The Only Thing to Fear

by Caroline Tung Richmond

  “He’d break the nonaggression pact?” said Zara. This news kept getting bigger and better. She couldn’t help but grin at her uncle, although he kept his gaze on Mrs. Talley. It looked like her theory about the Reds stirring a war against the Führer wasn’t so far-fetched after all.

  “Volkov hasn’t been happy with the pact for years,” Mrs. Talley said, “so I wouldn’t be surprised if he did just that.”

  “Do you know what this could mean for the Alliance?” said Zara. More theories burst through her. For years, the Alliance had only tackled small guerilla attacks, nothing on a national scale after Mission Metzger had decimated their numbers. Perhaps now, with the nonaggression pact potentially breaking, the Alliance could rise up again. A thrill buzzed through her veins, but it was mingled with a sad ache. Zara looked at the chair where her mother used to sit and wished her mom were here with them now. She would have devoured this news like her favorite strawberry pie.

  “It might not mean much. The Soviets are half a world away from us,” Uncle Red said in his usual gruff manner.

  “But the Nazis at war would be weakened,” Mrs. Talley countered. She had long gotten used to his gruffness. “And a weakened Empire would be a plus for the Alliance.”

  “I agree,” Zara chimed in.

  Mrs. Talley winked at Zara and gave Uncle Red a winning smile. “It appears you have been outvoted. We’ll leave you to the dishes while Zara and I play a round of rummy.”

  Uncle Red pretended to grumble, but thanked Mrs. Talley for the meal. While he tackled the dinner pots, Zara and Mrs. Talley made it through two rounds of rummy and more conversation before Mrs. Talley’s eyes drooped and she decided to call it a night.

  “I’m turning into an old lady,” Mrs. Talley said. The scent of her lavender perfume wafted into Zara’s nose, a smell that had always calmed her. “I’ll have to get dentures soon and a cane for this bad hip of mine.”

  “Oh, stop. You’ll outlive us all,” Zara said, giving her a quick hug.

  With a wave good-bye, Mrs. Talley headed to her cottage a mile away while Uncle Red decided to call it a night, too, leaving half of the dishes for tomorrow. But Zara couldn’t sleep, not after hearing the news Mrs. Talley had shared during dinner. Her mind hummed while she tackled the last of the cooking pans. If the Alliance contacts were right, then the Nazis and Soviets could soon go to war. A clash like that would be monumental. It could usher in World War III.

  And that could certainly boost the Alliance. With the Nazis busy on their eastern border, they would have to draw some of their Territories-based troops for the fight. Fewer Nazis meant more chances at rebel-led riots, at rebellions. This was the sort of news that her mother had lived for, and this was why Zara needed to join the Alliance. She could never take the place of her mom, but she could try to fill her shoes the best she could. It was one small way to keep Annie St. James alive.

  A glint of gold caught Zara’s eye, and she realized Mrs. Talley had left her wedding ring on the counter. She must have taken it off to prepare the roast and forgotten all about it. Carefully, Zara picked up the band. It felt light as a penny in her hand. Narrowing her eyes, she read the worn inscription inside:

  To Nell, my bride. With love, Arthur.

  Mr. and Mrs. Talley had been married for thirty years when Mr. Talley was killed the same night as Zara’s mom. Zara had only a few blurry memories of him, but she remembered how he would give her piggyback rides and tell her great tales of the American Revolution that his grandfather had passed on to him. Sometimes Uncle Red would join in on the storytelling, too, and his voice would hit a crescendo when he spoke of Paul Revere’s midnight ride; Zara would fall asleep dreaming of rebels and revolutionaries. Those nights were some of the happiest in her childhood, along with the hot summer days when she and Molly would splash and swim in the Burns pond.

  Zara’s fist closed over the ring. Although she ached to climb into bed, she didn’t want Mrs. Talley waking up in the morning and worrying about her missing wedding band.

  Slipping on one of her mother’s old sweaters, Zara headed into the chilly night with the ring tucked snugly in her trouser pocket. The sky was as clear as glass, without a cloud for miles, and the crescent moon offered enough light for her to take a shortcut through the fields. On some nights the Nazis sent out a patrol to roam the rural roads, and she didn’t want to get stopped, especially if Sentinel Achen was the one doing the patrol.

