by C. A. Gray
Of course not.
I still didn’t move, clutching my knees and breathing deeply, the way he’d taught me. I didn’t see what good it did me to decide an emotion wasn’t helpful, though. It wasn’t like I was in control of how I felt.
Truth or a lie, Kate?
If I wasn’t in control of my emotions, who was?
I stood up again, squared my shoulders, and shivered, pulling the sweater more closely around my shoulders.
There was nobody here to rescue me this time. I could have a meltdown and perhaps die here in the wilderness… or I could decide I was going to live, and do what I needed to do to make it happen. Maybe the Kate Brandeis I’d been for the last twelve years would have chosen the meltdown… but I owed it to little Kathryn to finally become the girl that she always intended to be. Before the brainwashing. She wouldn’t need anybody to help her or give her permission. She wouldn’t need rescuing. She would hunt and kill and clean and eat all by herself. She’d be able to defend herself. She’d keep her wits about her and navigate her way through this forest successfully. I knew she would.
She’d have been just like Maggie. My former roommate, who was finally caught and killed by the Potentate’s firing squads. Alec made her sound almost mythical. I owed it to Maggie to shake off the trappings of the damsel in distress I’d become as a result of the government brainwashing, and to take up her mantle. And if she’d had the kind of platform I had, she would use it, whether or not the rest of the group she was with thought that was a good idea.
Of that much, I was certain.
I tried not to think about my predicament too much after that. I shot and killed a rabbit for dinner that night: I was stunned and a little devastated that I actually hit it, but I was hungry and I needed to eat and that was that. I pulled out a knife from my pack, and recited the steps in my head of skinning and cleaning larger game, trying to figure out how that translated to a creature as tiny as a rabbit. I probably butchered the poor thing, but I succeeded in getting meat on a stick and roasting it over the fire, which was all that mattered, really. Then I refilled my canteen from a stream nearby and decontaminated it with the iodine tablet before I touched it. I drank the whole thing in one gulp, and filled it again, putting in another iodine tablet. I splashed my face with water from the stream and instantly regretted it because it was so cold—but at least I felt a little cleaner. Then I settled in for the night, putting my satchel on top of me as a very poor blanket. I closed my eyes—feeling rather pleased with myself.
I was surprised when I opened my eyes again that it was already daylight. I ate a breakfast of roasted rabbit and the last of the berries, rinsed my hands in the stream, guzzled and refilled my water canteen, and even brushed my teeth with some toothpaste I’d swiped from a house in Beckenshire.
It took me another few hours of bumbling through the forest and hoping I was headed in the right direction. At last, I breathed a sigh of relief when the trees begin to thin out, and I could just see the vague outline of a city on the other side of them in the early morning sunlight. Friedrichsburg. It had to be, it was the only city for miles around.
Problem was, I had no idea if the hunters had come out at the same part of the forest as I had. They might be miles away, or they might be right in front of me.
I’d just have to take the risk.
I crept forward to the tree line at an agonizing pace to compensate for my clumsy, loud feet. But I saw no sign of our hunters there. I breathed again. Then I turned my attention to Friedrichsburg.
I spotted a pretty, well-manicured house maybe five hundred yards from the edge of the woods. It was the easiest target from my position, and it didn’t look like the hunters were already inside… but how could a place that cute not be inhabited? I wondered.
Then I remembered my signal disruptor. I reached into my pocket and flipped it on.
When I looked back up, I was momentarily confused, wondering if I’d somehow spun around and was looking at a different house than I’d chosen before. The little home had become dingy, water-stained and overgrown. I felt a stab of fear.
Am I still that brainwashed? Because if I was… that didn’t bode well.
I gritted my teeth. Get it together, Kate.
If there was a sniper watching at the edge of the forest, there was almost no way he wouldn’t see me run from the forest to the house. I could only hope he’d be so distracted watching the house where Will and Jean were working that he wouldn’t see me at all.
