by Tessa Clare
“Probably, ‘Hey, ho, the Divinity Bureau has got to go,’” I say dryly.
I get a few raised eyebrows, but David and Amy abide by the girl’s request and open the window. As soon as the window pops open, the smell of polluted air comes in. I’m in the back, so it doesn’t affect me – but David wheezes out a cough. The sound of coughing is quickly drowned out by the sound of a voice over a microphone.
“… will not rest when the last Divinity Bureau chairman is dethroned. We will not rest when this building, this institution, and everything it stands for is demolished. No, we will rest when the government stops killing our loved ones in the name of the economy! We will rest on the day that we can stand forward and say, ‘No! I will not die for you!’”
Cheers from the crowd follow. I’m impressed by the speaker’s passion, and I nearly bring my hands together for a slow clap – until I hear my coworkers snickering.
“Oh my God, that’s so pathetic,” the dark haired girl remarks. “When the government stops killing our loved ones?”
“No kidding. They should all just move to a freaking third world country if they have a problem with the way the government works.”
I want to point out that neither of us has ever been outside of the Confederal Districts – namely because it’s forbidden – but I hold my tongue.
“Yeah. I heard Russia sterilizes all their women. Is that what they’d prefer?”
“They’re so stupid.”
I wish that I had the strength to point out the flaws of allowing a government to decide who lives and who dies. I wish that I could tell them that the system is corrupt and that the corruption is happening right under our noses. But courage abandons me at that moment.
Instead of saying anything, I return to my desk and continue working. I begin working on the ticket that Amy sent me, resenting the fact I’m indirectly sending millions of people to their deaths.
By four o’clock, I’m surprised that I haven’t heard from April. I’ve checked my Mobiroid several times to be sure; and each time, the lack of alerts astounds me.
She’s probably mad. I can’t blame her. She did drive a long way to see me; and I know I’d be unhappy if I’d been stood up.
ME: I’m sorry! I’ll make it up to you! I promise!
I’m about to put my Mobiroid on sleep mode when it vibrates:
APRIL: Dinner?
I let out a sigh of relief.
ME: Of course. Should I meet you at your place?
If I leave now, I should be able to beat rush hour traffic. But before I have the chance to map out my route, a text comes through.
APRIL: I’m in front of the bureau.
What?
Why is April in front of the bureau? It’s been nearly four hours since I canceled our lunch date, so she should’ve left a long time ago. Even if she did stay, everything within a quarter mile radius has been shut down due to the protests –
I have a momentary flashback of April holding a sign in front of the bureau all those months ago: No Justice in the Divinity Bureau. But surely, she wouldn’t be that careless? She hadn’t known that she had been on the bureau’s list, but she knows now. She surely couldn’t be foolish enough to bring attention to herself – especially right now, when the agency’s headquarters are swarming with chairmen and women. Then again, she is April McIntyre.
ME: I’m coming to get you.
I’m out of my chair before I can finish hitting “Send.” Finn gives me an odd look as I pass him in the hallway. I mutter an excuse about an emergency, which I doubt Finn believes – especially since I don’t even bother waiting for an elevator. I run down the stairs, and it takes every effort in my body to not trip over my own feet.
As soon as I’m past the swiveling doors, I’m greeted by the sight of a massive crowd in front of me; and for a moment, I lose my breath. No reporters are swarming around me, but the crowd of bodies hunched together is enough to overwhelm me.
It hits me that the crowd is all wearing facial masks, but I had left mine in my office. My eyes water. Pollutants infiltrate my lungs. I should run back and grab it – especially on a hot, humid day with high levels of pollution – but I need to find April first.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, making my way past a few shirtless men that are holding signs that say ‘I DESERVE TO LIVE.’ I push my way through the crowd, nudging anyone that gets in my way and perking up whenever I catch a sight of brunette hair. But most of the time, I’m slowing down to catch my breath.
It’s hopeless. I check my phone in hopes that I might have a text from April, but the lack of notifications is frightening. There are too many people, and April is probably wearing a facial mask. Even if I do manage to pull her out of the crowd, there’s no guarantee that she’ll heed my word. The only thing that I can do is hope that she’ll listen.
I find relief when I see a clearing. My nose, my chest, and my eyes hurt; but the momentary lack of sweaty bodies around me is what I need to breathe. The clearing itself is the parking lot of a convenience store. A middle-aged employee keeps trying to shoo them out; but whenever he turns his back, several people make their way back into the parking lot.
I contemplate on going into the store to buy a face mask when I see her: she’s standing on a curb with her brown hair pulled in a sideways braid. She’s wearing a mask, but I recognize the sign in her hand. ‘NO JUSTICE IN THE DIVINITY BUREAU,’ it reads. I didn’t realize that she’s kept it all these months. I push my way past the crowd. As soon as I’m close enough, I grab her arm. “What are you doing?”
Reflexively, April pulls her arm away; but her expression relaxes when she sees that it’s me. “What are you doing? I thought you were working!”
“We need to go,” I insist, tugging at her arm.
