by R. T. Lowe
“They probably think it’s a drill, just like we’d do at school. They’re waiting it out.” She glanced up at the skyline, eyes narrowing.
“How much blood can I have on my hands?” Felix asked, holding them to his face, realizing it was the same desperate plea he’d heard from Lofton just weeks before.
“Our hands,” Allison corrected, taking his arm and lacing her fingers through his. “This is our decision. Our choice. We’ll deal with the consequences together. We’ll get through it—together.”
His voice was thick with dismay when he finally replied, wishing the sirens would stop. He couldn’t think straight. “There’s no other way, is there?”
She shook her head, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks. “Make sure it’s quick. Don’t let them suffer.”
Felix gazed across the vast expanse of the substation, wondering how his life had led him here. Then he closed off those corridors in his mind and thought only of red, and of fire. He raised his right hand, feeling Allison squeezing his left as though she was telling him to pull the trigger, because that, after all, was what he was—a weapon.
Felix hesitated, blinking. “Would Bill be proud?”
“He, um, he would”—Allison appeared to struggle with the question—“he’d understand.”
“But would he be proud?” Felix demanded, his voice rising. “Would he be proud of me?”
“Yes.”
Felix closed his eyes, remembering the way Bill had appeared in death, sitting at his table, shirt bloodied, vacant eyes staring down at his lap. He had promised Bill he would make him proud. He had promised Bill’s father the people responsible would pay for what they had done to his son. Allison was right—in war, no one is neutral. Felix had made a decision. He had chosen his side. This was his path. This was his fate.
Felix opened his eyes and conjured a colossal wall of flame that towered over the tallest structure in the facility, and then, motioning with his hand, swept the flames across the substation, erasing it in a sea of fire. Pockets of white light flashed within the inferno, explosions that Felix knew were cars, the employees sitting inside them, waiting for the alarms to end so they could return to their cubes and offices. His eyes felt hot and tears spilled down his face, steaming in the frigid air.
Beneath them, the substation had vanished in the conflagration. Felix and Allison watched for a while, their faces reflecting the shimmering waves of fire, an entrancing vision of elemental annihilation, somehow beautiful in its pure and primal destructiveness. But under it all, they knew, were dozens of people—regular people who would never return to their homes and families.
“We should go,” Allison said gently, wiping at her eyes.
“I’m going to, um, I think”—Felix’s throat felt raw and it hurt to speak—“I’ll let it burn. I don’t want to see what’s… left.”
Hands still linked together, they turned and walked numbly through the clearing, stepping around the broken bodies of the Numbered Ones and into the woods. If there were more creatures in the forest, they didn’t show themselves, and Felix and Allison made their way to the dirt road and the van where three people stood out front, staring off at a sky that burned as bright as the midday sun, their faces flickering in light and shadow as if they were at a campfire.
“Get in!” Zara shouted when she saw them approaching, slipping behind the wheel. Malone opened the side door for Britt and she clambered up awkwardly then he waited for Felix and Allison, nodding with a small apologetic smile. They climbed in and took the same seats as before. Zara floored the accelerator and Malone settled in beside Britt, and together, they stared at their feet, riding in silence on the winding road.
Finally, Malone coughed into his fist. “Felix, I wanted to—” he began.
“Not a good idea!” Allison cut him off, raising a hand.
Malone nodded and looked down, hands folded contritely on his lap.
An alarm sounded inside the van and everyone flinched, staring around nervously at each other.
“Not up here,” Zara called back, wheeling the van through a sharp turn.
“It’s one of you.” Allison thrust her chin at Malone and Britt. “Sounds like an Amber alert.”
“Why are your phones on?” Zara demanded angrily.
Malone looked at Britt and they exchanged a puzzled look, then they reached in their pockets and retrieved their cell phones. They stared at the screens, squinting in confusion as their phones screeched their alarms: squaank! squaank! squaank!
Then it stopped and the screens went blank.
“Turn them off!” Zara shouted.
“Mine was off,” Malone replied firmly. “Still is.”
“Mine too,” Britt added.
Malone’s screen brightened, casting a yellow glow over his bearded face. His eyes widened and his mouth fell, the air whistling through his lips as he gasped. Britt leaned toward him, her eyes on Malone’s screen. She put a stunned hand to her mouth and whispered, “This isn’t possible. You can’t turn on a phone remotely.”
“What’s going on?” Zara shouted, twisting her neck.
