The Vestige

by Caroline George

  “According to my calculations, yes, but we won’t know for sure until we insert it into the dome.”

  “So there’s a strong chance we could be fried?”

  “There’s always a chance we could be fried,” he says with a laugh. “That’s the beauty of it.”

  Hinges squeak when Charlie enters the building. He combs his hair into place and pockets his hands, and then sways back and forth as if on the verge of slipping back into sleep.

  “Finally decided to show up for work, did you? That bed of yours must be mighty comfortable if you’d rather sleep than help me build stuff. Julie was here at dawn. I might promote her…”

  Charlie yanks a gun from his pants and pulls the trigger.

  Nash crumbles to the floor.

  Blood splatters my shoes, converging in a puddle beside me. A red pool. Like the one that submerged and almost drowned me. But I’m supposed to be safe here. Friends don’t kill friends.

  Jon wades to the shore with his hand stretched toward mine. Take it—I should. Follow him into the waves where I’ll be protected from assassins and lies—the choice seems decided. I’ll follow him and Sybil into the depths, through a magenta horizon and halcyon sea, and blood won’t stain me anymore, neither will love or hate or fear. I’ll be safe from it all.

  A bullet soars so close, it nicks the top of my scalp. I blink Charlie into focus and clutch my ringing ears. Sunlight outlines his bony frame in a silhouette reminiscent of an electrical pole.

  “Get down on your knees.”

  “What’ve you done?” I scream and press my fists against Nash’s chest to slow the bleeding. His breaths are jagged and labored like Sybil’s before she died. “Charlie, how … why?”

  “I couldn’t let the Vestige enter the hub,” he says with his brow furrowed, face scrunched. “You left me no other choice. If he dies, the way through the dome dies with him.”

  Pain tears through me when his eyes ignite with a familiar gleam. Why haven’t I noticed it before, that vibrant shimmer of a second-layer something?

  “You’re one of them.” I lean more weight against Nash’s chest. Blood oozes through my fingers, and his heart beats against my palms. “You’re a spy.”

  “Took you long enough.” He aims his gun at my face. “Scoot toward the wall.”

  “How could you do this, Charlie?” I cast him the most pitiful look and crawl in the designated direction. Nash will bleed out in a few minutes—his skin is already whiter than his teeth. I won’t last much longer, either. Maybe someone heard the gunshot. Maybe they’ll come before it’s too late.

  “This isn’t what I wanted, really. Assassinations weren’t a part of my assignment. I was meant to infiltrate the Vestige and relay your findings to those in the City. I’m a mole, nothing more … that is, until today. You see, the Special Ones like their humans to believe in freedom—more information is leaked that way. It’s an illusion, like all things in your world. We are excellent at creating your ideas and society, your rebellion. We control it all.”

  I shiver from the ache of betrayal and slide a hand up the back of my t-shirt to the weapon belt. “The drone’s malfunction, the attack—you caused them, didn’t you?”

  “Among other things. I damaged the tunnels before the dome’s first contraction so they’d collapse. I jammed the radio frequency after the Underground was bombed. I told the Special Ones about Jon’s plan to move his family to the Underground. They killed him for me, of course. I would’ve hated to do it myself. Jon was such a nice human.”

  “Charlie…”

  Tears burn my face, hotter than blood. He was my partner in the tunnels. I trusted him when I should’ve been beating the guts from his body. Because of him, almost everyone I love is dead.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I do like you, Julie.” He crouches and presses the gun to my forehead—another bullet inches from my brain. “We were friends, truly, and I wouldn’t be doing this now unless it was absolutely necessary. You won’t feel a thing. I’ll do it quick. Really, I’m sparing you from a lot of unneeded suffering. You won’t have to witness the final stages of the invasion.”

  I claw at the gun tucked into my belt—it won’t budge from its pouch. “Please. Don’t do this. I’ll say the shooting was an accident. We can save Nash and … you can stay with the Vestige. We’re not trying to destroy your people, Charlie. We just want our race to survive.”

