by B. C. Tweedt
Sally McPherson. Smiley Face, XOXO. Pass.
Hailey Reckhemmer. Nice try on the last name. Pass.
Kylie VanderLeest. Heart instead of a dot on the 'i'. Pass.
Sydney McHansen. Return address from a PO Box in Denver.
McHansen? It was oddly close to Sydney Hansen, who he thought was dead. She’d been on the same cruise that had sunk. He hadn’t heard a word from her since. But could it be? Sam glanced over his shoulder, into the mansion, and then ripped open the envelope.
Sam, this is Sydney, the one you “admire”. I had a picture of yours, but I lost it. I hope this reaches you, and not some other person. Since I don’t know, I can’t say much. If it is you reading this, please prove it in a letter and then we can find a way to talk more.
His hands shook holding the letter, reading it over and over. It’s her. It had to be. He had written notes for her to read on the cruise, one of which said he “admired” her. She also referred to his picture that he had requested she return to him. If the letter was from her, she was being discrete, cautious of it falling into the wrong hands. She didn’t trust the government. She doesn’t trust my dad?
Smart girl…
He glanced over his shoulder again, gasped, and shoved the letter down his shirt.
“How’s it going, lil’ man?” his dad asked.
“Good. Trying to decide which to open first.”
His dad smiled the winning smile plastered on TV ads, mailers, and the portrait now hanging in their living room. Kneeling beside the pile, he sifted through them, reading the return addresses.
“So many girls to choose, Sam. This might be a glimpse into your future.”
Sam shook it off with a smile of his own. “I don’t think these are my type.”
“No?” the governor asked, sifting through the letters. “What’s your type then?”
Sam lowered his head, staring at the carpet.
His delay gave the governor the hint. “Oh. I forgot, Sam.”
“That’s ok.”
“She was a great girl. I really liked her, too.”
“Thanks.”
After a long pause, the governor suddenly pulled in the pile of letters and scooped them up in his arms. “Let’s forget this batch. Let Carly answer them for you.”
Still on the floor, Sam didn’t want to stand, in fear of exposing the envelope under his shirt. “Thanks, Dad, but I can answer one or two. Might help me move on, you know?”
The governor shrugged, and peered into the pile in his arms, pulling one out. “Okay. How about this one? Leah from Ohio. Ohio’s a battleground state, and we need as many votes as we can get!”
He dropped the envelope at Sam’s hands, smiled, and exited, leaving Sam to open the letter in peace. Out dropped a duck-faced selfie.
-------------------------------
Greyson shivered as Sydney lay next to him on the invisible helicopter, not disturbing a single blade of grass that was projected on the metal beneath them. From the side they would look as if they were floating on air in the middle of the clearing, and Greyson felt near the same. He had been longing for this moment for some time – to be free of a hospital room, out in nature, alone with Sydney – but he hadn’t imagined it to be the last time he would see her. It put his head spinning, floating; and he fought it, urging himself to settle down.
He could stop her. He was confident of it. He imagined it as if it were true – the things they could do together at the camp, the time they could spend getting to know each other, the daring escapades they could plan to rescue her parents.
He rested his head on the glass and let it swivel toward her. Her blonde ponytail, pulled to the side. Her ski slope of a nose. Her glassy blue eyes, glinting with the starlight.
But he knew he shouldn’t keep her back. She’d found her purpose, her timing. Who was he to stop it? Would he want her to stop him if the roles were reversed?
“What are you thinking about?” she asked. She was looking at him, a little concerned.
He stammered. “Stuff. You?”
“Me?” She turned back toward the sky with a smirk. “I heard you were. They told me you were looking for me. And you were quite insistent.”
“Quite insistent?”
She nodded smugly to herself.
“Well, maybe.” He adjusted his sling, trying to make himself physically comfortable to offset the other discomfort.
“What did you want to see me so badly for?”
He smiled, debating adding a sarcastic remark, but deciding to give in to the urgency inside. “Where are they taking you?”
“They’re not taking me. I’m choosing to go. And I can’t tell you everything,” she sighed.
He gave her a stern look. “Who am I going to tell, Syd? Kit? Don’t you trust me? Of all people. You’ve known these guys for how long and suddenly you’re just one of them?”
She stared straight ahead, clenching her jaw. After a deep sigh, she gave in. “Nick and I are brother and sister of a family moving to a neighborhood of a guy who might be high up in Pluribus. Our parents are with Rubicon. They’re spies. We make them look real; they figure out what Pluribus is doing next.”
Greyson let the information digest. She was going to be a spy.
“That’s all I can say. Really.” She turned, her eyes pleading for peace.
He hated that she was the one leaving. Hated it. But, “Okay,” was all he could manage.
“Okay? Is that it? That’s all you wanted?”
Greyson tried to read her face, but she was giving nothing away. For a snap second he was aware that what he said next mattered. He felt he had grown up in a moment, taking care to think through his actions before taking them. He used to often bite his words to Sydney after saying them – this time would be different.
“I guess I wanted to make sure that we said goodbye. And I wish you the best.”
