by R. T. Lowe
They stood at the summit of the tallest hill near the mouth of the valley some two or three miles from the colony. Unclasping their hands, they stared out numbly, watching the world burn.
“I never thought he’d do something like, like… this,” Zara said, her face streaked with fresh tears.
Lofton’s ‘perfect world’, Kayla thought, the anger inside her as hot and roiling as the sea of fire incinerating the land. She turned to Zara, biting back her anger. “Don’t you get it? This is only the beginning.”
Chapter 19
THE PUNISHER
Felix’s experiences since enrolling at PC had led him to believe he was desensitized to images of violence and death. After all, what could be worse than the things he had personally witnessed? But as he stared at the horrifying pictures and clips on his phone, he realized how wrong he had been. The footage of fields and vast open spaces buried in sheets of fire and buildings reduced to blackened shells reminded him of his high school history teacher’s Vietnam War videos. The article on CNN said the New Government had taken ‘aggressive action’ against the Rejectionists, but didn’t specify which sites it had targeted.
“Try the channel eight website,” the only other person in the waiting room suggested.
“Huh?” Felix looked up at a matronly woman nodding at a monitor on her desk.
“Channel eight,” she repeated. Dean Borakslovic’s assistant sat in a cube outside the dean’s office. Felix had arrived over an hour ago and had only seen the dean for a few seconds when she’d poked her head out to tell her assistant she would need some time before her next appointment. The dean had been smiling at the time and Felix construed that as a good sign, but as the minutes ticked by and the news of the New Government’s attack on the Opposition sites flooded the Internet, he had to wonder if her happiness was in any way connected to the military strikes.
“Says they neutralized every site,” the woman added. “Wakatuk too.”
Wakatuk? Felix thought anxiously, realizing Kayla and Professor Malone were there. He a reached a hand into his backpack and found his burner phone, pulling the bag onto his lap so the dean’s assistant couldn’t see what he was doing. There was a text from Kayla: “we’re alive. unhurt. need to meet. be in touch.”
“Send him in,” a voice called out and Felix dropped his backpack between his legs, feeling guilty.
The assistant looked over at Felix and shifted her eyes pointedly to the dean’s closed door, giving him a sorrowful smile. Now that wasn’t a good sign, he thought. When he reached the door, she said, “Go ahead,” and he let himself in.
Portland College’s Dean of Students was seated at a glass-topped desk, her hands folded in front of her, her eyes fixed on a TV sized monitor that sat on a corner of the desk. She fluttered her reedy fingers at a black chair with chrome armrests and Felix took a seat, setting his jacket on top of his backpack. As the dean appeared to be in no great hurry, Felix glanced around the large corner office. The windows looked upon the roofs of the health center and some administrative buildings Felix had never visited, and then The Yard and all the buildings from the library and the Student Center to the Old Campus and Stubbins Stadium in the far distance. Another of the black and chrome chairs was perched behind her and Felix imagined the dean sitting there, observing, taking stock of her kingdom.
The dean was smiling, her eyes still on the monitor. Felix leaned a bit forward to see what she was watching. He could just make out what appeared to be a wildfire.
“Serves them right, don’t you think?” the dean said, finally acknowledging his presence. “Possessing a firearm or knowingly associating with someone possessing a firearm is a capital offense. The law is clear, clear as crystal. Reckless disregard for the law cannot be tolerated in a civilized society. They were provided ample opportunity to turn over their weapons and return to their homes—more time than they deserved—and they chose civil disobedience instead. They made their choice, and I think the country will be better for it. We are safer today than we were yesterday, wouldn’t you agree?”
Felix’s eyes flitted to the tiger tattoo on her arm. She followed his gaze and smiled at him, a big toothy grin that appeared oversized in her gaunt face. The shine in her eyes, the glint of victory—ecstasy?—reminded him of the Numbered Ones, of hungry predators relishing the moment just before they feed on their prey.
“A lot of people died,” Felix said.