  Zara yawned a half-dozen times while she trekked through the acres of farmland, but it wasn’t long before she spotted Mrs. Talley’s chimney in the distance. The Talleys had lived in the one-story house, quaint as a jewel box, since they first married. They had even hosted a few Alliance meetings in their tiny basement, sometimes squeezing fifty or more members in there. But now most of those people were gone, most of them long dead.

  She was about to approach the back of the house when she heard the front door open, then close. She froze in the vegetable patch, feeling open and exposed, then saw a shadow hurrying toward the dirt road, dressed all in black. An alarm bell blared through Zara’s head, thinking the house had been robbed, but then she noticed the shadowed figure limping with every step. The gears cranked in her mind.

  It was Mrs. Talley. But where was she going at this hour?

  Zara was about to call out to her, but she hesitated. If she asked Mrs. Talley where she was going, Mrs. Talley would only smile and walk Zara home. There was only one conclusion: Mrs. Talley was up to something, and Zara wanted to know what it was. Rounding her shoulders, she slipped down the path after her friend, vanishing into the twinkling night.

  * * *

  Zara crept along the side of the road, stepping on patches of crabgrass and dandelions to muffle her boot steps. Forty yards ahead, Mrs. Talley shuffled toward town, stopping every few minutes to massage her hip or squint behind her, making sure she wasn’t being followed.

  What are you up to? Zara thought. Maybe Mrs. Talley was on her way to see a patient, but she was wearing a canvas rucksack instead of carrying her leather medical bag. Or maybe she was going to meet a potential Alliance recruit, although Zara doubted that, too. If Mrs. Talley had been contacted by a potential recruit, she would have spoken to Uncle Red about it first. After all, a recruit could easily turn out to be a Nazi informant. Numerous Alliance leaders had mistakenly trusted a German plant and gotten executed by the sentinels for it.

  As they curved around the sleepy homes of Greenfield, Zara finally realized what her friend was doing. This road would soon lead them to Fort Goering — and to the medical supplies that her patients so desperately needed.

  Mrs. Talley was going on the supply run. Alone.

  Up ahead, Mrs. Talley checked her pocket watch and hastened her pace, ducking into the thicket of trees that enveloped Fort Goering in a leafy embrace. Zara hurried behind her, but the forest canopy obscured the moonlight, and she quickly lost sight of her friend.

  Fear threaded through Zara’s blood, something she hadn’t expected. She wasn’t scared of getting lost — she knew she’d find her way eventually — but she couldn’t let Mrs. Talley tackle a mission on her own. On previous supply runs, Uncle Red was the one who would sneak inside the fort while Mrs. Talley acted as the lookout, ready to toss a can of tear gas in case they needed a distraction for the guards. Mrs. Talley had never stolen the supplies on her own. And with her hip like that …

  Zara knew she had to find her.

  The bright lights of Fort Goering glared ahead, and she made her way toward them. The fort itself sprawled over fifty acres and was enclosed by a twenty-foot barbed-wire fence. A constellation of buildings sat at the center of the acreage: the soldiers’ barracks, the administrative structures, the hospital, and the prison. A wide swath of training fields lined the edge of the property, where the soldiers would ruck march and the Anomaly regiment would hone their superpowers. But now the fields lay empty as graveyards while the troops dozed in their bunks.

  Zara had never stepped ins
ide Fort Goering, but she had overheard enough conversations between her uncle and Mrs. Talley that would hopefully lead her in the right direction. Months ago, Mrs. Talley had mentioned a weak point in the fort’s fence, right next to a trio of storage sheds not far from the old abandoned hospital. With that memory guiding her, she skirted around the fort, branches clawing her forehead, until she spotted a big block of a building with boarded windows and a crumbling façade. A new hospital had been built over a year ago, leaving this one to be demolished.

  There it is, Zara thought. Her heart pumped faster when she spotted three storage sheds not far ahead. But where was Mrs. Talley? Leaves rustled far to her left, and Zara clambered up an enormous oak tree, her heart chattering at the thought that a soldier had found her. But once she balanced herself on a thick branch, she saw Mrs. Talley scurrying toward the fence, only thirty yards away.

