Enemy of Gideon

by Melissa McGovern Taylor

  Her expression tells me otherwise.

  “Did you talk to Petra? What did she say?” I ask.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I stare hard at her, willing her to say more.

  She releases a shaky sigh. “She got involved with the wrong people, bad people. It’s a mistake.”

  She stands from the sofa and removes her coat. “Time for school. Go get dressed.”

  As much as I want to debate the order, I know I can’t get anything more out of my shell-shocked mother. But who will tell me the truth?

  Ogden pops into my mind. Dinner at the citizenship center. Questions about Petra. It makes perfect sense. Chief Penski was suspicious of Petra even then. I rush to get dressed.

  Outside in the chilly air, I interrogate Ogden on the way to school.

  “She was arrested for distributing EP,” Og says. It took me five minutes of badgering to get him to utter this. The news hits me like a brick to the chest.

  “EP,” I say. “Petra? There’s no way!”

  A fire rises up inside of me, and I grab him by the shoulders in the middle of the sidewalk. His eyes grow wide.

  “I swear it’s the truth!” he squeals. “My dad was ranting about it this morning to my mom. I heard all of it! Your sister’s in with the enemies!”

  Citizens ahead of us on the street look back at our commotion. I release his shoulders, his words sucking the breath from my body. How could this be happening? My sister, an enemy? How?

  “They must have brain-washed her or something,” I say. “That’s the only explanation. Petra is a loyal citizen. She’s …”

  A wave of nausea passes over me, along with a surge of memories. The nightmare from earlier in the morning repeats in my mind. Arrested.

  Mom told me nothing helpful, trying to hide the truth from me. How much of the truth about Dad has she hidden away? In my dream, Petra said Dad had been arrested. What if he hadn’t abandoned us? What if CE arrested him too? Was my father an enemy?

  The questions swirl around in my brain as we walk on. I have to know. But who could tell me about the enemies?

  Ahead of us, Arkin walks along with a classmate, and my hope flickers.

  Arkin, of course. He’ll have the answers.

  I break into a sprint.

  “Where are you going?” Og shouts.

  I ignore him and charge ahead, dodging adults walking to work and other students heading to school.

  Arkin turns to me. He tells the other guy to go on without him.

  “Raissa,” he says with weary, sad eyes.

  He knows. How could he know? Had it been on the newsfeed this morning?

  “My sister’s been arrested,” I say, panting. “They took her for EP. I don’t understand. She’s not an enemy.”

  Nodding, he puts his hands on my shoulders and brings me into his arms. My heart nearly jumps out of my throat at this unexpected gesture. It’s a hug, but not one without a specific purpose. His warm breath brushes over my ear with each whispered word.

  “I have answers. Meet me behind Building A15 on Street H-31 at six o’clock tonight. Come alone.”

  ►▼◄

  Mom’s on a double shift today. Even though she hates her job, she immerses herself in her work as a distraction from stress at home. Usually, I cause her to take on double shifts. I slack off at school, argue with her, and avoid my chores. How can it be Petra this time? She’s the perfect daughter who never stresses Mom out. She did her chores, respected Mom, completed her school work, and even gave us credits from her part-time job to help make ends meet.

  Now I live in a topsy-turvy world. If the sun shines tonight, it would fit right into my mindset. But the moon sends its light across the evening sky as usual. Traces of orange and pink from the sun’s rays fade on the horizon. I pace on foot toward Street H-31. Darkness covers Gideon, and the bitter cold settles in for another winter night. I have one hour before curfew, plenty of time to talk and then hurry back home.

  I’ve never been ten blocks north of my apartment, where abandoned buildings and construction sites line the streets. The city-state workers are rebuilding and renovating for a new phase in that area, so citizens on waiting lists will have better places to live.

  Streetlights become fewer and fewer in this district, making me uneasy. I’ve seen no CE officers for several blocks, but the cameras are still on some corners. This, for once, brings me comfort. I don’t know what thieves or other criminals might be lurking around some corner, so I keep my pace quick and my toboggan-covered head down, trying to look like one who should be feared rather than one who should be afraid.

  The sign for Street H-31 comes into view under a dim street lamp, and the sign below it posts the building numbers and a right arrow. I turn right to follow the street toward Building A15.

  Questions for Arkin nagged at me all day, but he avoided me after his instructions this morning. Even in science class, he dodged my glances and busied himself with the class work. Was he trying to protect himself? Perhaps suspicion could be aroused by simply knowing the relative of an enemy.

  Early in the day, the newsfeed on my wristband mentioned Petra’s arrest but without her name. Arkin somehow knew before I told him. He had a look in his eyes—one of sorrow, of understanding.

  EP, a serious offense, results in major jail time. I heard many stories growing up, especially in the citizenship center with Ogden. Those who become enemies of Gideon don’t receive mercy. Very few, if any, leave the prison. Those who do make it out enter rehabilitation and become reformed citizens. What happens to the enemies who refuse rehabilitation? What will become of Petra? The possible answers make my gut twist and ache.

