Children of the Uprising Collection

by Megan Lynch

  “With who? I thought Jude said it was Metrics.”

  “It’s a person associated with Metrics. A Tom Armistead.” Albert fished out a business card to make sure he had the name correct, then held it out to Bristol, who squinted at it. Albert quickly pocketed the card.

  “Shall I contact him?”

  Instead of answering Albert, Bristol addressed Jude. “John Armistead saved me right at the start of the relocation. I would have frozen to death in a walk-in freezer if it hadn’t been for him.”

  “Do you think there’s any connection?”

  “There aren’t that many last names anymore, since people started having just one child to carry the names on. It could be a coincidence, but I have to believe they at least know each other.”

  Jude nodded, and Albert looked impatient. “I’ll contact him for you then, Mr. Ray. Ask him to please thank his dear cousin for his help—”

  “If you could just give me his contact information, Jude and I will take it from there.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Ray, but I keep my clients’ information quite confidential.”

  “But he’s the artist,” said Jude. “Surely he’d be glad to hear from him if he’s buying his paintings.”

  Albert crossed his thin arms, interlacing one behind the other in a snakelike movement. “I do try not to make exceptions.”

  “Fine.” Bristol crossed the room and opened the door. “You’re fired.”

  Albert gaped momentarily, but quickly regained his composure. “Mr. Ray, that would be unwise. Your benefactor hired me to sell the art you create in his apartment. I suggest you discuss my policies and my employment with him.”

  “Oh, we can leave right now,” said Jude, almost chirping. “You don’t have to scare us with poverty. Bristol and I have been in worse spots.”

  “Ever slept in a tree, Al? We have.” Bristol clapped Jude vigorously on the shoulder. Jude squeezed his stomach muscles in so he wouldn’t fall forward. “Ever run from people who want you deported? Or dead? Ever have only one thing to lose? We’re not afraid of starting over. We’ve got more important fish to fry, if you know what I mean.”

  “Give us the card. It’ll be easier on you.”

  Albert reached inside his pocket and fingered the card. “Just because you’ve struggled doesn’t mean I haven’t. I’ve spent quite a bit of time on my business—”

  “Oh, for god’s sake, give me that.” Bristol reached for Albert’s pants pocket. Instead of protecting the card, Albert swooped his shoulders back and thrust his hips toward Bristol’s hands.

  “Artists,” said Albert breathlessly. “I suppose this kind of passion is the reason I got into this business in the first place.

  Jude turned away in disgust, not at the flirtatious comment, but at the willingness to give his fight up so easily. It truly was a wonder how the human species had survived since most of them weren’t nearly stubborn enough.

  If Bristol was embarrassed, he didn’t show it. He simply tucked the card inside his black hoodie and said, “Thank you, Albert. I promise I won’t reach out to him until my sister gets here.”

  “Oh?” said Albert, still clearly overwhelmed. “I didn’t realize you were expecting company.”

  “Any day now. My sister and a few friends. Jude called them with the address this morning.”

  “Where will they stay?”

  “This is a big place.”

  “Three bedrooms. Only one bathroom. Not ideal for guests. Maybe they should stay at the hostel you found when you arrived?”

  “Don’t worry, Bristol can paint with them around,” Jude said. “Our friends won’t affect your income.”

  “Famous last words,” said Albert. He looked distinctly annoyed that Jude was still in the room. “Well, I’ll pop by again tomorrow to check in, Mr. Ray. You’re sure you don’t want me to ask Armistead about the nature of his purchases?”

  “No, thank you. We’ll handle it from here.”

  “Cheers.”

  Albert slinked past Bristol to grab his messenger bag and leave. Once he was gone, they both examined the card. It said:

  TOM ARMISTEAD

  WATCH ID: 22591049

  “He’s a Two,” Bristol noted, tapping the first digit of the ID. “So was John. Most Twos do work for Metrics.”

