by Kelly deVos
He’s for bitcoin. His services are for sale to the highest bidder.
“We can’t trust him, though,” I tell her.
Like she always does when she can’t make sense of things, MacKenna gets up and paces around, kicking over a metal trash can on the floor by the headboard of the bunk bed. She speaks into it as she leans down to pick it up. “Who can we trust? This morning, my brother, who I would have bet my life on, was gonna leave me for dead in the middle of nowhere. Terminus saved our lives. Which one of them is now more trustworthy?”
“Your brother,” I say automatically, even though I understand what she’s getting at. These situations...they are forcing us to reveal what we’re really made of...testing us. What if we fail the tests? But still... Toby has to be the right answer. “Toby has principles. Terminus has an offshore, untraceable e-currency account.”
MacKenna flops down on a bunk, her arms limp with defeat. “Toby has love...for...for that...that... Annika Carver. If it’s like you say, if it’s love that motivates people, then we’re in trouble.”
It’s almost funny the way she says Annika’s name. Like it’s a curse word. “He doesn’t even know her. And, anyway, we have each other,” I say.
“Yeah. Yeah.” She doesn’t sound convinced.
I can’t think of what else to say, so I blurt out, “Yeah, but you still like Terminus.”
She sits up with her fists in tight balls. For a second, I think Mac might punch me, and I find myself flinching.
She breaks into a laugh. The sound eases the tension in my gut. We laugh and laugh and laugh.
“It’s not like... I have a massive dating pool...to choose from,” she says in between hoots of laughter. Then more seriously, “What should we do now?”
The smile slides off my face. “What can we do?”
We both know.
Nothing.
So we wait.
* * *
Copeland operates with military precision. At about five ’til five, Terminus returns to the barracks and takes us into the mess hall. It’s crowded with men and women, all in fatigues, sitting on picnic tables with cafeteria trays in front of them. On the side of the room near the door, a crew works a buffet line, doling out chicken sandwiches, bags of potato chips and cartons of milk. It’s a lot like our high school cafeteria.
If the cafeteria were in a cave.
And like the old lunchroom, this place seems to have cliques.
Toby sits at a packed table to the right of Copeland. Jay is on the general’s other side. The old military man is in the middle of a story, soldiers leaning in, laughing and shaking their heads. They pay us no attention as we stand in the doorway.
Mac spends several seconds glaring at her brother.
The wide, round cave is lit by more lights on steel stands. No one has been particularly careful about where the lamps are pointed, so the lighting has a haphazard quality to it. The tables and chairs and rock formations cast shadows in all directions.
Eventually, I feel a light hand on my back.
I whirl around and find myself two inches from Navarro’s nose.
My pulse almost comes to a stop.
He’s drenched in sweat. His hair has long since outgrown the neat cut he used to wear, and wet, wavy tendrils curl up around his ears. More blood has run out from underneath the liquid bandage on his forehead, but at least it’s dried.
Still, he manages to smell good. Look good.
And I look and smell like a swamp creature.
I lean in his direction until I see MacKenna smirk at me.
“You...uh...got the truck?” I ask.
Navarro stares at Toby and the general. “We got stuck in the mud twice. I still can’t get these idiots to give me back my weapon. But, yeah, the truck and the supplies are in a mechanical bay in another cave.”
He’s taken off his jacket, and his wet shirt clings to his chest.
I focus on how my socks squish between my toes. “Will they let us have our clothes?”
He nods. “Yes. I packed some supplies. That guy Phil said he’d take them to our barracks.”
MacKenna fidgets with the tail of her T-shirt. “Where’s Terminus?”
I knew it. She likes him.
Navarro doesn’t get it. He steps between us and leans in close, his breath on my cheek. He gives us the type of status report that you’d compile about an enemy agent. “He’s still over there. With two guards. There’s an enormous area on the other side of the cliff. Storage and some other stuff. I can see why they need this Terminus guy, or whatever his name is. Dr. Marshall practically built his own power plant over there, and I’ve never seen computers like what they’ve got. There’s something big going on here, and I think your old friend knows more about it than he’s letting on.”
MacKenna flushes a deep shade of pink.
“You eating?” someone calls from the buffet line.
General Copeland gives me a searing look.
It lasts only a second.
It takes me a moment to realize that one of the soldiers, the one passing out bread rolls, is calling out to us. He motions for us to join the food line. In a few minutes, we’ve all got stainless-steel trays loaded with sandwiches, chips and grossly gelatinous chocolate pudding.
We go to the side of the mess hall farthest away from the door and from General Copeland’s table. MacKenna takes a bite of her tofu chicken and chews robotically. Both she and Navarro continue to stare at Toby with matching suspicious expressions. He’s acting almost like he used to. Lighthearted. Optimistic. His handsome features are relaxed. Playful. We’re sitting alone but, once in a while, a soldier at a neighboring table steals a glance at us. At the table to my left, there’s a black-haired girl who looks like she’s barely older than we are. I give her a small smile, but her face maintains its professional mask.
