Rebels

by Sarah Noffke

  “Maybe,” Zack says, a cold edge to his voice. I hear the book being dropped back onto the coffee table. “Shall we commence this tour?”

  “Yes, let’s get on with it,” Dee says, her voice making my skin crawl with revulsion.

  ***

  “I kinda forgot how irritating Dee is,” Rogue says as we stand on the portico of Zack’s back door, staring out at the rain-soaked grass. It’s pouring so hard I can barely make out his whispered words in my ear.

  “Irritating?” I question.

  “Well, no, she’s actually incredibly creepy, but I didn’t wanna appear all scared by a girl.”

  “Don’t worry, everyone’s scared of Dee. She’s soulless.”

  “Hard to believe Zack can play the act so well, he’s a master at hiding his emotions.”

  “Yeah, he covered for me flawlessly,” I say.

  “I think we have to go now,” Rogue says, turning back to spy through the door. “He was trying to buy us some time. Who knows what poor things that honest man will have to endure to protect us?”

  “I’m ready,” I say, and set off in a blur down the steps. I’m across the yard and through the alleyway in a couple of seconds. My speed is so fast that the pounding rain hardly registers on my shirt.

  We round the last corner before Central Boulevard in less than a minute. Using Rogue’s gift of speed we’ll be back to camp in only a few minutes. I’m halfway across the street when a stabbing pain attacks my heart. A light so bright I fear it will blind me steals my vision. I’m certain I’ve run straight into a truck. But there’s no metal. No screeching tires. No sound of a collision. Just a catastrophic attack on all of my senses. My eyes burn. My ears ring like a church bell went off in my head. And every inch of my skin sears like my flesh is burning. And then all at once it ceases.

  I’m returned from the mysterious pain to a state of confusion and hyperventilated breaths. Rogue regards me from several yards away. It’s probably where he stopped when he realized I wasn’t beside him. I blink away the rain. He stares back at me, grave concern on his face. “I’m fine,” I say, through a tight breath. Relief, so pure and encouraging, spreads across his cheeks. I take a step toward him when an invisible wrecking ball smashes into me. My palm and then my knee and then the rest of me collides with the asphalt. Over an inch of water flows on the pavement, soaking my jeans. And whatever just knocked me down stole my energy. Exhaustion rips through me, and I fear the currents of the flooding water will pull me away, down Central Boulevard. On hands and knees I try to breathe past the fire in my chest, but it owns me and second by second, I believe it will end me.

  Rogue grips my shoulders, speaks into my ear. “Em? What is it?”

  I can hardly breathe, hardly hold myself up off the flooding sidewalk. I make to reach for him and he pulls me up so I can see him. His hair is soaked, slicked back, reminding me of the way everyone else looks in Austin Valley. Rain splatters him, dripping off his nose, eyelashes, and earlobes. He looks me over, a worried craze in his face. “You haven’t released all that leeched power. You have to do it now or it will burn you up.”

  I know he’s right, but I can’t. “Not here,” I breathe out somehow through the pain. “There’s too much. I might do serious damage.” I motion with my eyes to the store-packed plaza that surrounds us. “I can’t do it here,” I say, and unable to keep my head up from the mind-numbing ache in my chest, I slump against his shoulder.

  “You have to, but you’re right, not here.” Rogue scoops me into his arms, and I allow my head to fall into the crook of his neck. Then he’s moving, running at lightning speed, climbing, barreling. Jumping. And in a few seconds’ time the air shifts, grows colder. Without warning he sets me on my feet, but holds me up. “Here,” he says, pointing up. “Unleash on that.”

  I peel open my eyes to find we’re standing on the rooftop of one of the stores in the plaza. Rogue must have climbed up a fire stairwell. The rain pounds down all around us, inking my vision. One building over, across an alleyway, is the broadcast station for Austin Valley. It’s where all approved television comes from. Five channels. That’s how many we’re allowed to view. Each is labeled for a certain age and race. The ginormous antenna is what owns my attention right now. Even over the crazy burning in my chest, I give audience to this structure, because I know what Rogue wishes me to do. The antenna is the tallest structure in the Valley, soaring over the water tower. It’s skinny and therefore doesn’t demand much attention, but right now, standing twenty feet from it, I’m forced to feel small in comparison.

