“I think you’re underestimating your mother’s protectiveness when it came to you.” Emotions warred on Mr. Cabot’s face: pain and sadness, followed by resignation. “She would never want you to risk your life. It would’ve destroyed her to know that you were interrogated and” — he couldn’t quite bring himself to say tortured — “and hurt. Deep down, I think she hoped that the revolution would have started long before you grew up. She hoped that her work would give you a different world to live in.” Bitterness slid into his words. “But we all know how it goes. The Empire tends to crush our hopes in front of our eyes.”
Ren paused before he asked, “Do you still think that now?”
“In some ways, yes. Look at what they did to your mother. Turning her into something I hardly recognized.”
Ren wondered if his dad had doubted the mission in its entirety. Did he regret the Resistance attempting to free their prisoners from Alcatraz? Did he think that they had risked too much? Ren was afraid to ask.
“But in other ways, no,” his father continued, and Ren dared to glance up. “The Empire will do whatever it can to kill our dreams, but the choice is up to us whether we let those dreams wither and die. I can admit it now that I let my hopes shrivel up after your mother’s execution. I put everything into keeping you safe, but maybe I took things too far.”
Ren felt breathless. He and his father had never talked about this before, even though it had ruled their lives. It was like the wall between them was vanishing brick by brick — it was still there, still present, but dismantling slowly. “What now? Do you want to get that hope back?”
An eternity seemed to pass before his father spoke again. “I do, mostly because I don’t want to see that hope die inside you. I might be old and beaten down, but you don’t have to be.”
Ren’s lips broke into a smile. He didn’t know until this moment how much he needed to hear these words. “You’re not old or beaten down, Dad.”
“I don’t know. You might be helping me with my dentures in a few years.”
They smiled and Mr. Cabot laughed, and Ren’s heart relished the sound. He couldn’t remember the last time his dad had laughed — probably before his mother was executed — but soon the laughter faded and their smiles vanished. They sank back into the aftermath of what had happened earlier that night.
“She’s gone. Really gone this time,” Ren said, an ache worming through his chest.
His father couldn’t reply. His chin wobbled as his eyes swarmed with tears.
“I’m glad we got to see her again but …” Ren’s grief gave way to the years-old anger that had kept him company. Putting an end to Major Endo’s life hadn’t chased that fury away. Ren doubted anything ever would until the Empire was defeated. And maybe not even then. “I just feel cheated. We had to watch her die twice.”
“I wish I could take away the hurt,” Mr. Cabot managed to choke out. “But we’ll weather it together. And we’re going to make the Empire regret what it’s done, but at least your mom is no longer living in that cage — and she has you to thank for that. She would be so proud of what you’ve become.” The tears fell fast down his cheeks.
Ren broke inside. “I can’t do this again, Dad. I can’t go through it.”
Mr. Cabot wrapped his arms around his son and pulled Ren toward him until their cheeks touched.
“I know,” his father whispered into his ear. “But I’ll be right here with you. I can promise you that.”
Their shoulders shook and their tears flowed together, and they mourned the woman they had lost all over again.
The news trickled in hour by hour, from safe houses across the WAT. Over a hundred rebels had lost their lives at the Battle of Alcatraz — some died infiltrating the prison, others drowned during their escape — but no one could deny their success. Of the one hundred and twelve prisoners freed, seventy-nine had escaped — including the fourteen Anomalies. Ren’s mom was the only one who hadn’t made it to a safe house.
Ren wished he could lay on his cot and wait until his grief didn’t choke him, even if that took him years. But he had barely gotten a few hours’ sleep when his dad shook him awake and thrust some clean clothes at him.
“Get dressed. There’s a car waiting for us outside,” said Mr. Cabot, who had already changed into an ill-fitting button-down shirt and a pair of jeans that hardly reached his ankles. Faint light filtered in through the nearest window, telling Ren that dawn was fast approaching.
