About thirty years ago security fences became mandatory around all schools, policemen were stationed at every entrance, and metal detectors made going to class like passing through airport security. Students were stripped of all metal devices and had to check their coats and bags to be searched. They were only allowed to carry their books to and from class until the end of the day, when they were permitted to pick up their bags again. Ironically, this tightened security only made kids more creative. It became a challenge to smuggle guns into the schools. Shootings escalated.
School bombings also became more frequent in the news. One hundred and eighty students were killed when the south side of a high school was leveled in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I wasn’t born yet, but my mom remembered. More and more kids were pulled out of public schools and placed in private ones by their parents. Private schools couldn’t be built fast enough. Until those schools became the targets. In Milwaukee, Wisconsin, three private schools were bombed simultaneously. An instant attack, on March 3. People call this day in history 3-Day for the date—3/03. Three quickly became an unlucky number.
After 3-Day, my father began designing and implementing year-round digital school programs for all ages. He was a high school principal and also the best prosecuting lawyer in the state of Oregon (all principals needed a law degree at this point, since most of the disputes they resolved were of a criminal nature). My dad was head administrator at a high school where seven students were shot in the hallway outside of his office. He was the one who shot the student on a killing rampage. All principals carried guns at this point and were trained how to use them.
My dad couldn’t keep up with the number of parents enrolling their students in digital school. He resigned as principal to set up online curriculums for kindergarten through twelfth grade, as if he knew what was ahead. His program swept through the country like wildfire.
On March 28, eleven years ago, the largest attack to ever hit America actually hit the most vulnerable. The children. Seventeen elementary schools were bombed on that single day, all within the same hour, on all sides of the country. Ten thousand children died. In one single hour. Three thousand more were injured. Five hundred of those died in hospitals that didn’t have enough workers to aid all the victims. The attack was led by a radical group in America who called themselves the Spades. The Spades were famous for the violent riots they led against reproduction. They fought for sterilization to reduce the overpopulation of the planet. They rose to tenacious measures to get it.
When I left school on that day, March 28th, a piece of my life was stripped away. A part of my growth was stunted. A life ended forever, for everyone in my shoes. Some people say that until bomber babies have passed on and a new generation takes over that wasn’t a witness to those catastrophic events, everyone will suffer. The sun will refuse to shine its brightest and laughter will forever be muffled, as if the smoke from those bombs left a perpetual layer of soot over our souls for the lives robbed that day. A joy was stolen from every heart in the world.
The repercussion led to digital schools 1–4. Now there is no choice. Even going to a public tutoring session is new; this has only been approved in the last few years. It’s still banned in many states. A digital screen is like a bulletproof jacket. It isn’t porous like our skin. Nothing can leak through. So why meet face to face anymore? People are far too untrusting of one another. Far too unwilling to let go. Far too secure in the virtual worlds they’ve created in order to feel safe and hide from the pain.
Chapter Fifteen
Just as I was beginning to nod off on the cot, the driver pushed his chair back and stood up.
“It’s time to go,” he said. I nodded without a word and went into the bathroom to change. I wiped the dried blood off my forehead and a purple bruise stained my temple and the skin was swollen, but so was my heart and my mind and I didn’t have the energy to care. We walked upstairs as quietly as we came down. I followed him outside and waited while he pulled the car out of the garage and turned on the alarm system on the panel next to the door. I looked up at the pink sleepy sky beginning to wake up over the rooftops. The neighborhood was silent. Even the trees were still. I breathed in deeply. It smelled like my neighborhood. The turf and trees expelled a subtle plastic odor.
I slid inside the car and as we pulled away the driver spoke into his earpod, leaving me alone with my thoughts. My eyes ached for sleep but my mind was too overwhelmed. I looked out the window at the sky and watched it shift from pink to gray as we drove down an unending gated highway. The ten-foot concrete wall seldom offered relief or open space. Most highways had tall barriers running along either side so neighborhoods could be built right up against them. Land had become so valuable that some of the highways were constructed to rise above the city buildings. For all I knew we were driving over businesses right now. I watched signs of city names pass us by, all strange names I didn’t recognize.
My mind felt tinted like the car windows, dulling all my thoughts into a bleak gray. I had too much time to think the last few hours. Too much time to reflect, to doubt, to overanalyze. The journal in my purse felt as heavy as a brick resting on my lap. I looked down at it with frustration. What was the point of wasting my time remembering the past? I couldn’t change it, I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help it. My heart thudded hard in my chest and I blinked heavily out the window. I hated the world that passed by me and the people in it I couldn’t trust. I hated the unknown future in store.
Hours crawled by filled with empty thoughts. My eyes were open but I didn’t see. My body was intact but I didn’t feel whole. I was breathing, my heart was beating, but I didn’t feel alive.
Suddenly the driver interrupted my trance.
“We should be there in an hour,” he said. I didn’t bother asking where because I didn’t want to know what basement I’d be holed up in like a prisoner. I blinked out the front window. I didn’t feel like talking. I had become accustomed to the silence. My mouth felt sewn shut.
