The Volunteer

by J B Cantwell

  “I guess I’d never really thought about it, about privacy,” I finally said.

  “Well, you should think about it now. The Service has recently started testing EMP devices out west, and it’s expected that those in the north part of the country, where you’ll be stationed, are slated to add EMP construction to their education.”

  “But why? Haven’t they figured out your plan? I mean, if they already have EMPs themselves, if they’re already planning to use them against the Fighters, why don’t they realize the danger their own buildings are in?”

  “Because they don’t know what we know: that the locations of the facilities have been leaked. That we have a plan that includes more than just bombing the elite. Those attacks will just be our cover. Not long after you return to Service, we will start blowing things up with homemade bombs, much smaller than those that you’ll be working with.”

  “You said you didn’t have anything like that, though. You said the plans were gone.”

  “Well, we don’t have anything big, that much is true. But we have just enough to cause a stir. Some broken glass. Some fire. Enough to scare them, get those rich folks scurrying and terrified. It will obliterate their focus on the chip facilities. It’s our belief that they’ll send all of their forces to defend Manhattan, that they’ll leave the facilities somewhat unattended. At least compared to their normal operations.”

  I stared out one of the windows as she got up and started pacing behind me. There were so many holes in their plans. Too many holes and not enough Volunteers within the lens system. I couldn’t imagine how they could pull it off. How I could.

  “How did you make these things if you don’t have any information about how to do it? You just said that there aren’t any instructions online about bomb-making.”

  “Oh, we didn’t make them, at least not most of them.” She shook her head. “We stole them.”

  My eyes grew wide. “Stole them from where?”

  “Well, we know how to make some basic stuff, like bottle rockets and other things that cause relatively small explosions. Just enough to scare the people. And we’ve collected hand grenades over the years, left for us in caches by our old allies within the Service.”

  “Old allies? So there were more of you, and in the military?”

  “Oh, yes. We’ve converted several different Service members in the past thirty years. But the process is slow. It’s hard to figure out whom we can trust. But we’ve been saving all this time, and now we have a mighty arsenal of small arms.”

  It still seemed like so much to try to work through. So many problems, so much risk to try to bring down the system. I couldn’t understand why they stayed in the United States at all.

  “What about Canada? Why don’t you all just move there?”

  She snorted. “Why don’t you?” She rubbed the back of her neck with one hand. “Have you seen us? A group of over five hundred hunkered down in just these buildings? We’re starving, we’re beaten down. In the beginning, we tried asking Canada for help, and it’s come up many times over the years. But every time we’ve sent representatives north, it never goes well. They’re fighting for the safety of their country, not ours. And trust can be a very fragile thing. They have no good reason to help us with our technology when it comes to bomb-making. They have their own uses for their arsenal.”

  “I just can’t believe that,” I argued. “The Fighters I met outside Edmonton were cautious, but not totally against me joining their ranks. I think if I had stayed longer … maybe …”

  But my voice trailed away as I remembered how they’d left me there on the forest floor as they fled in the night. No, they hadn’t trusted me much at all. Maybe I needed to revisit my dream of escaping my country, of begging the Fighters to take me in. Maybe it wouldn’t be as easy as I had hoped.

  Jane seemed to read my mind.

  “What it comes down to is this: this is our country, just as much as anyone who lives inside the wall. Just as much as anyone in any of our remaining states. We have the right to live here, to work here in freedom. We have the right to be able to see the world lens-free and without designation. We have the right to have nutrition squares just as much as anyone else. You’ve seen our people, our children. We are barely getting by with what we can steal. What does the government care about where we live? There isn’t much dry land left, anyway. Brooklyn floods constantly, and soon enough those buildings will fall to the forces of the ocean, just like everything else.”

  Silence followed her words. True words. The Volunteers were desperate, maybe more desperate than ever before. And all they had was Chambers and I, and whomever else they could find on the inside, to help them fight for their way of life, to fight for a better way of life.

  Finally, as the information tumbled through my head, my decision was firmly made.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  Chapter Eight

  Our walk back through the maze of tunnels was quiet but for the splashing of our feet in the small streams of water beneath us. Finally, as we approached the 81st Street station, Jonathan stopped, turning.

  “So, you’re with us?”

  I nodded, my only response.

  He retrieved the wand from the concrete shelf where he had left it and touched the tip of it to my chip. Instantly, my world changed right before my eyes, and I was Amanda once again.

  I removed my headlamp and handed it to him.

  He touched his hand to my shoulder.

  “Leave no stone. We’ll see you on the other side.”

  “Wait,” I said, confused. “That’s it? I thought we had more to do, more training. Aren’t there other things I’m supposed to be learning? I still have three days.”

  He shook his head. “No. Not yet. The plan is still in flux. Soon enough you’ll be contacted from an operative within the Service. Until then, just learn as much as you can, memorize every lesson, every word. And keep your head down.”

