Children of the Uprising Collection

by Megan Lynch

  “My point is that we did actually overhaul the country. Nobody thought it was realistic—at times, not even us—but we are capable of much more than we believe. You are, too. Now, this country, as you aptly observed, my dear, is a mess. You did not ask for the burden of fixing it, yet it falls on you to do what needs to be done.”

  Denver felt her stomach turn to iron. She thought of the promise she’d made herself when the man at the bus stop had seen her as another leech on his tax dollars, and she longed, if only for Stephen’s sake, to spend the rest of her time here furthering his mission to make the world free.

  Jude sagged. “Sir? We can’t. I’m sorry, Denver, but I flopped on two bugs and only managed to install one copy of the code in the Societal Purity director’s watch.”

  “It’s okay, Jude,” said Denver.

  Jude stared at her with incredulous eyes.

  “He’s right. We’ll go back to the UK with only one bug planted, and we’ll work with whatever we can get.”

  “Hang on,” said the Bird and waved his hand over his watch, frowning. “Is this report correct? This indicated that two copies were installed.”

  “Yeah, but I accidentally got too close to one of the servers and air-slipped it to him. He’s just a Five.”

  The Bird grinned at Denver.

  “I won’t,” said Denver.

  “You won’t what?”

  “I won’t make your mistake,” said Denver. “I won’t underestimate the poor.”

  “Good.” The bird stood and smoothed his nylon pants. “In that case, it seems your work here is done. Come with me. I have a driverless transport. We’ll make one stop, then my private airship can take you back home.”

  “Home?”

  “It’s a relative term, I know,” said the Bird. “But in this case, I meant London. One day, I do hope that you are able to choose your home from anywhere in the world. Then, when someone says they’re lending you their private airship to take you there, your reaction can be a bit happier than this.”

  If Denver had been a little younger and a little more naive, she would have hugged him. But this man was complicated; neither black nor white, neither good nor evil, neither humane nor monstrous. She wanted to hold someone responsible for the loss of her father, the hunt for her brother, the imprisonment of her mother, and the death of her husband, and though he didn’t seem innocent, he did not seem like the one to blame either. She reached out her hand and gave him a firm handshake. Jude just nodded at him. Denver picked up her backpack and swung it onto her shoulders.

  “We’re ready.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Jude’s stomach turned when they made their “one stop.” The vehicle turned into the Fox County Detention Center.

  He considered letting Denver and the Bird go in alone while he waited out in the car, sure he wouldn’t be able to handle the sights, or the sounds, or the putrid scents of the place he’d been incarcerated. But he didn’t want to get separated again and compromise the whole mission. Denver and the Bird got out, but he hesitated.

  “What?” asked Denver.

  Jude looked up at the looming building, concrete and pale and cold. From the outside, it looked as if it were made of ice. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

  They walked the halls, the guards nodding in deferment to the Bird. Jude recognized all of them, although there were fewer of them now, but they didn’t give Jude a second glance. Jude had forgotten about that part of living here—you couldn’t afford to be curious. Curiosity simply wasn’t worth the price.

  “I think our prisoner we’ve come to collect is over this way,” said the Bird, tapping his watch. “Second floor?”

  They walked through a hall of glass-plated cells, where the prisoners were just getting ready for lights out. The prisoners outnumbered the guards vastly. Jude remembered this from his time here, but the ratio was even more lopsided now.

  He tried to do a quick estimation of that ratio in his head, and was so distracted that he almost walked past her.

  Almost.

  When he realized who it was, he froze mid-step. He turned without thinking, and there she was, behind glass, looking right at him, standing at attention as if she’d been waiting. She smirked and strode straight up to the small circle of holes in the glass, so he could hear her. “Reeder.”

  He couldn’t quite believe his eyes. “Warden Paul?”

  “They told me that you escaped.”

  “I…”

  “They told me that I was to blame. They came with strong men and they carried me from my office to this cell. They held me down and they put a tracking chip in my hand.”

  The Bird came back for him, pressing a hand on Jude’s shoulder. Warden Paul’s face shot up at him. “You found him?” she asked.

  “We got him,” said the Bird.

  “I’m free?”

  “Your case will be reviewed,” said the Bird, and Jude’s stomach turned. It was so strange. Though Warden Paul had tried to kill him and almost succeeded, she was a pitiful sight now. Her hair hung in strings along her hollowed-out cheeks, and she was the color of the split pea soup they used to serve here. Her eyes, once sweeping and scanning, making sure every corner was tucked and each prisoner standing erect in her presence, now turned to Jude, feral and bloodshot.

  “I knew it,” she said and pressed both of her hands to the glass as the Bird led him away. “I knew it! Justice always prevails!”

  They increased their pace, and Jude covertly dodged the Bird when he made a motion to put his arm around his shoulder. “Why’d you tell her that?” he asked quietly.

  “Governing 101, son,” he said, rounding a corner. “They all need hope.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Samara cracked two eggs. She was trying to be more mindful of doing these little things so that, hopefully, the same mindfulness would carry into her work at the library. As hard as she worked to understand every line of the UK’s body politic, she struggled. These laws weren’t written with the goal of common folk like her to be able to use it to their advantage.

