A Pawn's Betrayal

by Ernie Lindsey

  “As of right now, yes, and I can’t tell you any more than that, because I don’t know.”

  Hale turns to me. His tongue creeps out at the corner of his mouth, like a mouse poking its head out of a hole, as he studies me intently. “You? How?”

  “We had a Kinder in my encampment, and she was—”

  “I’m familiar,” he interrupts. “Short and sweet, Mathers. Your story, not hers.”

  I nod and stare at the top of my boots. This feeling of being scolded by an authority figure is strange, considering the fact that I could lift him with my pinky finger and throw him the length of the warehouse. But, I reckon that comes from years of bowing to Hawkins whenever he barked an order. I clear my throat and say, “I had a dream. I mean, I saw what happened in my dream, like I was looking at the past. I was a baby. I drank her blood from her fingertip like I was drinking from a bottle.”

  “And nobody explained this to you?”

  “Never.”

  “How’d you find out?”

  “Through the dream. I told you.”

  Hale sighs heavily as if I’m the idiot. “How’d you learn what the dream meant, Mathers?”

  “Oh. Right. Well, strange things started happening to me. Speed, strength, bending time.” I neglect to mention that Finn and I both can levitate, more or less. Too weird. Too hard to accept. As if bending time wasn’t. I also leave out the part about occasionally being able to read someone’s mind. Hale doesn’t have to be aware of that, and it may come in useful in the future, depending on whether or not I decide to like—and trust—this man. I continue, “Those abilities happened first, then I had the dreams. Finn had to explain what was happening before I really believed it.”

  Hale scrunches his lips together and surveys the room. He’s thinking, weighing his options, and I wish I could hear what’s going on inside that harsh, balding skull. As it stands, I can only make out a single, muted word: possibility.

  Hale says, “Mosley?”

  Mosley clicks his heels together and stands up straight. “Sir?”

  “Thoughts?”

  Mosley seems surprised to be asked for his opinion. “I, uh, good people, sir. Both of them. I had the pleasure of conversing with Scout Mathers earlier and she’s steady. Willing to fight. As a matter of fact, sir, she approached me about fighting, so I think she and Mr. Finn both will make a great—”

  “That’s enough, Mosley. You’re not getting married to the poor girl.”

  Mosley shuts his mouth and tries unsuccessfully to hide a smile.

  Hale returns his attention to the two of us. “You’re young, but I’m sure you understand—or at least you’ve heard—that Kinders don’t have the best history. I know it, we know it, they all know it,” he says, waving his hand over the impatient crowd. “But you’re too innocent to have been corrupted like they were. Am I right, Mathers? Would you consider that the truth?”

  “Corrupted, sir?”

  “Do you have any evil intent in your heart? That’s what I’m asking.”

  I shake my head. “None.”

  “What about you, Finn?”

  He says, “None,” quickly as well.

  I add, “I was a scout. I guarded my people against Republicons and shot squirrels with a slingshot. I had a simple life, really, before all this started. And, I did my duty, sir. I led my people on a retreat back to the capital to save their lives. I got them here, almost all of them anyway.”

  “And look what good that did you.”

  “Had I known, sir…”

  “Had we all known, Mathers. And you, Finn? Your story?”

  We haven’t said anything to anyone about Finn being a part of the DAV for days now, and the only people that knew are either dead or gone. I honestly don’t know which would be worse, walking through the gates of Warrenville with James and the rest of the Republicons, or openly admitting that Finn is a former member of the DAV. Regardless of the fact that he defected, that his allegiance lies with us now, the northern enemies are so hated and condemned that it’s unlikely that Hale would forgive him for his past sins no matter whose side Finn is on.

  I’m pondering all of this in a split second as I await Finn’s response, and then he does the unthinkable.

  Finn says, “Because I want to bury the bastards that raised me. What they’re doing isn’t right, and I want to make sure they pay for it.”

  I can’t help it. The words fling themselves from my mouth. “Finn! What’re you doing?”