  “Release your energy on it. Get it out before it harms you anymore,” Rogue says, pointing at the shiny structure like it’s an evil entity. “And by doing so you’ll also break down one of my father’s channels for brainwashing.”

  He’s right; his father probably does do something to the programming, laying subliminal messages in it to get into the heads of his citizens. It’s a splendid idea. We’ll need to go after the radio stations next. I nod. Lift my hand in the air, and simultaneously Rogue backs up a few feet behind me. The scorching fire in my chest has risen to such an intense pain, but now I welcome it into my body and I’m suddenly not accosted by it like I was on the streets. It feels similar to using reins to steer a horse. I manage the energy now. Direct it. Actually, I know I can negotiate it. I own this power. It’s the energy I’ve leeched out of other people, used. It’s my own power now. But I must let it go before it overpowers me.

  In my hand the heat pools. And then an intense burning erupts from my palm, one I think will rip a scream from my lungs. But before it does electricity so rich and pure shoots through my hands and clamps onto the antenna in the distance, sending it into a spider web of shocks. The light from the electricity is blinding. Too white. Too bright. I whip around, shielding my eyes from it, afraid it has the power to reach out and electrocute me. Seeing the energy that was inside me take this form makes me realize how dangerous it is. It’s electricity, which heats homes and also burns them to the ground. Shuffling feet send me backwards, in awe at and also repulsed by what’s come from me. By what’s surging, wrapping, frying the antenna. The electricity fades, but smoke and steam now waft off the burnt structure. If it wasn’t for the rain, I suspect there’d be a great deal of fire.

  Warm fingers wrap around my wrist. I turn to catch the shocked expression in Rogue’s eyes, which mirrors my own. “We need to get out of here, but if you don’t mind, I don’t think you should leech me anymore,” he says, a gruffness to his voice. And I’m not completely certain if he’s worried about my power needing to be released again or if he’s feeling drained. Something in his expression tells me it’s both.

  “Let’s go,” I say, grabbing his hand. We take off at normal human speed, jumping from rooftop to rooftop for an entire city block. Then we’re in the park and on the trails, stomping through puddles and shivering from the wet cold.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Even though I’ve changed into dry clothes my teeth chatter from the cold, which the rain soaked into my bones. Rogue stretches a wool blanket across us before pulling me back into his warm chest, creating an effective furnace.

  “Better?” he whispers behind me.

  I nod into his arm.

  “Ready to go do some reconnaissance work?”

  I pause and then reluctantly nod again. “Yeah. I’d rather go to Fiji with you, but I guess a rebellion isn’t going to start itself.”

  “I figure if we locate all the evidence while dream traveling, then all we’ll need to do is swing into Government Center in physical form—”

  “You mean break into Government Center,” I correct.

  “I like ‘swing,’ it sounds less daunting. Anyway, then we pop in and steal all the evidence.”

  “After that do we buzz down to the print store and make copies to post on billboards and distribute to Reverians?”

  “Yeah, that will work, but only once we find and remove all the subliminal messages.”
r />   I bury my head more into his strong forearm. “How did we get elected to lead this rebellion again?”

  With his hand on my chin, Rogue encourages me to half turn back to face him. He’s sitting up a little. “We were born into these roles.”

  “Yeah, apparently, I’m going to be the death of the Reverians,” I say, thinking of my namesake.

  “Death isn’t such a bad thing, Em,” Rogue says, as I turn back around.

  “Death is the worst thing,” I snap back at him.

  “There are things worse than death. Death is like birth. It’s a beginning. A change. An entry into a new world. Living in a world plagued by wrong, that’s worse than death,” Rogue says, conviction in his words. I listen, swept away by how this all seems to flow out of him. “To exist in a world wanting to love and feeling abandoned is worse. Neglect. Abuse. Betrayal. All of these things are worse than death. All death is an ending, which is the natural order of things. My guess is that you do have a great weight to your name, but it doesn’t have to be the curse you think your mother intended. If I know you, you’ll turn it around and use it to your favor.”

