They all quieted at the sight of Aubrey and Eckert walking into the room holding hands.
She took a deep breath and said, “I’m Aubrey Fox.”
“You’re under arrest,” the commander said.
“Who’s arresting me?”
“The Progressive Leaders Committee.”
The Leftist coalition, not the government, though she’d already surmised that. If it were the government, they’d have sent the IMPD. She hoped Eckert was getting all this, as he’d need it if he hoped to get her out.
“On what charge?”
“Sedition.”
Treason. The penalty for which was death.
She took another ragged breath. “I’m ready.”
Maybe Eckert was right, and it wasn’t worth it. But it had to be.
The commander signaled his men to take her into custody. She looked around at the faces of her colleagues and smiled, hoping to comfort them as she did Eckert and in doing so comfort herself. They gazed back stricken and silent.
You’re a tree, she told herself as all bravery fled.
The quote’s power dissolved as the militiamen roughly bound her hands behind her with plastic cord. A tree, what did that mean? Having truth on your side didn’t protect you from prison or a bullet in the back of the head. The truth didn’t matter to these men the war had turned into fanatics, or rather they’d discovered their own version of truth, and they accepted no contradiction or heresy.
And the world, well, it moved for nobody. If you didn’t get out of its way, it crushed you in its path. The river would go on flowing right past it, its truth ignored because nobody knew it was there. They didn’t want to see it. The world was filled with men raised on shadows in Plato’s cave, believing the shadows were real and denouncing and burning all who dared call them illusion.
The cords binding her hands were very real.
She felt her terror build, unsure of what form it would take when it burst from her. Crying, screaming, howling for mercy, it all crossed her mind, though none of it would do any good. She bit her lip, hoping to hold it at bay long enough to get out of the building. These men could see her scream and beg but not her colleagues. She couldn’t let Eckert see, most of all. They were going to have to carry on the fight without her as long as they could while truth, dying its death of a thousand cuts, became just another of the war’s many tragic casualties.
When the black hood dropped over her head and cut out the world’s light, her terror became complete.
Even now, though, she didn’t regret what she’d done. She had no regrets at all. Her dreams had been modest, and she’d fought for them and lived them as much on her terms as life allowed. She clung to this fact in her sudden isolation. She’d lived the job, and in its own way, the job had lived through her.
When the kangaroo court of former insurance adjusters and factory foremen and college students judged her, she’d tell them, I could do nothing else.
The image filled her with peace and resignation.
Aubrey stood tall as the men’s hands gripped her arms. I could do nothing else. I did no harm, and I did some good. That was the tree. That was the light.
FIFTY-NINE
The C-130 Hercules air transport shuddered as it fought the winds over Lake Ontario. Gabrielle looked out the window and saw Canada covered in white, peaceful and unmoved.
Home.
She turned to Hannah Miller in the seat next to her. She hoped the girl, who’d lost everything, would find a home here too.
The kid was green. She’d already thrown up twice during the rough flight.
Gabrielle gripped her sweating hand.
The plane swung into its arc of descent toward Canadian Forces Base Trenton. The main hub of Canada’s air operations, the base was home to 8 Wing. Planes here delivered supplies to the Arctic, staged search and rescue operations, and airlifted troops and aid to hot spots around the world. Now most of its aircraft hauled humanitarian aid to a war-torn America.
“We’re almost there,” she shouted over the propellers’ pulsing hum.
Hannah nodded and went back to eyeing the two bored airmen sitting against the opposite bulkhead, ever vigilant in case they made a false move.
“Are your ears popping?”
Another nod.
“Do you want a piece of gum?”
Yes.
Gabrielle gave her a stick. The girl chewed mechanically. The gum had a function and nothing more. Then a smile flickered across her face as the sweet flavor flooded her mouth, offering a glimpse of the child Gabrielle had seen in the Facebook photos.
