by Tessa Clare
“I know April is on the run,” Finn says solemnly. “Everyone at the Divinity Bureau does. And they’re coming after her with a vengeance. They’re worried that she might try to bring the bureau down.”
I don’t doubt that she will.
“They’ll never find her,” I say. “She’s got a new name and a new identity. Her phone line is disconnected. Her GPS is out. What else can they possibly look into?”
“BIONs?”
“She hasn’t been injected with any.”
It never occurred to me until that moment that BIONs are a computer. Computers can be hacked…
“They know where she’ll go,” Finn says, looking away.
I tilt my head in confusion, unable to believe that the bureau knows where she’s going to go. I don’t even know, and I know her better than anybody. But if there’s a place I imagine she’d go…
Oh no.
“Do they have a location on Macy McIntyre?”
Finn gives me a solemn look. “Yes.”
I turn white. “I need to get back to my Mobiroid.”
April is in danger. I can’t even think.
“You can’t call her to warn her,” Finn says. “Her line is disconnected.”
April is in danger.
“Do you have an address for Macy?”
“Well, yeah, I do, but – wait, where are you going?”
“I need you to drive me back to my car!”
I remember when April told me that I’d always be a hero to her. Now, it’s time I do something to save the day.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
APRIL
T he most difficult change isn’t the fact that I had to leave my old life behind – and don’t get me wrong, that part’s hard. I can feel the absence of my loved ones like a physical ache in my body, but it was like severing an infected leg before it killed me. As I watch the outline of District 200 disappear in my rear-view mirror, I feel the loss of everything I’m leaving behind; but a part of me is excited for the opportunity to build a new life. The road trip is an adventure. I’m driving for the first time in a long while, stopping in road side diners, chatting with the wait staff, and buying an occasional souvenir. It isn’t until a man walks up to me at a restaurant and asks if I’m “the girl that did that speech in front of the bureau” that I realize that I’m going to need to make another change. That brings me to the most difficult change: my hair.
I pick up a pair of scissors and a box of hair dye from the closest truck stop, and then I book a motel room under my new name and head straight to the bathroom. As I prepare to unwrap the scissors from its wrap, I glance at the mirror.
Standing in front of the mirror is April McIntyre. April McIntyre is a brunette with wavy hair, twenty years old, an Aries, the eldest daughter in the McIntyre family, the older sister of Autumn, and the girlfriend of Roman Irvine (or, ex-girlfriend now). I have flaws: I’m moody, stubborn, impulsive, and a little arrogant. But I’m strong and fierce – even to the point that I had started a movement. Sure, it’s small. It’ll likely get squashed with my absence. But for the first time in my life, I’ve managed to inspire a group of people. I may not be perfect, but I like the person that I had been on the verge of becoming. Because of Divinity Bureau, I’m forced to give up being that person. I pace the bathroom for a few minutes. As I do, I start second-guessing my decision to throw away my Mobiroid. But I soon talk myself into doing what I need to do. When I emerge from the bathroom, I’m Elisa Meeks: 127 years-old, blonde, and a Cancer. I have no idea who I am, and I realize that losing myself hurt far more than losing the people that I love.
I spend the next few days driving to the address Leonard gave me. Traffic is stop-and-go throughout the way. When I finally make it, I find myself standing in front of a looming tower that overlooks the city. That’s when fear threatens to overtake me.
I wonder what my mother’s reaction will be. Surely, she’ll be disappointed to know that she’s the parent of a fugitive. Would she blame me? Would the disappointment be so intense that she won’t want anything to do with me? I hope that won’t be the case. I don’t have anyone else to turn to in this new life.
I pace the halls for what turns out to be an emotionally grueling fifteen minutes. I watch as people come and flitter through the halls, eying me as though I need help. By the time I garner the courage to knock on my mother’s door, the door to the apartment has swung open.
I stare at the person in front of me. “I…”
A young man stares at me back in confusion. “Can I help you, miss?”
“Yeah, I’m looking for my… friend,” I say slowly. “Is she here? Her name is Miranda Tonkin.”
The man shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know who that person is.”
I thank him for his time and walk out of the building with a heavy heart. How is this possible? I thought for certain that Leonard would know where she was! What do I do now? I’m in a different district with a name and identity that I can hardly remember. I don’t have a Mobiroid anymore; and even if I did, I don’t have any friends or family that I can contact. My mother is my last lifeline. I don’t know the first thing about being on the run or how even to function, but my mom has managed to evade capture for months. I’m going to need her if I want to survive.
With newfound determination, I check into a motel and spend my days on the internet in search of anything that relates to my mother. I find out that the original Miranda Tonkin is a stay-at-home mother with nine children, which reminds me why we have an overpopulation problem.
Two days after I check in, I pop into the rental office of the apartment complex. I ask the administrative assistant if she’s seen anyone by the name of Miranda Tonkin.
“Miranda Tonkin?” she asks, her eyes going wide. “Yeah, I recognize that name…”
Unfortunately, she’s not allowed to disclose any personal information.
