by B. C. Tweedt
Asher knew it was off-limits, but he just wanted a peek. What’s so private about a hut?
He saw the collection for the snow-water, Greyson’s bedding, extra clothes, his toiletries. Nothing out of the ordinary.
But then he saw the drawings. There were several of his own drawings that made him smile, but there were a few others visible underneath. Pulling up on the corners of the top drawings, he saw ones Greyson had drawn. They were crude, not much better than something he could draw, with the same kind of childishness, but the coloring was done with care, not the hasty doodles he would whip out at daycare. There were a few of a girl with a blonde ponytail, but another was of a man with green eyes. It was done well enough that Asher knew who it was supposed to be.
The stinging sympathy made him avert his eyes, and he knew why Greyson had kept the hut private.
Suddenly remembering how Greyson had caught him a long while ago, he jerked his head out; but this time Greyson was nowhere to be seen.
He listened, and heard nothing but the calm wind. Not even a rustling.
“Greyson?” he called out, standing.
Nothing. He started to worry.
“Kit?”
Still nothing.
And then a bark.
It sent a shiver down his back, and he set off running. There were tracks ahead of him in the snow – a boy’s and a dog’s.
He followed them along the ridge and came out to a new view between two trees. Skidding to a stop, his mouth fell open. Kit was standing, growling at the edge of the precipice. There was the small plateau and then the cloudy blue abyss.
Greyson’s tracks led to the edge and then disappeared.
He’d jumped.
-------------------------------
Cael sat on the edge of the made bed, fully dressed, facing the TV with remote in hand. The streetlights gave the motel’s skimpy yellow curtains a halo, but the sirens outside proclaimed how few angels were left – especially in this neighborhood.
He glanced at his watch, itching to leave.
“Morning, Liz,” the reporter chirped from the TV. “I’m standing outside the Indianapolis Convention Center where later today, the three candidates will take the stage for one last debate before next week’s landmark election. Security is at unprecedented levels, but I don’t need to tell you that everyone is still on edge.”
Cael smirked.
“With threats of secession looming and an economic Depression worsening, the stakes have never been higher. Presidential candidate and Senator Audrey Raines, the founder of Peace At All Costs, put out a statement today urging secessionists to trust the voting process. Governor Reckhemmer’s campaign issued a similar statement, reminding citizens that their voices will be heard. Jimmie Coates, the third-party candidate with no shortage of controversial statements, has cautioned voters not to trust the United Nations’ International Voting Monitors who, at Reckhemmer’s request, will be monitoring this year’s elections. This issue will no doubt be discussed on stage tonight, along with the skyrocketing debt, gun seizures, the VSA, the riots rocking our cities, and, of course, terrorism.”
Cael dropped a black backpack as he marched with the Peace Rally crowd on Martin Luther King Bridge, gaping at the St. Louis’ Gateway Arch reaching toward the clouds to the left. The crowd, organized by the P.A.A.C, or Peace At All Costs, numbered in the tens of thousands, nearly tripping on each others’ heels as they filled the entire bridge. Their destination was the park surrounding the arch where peace concerts and speeches were planned throughout the evening; but his Wolf team couldn’t let that happen.
Cael’s conscience berated him, but Orion’s speech set him free. Scatter the elk. Make them afraid. Change the course of the river.
He texted the remote code.
The explosion ripped through the air, knocking those in the back of the crowd into a pile as it lifted the trailing police SUVs toward the railings with its fireball pushing at their undercarriages. Cael felt the bridge shake underneath him as he sprawled onto it. As panic seized the crowd, Peacelovers trampled over each other toward the Arch, and he looked back just in time to see a section of the bridge crumble to the water.
The Wolves had berated him for weeks. He had been instructed to set the bomb off earlier, when more of the protestors were within range, but he’d waited. No one had died; even the cops had survived. And despite the bomb, the rally had still gone on, though only with the most resilient people.