Kids are tougher than they look, she reminded herself. They adapt. Hannah could get through this just as Gabrielle had her own trauma. She’d forever be affected by it, but she’d survive and gain the chance to live a good life.
Maybe, like Gabrielle, she’d grow up stronger than she thought she was.
Gabrielle thought about Aubrey, the strongest woman she knew. She’d inspired Aubrey somehow, though now it was Aubrey doing the inspiring. Paul was trying to find out where the reporter had been taken. When she returned to America, Gabrielle would do everything in her power to save her friend. Another fight waiting for her in her personal war.
The Hercules slammed onto the tarmac and rolled to a stop.
Sore and tired, she grabbed her bag and took Hannah’s hand. Outside, lights blazed across the airport. The night air was cold, far colder than Indy’s severe winter.
The processing area was busy with airmen, military advisers, and aid workers. Gabrielle told the Canada Border Services agent that Hannah Miller was seeking asylum. Hannah’s fate would be decided by a tedious bureaucratic process, but Gabrielle was skilled at moving it forward. After a battery of questions and forms, the agent took them to an empty room and told them to wait. At some point, a bus would drive them to the Interim Lodging Site at Saint-Bernard-de-Lacolle, Quebec, on the border of New York State. That would be Hannah’s port of entry.
The girl curled up on the chairs and fell asleep in her tattered winter jacket and too-large army pants. She was still covered in soot and dust from the fighting she’d taken part in. Too amped up to rest, Gabrielle paced the room.
She didn’t want to be here, doing this. She’d come to Indy to help all the children, not become a mother. She didn’t know what to do or how to talk to the girl. Hannah Miller needed good parenting and plenty of counseling. She needed love and attention every day. She needed all the things Gabrielle couldn’t give her right now.
Was she doing the right thing dragging this girl from everything she knew and dropping her in an alien land, or was she now the kidnapper?
Later, she told herself. She could wrestle with it all later. Right now, the most important thing was to remove Hannah from the war. Gabrielle would sponsor her as a refugee, while her parents had agreed to cosponsor her. After the government approved her for settlement, Hannah would stay with them while Gabrielle continued her work in America.
That was as far as her plan went. After that… It was hard to think further ahead. Hard to imagine the war in America over and coming back to pick up her life where she’d left it. She’d already gone too far to have a clear idea where home even was anymore.
Corporal Kassar entered the room, his arms full of sodas, candy bars, and potato chip bags he’d pulled from a vending machine. He was a welcome sight. Gabrielle hadn’t been able to pick up any food during the pell-mell drive to the airport. Abigail had given her Hannah with a stern warning to get her out of the city fast.
“This wasn’t what I had in mind for our date,” Kassar said.
She smiled. “I’m glad you came.”
“But can’t stay long. I have an early flight. More UNICEF aid for Indianapolis.”
Hannah stirred awake at the noise. She shot upright and stared at Kassar, caught between fight and run. For the last few weeks, men wearing uniforms had been her enemy. Then her eyes switched to take in the candy and potato chips.
&n
bsp; “How is she doing?” he said.
“She hasn’t said a word to me. She’ll nod or shake her head if I ask her a question, but that’s it.”
“She’s terrified.” The corporal crouched to match his height to hers. “Hey, you. We’re the same, kiddo. We both come from broken homes, so to speak. Like you, I grew up in war, in Syria, though I was older than you when it started.”
Hannah glanced at the candy again.
“Go ahead,” he said. “It’s for you.”
She tore the wrapper off a Snickers and took a massive bite. Her eyelids fluttered with sudden bliss. Her cheek bulged as she stared at him.
He said, “My family survived for a year before fleeing to Jordan to register with the UN as refugees. Two years after that, we found ourselves on a plane bound for Canada. I was terrified. I had no idea what Canadians were like. I looked out the window and completely freaked out. You know what I saw?”
Hannah paused in her chewing and shook her head.