“People?” the dean echoed disparagingly, looking down her thin nose at him. “Rejectionists, Mr. August.”
“They’re still people,” Felix insisted, knowing he should probably bite his tongue. He didn’t know why he was here, but getting into an argument with Borakslovic wasn’t going to help his cause. This was the first time he’d been in the same room with her since freshman orientation, and if he could avoid another meeting, it’d be fine with him.
The dean’s lips curled downward in distaste and she rubbed her nails over the tattoo. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” Her eyes paused on Felix’s bare forearms. “The Rejectionists are the last vestige of the Old Government, the same people who wouldn’t accept the incontrovertible logic that we are a society, not a collection of individuals living in silos. Personal rights have consequences, and that is why the New Government has abolished those that are outdated and unnecessary and cause more damage than was ever thought possible when the founding fathers adopted them. Laws and rights must evolve to address the needs of a changing society.” She turned and pointed toward the buildings bordering the north side of The Yard. “Do you see the LaPine Building there? Never again will armed men storm this campus and attempt to massacre my students. Not that it involved you in any way, as I imagine you were sleeping off a hangover while your classmates feared for their lives. The New Government is making this country safe again, and if the Rejectionists stand in our way, well…” She smiled, her eyes moving to the monitor. “I suspect they will act less boldly in the future. I’ve always thought the best lessons in life are the harshest. Those are the ones that stick with you.”
Felix’s fingers began to tingle. Sleeping off a hangover? Yeah, that’s what I was doing. He watched her, feeling his face grow warm, wondering how anyone could be pleased about so many people dying such awful deaths. He slid his fingers under his butt, trapping them, and trying to banish an image of the dean’s body shattering the window behind her and splattering on the sidewalk. He knew he had to be very careful. The distance between wanting something to happen and making it happen was very short (and very slippery).
“Do you know Amber McSweeney?” the dean asked abruptly.
“Amber who?” Felix replied, caught off balance by the question. He knew an ‘Amber’, but he didn’t know her last name.
“Don’t play games with me, Mr. August,” she snapped. Her spine went rigid, her expression hard. “I have sat in this chair for a very long time and I will not be lied to, especially by some smug football player who thinks he’s entitled to do as he pleases simply because he’s less concerned about concussing himself than the rest of his peers.”
Felix’s mouth felt dry and leathery as he thought back to his few run-ins with Amber. “I know a girl named Amber,” he admitted, “but she’s not a friend or anything.”
“I should say not!” the dean hissed.
“Look,” Felix sputtered, “I don’t know what—”
“Did you see Amber recently at a party at Astoria Hall?”
“See her?” He remembered their encounter in the lobby. He pushed his way out of the building after telling her he wouldn’t have sex with her. She reacted like a crazy person and screamed obscenities at him. “Yeah, I guess.”
“You guess?” the dean replied derisively. “Did you see her or not?” Her mouth remained nearly closed as she asked the question.
Felix paused, not liking the direction this was going. “Yeah, I saw her in the lobby for like a minute.”
The dean smiled, showing no teeth. “Did you put your ha
nds on her?”
“What?” Felix said, startled.
“Answer the question, Mr. August! Did you or did you not put your hands on Ms. McSweeney?” She leaned across the desk, the glasses dangling from the chain around her wrinkled neck swinging back and forth, brushing over her bony hands.
“No!” Felix exclaimed. “I didn’t touch her! She got in my face and I told her to get away from me and then I left.”
“Oh?” the dean said skeptically. “Then how is it that Ms. McSweeney came across these bruises on her arms?” She flipped open a folder and brandished two sheets of computer paper by their corners, shaking them at him. They were photos—selfies—printed in color, the first of Amber from the waist up wearing a white tank top, a diamond shaped cell phone flash visible in the mirror. The second was a close up of her upper arms, the bruises striped and spaced closely together, resembling fingers that had squeezed hard into her flesh.
He stared at the pictures. The bruises looked real. He gasped and held it in, afraid to breathe, afraid to move, a thousand terrible thoughts racing through his panicked mind.