Cael couldn’t tell them it was on purpose. They would have doubted his loyalty. And he couldn’t tell them that everything he’d done the last year had kept him up at nights. They would have doubted his zeal. But he was loyal. He was zealous. He hated the Merks, saw how corrupt and oppressive the government was, and wanted to fight tyranny. He was willing to do most anything to keep the country free. He just wasn’t into killing innocent people, even if real wolves had to.
Cael’s smartwatch buzzed, and he jumped to his feet. He pulled the curtains open a crack, ignoring the flickering motel’s sign reading The Indy Inn. His ride was waiting. He quickly strode to the syringe on the counter, injected himself with its contents, and threw it in his pack. If something went wrong, he’d have a week before his flesh rotted away.
“Are you ready for the fireworks, Liz?” the anchor asked.
Cael pointed the remote at the TV like a gun.
Click.
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“Salute!” the Herdsman barked.
Sydney jerked in her seat and stood with the rest of the children dressed in full uniform – the Shepherdesses with short white shorts with a broad belt, a slim-fitting vest over one shoulder, and a red, white, or blue rolled headband according to rank. The Shepherd boys’ uniforms were not much different, with longer shorts. The older ones had more badges on their vests and more emblems on their headbands. These weren’t the corny shepherd costumes they used to use at church Christmas programs. These were modern and sharp.
Sydney’s hand was directly over her heart. Her legs were straight, but her knees weren’t locked. And her body was faced toward the American flag hanging at the front of the classroom.
“I pledge allegiance,” the goateed Herdsman began, satisfied as the young Shepherds and Shepherdesses joined in the chorus, “to the flag, of the United States of America.”
Sydney’s eyes wandered as the compulsory reciting flowed from her without meaning. “And to the republic, for which it stands…”
Her eyes landed on Nick, who sensed her look and turned just enough to see her through the corners of his eyes. But they kept up appearances, standing straight, aware of the Herdsman’s prowling eyes.
“One nation, indivisible…”
Nick’s mouth was moving, but Sydney knew there were no words coming out. He might as well be covering his mouth, not his heart.
“With liberty, justice, and equality for all.”
The classroom took their hands from their hearts and moved to the Shepherd salute, with right elbows at ninety degrees and hand gripped tight around an invisible staff.
“Our oath,” the instructor prompted.
“On my honor,” Sydney recited with the others,“I will do my best, to do my duty, for country and community.”
“To do my duty, for my country…” Sydney stalled, biting her lip in frustration.
Her new, fake parents, Jeremy and Harper Collins, sighed long and hard. “No. Just ‘for country and community’. There’s no ‘my’ before country,” Harper said, containing her impatience.
They sat at the dinner table, picking at the last of their meal.
“What does one word matter?” Sydney complained.
“Every word matters,” Jeremy explained. “They notice these things. We have to fit in, or we’ll never earn the Tomlinsons’ trust.”
Nick ran his butter knife across his finger. “Shepherds stole the Boy Scout Oath. Supposed to be God and my country.”
“Guess they didn’t want the country to be ours,” Nick continued. “Or us to be God’s.”
After a long pause, Jeremy rose from his seat. “Put your complaints aside, Nick. Peter Tomlinson may be working with the Plurbs, but if he gets a whiff of any anti-government talk, he’ll turn you in in a heartbeat to make himself look clean in comparison.”
Jeremy stared them both down as Nick picked at the knife and Sydney put her spoon in mashed potatoes. “From the top Sydney,” he said finally. “Every word.”
“To protect my neighbor, respect everyone’s truth…”
Eyeing Nick again, Sydney could see his inner struggle. He’d hated the Shepherd program from the beginning. He called it brainwashing and childish. But the mission had forced him to continue. The mission was to find out why Mr. Tomlinson, a board member of Redmond Aerospace Defense, was working with Pluribus. If Redmond had anything to do with Operation Cicada, they were to find out. But after months of trying, Jeremy and Harper were no closer to the truth.
That’s where the neighborhood Shepherd program came in. Tomlinson’s son and daughter were in it, and Nick and Sydney had worked hard to win their trust. It had taken months of effort to build the fragile friendships they had now. But they were running out of time.
