Evalene's Number: The Number Series

by Bethany Atazadeh

  This ship was shorter than the submarine, but much wider, made of metal painted white and blue, a cheerful mix that contradicted the boat’s purpose. Together the girls crossed the plank, walking with purpose, as if on a mission. They passed a group of men tying down a pile of boxes at the front of the ship with a tarp. In the middle of the ship, by the captain’s cabin, there was another pile of supplies. Olive glanced at Evalene, prepared to stop, but Evalene shook her head.

  The muscles in Evalene’s arms strained from carrying the heavy cargo so far. At the opposite end of the ship, they reached the last supply pile, also covered with a big blue tarp, tied down. It was quieter here. This would work.

  Evalene set her box on the ground, untying one side of the tarp. By the time Olive imitated her, stood, and shook out the kinks in her arms, Evalene had slipped underneath, shoving boxes to the left and the right, lightning quick.

  With just a few pushes, she created a tiny cave, with boxes for walls and the blue tarp for a roof. It was tight, but they could squeeze in. The perfect hiding place.

  Ducking under the tarp, Evalene waved for Olive to join her. Together they slid the two boxes they’d carried up to the opening, placing one on top of the other. The final touch was to fling the tarp up and over the new boxes, effectively adding them to the pile and completely concealing their hiding place.

  They knelt to sit on the hard metal deck. Though Olive pushed the boxes out a little further so she could stretch her legs, it was cramped. The space was so tight their legs were touching. Evalene leaned against the box behind her and crossed her legs, reevaluating her plan. There was no way they could sit like this for two days. But they just had to smuggle Olive far enough out to sea that they wouldn’t turn around.

  The sounds of the waves and the men hollering as they loaded the ship had faded with the barrier of the boxes, creating a peaceful bubble of quiet. But they kept silent, just in case.

  It was hard to tell how much time passed like this before the rocking of the boat grew stronger. Olive whispered, “I think we’ve left the harbor.” Evalene nodded, but she didn’t respond. If she opened her mouth to answer, she might throw up.

  The motion sickness was far worse above the water than deep below the surface on the submarine. Pressing against the boxes, struggling not to crowd Olive in the tiny space, Evalene curled up on her side, closing her eyes and breathing shallowly through her nose. The only sound in the small space was her shuffling to get comfortable on the hard floor.

  Evalene wished she had a bucket. The rest of the morning and afternoon looked the same from their hiding place. Evalene lay still on the ground of their tiny shelter, enduring the rocking of the waves. Barely. Olive’s stomach, on the other hand, growled loudly as time passed. She complained in a hushed voice, growing bored. But Evalene ignored her, too nauseous to make conversation. Night fell, and their tiny cave grew pitch black. Olive’s complaints grew louder until Evalene thought she wanted someone to hear her.

  When footsteps sounded near their stack of boxes, Evalene felt relief. Boxes were pulled away, revealing the self-made entrance. Olive stood, as if prepared to kick and scream until they allowed them to stay. Evalene was far less worried. Still lying on the deck, she didn’t move, just blinked at the bright light of a flashlight shining in her eyes.

  “Who’s this?” said a man’s voice.

  Another said, “Stowaways! Bring them to the captain!”

  Olive shook one of them off when they grabbed her elbow. “I can walk by myself!”

  But Evalene gratefully accepted their help to stand, leaning into the arm of the stranger so fully that another arm materialized on the opposite side. Too sick to pay attention, she focused on breathing. On not throwing up all over the men’s shoes.

  They were dragged to the captain’s cabin. Light spilled out of the doorway into the darkness. Knocking on the open door, the men entered with Olive and Evalene. Luc stood at the heavy desk in the center of the room, meeting with a few other men seated around the table.

  His jaw dropped when he saw them. “Hey Luc.” Olive grinned at him, unashamed.

  “Olive? What were you thinking? Magnolia made it extremely clear you weren’t allowed on this trip,” Luc groaned, and addressed the men who’d brought them. “Where did you find them?”

  “They were holed up in one of the supply piles,” said the man still holding Evalene upright.