  “Mrs. Talley!” Zara whispered, afraid to raise her voice any louder. For all she knew, one of the patrols could be strolling on the other side of those sheds.

  But Mrs. Talley didn’t hear her. Instead, the old woman lifted a rusted corner of the fence and wormed her head through it, followed by her shoulders. She had nearly slithered onto the other side when her hips got stuck in the narrow passage.

  Zara swore. She was ready to jump from the branch and pull Mrs. Talley out of trouble, but the slightest of movements caught her eye, forcing her to pause. Then she swore again.

  A security camera sat on the corner of the shed’s roof, its digital eye sweeping across the fort. Zara didn’t remember her uncle mentioning the camera before, not along the fence. There were security devices installed at the fort’s entrance, but the perimeters hadn’t been guarded as well, probably because Colonel Eckhart focused his budget on new toys like weapons upgrades and new tanks. Maybe the capital had sent in more security supplies. Whatever the reason, the camera was about to catch Mrs. Talley red-handed. The bulky device turned in Mrs. Talley’s direction, swiveling its neck toward her as she struggled to pull herself free.

  Every hair on Zara’s arms pricked up. She gauged the distance from the tree to the fence. By the time she reached Mrs. Talley, it would be too late. She stared at her hands, at the potential swirling through them. No one can ever know, her uncle’s voice echoed.

  But she couldn’t lose Mrs. Talley. That wasn’t even an option.

  Without another thought, Zara thrust her hands toward the camera, palms up.

  Listen to me, she called out in her mind.

  A breeze tickled beneath her fingers, drifting sleepily around her wrists. Months had passed since Zara had manipulated the air, and she could feel how rusty she had gotten.

  Come on. Faster!

  She thrust all of her focus at the security camera, her uncle’s caution shoved aside. An ache throbbed in her temples, like it always did whenever she let her power go fallow, but the breeze gathered strength. Leaves shivered and branches groaned as the wind whistled around her body. She didn’t know if it was enough, but she was running out of time.

  Release!

  The wind obeyed, eager for her command. In a great whoosh, it pummeled forward and rammed against the camera, stalling its progress. Finally, Mrs. Talley slid through the fence and rolled into the shed’s shadow, safe for now. Zara collapsed against the tree trunk, panting. That had been close. Too close, really.

  Mrs. Talley scurried from shadow to shadow, like a mouse scouring for crumbs, until she reached a cinder block storage facility. She took a lock pick from her pocket and grasped the sturdy metal lock, fumbling with both before the door cracked open and she stumbled inside.

  Zara wondered if she should follow after her — to make sure everything went smoothly — but she spotted that camera again. The Nazis could never know that Mrs. Talley was here; there couldn’t be any evidence.

  With one hand turned up, she called silently for the wind once again, beckoning it to her side. A thrill buzzed through her. She hadn’t done this since Christmas, when a snowstorm swallowed the Shenandoah hills and Zara had used the wind to carry her a few acres to locate their lost milking cow. Uncle Red had been livid when she came home.

  You weren’t far from the road! he had shouted while her boots soiled the floorboards with melted snow. What were you thinking?

  Zara had been thinking that the cow was worth over two hundred reichsmarks and how they could never afford that sum again. Besides, she had been careful. The heavy snow had obscured her from view; otherwise she never would have gone after the animal. Still, she had apologized and promised Uncle Red she wouldn’t use her power again, and she had kept that promise — until tonight.

  Glancing at her palm, Zara focused on the air right above it. Her temples pulsed, but she ignored the pain and focused on one thought.

  Spin.

  A miniature tornado arose over her skin. At Zara’s urging, it grew an inch taller, then another, until the tiny wind funnel reached half a foot. She aimed it toward the device.

  Destroy, she thought. The tornado zipped toward its victim and battered against the machine until the lens cracked, sending shards of glass flying. A smile tugged at Zara’s lips, but she knew Mrs. Talley wasn’t out of trouble yet.