  I sighed, frustrated, and suddenly feeling very much at risk. The schematics for each of the three buildings the Volunteers were targeting were folded up in the pocket of my fatigues. Where was I supposed to memorize a building schematic. The bathroom?

  I opened my mouth to speak, but somehow I couldn’t return the simple phrase he had uttered, that they all had uttered.

  Leave no stone.

  Always be aware. Be careful. Always check. And never give up hope.

  “Good luck,” he said.

  I watched him walk away, back down through the tunnel we had just emerged from, the glow from his headlamp slowly dimming as he retreated.

  I had agreed to Jane’s plan, but now my stomach was in knots about it. Now that I thought about it, the schematics of the buildings were relatively unimportant; an EMP device didn’t require direct contact with the target. As long as I was within fifty feet of the building, the bomb would hit its target and any electrical equipment for a mile around. All this, and it would leave me unharmed while it wiped out all that information, along with the lights.

  No more tracking. No more fear. No more designations.

  I was to meet Amanda back inside the mall, in the same store where we’d traded identities earlier in the day.

  I emerged and quickly walked to Central Park West. Here, the business of what was left of Manhattan buzzed all around. The police were out in force, and I tried hard to look up as I walked, to look proud of the uniform I wore. More than once, an officer nodded in my direction, a quick gesture of recognition indicating brotherhood, even though I wore not just the uniform, but Amanda’s Orange designation. It didn’t seem to matter to them.

  I tried to calm down, slowing my pace, trying to absorb everything that had just transpired.

  I wasn’t the only one on the inside. Owen had said it before, and Jonathan just now. I would be contacted. I would learn what I could. And then what? Aside from turning myself into a human encyclopedia of explosives, I had no other directive.

  I remembered the battle in
Edmonton, how my life had been in danger at every turn. My life was in danger now, too, only in a different sort of way. If I were to be caught, it would be the secrets inside my head that the government would want. Back in Edmonton, I dodged bullets. Now, I would dodge questions.

  I lost track of time as I walked, and before I knew it I was three blocks past the mall where I was supposed to meet Amanda. I turned back, and five minutes later I was outside the entrance.

  “Hello, Amanda Richardson! May I help you? Let me show you how you would look …”

  I tried to block out the noise and ducked into the same store we had met in that morning, grabbing a couple pairs of jeans off the rack and heading to the back. We were to meet at four, and I was just a handful of minutes early

  As I sat down in the changing room, my mind floated to Alex. I wished I had my own signature inside my lens system so I could write to him, get him to respond, to tell me where he was and whether he was okay. Writing to him through my lens would be my only chance at contacting him; when we were actively in battle, no such texting abilities existed. It was only now, on our break, that we could communicate as we had before we’d joined the Service. That we could see designations. Everything had returned to normal for just these few days.

  If normal was what you could call it.

  I was desperate. Desperate for word, for his attention, anything.

  My foot tapped the floor anxiously as I waited for Amanda to return. Where was she?

  I remembered the last time I’d seen Alex, injured in the back of the pickup truck I’d stolen in Edmonton after the Pearl had fallen. He’d been covered in the thick dust that the obliteration of the building had caused, just like the rest of us, and a bone near his ankle had pierced through his skin. I never found out where they’d taken him, and when I’d asked the ranking sergeant at the Service center, he’d told me that Alex had chosen to remain in battle for the duration of the break.

  So, healed, then. Healed up and back at it.

  He’d changed so much. Everything had changed so much since that first day that we’d both applied for the Service. We had both known we would have to fight, to kill, even. But it seemed like a hundred years ago that we’d walked into the recruitment building. I felt like I’d aged decades over just the past year.

  And Alex. The phasing. The grotesqueness of his new, pumped up body. The alarming change to his personality, practically like a fighting robot now, one who barely recognized me, his best friend.

  But there had been that kiss the last time we’d met. That one time when I’d felt close to him, closer than we had ever been. Thinking about it now made me blush from head to toe.

  He had been coherent, then. Not totally rational, talking about the Service as if it was the best thing that had ever happened to either of us. That we were both going to get out alive, cash in-hand.

  But that kiss. It had taken him off guard, and me, too. Had it been enough to make him think twice about his blind dedication to the military?

  Alex. Alex. Alex.

  I checked my watch; it was already four-fifteen. It would start to look suspicious if I stayed in the changing stall much longer.

  But Amanda didn’t come.

  I exited the stall and traded the jeans for a couple of sweatshirts, zipping back to the room as quickly as I could before the system could shout out Amanda’s name again.

  Still, she didn’t come.

  My heart was starting to pound harder in my chest with every minute that ticked by. I listened desperately for the computerized system to call out my name, announcing her return with my chip information.

  But the system stayed quiet.

  There came a knock on the door.

  “Hello? Amanda Richardson? Can I get you any sizes?”

  I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  It was the store clerk.

  “Um, no,” I said. “I’m almost done. Out in a sec.”