  “Yeah, my parents did.” Jude left out the part that he’d always assumed he would too, though he’d been afraid, terribly afraid, that his job assignment would have a title that implied low responsibility. Research associate, maybe, or operations coordinator. “Do you think Metrics is really buying your paintings?”

  “I have an inkling they are.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Because they’re trying to convince the world that they’re not as bad as we know they are. They want people, especially people in the UK, to think that they’re open minded enough to take us back. Did you see the news today?”

  Jude nodded. The United States had hinted that they were willing to give up their nuclear program in exchange for security guarantees. And, of course, their escaped citizens back, so they could be brought to “justice.”

  “I do have a few questions I want to ask him,” said Bristol, fingering the card, “but I need to talk to the girls.”

  Jude nodded. The last part was obvious. Things tended to go very badly when they didn’t include the girls.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Samara was dropping off her last package when Jude and Bristol arrived. She’d gone back to working and was surprised at how much she liked it now. Before, not having access to information that could help them or anyone to talk with had been a burden. Now it was a benefit. She only concerned herself with the numbers on her little pager. Walk, walk, pick up, walk, walk, dump. Repeat. With the efficiencies that Denver had put into place, they were working eight-hour shifts instead of fourteen, but Samara could have done much more.

  She squinted at her beeper, though Denver had coded an algorithm into the system that prevented the floor staff from receiving orders past five, and it was 5:01. The end of the work day meant sifting through the news with Denver and taking notes on anything relevant, which would have been more than welcome a few weeks ago. Now she hoped for another set of numbers to pop up to give her a small task to do and grab that instant, though minuscule, sense of completion.

  She hung her apron and deposited her pager in the paint-chipped box hanging on the wall and went upstairs to do her nightly news shift. The younger boys, Cork and Henry, would do something useful while Taye made his rounds to the other warehouses in the area to make friends with whoever could obtain fake citizenship documents for them. She wanted to ask him if he’d had any luck yet, but she also never wanted to talk with any man ever again, so she figured that he’d tell her if he’d made any progress. He almost never spoke to her anymore, but today he made a beeline for her. She instinctively braced herself.

  “It’s okay,” he said, raising both hands. “I have good news. One, Denver and Jude both have fake passports now.”

  So they would travel back to the most dangerous country in the world as soon as they could get on a flight. Yeah. Great news. Still, it was a block heaved out of the way. She wanted to congratulate him, though she’d never doubted his smooth nature. Taye always got what he wanted.

  “Two, Bristol and Jude just pulled in. They’re taking us back to London with them tonight.”

  Samara raised her head and looked around. Bristol and Denver were locked in a hug with Jude standing by. As she looked, Taye smirked.

  She looked at him. “What?”

  “That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile since…you know. The first time in a while.”

  She hadn’t even noticed, but now that he’d mentioned it, her face did feel uncommonly light. “I’m glad they’re back. It’ll be good to get back to London and get on with what’s really important.”

  “What’s really important, Samara?”

  In her old life, Samara would have roll
ed her eyes at that, maybe jabbed at him a little. But she didn’t have time or interest for these games anymore. “What’s really important is getting our information back from America. Getting Denver and Jude over there, then back again as quick as possible.”

  “That’s important, yeah. But I know what matters most to you.”

  “Why do you always make this about you?”

  “That’s what I’m saying!” Taye reached for the top of his head and staggered back. “It’s not about me at all! I thought maybe if I came back with, you know, a little more money and a little more experience with women, you’d forget about him and we could find a way to make us work. But you two are too deep in each other’s’ lives. It’s like each of you live inside the other’s head.”

  Samara’s heart quickened its pace as it always did when someone said something true but utterly inconvenient. What was more inconvenient was drawing closer to someone at a time like this.

  “At this point, Samara, I just want you to be happy. I know you don’t feel like it right now, but you’re special.”

  “I am not special. I don’t even want to be special.”