“Does that refresh your memory, Mr. August?” the dean demanded coldly, smiling at his bewilderment.
“I didn’t… do… that wasn’t…” Felix stammered out. In the lobby that night, he had kept her away by placing his hands on her arms. Could he have bruised her? There was no way he could have hurt her, right? He might have brushed by her, but that was only because she was barring his exit and trying to convince him to go to her room. She wouldn’t let him leave so what was he supposed to do? But he’d just pushed her, and he’d done it gently, or so he’d thought.
“According to Ms. McSweeney, there are other bruises on her body she was too embarrassed to photograph, but I do not doubt her veracity.”
“Other bruises?” Felix exclaimed. “She’s lying! She wanted to have sex with me and I told her to get away! I got out of the dorm and she screamed at me. She said she was going to make me pay! She said that! I swear! This is a… a set up. She’s trying to get me in trouble because I wouldn’t sleep with her. There’s something wrong with her! Why isn’t she in here? I didn’t do anything!”
The dean settled back in her chair and leveled a doubtful look at Felix, shaking her head, brows arched in feigned dismay. “I very much doubt that Ms. McSweeney would act in such a lascivious manner, and I know for a fact she is highly thought of among faculty and student leaders.” Her gaze fell languidly to her tattoo. “I would never question Ms. McSweeney’s commitment to our school and our country.”
“Because she’s ERA and I’m not?” Felix shouted, a simmering anger flaring in his gut, flooding through him, his fingers tingling with energy. “That’s why you believe her? Is that what this is about?”
The dean frowned theatrically at the photos and tapped them with her finger. “No, no, no, Mr. August. This is about your complete disregard for the safety and welfare of your fellow students. This is about you thinking you’re above the rules. Normally, in matters such as this, I would initiate a student conduct hearing and appoint an independent officer to consider the evidence, take statements and hold a trial. However, your failure to abide by the Student Code of Conduct is so self-evident and indefensible I don’t think a hearing will be necessary. Therefore, I am hereby putting you on formal notice that my office has determined you have engaged in sexual misconduct, endangered another’s health and safety, and committed an act of physical injury. Three separate violations of the Student Code of Conduct, Mr. August, all punishable by expulsion.” She smiled at him, eyes gleaming.
Expulsion? She can’t expel me. I didn’t do anything! He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. No more living in Downey with Lucas. No more nights hanging out with Harper and Caitlin. No more parties or study sessions in Woodrow’s or long evenings at the Caffeine Hut laughing with his friends. Allison, he knew, would always be there for him, but it wouldn’t be here. Without PC, he wouldn’t be able to postpone his decision. School, for Felix, was like a buffer from the pressures and realities of the outside world. While he was on campus, going to class and busying himself with the things all students do, he felt like he didn’t have to make a decision, like he somehow controlled the timetable. He was a student, still a kid, still expected to be irresponsible and to operate on a different plane than adults. He hadn’t even seriously considered bringing the Journal to Lofton. He’d just put off Lofton’s request, consciously blocking it out until he had stopped thinking about it altogether. Maybe some people would consider not doing anything at all the same thing as making a decision, but that wasn’t the case. Not asking Bill for the Journal didn’t mean he was ready to join the Order, it just meant he hadn’t committed to joining Lofton. He was still committed to not committing. But if Borakslovic expelled him and he lost the buffer of college, he’d be forced to face the real world, and he wasn’t ready for the real world and life without PC. He didn’t want to give up everything he loved, and he wasn’t ready to choose sides. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t know who’d made the bruises on Amber’s arms, but it wasn’t him. For all he knew, she’d done it to herself.
He looked up at the dean. She was watching him with eager, predatory eyes, enjoying the pain she was causing. She was no better than the Faceman, he realized, another psychopath who reveled in the anguish he inflicted on others. He’d killed the Faceman, ended his reign of terror, and the world was better for it. Borakslovic presented herself as an advocate for the students and PC’s educational mission, but she was a tyrant and a sadist. Wouldn’t the world be better off without her too?
