Live in Infamy
Page 24
“Are you expecting someone?” Ren asked, ready to fight or flee if necessary.
His cousin didn’t look fazed. “We’re going to have some extra company for a few days.”
Marty didn’t elaborate while she unlocked the front door and walked up the path to meet another white van covered in dust. Ren followed her out uninvited, watching as two Resistance members jumped out of the front of the van and pulled out a young woman from the back. She had been blindfolded and her wrists had been tied together, and her head darted from side to side as she was escorted toward the cabin.
“Take her to the basement,” Marty said to the rebels. “We’ll need to guard her around the clock.”
Ren said nothing. He could only stare.
Marty had told him that she was expecting company — she hadn’t told him that this company would be Aiko.
Marty refused to let Ren speak with Aiko. Precautions, she reasoned.
“We have to be extra careful around her. The fewer people Aiko sees, the better,” Marty had explained, and told him to keep busy by working on the new essay, which Ren did. He had missed writing and had dove into that piece, detailing the Battle of Alcatraz and what the Empire had been hiding inside the prison, but his thoughts kept circling back to the princess sleeping a floor beneath his feet.
The rebel guards took shifts to watch over Aiko, but that wasn’t necessary. The basement resembled a small prison cell, with iron bars and thick stone walls and no way out. Even if Aiko managed to pick her lock, take out the guards, and break out of the safe house, she would have to walk miles to civilization. Aiko was trapped and she knew it, but that didn’t mean she would make life easy on her captors.
She refused to eat. She refused to drink. She pounded on the walls until her hands were bloodied, and she shouted for help until her voice disappeared.
Marty and the guards managed to finally make her drink some water, but getting her to eat proved trickier. Every time Aiko was force-fed a spoonful of soup, she would make herself throw it up. Ren didn’t think that she could be so stubborn, but then again, this was the girl who had worn a defiant gown to the Joint Prosperity Ball.
By the fourth day in the safe house, Ren had come up with a plan. He told Marty that his first draft was ready, but he would only show it to her if he could have five minutes alone with Aiko.
Marty arched a brow in the living room, where they were siting. “Why do you want to talk to her so badly? And why alone?”
Ren kept his face emotionless. “I have my reasons.”
“Do you like her?”
“No,” said Ren. That was the truth. He had admitted to himself that he respected her for fighting for her independence, for daring to reject what the Empire expected out of her. He had admitted, too, that he thought she was pretty. But when it came down to it, Ren barely knew the princess, and yet he felt — he knew — that they would always be connected. He was the one who had kidnapped her, after all, and who used her like a pawn. He was the reason why she was here in the safe house. “Five minutes, and you can have my draft.”
Marty didn’t look too happy, but she agreed to Ren’s terms. She opened the trapdoor and told him that she would be watching the time. “Five minutes. Better talk fast.”
Climbing down the ladder, Ren breathed in a lungful of dust and got his first glimpse of the basement. It was a shoe box of a space, divided in half by a sturdy set of iron bars. Ren stood in the half where the guards kept watch over Aiko, a lone folding chair and lamp in the corner. The other half was the cell itself. It was double in size from the one that Ren had occupied inside Alcatraz, and it had even come with a pillow and blanket. But a cell was still a cell, and Ren could sense the wrath and the fear emanating from Aiko, who sat on the floor next to the toilet.
Ren’s tongue tied inside his mouth and he wished he had prepared a script. He wasn’t sure what to say. Should he apologize? No. He couldn’t regret what he had done, but he still felt bad for Aiko. She didn’t deserve what had happened to her, losing her parents and her home. Everything she had known.
“Your Imperial Highness,” Ren murmured. He didn’t bow.
Aiko didn’t get up, but she lifted her head an inch, her dirty hair parting to reveal tired eyes. She glared at him. “The Viper,” was all she said.
“It’s Ren.”
“Have you come to gloat?”
He shook his head.
“Then why are you here?” Pain wove through her words. Judging by the redness in her eyes, she had been crying.