It was now or never. I dashed.
I arrived at the threshold of rotting wood out of breath, but so far as I could tell, undiscovered. I froze once I knew I was out of view of the tree line, waiting for voices or footsteps to pursue me. When none did after a few minutes, I crept inside.
Clearly this home had been abandoned for years. Many of the homes in the Republic were, since nearly a third of the population died at the very beginning after the Crash, and almost another third in the two decades that followed. I now knew that the high ongoing mortality rate was probably due to starvation.
I hoped this home belonged to a more recently deceased family, so that there might still be something here I could use that hadn’t completely disintegrated…
I made my way into the bathroom and pulled open cabinets barely hanging on their hinges, and drawers off the tracks. I rummaged through cleaning chemicals corroded on the outsides, rat droppings, and stiff bottles of half-used shampoo with the labels peeling off.
In the third drawer I checked, I finally found at least part of what I was looking for: makeup. I knew it was likely long since expired, but that didn’t matter, as long as I could get my hands on at least a few garish colors…
I tried the foundation on my hand, and found it three shades lighter than my usual skin color. Good. I slathered it on my face, on my eyelids, and down my neck. I looked pasty and unnatural, but I looked less like myself, which was the point. Normally when I was on screen, my makeup artist Heather tinted my lips red—so I covered them in foundation too. She usually tried to go with a natural look for me, emphasizing my best features while making it look like I wasn’t wearing makeup at all. So I caked on bright pink blush and blue eyeshadow.
When I’d finished, it looked like a parrot exploded on my face, but I definitely didn’t look like me. I also looked about ten years older than I was. I found a brown eyeliner pencil and drew on a few beauty marks for good measure.
Next, I needed to disguise my hair. I did find a pair of scissors… but the truth was, I was just too vain to cut it off. Instead I rummaged through the closet (which smelled like mothballs and made me gag), looking for a hat. I didn’t find one, but I did find a long orange polyester scarf. Using combs I’d found in the bathroom, I piled my hair on my head, pinned it, and wound the scarf around my head, tying it at the nape of my neck.
If I just had a pair of earrings, I might look like a gypsy, I thought. Surely the woman who had lived here and possessed all these garish adornments should have those, too…
I didn’t find earrings, though. But I did manage to locate a large pair of sunglasses, the rims of which were cracked and faded by the sun.
Perfect. I was a complete stranger, I thought, surveying my reflection in the mirror. Like a washed-up movie star from the former United States.
Now came the hard part: getting out of this house without being seen by the hunters, and down to the bullet train station. I’d never been to Friedrichsburg before so I didn’t know exactly where that was. I’d have to ask someone for directions. But that was all right, no one could possibly recognize me like this.
Maybe I should disguise my voice too. I tried to think of an accent I could assume, but gave up on that quickly. I’d probably do it badly and call more attention to myself.
“I could talk like this,” I said aloud, dropping my voice to a low rasp. That might work… not like I’d have to talk all that much anyway.
Okay, done. I paused at the th
reshold of the house, peering around one more time and assessing the various different routes I could take. I had no idea which would make me least likely to be discovered, so I’d just have to pick one and hope. Maybe at a distance, even the hunters wouldn’t know who I was, if I acted like I belonged.
So instead of running, I straightened my spine and held my head up high. I looked around. No hunters in sight.
A few blocks later, I saw a small family of four, all dressed in rags and sitting on their dilapidated front porch. They were skin and bones, but they didn’t seem to know it. They waved at me, grinning cheerfully. I waved back, and approached them.
“Excuse me,” I called out in my raspy voice. “I’m just visiting. Can you tell me where the train station is?”
A little boy of about twelve pointed at a right angle from where I was walking. “Three blocks that way. You’re almost there!” he told me brightly.