  At the punctuation to his speech I wiggle around in his arms until I’m directly facing him and lay my head against his chest. “You know, Rogue, when this whole rebellion is over, I say we sign you up for motivational speaking.”

  He kisses the top of my head and a small sigh falls from his mouth next. “Yeah, let’s just focus on the here and now until this is over.”

  I close my eyes and smile, his warmth having ended my shivers. “Meet me there in few?”

  “I’ll be there, babe.”

  ***

  My father’s office is exactly the way it was the last time I spied it. The shelves are all neatly arranged, holding hundreds of books and artifacts he’s collected. The office furniture is perfectly orderly. Funny, that I could move a chair a half an inch and that would be enough to tell him I’ve been here. He craves order above everything else. My father used to tell me, “The world is whole only because some choose organization, otherwise it would fall to pieces.”

  I don’t believe that for a second. It’s how I’m starting to break out of the brainwashing my father did to me on his own sick level. The world is whole because people choose to love each other and treat one another with respect. Organization is a part of the system, a by-product. Organization is something that happens when people value life and their surroundings. To think our existence needs to be centered on a starched appearance and a tidy home is outrageous.

  Rogue’s mind-soothing form materializes a few minutes after mine. “So…” he says, drawing out the word. “We need to confirm the report on killing babies is in the drawer and then find more evidence, right?”

  I flinch. “Do you have to put it so casually?”

  “I’m ’fraid I do. This sickness that is my father has made me have to desensitize myself a bit. Otherwise I fear if I put too much emotion into it then I’d never keep a clear head. I despise them for what they’ve done, and my casual phrasing shouldn’t make you think for a second I’m making light of it.”

  “Rogue, you’re doing a lot of talking tonight,” I say, making an observation. “More than usual for sure. Any particular reason you’ve been inspired?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve got a lot to voice.” His eyes don’t connect with mine. They manage to dart away from me when I step into his line of vision. He slides around me, headed for the file cabinet. The plan is that tonight, instead of using his gift of apportating the files out of the cabinet, we’ll actually break into the drawer so we’ll know the exact location of the evidence when we return in physical form.

  “Go for it,” I say to Rogue as he studies the lock.

  ***

  We were able to locate three pieces of evidence inside my father’s cabinet. One is the report we originally found that ties the President to the manslaughter of Middling babies in an attempt to determine how to properly withdraw their spinal fluid. The other two reports we found could be used as evidence to tie President Vider to the kidnapping and testing of Middling and Dream Traveler children. They’re mostly ancillary evidence, but under the right light might make a case. We’ll have to investigate Vider’s office to find more.

  We’re about to exit my father’s office and take the short walk to the President’s when I pause at the door. High up on the shelf above my father’s desk is a new statue. One that replaces the Lady of Justice which I broke when I snuck in here the first time. My father somehow figured it out and left the statue on my bed as a clue that he was on to me. He was starting a game and I know so very well how much he loves to play with people, but only if he has the upper hand.

  “Hold up,” I say to Rogue.

  He pauses in the hallway, his transparent appearance reminding me of a ghost, although he’s full of color.

  I march over to the statue and pluck it from its spot. It’s porcelain like the other one. This Lady of Justice statue is all white. The scales and sword she holds in each hand are bigger than the old one. Her white blindfold is subtle, having no contrast against her white face. I hold the body of the lady in my hand and bring the head down on the desk with a swift strike. It breaks in two, shards shattering off of it, spraying around on the desk. With only a slight glance I toss the body on the table top, leaving it for my father to find in the morning.

  “Why’d you do that?” Rogue says, giving me a skeptical glance.

  “Tutu says my father acts on edge since I’ve been gone. Fears I might return.”

  “And you figure there’s no disadvantage to him knowing you have? That you’re prowling?”

  “I figure the more fearful he is, the more irrational he’ll become, which might lead to mistakes.”

  Rogue continues staring at me with skeptical eyes. It’s cute on his usually accepting face. “Oh, and fine,” I say, waving my hand at him. “I wanted to stick it to my father. We don’t get many battle victories right now. I need something to keep up morale.”

