“Come over here,” I said, inclining my head as I led him into a small patch of trees. “Reid, Brandon, over here!”
The others didn’t follow us, or even question. They’d been briefed.
Reid placed Ezra in a folding chair next to Georgiana’s—she didn’t even look up—and jogged over to us with Brandon at his side. “What’s up?”
I blinked, the emotion of the moment already rising up in my throat and eyes. “Brandon, this is Reuben and Reid Fischer. They’re two of several brothers from Idaho. The others couldn’t come today, unfortunately.”
Raphael had sent a single letter nine years ago saying that he was alive and well, and asked us to leave him alone to mourn his fallen teammates. Robert and Richard had quiet lives with their families, and had opted out of today’s meeting. Mr. Fischer, sadly, had passed away a few years after the camps were shut down.
They all shook hands again, and I continued, “Brandon is a journalism major at UGSC, in his senior year. He contacted me last year about the work I do with the former residents of the camps. He wanted to do a big freelance profile on me, my team, our histories, all of that. He’d like to work for the New York Times one day.”
Reuben blinked in surprise. “Oh? Would you like to interview me? Is that what this is about?” He glanced at me. “If you vouch for him, I’m fine with that.”
“No,” I said quietly. “That’s not what this is about. Brandon, tell them.”
Brandon swallowed. “We got to talking, Jill and me, and I told her that I was adopted when I was four years old. My family used to be camp allies. They said that when they got me, they were told to change my name. My name’s Brandon Callahan now, but when I was born, my name was Ryan. Ryan Fischer.”
The littlest Fischer boy had finally come home.
I stepped back as the three suddenly-crying men embraced each other and thumped each other’s backs in that natural, brotherly way I knew they would. They tumbled over each other to compare physical similarities. Ryan had their beautiful gray eyes, but not their mother’s pronounced jaw. He had slightly darker blond hair than the others, but the same lean build.
He was a Fischer, through and through.
That reminds me… “Tell them how you’re paying for college,” I said when they’d all calmed down.
Brandon laughed. “During my tour of the campus when I looking at colleges, I saved the school president from getting hit by a student security van. I got a full scholarship for my troubles.”
Reid and Reuben whooped and hollered like idiots about their brother being a part of “the family business.”
Brandon rolled up his sleeve and showed off his new tattoo, a list of names: Simon and Esther, and beneath them, their six sons. Ryan had etched his place in his family into his very flesh. Whether he liked it or not, he shared his brother Reid’s flair for theatrical displays.
When Reid and Reuben started jabbering about getting matching tattoos, I snorted and walked back to the main group. I wiped away a tear, though. Goodness, I’m sappy today.
While we waited for Reid, Reuben, and Brandon to finish their reunion, I tapped Ember on the shoulder. “Who are the new people? Are they ex-Sentinels?”
I couldn’t recall ever seeing the middle-aged couple who were lingering in the shadows of a nearby willow tree, friendly but definitely reserved. The woman was short and white, with long blonde hair and a good-natured face. The man bore a cursory resemblance to Gabriela, with light brown skin and wavy black hair, and an overall look that made me think his genetics were from Latin America.
However, the extensive, fading tattoos on his forearms were too old and blurred for him to have been a Sentinel. The ink had to have been at least twenty years old. So who was he?
The younger man was beautiful in a masculine way, and at least ten years younger than me. He was fairly short, but possessed elegant bone structure and inky, combed black hair. His eyes were dark brown and very friendly. He caught my eye and waved excitedly.
Ember took my hand and turned me away from them. “I was worried you’d be angry when I first met her,” she said softly. “She contacted me years ago, not long after the big trial.”
“Who is she? A former slave?” I craned my neck again and startled. She was studying me with the exact same air of questioning.
“Jill…That’s Heather Harris. That’s my auntie. She was on the San Diego team thirty years ago. You know, the one that was supposedly murdered by that gang?”
