Day One

by Kelly deVos

  She turns her back on us as she pulls out her small phone and says, “Hello?” then speaks in hushed tones, but even Knudsen starts to look nervous.

  “We need to go. Now,” I say to the doctor. “All of us.”

  Amelia returns her phone to her pocket. “The Opposition has landed at the Port of Astoria. They’ll be here—”

  Outside, a vehicle screeches to a stop.

  Now.

  “What do we do?” Toby asks me.

  He’s supposed to be in charge. But this isn’t the time to take issue with the chain of command.

  “We need weapons. Ideally explosives. A bag of medical supplies. A vehicle...”

  Even as I’m saying these words, I’m concerned that they’re futile. That by the time we even get our jackets on, we’ll be surrounded.

  “We’ve got everything in a bedroom at the end of the hall.” Amelia gestures to the hallway that leads to the drawing room where Navarro is resting.

  I’m about to break for the hallway when...

  There’s a knock on the door.

  A light, casual knock.

  I force myself to go in that direction. Step by step. Breath by breath. My heartbeat thudding along. Would Mom send someone to kill me? Or would she do it herself? The brass door handle is cool in my palm. I tug the door open. Slowly.

  Mom.

  Mom is alone on the porch. She has a trim, leather satchel with her. Underneath her jacket, I can see the outline of a handgun, but her weapon isn’t ready.

  Clearly, she doesn’t regard me as much of a threat.

  There she is. Impossibly cool and collected for someone who was tossed in a freezing river a couple hours ago. She’s wearing a variation of The Opposition soldier’s uniform. All in beige. A fitted beige skirt. A crisp beige jacket. Red tie and beret perched at an appealing angle on her head. Her long brown hair in a neat braid.

  “They’ll be here soon,” she says.

  They? I don’t know what I was expecting, but that wasn’t it.

  Left with nothing else to say, I go for, “Hi, Mom.”

  Mom. I almost choke on the word.

  I glance around her. Outside, it’s finally getting dark. I’m surprised she’s alone. There’s a small green hatchback that’s covered with rust parked in front of the bed-and-breakfast. It’s not a military vehicle. It’s probably been stolen off the street.

  I nod at her crappy car. “You came here alone? In that?”

  From a house across the street, someone peeks out of closed shutters. People know we’re here. We’re being watched.

  Mom rolls her deep brown eyes. She’s still about an inch taller than I am, which is trivial but somehow reinforces the fact that I can never seem to get the upper hand. “Susan, let’s not waste time. I need to speak with you. It’s important.” She pushes past me and into the Angeline. I close the door behind her. Everyone in the sitting room has remained frozen, Toby and Amelia by the bookcases, the doctor and the nurses on the sofa.

  “I don’t know what you believe is happening,” she says, coming into the foyer. “But whatever it is, it’s not what you think.”

  I follow Mom into the sitting room. Her boots squeak on the wood floor.

  Mom gives Amelia a grim nod of recognition. “Ms. Aoki. Of course, Harlan would get you. You are the best.”

  Amelia remains by the bookcase with her mouth open, her camera dangling from her limp hand. Which strikes me as strange.

  My mom is the head of The Opposition secret police. The ex-wife of Maxwell Marshall. A woman with the ear of Ammon Carver. She was personally responsible for the operation that triggered the New Civil War. If you want to film something shocking, it isn’t going to get much better than this.

  Amelia’s camera stays off.

  Mom smiles. “And what Amelia is the best at is manipulating the perception of reality. Until you’re no longer sure what, or who, is real.” She continues to stare at me. “Lyle. I’m going to need the room.”

  For a minute, I wonder who Lyle is. Like, is she calling me Lyle? But when Dr. Knudsen stands up, it clarifies things. “Stephanie, you shouldn’t be here.”

  “I appreciate your loyalty to Max. But if you’re still here in thirty seconds, we’ll have a problem, Lyle.” Mom steps into the center of the sitting room, positioning herself between Toby and the doctor. “And by we, I mean you,” she says.

  Toby regards my mother like he’s seeing a ghost.