  Finally, realizing that I would soon overstay my welcome in the stall, I waited to hear her footsteps walking away from the changing room, then snuck out of the stall and put the clothes back on the rack, walking stiffly to the exit. I left quickly enough for the details of the blaring advertisement to fade away in just a few moments.

  But that wasn’t the only one. Every storefront I walked by had something new to offer to me, alone. Or, rather, to Amanda.

  “Amanda Richardson! Come in to check out—”

  “Amanda Richardson. Have you ever smelled anything so sweet as our new perfume, now with—”

  Amanda Richardson. Amanda Richardson. Amanda Richardson.

  I had to get out, and fast. I glanced around the mall, looking for Hannah, or for that man I had seen from a distance.

  Who was he?

  I had questions, maybe too many, but there was a more important crisis at hand.

  How would I report back to the barracks like this?

  I would be discovered the moment I set foot into that place. I was certain there was no Amanda Richardson on their roster of soldiers. Not to mention the fact that nearly everyone in there knew my name, my real name.

  Above the haze, the sun was going down. I glanced at my watch and found it was already five. I was due to be back by seven if I intended to stay the night. I shuddered at the thought of what would happen to me if I was found out. Designation: Black. Terrorist. Death penalty. But not before interrogation. Not before pain that I couldn’t yet imagine.

  No. I was getting ahead of myself. I was allowed to stay out if I so desired; this was my break to spend as I pleased. I took a deep breath and let it go, staring up and down the street, trying to decide which way.

  My hand wandered up behind my ear where my newest chip had been installed after the old one had been unceremoniously yanked out of my head. That had hurt.

  But maybe I could do it again. Maybe I could hide out back in the diner, rip it out myself. Then what would Jonathan say? Owen?

  I remembered the large man behind the counter.

  Peter Johnston

  Designation: Prime

  He would help me, I was sure. I changed direction, now certain of where I was going. The darkness of night was still an hour away, and I kept my head down, trying not to look too eager or too slow. Maybe it would be easier in the dark.

  Just as dusk started to fall, I slipped through the tunnel that ran between the two buildings across from the diner. But as I crossed the street and tried the door, I found it locked. Looking up, I saw the “closed” sign swinging slightly on its string. I put my hand above my brow and peered inside.

  Would he come?

  I knocked on the glass.

  Nothing.

  I knocked again, this time more urgently, glancing around as I did, ready to be caught at any moment.

  “Please come,” I whispered.

  But it was a useless prayer. The lights inside were low, and I didn’t see a single soul.

  I turned, panicked now, and walked back across the street to the skinny tunnel between the buildings. Far in the distance, I saw the street was full of people walking to and from the train station, mostly to. It was the end of the day, and people were getting off work now. Maids. Assistants. Janitors. Time to go home to their flooded streets and rotting apartments.

  I found a section of the building that was indented, leaving enough space to sit down on the concrete.

  I could just stay here.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. It was late spring, but the air was still cold, and I only had my basic fatigues on to keep me warm. Suddenly, the hard bunk and salty mash back at the barracks sounded pretty good.

  I peeked out from my hiding spot and looked around the side of the building, double and triple checking that nobody was following me.

  Suddenly, I heard a sound.

  “Psst!” came a low voice. “Riley!”

  I turned at my name and saw with great relief that it was Peter. He beckoned to me, and I rose and made my way to him. I would have run if there had been roo
m, but as it was I could barely fit between the buildings.

  Peter was staring around up and down the street, searching.

  “Oh, thank God,” I began. “I thought I—”

  He put one finger up to his lips, shushing me. Then, grabbing my arm in his giant fist, he led me hastily back to the entrance of the diner. The quiet tinkle of chimes brushed across the door as we entered.

  “Get down,” he ordered.

  I didn’t argue, dropping to the floor and crawling around behind the counter. Peter locked the door and closed the blinds.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded, turning to face me.

  I noticed that he didn’t lower his voice. I put my finger to my lips. He grimaced, gesturing with his hand.

  “Don’t worry about that. I know Jonathan is careful, but I would know it if this place was bugged.

  “She didn’t come,” I whispered, still nervous. “Amanda. And I couldn’t go back to the barracks without her. She has all my information. And if she’s been caught …”

  He grimaced. “That’s a possibility,” he admitted.

  “So, what happens now? Do I just hide out here?”

  “No. No way. That’s way too dangerous as long as you have her chip information in your system.”

  “Can’t you take it out? I could be invisible for a while, just until we figure out what’s going on with her.”

  He looked at me skeptically. “That would be even more dangerous; it would be crazy. And you would have nowhere to go. It would be straight to the Stilts, maybe for good. And you’re too important. Or, at least, your designation is too important. We need to get her back. Where would she go? Who would she talk to? Who knows Riley Taylor?”

  Who, indeed.

  Alex. My mother. Hannah.

  That was it. I went through the roster in my mind. Alex was missing as far as I was concerned. My mother would never accept Amanda into the house, not unless she told her the whole story, and that would be ridiculously dangerous.