Katelyn Tomlinson was smiling, her braided ponytail shaking with each exuberant pronunciation of the oath. She caught Sydney’s glance, and Sydney promptly added a smile to her recitation.
“…and battle hate, within my heart and without, until all are safe, proud, and loved.”
“Have a seat,” the Herdsman said.
Katelyn swung to Sydney as she sat in the front row. “You watching the debate tonight?”
Making a face, Sydney laughed. “Of course. Hammer time!”
“Want to watch at my place?”
Sydney tried to contain her excitement. Her heart skipped a beat, taking away her breath. It was an in. A real in.
But it was a Plurb’s house. “Can Nick come?”
Katelyn drew back, and Sydney knew she’d made the wrong move.
“If you don’t want to come, I’ll ask Sarah, she’d…”
“No, no, I want to come. It’ll be fun!”
“Good,” Katelyn stated as she turned to the front, straightening her sash.
Sydney gave Nick another look, and he returned it, sensing her concern. She was going in, but she’d have to do it alone.
Chapter 17
Asher’s eyes were locked on Greyson’s footprints.
No, no, no!
Fear boiled inside. Panic roared.
“Greyson!”
Asher bolted toward the edge but slammed his feet into the ground, his mouth open in amazement as Greyson floated up from the abyss.
He was a superhero, flying with ease. His grey tactical vest and red fanny pack were his costume. His grey-camo gaiter was around his neck, a flowing cape. And as his body rose above the precipice, Asher saw him like new. He wasn’t the boy he’d known a year ago. His arms and legs had grown thicker, his chest full, and his shoulders wide. He appeared more a man than a boy.
And part machine.
Asher took a step back as Greyson rose into full view, his feet latched onto a disc-drone as if it were a lily pad.
“Asher!” Greyson bellowed with a smile, jumping from Liam to the safety of the ground. He typed at his DOC and the drone rose to his chest level. “It worked!”
Asher hadn’t moved. He was still putting the pieces together.
Greyson knelt and examined the underside of the drone as Kit pawed at his leg. “I’m alright, boy. Liam looks okay, too.” He patted Liam, pet Kit, and turned to Asher. “I don’t know about Asher, though.”
The boy’s heart finally began to settle. “You can ride Liam?”
Greyson stood up, took a treat from one of his vest’s multiple pockets, and threw it to Kit. “Yeah. Program him to stabilize his altitude and he’ll push his vertical propulsion to balance whatever weight is added.”
“That’s so cool! Can I try?”
Greyson grabbed Asher before he could climb on Liam and pulled him into a hug. “Not yet, buddy. Let’s give it a day, make sure his systems are 100% before trying again.”
“Aww, man!”
“Yeah, yeah. You sleep well?” Greyson asked, changing the subject and releasing the hug.
Still imagining himself surfing on Liam, Asher nodded.
“Good. Mile day in the pool.”
Asher shook himself from his daydream with a sour face. “But Rachael said Rubicon was in the area. Maybe they’ll come tonight.”
Greyson drew pensive, but shrugged it off. “All the more reason to stick to the schedule.”
“Do we have to?”
Greyson put on a stern face. “You know we do.”
“But…”
“No ‘buts’.”
“…it’s Chloe’s birthday.”
Smiling, Greyson began the walk back to the hut, typing on his DOC. Liam swooped over them on its way over the peak toward camp. “Did she invite you to her party?”
Asher caught up to him, patting Kit along the way. “No. But that’s cuz I’d be the only second grader.”
“I think you’re cooler than any of the fifth graders.”
“Thanks, but you have to say that.”
“No, I don’t. I’m not your dad.”
“Pretty much. You make me eat my vegetables.”
Greyson turned his face, eyeing the peaks as the rising sun began to outline them in orange. They crunched through the snow, passing between two pines. “You can get her a gift.”
Asher shook his head. “I don’t think she liked my last one.”
Snickering, Greyson replied, “Columbus Day is kind of a weird day to give gifts.”