Ren emptied his pants pockets, revealing a few folded sheets of paper and an old blue crayon he had found at the back of a desk. He didn’t want to give her a pen or a pencil because both could be turned into weapons, but a crayon seemed innocent enough. Slowly, he placed the gifts between the bars of the cell. “I thought you might want something to do.”
Curiosity got the best of her and she looked at his offering. When she realized what he had given her, she flew toward the bars, grabbing a hold of the paper and shredding it to pieces, then taking the crayon and hurtling it at Ren’s head. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. “Do you expect me to thank you or kiss your hand? My parents are dead because of the Resistance.”
Ren watched her panting, her eyes filled with murder, and it reminded him of himself five years ago, not long after his mom’s execution and he thought he’d lost her forever. He understood the girl in front of him now, even though they were enemies. Her father had overseen the death of thousands of Americans, like his mom and like Jay; and her father’s lackey Major Endo had left scars from which Ren might never heal. His nightmares had already begun, coating him in sweat and waking him from the memory of his screams. And those bad dreams were just the beginning. His hands shook. He had flashbacks. He jumped whenever someone came up behind him. Major Endo was dead, but a part of her was very much alive in Ren’s head.
Ren didn’t blame Aiko for that, though. He should hate her for what her father and Major Endo had done to him, but he didn’t. Mostly, he felt sad when he looked at her.
“I watched my mom die twice,” he heard himself say. “Your father’s regime executed her five years ago, but when she didn’t die they took her to Alcatraz and experimented on her until she lost her mind. I tried to free her, but Major Endo killed her.”
Aiko said nothing, so Ren went on.
“Both of us have lost people we loved. Both of us live in a world that we didn’t create.”
She gave a harsh laugh. “I used to think that your Resistance had merit — I know that the Empire has committed horrible crimes — but you’re all hypocrites. You kill innocent people, and you do it in the name of justice. How does that make you any better?” Her shoulders rose and fell. “What do you want from me? Forgiveness? Redemption?”
Ren winced. He hadn’t known that Aiko had some sympathy for the rebels, but then again, how far had that sympathy extended? Had she ever asked her father to stop the executions? To close the internment camps? Probably not. “I don’t want anything from you. I just wanted to say that I don’t think you deserve to be punished for your father’s crimes.”
“But I have, haven’t I?” she spat out bitterly. “My parents were murdered.”
Ren dipped his head. “So was my mom.”
There was a thump on the trapdoor. It was Marty’s way of telling Ren that his time was up. Ren rubbed the back of his neck while his thoughts splintered in every direction. At one point Aiko may have been persuaded to help the Resistance. She had admired feminist thinkers and had tried to revolt against tradition. But that girl had been killed back at the Fortress, replaced with the Aiko standing opposite Ren right now. Any common ground they’d shared had been shattered the night of the ball. Any bridges built between them had been broken apart, leaving a gaping chasm that could never be crossed again. From here on out, they’d always stand on opposite sides and there was nothing Ren could do about it.
Ren grabbed the ladder, but that’s when Aiko pressed herself a
gainst the bars, clutching the metal in her hands. “When I get free — and I will — know that I’ll be coming for you.”
Emotions warred inside Ren’s heart, regret and resentment and resignation. “I can’t say that I’m looking forward to it.”
Then he climbed up the ladder, dusted himself off, and left behind the revenge-seeking princess whom he had created. He had used Aiko, just like her father had, but he needed her to ignite a revolution. He had to make the choice to help his people, even if that might have ruined Aiko’s life — or at least severely scarred it.
And Ren had to be ready for the consequences.
Ten days after they arrived at the safe house, it was time again to depart. Marty didn’t like staying in one place for too long, and she had gotten word that the Empire had sent out patrols to sweep the valley below, which meant they couldn’t afford to linger.