I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and continued to stare blankly ahead. I fell into a daydreaming haze again and didn’t come out of it until I felt the car slow down. I straightened up in my seat and watched as we pulled off the main road on to a residential street that dipped down a steep hill. I hardly noticed the sun had come out now that the thick marina fog had lifted. The sky was a crystal clear blue. When we came over the crest of the hill, in the distance below us was a blue, rippling horizon sparkling under the sunshine.
I stared at the expanse of ocean in front of us. The water stretched out into the distance until it held hands with the sky. As soon as I saw the curling ocean waves, glittering like thousands of diamonds in the sun’s rays, my spirits started to lift. The sight of the water has a strange way of cleansing your mind and making you feel new again, like it exfoliates the rough edges of your thoughts.
Before we reached the beach, we turned a corner and slowed down in front of a small, one-story brick house. When the car stopped, a tall presence suddenly appeared next to my door and I could feel my heart beating again when I realized who it was.
Justin opened my door as soon as we pulled to a stop. He grabbed my wrist to help me out and before I could stop myself I dropped into his arms, hugging him like I was embracing sunshine and love and happiness and all these things I was craving. I buried my head into his white cotton shirt, warm against his chest. I didn’t realize how much I needed to touch somebody. I took a deep breath and felt the hollowness inside of my chest slowly curl in on itself. It’s strange that a single person can be as nourishing, as necessary as food to make you feel alive.
He was tense, surprised by my forwardness. He didn’t wrap his arms around me, but he slowly rubbed his hands up and down my back to calm me down. I could feel tears of relief pool in the corners of my eyes. I took a long, shaky breath and he continued to rub my back and his voice was close and soothing.
“You’re safe, Maddie,” he said. “I won’t let anything happen to yo
u.”
He didn’t need to say it; I couldn’t feel safer anywhere else.
I pulled away and started to stumble backwards until he reached out to steady me. I pushed back my sweatshirt hood and felt dizzy, like the ground beneath me was moving. I pressed my fingers against my throbbing temple and winced from pushing too hard against the bruise.
He studied me and reached his hand out as if he was going to touch the tender spot on my forehead but then he dropped his hand.
“Are you all right?” he asked me. I nodded and told him I was fine. He continued to examine my face with a frown. I was too exhausted to care how disheveled I looked. “Didn’t you sleep?” he asked.
The sound of his voice and the attention of his eyes lifted me up and carried me back to my old self. To the best version of myself. The hole inside of me not only closed but changed into something altogether.
“Sleep?” I said. I put a finger up to my mouth to contemplate this bizarre idea. “Well, let’s think about that. In the past sixteen hours I’ve broken probation, been disowned by my family—and my dog,” I added to emphasize the drama. “I was kidnapped twice and held hostage in a place comparable to hell. That doesn’t really create a sleep-friendly environment.”
Justin watched me while the driver lifted a few bags out of the trunk.
“Leave it to you to be sarcastic right now,” he said.
I shrugged. “I think I’m just overtired.”
“You’ve got to be hungry,” he said, and grabbed one of the bags from the driver. He slung it over his shoulder and turned to grin at me. “How do you feel about pancakes?”
I followed him inside and prepared myself for more cots and windowless basements. When I walked in, real hardwood floors welcomed my feet. I stared down at the ground with fascination. I’d never seen hardwood floors before, since these days floors are made out of fireproof plastic. I bent down and rubbed my fingers against the scratches and dents and wondered where all the wear came from. The flaws gave the wood character, history of all the people that had been there. I took a step and the beams creaked under my feet. I walked back and forth along the creaky spots with amazement until I looked over and discovered Justin and the driver were studying me like I had gone temporarily insane.
The driver shook his head and walked down the hallway.
“You are overtired,” Justin pointed out, and followed behind him.
My eyes scanned the rest of the living room, full of hanging plants that were real and filled with air with an earthy scent. Two red armchairs sat on either side of an antique fireplace. The house had to be at least one hundred years old. They didn’t make fireplaces anymore; like our house they were all converted to digital images of a fire.
I followed the sound of voices and headed down the hallway into the kitchen. I heard Justin ask, “So, Eric, were there any problems with the interception?”
“Nah,” he said when I walked in, “other than her running for god-knows-where and biting me and kicking me in the goods.” He held up his index finger to show off the red teeth marks where I’d broken skin.
Justin laughed and I crossed my arms in front of my chest.
“I’m sorry about that,” I said. “I’m just not accustomed to being grabbed and thrown into a car against my will.”
“Maddie, I expected nothing less from you,” Justin said, and took some plates out of the cabinet. “What I want to know is how did you convince a cop to pull over? And don’t tell me you used the bathroom line.”
I gave him a hurt expression. “I can do better than that.”
“Exactly.”
I scooted a chair back from the kitchen table and sat down. “I pretended to be carsick.”
Justin and Eric both looked skeptically at me.