“Everything was a brilliant, bright white. In Syria, it only rarely snows, and if it does, it’s gone after a few hours. I couldn’t believe how much snow there was here.” He laughed. “I’m still getting used to the winters.”
A brief smile crossed her face.
“I didn’t know anybody, didn’t know how things worked. Some people didn’t take to Muslims coming here. It took my family months to find a place to live and settle in. But I was okay. I was safe. I had a new home, and this home wasn’t going anywhere. This home was a whole country.”
She lowered her eyes, still munching on her candy bar. Whatever his assurances, she obviously didn’t feel safe yet, didn’t feel at home.
“You don’t know it yet, but you’re going to be okay.” Kassar looked up at Gabrielle. “What’s your plan?”
“Still forming,” she said. “I just wanted to get her as far from the fighting as I could. Get her somewhere she could get the help she needs. My parents will look after her. After that, I don’t know. When the war ends, I’ll reach out to any extended family I can find.”
“And if you can’t find them?”
Gabrielle let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know. I’m running on impulse and winging it as I go. I shouldn’t even be here.”
The corporal tilted his head toward Hannah and pointed with his eyes. She sighed again and crouched in front of the girl.
“Hannah, look at me.”
The girl’s chewing came to a wary halt.
“I’m going to talk to you as one would a grown-up. And I promise I won’t lie. Okay?”
She nodded. Yes, she wanted that very much.
“I don’t expect you to trust me or agree how wrong it was what that militia did to you,” Gabrielle said. “Me, I could never understand what you suffered, and I’m not going to pretend I do. I’m not here to replace your parents. Until you’re approved to live with my parents, you’ll be making most of this journey alone at a camp for refugees. What I can tell you is even when I’m not with you, I will always be working on your behalf to keep you safe and get you what you need. I swear to you I will never stop doing that. I don’t expect you to trust me, but I hope you’ll believe that.”
Hannah absorbed all this and said her first word. “Okay.”
Gabrielle choked back a sob. “Good.”
The border agent appeared at the door. “Gabrielle Justine? The bus is ready.”
She scooped the food into her bag. “Time to go.”
“I still owe you a drink, Gabrielle,” Kassar said.
She planted a kiss on his cheek. “It’s a date.”
Then she held out her hand. The girl took it. They walked back out into the cold, where a drab government bus idled in a cloud of exhaust.
The driver glanced at his clipboard. “Gabrielle Justine and Hannah Miller?”
“That’s us.”
The doors closed behind them with a pneumatic gasp. Aside from a family huddling in the back, the bus was empty. Gabrielle steered Hannah into a seat in the middle. She put her bag on the floor and stretched.
A long drive ahead. Six hours. They’d arrive at dawn.
She was tired but couldn’t sleep, her mind swirling with everything she had to do. So she started to talk. She told Hannah about what happened to her as a child, the man who’d saved her, and the years she’d spent hiding from the world until UNICEF offered her a chance to make a real difference paying it forward. It took her until her arrival in Indianapolis to realize it wasn’t just Ravi Patel who’d saved her, she’d saved herself by overcoming her fear.
Through it all, the child soldier listened and by the time Gabrielle was done summing up her life, the girl curled up with her head in her lap and fell asleep.
She smiled and stroked the girl’s hair. Her heart stirred with protective instincts. It wasn’t love, and it wasn’t the desire to right a past wrong. It was something even more primal.
Its engine droning, the bus rolled on into the night.
Back in Indianapolis, the war waited for her. She’d have to make the entire trip in reverse. The UNICEF operation was gathering momentum. Aid shipments were starting to come in. Community outreach, media relations, building relationships within the IMPD and the NGOs, making sure aid got where it was needed, all of it had to be managed.
The monster who’d stolen her in her youth had affected her life and who she was, but people like Aubrey and Ravi Patel, the man who’d saved her all those years ago, influenced her far more. She’d meant her promise to Hannah that she’d watch out for her. She wanted to help all of the children, but she could make the biggest difference of all to just one, a little girl who’d suffered more than most.
