Rebels

by Jill Williamson

  The babies. Her water had broken! And it was way too early.

  “Hello?” Her breathing grew agitated as the fear settled over her. She was alone in the house. Everyone was still at the park. Should she move or sit down? She felt no pain and didn’t think she was in labor. But this wasn’t supposed to happen. She knew that much.

  She’d just have to go and fetch Ciddah. She took one step toward the door. Her pants clung to her legs, feeling thick and heavy. She pushed down her fear and inched her way to the door. She’d just about reached it when someone knocked.

  “Shaylinn? It’s Nash.”

  “Come in!” The door opened and she grabbed hold of the end of it to steady herself.

  Nash towered above her. She’d never been so close to him before, and he smelled like a garden. “Hey, I’m sorry about my mom.” He smiled down on her and his expression quickly faltered. “What’s wrong?”

  “I think my water broke.”

  “Water?” He glanced at the kitchen.

  “I think the babies are coming.”

  His eyes focused on hers, wide and bulging. “Now?”

  “Can you go and find Ciddah or one of the women from my village?”

  He stepped back, then forward again. “I don’t want to leave you here.”

  “Please hurry!”

  “Okay.” He backed out into the corridor. “I’ll be right back.” And he ran away.

  Shaylinn shuffled back to the kitchen, searching for a towel to clean up the mess she’d made. A small kitchen towel hung from the oven. She inched toward it, knowing it wasn’t nearly big enough.

  “I’ve never seen this happen,” Ciddah said, “but I believe you’ve experienced a premature rupture of the membranes.”

  Eww, Shaylinn thought. “What does that mean?”

  “That your water broke prematurely,” Ciddah said. “Most often, the water breaks at the end of the first stage of labor. Sometimes it breaks before a woman goes into labor. When this happens, most women will go into labor on their own within the next twenty-four hours. But if the water breaks before thirty-seven weeks, it’s called preterm premature rupture of membranes.”

  It was like she was reciting from a textbook she’d memorized. No wonder Mason liked her. “Is that bad?”

  “It can be. But for you, yes. It’s far too early for the babies to be born. They need more time.”

  Shaylinn’s chest burned. “Why did it happen? Did I do something wrong?”

  “Not necessarily. You’re having twins, and that can put more pressure on you. But so far, you’ve not gone into labor. But with your water having broken, the longer it takes for labor to start, the greater the chance of infection. So I’m putting you on bed rest. That means you stay in bed until the babies come.”

  To bed? “But that could be months!”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. But the babies will do better if their lungs have more time to grow before they’re born. I wish I had some steroids to help them grow faster or even antibiotics to prevent infections. I’d like you to last at least until thirty-four weeks.”

  “But that’s what you’ve always said. That’s February! I can’t stay in bed until then. That’s over four months away!” Why was this happening? What was she going to do?

  “I’m sorry, Shaylinn. If I could take you to the MC, I could do some tests and give you the right antibiotics. And steroids would help the babies grow faster.”

  “I don’t want to give my babies steroids. I want them to have the time they need.”

  “Then you need to stay in bed, Shaylinn. I’m sorry.”

  Shaylinn hugged herself. It was like she’d just been sent to prison. She was sorry too.

  CHAPTER

  20

  Eight weeks had passed since Omar had tried to take his life. Medic Cadell had taken Omar off the sedation at four weeks, but Omar had yet to wake up.

  Mason had kept busy. He’d spent the last two months helping his mother sew together a balloon made of bed sheets at her apartment. When they’d finished it, he’d spent almost all his credits on waterproofing spray. Then he needed to find a way to fill it with hot air. He’d been unable to find a way to build a burner, but he thought it might work to fill it with chimney smoke.

  So, as soon as it got dark one night, he snuck up to the roof of the steel plant in sector three with enough cement blocks to equal a man’s weight. He’d tried to fill the balloon, to test it. It had been working too. The blocks had lifted off the roof, but the fabric at the base of the balloon had caught fire, and he’d barely managed to get it put out without going up in flames with it.