The words had come out perfect, but something went wrong. Something had struck her wrong. He saw it in a twitch of her eyebrow, in an extra blink. It hadn’t been what she had expected – or what she had wanted.
“You’ll do great,” he muttered, doubling down. “Daring to do good and all.”
She turned to him, her eyes holding back tears of pain or happiness. He couldn’t tell, and it was freaking him out.
“I’m proud of you?”
Breathing hard, Sydney turned back, restraining whatever it was that she had been thinking of doing. Her arms crossed and she gritted her teeth. He understood that much. She was mad.
“You mad?”
He had to ask.
Her brow scrunched. “No. Why would I be?” She turned to him and smiled. “Thanks. I’ll try to keep making you proud.”
And with that, she rolled to the side and climbed down.
“Sydney, wait.”
“I’m ready!” she shouted to the soldiers. “Let’s roll!”
The soldiers meandered from the back of the truck, where they had been chatting.
“Sydney!”
Sydney gathered her backpack and threw it in the helicopter, ignoring him.
“Sydney, I need help down,” he said, quieter.
Then she stopped, letting the tension drop from her shoulders, and made her way to him. As Rubicon began piling in the helicopter, Sydney helped Greyson down. When his feet hit grass, he snagged her bag to keep her close.
“What’s wrong? Tell me.”
She set her hips, sighing. After glances at the soldiers, who still seemed oblivious, she whispered. “I…I just thought…I thought you might try to keep me from going.”
Greyson took in a long, understanding breath. “Oh. At first I was. I wanted to keep the group together. But then I realized that I shouldn’t hold you back. It wouldn’t be right.”
Her lip stiffened as she reflected on his words. “You’re right,” she surrendered with a shrug. But then she took a sarcastic tone. “Why wouldn’t I go? We�
�re all about doing good. And you’re all better now. You don’t need me sticking around here, pestering you when I can be out doing what’s right, right? You wouldn’t want that.” She huffed, catching her breath, and glared at him. “Do you?”
Her eyes were piercing, but vulnerable, as if hoping, expecting to be hurt. And he hated to hurt her more than anything.
Confused, Greyson stammered, “Uh…I-I don’t…I just…”
She was hurt. He hadn’t even said anything, and yet he had hurt her. He desperately tried to save it. “I’m bad at goodbyes. I never know what to say.”
Sydney pulled her bag away. “Me neither. You’d figure we’d be used to it.” She turned toward the heli but turned back. “Oh, and by the way, I mailed Sam a letter. Dan wanted me to. But it’s for the good, so I’m sure you wouldn’t hold me back.”
She gave him one last look, the fire in her eyes beginning to dim, and then pulled herself into the cargo area as Grover started the helicopter’s invisible blades spinning in a kaleidoscope of blurry foliage.
“Bye…” he whimpered.
As Greyson still stood dumbfounded, Nick brushed shoulders with him, pausing with a hint of a smile, watching him. He turned to Sydney, then back to him. “I’ll take care of her.”
Greyson blinked hard with a sigh. He finally gave an answer. “Thanks.”
Nick looked over Greyson’s shoulder at Jarryd before going on. “And about…about what happened on the cruise. About what you said.”
Greyson furrowed his brow, trying to recall what Nick was talking about. The memory surfaced: Nick choking Orion with his fanny pack, nearly killing him.
“You said that I didn’t want the demons you have,” Nick said, glancing at his feet. Then he looked at Greyson as if he’d matured before his eyes. “But demons don’t save people.”
Nick shrugged, brows raised as he backed toward the helicopter, leaving Greyson to ponder the meaning. He guessed they were profound, coming from Nick, but he didn’t have the time to analyze them. His mind was still on Sydney and so many other things.
“Hey, bro,” Jarryd said, siding up to him. “How you doing?”
“I don’t know. You?”
Jarryd waved at Nick as the blades whined louder and louder, smashing air into their clothes and hair. “It’s hard. Haven’t been away from him much. Like, ever.”
Forge was the last coming to the helicopter, but he stopped for Greyson.
“You’re right. You are bad at goodbyes,” he shouted over the blades. “The closer you get, the harder it is. But she’ll be free to focus on her mission now, and so will you.”
“Me?”
“I thought about your request.” He handed him a folded paper. “Your mission. Training schedule, research homework, and diet. Write down questions for me. Each time I return, I’ll answer three of them. Use your free time for others, not yourself. You’re not your own anymore, you hear?”
Greyson’s eyes grew wide and he nodded sheepishly. It surprised him, but it filled him with a pride he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Forge turned to Jarryd. “SmokeStack set you up with our man Murray?”
Jarryd held his paper up.
“And Avery – you’re with Rachael?”
She nodded.
“Take care of Bartender.”
She smiled. “I’ll take ca’yah of ‘em.”
The blades continued whipping, the hum whining in their ears. Before Forge could say goodbye, Greyson stopped him. “Forge!”
“Yeah?” Forge checked over his shoulder and got the hurry up signal from Grover.
“Thanks,” Greyson said, adding politeness just to aggravate him.
The engine whined higher and the heli began to lift off inch by inch. They waved at Forge as he stepped on the rail. He didn’t wave back. “No crappy goodbyes.” Then he glared at Greyson. “I hope I never see you again, Orphan. Really do hate you,” he yelled with a wink.