  “Well, don’t worry, you’re not, like, ‘the chosen one’ or anything.” He laughed a laugh she’d heard so many times before when he was joking around with new friends and acquaintances. Maybe that’s what they were now. “I just mean you have some gifts, and it’s nice to see you use them to help other people. You can encourage. You can nurture. You can lead. You have a teacher’s heart, and you need to draw energy from whoever is going to bring out the best in it.”

  “I was never any good at taking compliments.”

  “You’re welcome. My point is that if you think you can’t be together because of everything that’s happening, you’re wrong. That’s exactly why you should be together. We’re stronger that way. We’ve spent our whole lives being told what to do, who to do it with, and when. Now, we get to make our own decisions. And the best decisions are the ones that help you grow.”

  “Very inspirational.”

  “You’re welcome again. And you know, now that I successfully secured passports for Jude and Denver, Bristol doesn’t have to go back to Scotland at all,” Taye said. “For anything,” he added with far more dramatic emphasis than necessary.

  “You don’t have to spell everything out for me, but thanks.”

  “You’ve been spending too much time around Denver.”

  “What do you have against Denver?”

  “Nothing at all. Leaders should be forward. But you used to be nicer.”

  “Nah, you’re just lucky I liked you.”

  “Supremely. But you never loved me like you loved Bristol. I can wait for someone who thinks of me like you think of him. And you’re lucky, too, since you don’t have to.”

  “That’s exactly Bristol’s argument, you know. That we should be together because we can.”

  “Smart guy.”

  “There just…always seemed to be better things to do.”

  “Than love?”

  Samara’s mind flashed to her parents. They’d been in love. Not quite how she was in love with Bristol, although it may have been that way at one time. They’d met for the first time on their wedding day, like every married couple under Metrics, and somehow got from that to the kind of love where they looked out for each other, needed each other to stay afloat. Her dad had started drinking, illegally, when Metrics took her mom away. And although she thought of them every day, she didn’t really worry. They were together; they had to be. It made sense. They would have found each other again. It racked her with guilt to know that they thought she’d been killed, but knowing they must be together comforted her. They would be devastated together, and the way they were together, that devastation would have been worlds healthier than if they’d been left to deal with that news on their own. Their love was a love of usefulness and ease. She’d grown up with this kind of love in her home, and yet she wasn’t able to recognize and harness it when it came for her. Now that she stopped and thought about it, the question seemed ridiculous. Better things to do than love? She’d been working at half-strength.

  “Come on,” said Taye, breaking her trance. “Let’s go see them.”

  In the office, Bristol loomed, the muscles in his neck prominently catching the light.

  Her hair had been cut, but random curls still sprang from her ponytail. Her body had always been curvy, but her jumpsuit still hung limply from it. There was nothing about her appearance that made her feel good other than seeing Bristol’s face and knowing he was glad to see her. More than glad. Seeing herself that way, through cherishing eyes, warmed her. She took him in too. He was the same height as ever, slightly taller than her, but only noticeable if they were close. But something about him seemed different. He seemed larger in an invisible sense. Just standing there, he seemed more sure of himself. More stable. Rooted in something, though Samara couldn’t tell what it was.

  “Samara got a haircut while you were away too,” said Denver, breaking the silence.

  “Didn’t go for drama like you, though, huh?” he said to his sister.

  “I’ve had enough of it.” Samara couldn’t stop staring at him. Of course Taye was right. Of course she was in love with him. But admitting it to herself couldn’t be the only thing that was different. Slowly, it dawned on her what she must have been seeing. The way he was standing, the easy way he held his jaw…it was just how she felt when she knew something. “Bristol?”

  He grinned. “Samara?”

  “What happened?”

  When Bristol clicked his tongue, Samara’s suspicions were confirmed. He did know something after all.

  “So much,” he said and dragged some chairs into a circle. Jude and Denver sat. “So, so much.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Bristol told them about everything. The chalk portrait of Samara. The wealthy benefactor. The bidder who may have been acting on behalf of Metrics. They agreed it made sense.

