the back of his head. Trust. The jury is definitely still out.
I walk into the room. I know the guy. He looks different. No matted down, parted hair. It’s messy and dry. Also, there’s no prep school uniform. In place of the tie, collared shirt, and slacks, Jack wears a black hooded sweatshirt and black denim jeans. He slips around his desk and offers me his hand.
“Jack, what’s going on?” I fold my arms, refusing to shake his hand. “Why are there Gray Coats here? You work for them?” He laughs in spite of me. “Jack, tell me!”
“Around here, call me Johnny.”
Chapter 10
I admit, when introducing the Behavioral Thought Bill, I did not take enough into account the threat that those below the National Poverty Level pose to property value, education quality, and health insurance prices.
I did not anticipate that these Leftovers had the brains, communication skills, or the resources to form a collective front. Recent civil actions—brought forth by Leftovers—against major cities are irresponsible and reprehensible. The behaviors of their defense lawyers are inexcusable.
Effective immediately, I will be in charge of assigning public defenders to those who cannot afford their own.
-President Lionel Washburn
“Damn, Maggie, thrown into the action so soon.” Jack looks completely different than he did at the Garbage Spot. He still looks nerdy, but more so in an evil genius kind of way. His dark brown hair has no natural part and looks as if he ran water on his hands and tried his best to push down signs of bed head. The sweatshirt he wears is much too large, and his tight jeans must be uncomfortable.
I was wrong about Jack at the Garbage Spot. He doesn’t hide behind his glasses. If anything, they add to the arrogance he projects. It’s terrifying.
Not knowing how erratic Jack is, I tread carefully when asking my first questions. “What is this place? Where are the others? Why are Gray Coats here?” When he doesn’t immediately answer, I grow impatient and angry. I slap his desk. “And what did you do to my dad?!”
Fiddling with styluses on his desk, Jack says, “It looks like we have a lot to talk about, Maggie Gordon. Maybe we should take a walk.” He stands up, seemingly to validate my presence.
So smug.
“How about this, Maggie Gordon,” Jack says, “ask me one question here. Then, I want to show you something.”
I don’t hesitate. “Why’d you shoot my dad?”
“Ah, that is a good question. Cutting right to bones, are we?” Jack paces around his desk, only to return to his previous position. “Well, Maggie, I did not shoot him. And it was not my intention that he was harmed.” Jack points his index finger at me and jabs it in the air. “And I assure you that I will take care of that. As a matter of fact, I will let you take care of that. My Suits were reckless.”
His Suits? What kind of operation is Jack running here?
Jack drops his arm with force and promises, “They will be reprimanded. You choose the punishment. Whatever suits you. Ha. Unintended pun. But seriously, think about it. Anything goes.”
“That’s not good enough!” I pounce at Jack, but he swiftly dodges my assault, and I end up bent over his desk, the corner digging into my stomach. I grab a stylus and stand up, pointing the stylus in his direction.
“Whoa, Maggie,” Jack says through a smile, while stepping backward. “You don’t want to do that.” He points up to a blinking red light. “Hold off, boys; it’s okay,” he says to the camera. “You see that, Maggie. I will have backup in no time. So let’s calm down and take a walk.”
I reluctantly drop the stylus, hoping that Hayden isn’t a part of Jack’s
backup. I want to believe he wouldn’t hurt me.
Before I agree to his walk, I ask, “Is he alive? Tell me that much, Jack.”
He doesn’t address my question. “I’ll introduce them to you. You can ask them any question you want.” He holds two fingers in the air. “Scout’s honor. I was a Scout when I was younger. As you can see, I am not the biggest guy. I could not match up to the other boys. I digress. I will take you to them and personally oversee it.”
“Tell me.” I step toward Jack. He holds his ground and tilts his head in the direction of the camera. “Ugh.” I put my face in my hands. I don’t want to give Jack the pleasure of seeing me cry.
“Well,” Jack says, “when I heard things went awry, I sent them back in. I was told that he was still breathing. He was dropped off at the hospital. They couldn’t risk getting caught. You will have to ask them the rest.”