  She heard a noise coming from behind her and hurriedly dumped the eggs into the pan, mindfulness be damned. There was another reason she spent all of her time at the library now—she was avoiding Bristol. Just at the moment she knew she was in love with him and would be forever, she promptly grew terrified of him as well. They were living in close quarters, and he worked from home, so she had to be creative if she was to be sure they would not see each other. She woke early. She slipped in late. She spent hours outside and in public buildings, not spending any money, which she knew was really his, if she didn’t really have to. He’d asked her a long time ago to get married, which she thought may be impossible now for good. Sharing that much of your life with someone almost certainly meant sharing the details of her assault, and she never wanted to think about that ever again.

  What was he doing up this early? She gingerly took a plate from the stack in the cupboard, but her fingers slipped and the plate shattered with the loudest explosion on the floor. She gritted her teeth, turned off the heat from the stove, and grabbed the broom and dustpan.

  Bristol emerged in the doorway wearing shorts and a plain white T-shirt. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. Dropped a plate. I hope it wasn’t valuable.”

  “Not at all. Let me help.”

  “I’ve got it. Go back to bed.”

  Bristol kneeled down and took the dustpan from her. “I’ll just hold this still,” he said. Samara held her breath as she swept the broken blue pieces into the pan. “I haven’t seen you hardly at all since you got here.”

  “I’ve been busy. I’m still busy, actually, so if you wouldn’t mind—”

  “Tell me about your work. Albert says you go to the library.”

  Samara sighed. It didn’t seem to matter how he knew. “I’m trying to find a way we can use the constitution to our advantage. Metrics has a simple document that lots of people interpret. The UK doesn’t h
ave anything like that—their constitution is a stack of papers a mile long that summarizes every kind of law imaginable, and books by constitutional law experts. It’s awful. There are precedents for refugees being allowed temporary sanctuary status when their home countries are experiencing war, but not in the UK. And it’s not war that’s happening back home, it’s a massacre. I have new ideas every day, and I try to keep my hope up, but by the end of the day each one seems more and more unlikely.”

  “You’ll find something.”

  “I’m grasping and getting nowhere. I’m worried that once Denver and Jude get back with the proof and you unveil your new painting and we embarrass Metrics by baiting them into bidding on it, we’ll still have no foundation for staying here. Metrics will kill us on the spot if we’re sent back, and the UK will know just where to find us.”

  “Why don’t I come with you today? I need a break.”

  “You need to finish.”

  “I’m almost done. And I’m serious, I can’t look at that canvas anymore. Nothing about it makes sense to me anymore, and it won’t unless I get some air.”

  Samara wanted to tell him that the library was the last place that he wanted to look if he wanted to get some air, but she held her tongue and nodded. If he were Taye, he’d spend about ten minutes with her before getting bored and making some excuse to get away. What scared her about Bristol was that he’d actually stay with her as long as she could stay at the library, which spanned the entirety of their open hours.

  In the grand reading room, it took Samara the better part of an hour to get into a concentration groove, and even longer to focus enough to actually research. She gave Bristol little jobs, like book-fetching and fact-checking and footnote-digging, and he did her bidding with no questions asked.

  Eventually, he insisted on a lunch break and took her to the pub across the street. The day outside was bright and sunny, but the pub was as dark as the drab paint that adorned every surface: olive greens, chocolate browns, navy blues, and no windows anywhere that weren’t stained glass. He ordered fish and chips for both of them, as well as a cider for himself. “Anything for you?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Have you tried cider yet? I think you’d like it.”

  “Of course I’ve tried it.”

  “You don’t like it? I thought everybody liked it. It’s fizzy apple juice, what’s not to like?”

  “It’s not that.”

  Bristol leaned over his crossed arms on the bar. “It’s our money. All of us have worked for it, and there’s plenty of it.”

  “There’s plenty of it now, but it goes so fast. And we have not all worked for it. You’re the one who made the art that sold. I just spin my wheels all day.”

  “You’re getting closer to an answer for us.” He held up two fingers to the bartender, who poured another pint for Samara. She added the amount to the tally in her head; after that, she might as well enjoy it.

  “There’s something different about you,” said Bristol.

  “Astute observation.”

  “I’m sorry. That was insensitive. I just mean that in all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you work like this before. You were always more…deliberate before. Much slower. Now you’re a little more…”

  “Frantic. Hysterical. Hair-brained. You really know the way to a girl’s heart”

  “I wish I did,” said Bristol. “Have you tried…I don’t know, slowing down? I’m doing that now with this piece and even though it’s counterintuitive, it’s actually taking me less time even though I’m moving slower. I’m having to go back and fix less. Maybe take a day off, clear your mind.”

  “That’s hard for me to do,” said Samara. “The world used to be a good place for me. It’s gradually gotten more and more terrifying. If I stop thinking a second about finding an iron-clad reason the Brits have to let us stay, I start thinking about Metrics and being sent back. If I stop thinking about being sent back, I start thinking about Stephen. If I stop thinking about Stephen, I start thinking about men and how they violate women.”

