Rubicon

by B. C. Tweedt

  More so, it was a funnel. They were being funneled to City Hall, blocked in on all other sides. Greyson knew it was a trap. They all did. But still they funneled on.

  “Don’t worry,” Drake calmed, playing with his bracelets. “While Becker’s got the police, the governor’s on our side. The Guardsmen are under his control. They’re here just to make sure we all leave – and to keep the peace between us and the loyalists.”

  Suddenly, Greyson’s body shook, the windows around him shook, and the crowd ducked as two fighter jets screamed above. A food cart’s umbrella caught the jets’ backdraft and snapped off, flipping high into the air, toppling over itself three stories high and fluttering further down the block.

  Astonished, the crowd grew tense, shouting and murmuring to each other, all while the two armies marched to their flanks.

  Greyson arched his brow. “So what are those for?”

  “Scare tactics,” Drake said.

  Beep shivered. “Well, it worked!”

  -------------------------------

  The guard pushed Cael further down the dirt aisle. He stumbled and fell, disoriented and still coughing. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair and shirt collar soaked. All trademarks of water boarding, a method of torture simulating drowning.

  The guard caught up to him and yanked him to his feet, yelling fierce commands and brandishing his gun. Cael could barely stand; he grabbed at the chain-linked cells to keep his balance until finally he staggered to his cell. One more time, the soldier grabbed him, but this time was different. He grabbed his hand and jammed something inside his palm. Paper.

  Cael wrapped his fingers around it as the helmeted guard pushed him inside. The girl was there, consoling him as the guard locked the door.

  “I’ll be back in an hour,” the guard muttered in a Middle Eastern accent. “Then you’ll talk.”

  Then the guard vanished.

  Without applause, his cellmates congratulated him, patting him on the back and encouraging him for holding out. Softly, the girl wrapped her arms around him and whispered in his ear, but he would have none of it. Instead, he broke away and found a lonesome corner where he waited for the attention to come off of him.

  Finally, when the group decided to give him his peace, and when he felt it was safe, he unwrapped the note and read the message.

  When I come back, free everyone. Run.

  Chapter 35

  Thirty minutes until martial law

  “Kit, stay!”

  Kit stopped at the edge of a crowd and looked back. A few seconds later, Greyson came jogging, pushing free from the waves of people. Drake and the others weren’t far behind, and they jerked to a stop next to Greyson, who lowered his goggles from his eyes, revealing his surprise. They had reached their destination, and it was jaw dropping.

  Pioneer Plaza was flooded with people. Trees rose from the ocean of bodies at the edge of the park in front of them, obstructing some of its view, but Young Street, being clear of trees, offered a view of the expansive crowd, their heads like multicolored balls in a funhouse ball-pit, stretching three blocks to the end of City Hall Plaza. City Hall was barely visible, but three thick, white flagpoles rose like jousting spears, taller than the tallest tree, waving the American flag, the Texas flag, and the Dallas flag at the same height. Though it was far away, it was clear that the authorities had cordoned off the area around the flags and had even erected a climb-proof lip around the flagpoles’ middles. Riot cops lined its front where barbed-wire and cement barricades did not.

  Greyson cursed at the crowd’s size.

  “It is one heck of a crowd,” Drake whispered amongst the crowd’s incessant drone.

  Greyson scoffed at the underhanded correction, drawing closer, scanning the crowd on his tiptoes. “We don’t have to be so polite any more. Parents are long gone.”

  “I’m not polite for my parents.”

  “Then who? The dog? Beep?”

  Beep gave him a look.

  Drake followed him deeper into the crowd, still searching the heads for a man-bun. “For myself. It’s easier to be the same person around my friends as I am around adults, pastors, or whoever. Then I don’t worry about hiding things. Jesus also says ‘out of a man’s heart, his mouth speaks’.”

  “Jesus, huh?” Greyson asked with a sigh.

  “Yeah. It’s in the Bible. I’ll read it with you sometime if you’d like. It’s…”

  “No, thanks,” he said abruptly, pulling a treat from his fanny pack and letting Kit snatch it from his hand. He then turned back to the others. “We don’t have much time. We find him soon or people die. You guys ready for this?”