Sitting in the dark while Hannah snuggled against her in sleep, Gabrielle prayed for peace. The day when all that was lost could be reclaimed. The day when all the child soldiers could lay down their arms and go home.
SIXTY
Hannah spotted the group of kids prowling the camp perimeter. She followed them. She’d been studying them for a week. Today, she’d make herself known.
She’d arrived at the Saint-Bernard-de-Lacolle refugee camp a month ago. In bewildering succession, an officer frisked her, took digital photos of her eyes, and pressed her fingers against a tablet that glowed with colors. At the next station, another officer asked lots of questions, most of which the UNICEF lady answered.
Hannah can’t go back to America or risk cruel and unusual treatment, even death. My parents and I are sponsoring her. How long will it take for an asylum hearing?
Enclosed by miles of barbed wire, the camp sprawled in the middle of nowhere. Hannah didn’t know how many people were here, but it was in the thousands, all living in a sea of green tents, latrines, water tankers, and prefab administrative buildings connected by footpaths and a few dirt roads. Too many people for Hannah’s liking, and she knew none of them. While she shared a tent with loyalists, she didn’t trust anybody.
Whatever safety this place offered couldn’t last, because nothing ever did. While taking her walks around the perimeter, she pictured the camp collapsing in a series of disasters. The best way to stay safe was to keep moving or join a gang.
There were about twenty kids in the group, all wearing ratty jackets and patched military surplus pants tucked into dirty boots. They pointed at the Canadian soldiers patrolling outside the fence.
A small boy nudged the biggest, a tall, gangly kid with sandy hair sticking out from under his cap. He caught sight of Hannah and bristled.
“Get out of here, kid,” he called.
Hannah shuffled her feet to keep warm but otherwise didn’t budge. She didn’t want to put on her war face, but she didn’t want to show fear either. The truth was this was a big risk, and she was scared.
The boy marched over and glared down at her while the other kids fanned out on her flanks. “I told you to get lost.”
“She thinks you’re cute, Mike,” one of the girls jeered.
“Give her a kiss!”
&n
bsp; “You disrespect us, we’ll kill you,” Mike told Hannah. “Got it?”
“Which side were you on?” She’d studied them for the past week and knew they lived in the loyalist side of the camp, but she had to make sure.
“Congress!” the kids roared.
Hannah let go the breath she’d been holding. “What militia?”
He puffed out his chest. “Utica Street Irregulars, out of Buffalo.”
“Steel City Champs,” another kid said. “Pittsburgh.”
The rest yelled out their unit names while a military helicopter flitted overhead on some martial errand.
“What’s with the questions?” asked a girl about Hannah’s age.
“Take it easy, Tanya,” Mike growled. “She’s one of us.”
The girl said, “Yeah? Who were you with?”
“The Free Women in Indy.”
Mike’s eyes went wide. “Indy? You mean Indianapolis?”
“Yup.”
“Were you there when they wiped out the Angels?”
“I was in that fight,” she told him.
“God, I can’t believe it!”
The kids crowded around clamoring with questions.
“All right, already,” Mike said. “Give her a chance to talk.”
“Not here.” Tanya smiled. “Want to score some hot chocolate with us?”
“I’m game,” said Hannah.
They marched across the snowy field and wove around the construction vehicles parked next to massive piles of earth, the work of engineers who’d begun to build a school. In the camp, they paused to allow a boxy, camouflage-painted vehicle to rumble past on the rutted road, then passed through the crowds until they reached the big mess tent.
They got hot chocolate and drank it around one of the long tables. The kids told their stories. Only Mike, Tanya, and a girl named Chloe had been fighters. The rest had worked as porters, cooks, and runners. Hannah didn’t care. They were militia, people she could trust. It was good to find family so far from home.
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