April doesn’t bulge. “Why?”
“Because the bureau is swarming with chairmen and women right now!” I say, exasperated that she doesn’t realize the danger of what she’s doing. “The last thing we need is for you to catch their attention!”
April pulls her arm out of my grasp, barely registering the fact that I said ‘we.’ I’d like to think that we’re in this together, but April doesn’t seem to notice this. “Well, maybe I want to catch their attention! If that’s what it takes to make a difference, then I’ll happily do it!”
“You can make a difference without drawing attention to yourself!”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong.”
I take a step back, unable to believe her words. I’m wrong? I’m the one that’s spent two years working for the Divinity Bureau! I’m the one that’s spent all these months working hard to keep her under the radar so that she can stay alive!
April is stubborn, but she doesn’t always listen to logic. She follows her heart, and I usually admire this about her – but right now, it’s infuriating.
“I see where you’re coming from,” April continues, her voice softening (probably taking notice of my shocked expression). “You work in IT. You’re used to fixing everything behind the scenes. The thing is, I’m not. The only thing I have is a poorly drawn sign, and I don’t want to live my life on the sidelines. Especially if there’s a chance that it might get cut short.”
“It won’t get cut short,” I insist. “That’s why I asked you to trust me.”
April touches my face, her hands brushing against the stubble on my chin. “I do trust you, Roman. I am confident that you’ll do everything you can to keep me safe. I just don’t trust that it will be enough.”
After months of putting in late nights and long hours – and possibly stunting my career growth – her words sting.
“The other day, you asked me to trust you,” says April, her voice low. “I need you to trust me, too.”
I stare back at her, unsure of what to say next. I trust her in most things. I trust her words and that she’d never lie to me. I trust that she’d never do anything to hurt me. I trust her with my heart. But April is too selfless to be trusted with her own life.<
br />
I don’t answer. Instead, I move my hand to stroke April’s cheek. She stares back at me with the gray eyes that I love so very much. I move the mask away from her face. Dirty air be damned, this love is the purest thing I’ve ever known – so I slide the mask off her face and press my lips to hers. I hope that my message comes through.
When she pulls away, a mischievous grin has crossed her face. I’m not sure if I like it.
“What?” I ask.
“I have a crazy idea. Can you hold my sign for a few minutes?”
I glance at her sign as though it’s poison. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“What if someone sees me?”
April rolls her eyes. “They won’t. It’s only for a few minutes – plus its way too crowded for anyone to see you.”
The idea of spending any more time in that sweaty, dirty crowd is unappealing. My chest is still sore from my last coughing fit. But before I can utter another word, April is shoving the sign into my left arm and pulling on my right.
“Excuse me, sorry!” April says, half-politely – a bit ironic, considering she’s practically shoving people out of her way. “Coming through! Excuse me…”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“You’ll see.”
She appears to be pulling me towards the bureau’s headquarters. As soon as I’m within the confines of the crowd, I start coughing again. The ache in my chest returns with a full vengeance.
April stops. “Why aren’t you wearing a mask?”
“I… couldn’t…” I attempt to speak, but my lungs are on fire.
“Here,” she murmurs. She pulls off her own mask and places it on my face.
As soon as it’s covering me, I gasp. “No, April! I can’t…”
She tugs on my arm again before I have the chance to protest. I’m finding that it’s easier for her to navigate through the crowd. April McIntyre gives off an aura of royalty, and people clear a pathway for her as soon as they see her coming. But the building comes into view, and my eyes dart through the crowd in search for a way out. The last thing I want is to associate myself with a group of protesters. But April’s grip on my arm is strong.
“You know, this trust thing doesn’t work if the other person is keeping secrets about what you’re being dragged into,” I say dryly.
She doesn’t answer. Upon a closer look, I realize that she’s holding her breath.
She stops in front of the staircase to the bureau’s headquarters. I recall seeing the man with the microphone standing on that stairway; but it’s empty right now, despite the dense crowd just a few feet away. The bureau’s headquarters is less than thirty feet away.
“This is a little too close for comfort,” I say, in another attempt to pull out of her grasp.
April takes a breath.
“It’ll only be for a few minutes,” she says, then she resumes holding her breath.
My eyes widen. “You’re just going to leave me here?”
April glances at the sign and back at me. She looks as though she’s contemplating on what she’s about to do, but she’s still not saying anything. Considering how well she’s been holding her breath, she must have the lungs of a fish. After a moment of contemplation, April gives me a half-shrug and disappears into the crowd. She holds out a finger. If she could talk, I imagine she’ll be reiterating that she’d only be gone for a few minutes. I want to know what her interpretation of a few minutes is.
I think about making small talk with the protesters that are standing near me. Most are conversing already. I overhear a man talking about superhero movies, and how an actor that was supposed to play the main character had been elected by the Bureau. “They’re already six months into filming! What are they going to do without him?”
I turn my head to remark; but as I do, I catch a glimpse of April walking up the stairs. I let out a breath of relief as soon as I see her face, but my relief disintegrates when I see that she’s walking towards the bureau’s headquarters.