  “Ah,” Luc nodded. He crossed his arms, shaking his head at Olive with a slight lift of the brow. “That explains why you suddenly wanted to help.”

  That upset Olive. “That’s not fair! I always wanted to be involved, you just wouldn’t let me!”

  “Your grandmother made the rule,” Luc said. “I’m just enforcing it.”

  “But Captain,” the man next to Olive spoke up for the first time, “we can’t turn back now, we’ll lose too much time.”

  Luc’s fist clenched. “I know.” He sighed and shrugged, and spoke to Evalene as well as Olive. “We’ll have to figure out what to do with you two. You can’t fight, that’s for sure. Testimonials were supposed to go with Jeremiah or the second ship so they would be at the news station for the broadcast. As it is, we’ve had so many delays, we might be hours behind them at this point. Maybe more.” He looked worried. Muttering to himself, he added, “We should have left at the same time.”

  “Jeremiah wants to take the harbor during the night,” said one of the men sitting at the table in the room. He’d been quiet up to this point, but when he spoke up, Evalene studied him. His face was familiar. He’d been one of the council members standing in the truck giving the announcement the day before. “We’ll still get there before dawn, and the harbor will be secured for our arrival.”

  “I know, that’s all true in theory,” Luc said, pulling out a chair across from the man. “But things can always go wrong. Take these two for example.” He waved a hand at the girls. “Get them settled into the bunks for now – and make sure they stay out of trouble.” He bent over the map spread out across the desk, done with them.

  The sailors who’d found them ushered the girls out and brought them below decks. Evalene dropped into a tiny bunk and closed her eyes, ignoring everything around her, fighting seasickness. She huddled there in misery until someone handed her a bucket, just in time. She kept it within arm’s reach, needing it again shortly.

  Between bouts of sickness, she slept. Each time she woke, she wondered how long it had been. Each time, Olive said only a few hours. It was a two-day trip. In retrospect, the submarine voyage with all those encounters with Talc seemed like a pleasant vacation. Evalene clutched her stomach, heaving again. Nothing but bile. The room spun, and her stomach didn’t relent, trying to throw up food that wasn’t there.

  How far were they behind Jeremiah’s ship? What would happen when he and his men arrived? She wondered if they would still be alive when she got there. Another thought struck her. If they didn’t win, would she live through the week?

  32

  The Fight

  J EREMIAH STOOD ON THE end of the long dock, watching the dark waves hit the shores of Eden. The buildings along the pier crowded together, rising in many places like a wall, blocking his view of the rest of the city. It was just past three a.m. A sliver of the moon cast pale light on the men, but kept them mostly in shadows. Each man wore black, adding to their invisibility. The color of the Regs, meant to confuse their enemy from a distance. So far, it had worked.

  They’d taken the harbor easily, just a small guard station, only manned by three Regs at night. Hopefully by sunrise, the Regs would be needed elsewhere.

  The rebels’ third ship radioed their approach. Jeremiah could make out its silhouette if he squinted. They’d be docking within a few minutes.

  It was the darkest part of the night. The city was at its most vulnerable.

  It was time to strike.

  Just a few soft words set the plan into motion. Everyone moved swiftly, hand signals used to communicate whenever
possible. Silent feet left the dock and harbor in carefully planned groups. Jeremiah’s supervision was strictly for morale; each man knew his role by heart.

  Three companies of men and women would target three specific areas of the city. With only a fraction of the soldiers they’d expected, they had to be even more strategic than they’d originally planned. He hoped it would work.

  When the third ship docked, that whole group would form one company. They would move on foot towards the Number One’s home, only an hour’s walk from the harbor. Best time to take that fortress was the middle of the night. The second largest company would target the Regulator Headquarters in the heart of the city, arriving around sunrise. Jeremiah would lead the third and smallest company to the News Station. Located all the way on the other side of the city, it would be the longest walk, nearly six hours. But he had a short cut.