  “We have to find one person…in this?” Windsor asked no one in particular.

  “Needle in a haystack,” Beep added.

  Grimes shrugged. “We have a magnet, though. A figurative magnet.”

  “We do.” Greyson pet Kit, sneaking a peek at the DOC wrapped around Grimes’ forearm. His wrist had been too skinny for it. Does he even know how to control the drone? He shook it off. “But only twenty five minutes until martial law.”

  He looked at each one of them. He missed his friends. Nick and Jarryd. Liam. Sydney. But this group was wrapped around his finger. Windsor looked athletic. Fast. Drake, too, in his own gangly way. Beep seemed to be a gymnast. And Ankeny had already shown her prowess. It was a capable group.

  “I dare you guys to find PatriARC and stop the attack. No matter what.”

  Drake shared a smile with the rest of the group. Then they put their hands in. Greyson added his gloved hand.

  Drake pumped his chin. “Dare accepted.”

  -------------------------------

  “I dare you to leave, right now,” Sydney whispered in Jordan’s ear.

  His eyes danced at the thought before Sydney turned back to the Herdsman. She watched him but didn’t even hear what he was saying. She just waited, giving Jordan side-glances and a smug smile. She didn’t have to wait long. Jordan got up and left without a word. The other Shepherd and Shepherdesses turned to watch him leave, and the Herdsman stuttered on a few words, but he managed to hold his train of thought.

  Nick arched his brow at her, but she only shrugged.

  -------------------------------

  Kit snaked through the forest of legs, leading Greyson in a serpentine trail closer and closer to City Hall. Through a gap in the crowd, Greyson caught glimpses of the concrete monstrosity. It sloped forward from its base at a sharp angle, four gigantic pillars keeping it from collapse. Centered between the two middle pillars, three floors up, was a balcony with a flowing Texas flag draped below. Dozens of cameras were pointed at the balcony from a roped-off press area surrounded by police. But the crowd’s attention was on a makeshift stage rising from the center of the massive circular pool in the middle of the concrete plaza. There were a few men working on the stage’s microphone stands, but they were still too far away to identify as PatriARC.

  As Kit continued moving closer to the front, Drake pushed through the crowd to get closer to Greyson. “Sorry, dude.”

  “Huh?”

  “Sorry. For jumping on you about your language. It was wrong.”

  Still craning his neck, guessing where Kit was taking them, Greyson was confused at Drake’s apology. Not only was it weird to hear an apology, it was weird to hear it now, minutes from an attack.

  “Um, sure. No problem.”

  Drake looked relieved, his braces coming out wide. “Thanks. Just needed to clear the air. You know. In case something happens.”

  The urgency was pumping through his veins. “Something is going to happen, so let’s focus on that.” He knew he was being gruff, but he had a dozen excuses.

  Suddenly Kit let out a bark. The people around him jerked in fright, giving them enough space to see where Kit was headed – the press area, where news vans were parked bumper to bumper.

  Greyson’s heart dropped.

  A car bo
mb would decimate the area and take hundreds of people with it, including half of City Hall. And that’s if it was regular explosive.

  What if it was nuclear?

  “Go Kit!”

  -------------------------------

  A few minutes later Sydney faked a stomachache and recused herself to the empty hall where Jordan was waiting, sitting on a staircase on which he had etched “Hammer Terror” and “Hammer Hate” on alternating steps.

  “Nice,” she said.

  “Truth or Dare, huh?” he asked.

  She winked. “I get bored.”

  “Me, too,” he said, gesturing toward the stairs.

  She walked past him, prompting him to follow.

  “Got another one?” he asked, pushing off the wall toward her.

  She pumped her brow. “Sure. Truth or dare?”

  He sided up to her. “Dare, of course. I’m about as daring as they come.”

  Not even close.

  “Then I got a hard one for you.”

  “Bring it.”