  Sweat stings my eyes, and I flinch when he clicks a bullet into place. Another minute is all I need to unsheathe the Glock and fire a blast through his alien chest. Almost there. Forty seconds.

  “Were those gunshots? Is everyone okay?” Abram and Jack race into the shed and then slide to a stop when Charlie points the gun in their direction.

  Idiots. Why didn’t they bring a weapon?

  Jack lifts his arms. “Whoa, what’s with the semiautomatic?” His focus shifts to the dying man, and his jaw clenches. “You’re a spy.”

  “Seems that way, doesn’t it?” Charlie smirks and mumbles something in a foreign language. “You’ve made this a lot harder on me. Only two people were going to die. Now, I have to kill four.”

  “You don’t have to kill anyone,” I shout.

  “Put the gun down.” Jack steps forward. “We’re your friends…”

  “You’re enemies of the Special Ones,” Charlie says. “You have to die.”

  A bullet hole appears between his eyes, followed by a puff of pink mist. He crumbles to the ground without a thump or clatter. Dead. No chance of resurrection.

  Sobs and laughs tickle my lips. I lean against a worktable’s leg, roll onto one side, and hug my stomach. “Thank you, God. It’s over.” Over. The traitor is gone. And we’re alive for now.

  Jack and Abram stare at me as if I’ve grown a second head.

  They stare at the gun in my hand.

  ****

  In the room’s corner, where floral wallpaper peels into ribbons, there is a splatter of pink paint, a dusting fine as blasted brain matter. It watches over Nash and me like a monument, refusing to let either of us forget the ice-cold gun, dead eyes, and heart that won’t beat again.

  “What happened?” Nash groans and claws at his bandaged chest. “I thought I was a goner.” He writhes in the avalanche of blankets. His gaze flickers to mine, and immediately, his eyes fill with tears.

  “Jack was able to fix you. He’s pretty good at fixing people.” I snatch a bottle of aspirin from the nightstand and dump a few pills into my shaky hand. The same hand that fired a bullet into Charlie’s skull. Dang it. Why can’t I breathe? “Here. I’ll go get you a cup of water.”

  “Don’t bother.” He swallows the capsules dry. His bottom lip quivers, and tears cascade down his stubble-covered cheeks. “Charlie’s dead, isn’t he?”

  I massage my tinkling face and nod. “Abram’s burying him now.”

  “You did what had to be done.”

  “But killing for a good reason doesn’t make me any less of a killer,” I say. “It only makes me a killer with a good reason. And a good reason won’t help me sleep better at night.”

  “Charlie was a spy,” he whispers. “We have to accept the truth.”

  “Betrayal is a truth I’d rather not believe.”

  “People will always disappoint you, Julie. They’ll lie, betray, and hurt you in ways you never thought were possible. And you’ll do the same to them.” Nash smears his tears and musters a small smile. “I loved that kid as if he were my own. People just … don’t realize that love has the power to kill them.” He swats the tags dangling from my neck, and his expression dies. “Or turn them into killers.”

  A hollow sensation punctures my core so deeply I lean against the rotting mattress to put pressure against it, to fill the cavity with something more than guilt. Charlie had my back long enough to stab it, so I shot him. My body reacted out of instinct and necessity, not because murder is a reflex I’ve developed. Earlier this morning, I would’ve thrown myself in front of a bus to save him. I
would’ve sacrificed myself for the person I just killed, the person who would’ve killed me.

  Everyone gathers in the cellar two hours later for a mandatory meeting. We form a disfigured circle around a table blanketed with Colonel Buchanan’s notes and diagrams.

  “Why’d you call us down here, Jack?” Tally folds her arms and rubs her bloodshot eyes. She positions herself away from the pendulum glow, in the mildew-infested shadows. “Shouldn’t we talk plan of action after we finish burying Charlie?”

  “Julie was the one who called the meeting,” he says with obvious skepticism as if I should be incapable of rational thought after performing my first kill, when the truth is, rational thought is the only thing holding me together.

  “Our time is running out. The dome’s contractions are more frequent, and the neap tide is approaching.” I move to where Colonel Buchanan sits in his wad of chains. “Using his knowledge of the City, the colonel has devised a plan of attack. Listen to what he has to say.”