In the middle of the night, three vans arrived at the safe house to split up the group and head in different directions — Aiko would go southeast, Zara and her uncle would go north, while Ren and the rest would forge inland toward Nevada. Ren was nervous at what lay ahead. For so long he had focused on the immediate targets — getting hired at the Fortress, kidnapping Aiko during the ball, then surviving the Battle of Alcatraz. But now a new map unfurled in front of him and the Resistance. There was no clear-cut way to defeat the Empire. There would be wrong turns and dead ends; there would be uncharted paths and a destination that would shift constantly, dangling out of grasp. Yet they had no other choice but to press forward into deadly territory.
Aiko’s van left first. The guards had blindfolded her before escorting her to the waiting vehicle, and even though she couldn’t see Ren, he could feel her wrath as she walked by him. He couldn’t blame her for that, and he hadn’t forgotten her last words to him, either. If she ever escaped from the Resistance, he knew without a doubt that she would place a huge bounty on his head and come for him herself. It was an unsettling thought, one that Ren would lose sleep over, but what was done was done.
Next, the St. Jameses said their good-byes. Zara’s uncle Red had arrived two days prior with a handful of Alliance members, and they had spent the last forty-eight hours huddled around a table with Marty to discuss next steps and future strategies. They had all taken turns shaking Ren’s hand, too, telling him about their favorite essays and how much they looked forward to the next one. It had been a little too much for Ren, and he had flushed through the exchange.
As Marty wished Redmond a farewell — Zara’s uncle protectively kept his niece within his eyeshot after their long separation — Zara guided Ren under a California scrub oak to speak with him privately. Ren breathed air into his bare hands to keep them warm, but Zara didn’t seem to mind the chill. After spending weeks locked up in prison cells, she relished the fresh air.
“I’ll see you in New Orleans?” she asked.
“Hopefully,” Ren replied. “I’m not sure if Marty or my dad will want me so close to the action, but I’ll work on them.”
Zara grinned. “We’ll need a war correspondent, so you can use that angle.”
“Hadn’t thought of that.” Ren returned her smile but couldn’t quite put much life into it. Three months was an eternity during a war, and anything could happen. The last few weeks had taught him that hard lesson, and he worried for Zara. “Take care of yourself out there.”
Zara’s grin, however, hadn’t faded. “I will. It’s hard to kill me. You won’t have to write my obituary anytime soon.” She studied him with her sharp stare, and Ren was glad that they were on the same side. He wouldn’t want to face her on a battlefield or anywhere else. “You take care of yourself, too. You’re already the most wanted criminal in the WAT and you’re going to give me a run for my money out east.”
Ren couldn’t help but laugh and offered her his hand. “Fair enough.”
Zara took her hand out of her pocket, but in the process a folded-up piece of paper fell out. Ren bent down to pick it up.
“Is that a telegram?” he asked curiously. He had heard that some Resistance or Alliance members used telegrams to communicate over long distances, but he had never seen one before.
Zara snatched the paper from him. “It’s intel from inside Nazi borders. Compliments of a friend with the Widerstand resistance.” She mumbled the last part, as if she had revealed too much, and she shoved the telegram back into her pocket. “Anyway …”
Ren swallowed a chuckle. “See you later, Zara St. James.”
She bumped her shoulder into his. “See you soon, Ren Cabot. Write an essay about me, okay? I could use some good PR for once.”
The days flowed by like a winter stream, with the weeks coursing past swiftly until the spring arrived. By then, the Resistance’s rebellion had roamed outward from San Francisco Bay, up to the Canadian border, down through Arizona, and arcing across the plains, where it pushed against the mighty Mississippi River. War had arrived in the Western American Territories, joining with the clash already burning in the east. The Second Revolutionary War was now being fought from coast to coast.