  “What does this mean for our mission?” asked Denver.

  “I think you and Jude should still go, and plant the surveillance devices. We need to reveal their plan so we can put a wet blanket on the idea that they’re suddenly open-minded and ready to join the world community with no consequences,” said Samara.

  Bristol’s heart skipped. After all these years, Jude was every bit as close to Samara as Denver was to him. He didn’t want to see Denver go, and he was sure Samara didn’t want to see Jude go either, but if they were smart—and they were—the potential to reach so many other lives was too great to pass up. This was their chance to save their parents, their friends, and everyone else Metrics would ever wrong. There was no option B. They could not just avoid trouble. More trouble would come to them. He knew Samara understood this and he longed to talk to her about it, but here they were, in yet another room planning strategy. He reminded himself, as he had to often, that she’d rejected him more than once. He tried to focus on the task at hand, but all he could focus on was the last time they were together in his bed and how the light had spread across her bare skin like a sunrise.

  “I don’t know. What do you think, Bristol?” Jude asked.

  All eyes turned to him.

  Samara’s clouded face began to break a smile. “Will you test our theory?” He said nothing, so she elaborated. “That Metrics is buying your art to prop up its own position in the world? Will you paint a collage of what’s coming and see if they buy it?”

  They wanted him to paint a collage of the genocide of the Fives? Samara’s parents were Fives. Had she suggested this?

  “I…I’ll try.”

  “We are beyond ‘try,’ little brother,” said Denver with her signature eye roll. “Do it. Make it gruesome and realistic.”

  “Hopefully, it’ll provide a visual, emotional reaction to the evidence we collect,” said Samara. “And if they don’t bid on it like they’ve bid on the other stuff, it’ll look terrible politically. We’ll finally be able to
convince the United Countries to install a new government and grant amnesty to refugees.”

  “No problem. I’ll start it as soon as we can get back to London. We’ll have to take two trips. The car that Albert loaned to me can only take four at a time.”

  “We won’t need two trips. Taye and his brothers are going to stay here and run the warehouse,” said Samara.

  “Seriously?” asked Jude. “After all that’s happened here?”

  “That’s exactly why he wants to do it. Otherwise, the owner will just put some cheap manager in place. I wanted him to stay and protect the people here.”

  Denver ran a hand over the crown of her head. “I asked him not to, but he insists. For the sake of all of us here and in hiding elsewhere, we really need to go and come back. I’ve adjusted the identities that the UK originally made for Stephen and Jude. The ID numbers are different, and the retinal patterns, but I couldn’t adjust the blood type or fingerprints.”

  “I could,” said Jude. “The only thing we’ll need to do is sync them with the passports that Taye got for us. Birthdays, coordinates of origin, that kind of stuff.”

  “Did it right before you walked in, slick.” Denver said.

  Samara put her hands on her hips. “You two are going to be unstoppable.”

  “If you think you’ll need me, I can still go find Cindy. I think she’d understand,” said Bristol.

  Denver scoffed. “You had a watch for what—a month? You can’t code, you can’t hack, you wouldn’t know a network from a nanometer.”

  “Hey—”

  “Probably true,” said Jude. “Do you even know the difference between a server and a servo?”

  “Or a database from a driver?” asked Samara.

  “Or a DNS from a DRAM?”

  “Okay! Okay! I get the point.” Bristol crossed his arms high on his chest. “I have other gifts.”

  “Yes, you do. You need to use them where they’re most useful. Make that tableau just awful.”

  “Denver’s right,” said Samara. “The outside world has already decided that your work has monetary value. Now, it needs to have political value too. Go for controversy here, and when they get back, we’ll release it just as we’re releasing the proof that Metrics is about to kill the Fives. We’ll appeal to both reason and emotion. That’s what our problem has been before—we tried appealing to both, but neither was strong enough.”