  “And from there, everything spirals,” Bristol finished for her. He took a sip of his cider and pushed hers an inch closer to her. He changed the subject to everyone’s favorite here—the weather—and the two of them ate their fish and chips in peace, interrupted only by football commentary on the old TVs above the bar. When it was time to go back to the library, Samara looked down while Bristol paid the bill.

  Though most people paid with their thumbprints or watches, Bristol now carried cash. He put some notes down, and handed some to Samara. “You haven’t been taking enough from the lockbox. I don’t know how you’re eating.”

  Samara tried to hand it back. “I eat the groceries in the apartment.”

  “Before the sun rises and after the sun sets?”

  “I usually take an apple and granola bar too.”

  “We’ve had enough food in bar form to last a lifetime. This city isn’t exactly known for its culinary delicacies, but if you really try, you can find better food than what we had at the warehouse or Olympic Village or St. Mary’s.” Bristol grinned, but his eyes stayed sad.

  “I don’t deserve—”

  “You know that none of this is your fault, right? None of it. You’re not weak and you never were. In fact, you’re so much stronger now than ever.”

  “How can that be true? Things keep happening to me. I haven’t made anything happen for me.”

  “How about sacrificing yourself for me and Jude? How about reorganizing our camp to keep the entire group safe? How about putting your attacker behind bars? You’ve made a lot happen, Samara. And in every case, you know how you did it. You’re not giving yourself credit.”

  “I don’t know. I guess in every example you just said, the answer just kind of…came to me. I just got lucky.”

  “You allowed yourself to think clearly and you came to the right solution. You can do it again. I agree that we need a backup in case all other plans fail.”

  As much as she preferred to work as she had been, she could see the wisdom in Bristol’s suggestion. “I’ll need some time alone, then.”

  Bristol groaned. “More alone time? You sure you don’t want a little company?”

  “You don’t think less of me now?”

  “What? No. No, no, no, no. I can’t—I wouldn’t—” He stopped to half-laugh. “Samara, you think you’re broken, but you are the opposite of broken. I’ve always thought highly of you, but after what you’ve been though…To me, you’re heaven.”

  Samara thought back to four years earlier, when she’d kissed him in Nan’s kitchen. She was sure he had feelings for her, but she didn’t need any drawn-out confessions of love before she took action. Here, she felt as muted and dingy as the pub she sat in, an unnoticed accouterment, quietly gathering dust as the decades rolled by. She wanted to communicate this, but as she gathered the remaining bits of her courage to tell him that she was no longer good enough, he reached out, held her head, thumbs on her temples, and kissed the center of her forehead. She leaned into him, and the lean turned into a hug, and the hug turned into tears into his chest.

  “I know you’re probably not thinking about love right now,” he said, his breath warm next to her ear. “But just know that I’m here for you. There’s no one else for me but you.”

  “Get a room!” The bartender, who’d been engrossed in the football game this entire time, had suddenly taken an interest them. They jumped and bolted apart.

  Samara didn’t quite laugh, but she felt laughter’s familiar rumblings in her chest. “You know? We just might.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Bristol did not work on the piece that afternoon.

  Or the rest of the day.

  He and Samara did check in with Daniel eventually, who, perhaps sensing the two needed some space, had asked to stay with another friend in the city. Denver and Jude were on their way back and would be on this side of the Atlantic by midnight. Alread
y the intelligence they’d gathered was pretty damning on the part of Metrics—and Daniel assured them that the Red Sea would take their case back to Parliament to prove that they were planning another massacre.

  Later, the three of them went to a dark airfield, where every star was visible against the velvet night. Though summer was just around the corner, they bundled themselves in layers against the cold and watched the sky in silence. Bristol breathed in the crisp air. How many more chances would he have to do that? Being so close to death so many times had a strange effect on how he lived his life. A part of him felt invincible, as if so many brushes and misses rendered him untouchable. Another part clung to life in strange ways. Making sure to enjoy every meal, smell every flower, say what he meant. He’d had the experience of being without oxygen before and, somehow, his body remembered. Beside him, Samara took an equally long breath in and out, matching him. Maybe hers remembered too.

  In the distance, a light wavered. He squinted. Were his eyes getting older? Worse? He stared at it until he was sure it wasn’t just another star. On his other side, Daniel said in his hushed baritone, “Well, there they are.”

  The airship was tiny compared to commercial ones, blacker than the night sky and much shinier. Bristol held his breath as it landed, hovering just above the ground for a moment before touching down lightly. He prayed that his sister and friend were the only two who would get out.

  The door lifted, and for a moment, there was no one. Bristol stepped forward in front of Samara and Daniel, deepening his stance. Then a tall, thin woman with no hair stepped out, followed by a gangly teenage boy’s frame.

  Bristol and Samara ran for them. When Bristol had the three of them locked in a hug, he smiled so hard he felt his mouth might spring from his face. They laughed until they cried, or maybe the other way around. Daniel met them and wrapped his giant arms around the four, lifted them all, and made the laughter even more uncontrollable. Bristol realized Denver was trying to say something through the spasms.