I try again a few days later and get a different administrative assistant, who pretends that a person named Miranda Tonkin has never lived in the building. On the third visit, the office manager threatens to call the police on me. It’s around this time that the motel staff informs me that I’ve overstayed my welcome, explaining my room was booked by another guest. I take this as a sign that I should end my search.
I pack my bags with the intention of driving away as possible, but I don’t know where to go. Do I want to live my life as a fugitive? No, not at all. And I especially don’t want to live it on my own. At the last minute, while I’m passing the apartment building, I pay another visit to the rental office. I keep my fingers crossed that a different administrative assistant will be working. To my luck, a fidgeting young woman is sitting at the front desk when I walk in with a box I had taken from the dumpster and an idea.
“Excuse me,” I greet politely, causing the girl to nearly jump out of her seat. “I have a package for Miranda Tonkin, but the label doesn’t have an apartment number. Can you tell me where she lives?”
It’s a desperate plan, and it probably won’t work. I’m not even wearing a mail carrier uniform.
The girl’s attention piques. “Miranda? That name sounds familiar. Give me one second…” She turns to her computer to do a search, while I do my best to resist a smile. It appears that my plan may be working after all. “Miranda Tonkin. She doesn’t live here anymore. She broke her lease, so we’ve been having a dispute over her deposit. I guess that explains why the name sounds familiar.”
“Do you have a forwarding address?” I ask. “I’d like to get this package shipped off to her.”
“Oh, of course!” the girl exclaims. “Give me one second…”
It takes another two days of driving to reach my destination: District 190. The locals call it Fort Wayne. Having spent the last few weeks on the road, I was worried that it might be another dead end; but confidence strengthened when I was doing a routine search on the internet. I was stopped in a diner, and I found a review for a legal office in District 190. The review
was written by a woman that was going through a divorce. She raved about a legal assistant that consoled her when she broke down in the middle of a meeting: “Miranda Tonkin got me a cup of coffee and let me cry on her shoulder while I babbled on about my ex-husband and his new girlfriend. It was a small gesture, but it was much appreciated!”
I thought of my parents and their turbulent marriage. Any doubts that I was on the wrong path diminished from my mind. The drive to District 190 is long and muddled with traffic – but it’s not long enough. I pass the address that I was given – a blue townhouse on a busy intersection – but, wanting to avoid the disastrous scene from my first failed confrontation, I drive to the legal office where I had seen the review.
I wait in a parking garage for the day to pass. As I do, fear threatens to overtake me. I’ve been holding onto the hope that my mother would take me in – but what if she doesn’t? We weren’t close, but she was still my mother. And I don’t have anyone else.
I’m holding onto these thoughts when I find myself standing in a lobby at 4:30 in the afternoon. I watch as people come and go into the office. More people leave as the day progresses. It’s after an hour of waiting that a petite figure with brown hair and large grey eyes emerges from the elevator – and that’s when I knew I had found her.
My mother hasn’t changed much. Her hair is slightly shorter, but the biggest change is that she isn’t wearing a lot of makeup. I’ve spent twenty years living with her, so I know how my mother looks bare-faced – but most people don’t. Most people know Macy McIntyre to be polished, as one would expect the wife of a politician to be (I, of course, know differently). Here, she doesn’t have that expectation to live up to. I realize that this is likely the life my mother would have lead if she hadn’t met my father. Should I interfere? Would it be selfish?
Yes.
But I’ve come too far to give up now.
“Excuse me, uh, Miranda,” I call out.
My mother turns her head. “Yes?”
She doesn’t recognize me at first: I changed my hair and might have unwittingly changed my posture and attitude. I can no longer be April McIntyre. But she takes a few steps towards me; and as the seconds pass by, her eyes widen in realization.
We don’t say anything at first. No words need to be said, as I’m sure my mother can put two and two together. We’ve had an emotional fallout, and the first step is acknowledging that we’ll need to pick ourselves up again.
“Mom,” I whimper, my voice weak. “I’m sure you know why I’m here.”
I’m met with silence. She knows. How can she not? My face is plastered all over the news. I’m standing in front of her with a new hairstyle in a place far from home. But I know she never wanted this life for me. And I never wanted it for her.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe, tears trailing down my face. “I know you must be so disappointed in me. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have a fugitive for a daughter.” I bite my lip, unable to look at her in the eye. “I know you tried so hard to keep me from this life, and I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! I should have listened to you…”
I don’t get the chance to say anything further before I’m pulled into a crushing hug.
“I missed you,” my mother whispers. Tears are staining my sweatshirt.
“I missed you, too,” I say. I bury my face in her shirt. “I’m sorry,” I say again because I’m not sure if saying it enough times will make it any better. “It’s all my fault. I got us into this mess.”
“You didn’t,” my mother whispers. “Even if you did, it doesn’t matter. I’d do it all over again.”
I’m brought back to my speech in front of the bureau: ‘We’re going to fight until we have a say in how we live and how we die!’ Despite the pain, I’m starting to think that moments like this are worth fighting for.
“You’re my daughter,” Macy whispers. “And I love you.” I feel her grip around me tighten. “I can’t believe you’re here!”