  “You have the floor, Dad.” Jack won’t look at me, not even when I offer him a hand-drawn diagram. I disappointed him, lied, betrayed, and hurt him in ways I never thought I could. And he’s doing the same to me now because repaying pain with pain is supposed to heal what’s broken, at least, that’s the lie we all tell ourselves. If he knew how much I love him, maybe he’d change his mind. Maybe he would view me as a scared girl instead of a lying traitor.

  “I spent last night writing down every bit of information I’ve gathered over the past two decades. I have a plan—don’t know if it’s a good one, but it might work.” Colonel Buchanan shuffles through his notes. “Infiltration is our best option. Two agents will enter the City. The rest of us will set up a Command Center outside the inner dome, monitor their progress, and send scouts to neighboring towns to spread the truth. We’ll get people to notice the unseen and keep them calm until the operatives complete their tasks within the hub. That said, stopping the aliens’ invasion won’t happen overnight. Our timeframe, I’m guessing, is a month or two. It’ll take a while for the agents to establish themselves, make connections and carry out their assignments.”

  “Who will we send into the City?” Abram asks.

  “My son…”

  “No surprise there,” Jack says. “You need my blood.”

  “And of course, Julie.”

  “What? No. Why me?” My knees buckle, and the air drains from my lungs. He must be joking. Tally would be the better candidate for a covert agent, but then again, she has a crush on Jack, and nothing brings two people closer than a top-secret mission.

  “Out of everyone here, you bear the closest resemblance to the aliens. With a little coaching, you’ll blend with the Purebloods better than Jack,” Colonel Buchanan says.

  Sure, let the teenager masquerade as a posh alien and infiltrate the extraterrestrial beehive with her hybrid ex-boyfriend. Sounds like a brilliant idea. Better yet—I should start riots in the streets with a confetti cannon and walk around with Leave Earth, Martian Scum posters.

  “How do we know you won’t flip sides once Julie and I are in the City?”

  “You have to trust me.” Colonel Buchanan leans against the tabletop and shifts his attention to Nash who is perched on a wooden stool. “How long until the doorframe will be ready to use?”

  “If people help me, I can have it done in a couple days.”

  “Okay. Good. That concludes our council meeting.” Colonel Buchanan clasps his hands together. “I need to speak with Jack and Julie alone. Everyone else, please leave my cell.”

  Jack steps closer to me, but not close enough. He avoids the sight of my face as if it’s the ugliest thing in existence. “It’d be easier if we didn’t have to do this together, I know. We both need space, and to be honest, it’s difficult for me to be around you. In the City, we probably won’t see each other often, but I’ll make sure you’re safe. You won’t be alone, not for a second. Even when we’re apart, I will ensure that your needs are met. One phone call, and I’ll be at your door.”

  “You deserve to be mad.” I touch his cheek, fit my thumb in his left dimple and force him to look at me. “I’m a messy person who does messy things. You just have to know that about me. When life gets scary, I run away and make a fool of myself—it’s what I do because I’m screwed-up and insecure—but I always come back, and in my heart, I love you all the time. I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for not standing by your side when you needed me most. I’m sorry … and I ask you to forgive me.”

  He relaxes against my palm and lightly kisses my wrist. Something close to relief removes the creases from around his eyes. “Be my friend again. I can forgive a friend.”

  “But you can’t forgive someone you love, someone who loves you.” The heartache returns more intense than before, and it takes all my strength to refrain from lapsing into a full-fledged cry session.

  “No,” he says, “not for a while.”

  “Okay.” I imprison a sob behind my gritted teeth and nod. “Friends.”

  “I’ve formulated profiles for you both.” Colonel Buchanan jingles his chains to capture our notice. “You’ll be brother and sister—Jack and Julie Lefèvre, which was Lavinia’s surname. Your parents were killed in a car crash. You lived with your father’s brother in the suburbs until Jack got a job at the Department of Homeland Security.”

  “But I don’t have a job.”