  A decrepit, weather-beaten sign over the front double doors to Building A15 identifies it. The metal letter 5 dangles upside down from the sign like a rain drop clinging to a leaf. I head around the back of the building, noticing one camera on a streetlight across the road. It’s the only camera for about two blocks, and layers of grime cover its bulky shape. The camera is too old and neglected to even be operational.

  Behind the building, darkness consumes me. I stop and kick at the dirty sidewalk, hoping the sound will bring Arkin to my side. It does.

  “Raissa,” he whispers, appearing in a light beside me.

  His wristband glows on his face as his bangs dance in the breeze outside his toboggan like angry tentacles. His cheeks are chapped pink, and the light of the wristband gives his eyes a vivacious glow.

  “Follow me,” he says.

  I do as he instructs, my hands trembling the whole way. What does he know about Petra? I want to scream out my questions, beg him for answers, but this is Arkin, the most attractive guy I’ve ever met. Part of me demanded self-control around him even in the midst of my panic and desperation.

  We trot down a staircase in the back of the building. It’s easy to navigate, the same design as my apartment building. The staircase leads to the building’s basement. We enter an open door at the bottom of the stairs. A musty stench hits my nostrils as I follow the light from his wristband. Then he stops at a stack of wooden crates. With a click, another light reveals an expansive basement dotted with cement columns and rotting furniture. He uses a butane lighter to light four jar candles on top of the crates. A rat scurries out of the light.

  “We call this part of Gideon ‘the Blind Spot,’” he says. “All of the cameras are disabled within a half-mile radius.”

  “We?”

  His usually soft expression becomes grim. “Nothing I tell you can leave this place. Do you understand?”

  I nod.

  “It would endanger lives if you told anyone what I’m about to tell you,” he says.

  I swallow, not because he stares but because part of me doesn’t want to know what he is about to reveal. Yet, I nod my head.

  “I knew about Petra’s arrest,” he says.

  “How?”

  “I know Petra.”

  His words both confuse me and open m
y eyes. Before I can question his statement, he continues.

  “I met Petra six months ago in what you Gideonites call ‘the outskirts’. That place is my home, where I was born.”

  Impossible. He isn’t dirty or malnourished. He certainly isn’t uneducated. This is ridiculous. Someone from the outskirts living among us? How could Code Enforcement not know? If only I could be home with Petra and Mom again having dinner, back when everything was fine … at least, when everything seemed fine.

  “You’re an enemy?” I ask.

  He takes a deep breath and releases it. “Petra visited the outskirts after one of our people at the university shared the truth with her. Your sister was skeptical at first, but she soon came to the outskirts as a visitor. She’s been one of us for the past five months.”

  “One of you? An enemy?”

  “Please don’t use that word.” His soft expression returns. “We’re called believers.”

  My stomach turns to stone, and my face burns. “Believers? In what, breaking the Code?”

  “We can get into that later,” he says. “Right now, I need to tell you why I was sent into Gideon.”

  I close my eyes tight to get a grip. Nothing makes sense. The answers are unbelievable, impossible.

  “Petra wanted me to share the truth with you,” he says.

  I collapse on a lone crate nearby. The room spins around me. I cover my face with my clammy hands. “What are you talking about?”

  “Petra wanted you to become a believer too, so I came to your community, your building, your school to expose you to the truth,” he says. “We never expected Petra to be arrested, though …”

  “Why would she risk everything? Why would she betray Gideon, the Code?” I shake my head. “This can’t be true.”

  “She was prepared for the arrest,” he says. “We all prepare for it, but we’re always careful not to get caught.”

  “So you’re telling me your people brainwashed my sister and got her arrested?”

  “It’s not brainwashing, Raissa! She chose to believe. She came to us seeking with an open heart, and she found what she was looking for.”

  I can’t look at him anymore. He disgusts me.

  He pulls a white shoebox out of his backpack and offers it to me. “She can explain it better than I can.”

  “What’s this?”

  “Something she prepared for you in case of her arrest.”

  I rise from the crate and snatch the box from his grasp.

  “The contents of that box must never be seen by another person,” he says. “They could mean life or death.”

  I gaze into his weary eyes. I don’t care anymore about his charm or good looks. He’s a liar. He pretended to be my friend.

  I grit my teeth. “What do you mean?”

  “Keep the contents out of sight, especially from the cameras.”

  Wrapped in clear packaging tape, the ordinary shoebox weighs at least a couple of pounds. I swallow, but my throat is as dry as an oven. He hands me a pair of scissors from his backpack, and I slice through the tape with shaky hands. I toss the scissors on the ground when I finish.

  “I know you’re upset with me,” he says, picking up the scissors from the dusty floor. “Petra said you’d be angry, but I promise I did all this for a reason greater than you can imagine right now.”

  “I want you to leave,” I say, staring down at the box.

  He freezes there before me, glowing in the candlelight. After lingering a few seconds, he gathers his backpack and walks out of the basement. I sit alone. The dark doorway stands empty, and a pit forms in her stomach. Do I have a right to be angry? Of course I do. He’s a liar and an enemy. His people are destroying Petra’s life and my own.

  I remove the box lid and find a piece of thick, off-white paper from my sketchbook folded in half. Petra’s elegant, penciled cursive covers the inside of the page. I open the paper flat, so the light will hit all of the words.