  Hale’s cheeks fill with pink frustration. I keep one eye on him to make sure he doesn’t go for Finn’s neck with hardened fists or bared fangs, and then I check for Mosley’s reaction. He’s surprised as well, but doesn’t appear to have boiling blood.

  Hale takes a step closer. I can see the muscles flexing at his jaw.

  His voice is low, angry. “You’re a blackcoat?”

  “Was,” Finn replies. “I defected, sir. I have no use for them or my past and I’m ashamed that it took me this long to get away.”

  “I should put a bullet in your heart right now.”

  The look on Finn’s face is one of calm defiance. “I wouldn’t suggest you try.”

  I gently slide between them. “He’s telling the truth. He helped me lead and I’d trust him with my life.”

  “I don’t care if he’s—”

  “Listen to me! We need him. I need him. And if we’re going to start a real war, you’re going to need the both of us. Look around you, Hale.” I drop the “sir.” He’s lost my respect—not like he had it to begin with, honestly—but it’s time for this bully to learn that I will not be shoved around. Not anymore. “You have, what, maybe eight hundred trained soldiers here? And maybe another couple hundred volunteers? President Larson told us that the military has been training in secret in violation of the Peace Pact, but where are they, huh? Where are the rest of them?”

  Hale hangs his head. “This is all we could convince to join the rebels. The others were too stuck in their ways, too set on obeying orders. We’re lucky the ones that are aware didn’t turn us in.”

  “Then that’s my point. If this is all you have—if it’s all we have—then you need us, both of us, and it doesn’t matter that Finn used to be on the wrong side. Don’t give me that look—you know I’m right. If we’re going to have any chance at all outside those gates, you’ll need us together. Try anything with him and I’m gone too. He goes, I go. Understood?”

  Hale scratches his cheek, then puts his hands on his hips.

  I wait. Finn waits. Mosley waits.

  Hale looks left and right, at nothing in particular, and then makes up his mind. “Okay,” he says. “But at the very first sign that he’s still got some blackcoat in him, so help me God, his day is done.”

  I smile and ruffle Finn’s hair. “It won’t, will it?”

  “Nope,” Finn says.

  Mosley shakes Finn’s hand. “Glad to have you, Finn. You might give us a chance yet.”

  Hale turns toward the stage and says, “You two, follow me.”

  As we walk, I catch the eyes of my parents. Father winks. The corner of Mother’s mouth lifts in a half-smile. I can’t believe it. After all this time, they were here, they were alive, and they never, ever, not once, sent me a message to let me know they were okay. It’s not like Hawkins read every single piece of mail that was delivered between encampments and kept something from me.

  I should be angry—of that I’m sure—yet I’m not. Maybe they were afraid to. Maybe that was one of the conditions of being allowed to leave with their lives. It’s exhausting trying to understand the ways of people you don’t know that well. But that’s the thing…I should. I should know them well and I’m pissed that the opportunity was taken from me.

  Mother looks tired, as does Father. He walks with a shuffling limp, then lifts his hat to scratch his scalp underneath dark, matted hair.

  The only family I have remaining are complete and total strangers. However, I feel that distant, tugging bond
of connection.

  I shouldn’t dream of what could’ve been. It’ll be a waste of time, energy, and emotion. The past is gone, but it’s hard to stop myself. I want to blame Grandfather for revealing my secret to Hawkins. This is his fault, isn’t it?

  Yes, in a way, but I can’t let one mistake so many years ago dictate what should’ve happened with my past. If Grandfather hadn’t let it slip, perhaps Mother and Father would’ve stayed behind in the village and gotten sick—died of the flu or a wound—instead of being here in the capital where medicine and supplies were handy. I can’t know. There’s no way to know what would’ve happened.

  Maybe this was for the best. I had love growing up. Grandfather and Grandmother raised me like I was their own child and once she passed away, Grandfather took over. I had more love, comfort, and caring than a lot of people in our village.

  I’m thankful for that. I really am.