  It was damaged now. His mother was working on sewing patches over all the burned spots. And Mason was working on a way to keep that from happening the next time around.

  “I’ve got an injured enforcer here,” the receptionist called.

  Enforcers were always priority patients in the GMC. “I’ll be right there.” Mason finished the blood draw he was taking from the man in bed seven, then jogged to the reception counter.

  She pointed to the enforcer, who was standing against the wall. “His name is Gryffel.”

  “Mr. Gryffel?” Mason said, looking toward the man. “Come on back.” The man followed Mason to station fourteen. “Have a seat on the table, if you don’t mind.”

  “I’d rather sit in the chair, thanks. It’s not a big deal. I’m only here because my captain insisted.”

  “The chair is fine,” Mason said. “What seems to be the problem?”

  Gryffel slumped into the chair and held up his right hand, which was already wrapped in gauze. “Stimming rebels, that’s what. Five of them jumped me in the bathroom, cut out my SimTag. But they didn’t get far.”

  Mason’s pulse rose. This must’ve been Lonn’s escape plan. And it sounded like it went badly. “Five of them? They were captured?”

  “Not at first. They knocked me out, see, so I didn’t know what happened until I came to and the guys on my squad filled me in. One of them took my clothes and somehow used my SimTag as his. Stuck it in a glove, so my squad told me.”

  Mason unwrapped the gauze from the cut, which was unnecessarily big and deep for simply removing a SimTag. “To what end? What did he try to do?” Mason knew, but he was hoping to learn that Lonn’s man had made it through.

  “He didn’t do anything, that’s the problem. It’s my squad’s job to inspect the trucks, and my job to do the back. One of his rebel buddies had sneaked into the back of an onion truck. So the shell who took my SimTag, he let the truck pass through, said the back was clear when it wasn’t.”

  An onion truck. “What happened?”

  “He got caught. I guess the trucks are inspected again before they go into the Midlands. And once they caught the guy, they used the cameras to trace the guy who took my tag. They’ve got them both in the RC now.”

  Mason cleaned out the cut, but it needed stitches. Even though Mason knew how, he’d have to call Cadell over to finish since only level six medics or higher were permitted to do any type of surgery. “But didn’t they see them attack you on the cameras?” Lonn didn’t have the ability to take over the cameras down here like Zane could in the Highlands and Midlands.

  “Naw, cuz I was in the bathroom.”

  “But aren’t there cameras in the bathrooms here?”

  “In the striker bathrooms, yeah. But not for reputables.”

  Mason called Cadell to sew up the wound, and when the medic finished and sent the enforcer on his way, he came over to where Mason was gathering materials to administer meds to the patient in bed four.

  “Did you hear what that was all about?” Cadell asked.

  “With the rebels, yes.”

  “I know it’s a hopeless cause, but I admire their spirit. The way the government lies to us, it’s not right. I fear I’ll die here with more questions than answers.”

  Mason had never heard Cadell say anything so subversive, but he’d worked with the man for over two months. He had no lov
e for their situation down here. Maybe it was time to sniff around to see whether or not Cadell could be of any help.

  Mason looked at the vial of meds in his hand. “You know, part of why I was liberated early was because I was looking for answers.”

  “What kind?”

  “Firstly, I was looking for a cure for the thin plague.”

  The medic snorted. “Well, there’s your first mistake. There is no cure.”

  “Perhaps not. But it all started with this.” Mason held up the vial. “Did you know there are stimulants in the meds?”

  Cadell looked skeptical. “Surely not. Why would there be?”

  “That’s what we wanted to know.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “Ciddah. The medic above me. She discovered it and had started compounding her own meds as a result. We had an idea to test the meds to find out what was in them. That’s what we were doing when the enforcers came for us. They arrived just as we were conducting the experiment, which leads me to believe that we were on the right track.”

  “What was this experiment of yours?”