I smiled at him in thanks, but I couldn’t help staring at his parents. It was their eyes that bothered me most—glassy and vague, with placid smiles on their emaciated faces. I remembered the jammer in my pocket and walked a little closer, until I thought I was at least ten feet from them, just to see what would happen. Their expressions changed when I got close enough, and they looked as if they’d been startled awake from a deep sleep. All of them became agitated, gasping as they looked around and at each other.
“What are you doing?” the woman demanded. “Get—get away from here!”
I backed away. They visibly calmed down once they exited the radius of the jammer, but eyed me warily.
“Witchcraft!” I heard the woman mutter.
So it works.
“Thank you,” I called to them in my hoarse voice, and walked in the direction the little boy had indicated.
As the sidewalks grew thicker with people from the town, though, I realized I’d made a mistake in my disguise on almost all counts. Nobody dressed like I did—the women wore no makeup, and mostly their clothing was made up of gray and brown tatters. At first I wondered if this was the reason I drew stares—but then, I remembered people in the Republic wearing all kinds of colors and fashions. Maybe that was part of the brainwashing? If they saw one another that way too, could I really stand out so much?
Once I got into the city proper, I noticed the propaganda posters—like the ones Jackson and I had used for target practice. I’d seen them before, of course, but never thought anything of them back when I lived in the Republic myself. Now, with fresh eyes, the sheer number of them was overwhelming. The Potentate’s face was everywhere, grinning down from murals on the sides of businesses and on commercial vehicles. Some of them said ‘Our Glorious Potentate,’ and others said, ‘The Founder of Eden’—slogans that I’d grown up with and to which I had long since been desensitized. Now, looking at them made me ill with disgust, regret, and self-loathing. All those years of my life, wasted on believing so many lies…
After a block or two, I wondered if perhaps the attention I drew wasn’t my fashion choices so much as my posture, or my expression. I hunched my shoulders a bit, slackened my jaw and attempted to look like I was staring without really seeing anything—like everyone else. The people who passed by me still became startled when they entered the radius of the jammer, but I watched as their expressions cleared the farther away from me they got. Totally creepy.
It didn’t happen to everyone, though. Some people didn’t seem to react at all, even if they brushed right up against me. I started to watch those few for any signs of surprise or alarm—but I saw none. I frowned.
What does that mean? Does the jammer not work on everyone?
I pulled out the ID card I’d stolen from Nelson when I approached the bullet train station, positioning myself at the edge of the crowd to avoid alarming those in my immediate vicinity. I didn’t have to wait long—the train pulled in within five minutes of my arrival. I held my breath as I waved the ID card in front of the sensor, waiting for some kind of alarm to sound. But, as usual, Will was right. Nothing happened.
I threaded my way as quickly as I could to an empty car, and sat down at the far corner, facing the window. I’d have to catch two connections to make it all the way to Dawvish.
Two hours to think over what I’d say when I found Charlie. How could I explain?
I sighed, resting my head against the window as the bullet train picked up speed. Eventually the motion of the train and the monotonous whir of the scenery lulled me. Despite sleeping surprisingly well in the forest, I suddenly realized how exhausted I was. I closed my eyes.
***
The night when Mr. Santiago came to abduct me and take me to McCormick, my parents didn’t say more than two words to me, but they kept exchanging meaningful glances with each other. I sulked through dinner, frustrated that I still couldn’t seem to make anybody see what I saw or hear what I heard.
I’m not crazy, I thought, stabbing my meatballs with more vehemence than necessary and shoving them in my mouth. Everybody else is crazy.
“Heard you lost it at school today,” Charlie said.
“Charlie!” our dad scolded him.
He shrugged. “It’s the elephant in the room. Figured somebody should say it.”
“I did not lose it,” I told him, gritting my teeth. “Maybe I found it, okay?” I didn’t know what this meant, but it sounded good.
After dinner, just as Mom began to clear the plates, someone knocked at the front door.
“That’ll be him,” Mom murmured to Dad.
“Who?” I asked.