  “Some of my friends in the City are sympathetic with your cause. They’ll give you work,” he says. “Your assignment is to find out where the dome’s generator is located. Rent a penthouse in the City. I need you to be as close as possible to the Military Command Center. Julie, you’ll work as a secretary for the District and live at the boarding house in Druid Hills. It’s owned by distant relatives of Lavinia. Tell them you’re her daughter. They’ll believe you.”

  “What’s the District?”

  “The government. When the world ended, it was condensed to fit into a single building. The President, Congress, Supreme Court—everything is at the District, which makes it a perfect target. Apply for a job. You’ll get one. Keep your ears and eyes open, relay all information back to us, and when the time comes, you’ll bomb the District. Once their political system and military are gone, and the domes are in our control, the invasion will be over.”

  “What about my parents? If they aren’t dead, the Feds have them locked away somewhere.”

  “We’ll find them,” Jack says, “once the mission is complete.”

  Electricity hisses. The lightbulb dims before brightening into a ball of fire that washes the cellar with fiery radiance. Shadows sink into oblivion, revealing mounds of debris and moldy canisters. Jack and I will do the same, won’t we? We’ll be the grand revealers.

  “You can’t break character. No one must know your true identities. Don’t talk about yourselves. Don’t have personal relations with anyone who isn’t essential to your mission. And there is to be no physical contact between you of any sort unless vital to your survival.”

  Jack laughs.

  “I mean it. The only time you’re allowed to touch her, Jack, is when you give her transfusions and even then, you’re exclusively allowed to hold her arm when you stick the needle into her vein. Understand? There are eyes everywhere.”

  “Then where are we supposed to do the transfusions?”

  “I’ll think of a place,” Colonel Buchanan says. “Play the parts of brother and sister. Keep in contact with one another. Meet for dinner, go to parties. Blend with the environment.”

  “Who’ll take care of my dog while I’m gone?”

  “That big guy with the bald head will take care of your dog.”

  Jack sighs and paces the room. After his third loop around the table, he plops onto a stool. “Okay. I’ll be your spy and mobile blood bank even though I’m still not sure why I’m following your orders.”

  “Good. I’ll create some pamphlets that list various addresses and important information. You’ll need to
be taught about the Pureblood’s customs, speech habits, mannerisms, style, the layout of the City and available transportation.” Colonel Buchanan props his elbows on a stack of maps. “You haven’t said much, Julie. Are you willing to do this?”

  Willing to live a dangerous lie for two months? Willing to be alone in a metropolis, surrounded by aliens who want to destroy my race? Willing to see the things I haven’t wanted to see?

  Mom and Dad would want me to let someone else play espionage, but this is the chance I need to reclaim my life, finish Jon’s fight. If I succeed, they’ll live, and I will, too. Stakes are high, but my hope is higher. I’ll cast the dice and play my hand.

  “Yes,” I say. “I’m willing.”

  The next few days are spent in the cellar with Jack and his dad. We’re taught proper etiquette, common speech habits, and are forced to memorize our profiles, maps of the City. On the second day of training, Colonel Buchanan cuts my hair with a pair of shears and attempts to apply makeup to my face. He revises my mature, rugged reflection and transforms me into someone pretty and innocent, vibrant with youth—everything I once hated about myself but now find to be a paean to the past.

  I helped make a door to a new beginning.

  Now it’s time for me to walk through and begin.

  ****

  “Don’t be calm for my sake.” Jack drums his fingers on the steering wheel and tugs at his vintage tie. Sweat beads on his smooth cheeks, enhancing the evergreen scent of his aftershave. “Let’s talk. Being quiet … it’s freaking me out.” He leans over to inspect the blood bag dangling from the BMW’s dashboard, the tube attached to my forearm.

  “Stop fiddling with the bag. I’m being transfused just fine.” I shoo away his hands and squint when golden sunlight blasts through the windshield. It saturates my silk dress and curly hair, acts as a spotlight drawing my reflection to the rearview mirror—red lips and bright eyes, bleached teeth that shimmer stark. “We’ve memorized our roles. What’s there to talk about?”