‘What are you doing?’ I mentally scream at her. Standing feet away from the Bureau’s office is not the way to avoid bringing attention to oneself. As she makes her way to the top of the steps, I can see the faint outline of a wireless microphone in her hand. That is not a good sign.
I push my way through the crowd. “April! Don’t!”
The protesters immediately push me back. I don’t have the same power that April has.
“April!” I call out again, but she doesn’t hear me.
Instead, she brings the microphone to her mouth. I try to call her name again, but I’m drowned out by the sound of her voice: “Hello, Divinity Bureau!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
APRIL
I bring the microphone to my lips, a rush of fear and exhilaration coursing through my veins.
“Hello, Divinity Bureau!” I call out into the microphone. My voice sounds crystal clear, as though I’m merely having a conversation in a coffee shop with the crowd.
I stop when I hear my voice. My throat is dry; but considering I’m not wearing a face mask in the middle of a high-pollution and high-humidity day, that’s expected. But I’m loud and incredibly nervous. It doesn’t help that the crowd has immediately gone quiet. I clear my throat and try again.
“I understand that you have a few concerns about overpopulation,” I say. I try to sound calm, but I’ve never been good at hiding my emotions. “And you think that you can have some big meeting to fix it. Well, that’s fine and dandy – but we, the people, have a few things that you need to hear! So, listen up!”
I mentally rehearsed this speech while I was walking through the crowd with Roman. It sounded far differently in my head, but the crowd is erupting in applause. From the corner of my eye, I can see several people sticking their heads out of the bureau’s windows in curiosity. A smile crosses my face.
“You’re all probably wondering, who the hell is this brat that thinks she can stand around with a microphone and tell us what to do?” I continue. “My name is April McIntyre. I’m the daughter of Henrik McIntyre – who, one year and three months ago, you murdered.”
I’m not sure how relevant my dad’s name is nowadays; but apparently, it’s enough to keep the crowd’s attention. My eyes dart around the crowd, finding expressions of awe and curiosity. I catch a glimpse of Roman, standing in the front row with my handmade sign in his hands.
“You probably think that ‘murder’ is a strong word, and maybe it is. You call it an election, as though getting elected is an honor! But I’ve got news for you. At the end of the day, you’re still taking millions of lives. Whether or not you wrap it in a fancy title doesn’t change the fact that the names on your list are dying at your hands.”
I hear cheers from the audience, but I’m not paying attention to them. Instead, my eyes are on the employees that are crowded in front of the windows and staring at each other in confusion.
“You think you can have some fancy summit to decide how you want to play with our lives,” I continue. “You think that it’s all okay, as long as you’re doing it in the name of the greater good. Well, unfortunately, that’s not okay with us. If you think you can use the threat of the election to intimidate us, it’s not going to work.” I shake my head. “No, if we make it on that list, we’re not going to come quietly. We’re going to fight and claw our way out! And we’re going to fight until we have a say in how we live and how we die! If that doesn’t scare you, then let me remind you of this: when you have nothing left, you don’t have anything to lose.” I pause, turning my attention back to the audience. “Thank you.”
There’s more that I want to say, but the rest of my words leave me. Instead, I turn off the microphone. With shaky legs, I walk down the steps. As I do, the crowd cheers, oblivious to the tingling in my fingers and toes. I feel several pats on my back.
“Amazing speech!”
“That was incredible! That’ll show the Divinity Bureau who’s in ch
arge!”
“Miss McIntyre! My name is Sandra with the CBCN Morning News! Do you have a few minutes for a comment?”
I’m grinning from ear-to-ear, unable to believe that I’ve managed to pull this off. But I’m also a bit overwhelmed. I’ve been waiting for over a year to call the Divinity Bureau out without being sent to the psychiatric ward.
I find Roman and collapse into his arms. Coughs rack throughout my body, and I realize that I need a face mask. His arms wrap around me and encase me, patting me on my back as I cough out the pollutants in my lungs.
“I can’t…” I begin in between coughs. “I can’t believe I just did that.”
“I can,” Roman says sincerely.
My eyes start to water. “I guess I’ve always been a little crazy.”
Roman shakes his head. “You just inspired hundreds of people to stand up to a major government agency. I think that makes you a leader – a fearless one.”
I laugh in astonishment. I’ve never been described as fearless before. Usually, my parents would call me stupid when I’d do anything outside of the norm. Unfortunately, the laugh erupting through my chest brings me more pain.
“We need to get you some water,” Roman mutters, placing the mask back on my face. “And we need to pick up an extra cover.”
I nod, agreeing that he might be better off buying one than going back in the bureau’s headquarters right now.
“I still can’t believe I did that,” I exclaim, my heart beating erratically. But my moment of triumph is interrupted when I think about the future repercussions of my actions. “Oh my God, my mom is going to kill me.” I can already imagine my mother choking on a cigarette the moment she sees my face on the news. “Shit. Do you think this will affect her chances of getting the appeal?”
Roman falls silent. I suspect he knows the answer, and that I’m not going to like it.
