The Liberty Box Trilogy

by C. A. Gray

  So instead of running, I straightened my spine and held my head up high. I looked around. No hunters in sight.

  A few blocks later, I saw a small family of four, all dressed in rags and sitting on their dilapidated front porch. They were skin and bones, but they didn’t seem to know it. They waved at me, grinning cheerfully. I waved back, and approached them.

  “Excuse me,” I called out in my raspy voice. “I’m just visiting. Can you tell me where the train station is?”

  A little boy of about twelve pointed at a right angle from where I was walking. “Three blocks that way. You’re almost there!” he told me brightly.

  I smiled at him in thanks, but I couldn’t help staring at his parents. It was their eyes that bothered me most—glassy and vague, with placid smiles on their emaciated faces. I remembered the jammer in my pocket and walked a little closer, until I thought I was at least ten feet from them, just to see what would happen. Their expressions changed when I got close enough, and they looked as if they’d been startled awake from a deep sleep. All of them became agitated, gasping as they looked around and at each other.

  “What are you doing?” the woman demanded. “Get—get away from here!”

  I backed away. They visibly calmed down once they exited the radius of the jammer, but eyed me warily.

  “Witchcraft!” I heard the woman mutter.

  So it works.

  “Thank you,” I called to them in my hoarse voice, and walked in the direction the little boy had indicated.

  As the sidewalks grew thicker with people from the town, though, I realized I’d made a mistake in my disguise on almost all counts. Nobody dressed like I did—the women wore no makeup, and mostly their clothing was made up of gray and brown tatters. At first I wondered if this was the reason I drew stares—but then, I remembered people in the Republic wearing all kinds of colors and fashions. Maybe that was part of the brainwashing? If they saw one another that way too, could I really stand out so much?

  Once I got into the city proper, I noticed the propaganda posters—like the ones Jackson and I had used for target practice. I’d seen them before, of course, but never thought anything of them back when I lived in the Republic myself. Now, with fresh eyes, the sheer number of them was overwhelming. The Potentate’s face was everywhere, grinning down from murals on the sides of businesses and on commercial vehicles. Some of them said ‘Our Glorious Potentate,’ and others said, ‘The Founder of Eden’—slogans that I’d grown up with and to which I had long since been desensitized. Now, looking at them made me ill with disgust, regret, and self-loathing. All those years of my life, wasted on believing so many lies…

  After a block or two, I wondered if perhaps the attention I drew wasn’t my fashion choices so much as my posture, or my expression. I hunched my shoulders a bit, slackened my jaw and attempted to look like I was staring without really seeing anything—like everyone else. The people who passed by me still became startled when they entered the radius of the jammer, but I watched as their expressions cleared the farther away from me they got. Totally creepy.

  It didn’t happen to everyone, though. Some people didn’t seem to react at all, even if they brushed right up against me. I started to watch those few for any signs of surprise or alarm—but I saw none. I frowned.

  What does that mean? Does the jammer not work on everyone?

  I pulled out the ID card I’d stolen from Nelson when I approached the bullet train station, positioning myself at the edge of the crowd to avoid alarming those in my immediate vicinity. I didn’t have to wait long—the train pulled in within five minutes of my arrival. I held my breath as I waved the ID card in front of the sensor, waiting for some kind of alarm to sound. But, as usual, Will was right. Nothing happened.

  I threaded my way as quickly as I could to an empty car, and sat down at the far corner, facing the window. I’d have to catch two connections to make it all the way to Dawvish.

  Two hours to think over what I’d say when I found Charlie. How could I explain?

  I sighed, resting my head against the window as the bullet train picked up speed. Eventually the motion of the train and the monotonous whir of the scenery lulled me. Despite sleeping surprisingly well in the forest, I suddenly realized how exhausted I was. I closed my eyes.

  ***

  The night when Mr. Santiago came to abduct me and take me to McCormick, my parents didn’t say more than two words to me, but they kept exchanging meaningful glances with each other. I sulked through dinner, frustrated that I still couldn’t seem to make anybody see what I saw or hear what I heard.

  I’m not crazy, I thought, stabbing my meatballs with more vehemence than necessary and shoving them in my mouth. Everybody else is crazy.

  “Heard you lost it at school today,” Charlie said.

  “Charlie!” our dad scolded him.

  He shrugged. “It’s the elephant in the room. Figured somebody should say it.”

  “I did not lose it,” I told him, gritting my teeth. “Maybe I found it, okay?” I didn’t know what this meant, but it sounded good.

  After dinner, just as Mom began to clear the plates, someone knocked at the front door.

  “That’ll be him,” Mom murmured to Dad.

  “Who?” I asked.

  In the foyer, I overheard Dad speaking with someone whose voice I didn’t recognize, but I could tell from their tones that they were speaking about something very serious. I looked at Charlie to see if he knew anything. He winked at me.

  Dad ushered the man into our living room. He was unnaturally tall, I thought, and he wore a gray suit and tie, and carried a briefcase. He immediately locked eyes upon me, and gave me a saccharine smile.

  “Kate, this is Mr. Santiago,” Dad said to me. “He’s here from—”

  “McCormick School,” I read on his briefcase. “What’s that?”