I knew the name. We all knew the name, and the names of her teammates. A little girl bearing the famous, honored name had died in this very camp. The San Diego team had fought and died like heroes—or so I’d been told.
Apparently I’d been lied to. Again.
I gulped down the anger to which I’d become so accustomed to swallowing, and took a deep breath. “Was it the elders? What did they do now?”
“For once, nothing. Heather was going to be sent back and flogged for a stupid, made-up infraction, so the team ran. They were mentally out of the cult already, so they just dropped it all and bolted for the border. Their leader actually died in an unrelated incident, and it was his corpse that was found in the house. They’d never reported his death. That was before regular DNA test…”
Her voiced faded into the background as my vision tunneled.
They’d run. They’d escaped from the cult and run.
Thirty years ago.
And they’d never come back to help us.
Ember put her hand on my cheek, her breath picking up. “Jill. Jill. Look at me. See that man? That’s Miguel. That’s her husband. They fell in love when they were nineteen. They have children. Those children are getting married now and are ready to have children of their own. That young man? He’s the son of one of the men who got them out. They’re us, Jill. They’re just like us. They fell in love and wanted to live a life free of the cult. There’s no dishonor in that. They just wanted to live. Please don’t hate them. Please don’t hold this against them.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, then nodded. I’d be speaking to Erica about this—and assaulting my punching bag for three uninterrupted hours at some point—but I could be polite and welcoming for Ember’s sake.
God, I hated people who didn’t do anything with their power. The surge of anger returned, but I stamped it down.
My emotions today! Sheesh.
I walked up to them, my hand held out. “Jillian Trent. Ember just told me that you’re her Aunt Heather?”
Heather shook my hand. “Yes. I fought as Excalibur. May I introduce my husband, Miguel? And this is Jesse Cipriano. He’s the son of the superheroine you may know as Frenzy. Courtney and her husband declined to come today, but I’ll let them know that you’re well.”
Something of my true thoughts must’ve been communicated in my grip, because she cleared her throat and stepped back. “We’ll be over here.”
Jesse, however, gave me a hearty handshake that nearly dislocated my shoulder. “I know you don’t know me, but I came to tell you that I’m one of your biggest fans.”
“Oh,” I said, taken aback. “Are you a fan of my time in service, or of the other stuff?”
“Stuff” meant the work Benjamin and I did. There wasn’t a word that fully encapsulated “deprogramming camp people, helping them integrate with society, sometimes reuniting families, consulting with law enforcement, and being called in as a subject matter expert on the superhero cult for trials.”
“Both! I came to tell you that, but also to say that I’ve decided to enlist in the National Superhero Corps, and ask if I can be Battlecry II. It would be such an honor.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I know you don’t even know me, but I’ve dreamed of being the next Battlecry for years.” He cursed. “I probably sound stupid. I’m sorry. I’m just so excited to finally meet you.”
Heather and Miguel were watching us, as was Ember. They’d known this was coming. They’d known Jesse would drop this bomb.
But they couldn’t
have known the significance to me. They couldn’t have known the pain in my heart when I’d cried in my room the day a man named Patrick had branded me Battlecry to make fun of me, to mock me for saying that I’d been named after Jillian St. James. To put me down. To remind me of how utterly worthless I was.
And now someone had told me that being Battlecry would be his honor.
Jesse plunged on, “The people at the Corps office said I needed your permission because you’re still alive. You see, I find people. That’s my power. I was able to get us all here without a GPS or anything just by concentrating on your picture in my head. I’m going to be the superhero who finds everyone. If you want, I thought I could work with you to help locate the missing kids that were given to the camp allies, or maybe we can start on the National Registry for Missing and Exploited Children, or maybe the...”
He quieted and stilled as I leaned in and softly pressed my lips to his forehead. “You have my blessing, Battlecry.” Tears finally escaped down my cheeks, but I laughed through them. “And you’ll be Battlecry III, by the way. The first one, Jillian St. James, was my grandma, and she was an amazing, brave woman. You’re officially in a line of heroes. You’ve got a lot to live up to, Battlecry.”