“Your brother is suddenly in a real good mood,” Navarro says in a surly tone, as another round of boisterous laughter erupts from Toby’s table.
“Yeah,” MacKenna agrees while chewing a chip. “Real good.”
None of us notice Terminus until he drops his own steel tray at MacKenna’s elbow. She startles and puts a hand to her chest. He gives Navarro a wary sigh. “No. I don’t have your gun.”
Like Navarro, Terminus is also sweaty.
“Where have you been?” MacKenna asks.
On the wall near the buffet line, two large flat-screen TVs are positioned on stainless-steel stands. Both are tuned to coverage of the mounting economic crisis back home. When Dad essentially put the First Federal records in lockdown, he cut off access to the banking records for millions of people. The monitors show people waiting in long lines outside bank branches with whatever paperwork they happened to save or print out. They have to try to prove how much money they kept in the bank. To prove they made their last mortgage payment. The electronic payment processing systems are still down. Bank vaults are guarded by rows and rows of National Police. Scenes flash across the screens.
Two police officers drag a bloody woman into a car.
A mob runs through a Walmart.
Senators try to explain the plan to bring bank systems online.
Terminus opens up a bag of chips. “I was at my workstation, making sure that the electrical load is properly distributed between the main solar generators and the battery backups. Sooner or later, you all are going to want to take a shower. Do you want there to be hot water when you do?”
On TV, signs scroll by.
Foreclosed. Bankrupt. Closed until Further Notice.
The flash drive suddenly burns in my pocket.
We have the code that could fix everything.
Phil enters the mess hall. He confers briefly with a couple of soldiers at the general’s table and then approaches us. He taps Terminus on the shoulder. “The general wants you to
set up the briefing in G.”
Terminus rolls his eyes. “I’m eating.”
“Eat in G,” Phil says in a way that suggests it’s an order. The marine heads off to sit at the table with the dark-haired soldier. She smiles when she sees him.
“I’ll see you in a few,” Terminus says, mostly to MacKenna. He takes his tray with him as he exists the mess hall.
Navarro watches Terminus go and chews his bread roll. “I don’t trust him. Or like him.”
Perfect. Exactly what we need. More things to argue about.
MacKenna matches his suspicious gaze. “But you trusted Dr. Doomsday? That’s who you could trust?”
My face heats up again. I’d tried to ask Gus about my dad on a lot of occasions. Somehow, we always ended up...doing other things. And all he ever said was...
“Dr. Marshall was a great man.”
“Dr. Doomsday is a ghost. And you’re making him into whatever you need him to be,” Mac snaps back.
Except Mac is wrong. My father was a real person.
One whom we didn’t understand.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
The argument is interrupted by the sounds of clanking trays and soldiers leaving the mess hall. Dinner is clearly over. After a few minutes, it’s us, plus Toby, Jay and Copeland at opposite ends of the mess hall. After a minute or so, Toby approaches our table, leaving Jay and the general alone, their heads tilted together in a deep discussion.
He stands at the head of our table. “It’s time for the briefing.”
Mac’s glare could bore a hole into her brother’s head, but he takes no notice. We copy the soldiers and place our steel trays in a bucket at the end of the buffet line and then form a procession behind Toby who, in turn, takes us to the table where Jay is taking his last bite of the disgusting pudding.
“Let’s go,” Copeland says.
We find ourselves back in the paved hall that networks the caves together. My shoes squeak on the concrete, and since Terminus said the word shower, all I can think about is when I will be able to get clean and dry. We walk for quite a while on a long, narrowing path that I’m guessing runs behind the storage area Navarro mentioned. There are fewer lights, and they’re spaced much farther apart than elsewhere in the caves. Large stalagmites line the path, and they’re greenish brown and oddly bloated, like bulbs of garlic stacked on top of each other. Ahead of us, the cave roof slopes downward, creating a rounded rock wall. Copeland opens a door to our right, ushering us into a classroom. Like if we went to high school in a cave.
On the far side, there’s a huge white screen. Orange-topped tables that each seat two people fill most of the room. Terminus is already sitting at a small table in the back, typing on a laptop that’s connected to a large projector. He nods as we file past him.
Toby and Jay sit in the front row, taking a table together. Mac and I take the table next to them, leaving Navarro alone at a desk behind us.
Copeland stands at the head of the room with his attention focused on Jay. But the general turns to Terminus and says, “Bring the video up.”
Terminus makes a few clicks.
Footage of a press conference in California goes up on the screen. It appears to be the governor, an aging but still handsome actor who has the air of someone who never thought he’d be put in charge of anything more significant than christening yachts or welcoming celebrities to theme parks. In the video, the muscled man is surrounded by more serious lawmakers, with the text California secedes from Union under the image.
The old general paces around in front of the image, casting an odd shadow over the governor’s face. “As you may have seen, California has announced its plan to secede from the Union in protest over President Carver’s election and his subsequent draconian policies.”