“I know Paul’s weakness—our families have always been friends. We used to get together for Easter every year when Paul and I were kids. One Easter, I think I was five, I inhaled a basket of Easter candy and then Paul and I went outside and jumped on the trampoline in his backyard.”
Eric winced at this.
“Yeah, trampolines and overeating don’t really go together. I threw up Easter candy all over him. It got in his hair, down his shirt.”
They both grimaced.
“He’s been pretty squeamish after that.”
Eric rolled his eyes. “Understandably.”
“Impressive,” Justin said.
“It got me out of the car, didn’t it?”
“No, I appreciate it,” Justin said. “We would have had to pull an airport escape and those can get tricky.”
Justin and Eric started talking details of the night while Justin pulled a bowl out of the fridge and heated a skillet on the oven. I watched him with amazement since I could count on one hand how many times I’d seen my mom cook in my life.
Eric broke down the interception chase by mile marker while I gazed around the kitchen. The primitive atmosphere still surprised me. Silver metal bowls and pots were piled on a wood shelf along one wall. A set of cups hung from small hooks under a row of cabinets above the countertop. I opened a small tin on the table and found sugar cubes inside. I popped one in my mouth and let it dissolve on my tongue. I couldn’t help but feel at home in such a rustic place.
Justin set a plate with two pancakes in front of me. I looked down at the round cakes with curiosity. I’d seen them in photographs before, but I’d never tried one. Justin and Eric sat down and I could feel them watching me. I looked at my silverware but shrugged, and tried rolling my pancake tightly into the shape of a fat cigar. I picked up the roll, starving, and took a huge bite. They both watched me, comically.
“What?” I asked with my mouth full. Suddenly my mouth went dry, drowning in a mouthful of dough. I grabbed a glass of orange juice on the table and tried to wash the soggy wad down. For how many times I’ve heard pancakes were a slice of heaven, I was disappointed to discover they had absolutely no flavor at all. What a letdown.
Eric laughed and Justin poured me another glass of juice. I drank it and felt the dough slide down my throat.
“What do you think?” Justin asked.
“It’s pretty bland,” I admitted. “It’s a little disappointing. I heard pancakes were these amazing, phenomenal—”
As I went to stick another bite in my mouth, Justin caught my hand in his.
“Oh,” I said, and set the pancake down. “Should I be using silverware?” He wrinkled his eyebrows and grinned at me while Eric laughed. I felt my face turn red from the attention.
“Would you just slow down? Here.” He handed me a bowl of strawberries, a bottle of something I didn’t recognize, and a stick of butter. I watched him scrap the butter onto his own plate, spoon strawberries on top, and finally drizzle gooey brown liquid from the bottle.
“What’s that?” I asked, and pointed at the liquid.
“Syrup—liquid sugar. You can’t beat it.” Justin licked some off his finger and then licked his lips with a smile. I mentally scolded myself for staring too long at his lips.
I followed Justin and Eric’s lead and decorated my pancakes with fruit and syrup. I used my fork this time to pick up a piece, melted with butter, dripping in syrup, and heaped with berries. The juicy, sweet dough floated in my mouth.
“Wow,” I swooned. “Now I can see why they’re famous.”
I was suddenly famished and devoured the rest of my breakfast. I noticed Justin had dark circles underneath his eyes and realized he must have been up all night directing interceptions. He and Eric continued to talk logistics and I found myself zoning out after my stomach was full. When they finally paused in conversation, I seized the opportunity. I set down my fork and crossed my arms.
“I think it’s my turn for questions.”
They both stared at me again, Justin with a hint of amusement.
“Not that I don’t appreciate all of this rescuing and cooking for me business, but you guys have yet to tell me exactly what’s going on.”
Justin loo
ked at me and waited. “There’s a lot going on,” he finally said.
I sighed. “For starters, where am I?”
Justin chewed on another bite of his breakfast. “Bayside.”
“Am I still in Oregon?”
“No,” he said. “You’re in California. Oregon’s not a good place for you right now. It won’t be for a while.”
I frowned. “Where’s Bayside?”
“A little north of San Francisco.”
I gasped. “Are we in Eden?” I whispered.
Justin shook his head and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “No.”
I glanced around the room again, disappointed. “Does anyone else live here?”
“We have a volunteer that stops by. She keeps food stocked and cleans up, but otherwise it’s just a safe house.”
“What do you do with people after you intercept them? Other than make them pancakes?”
“Every situation’s different,” he said. “But there are usually three scenarios. One, people can decide they don’t want to be rescued and turn themselves back in, although that’s never actually happened. Two, people agree to join our side, which happens most of the time. The cops have recruited most of our members for us. We just have Scott hack into their pickup list. It saves us a lot of work.”
“You should really send them a thank-you note,” I pointed out.
“I’ll get right on that,” he said.
“What do you do with people who don’t want to join your side or turn themselves back in?” I asked. I raised my eyebrows since I was especially interested in this scenario. Justin’s eyes met mine.
“We kill them,” he said.
I set my fork down and waited for him to smile or chuckle or at least say he was kidding but he stared back at me like he was serious.
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