  In a way, I feel like I was robbed of the last decade with my parents over one simple mistake, but at the same time, I feel fortunate that Mother and Father are still alive. Grandfather is gone—my heart aches for him, because I know he would’ve loved to see our reunion had it been on better terms—and now I have my parents to take his place.

  Then why don’t I feel lucky?

  It’s hard to accept all of this. I’ve thought about it over and over, endlessly, but my world, everything I knew, has changed to something entirely different and unknown in a week’s time. I’m a Kinder. We’re going to war. My parents are alive. I’m hundreds of miles away from everything I’ve known to be home, getting ready to face an army with Finn—who is honestly still just a boy, the same way that I’m still just a girl, no matter how much I try to deny it—along with a pathetic group of soldiers and a mishmash of untrained volunteers.

  Any one of those things would be enough to send a weaker person into fits of hysterics, hiding in some corner, sucking her thumb and wishing it were all a bad dream and that she will wake up at any moment.

  But, if there’s one thing that I’ve learned about myself over the past few days, it’s this: I am strong, and I am ready for battle.

  Chapter 13

  Hale walks up on the small stage and we follow close behind. He motions for us to stand off to the side as the chanting crowd grows louder and louder.

  I lean over to Finn and almost have to shout in his ear. “Aren’t they worried about attracting attention? The walls are shaking.”

  Not literally, but the ruckus is so loud, they very well could be.

  “You were unconscious. You didn’t see how far outside of the populated area we are. It’s a couple of miles, at least. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

  Hale raises one single hand in the air, then clenches his fingers into a fist high above his head. The soldiers and the volunteers go mad with excitement, screaming, “Hale, Hale, Hale!” in a rhythmic chant. With an extra beat in there, the sound could easily be the war rhythm of the DAV drummers.

  Boom, boom, ba-boom.

  The memory of that day sends shivers racing across my skin. I recall the terror in my heart at that sound. The distant drumming that we all dreaded so much had come to life, and I had been the first one to hear it. I close my eyes, breathe deeply, and softly shake my head to clear away the memories.

  The crowd continues to roar and chant their fearless leader’s name.

  “Hale! Hale! Hale!”

  I nearly have to shout when I say to Finn, “They sure do love him.”

  He nods, leans in closer to my ear so that he doesn’t have to scream. “Mosley said that Hale’s a bit of a god to these people. And, as a matter of fact, I’m surprised he actually let you get away with telling him off back there.”

  I grin. “I can’t lie, that felt good, but he won’t do anything. He knows he needs us.”

  “Maybe.”

  Hale flicks the head of a silver-looking object attached to the podium and a rumbling thump-thump echoes throughout the building. The crowd goes silent. He says, “Friends, friends, friends, do I have a surprise for you.” His voice is so loud, booming, and another round of applause sends a huge smile across his lips.

  Finn leans over and whispers, “That’s called a microphone. Makes your voice louder.”

  “I can hear that.” So many things here that I never knew existed, or never knew there was a need for them. Back home, whenever Hawkins wanted to give a speech, he simply stepped up to his podium in the middle of The Center and shouted whatever manure he felt like spewing from his disgusting, gaping hole of a mouth.

  Hale shushes the crowd and clamps his hands down on the outer edges of the podium’s top. He assesses his supporters. Someone whistles loudly in the back and says, “We love you, Hale!”

  He chuckles. “And I love everyone in this flock, but shut the hell up for a minute.” A wave of laughter ripples through the horde. Hale waits until that dies down, then continues. “You’re all here because you want to be here. You know what we’re up against. If our spies are correct, we’re facing an army of blackcoats ten thousand strong, at the very least. They’re better armed, they’re better trained, and they have tanks, each capable of firing a round thousands of feet that would punch a hole in our walls the size of a small car. Some would say we don’t stand a chance.”

  A round of exaggerated disagreement ripples across the lips of the gathered onlookers.