Copeland’s remarks seem like a bit of an understatement. If what we’ve heard is true—that Carver is rounding up political dissidents and putting them in death camps—then a state like California, a stronghold for The Spark, has few options but to secede.
He continues. “They notified Congress this morning. Command believes this is exactly the opportunity we need.”
“What’s Command?” Navarro asks.
“Or who?” Mac adds.
The general ignores their questions. He’s good at ignoring us.
“As part of the secession plan, the state will allow all California residents to return home during the next seven days. They’ve organized a series of transports. The first one will leave tomorrow afternoon from Puerto Vallarta. You will be on that boat.”
Copeland stares directly at me. “When you arrive in San Francisco, Command will arrange for your transportation to AIRSTA. The rest is up to you.”
My heartbeat picks up. The rest...seems like a lot of stuff.
“Sir, how will we get on board?” Toby asks. “Surely they’ll recognize us.”
Copeland gives him an approving nod. I can almost hear MacKenna’s eyes roll around. And I have to say, she’s kind of right; the sir thing is way over the top.
“We have informants in key positions on the boat. The USS Cory Booker is transporting a significant number of people. We believe that with some minimal modifications to your appearances and the right documentation, you’ll go unnoticed.”
Modifications? Great. They want us to wear disguises. Dad would never have been for that plan. He would have considered these kinds of tricks unnecessary. We were raised to blend into the wallpaper. No disguise needed.
Terminus changes the image behind the general. Copeland now paces in front of an image of a massive silver boat. It’s more like a floating military base. On the screen, a helicopter and an airplane take off from opposite sides of the deck.
“Whoa,” Toby says.
“That’s a federal military ship,” MacKenna says. “It doesn’t belong to the state of California.”
“It does now,” Copeland tells her.
“But...but...but...” I sputter, not quite sure how to finish. But...there is something going on here. Something Copeland isn’t telling us. Even Jay now looks sort of, well, guilty.
On-screen, the image of the Booker fades to black.
“That’s not really much of a plan,” MacKenna grouses.
“Would you care to submit a counterproposal?” Copeland asks her.
She stares at her fingers, pressed flat on the orange desk.
Jay clears his throat. “The general has kindly filled me in on some of the details of the situation. I feel confident that he’s recommending the best course of action.”
Copeland hesitates for a moment. “We’ve come to the difficult decision that Colonel Novak will remain here. His face has been broadcast on every screen in every country in all the world. He’d be spotted in an instant.”
“Colonel Novak?” Mac repeats, scowling at her dad. “You’re supposed to be retired.”
“Well, I’m going,” Toby says with a dark edge.
“Yes, of course. Of course,” the general says absently with the air of someone indulging a favored child. I glance at Mac. Her eyes are wide with worry. What is going on with Toby? How did he ingratiate himself with Copeland in such a short period of time...and why?
“What’s Project Cold Front?” I ask.
Copeland ignores my question. “And of course, you’ll be expected to hand over Marshall’s codes to Command when you arrive at the Control Center,” the general continues.
Oh. Of course.
I was pretty sure we’d get around to the quid pro quo sooner or later.
“In San Francisco? Before I even know if I’ll be able to see my brother?” I ask.
MacKenna is concerned with something different. “Who is in command? Who are you people?” She addresses this question mostly to her father.
Jay remains silent.
“Those are the
terms,” Copeland says. “Take it or leave it.”
Gustavo Navarro’s origin story is not quite what he led us to believe. What he obviously needed Jinx to believe. I’ve always thought that we’re all responsible for our own choices. But now I wonder how much choice we really have. In the end, I wonder if he understood better than any of us. Our stories are our weapons.
-MacKENNA NOVAK,
Letters from the Second Civil War
MacKENNA
Take it or leave it?
Well.
It’s not even really a choice because, seriously, that Copeland guy isn’t gonna let us stroll out of here with the encryption key to the First Federal mainframe.
The choice is really cooperate or don’t.
Like it or don’t.
Of course, we take the deal.
LEAD: Student journalist, hacker, doomsday prepper and wannabe soldier prepare for clandestine trip to San Francisco.
You know who really seems to like it?
Toby.
Like, when you’re living in a cave with forty other people, trying to speak to someone privately is way difficult. Bordering on impossible. After the briefing breaks—or more like after we’re dismissed—Terminus starts an argument with Copeland. They close the door, and it’s another one of those big metal doors. So no eavesdropping. No help there.
If Jinx is right, Terminus knows more than he’s telling us.
I spend a minute imagining his face. There’s something so unusual about it. He looks like a doll made up of the parts of other dolls. His nose is a hair too short and his eyes are a little too squinty and his mouth is at a kinda odd angle.
Oh relax, MacKenna. It doesn’t matter anyway.
We’re leaving for San Francisco in the morning.
No more Terminus.
Ugh. I tell my brain to stop having these futile thoughts.
We’re trying to save the world. We’re trying to get Charles back.
LEAD: Two teen girls rescue brother from the clutches of Fascism.
OTHER IMPORTANT FACTS:
-I guess I’ll write some when I get them.