  She smiles at him, “Hello, son.”

  I think for a second that Toby might charge Mom, but Amelia crowds up behind him, ushering him into the hall. The nurses follow. Dr. Knudsen casts one uncomfortable glance at Mom before being the last one out of the room.

  “Well, well,” Mom says, eyeing my uniform. “Joining the National Park Service, are we?” It’s the type of cheerful voice she might have once used to ask me if I’d done my homework. Or folded all my laundry.

  “You murdered my father, and this is what you want to talk about? My choice of clothes?” I ask.

  “You know that was an accident.” Mom takes a seat on the sofa where Knudsen was a moment before. “You must have seen what I’ve done to honor his memory. To ensure that he’ll live on in the pantheon of the greatest Americans.”

  “He didn’t want to be a hero for The Opposition!” I tell her.

  Mom frowns. “He was my hero. You may not want to believe that. But he was.”

  I can’t seem to find the words to say how much I hate her and what she’s done to our family. And to the world.

  “I want my brother,” I say.

  “Susan,” Mom says, leaning forward. “I know you hate me. And I probably deserve it. But you must understand, everything that’s happened, everything I’ve done, I did it all for our family. Your father and I used to stay up late and watch the stars and talk about what we hoped for in life. What a perfect world would look like. I thought we could make that world a reality.”

  Mom’s eyes are a little misty, and she’s talking to me in that same soothing voice that she’d use when I had a cold and she’d bring me chicken soup. In this moment, I can totally understand what my dad was up against. I want to forgive Mom. To hug her. For things to be what they once were.

  Why didn’t I make more of a point of getting a gun?

  Always be prepared.

  Rule number one.

  Mom takes me in with her warm eyes. “Things have changed. I always assumed that I’d be able to bring you in. That we would be a family again...somehow. But I discovered...well... Copeland plans to have you killed. You and Charles. He thinks killing Max Marshall’s children will make great live TV.” That last part drips with a cold bitterness. Like it never occurred to her that the general would have his own agenda.

  It’s like Mom has forgotten the rules. Trust no one.

  We already thought Copeland couldn’t be trusted, but why did he care what happened to me and Charles specifically?

  She sighs. “Of course, Copeland wants a war. But I think this really has to do with your father. Copeland doesn’t want there to be anything left of Max Marshall in this world.”

  “You’re the one who trusted him,” I shoot back.

  She glances out the window. “I trusted your father. Your father trusted Copeland. Clearly, we were both mistaken. About many things.” Mom goes on. “I don’t know how exactly he intends to kill you both. But they’ve set a trap at AIRSTA.”

  I frown in confusion. “You’re saying Copeland is with The Opposition?”

  Mom nods. “As much as he’s for anyone but himself.”

  “But...” I stammer. I have so many questions. Why would Copeland pretend to help Rosenthal? Why not just kill Carver’s nemesis when the opportunity presented itself? “What about your buddy Ammon Carver?”

  “With Max gone, I’m of limited use to him.” She
rises from the sofa and walks in the direction of the front door. “We’re out of time. There are still men loyal to your father. One of them helped me smuggle Charles off the base. He’s being kept in Coquille, a small town south of here, in a place called the Paulson House.”

  Why is she telling me this? And is it the truth?

  But Mom is alone. In a stolen car.

  “The Opposition. They don’t know you’re here?” I ask.

  Mom hesitates. “They’ve sent a team,” she says, trying to sound unconcerned. But there’s a nervous edge to her voice. “It hit the port about five minutes ago. It won’t be long until this place is teeming with National Police who will make Marcus Tork seem like a cuddly teddy bear. You better not be here when they arrive.”

  “What are you talking about? Why should I believe you?” I stutter.

  “Do you know me to be a liar?” she says with a frustrated grunt, smoothing the small wrinkles in her beige skirt.

  My heart drops. “Are you serious? You pretended to be for The Spark. You lied about Jay. Do you have any idea how many times I heard you say that you loved him?”