The boy shrugged. “Every day’s a good day for a gift. ‘Specially for her.”
“Well then, let’s think about what you can get instead. We’ll think of something.”
An hour later they were in the indoor pool. The bleachers were empty and there were only a few older people swimming laps that early in the morning. In the middle of the lane, Greyson stopped mid-stroke, pulling off his goggles and treading water until Asher caught up. “You can give her bacon,” he suggested.
Asher was breathing heavily. Though he didn’t have to swim the mile, he had to swim as many laps as he could while Greyson was swimming. “She’s trying this…vegetarian thing…”
“What?” Greyson exclaimed, spitting at the water by his face. “Why?”
Always one to mimic Greyson, Asher tried to spit at the water, too, but he was struggling to stay afloat. “She says the Merks…might take…all the pigs,” he said between strokes. “She wants to…get used to it.”
“They better not.”
Asher glanced at the pink scar on Greyson’s chest. “I told her…we should eat them all…before they can take ‘em.”
Laughing, Greyson put his goggles back on. “I can’t believe she hasn’t fallen for you.” He laughed. “Two more laps. I dare ya.”
Asher watched him swim off and then restarted his effort.
After a hearty breakfast including two identical heaps of bacon, they reported to the library, grabbed their homework piles from the librarian, and found their favorite corner. A few minutes into his required reading, Greyson whispered, “You could write her a poem.”
Asher shook his head. “Remember? Easter?”
Thinking, suddenly Greyson laughed. “Oh, yeah. Roses are red, and violets are blue, if eggs were gold, I’d still hunt for you.”
They laughed together until another patron shushed them.
Asher held back his laughter. “She was totally creeped out.”
Later that morning Greyson and Jarryd were lying on the daycare’s carpet coloring with the kids. Kit was splayed out with them as well,
his tail wagging as several kids pet him all over. He’d become the daycare mascot and official guard dog. He’d scared off a few moose and, according to one young hiker, a giant Grizzly. Whether or not it was true, Kit made the kids feel safe, and they gave him more than enough love and attention in return.
“You could give her your drawing,” Jarryd suggested to Asher.
Asher eyed his drawing of an aerial battle. Drones were exploding, shooting their missiles at a city’s skyscrapers. A pilot had ejected from a jet, but his parachute was in flames. “Think so? I could draw her in it.” He reached for a colored pencil.
Jarryd handed him a peach-colored one. “Use bacon fat for her skin.” He found a brown. “And poop for her hair.”
A few of the kids’ heads turned. One girl made a squeamish face. “Those aren’t colors.”
Jarryd turned, reading her ID tag. “They are to…A-shanti!”
“Nuh-uh. And it’s Ashanti. It means warlike.”
“You don’t say? But what do you know? You’re like two.”
“I’m six!”
“Well, you don’t know your colors,” Jarryd complained grabbing the brown back and holding it in front of Greyson for affirmation. “What color is this?”
“Poop.”
He held up the peach.
“Bacon fat.”
Yellow.
“Pee.”
White.
“Compound fracture.”
Green.
“Snot.”
Red.
“Nosebleed.”
Orange.
“Orange.”
Jarryd turned to Ashanti, who had crossed her arms in defiance. “Shall we go on?”
She sneered and ran to tell on him.
Asher held up his hand, biting his tongue as he drew Chloe on the building with a gun pointed at the air. “Poop, please.”
As Jarryd handed him the brown, Greyson eyed the drawing. “I think she’ll like it.”
Leaving Asher and Kit with the daycare, Greyson and Jarryd grabbed a quick lunch and began their workout in the fitness room. As they worked out, Greyson’s mind was on Rubicon returning. It had been months since he’d seen them last. He’d gotten to thinking they might never return. No one knew. Not even Rachael. They’d simply watch the news, read the papers, and guess what they were up to, hoping StoneWater hadn’t caught up to them. And now that the clock was ticking toward the election at what seemed a feverish pace, he had begun plans to set out himself – bent on preventing Cicada any way he could.