Greyson smiled in understanding. He remembered all too well the pain of losing those he had loved. Maybe pretending the love wasn’t there would make the goodbye easier. “Hate you, too.”
Forge disappeared inside, closing the clouded blue door behind him as the helicopter rose higher and higher, smaller and smaller until its blurry mirage was no more. The kids left on the clearing said nothing for the longest time. Rubicon’s absence, Nick’s absence, and Sydney’s absence left a hole in each one of them. But Greyson grasped his folded paper harder. Something about having Forge’s instructions gave him an ounce of security, at the same time lifting a pound of burden he hadn’t known was there. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew what it was.
Sydney. She was gone now. And there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He could still worry, but he didn’t have to. In a guilty way, he felt freer than he had in a long time. Sure, he had been given new instructions that came with new worries – but these were his and his alone. He could stand worrying about himself for once. He welcomed it.
He gripped the paper tight and then slipped it inside his fanny pack.
“What now?” Jarryd asked, still gazing into the sky.
Greyson did the math in his head before replying. “Three hundred and seventy three days until the election – until the next big attack. But we don’t know when they’ll be back calling on us. So we get ready.”
Jarryd shrugged. “If those guys can’t stop it in a year, and come back needing our help, I think we’re in trouble. The whole frickin’ country’s in trouble.”
Part II
Chapter 15
Sometime in the future
The boy in the backwards red hat huffed on the television screen. Hatred glared inside his pupils. “I know him. Name’s Orion. And he’s not Emory’s son – well, he’s adopted or something.”
“How do you know him?” came the gruff voice, off-camera.
“He tried to kill me. At the fair. At John’s house. He’s a murderer. He shot Kip and…”
“Where did you first see him?”
The boy lowered his head in thought. He was perplexed, as if the memory was eluding him. “At the fair. My friends and I saw him. He was putting up posters – Pluribus posters. Making a big deal out of it.”
“Like he wanted to be caught? Get on camera?”
His brow furrowed as he looked inward. “I…I guess so. But that would mean Emory…he wanted people to know Pluribus was there? Why would he want that?”
There wasn’t an answer. Only a pause. Then the questioner moved on. “What did you do after that?”
The boy shrugged with a trace of a smirk. “I chased him.”
“You chased him? Why?”
“He was…well, he was being suspicious…”
“That’s enough to chase someone?”
“Well, he ran. So yeah.” The boy must have seen the questioner’s face and taken offense. “So I’m not the best at waiting around and doing nothing, okay?” He sighed, exasperated. “Like sitting on my butt doing this video when there’s terrorists planning things and my dad’s out there. Shouldn’t we like, go out and stop them?”
Chapter 16
One year later
Seven days until the election
Asher churned through the snow and swiped away the soft pine branches that got in his way. His boots crunched the soft snow into harder pack until it gave him enough grip to push further on, each step a strain on his young muscles, but a strain he’d come to love every morning.
When he reached the tree with an “X” carved in its trunk, he made a sharp right, curving around the rocky edge with confident strides. He breathed hard gusts of white vapor, but he wasn’t out of breath. For a moment he had a flashback to a time nearly a year ago when he’d first made the hike behind Kit, and he smiled – proud of himself. He’d probably grown a full three inches since then. His legs had gotten longer, and stronger. The runs and workouts with Greyson had given him endurance well beyond his age. He used
to be afraid of trekking the mountain alone.
Not anymore.
The familiar outcrop that had once been too tall stood in his way once again; but he whipped his booted foot upward and just managed to push his way to the top. He then stopped to look back, admiring the trail he’d created through the snow and examining the field below where the kids used to play kickball. The once-empty fields were now buildings, hastily constructed to house more guests. Along with a few guard posts in the surrounding woods, and something called a Hive for more protection, the camp had grown just as he had.
With a smile he darted off, thumping along the trail he’d perfected. Up the slope, through the rocky pass, and over the final peak. He turned his fanny pack to the front and slid on the snowy slide that still held its shape despite last night’s snowfall. When he came to the flat ridge at the end of the slide, he stood, still sliding alongside the hut. He laughed, as usual, and was about to call out for Greyson when he realized something. He isn’t here.
Asher surveyed the hut’s exterior, made up of tied bunches of pine needles. It hadn’t grown in size over the months, but with guidance from his survival book, he and Greyson had made it sturdier. Looking over his shoulder, he pulled back the Transformers sheet and inched his face inside.
Asher knew it was off-limits, but he just wanted a peek. What’s so private about a hut?
He saw the collection for the snow-water, Greyson’s bedding, extra clothes, his toiletries. Nothing out of the ordinary.
But then he saw the drawings. There were several of his own drawings that made him smile, but there were a few others visible underneath. Pulling up on the corners of the top drawings, he saw ones Greyson had drawn. They were crude, not much better than something he could draw, with the same kind of childishness, but the coloring was done with care, not the hasty doodles he would whip out at daycare. There were a few of a girl with a blonde ponytail, but another was of a man with green eyes. It was done well enough that Asher knew who it was supposed to be.