“Thank you! Thank you so much!” He all but swallowed me in his eager embrace. “Hey, everyone! I’m the new Battlecry!”
The main group of people clapped and whistled. I slung my arm over his shoulder, all anger at Heather and her crew forgotten. They’d produced Battlecry III, after all. I’d invite them to the fancy dinner Benjamin and I were hosting at our home later. I had a special announcement that I wanted them to hear.
We went back to the main gathering. I hadn’t realized I needed it, but the unexpected pleasure of meeting Jesse had prepared me for what was going to happen next.
“Berenice, if I could talk to you and Lark for a second,” I said, waving to get Lark’s attention. Since I’d arrived, she’d been on her phone with her partners at the brokerage firm she and Jen had opened, absorbed in a conversation that was apparently going to net her half a million dollars by tomorrow morning.
And yet people gave Benjamin and me trouble for selling the house in which I’d been tortured nearly to death. Talk about unfair.
She ended the call and teleported over. “Sorry. I was on the phone with London. Time difference means phone calls at odd hours.”
“No problem. Did you two bring what I asked?”
“Got it,” Berenice said. She dug around in her roomy pocket. She was wearing her black U.S. Marshals t-shirt tucked neatly into her cargo pants, which themselves were tucked into solid work boots. Today, and today only, I wouldn’t tease her about choosing a law enforcement agency that dressed her up like Artemis again.
She handed me a small bronze tiger, and Lark produced a bronze compass. I slipped them into my pocket. “Thank you so much, you guys.”
Berenice sighed. “I’ve got some bad news…I can’t stay for the dinner tonight. I just got a call from my supervisor. One of the other deputy marshals, Cash, punched someone. I gotta fly back to Cheyenne and put out a few fires. I’m usually the only one who can knock some sense into that guy.” She rolled her eyes, but there was an indulgent air to it.
“Punched someone? A fugitive?” I gasped. “Oh my gosh, was it one of the Westerner hold-outs? Please tell me it was a Westerner.”
She grinned sheepishly. “It was actually one of the other deputy marshals. Cash says it was all a misunderstanding, but if you know him the way I do, that’s a highly suspect claim.”
I choked on my own spit. “You went from one team of rogues to another, didn’t you?”
She boxed my shoulder, and then we pounded fists. She really was a cool person, and a good friend.
Lark gave me a hug. “Thank you for doing this, Jill. I think we all need it.”
I pecked her on the cheek. “How’s the firm?”
“Very well, since we just hit our stock price goal for the quarter. I’ll tell you all about it over dinner tonight.”
We all exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then we went back to the group.
I was finally ready.
I’d thought long and hard about this day. For the longest time I hadn’t known what the specific date would be, but when I found out that the camp’s land was going to be turned back into a national forest, I knew my time had come. I’d chosen today, specifically, because it was the tenth anniversary of the day Reid had woken up from his coma.
Well, the upcoming conversion to a national forest was just one of the reasons I’d arranged this meeting. There were two.
I gathered everyone around me and took in their faces. They were handsome or beautiful, lined with age and experience, and friendly. All the faces I’d come to cherish so deeply over the years. Faces of naked hope and realized dreams. Faces of heroes. Faces of children who could be anything they wanted to be because of the sacrifices of the adults around them, and a few adults who weren’t.
My chest ached. There were so many faces that weren’t there.
Gregory had stopped taking my calls six years ago. Dean had lost contact with him following the relocations into Witness Protection, and even Isabel hadn’t heard from him. I hoped he was well, and had found the peace that had escaped him for so long.
Topher, almost-world traveller, should’ve been there. He should’ve stood head and shoulders above the rest of us, gushing about his adventures in the great, wide unknown. He should’ve found a life partner to travel with and whisper his secrets to, as I’d found in Benjamin. He should’ve toasted us, and roasted Benjamin, at our formal wedding reception we’d held after Reid had woken up.