“What?” Ren said, bleary-eyed. “Where are we going?”
“Another safe house farther east. We’ve gotten word that there might be inspectors coming to the plant this morning. All of the prisoners and Resistance members have to leave right now.” His tone grew more urgent. “The Empire is searching for the Viper and Zara especially.”
Within minutes, Ren was dressed and ushered down the factory steps, where he was swept into an unmarked van along with his dad, Zara, and Tessa. The remaining prisoners were escorted to other vans that split off in separate directions, some heading south while others traveled inland. There was no time for thank-yous or good-byes.
Ren’s van bumped along rough roads for hours, twisting and turning over the mountains, and taking back roads to avoid the checkpoints. The driver kept the radio on at a low hum, and Ren listened to it as he drifted asleep, then back to consciousness. The reporter treated the day like business as usual, offering a weather report and traffic updates and an interview with an East African diplomat who heavily praised Crown Prince Katsura. The broadcast carefully sidestepped any mention of the prison — or the fact that the crown prince was dead. The Empire had no interest in admitting defeat and stoking public resistance.
The news about Alcatraz, however, would eventually leak out, and then the whispers would start. The rumors would travel across the WAT that something had happened at the Rock, and the Empire would have to scramble to arrest more people as they covered up the attack. And that’s when a thought struck Ren inside the van.
The Resistance needed to insert itself into this narrative. It had to take ownership of the attack. The rebels may have won the battle, but their victory could be so much greater with the right publicity. And the world needed to know about the horrific human experimentation.
“Paper,” Ren said, flinching when the van hit a rock that sent shock waves of agony through his wounds. The nurse had disinfected and sewed his body together, but the painkillers had long worn off and his bruises throbbed with every bump. Still, Ren propped himself onto his elbows. “Is there paper and a pen anywhere?”
Mr. Cabot quieted him. “You need to rest. It should be a while until we get to the next safe house.”
“I can’t sleep,” Ren said gruffly. And he had to write down his thoughts before they slipped out from his fingertips. When inspiration struck, it struck hard.
“I can check,” Zara offered, who was sitting right behind the driver. She fished a hand into the console next to the driver’s seat and produced a scrap of paper and the nub of a pencil for Ren. Brightness alighted in her eyes as she passed them back to Ren. “What are you writing down? An essay?”
“Not quite sure.” Ren licked his lips and started jotting down a few key words, which turned into phrases and then a handful of half sentences, using his bruised knee as a desk. He stared out the window, letting his thoughts scatter so he could pick through them. War wasn’t only about soldiers and tanks. It included controlling words and dictating history, which was why Jenny Tsai had risked her life to write her newspaper. The Empire had published propaganda for years to prop itself up and to silence dissent. It was time for the Resistance to open a battlefield on this particular front. And that was something the Viper could help with.
Ren had filled up both sides of the paper by the time the van rumbled up to an old wooden cabin in the middle of a forested mountain range. In the distance, a crystal-blue lake twinkled in the sunlight. They had arrived at the safe house.
Glancing out the windshield, Ren ha
d to admit that the cabin wasn’t much to look at. Its paint had long been stripped off, and its frame sagged on its foundation, like a shelf groaning under the weight of too many books. The place looked abandoned, but the driver murmured into a handheld radio, and all of a sudden the cabin’s front door popped open. Out spilled a pair of rebels armed with rifles, trailed close behind by a young woman with one black eye and one arm in a sling.
It was Marty.
Both Ren his and father clambered out of the van and hurried toward her while Marty pushed past the armed rebels to greet them. She kissed her uncle’s cheek before hugging Ren gingerly, not wanting to hurt his bruises.
“Good to see you, Renny,” she murmured into his ear. “Or are you going by the Viper now?” Marty asked, releasing him, grimacing as she looked over his wounds, but she hid her shock by ruffling his hair like he was five years old again. Ren let her do that for once. He was just grateful to see her. But then Marty became solemn. “I’m sorry about your mom. Your dad relayed to me what happened over the radio late last night.”