  The silent jog to the abandoned store he’d used so many times before, reminded him of the last time he’d traversed this path, with Evie. The thought distracted him. Would she ever get his note? He shook his head. Focus.

  He and his soldiers reached his hiding place in just under an hour. Rounding the corner to enter the parking lot he found, as promised, seven classic cars.

  Every single vehicle Lady Beryl owned, minus one for her to leave town, was parked in the abandoned lot, keys strategically hidden inside the store. She’d demanded to help. This had been their compromise. Jeremiah double-checked that she’d removed the plates like he’d asked. Even with this step though, Regulators could still track down the vehicle’s owner if the revolution failed.

  Just one more reason it couldn’t fail.

  He let Welder, his second in command, pass out the keys to the previously selected drivers. Every single one of the cars was an old-world sports car. Lady Beryl’s first husband had a fondness for the way they’d been made, and money to burn. He’d spent the last few years of his short life chasing down the flashy cars. Even when they’d been brand new, Jeremiah knew they’d been designed to impress, but the history was what fascinated him. He regretted giving in to Beryl. Not one of these beautiful antiques was even remotely designed for combat. But at least they would have speed. Jeremiah took the closest.

  There weren’t enough cars to fit his whole company. A little over half would stay behind and make the rest of the long, six-hour walk. Although if anything went wrong, they were prepared to run or potentially steal transportation.

  No one spoke.

  Those chosen for the car ride squeezed into each of the small vehicles, only five or six in most, until not an inch of space was left. The nods and salutes between the two groups spoke volumes. See you if we make it.

  The tiny sports car soon smelled like sweat and anxiety. Engine roaring, Jeremiah gunned it to a reckless speed. If a Regulator on patrol saw them, they would assume a high Number was out for a joy ride. Hopefully.

  Driving transformed the six-hour trip into less than a half-hour, though they still took the long way around, slowing to travel the back roads. It was worth it to avoid the Regulator Headquarters. The dark streets were empty. Curfew was strict here.

  Pulling up to the news station, the sky was just starting to lighten, although sunrise was still an hour off. The square, cement building, like all the other surrounding homes and businesses, had few windows, a leftover habit from the war. At first glance, the station was dark and silent, but around the corner, light spilled out of a tiny window. Someone was already at work. Or maybe just finishing?

  Jeremiah pulled his car up to the building, parking so close the bumper touched the ugly gray cement, the beginning of a makeshift barricade. His team followed suit. The cars formed a half moon barrier in front of the building, parked bumper to bumper. They didn’t leave a single opening. The city streets were narrow enough that the line of defense also effectively blocked the street. But more importantly, the roadblock protected their position, a defensive measure, providing a shield to hide behind if shots were fired. They needed to take this building and keep it long enough to broadcast their message. The entire outcome of the war depended on it.

  The men and women climbed out of their vehicles into the semi-circle, or if they exited into the street, they climbed over the cars to get inside the barrier. Jeremiah stepped out the driver’s side, intending to climb over the hood of his car as well. Out of the corner of his eye, as he closed his car door, he caught a flicker of light by the station. Muscles tight, he tensed to face a potential attacker.

  A young man stood in the propped open door of the station, with a half-burned cigarette hanging out of his open mouth. At the sight of 40-plus men pouring out of the cars, he fumbled and dropped his cigarette. The butt fell to the ground.

  Showing up in sports cars instead of Regulation vehicles, Jeremiah knew their Regulator disguise was tenuous at best, but nonetheless he held up a hand, palm out. “Halt.” He was on the wrong side of the barricade. Physically climbing over the car might be the last straw to convince the young man they weren’t true Regulators, so Jeremiah motioned for Welder, who stood half a dozen feet away inside the circle, to move instead.

  But one of their newest recruits, a huge bald man with an angry face who’d volunteered to give his testimony, pulled out a gun, pointing it at the station employee. How had he gotten a gun? This made the young man in the doorway screech in fright. His scrawny legs kicked the doorstop out and he hurled himself through the closing door, yanking hard on the handle and slamming it shut, even as Jeremiah’s men sprinted towards it. The loud click of the lock sounded in the night air. Welder jumped up the concrete steps and reached the door just moments before Jeremiah, grabbing the handle and pulling with all his might. It didn’t budge.