In the foyer, I overheard Dad speaking with someone whose voice I didn’t recognize, but I could tell from their tones that they were speaking about something very serious. I looked at Charlie to see if he knew anything. He winked at me.
Dad ushered the man into our living room. He was unnaturally tall, I thought, and he wore a gray suit and tie, and carried a briefcase. He immediately locked eyes upon me, and gave me a saccharine smile.
“Kate, this is Mr. Santiago,” Dad said to me. “He’s here from—”
“McCormick School,” I read on his briefcase. “What’s that?”
Mr. Santiago crouched down to meet me at eye level, which I found insultingly condescending. “McCormick is a school where strong-willed, gifted children such as yourself can best be educated for the betterment of themselves and of society, Kathryn.”
“Kate,” I corrected him through gritted teeth.
“Oh, I’m sorry—” he consulted his clipboard, “your mother told me your name was Kathryn.”
“It is, it is,” said my mother, her tone overly bright and cheerful. “But she insists on Kate. She says it sounds less… soft.”
“It’s not good to insist on your own way, Kathryn,” Mr. Santiago shook his head at me, still wearing that revolting smile. “And there is nothing wrong with being soft. In fact we hope to cultivate that trait in you.”
“What if I won’t go?”
Mr. Santiago seemed unfazed by this. “You have no choice. Your bags are being packed as we speak.”
My mouth fell open. “What?” I turned to my parents to verify this, wide-eyed.
“McCormick is a boarding school,” Mr. Santiago went on, “but you will be allowed to come home for the holidays, provided your behavior begins to reflect our values and principles.”
I turned to Charlie, hoping desperately to find an ally. But his expression seemed almost mocking.
Did he want them to send me away?
“This is for your own good, Kathryn,” my mother whispered to me, her lower lip trembling even through her smile. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, honey, but the government knows best.”
“I hate you!” I shrieked, surprised even to hear the words coming out of my own mouth. “How can you do this to your own daughter?”
Nobody answered me; my parents just exchanged that knowing look with each other, and Mr. Santiago nodded sadly, like I’d just confirme
d his purpose.
“The next time you see her, you will hardly recognize her. She will be a perfect little angel,” Mr. Santiago assured my parents.
A man I hadn’t even seen enter the house with Mr. Santiago descended the stairs from my room carrying a suitcase that did not belong to me. It was terribly small.
“Come along, Kathryn. Say goodbye to your family.”
They can’t make me, I thought desperately. They can’t! I’ll just refuse! I sat down on the floor, crossed my arms over my chest, and screamed.
To my horror, the man who held the suitcase of the scant belongings he decided I would need grabbed my wrist with his other hand and began to drag me out the door behind Mr. Santiago. It hurt, and sobs mingled with my screams.
“You can make this easy or hard,” said Mr. Santiago calmly over my railing, “but you are coming, whether you like it or not.”
Chapter 18: Jackson
I’m not a good liar. Not a skill I ever thought it worthwhile to cultivate.
So when I saw the figure in the distance dart from the woods into a house about half a mile from the target Nick and Will had chosen for our purposes, I waited ten minutes before I said anything to the others. I thought about saying nothing at all and just going after her, but if I disappeared without a word, they’d be frantic. They might even put themselves in danger, sticking around too long trying to look for me after their mission was complete.
But I couldn’t tell them exactly what I was doing either. I’d heard Kate mention her broadcast idea many times now—enough to surmise that she was going to do it, one way or another. I could just foil her plans by alerting the others now. They’d of course insist on stopping her, and she’d hate me for betraying her, especially to Will. But more importantly, she’d try again later anyway.
Maybe the broadcast was a great idea and maybe it wasn’t, but as a community, it would undoubtedly be best for us to maintain a unified front and pursue a single course of action at a time. If Kate were anybody else, I’d probably just confront her, tell her to stop, and then if she decided to do it on her own anyway, I’d let her face the consequences.