  Mom sighs. “I was doing my job.” She holds up her elegant hand to stop me from speaking. “Listen to me. Get your brother. Get as far south as you can, far away from the mess we’ve made.”

  I frown. I don’t know who we even is, and this sounds like a trap. I’m not sure what to say. “What are you going to do?”

  She answers in a sad, small voice. “What I think your father would have wanted. I’m going to make it as hard as possible for the National Police to have you executed. I’ll buy you as much time as I can. Follow the drills. You know what to do.”

  When I stand there, unsure, uncertain, part of me wanting to believe Mom and the other part wanting to go for her gun, she rolls her eyes at me.

  Outside, heavy booted footsteps sound out.

  The Opposition is coming.

  “I don’t believe you,” I say. “I don’t think you’ll really try to help me. Or help me get Charles back. So, if you’re going to kill me, let’s get on with it.” With no weapon and in a uniform that has a patch with a brown grizzly bear, I feel ridiculously nonthreatening.

  Mom takes a step in my direction.

  I could go for her gun.

  “Susan, for God’s sake,” she says, pressing her lips together. “I’m not going to kill you. You’re so stubborn. Exactly like your father. You think I would stand around here chatting with you if I wanted you dead? And why would I send you to Coquille if Charles wasn’t there? I could simply let you go on to AIRSTA and walk into whatever trap Copeland designed for you.”

  “But...but...” I stammer. Suddenly, our mission has become so uncertain. This morning, we had a plan. Get to Charles. Destroy the cold fusion bomb. But now...

  “Listen to me,” Mom says through her teeth. “This might be our last two minutes together. Ever. You have to listen. Whatever happens, don’t go to AIRSTA. I had Charles moved to Coquille specifically so you wouldn’t have to go there. When Ammon finds out... I don’t know what he’ll...” She shakes this thought off. “You have to believe me. What I did... I thought I was building a better world for you and your brother and even for Max. I never meant for...” She trails off and sniffles.

  How much of any of this is real?

  And.

  How much of Mom’s perspective is the result of Dad’s theories? I wonder if that’s why he couldn’t bring himself to stop her.

  Even from the sitting room, we can hear the front door creak open, and the growing noise from outside spill into the house. Tires squeal. Yells fill the streets.

  Someone else is in the house with us.

  Whoever it is must have closed the front door because it’s quiet again in the hall.

  Jerking my head in every direction, I will myself to remember the drill. Strike to incapacitate. Go for a weapon. I move closer to the large, heavy, metal lamp resting on a scuffed-up end table. I could throw it.

  Do it.

  Do it right now.

  Don’t stand around waiting to die.

  Mom stays calm, like she was expecting this new arrival. She runs her fingers over the outline of the handgun bulging in the pocket of her jacket.

  Rows of National Police officers in black riot gear file past the window. In ten seconds, the whole house will be surrounded.

  The footsteps continue, and a tall, muscular man with steel gray hair walks into the sitting room.

  General Copeland.

  He’s changed out of his provisional military uniform and is outfitted in the camos and badges of a conventional marine. Clearly, he’s fully back on The Opposition’s team.

  “Well, well,” he says cheerfully. “Can’t decide which side you’re on, eh, Stephanie?” He gives Mom a humorless smile.

  Her hand inches inside her jacket pocket. “I might ask you the same question. How is your pal David Rosenthal these days?”

  Copeland shrugs. “He was alive and well as of an hour ago when I left him on the beach back at Cape Disappointment.”

  Mom’s about to pull her gun. “I don’t suppose you ever considered taking him out.”

  The general shakes his head. “You can’t have a war without an opponent.”

  Navarro said much the same.

  Mom has her gun drawn now. It’s one of Dad’s old guns. “So, that’s what you think you’re doing? All-purpose warmongering. As usual.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Copeland says. “What are you doing?”

  “Saving my children,” Mom says, in a sharp voice.

  Copeland’s eyes widen in mock credulity. “And who, may I ask, will save them from you? From this mess you and Max created?” He gestures at Mom’s gun. “Let’s not insult each other here, Stephanie. There are dozens of troops out in the street waiting for my signal.”