As the spring pushed out the winter winds, Ren thought often about Zara’s parting words. Her Alliance had overseen a string of successes upon her return, and now the Carolinas had declared independence and New England was close to following suit, all thanks to additional reinforcement from Zara’s contact within the Widerstand resistance. The Nazis weren’t giving up, but their resources were being spread thinner and thinner. Berlin was in chaos — Deputy Führer Forst had returned home to mutiny, with two generals competing against him for control of the Third Reich — and couldn’t offer much help to the Empire, especially now that his wedding to Aiko had been indefinitely postponed. Ren considered how long it would take until the Nazis packed up their things and retreated across the Atlantic. Another year? Less? But more and more he realized that the Eastern American Territories had a real chance at independence.
That was still a ways off in the WAT, where the dream of freedom was still just that — a dream. Guerilla attacks had increased from Seattle to New Tokyo, from San Antonio to Billings, but the Empire had been quick to retaliate. Martial law had been declared. A general from Tokyo had been sent to oversee the territories, and so far he had ruled the land ruthlessly, keeping the strict curfew laws, opening additional internment camps, and broadcasting more executions on live television. It was a terrifying new age in the WAT.
Yet the Resistance hadn’t taken any of that sitting down. They had ratcheted up their attacks, they had stolen more weapons, and they had upped their recruits. Not only that, they were nearly ready for the joint battle at New Orleans. The Empire had no idea what was soon coming, and this would only be the beginning. The Resistance and the Alliance had planned even more missions together — from New Orleans they would head to Biloxi and then over to Houston, claiming the south city by city.
And Ren had lent a hand wherever he could.
“Hey, you ready?” said Marty.
Ren glanced up from his typewriter, then looked over at the wall clock. Almost time. “Give me a second.”
As Ren finished his last sentence, Marty leaned against her crutch. She had broken her left ankle a few weeks ago after a close shave escaping a patrol car, which had sidelined her from any missions. Ren had to admit that she was driving him a little batty hanging around the office all day. Technically, it wasn’t an office, merely a desk and a typewriter shoved inside a pantry, but Ren didn’t need anything fancy to get his job done.
For months they had been hopping from safe house to safe house — Ren, Marty, Mr. Cabot, and Tessa — moving up and down the coast, venturing inland and back again. A few weeks prior, they had traveled to a little town north of San Luis Obispo and been taken in by the local Resistance cell. They were living now in a bunker below a rancher’s barn, on land so secluded that Ren could take walks at night and stare up at the winking constellations. Ren didn’t know how long they would stay here, but this was home for now.
Marty saluted him. “Will do, Renny. She should be getting the horses ready now.”
“Thanks, Martine,” he replied with a smile.
Marty made a face that shifted into a grin as she walked away. Ren followed her out. The bunker was tiny, about half the size of the Cabots’ apartment in White Crescent Bay, but they had made do. Ren passed by their bunkroom and the galley kitchen before he ascended the ladder that led into the barn. Moonlight greeted him as he dusted himself off. It was well past midnight, but the barn hummed with activity. Tessa stood by the old green tractor, speaking to Marty in whispers after she saddled up a gray mare. In her hand she held Ren’s essay and she was marking it up with a pen, but she stopped when she saw Ren standing there.
“This is good,” Tessa said, walking up to him. “I corrected a couple of typos, but it’s ready for press.” She wore her hair in a braid now and had let it grow out to its natural brown hue. But elements of Plank still managed to peek out now and then, like how she ordered Ren around. She thrust the essay back at him. “Can you hold that for me while I change?”
“Sure,” replied Ren, taking it and offering her his free hand as she stepped onto the ladder. Soon, she and Mr. Cabot would ride to a neighboring farm, where an illegal printing press had been stowed away for years. That was one of the reasons why the Resistance had sent Ren to this isolated town — so that his essays could be printed with ease. Tessa had played a huge part in the distribution efforts, too; her power had definitely come in handy more than once. She had finally revealed her Anomaly status to Marty a month ago — Marty had admitted that she had had a hunch for much longer — and Tessa had slotted herself into Resistance missions like an old pro. She had seemed more relaxed now, too, considering she no longer had to pretend she was a Nazi citizen. Ren had caught her laughing with Marty more than once, and Ren would happily prefer Tessa to the Fräulein.