  Dear Raissa,

  If you’re reading this, something has happened to me, and a messenger, someone you’ve come to know, has brought this package to you. I sent him to get to know you, so you could join us.

  I know you are scared and upset, but please don’t be. I know what I got myself into. Right now, what I need you to do is to trust the messenger. He can be trusted as your friend. He came to share the truth with you.

  The pit in my stomach grows larger. Petra has to be referring to Arkin. Maybe I shouldn’t have sent him away.

  I joined the believers, and I am a believer now. People from our own family, our ancestors, have been believers too. I know that is hard for you to grasp, but it’s true. There is a very special book in this package. You must not let anyone find it because it breaks the Code. The contents of the book are what we believe. The words are what we believers live for. I want you to know that no matter what happens to me, I will be fine. I am always in His hands.

  I love you, sis.

  Petra

  I look back again at my sister’s words. “I am always in His hands.” Whose hands?

  Bewildered, I set the letter aside and find something wrapped in a red cloth. As I lift it out of the box, the silken cloth falls away from the worn cover, revealing a black book with gold trim on the pages. Most books I encounter are school textbooks or guides to the Code. They have plastic covers and spiral binding. This one doesn’t. The gold letters of the title on the front cover are too faded to read, but on the spine, the title reads Holy Bible.

  Are these other words from another language? People speak other languages in other parts of the world, but the teachers never inform the students about these places and people in detail. Teachers say the Code forbids knowledge of such irrelevant information.

  I open the front cover and find English I recognize. The first page reads “The Santos Family Bible, 1980” above a drawing of a tree with lines extending from branches. Unfamiliar cursive handwriting fills the lines with names like Alice, Miguel, Sarah, Clarence, and Roger. I’ve never heard such funny-sounding names before.

  I skip the next few pages. Words in two columns on each page cram my vision, and nearly every other line has an assigned number. I try to read it.

  “Then the LORD God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.”

  The words confuse me as much as ‘holy’ and ‘bible’. What is ‘the Lord God’?

  A shrill beeping makes me jump. My wristband lights up, and a robotic female voice speaks: “Curfew approaching. Citizen out of range.”

  It repeats the warning between persistent beeps. I wedge Petra’s letter into the book and close it. The time on my wristband reads ten minutes until seven o’clock.

  I stuff the book into my buttoned coat and flee back out into the darkness. My mind repeats the unfamiliar words, and Petra floats among them. What did she risk everything for?

  The closer I get to home, the less my wristband beeps. I arrive back to an empty apartment a minute before curfew. Mom won’t be home for several more hours, plenty of time for me to investigate the mysterious book.

  I have to pull out the book without the cameras outside the windows seeing. With windows on one side of the room, one corner of the living room is out of sight from the cameras, so I remove my coat there.

  A spiral bound dictionary sits on the bookshelf right beside me, so I retrieve it. I carry both the dictionary and the book into my bedroom and shut the door behind me. Closing the curtains in front of my bedroom window, I blind the camera posted outside. I can do this without suspicion, but after thirty minutes or so, I have to open them again. The Code orders all window curtains closed for no more than one hour per day.

  Flipping through the dictionary, I search for the strange words I encountered. I can’t risk using my wristband to research the words knowing all wristbands are closely monitored by CE.

  I find none of the words I saw in the book or its title, so I return my attention to th
e tree of names at the front of the book. None of the names look familiar, except Santos. Am I somehow related to these people? I know very little about my family history. I knew both sets of grandparents as a young girl, but Santos is my father’s family name. Could these people be my father’s ancestors? Do I come from a long line of enemies?

  No wonder Petra was sucked into the believers’ ways. They obtained the book and presented it to her, convincing her to follow in our family’s footsteps.

  A knock at the front door startles me, and I nearly jump from the bed. After covering the book with my blankets, I rush out to the living room. Is it CE? Have I been caught? No. They would’ve forced their way in by now.

  As I approach the door, a folded piece of paper slides under it across the wood floor. I grab it and open it eagerly.

  In block lettering, it reads:

  I have a lot more to share with you, Raissa. Please forgive me. – A.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The morning light pours in through the half-open curtains, stirring me gently. I lift my head from the open dictionary on my bed and stretch my arms up. Remembering the Bible, I find it hidden under the blankets. I need a hiding place for this.

  Scanning the room, I reject the inside of my dresser drawer, under the mattress, and a few other obvious places. Then I remember the perfect spot, and I close the curtains. On the cool, hardwood floor, my fingers trace the cracks between the floorboards. It’s right around here. Then a floor board shifts more than the others. There you are. I pull up the loose board, revealing a dusty compartment, what I once called my secret treasure box. A hairbrush, tiny stuffed bear, and a toy bracelet sit at the bottom on the hole. I smile at the trinkets as I remove them. For a second, I’m seven again without a care in the world.

  “Raissa! Time for school!” Mom calls from the kitchen.

  I snap back to reality, drop the book into the compartment, and replace the floorboard. I still wear my clothes from the day before, so I rush to change into a fresh coverall.

  Mom washes dishes at the sink. “Good morning. I went to see your sister last night.”