  “I’ll allow it,” Rogue says, leading the way down the long ornamental rug which runs the length of the Presidential wing. His shoulders tense as he takes each swift step. Even in dream travel form his body registers the stresses of his mind. I want to reach out and touch his hand, lend support, but Rogue needs to do some of this on his own. I sense that.

  He gracefully pauses in front of the overly decorated door to his father’s office. The molding around the frame must have taken a Middling craftsperson months to complete. It’s gaudy, and doesn’t make me think a President leads from this office, but rather someone who thinks they’re a king. Rogue’s strong hand presses down on the door handle and he slips into the office. I’m at his back, ready to investigate, when I slam into him. He halts, and then simultaneously backs up, shielding me with his body.

  “Hello, son,” I hear Vider’s voice sing somewhere in front of us. My mind blanks. Adrenaline kicks in. I hadn’t been on the defensive. Mistakenly I thought we were safe here because we’re dream traveling. My leeching skill, which would have clued me into Vider’s presence earlier on, was turned off. I suddenly throw myself into overdrive, leeching in the powers around me, feeling them like the fingers in a glove. At once I register two distinct powers, Rogue’s and his father’s. I know his father’s, having leeched him in the labs. Whereas Rogue’s is clean and light, Vider’s power feels heavy and lethal, like gasoline.

  Thoughts race through my mind, bent on piecing together our situation. Vider is dream traveling. To his own office. That’s the only way he could see us. Otherwise we’re ghosts to those not dream traveling.

  Rogue’s arm snakes around to protect me from behind him. In his chest, his heart ramps up. He slides his chin over his shoulder and whispers to me. “Go. Now.”

  Not in a million years. Never would I leave him here to face off with his father. Never would I leave him.

  “No reason to worry, my dear son. I don’t plan to hurt you two tonight.” Vider sounds too
casual. Amused. “I only want to talk.” His heart beats at an even pace. Leeching his hyper-senses, I hear only the hearts in the room. I can’t smell while dream traveling, and all I see is the back of Rogue, where he has me pinned.

  “There’s no talking to you.” Rogue pushes me with his hand slightly, the gesture obvious. But I’m not going anywhere. “You only hear what you want. And every word out of your mouth is a manipulation.”

  “We both know my manipulations don’t work on you and Em,” Vider says, a laugh in his voice. Rogue needs to contain his temper, because it only encourages his father. He knows that. “Do let me lay my eyes on sweet Em, won’t you, son? I want to make sure she’s all right after living in the cruel world outside our borders.”

  “No,” Rogue says through clenched teeth.

  “Rogue,” I say, trying and failing to push his corralling arm away. “Let’s just go.”

  “No,” he says again.

  “It’s okay,” I say, using my words, but feeling a skill I don’t own lacing around them. I lay my hand on Rogue’s back and with Vider’s skill I feel him in a way I never have before. The way his blood beats. The exact temperature of his body. The pores in his skin. I’m acutely attuned to Rogue and at the same time able to inject a bit of myself into the touch. Rogue softens a degree. I feel it. Spy it.

  And although I know it doesn’t work on Rogue the same way it does on others, I’m now aware of how Vider’s manipulation works. He says something and creates a door in their head. He moves and weakens their inhibitions. And the dance continues with different moves until he encourages his victim to open and walk through the door he created. Vider’s mind control is subtle, like Ren said, and it’s also, employed the right way, deadly. I feel like right now I could hunt down a prey and make them do what I want. I feel his power and it tears at my rational mind. Leaves disgust in my stomach.

  Rogue’s arm loses its tension, and he feels around in the space until he finds my hand. Gently he pulls me to his side. My first glance at Vider does nothing to settle the revulsion churning in me. He stands as tall as Rogue, slimmer built though. His coal black hair is parted on the side and slicked back, giving contrast to his pale olive green skin. When his eyes connect with me, he narrows them, his thick eyebrows knitting together. Sliding his hands into his gray-pinstriped suit pockets, he half smiles, though it looks more like a growl. Now that I’m paying attention I recognize the grace with which he moves; it’s like Rogue does, but there’s something nefarious to it, like he’s working to hypnotize. When Rogue moves it’s because that’s his grace, there’s no hidden agenda to it.