  Mr. Santiago crouched down to meet me at eye level, which I found insultingly condescending. “McCormick is a school where strong-willed, gifted children such as yourself can best be educated for the betterment of themselves and of society, Kathryn.”

  “Kate,” I corrected him through gritted teeth.

  “Oh, I’m sorry—” he consulted his clipboard, “your mother told me your name was Kathryn.”

  “It is, it is,” said my mother, her tone overly bright and cheerful. “But she insists on Kate. She says it sounds less… soft.”

  “It’s not good to insist on your own way, Kathryn,” Mr. Santiago shook his head at me, still wearing that revolting smile. “And there is nothing wrong with being soft. In fact we hope to cultivate that trait in you.”

  “What if I won’t go?”

  Mr. Santiago seemed unfazed by this. “You have no choice. Your bags are being packed as we speak.”

  My mouth fell open. “What?” I turned to my parents to verify this, wide-eyed.

  “McCormick is a boarding school,” Mr. Santiago went on, “but you will be allowed to come home for the holidays, provided your behavior begins to reflect our values and principles.”

  I turned to Charlie, hoping desperately to find an ally. But his expression seemed almost mocking.

  Did he want them to send me away?

  “This is for your own good, Kathryn,” my mother whispered to me, her lower lip trembling even through her smile. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, honey, but the government knows best.”

  “I hate you!” I shrieked, surprised even to hear the words coming out of my own mouth. “How can you do this to your own daughter?”

  Nobody answered me; my parents just exchanged that knowing look with each other, and Mr. Santiago nodded sadly, like I’d just confirmed his purpose.

  “The next time you see her, you will hardly recognize her. She will be a perfect little angel,” Mr. Santiago assured my parents.

  A man I hadn’t even seen enter the house with Mr. Santiago descended the stairs from my room carrying a suitcase tha
t did not belong to me. It was terribly small.

  “Come along, Kathryn. Say goodbye to your family.”

  They can’t make me, I thought desperately. They can’t! I’ll just refuse! I sat down on the floor, crossed my arms over my chest, and screamed.

  To my horror, the man who held the suitcase of the scant belongings he decided I would need grabbed my wrist with his other hand and began to drag me out the door behind Mr. Santiago. It hurt, and sobs mingled with my screams.

  “You can make this easy or hard,” said Mr. Santiago calmly over my railing, “but you are coming, whether you like it or not.”

  Chapter 18: Jackson

  I’m not a good liar. Not a skill I ever thought it worthwhile to cultivate.

  So when I saw the figure in the distance dart from the woods into a house about half a mile from the target Nick and Will had chosen for our purposes, I waited ten minutes before I said anything to the others. I thought about saying nothing at all and just going after her, but if I disappeared without a word, they’d be frantic. They might even put themselves in danger, sticking around too long trying to look for me after their mission was complete.

  But I couldn’t tell them exactly what I was doing either. I’d heard Kate mention her broadcast idea many times now—enough to surmise that she was going to do it, one way or another. I could just foil her plans by alerting the others now. They’d of course insist on stopping her, and she’d hate me for betraying her, especially to Will. But more importantly, she’d try again later anyway.

  Maybe the broadcast was a great idea and maybe it wasn’t, but as a community, it would undoubtedly be best for us to maintain a unified front and pursue a single course of action at a time. If Kate were anybody else, I’d probably just confront her, tell her to stop, and then if she decided to do it on her own anyway, I’d let her face the consequences.

  That was probably still what I should do.

  But I wasn’t going to.

  I approached Nick finally, figuring I had to tell him something.

  “I’m going to be gone for a little while,” I told him. “If I’m not back by the time you finish here, don’t wait for me and don’t come looking. I’ll find my own way back to Beckenshire.”

  Nick whipped his head around to face me. “What? Where are you going?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  He stared at me for a minute, trying to process this. I could almost hear the questions in his mind. This announcement stretched his trust of me to the breaking point, I knew. So I added, “All I can tell you is that what I’m going to do will benefit the community.”

  I hoped.

  Very slowly, Nick said, “All right… I really think we need you here, but… I trust you, Jackson.”

  “You don’t really need me this time, anyway—not like before,” I told him. “You have the jammers. You’ll be fine. I’ll come back here before the mission is over if I can, but if not, I’ll see you in Beckenshire in a couple of days at the latest.”

  When I saw Kate leave the dilapidated house, I followed at a distance—but not so far away that I couldn’t see her impressively horrible disguise: impressive because she didn’t look like herself at all, horrible because she stuck out like a flashlight in the dark. Where the rest of the citizens were gray and washed out, Kate practically glowed with vibrancy, and she was strutting like a peacock to boot. Clearly she’d never tried to blend in before.

  Yet for reasons I couldn’t figure, nobody seemed to notice her unless they got too close. They all seemed briefly alarmed when she passed by, but then descended again back into their usual complacency.

  I got a few double takes myself though—somehow it never occurred to me to don a disguise. Nobody stopped me, though. Most of them probably thought, No. It can’t be him, and then forgot about me as soon as I left their field of view.