  “We’d mixed a sample of my blood with Ciddah’s old meds to try and identify the stimulant.”

  “Now, why would you do that?”

  “Because Ciddah had found nothing when she tested her own blood. The theory was, perhaps the stimulant converted in some way when it reacted with the virus and that’s why Ciddah had been unable to isolate it. So we decided to test it on my blood, since I’m uninfected.”

  “Uninfected? How can anyone be uninfected?”

  “Because I’m an outsider. Safe Lands enforcers raided my village and took the young women into the harem.”

  “I’d heard there were fertility problems up there lately, but all we get is all hearsay from the newly liberated.”

  “I’d give more credit to hearsay than anything the task director general approves as news.”

  Cadell smiled ruefully. “Yes, I suppose there’s truth in that. So what about your medic friend? She down here too?”

  “No, she got away. Went to live with rebel ghosts in the Midlands.”

  “Too bad. I could use someone like her.” He waved his hands at Mason. “Not that you aren’t great, but it would be nice to have another surgeon.”

  Mason thought of Lonn then. He hoped Lonn wasn’t the second rebel who’d been caught. Cadell would love to meet him. Maybe he could get Lonn assigned here. Mason realized he had no idea where Lonn tasked.

  “I guess I don’t understand the point of your investigation,” Cadell said. “Even if you did learn something, what good would it do? We’re still here. They’re still there. We’re trapped in this place, slaves to a system that has been working for the past fifty-some years. You heard what happened to those rebels who tried to get out today. How can any machine so tightly oiled break down?”

  “Truth has a way of changing everything,” Mason said. “We must never give up hope that the truth can set us free.”

  “Yes, well, right now we have work to do. Give that man his meds, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  And Cadell walked away, leaving Mason wondering whether he’d found an ally in the man or not.

  Once his shift ended at the MC, Mason ran all the way to his mother’s apartment building in sector one, slipping every few steps on the icy sidewalks. The snow had come and with it a coldness that Mason’s striker coat didn’t ease much. But at least the coat was brown and not orange. Cadell had given him several pairs of scrubs to wear at the GMC, and Mason hadn’t worn his orange jumpsuit since. He doubted many people in sector one would like having a striker in their midst.

  His mother opened the door, and before he could speak, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “That’s what I came to find out.” He came inside the warm apartment and shrugged out of his coat.

  Lonn was there, sitting on the armchair in the living room.

  “Oh,” Mason said, “you’re okay.” He fought to catch his breath. “I heard about the mission. An enforcer came into the GMC today. The one who’d had his SimTag cut out.”

  “It’s awful,” Mother said, closing the door.

  “It was a setback, Tamera, but we can try again,” Lonn said.

  “How? Show Mason your neck. Show him.”

  Lonn and Mother stared at each other. Mason walked behind Lonn’s chair, and Lonn lifted the hair off the back of his neck.

  Mason leaned close and examined the red welt on his skin. “A SimTag?”

  “A SimTag. Our punishment for trying to escape,” Lonn said.

  “And everyone is to get one,” Mother said. “There will be no escaping now. I’m a doctor, and I wouldn’t dare try to cut a SimTag out from behind someone’s spine.”

  Mason couldn’t have imagined a bigger blow to their plans. To his plans. How was anyone going to ride in his balloon now? “When do we get them?”

  “Strikers in the car wash,” Lonn said. “Everyone else in their weekly medic appointments.”

  Within a week, the entire population of the Lowlands would have unremovable SimTags.

  But there was still one option. “Omar,” Mason said. “I bet they won’t administer new tags to coma patients until they’re released.”

  “But he’s unconscious,” Mother said. “What can he do?”

  “Nothing yet,” Mason said. “But when he wakes up, he can ride in my balloon.”

  Lonn’s jaw hardened.

  “You didn’t see the first one, but it lifted the cement block straight up into the air.” Until it caught fire.

  “No, I didn’t see it. No one did,” Lonn said.