Ren nodded, thankful that his father had broken the news so that he wouldn’t have to. He wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened, and the silence stretched between them.
“We’ll have a memorial for Aunt Jenny and all the others we lost last night. I can’t believe —” Marty stopped short and shook her head. “Let’s get you all inside. There’s tea on the stove and there’s a lot to talk about.”
Marty motioned for Ren and Mr. Cabot to head into the cabin while she greeted Tessa and introduced herself to Zara. Ren hobbled up the stone walk and into the cabin, ready to find it ancient and dilapidated, but he was surprised to find the interior painted a fresh white hue and cozy sofas begging for him to take a seat.
“This is the oldest safe house in the Resistance,” Marty explained after she swept inside with the others and locked the door. “The same family had owned it for decades, and they gave it to the rebels not too long after the war.” She gestured around the first floor. “Kitchen. Dining room. Sitting area. There are two bathrooms in the back and plenty of places to sleep.” Then she walked into the tiny kitchen and pulled back a shabby-looking runner to reveal a trapdoor. “We carved out a little basement, too, in case we have to hide something or someone.”
Someone? Ren wanted to ask her what she meant, but Zara took the reins of the conversation. “I’m sorry to sound impatient, but you mentioned outside that you’ve talked to my uncle Red,” she said to Marty. It was still jarring for Ren to see her in front of him, the legendary Zara St. James. She had found a baseball cap back at the plant to cover her shaved head, but other than that she looked so much like her Wanted posters. Truth be told, he doubted that he and his dad would be alive if it hadn’t been for her help. “What did my uncle say? What happened to my friends who tried to break me out of Fort Tomogashima?”
“No need to apologize. There is a lot we have to discuss,” Marty said. She motioned for everyone to take a seat in the great room while she paced in front of a stone fireplace. An old map of California hung over the hearth — a fitting image of rebellion.
“Let’s backtrack a little,” Marty started off. Along with her broken arm and bruised face, she was also limping a little, but she wouldn’t sit down. “Right before the Joint Prosperity Ball, I relayed a message to Zara’s uncle that Zara was being held inside the Fortress. Redmond replied that he would send in a rescue team to break Zara out, but that was where our wires must have crossed. I told him that this rescue team needed to wait until just after the ball to let Ren and Tessa kidnap Aiko, but the team launched their attack too early.”
Ren and Tessa exchanged a look. This explained Baroness Augusta affecting their mission in the Fortress.
“How many of the team members were killed?” Zara asked, scooting to the very edge of her chair.
“Your uncle sent in a team of eight. Five survived the ball and were sent to Alcatraz along with you. Out of that five, three made it out and are currently at different safe houses.” Marty sighed at the bad news. “I’m sorry.”
Zara nodded but said nothing. She simply crossed her arms as the news sunk in. “I’d like to see them if that can be arranged.”
“Your uncle is on his way to get you and the rescue team. He wants to get all of you back to the Eastern American Territories before the Empire tightens security even more.”
Zara blinked up at this development. “He’s coming here?”
“He wanted to escort you home himself,” said Marty, offering a small smile.
Zara went quiet again, but Ren saw her mouth silently shape the word home. Weeks had passed since her capture, and Zara must have been itching to return to her uncle and her friends. To go home.
Ren envied her. He didn’t have a home anymore. There was no way for him to return to White Crescent Bay. It might take years before he could see it again. But at least he had his father and Marty with him. An apartment was just an apartment and a shop was just a shop, but family was family. They could find a new place to call home eventually.
Marty went on. “It should take Zara’s uncle about a week to arrive, considering all of the checkpoints going up on the borders. Once he’s here, he’ll take a day or two to rest and talk about strategies looking forward.”