  I muster up all the bravado I can. “Why don’t you give your stupid signal, then?”

  The general glances at me, giving me the same annoyed look that he did so often at Fort Marshall. “Ah, youth truly is wasted on the young. Always so eager to fight and die. At the wrong time. For the wrong reason.” His attention returns to Mom. “You could shoot me, of course. But it would accomplish nothing.”

  The fake smile falls away from the general’s face. “I’m doing what we agreed we’d do. What we all said we’d do from the very beginning. This fight. This war. It’s about whose ideas will prevail. Which society will survive. It’s a battle for the soul of the world. Maxwell Marshall knew that this world teeters on the edge of a dangerous collapse and that it needs a strong leader to push the reset button. All his work led up to this moment.”

  Mom frowns and lowers her gun. She continues to clutch the leather case, even though it would be better to have her hand free for her weapon. “This isn’t what Max wanted. He thought Ammon could lead us. With real leadership, the type of destruction you’re planning wouldn’t be necessary.”

  Copeland smiles again. “That’s not my interpretation of his work. We could ask him for clarification. Except, of course, you killed him.”

  A terrible grimace contorts Mom’s beautiful features. It seems like she might really feel something. For Dad. Or for me and Charles. She’s staring at me the way you look when you’re visiting a sick relative in the hospital. “Susan’s not going anywhere with you.”

  Copeland leans against the wood-paneled wall behind him. “I’m not here to hurt her, and I certainly don’t want her anywhere near me.”

  Mom pauses, and she’s clearly thinking hard. Probably about which drill to run. “Well, then, what—”

  Navarro comes into the sitting room, flanked by Toby. Both are carrying rifles. Not DNA-A guns, but old-fashioned ones. Remington Model 700s.

  Dad would be thrilled.

  “He’s here for his little television show,”
Navarro says.

  Amelia is a few paces behind them with her face flushed.

  “Those soldiers outside are here to make sure we die on camera,” Toby adds, his angry stare boring into the general’s forehead. Annika stands behind him, looking like an impossibly elegant forest ranger in her stolen uniform.

  Copeland shrugs. “Not necessarily. Carver wants his little three-ring circus. Because, as Max was fond of saying, chaos creates opportunity. You can get out. If you’re good enough.” He stares right at me when he says this.

  More boots echo on the porch.

  “That sounds like my father,” Annika mumbles, wringing her elegant hands.

  But. There’s something wrong with this. “Why give us a chance to escape when you’re just going to kill us at AIRSTA anyway?” I ask.

  Amelia’s shoulders slump. “It’s a show. A story. It needs a finale.”

  Right. They not only want us to die on camera. They want us to die on cue.

  Jerking her chin at Amelia, Mom says, “She’s with The Opposition. She needs dramatic confrontation to attract viewers to your little show.”

  Amelia’s face turns red as we all glare at her. “Well, um, technically, I work for an independent production company that has been—”

  I go over to the window and peek out the blinds.

  At least thirty National Police stand in the back and I can guess there are even more in the front. Even if we have a hundred Remingtons, they’re gonna take us out.

  As if sensing these thoughts, Copeland goes on, “The only way out is through the roof.” He gestures to the hall behind Navarro. “There’s a service staircase at the end of the hallway that leads to the master bedroom. You can access old cabling that connects the houses, left over from the days when telephone and utility cables were aboveground.” He moves toward the hallway.

  Navarro clutches his weapon with white knuckles as the general passes.

  Mom is already following Copeland, breezing past Navarro, who stares at her like he’s seeing a jackalope. Amelia follows uncertainly.

  “Get your gear and follow me,” Mom says.

  I don’t know what to do other than go along with this plan. At least there’s some chance of survival. At least I might see my brother again. We hit the supply room. It’s a small bedroom with ornate dark wood furniture that’s all scratched up. Amelia must have had her people leave us supplies. There are a bunch of brightly colored backpacks tossed into the center of a four-poster bed. The packs are pink and yellow and every other color that can probably be seen from outer space.