Abby and Edward should’ve lived in each other’s embrace, free to be who and what they really were. They’d been denied each other for years, shamed for wanting someone of a different race. In the darkest hours of my worst nights, when my nightmares kept me from sleep and the pain of my missing arm made me scream for an end to the agony, I thought of them as I’d last seen them: hand-in-hand, smiling, and ready for a new life.
All gone because of a single spark.
More faces flipped through my mind, people I’d encountered in my new job. I’d met with families I’d known growing up who didn’t understand what was happening. Children who’d been wrenched from their screaming mother’s arms and given to new parents because they’d lacked powers. The shaking, traumatized victims of the Westerners. Superheroes who just wanted to fight as they always had, but were too illiterate to read the Corps enrollment forms.
I closed my eyes and breathed in, then let my anger leave me in a long exhale. Erica would’ve been proud. I only had to meet with her once a month now. We’d talked extensively about what I had planned for today, and why I needed to do it.
Ember stepped forward. “Jill, we’re all ready.”
“Thank you.”
We were all standing around the large hole in the ground that Marco had dug at my request. The shovel was sticking out of a nearby pile of dirt.
Without further ado, I pulled out the bronze tiger and compass and held them in my palms. Now that the moment for my words had come, I was dimly surprised that I still remembered them. Perhaps all of my public speaking had finally sunk in; the broadcast, so long ago, had been the first of countless speeches.
“We’ve all lost loved ones in these camps. For the last ten years, we’ve constantly looked back. Back at what could’ve been, what should’ve been. The people and chances that were taken from us. The childhoods we should’ve had.” I placed the tiger and compass into the hole. “Now that Chattahoochee is being reverted to a park, I’m placing these here to represent the people who never got to leave. Abby and Topher, and so many others…”
A sudden lump in my throat made me stop, and Benjamin put his comforting hand on my shoulder. I gestured for him to continue, as we’d agreed that morning. I knew I was likely to get choked up at least once.
“Let’s take a minute of silence for the
heroes at the Virginia camp, whose silence is the loudest of all,” Benjamin said. Everyone bowed their heads.
The tears came for a second time, but there was no laughing now.
I’d been so proud to be in the convoy of government cars that had been sent to break down the wall of the Virginia camp, tucked deep in the Shenandoah Valley. I’d pushed open the rusting gate myself.
That was the first hint: the rust. It was falling apart from decades of neglect.
After that, we’d expected anything behind the wall. Legions of angry, old superheroes who were spoiling for one more fight. Sad, aging men and women who just wanted peace. Maybe a death factory where superheroes were ground up and turned into food for the camps. Something.
But there’d been nothing. Nothing at all.
And then I’d smelled the mass graves.
My memory stopped at that point. Erica said I’d blacked out because of the violence of the emotions. She’d prompted me a few times to explore that day and deal with the trauma in a healthy way, but I’d always refused.
I’d never worked with the people who’d excavated the graves. I’d never spoken publicly about it, though I’d been asked to by the media. I could not be all things to all people, and facing what had happened to the best and bravest of my peers—the people who’d risked their lives every day for their cities—was simply too much.
After the minute was up, and I’d regained control, I cleared my throat. “I also asked some of you to bring mementos of the people who were taken from the camps against their will, so that a piece of them may always occupy this ground.”
At that, Marco and Isabel pulled items from their pockets. Marco held a miniature telescope, to represent Gregory, and three bronzed daises. Isabel held up a tiny vial of blood. “For me,” she said simply. “My childhood ended that day.”
When they’d laid the items in the hole, I removed the last item from my pocket: a letter in an unsealed envelope. The others removed their letters, too. Even Heather. Sneaky Ember.
“I asked you all to write down what you want to say to the elders and the cult, the nasty stuff that you don’t dare let yourself say in public. The things that weigh on your heart. The things that hurt you most. You don’t have to read them out loud, but I’d like to share mine. I’ve been in therapy for a long, long time. I’ve learned that talking helps me. Just so you know, what I have to say will probably upset some of you.”
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