  Jeremiah cursed. What should have been a quick take-over had just become much more complicated. He rounded on the big man. “Who gave you a gun?” he yelled, nearly punching the car next to him.

  Welder stepped up next to them, a voice of reason. “I’ll take care of Talc, sir.” He held out his hand for the man’s gun.

  The man, Talc, tried to defend himself. “What’s the big deal? We can just blow down the door.” He swung the strap of the gun over his shoulder, but was reluctant to hand it to Welder. “I didn’t come here to just watch. I want to fight!”

  Jeremiah met his glare with his own until the man let go of the weapon. “We can’t blow it up. We need to be able to lock ourselves in later.” Jeremiah paced away from them. He didn’t waste time explaining further. Welder would take care of it. His men stood spread out inside the half circle of the barricade. They looked worried enough without him mentioning how the loose employee was likely calling the Regs as they stood there.

  The upside of Jeremiah’s small force was that they’d likely only send one or two Regulator vehicles out to make arrests at first. That they could handle. But if they brought reinforcements… “Where’s my lock picker?” Jeremiah called out.

  Ferris pushed through from the back of the group to stand in front of Jeremiah. “Here sir.”

  “We’ll need to hurry,” Jeremiah told him, clapping a hand on the young man’s shoulder, leading him towards the front door of the station. Ferris was by far the most skilled at lock picking, and even he was slow on a good day. They had expected to have more time.

  Ferris scurried up the concrete steps and set to work, laying out his tools, poking them into the lock at different angles. Jeremiah stood on the corner of the steps, watching the road from this vantage point, praying Ferris would be faster than ever before. His men took up defensive positions behind the cars at Welder’s orders. Jeremiah stayed focused on Ferris’s work, available if he was needed. The sky continued to grow lighter as the sun rose. Soon, too soon, they heard the roar of engines coming their way.

  “How’s it going?” Jeremiah pitched his voice to a casual tone.

  Ferris was sweating. He clearly knew the stakes now. Everyone did. Ears cocked across the company as the thundering grew closer. The lock picker wiped his brow with
one hand, while the other never stopped jiggling and working with the tools. He shook his head without looking up. “It’s more resistant than an average lock. It has at least five cylinders…”

  Jeremiah jumped off the steps. They had less than a minute before the Regs arrived. He ran towards his car, hauling himself in through the passenger side onto the driver’s seat, turning the key in the ignition, and jerking the car into gear. He hit the gas and drove just a half dozen feet past the building before slamming on the brakes. Leaning across the passenger seat, he opened the door and pushed it hard until it fell open as wide as it would go. With one quick look in the rearview mirror, and a few twists of the wheel, he punched the car into reverse. The crash of the passenger door against the heavy cement building was deafening, but it worked. With a squeal of metal tearing from metal, the passenger door ripped off and fell onto the pavement in front of the car.

  Maneuvering the little sports car back into its original position, Jeremiah leapt out, running towards the severed car door where it now lay on the ground. Welder appeared at his side as he lifted it, and together, they dragged it up and over the cars, inside the barricade. Others joined them, and with their help, they quickly dragged it up the stairs of the building, setting it in front of Ferris. A crude shield. Jeremiah knelt behind it, hoping it would be enough.

  Just seconds later, two Regulator vehicles came into sight. Shots fired instantly. Jeremiah ducked behind the car door, shouting at his men, “Hold your fire!” They didn’t have bullets to waste. “Wait until they’re closer! Aim!” They stopped firing. But now the Regs, alerted to the fact that they had weapons, were firing back, filling the air with loud volleys. As their cars came within reach of his men’s bullets, Jeremiah yelled, “Now!”

  Pulling his crude defense closer to the door, Jeremiah tried his best to shield Ferris. “Don’t stop!” he yelled at the boy over the shooting. “Get us in!” Voices yelled on both sides. The gunshots were deafening.