I breathe a small sigh of relief and wipe away the tears. Dad might be alive.
“Listen, Maggie Gordon, that is as much as I know. Scout’s honor.”
“Don’t lie to me.” I consider lashing out at him again, but the red blinking light in the corner reminds me that I’m outnumbered.
“And so you know, Maggie. We are not Gray Coats. Those men, the ones with the patches, they are not Gray Coats. Gray Coats did not invade your house. That was us. My Suits. I take responsibility, although I do not tolerate recklessness. Now, let us wander.”
Signaling a thumbs up to the camera, Jack exits the room. I have no choice except to follow. I either go willingly or his Suits do it for me.
Jack leads me to a locked metal door. He lowers his head in front of a face recognition lock pad. Red lasers screen his face, and the door unlocks.
“After you, Maggie.”
“No,” I reply. “I’ll follow you.”
“As you wish.”
On the other side of the door is another passageway. It is like the others. Pale walls. Flashing fluorescent bulbs dimly lighting the corridor. We walk until we find a staircase, then climb up some steps. At the top, he punches in a code and a small circular door slides open. Once outside, Jack reaches for my hand.
“Do not touch me, Jack!” I climb out on my own.
The sun shines brightly. I shade my face with my arm. My sensitive eyes haven’t seen natural light in what seems like days. I walk out onto a cement deck, fairly large and square. Two pillars, taller than me, are evenly spaced out on the deck.
About twenty feet in front of me, the deck turns into a ledge that drops down to a river. No railing. The river is muddy and not very wide. It lies still, or maybe slowly flows west. Across the river there are several buildings. They appear to be abandoned warehouses or something. Past them, the Cleveland skyline reaches high into the blue sky.
In the distance, far enough not to be heard by us, cars drive on an overpass that reaches high above the river. No other signs of people are visible.
“Welcome to the Cleveland Flats,” Jack says, putting out his arms and spinning as if he’s revealing a new car. Or a house. Or, for as wide as the corners of his mouth stretch, maybe an entire kingdom. From his excitement, I guess he thinks it’s his kingdom.
Jack picks up a few stones from a crack in the cement. He throws one at the water. I watch the stone hop twice before it sinks. He offers me a stone, but I put my hands behind my back. He shrugs and skips another.
“This is the great Cuyahoga River,” Jack says. He points to the other riverbank. “Those buildings across the way, they once were bars. Music. Dancing. Good times. Hard to believe, huh?”
A few stray pieces of trash confirm the river flows west. Two large aluminum cans with neon letters. A red rubber ball that bobs up and down, as it leisurely drifts downstream. An old baby-pink u-Tablet. Right now, I’d love to see Jack float down the river with the other garbage.
“You know,” Jack continues, “our smaller underground compound was a military base. Not too long ago, in fact. They made bionuclear weapons.”
“Hayden told me,” I say.
Jack shakes his head. “That Hayden, he likes to talk. He has been pretty kind to you. He’s not usually like that. He must see something in you. We all do.”
“What do you mean he’s not usually like that?” I ask with conviction.
“Yes, bionuclear weapons.” Jack does nothing to ease or worsen doubts I have about Hayden. “You know why they shut it down?”
“No, Jack. I don’t really care.” I fiddle with my fingers, growing more impatient. “Is my brother okay?”
Jack walks to the edge of the deck. “They shut it down, Maggie, because hazardous chemical waste seeped from the ground into the river. The government initially argued that it was an isolated incident. That one bad seed dumped the waste. That they would take care of that bad seed.” He turns back to face me. “Come to find out, the whole damn operation was a mess. A bunch of high-level White Coats set up labs, not caring to take the appropriate safety measures. A leak gone unnoticed…contaminated the whole damn Cuya—”
“Jack. I don’t care.” If I acted quick enough, I could push him in the river. He’s close enough to the edge. His Suits aren’t here to protect him. “You shoot my dad, kidnap me, leave my brother homeless…and you expect me to listen to a history lesson. If you’re going to kill me, just do it.”
Jack must sense that I might snap because he walks forward, distancing himself from the ledge.