  Zara leaned against the trunk again, finally letting her heartbeat catch its breath while she waited for Mrs. Talley to reappear. Her gaze roamed over Fort Goering, from the old hospital to the shiny new one, from the prison to the countless training fields, searching for any sign of the guards; but the fort was quiet that night. Far to the right of her, she noticed a big cluster of apartment buildings. The soldiers’ barracks. One of the barracks appeared newer than the rest, and its walls had been painted with three bolts of lightning. The Anomaly Division.

  For a split second, Zara envied them. The sentinels never had to conceal their powers, to hide what they truly were. Instead, once their abilities manifested as children, they were deemed “prized” in the eyes of the Empire and sent to special schools to hone their skills.

  A shudder snuck down her spine. The threat of the Nuremberg Laws had been hanging over her head for years, and the thought of being caught by the Nazis still made her throat tighten with fear. That was why Uncle Red had forbidden Zara to use her power. No one can ever know, he had told her again and again. It’s for your safety, do you understand? And for the most part, she had listened to him.

  Zara had been seven when she had first manifested, only a few days after her mother’s death. The grief had welled inside of her like a plugged-up drain, swirling and swirling until the air in her bedroom formed a miniature windstorm. Furniture splintered. Picture frames fell. Uncle Red had to douse her with cold water to calm her before he wrapped her in a tight hug, telling her that she was going to be all right. But she saw the fear in his eyes.

  It had taken Zara months to control her new ability. Uncle Red had had to pull her out of primary school multiple times, citing grief over her mother’s death. He told the teachers that Annie St. James had died from dysentery — a lie to cover up her ties to the Alliance — and fortunately they had believed him. After all, the death of a Kleinbauer hardly interested them.

  Zara studied her hands with a sigh. She felt so free whenever she used her power: the wind whipping around her, the air carrying her high above the trees. In moments like those, she could almost forget the heavy shadow of Nazi rule. Almost. But the Nazis were never far from her thoughts. She wasn’t only an Untermensch; she was an Anomaly deviant, too, thanks to the American blood flowing through her. A freak, to be destroyed. She closed her fists tight. Her abilities were a curse. If she had never manifested, her uncle wouldn’t have to worry so much about her, and they wouldn’t be forced to keep this secret locked inside of them. The only other person who knew was Mrs. Talley. Even Molly had been kept in the dark. Uncle Red had made Zara promise not to say a word.

  Still, Zara’s power had become a part of her. It was the only useful thing her father had left her, after all. He wasn’t an Anomaly himself, but he had
told Zara’s mom that his grandfather had served in the Ronin Elite, a mind reader, apparently. On lonely nights, Zara wondered if she should look up her father on an academy computer — she could have a whole other family out there — but she always snuffed out these thoughts by the morning. Her father would never acknowledge a half-American child like her. She was nothing but a mistake to him, the product of an affair he had probably forgotten about years ago.

  Zara pushed aside the ache blooming inside her. She had Mrs. Talley and Uncle Red, and they were enough. Despite everything they had gone through, from Mission Metzger to Nazi interrogations, they had never left Zara, and she loved them for it. Although she should probably tell them that more often.

  A sheet of clouds swung over the moon, cutting Zara’s visibility in half. She scooted forward on the branch to get a better view of the storage facility, but a sharp piece of bark cut open her thumb.

  “Nice one,” Zara muttered. Yet another cut to add to the wounds and bruises she had collected on the farm. She tried to ignore the pulsing pain, but this one felt different. Like tiny needles stabbing through her veins.

  Zara sat up. She had felt this strange stinging before. It had happened two months ago when she sliced her toe on a stray piece of glass, but it hadn’t gotten infected, so she had shrugged it off. This had to be an odd coincidence or a strange medical condition, and she really hoped it was the former. The local hospital only treated Germans, and she couldn’t afford the fees anyway.

  The storage room door swung open, and Zara promptly shoved her injured thumb from her thoughts. She watched Mrs. Talley tiptoe out of the building with a full rucksack over her shoulder. She hobbled toward the fence, slipping the bag underneath it first before she scooted herself under.

  Hidden in the leaves, Zara’s heart sang, but she couldn’t celebrate until Mrs. Talley made it home safely. She waited a long minute before she climbed down the trunk and headed for the Talleys’ home. As she wove out of the forest the tree boughs scraped against her cheeks, but a smile remained stitched on Zara’s lips because of what she had done.