  She reached in her pocket and pulled out a small white pill. “I dare you to take this.”

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Sydney pushed open the door and closed her fist around the pill. “That takes away the fun.”

  Jordan followed her out, nearly jogging to keep up as she made her way to the bikes. “Come on. You gonna take one, too?”

  She shook her head. “No. I dared you. You game?”

  “Come on…”

  “How daring did you say you were?”

  He shook his head and reached out. “Fine. I’m always down for some fun.”

  She handed him the pill and he popped it in his mouth. He swallowed it with a smirk.

  But Sydney didn’t return the smile. Her face turned into cold stone.

  “What?” he asked, confused. “What is it?”

  “Poison.”

  He tried to laugh, but fear choked it down. “What? That’s not funny.”

  “It’s not. You have fifteen minutes to live.”

  Chapter 36

  Greyson and Drake’s squad pushed through the crowd as the rally continued with loud music and a live performance. Some country star named Anderson Dawes, who had a knack for making political statements, sang a rousing rendition of God Bless the A.R.C.

  Once loud enough to hear, the Loyalist protestors’ chants were only mouse squeaks blocks away on their side of Griffith Street.

  Greyson shimmied through a group of leather-clad bikers and shuffled past an enthusiastic pair of African-American women with booming voices, but halted suddenly at a cop who guarded a gated metal barricade that formed a perimeter around the news area stuffed with vans and platforms topped with camera crews.

  “Whoa! Stay back!” the cop warned, holding a hand toward the dog at his knees.

  Craning his neck to see around the barricade, Greyson eyed each news van with suspicion. Kit was smart enough not to force himself past the cops, but he was jumping in place, yapping in the vans’ direction.

  “Is this your dog? You can’t have a dog here!” the cop yelled from behind his riot helmet. He held his baton like a lawn mower, ready to mow the children down.

  “He’s mine,” Greyson admitted, the adrenaline catching his breath. “Why not?”

  Beep stepped in. “Yeah, why not? He’s blind! Can’t he have a seeing-eye dog? Are you like bigoted toward the blind?”

  The cop stiffened. So did Greyson.

  So I’m blind now…

  “Is that so?”

  Greyson let his HUD analyze the man’s face through his helmet’s visor. His identity popped up and Forge responded in turn. {Stall. We’ll get you in.}

  “Yes, sir. We’re just looking for a bathroom, sir.”

  “Portable restrooms are set up all around.” He sighed, giving a peace-making gesture. “Kids, it’s dangerous here. It’s best to just get on a bus and go home. This is no place for the blind.”

  “No place for the blind?” Beep asked, mocking offense. “Every place is for the blind just as much as it is for the eyed.”

  “The sighted,” Windsor whispered to Beep. “Blind people have eyes, too.”

  Greyson saw that there were portable restrooms reserved for the press just beyond the line. “I need to go bad, sir.”

  The cop glanced around and sighed. “Now, look here…”

  “I wish I could, sir.”

  Beep laughed, but caught herself and faked a cough. Then, just as fast, she glared and pulled her hair behind her mangled stub of an ear.

  The cop stuttered and glanced at her ear. “Listen. No one gets past without press credentials.”

  Greyson eyed the metal barricade. They could rush the cop. One or two of them could make it across with Kit – perhaps get a few seconds to check out a van. Maybe they could hide and manage a few more precious moments to find PatriARC…

  “So buzz along. And if you know what’s good for you, y’all would get on a bus right now. There’s only five or ten minutes until…”

  Information blinked onto Greyson’s HUD and he read it in a flash. He set his jaw. “Wrong, Michael Pickard. If you knew what was good for you and your family – little Abby and Dominic – you would let us pass. I can’t see your face, but I can see your future on 235 Hatcher Lane – and it’s not looking good.”

  The cop’s eyes were saucers. His grip on the baton threatened to snap it in two. “How did you…?”

  Greyson’s conscience twitched. He knew the cops were not at fault. They were peacemakers, just like he was. But he also knew they were under orders. They weren’t expected to know everything; they were just expected to obey – whether or not it was actually the best thing to do. Good people could still get in the way of good.