Tessa chimed in next. She was seated on a plaid sofa next to Mr. Cabot, and every time Ren looked at her he saw less of Plank and more of someone new. After months of wearing the Fräulein’s skin, the girl inside was reemerging. “What kind of strategies are we talking about?”
Marty’s entire face brightened. “A union between the Resistance and the Revolutionary Alliance. Obviously, our two groups have been in close contact for decades, but Redmond and our Resistance leaders are in agreement that we need each other more than ever. We’re fighting a common enemy. We can’t topple one empire without toppling the other. We’ll never get America whole again if either empire remains in our country.”
Pride hummed through Marty’s revelation, and a tingle shivered down Ren’s arms.
A real revolution was starting in the WAT. The Resistance had taken out the crown prince and his heir, and they had captured Aiko as well, thus killing the marriage that would have unified the two empires even further. This new partnership between the Resistance and the Alliance only cemented the fact that the rebels finally had firm legs to stand on.
“Plans are already in the works,” Marty said. “Redmond would like to launch a joint attack on the port of New Orleans. It’s a big trading depot between the two empires, and hitting the city hard will have disastrous consequences. We still have to come up with a master strategy and hammer out the details, but we’re aiming to be ready in three months’ time. Until then, we’ll continue launching guerilla attacks throughout the WAT, and we have to figure out what to do with the V2. Hopefully you brought it with you?”
Ren retrieved the vial while Marty explained to Zara what exactly V2 was. “What are you going to do with it? Sell it?”
Marty shook her head. “Selling it would be too risky. Our likeliest buyer would be the Soviets, and while we share a common enemy, we can’t trust their government.” She opened the box and stared at the vial therein, trailing a lone finger against the glass. “I’ll admit that the Resistance leaders debated duplicating the V2 ourselves. The Empire has always had the upper hand because of the Ronin Elite and this little vial could help us bridge that gap, but we’ve nixed the idea. It’s not only that we don’t have the scientists or the facilities — but we can’t cross that line.” “Right.” Zara was quick to agree. “Where would you stop? Twenty volunteers? Fifty? I wasn’t at Alcatraz long, but I saw how the Empire’s experimentation destroyed those prisoners.” Her gaze shot toward Ren, then lowered quickly. “Destroy the vial.”
“I won’t say no to that,” murmured Marty, shoving the V2 back into its box.
“I’ll talk things over with my uncle, too. Any laboratories making V2 need to be targeted and taken out, and I’m s
ure there a few in the Eastern American Territories and even more in Germany proper. I’ll get in touch with my sources over there,” she added with a flush. “I know someone in Belgium who could help us as well.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Marty said. She passed the box with the V2 to Zara. “Let’s go take care of that out back. As for the rest of you, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind napping or showering. I left clean towels in each bathroom, and you’ll find changes of clothes in each closet. Take your pick. I’ll round everyone up for dinner in a few hours.”
The group stretched and split off, but Ren caught Marty’s arm before she could go. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked.
Marty nodded and waved on Zara to head outside. “What’s going on?” She sat down on the plaid sofa and patted the cushion next to her for Ren to take.
Ren declined and showed her the notes he had written on the long ride over. “The Resistance has to spread word about the Battle of Alcatraz. Give a detailed account, including photos if you have them. Print it out and distribute it across the WAT. Show everyone what the Resistance has done because the Empire will do everything to cover it up.”
Marty scanned his notes and arched a dark brow. “Are you volunteering to write a new essay as the Viper?”
Ren shifted. He still hadn’t wrapped his brain around the fact that the Empire knew his identity, but the secret was out and he couldn’t stuff it back into its bottle. Sooner or later, the whole public would know who he was, too. So he had a choice to make: Either the Empire would get to dictate his story or he could do it himself.
“I’ll start drafting right away,” Ren said quietly, feeling the weight of those words pressing down on his shoulders. He was about to add that he didn’t want to mention his mother — that was too close and his emotions were too raw — but then he heard the sound of tires crunching over the dirt road.
Live in Infamy Page 23