I smile. “We’re McIntyre’s. We’re willing to fight – even if it’s over stuff like security deposits.”
My mother takes me back to her townhouse. She’s renting a two-bedroom home, but one of the rooms has been converted into an office. She promises to turn it into a bedroom if I stay with her for a while. In the meantime, I’m stuck sleeping on the couch.
I learn about my mother’s new life. She decided to move to her hometown in District 100, though she struggled to find work. Unlike me, who made a significant cash withdrawal before leaving, my mother decided to start fresh. She withdrew enough to get by for a few months, but she left the rest to Autumn and me. She didn’t want anything to do with her old life, not even the money.
“I still missed you and Autumn, though,” she murmurs as we eat our dinner of Chinese take-out. “I thought of you two every day.”
Suddenly, my order of orange synthetic chicken feels stale in my mouth. I swallow, before I ask, “Then how come you weren’t planning on saying goodbye?”
My mother looks away. “It was hard. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you. I thought that by disappearing, I’d be saving you from the pain. I think I just made it worse, though.” She pauses as she takes a bite of food from her plate. “How did you do it?”
I think about the fact that I was so close to cutting ties with a note for Roman and realize that I’m a hypocrite.
“I just told them that it was something I had to do,” I admit sheepishly. “I didn’t want them to think that I abandoned them.”
“Did you and Autumn think I abandoned you?”
I bite my lip, realizing that there’s nothing I could have said that would alleviate the feelings of abandonment. “It might’ve crossed our minds.”
My mother stands up to clear the empty plates from the table. It’s an odd sight to watch, as we’re used to having a robot or maid do it for us.
“Poor Autumn,” my mother says remorsefully. “I hope Darcy is taking good care of her.”
“She is.”
“I know what it’s like to have abandonment issues,” Macy continues. “It only goes away with time. I know that you probably don’t fully trust me right now…” I look away, knowing that those words ring true. “But if we give it enough time, I’m sure you will. We have eternity, after all.”
Eternity.
My mother is implying that I’ll have BIONs injected in me to freeze my aging. Once that happens, I can technically live forever – especially if I play my cards right and avoid capture by the Bureau. But I’m not sure if this is the way I want to live my life.
I swallow. “It’s been a long day, so I’m going to hit the sheets. Can you please leave a spare key tomorrow? I need to go shopping.”
My mother smiles. “Of course.”
When I close my eyes, I expect to fall into a dreamless slumber. The last few weeks have taken its toll on me, and I’m exhausted – emotionally and physically. But I welcome the chance to have a fresh start. Everything in my life is changing, but I hope that it will be for the better. For the first time in my life, I can live a normal life.
The dreamless slumber never comes. Instead, all I can think about is the way Roman held onto me and the pained expression on his face as I let him go.
“I was never cut out for a normal life. Not since I was born with the McIntyre surname.”
“So, that's it? You're just going to run away and give up on us – because I hold you back?”
After hours of tossing and turning, I get up and grab a glass of water. I sleepily make my way into the kitchen, but I can’t find a light switch. I fumble around for a few minutes, but then I give up and navigate by feeling my way around. The soft glow of the streetlights keeps me from falling on my feet. I’m successful at finding a glass in the cupboard and turning on the faucet. As I sip on a glass of water, I notice that several figures are standing outside the house.
I frown. Well, that’s odd. Roman’s neighborhood has had its share of late-night congrega
tions, but I never expected it to be in my mother’s sleepy district. But this group isn’t like the rowdy hooligans of District 200. They’re huddled in a circle, and they’re whispering quietly amongst themselves. Then, abruptly, they turn around and start walking. They’re stealthy. Had I not been looking right at them, I would have missed them. But then I glance down the street: police cars. The group consists of uniformed officers – and they’re headed straight for the house!
I spill the glass of water onto the floor as I run towards my mother’s bedroom. I shake her awake. “Mom! Wake up!”
An eye slowly opens. “It’s still dark…”
“I think they found us.”
“Who did?”
I open my mouth to answer, but I don’t need to. My suspicions are confirmed by the incessant pounding on the front door: “Confederal District Police!”
She immediately jolts awake. “What’s going on?”
“Open the door. We have a warrant for the rest of Macy and April McIntyre.”
“It’s the Divinity Bureau!” I exclaim, too shocked and numb to think. I don’t want to die. I’ve barely lived! “What do we do?”
“You have ten seconds to open the door,” the voice calls out. “If the door isn’t open, we will be forced to kick it down.”
We sit there in silence, fear crippling us from any further movement.
10.
9.
8.
My mother’s eyes narrow. “Run.”
I don’t need to be told twice. By the time the door is knocked down, we are on our way towards the back door. “Put your hands in the air!” he orders, but we don’t listen. We run out the door faster than we can think.
We’re barefoot and unprotected from the autumn chill as we run through the garden and into the street. What will we do? Where can we run? As our legs push us forward, my mind is wondering what we’ll do next. We can’t stay here. But I can’t start over if we have nothing more than the clothes on my back.