Felix placed his hands on his thighs, fingers twitching as his eyes moved to Borakslovic’s chest. Her breaths were shallow and quick, bird-like, excited at playing the role of executioner. He thought about her heart, imagining the muscle pumping away like a piston, a machine that worked tirelessly, beat after beat, circulating the blood through her frail body. Pistons, like all machines, don’t last forever. What if he reached out with his mind and squeezed her heart until it was crushed and pulpy and broken? Would that be such a terrible thing? Would anyone really miss her? He felt his mind drifting toward her, reaching out for her heart.
Stop! he told himself, yanking his head to the side and squeezing his eyes shut, trying to turn off his mind.
Borakslovic said something to him, but the blood hammering in his ears drowned out her voice, reducing it to background noise. Calm down, he said to himself. Just breathe. Don’t listen to her. He opened his eyes and Agatha Pierre-Croix was staring back at him. He blinked at the sight of PC’s first president, startled. Set within a tall bookcase, he hadn’t noticed the Founder’s Photo when he’d entered the room. Sophia had told him the original was in the dean’s office, and here it was, and much larger than he’d expected. Agatha posed for the portrait between the other founders, Constance and Lucinda, and he felt the little hairs on his neck stand on end. The artist had captured their expressions in such a way that Felix half-expected them to start talking. His gaze settled on Agatha’s eyes, studying their depth and clarity… and something else. One eye was opened wide and smiling and the other was slightly narrowed, as if a part of her was holding something back, a secret, one she’d held onto for centuries, waiting to reveal it to… to who? Him? Or was it—?
Borakslovic was snapping her fingers in his face to get his attention.
Felix turned to her, his mind swimming in confusion.
“I’m not sure why this should come as such a shock,” she said haughtily. “For every action there is a consequence. Perhaps something will be learned from this lesson if you accept it with grace, though I doubt grace is in your DNA. In any event, I will issue a formal declaration of misconduct shortly. In the meantime, you’re free to attend class and enjoy all the privileges of being a student at PC. I suggest you appreciate your time here while it lasts.”
She smiled to ensure her meaning wasn’t lost on him.
Felix felt like the floor, and the world beneath it, wa
s falling out from under him.
Chapter 20
CONTENT MANAGERS
Graham sat at the table in Mr. Pitlock’s office, trying to hide his nerves, reminding himself that he was the producer of The Nation with Connie Redgrave. He belonged here, though he’d had the good sense to remain quiet and allow Connie and Mr. Pitlock to do the talking on behalf of the station.
“The fact is,” the deputy mayor said, wagging a finger at Connie, “you’ve been referring to the Rejectionists as Oppositionists from the beginning. You’re using the terms interchangeably, and that cannot happen on tonight’s show.”
Connie, sitting across from her, arched an eyebrow, her voice smooth and controlled, as always. “Is the mayor’s office in charge of content now, Denise? Why don’t you submit a script and then I’ll hand it to a monkey who’ll communicate it to the public. Or better yet—why don’t you come on set and do it yourself?”
“That’s not fair Connie and you know it!” Denise shouted, looking imploringly to Dirk Rathman to say something in support of her position. “We’ve given you the lion’s share of exclusives so I don’t think a little quid pro quo is too much to ask. We made sure you had all the facts on the suppression strikes before anyone else and all we’re asking in return is that you stop referring to these people as ‘Oppositionists.’”
“Alright then.” Mr. Pitlock held out his hands in a gesture of let’s stay calm everyone. The president of Channel 8 had taken the seat at the head of the table between Connie and Denise, a position he’d gravitated to after their first meeting a few weeks back devolved into a shouting match over media independence and civic accountability. “We appreciate the information we receive from the mayor’s office, and it’s obviously a line of communication we’d like to keep open. That said, while we understand why the New Government prefers to lump anyone who disagrees with its policies as Rejectionists, we don’t believe it accurately reflects the disparate philosophies of those who have a gripe against the ERA.”