“Kill you? Why would I do that?” His brow furrows, as if he’s heard the most absurd thing ever.
“Why else would you kidnap me?”
“I told you the other night,” Jack says, “I need you. We need you.”
“For what? Where are the others, Jack?” I clear my throat. “Why are you doing this me?”
Jack ignores my questions, picks up another stone and throws it into the river. “So billions of dollars went to waste—a bad pun—when the entire lab was cleared out. The people got it shut down. They flooded the place. They exposed the lab. The people won. The Leftovers of Cleveland did not have the resources the government had, but they won. Their efforts to fight back cost the government billions. Money gone that could no longer be used for war and chips and tests.”
Jack shows no signs of shutting up. I find one of the pillars and use it for support and shade.
“An interesting fact: this very river has been contaminated for decades. In fact, in 1969, the Cuyahoga caught fire. Can you believe that?! A body of water on fire! The media was all over it. The media damaged the town more than the fire did.”
A river on fire is strange. I try to picture flames climbing out of the water, smoke billowing so high and wide that it coats the entire skyline. Black clouds of soot soaring for hundreds of yards. First responders so baffled by the spectacle that they stand frozen in their tracks. Someone finally takes the initiative to drag out a firehose.
I contemplate the irony of spraying water on water to contain a disaster. It’s like using violence to end violence. So nonsensical.
“Pretty crazy, right?” Jack says.
“That is crazy,” I say, finding myself actually fascinated. I snap back to reality. “All right,” I say, “what’s this have to do with anything? Make your point. Or are you just entertaining yourself while your Hounds are out on an important mission.”
Jack finds this hilarious. His cackling is more annoying than his storytelling.
“Maggie, do you not see.” Jack emphatically spreads his arms. “The city of Cleveland shut down a billion-dollar government operation using an infamous, oil- and chemical-ridden river as the impetus. And this was when Stanton’s paranoid ass thought we were going to be wiped off the map. Or so he said. What an impossible feat by the people!”
“No,” I replied. “I don’t see. I don’t care.”
“A community of broke-ass strangers came together to confront the almighty government. And the people won. Well, kind of. The bionuclear chemicals in the water resulted in the deaths of thousands and shut down tho
se local establishments. Cleveland has not recovered. It probably never will. Nonetheless, that they had a small victory is monumental! The underdogs. Using an unfavorable river as the source of victory.”
“Unfavorable?” I see where he’s going with this. “Jack, you’re comparing me to a river to inspire me. And I thought you were a clever guy.”
“I am sorry. Another bad pun. But think about it, Maggie.”
I do think about it. I walk toward the river. I watch it flow, again imagining it on fire. I peer across at the abandoned buildings. I shiver, even in the bright sun, when I picture thousands of people dying. Mothers. Children. Dads and brothers.
I retreat from the ledge and head back to Jack. “So,” I say, “you’re saying that we are the people?”
Jack strokes his chin. “In a way.”
“Who? The YRL?”
“Oh, no.” Jack grins.
“Then who?”
The smile disappears from Jack’s face. He points his finger at me. “You, Maggie. You and everyone here. Everyone who has lost someone.”
“I lost someone because of you!”
“Look deep. You have lost more than you think. Everyone who is different. Everyone who is a victim in the URA. Everyone who can’t look away anymore.”
“Like Melli?” I ask.
“No, Maggie.” Jack puts his hand to his forehead. “Don’t you get it? Like you. Like your mother.”
My mouth opens, but I can’t find the words to say. Mother is a Transgressor. What does he mean? Not knowing what to say, I shout, “I’m nothing like Mother!”
“Then, like your classmate Billy,” Jack says.
I gasp. “You mean…?”
My body starts to burn like I imagine this river did in 1969. I anticipate smoke pouring from my skin, smothering me as I transform into a pile of ash. Instead of smoke, perspiration drips from every pore. It’s as if the Cuyahoga flows down my limbs. The sweat doesn’t cool me down; it ignites the fire more. Water on water might fix this, but can violence on violence win Jack’s battle?