  I waited at the train station at a safe distance from Kate when I arrived, keeping my head down. When I saw her board, I climbed on the same train several cars behind hers. I thought about just sitting beside her (after all, what could she do about it at this point?) but decided against it. Kate seemed quite determined to do this on her own. Perhaps she’d never need my help at all; and if she didn’t, she need never know.

  If she did need help, though, I’d be here.

  Two hours later, the train pulled into Dawvish. I blended in to the flow of people, still drawing a few surreptitious looks from my fellow travelers. I’d tuned them out by now, which was apparently a mistake.

  A whole slew of agents waited for me on the platform, weapons drawn. I counted them quickly: twelve.

  “Jackson MacNamera,” one of them said, taking aim at my chest, “you are under arrest for treason against the Potentate…”

  My first thought was, if I couldn't get past them quickly, I’d lose track of Kate. I scanned the crowd, and just saw her orange scarf disappear into the distance.

  “…Surrender and come with us,” the agent continued. I glanced back at him, trying to decide whether I should fight, or brush past them and follow her. That depended on whether they had real bullets this time or not.

  If they were real, this would be far from easy.

  But they’re not, I decided. They wouldn’t be. Even if the Potentate and higher-ups had figured out I could tell the difference between real bullets and fake ones, the agents themselves didn’t know they carried blanks.

  So I risked it: I ran straight at them. The one with the weapon trained on me began to fire, and the other agents opened fire too. I felt the familiar mild pressure sensation on my chest indicating a hit at close range from a blank, and breathed a sigh of relief. The people on the platform screamed and scattered.

  Definitely not a good way to blend in, I thought. Even worse than Kate’s approach.

  When I got close enough, I reached out to grab one of the agent’s guns, but he ran away from me before I could. Still looking at the first retreating agent, my arm shot out to the agent beside him, and I snatched his gun before he could react.

  “Don’t shoot!” the agent begged, falling to his knees. “Don’t shoot!”

  The station was now empty. I had to get out of here.

  “Don’t follow me,” I told the agent on the ground, tucking the gun into my waistband. I planned to get rid of it as soon as I got away from them, since I had real ones on me already, but I wasn’t going to give it back. I focused on the rest of the group and said, as believably as I could, “If you do, I won’t be so lenient the next time.” Then I took off running for the exit.

  But when I arrived, Kate was nowhere to be found.

  Chapter 19: Kate

  Just as I rounded the corner from the bullet train terminal to the street, I heard screams and gunshots behind me. I broke into a run with the stampeding crowd, expecting with every pounding footstep to hear, “Kate Brandeis, you are under arrest!”

  But as I ran, threading my way between panicking citizens around me, nobody seemed to single me out in any way.

  I looked around in disbelief. Really? Was I safe?

  I slowed down a few blocks away, trying to catch my breath and calm my thundering heart.

  Okay. You’re okay. Time to focus.

  The next part of my plan would be a little trickier: I had to get to Pierremont, a suburb of Dawvish. Too far to walk, yet too close to take another train. That meant I’d have to hitchhike.

  There was a system for hitchhiking in the Republic: citizens who didn’t offer some service directly to the government didn’t own their own cars, so they stood in designated areas and waited for commuters to pull over and offer them rides. The commuters complied, because somehow the Republic kept track of how many commuters they picked up per month, though I never knew how. Anyone found to offer fewer than twenty rides in a month received a dock in his rations. Even though we all thought we had more than enough, subconsciously I guess we knew we couldn’t afford this. Or perhaps we just genuinely wanted to
be of service. Either way, the hitchhiking program was one of the ways the Tribunal encouraged “a culture of generosity.”

  At least, that was how Jillian and I had spun it.

  I’d actually enjoyed picking up hitchhikers, though. Everyone I’d picked up became starstruck when they realized it was me. The women would fall all over themselves, telling me how poised I was, and how they aspired to be just like me. The men wouldn’t even bother with flirtation—they skipped straight to celebrity worship, gushing about how I was even more beautiful in real life than on camera, and they didn’t know any woman could be so physically perfect as I was. There were no other celebrities in our society, really—aside from the Potentate himself, Jillian and I were about as big as it got.

  I approached the cluster of commuters waiting for a ride, keeping my head down and feeling like I might as well have a neon sign flashing over my head, announcing, “Look at me! Look at me!” But apparently my disguise, though ill-conceived, was convincing enough. I scanned the faces of my fellow travelers with anonymity, and just couldn’t get over their vacant, placid stares. Finally I understood why Alex kept calling them all sheep. That’s what they reminded me of, too.

  How had I never noticed that before? Did I ever look like that?

  Of course I did, I thought with a shudder. I must have.

  Presently I moved my way to the front of the queue, next in line for pickup. Within a minute or two, a small silver sedan pulled up. I had a strange flash of recognition as I moved toward it, but I couldn’t place it at first. All I saw was that the driver was a middle-aged woman. I pulled the door open and got inside. Then I gasped before I could stop myself.

  It was Nancy. My old boss.

  I swallowed my reaction. Fortunately she didn’t notice, nor did she really look at me.

  “Where to?” she barked, in her traditional no-nonsense tone.