  With new resolve, he made fists. “Let us pass, now.”

  The cop’s brow shivered in concern, but held strong. The threat hadn’t worked.

  {He’s going to call backup. Use the glove. Now.}

  “Catch him,” Greyson said to Drake.

  Then he reached out, as if he were blind, toward the man’s chest. The protestors were focused on the stage at the center of fountain where a man walked to the podium. Distracted.

  Greyson felt at this chest. Body armor. More body armor.

  “Kid, I’m right here,” the cop said, reluctant to push the boy’s hands away. “Stop that…”

  Neck.

  He lunged with three fingers, tapping the other two together.

  The cop’s body seized and fell limp.

  Drake was there just in time to help catch him.

  Together they held the man upright, his arms over their shoulders.

  “Alright,” Greyson said, suffering with the man’s weight. “Windsor, take him.”

  Windsor jumped to his aide as the first member of the crowd caught their act.

  “Heat stroke,” Beep explained. “Poor fellow.”

  The person turned back to the stage.

  “I’m going in,” Greyson said.

  “Go,” Drake said, still holding the cop up.

  Greyson took off after Kit, looking back to see Drake take command, sending Beep one way and Ankeny the other.

  Kit ran into the labyrinth of vans and Greyson set off after him, a mental clock ticking in his head. The dog led him to an aisle between vans and Greyson read their sides. KCRG. KCAN. CNN. FOX49.

  A booming voice bounced around the vans – sent from loudspeakers surrounding the crowd.

  “FELLOW PATRIOTS, IN ONLY A FEW MINUTES, WE WILL BE FACED WITH A HARD DECISION.”

  Or a massive explosion…

  Greyson darted left then right, jumping over thick cables while watching Kit’s nose swerve, guided by invisible particles.

  Finally the dog stopped.

  He sniffed.

  He jumped at the van, putting his paws on the side door with a yip.

  Greyson drew his slingshot.


  “DO YOU GO OR DO YOU STAY?”

  “Do I go in?” Greyson whispered, scrolling to turn off the silent setting. The earpieces jutted out.

  [There’s no heat signature,] came Forge’s voice.

  Greyson mentally kicked himself as he turned on his infrared. Indeed, there was nothing. Without fear, he pulled open the door and glanced inside as Kit jumped in with a flurry of sniffs. The dog sniffed at one thing, then the next. Cables, screens, empty cases. Hangers.

  “OUR STATE HAS BEEN ASKING THE SAME QUESTION, AND WITH YOUR HELP, WE’VE LET THEM KNOW WHAT THE PEOPLE WANT.”

  Greyson’s HUD went crazy, taking in the van’s content.

  [This was it. This is where they disguised themselves. Which van?]

  Greyson jumped out and read the sign of the van.

  POLICE.

  “BECKER SAYS TEXANS AREN’T COWARDS. THAT WE SHOULDN’T RUN FROM AMERICA.”

  [We’re on it. That’s enough. We’ll snatch them right after.]

  “After?”

  [Yes. Now get back to the rendezvous. Extraction in ten minutes.]

  “TEXANS DON’T RUN, HE SAYS.”

  Kit jumped from the van, nose to the ground. His snout took him further along the alley between vans and Greyson had no choice but to follow.

  “Not yet,” Greyson whispered. “We still have time to stop them.”

  [That’s no longer your mission. We need them to complete their test.]

  “Kit!”

  Kit stopped and looked back at him, whimpering. He wanted to keep up the search as well.

  “HE FAILS TO UNDERSTAND…IT’S NOT TEXANS WHO WANT TO LEAVE. AMERICA HAS ALREADY LEFT US! HE WANTS DALLAS TO LEAVE TEXAS.”

  For a moment, Greyson thought about his next step. He remembered a similar feeling from over a year ago. The State Fair. A decision to let an attack happen, or to try to stop it. The feeling of waffling between two impossible decisions. No perfect, easy solution. A battle between two grays. The way his decision still haunted him.