Malone turned his gaze on Felix. “I just received a text from Lofton Ashfield. It says, ‘Hello Professor Malone, I hope you and your friends are feeling a sense of accomplishment, but before you gorge yourselves in a victory feast, you should know that in the days ahead, every media outlet in the country will report a far different state of events than what you believe just transpired. The substation you convinced my cousin to destroy wasn’t a substation at all, but a research and development site weeks removed from obtaining FDA approval on the Panacea Chip, a nanotechnology implant that would have saved millions of lives, a technological marvel with the potential to cure cancer. The public will learn that the Rejectionists bombed the facility, killing all forty-six employees, because of its fear of progress, technology and modern medicine. Please hand your phone to Felix. I have something he should see with his own eyes. You can watch it on Britt’s phone if you wish to see for yourself.’”
“Forty-six people,” Felix said, his insides turning to ice. He took the phone from Malone. “Forty-six people,” he repeated softly, feeling nauseous. “All for nothing. He set us up.” He turned to Allison, her eyes glowing softly green in the darkness. “It was too easy—you were right.”
The phone in Felix’s hand flickered and a woman’s voice burst from the speaker, talking in rapid utterances, as if she was excited or scared. On the screen, it appeared something was on fire—houses or buildings?—though it was difficult to discern because the camera was shaking and the picture kept blinking in and out. Is that what I just did? Felix wondered. How’d they get here so fast?
“Did she say Austin?” Britt asked Malone.
Felix raised his eyes, seeing that Malone and Britt were viewing the same images. “Austin? Austin who?”
“Austin, Texas,” Allison said. “That’s Austin.” She nodded at the screen. “Something happened.”
Austin, Texas? How could that be Austin, Texas?
The woman’s voice seemed to answer in reply, slower now, enunciating each word as though she was driving daggers into their hearts. “…confirming the earlier reports that it was in fact a nuclear device and that residents in surrounding areas are urged to evacuate as quickly as possible. I repeat, the government has confirmed the explosion of a nuclear device in Austin, Texas, and at this time, we can only assume the death toll is astronomical. The footage you’re viewing from Chopper Three shows the devastation in the city center, where, as you can see, nothing is standing. As previously reported, four Rejectionists are in custody and we are being told they have claimed responsibility for the attack. President Kanter will be addressing the nation at the top of the hour.”
The picture cut out and the screen went white. Words began to appear, flashing across the screen. “You can’t win, Felix. If you are not with the New Government, you are a Rejectionist, aligned with those responsible for detonating a nuclear weapon and d
estroying an entire city. I hope you now understand there is no limit to what I will do to achieve peace in our time. Tell your friends to go home and end this stupidity. I would prefer to spare Sourceror blood, but if you bring the fight to me, you will give me no choice but to fight back. You have made a grave error in judgment tonight, but you can still change your course. If you don’t, it will lead to war. Is that what you want, a war you can’t win?”
“A nuclear weapon?” Malone said softly. “Austin? How could he do this?”
“Oh my God,” Allison whispered hoarsely, cradling her head in her arms.
What have I done? Felix thought, remembering Kayla’s prophetic words. ‘Lofton breaks it, blames it on someone else, and promises to fix it.’ He stared down at his hands—his bloody hands. Why didn’t I see this coming? Forty-six people. A city in flames. What have I done?
The letters on the screen began to disaggregate and then the words broke apart and blended into the background until only one word remained, beating like a heart, growing with each pulse: “WAR. WAR. WAR. WAR…”
End of Book Three
To My Readers
If you would like to read the next installment, War Becomes Us, please sign up for my newsletter and you’ll be notified as soon as it’s available. Just type bit.ly/1Pgk3BJ into your browser and you’ll be asked for your email address. Simple as that.
On the subject of reviews, I’m somewhat tormented. Between the hours of 4AM and 6AM is when I write these books. I do it because I love it, but we all know that one-sided love affairs aren’t good for anyone. Leaving reviews is a pain. I get it—I really do. But you’re all I’ve got. Seriously. I don’t have a publisher, or an agent, and the utility of social media seems questionable unless you’re famous (which I’m not, in case you’ve confused me for someone else). What I do have, however, is you, and if you take a few minutes to write a quick review for Freshmen, Five Days in January and Tides of Winter, I’ll know I’m not alone in this crazy pursuit of mine. At the very least, I’ll feel better about what I’m doing when the alarm sounds at 3:55.
I honestly love hearing from you guys, so if you would like to chat, please shoot me an email at [email protected].
R.T. Lowe
January 2017
Newtown, CT
R.T. Lowe is the author of The Felix Chronicles: Freshmen (Book 1), Five Days in January (Book 2) and Tides of Winter (Book 3). R.T. is a graduate of Willamette University and Columbia Law School. Originally from Oregon, he now lives in Newtown, Connecticut with his wife and three kids.