  “Well, take my word for it. I don’t lie.”

  “That much is true,” Mother said.

  “Mother is patching it up now. I bet we could be ready by the end of next week,” Mason said.

  “You have one problem, boy,” Lonn said. “Omar is in a coma. What makes you so sure he’ll ever wake up?”

  “Richark,” Mother said.

  “I’m sorry, I’m just being honest here, because that’s what Mason likes.”

  “He might not wake up in a week, but he will wake up. And when he does, we’ll be ready.”

  Lonn looked to Mason’s mother. “What do you think?”

  “You already know what I think. I’ve told you all along not to doubt Mason. He’s very clever.”

  “Fine,” Lonn said. “We’ll try it your way. What have we got to lose?”

  “Thank you.” Mason couldn’t help it. He smiled so wide he chuckled. “It’ll work. You’ll see.”

  The next day was Saturday, and when Mason went through the car wash, the medic was waiting with a SimTag gun. It stung worse to get a SimTag in the back of the neck. As Mason sat to put on clean socks and shoes, the thought occurred to him that he would likely have this SimTag for the rest of his life, even if they escaped.

  That evening after his shift, Mason went to the G.I.N. store and bought a pencil and a blank card that had a picture of Joie Park on the front. He took it to the Get Out Now Diner and sat down to write Ciddah a letter that he would ask Omar to deliver.

  Ciddah,

  I hope this letter finds you well. You’ll be pleased to know that I have befriended Richark Lonn. He is a good man, and he is still running the rebellion even from here.

  No. It wouldn’t do to send his brother with a letter that divulged any information on the Lowland rebels, in case Omar were caught. He erased the last two sentences and tried to be more careful with his words.

  Ciddah,

  I hope this letter finds you well.

  Liberation is not death. We are in work camps. You’ll be pleased to know that I have befriended a certain medic. One whom we once researched together. He’s an interesting man. I’m also close to again donating my blood to a good cause.

  He wanted to tell her that the stimulant in her meds had been Xiaodrine, but he wasn’t sure how he could manage such a thing, so he ended the card with:r />
  I don’t know what the future holds, but I hope that you are part of it.

  Love,

  Mason

  CHAPTER

  21

  There. His eyes twitched.”

  “I didn’t see it.”

  “See that? Oh, yes. Here he comes.”

  Omar opened his eyes to bright light. Shut his eyes. Why was it so bright? Even with his eyes closed, the light made his eyelids red.

  “Omar? Are you there, brother?”

  Mason’s voice. How had Mason gotten into his bunk?

  Omar opened one eye, squinted it, then blinked rapidly to get used to the brightness.

  He wasn’t in his bunk at all. This looked like some sort of medical center. Sure enough, a medic was standing across the bed from Mason.

  Apparently he hadn’t died.

  “Wh . . . wha . . .” His voice didn’t work. He cleared his throat and tried again. This time his question came out in a whisper. “Where am I?”

  “In the Lowlands MC,” the medic said.

  “You OD’d,” Mason said.

  Why was it always Mason who delivered that news? It was so like his brother to rub it in.

  “Why’d you let me live?” Omar asked.

  “That kind of a question doesn’t deserve an answer,” Mason said.

  “I’ll leave you for now,” the medic said. “I’ll be back to check on you later.”

  “Can’t wait,” Omar said.

  “Yes, well. Good day.” And the medic left.

  “Don’t be rude, Omar,” Mason said. “That man saved your life.”

  “Not really. He only prolonged my death,” Omar said. Mason folded his arms and shot Omar a dirty look. Oh, he hadn’t liked that comment, huh? “You forgot I’m already dying, did you?”

  “Omar, I’m not here to talk about your death wishes. Whether or not you care, there have been some developments while you’ve been sleeping. I’d like to convey those to you.”

  Omar rubbed his eyes. “How long was I out?”

  “Ten weeks. The Lowlands have a forced detox program. You shouldn’t be craving stimulants anymore. Do you?”