  Hale holds a cautioning hand up. “Now, now, I didn’t say I believed it. We’re outnumbered, there’s no question about it. But we have something they don’t—three things, actually, that will give us an advantage. One, we have heart. Heart! We are not here to spend our lives in chains. God did not intend that for man when He made us. We weren’t meant to live as servants—no, slaves—to others. Long, long ago, a president that was much better than that coward sitting up on Three Tree Hill in his castle, on his stupid little throne…this president had something to say about that. Thomas Jefferson, the third president of what was then a United States of America—he said this: ‘All men are created equal.’ It was a part of the Declaration of Independence when we were demanding our freedom from those bloody fools over in the United Kingdom, and no matter if it was five hundred years ago or last Thursday, those words still hold true today. All men are created equal, and we will not spend our lives in chains.”

  A thousand fists go up in the air, followed by chants of “Equal, equal, equal!”

  Hale takes a moment to let them chant, then says, “That’s the first thing. Heart. And truly, I say to you my friends, that may be the most important thing of all, because even if we don’t stand a chance against the DAV war machine, at least we believe in something other than ourselves, like that bastard Larson. We believe in freedom.”

  Hale coughs into his hand and takes a sip of water from a clear plastic bottle. “Now, I understand that those words may cast a black cloud over our revelry. We face long odds. We have what seems like an unclimbable mountain in front of us. It’s true. I can see the doubt in your eyes. But…listen to this. Let me tell you what else we have that those godforsaken blackcoats don’t! Some of you may know, some of you don’t. Whispers flitter from ear to ear like butterflies. Are you ready for this? Let me introduce you to the second and third things we have—the weapons of mass destruction that are going to win this war for the Rebel Coalition!”

  The roar is deafening and it’s the loudest one yet. I can feel their chanting beating against my chest. They stomp their boots on the ground and I can feel the rickety stage shaking underneath my feet.

  I lose track of how long it lasts. It’s exciting, thrilling, but I can’t help but think that some of these people will be dead in twelve hours. Even if we win—no, not if, when—some of their lives will be lost in the process, and that’s such a heavy thing to hold onto.

  Like that man in the front row, the one with his hair cropped short against his scalp and three days of beard growth on his cheeks and chin. He’s enjoying this rally. He has a nice smile. He might be someone’s fat
her, too, and it’s probably the younger man standing next to him that has the same blue eyes, the same flat nose and sloping forehead. I try to keep it out of my mind, yet I can’t help picturing them dead, lying side by side outside the city walls, riddled with bullet holes.

  My stomach churns.

  War does not exist without consequences.

  Hale lifts his voice over the roaring crowd and says, “Let me say one final thing: do not judge the present based on the past. Things change. People change. Ideas change. There’s nothing worse than a bleak future that’s hindered by outdated beliefs. Keep that in mind, because the two people I’m about to introduce to you are burdened by history—a history that’s not their own. They are too young to suffer the sins of their forefathers. Why should we trust them, you ask? Because I do. I believe in them, and you should, too.”

  I wonder if Hale really does believe in us, or if he’s just saying that to get the crowd on our side. I get my answer when he covers the microphone and leans toward us. He hides his words behind his free hand as he orders, “Do not make a fool of me.”

  I nod. So does Finn. Hale turns back to the crowd with a warm smile.

  “Ladies and gentlemen! Soldiers and volunteers! Freedom fighters of the People’s Republic of Virginia! I give you Caroline and Finn, our very own army destroyers. Our weapons against tyranny. Our indestructible heroes. Our…Kinders!”

  It goes so silent inside the warehouse that I can hear Finn breathing beside me.

  Five full seconds pass before the roar that escapes their mouths drowns out the thunder outside the warehouse walls. Given the past, given what I’ve learned about the history of the Kinders, it’s not what I expect—they cheer, they scream our names, and they jump and hug each other. They chant, “Kinders, Kinders, Kinders!”

  “Caroline,” Hale says, “come say a few words to your soldiers.”

  My soldiers?

  My insides flush with heat and I’m suddenly so nervous, I feel like I might faint and fall off the stage. I spoke in front of our people, the refugees, but it wasn’t anything like this. “I-I-I don’t know—”