Hannah got to pick out what she wanted at the clothing stores, favoring plain, dark outfits that were warm and looked like they’d last. Her only nod to fashion was a big scarf that was blue, the Congressional color.
At the food court, Lena bought her a cheeseburger, fries, and a Coke for lunch. They sat in the middle of the dining area, which made Hannah nervous, but she went along with it. She didn’t want this woman to see her as a freak.
“What’s going to happen to me?” she asked.
“Ben and I were thinking you should go to school. What do you think?”
A new school, kids who spoke French as their primary language, catching up on all the lost time and work. “I think I’d rather be back in Indy getting shot at.”
Lena smiled. “You’re strong. I can see that. You’ll find your way.”
“It’s hard to think about. I guess I’ll just go and see what happens. I still can’t believe I’m here. It’s like a dream.”
“There’s just one thing I’d advise you about school.”
Hannah reached for more fries. “What’s that?”
“You might not want to tell the other kids about being in a militia.”
“Why?”
“You’ll impress them, but they may end up shying away from you because they won’t understand. It’s hard enough to make friends at a new school.”
Hannah considered it. “Okay.”
“Good. It’s up to you, of course.”
“What about after? When Gabrielle comes back, will I live with her?”
“We’ll talk about that later.”
“It’s okay if you want to send me back to the camp.”
“Oh, Hannah, that’s not going to happen. Whatever comes next, you have a home here. I hope you’ll see it as a fresh—”
An explosion erupted at the end of the foot court, impossibly loud, its colossal force ripping through the open space—
“Hannah! Hannah, are you okay?”
She lay curled up in a ball under the table, barely breathing, her body clenched, her heart racing in panic. Get down! Mortar!
Lena was on her hands and knees, staring at her with worry. “Somebody dropped a glass jar or bottle. It was just a noise. You’re perfectly safe.”
Hannah barely heard her, shaking uncontrollably, still in the grip of terror as the explosion tore at her nerves and wouldn’t stop.
The school buzzed with news of the spectacular Congressional victory in California at the Battle of the Palm Desert. Aside from die-hard guerillas camping out in the national forests, the rebels had been purged from the state. Congressional forces now held the coast all the way from San Diego to Seattle.
In response, the rebels had stepped up attacks all over the country in an effort to give President Marsh a win as the peace talks ground on in Ottawa.
In the cafeteria, Hannah sat at an empty table with her back against the wall. She scanned the room while she ate her bag lunch. The kids’ chatter washed over her.
The war news made her happy but not as much as it would have two months ago. At night, she revisited the horrors she’d suffered, but in daylight, the war grew distant as she acclimated to her new calm life with the Justines. She hadn’t scrubbed off her tattoos, but she’d stopped reinking them. Every day, they faded just a little more.
Spring had arrived. The world was starting to turn green again. Soon, summer would come, and she’d go back to wearing short-sleeved shirts without any trace of her story showing.
Her eyes settled on three girls who were looking around for a place to sit. She tensed as they made a beeline for her table.
She sank lower into herself.
The only thing Hannah wanted was to be left alone. From her first day at the school, her classmates hated her. They said Americans had ruined everything, wrecked the economy, and were taking Canadian jobs.
The more she tried to hide and be left alone, the more they bugged her.
When a boy called her Yankee like it was an insult, she’d punched him and got sent to the principal’s office. She’d promised Lena and Ben not to do it again.
The girls arrived at her table. One said in accented English, “Can we sit here with you?”
Hannah shrugged to say it didn’t matter.
“I’m Olivia,” the girl said as she sat down with her lunch tray.
“Rosalie.”
“Romy.”
Olivia said, “You’re Hannah Miller, right?”
Hannah nodded.
“We’re grade six.”
“I would be but got held back,” Hannah said. “I missed a whole year.”
“Poor you,” Romy said. “The grade fives are all a bunch of jerks.”
Hannah smiled and bit into her sandwich. She was right about that. “After summer school, I hope to catch up.”
“We were curious about you. About the war.”
She could tell the girls had been talking about her for a while, working up the courage to ask her about it.
Rosalie lowered her voice. “Did you know anybody who got killed?”
“My parents.”
“What happened to you?”
She shared the story she’d made up in case anybody asked. Her parents killed in a mortar attack, shuttling around refugee camps, sponsorship by the Justine family to live in Canada. The girls were impressed anyway.
“That’s so sad,” Olivia said.
“Maybe what happened in California will end the war,” Rosalie said. “You could go home and pick up your old life. You must miss all your friends.”
“Canada is my home now,” Hannah said.
The girls seemed pleased by this. “It’s a really great country.”
“The winters kind of suck, though.”
They laughed.
“I have an idea,” Olivia said. “We’ll be your friends. If you want.”
“We can help you with your French,” Rosalie chimed in.
“Yeah, your French is terrible,” Romy said.
They were plain and probably not popular themselves, but Hannah didn’t mind at all. She pictured sitting here with them every day at lunch hearing about their crushes and favorite movies and clothes they wanted to buy. The kids they didn’t like based on prejudices they’d made up and believed important. All of it meaningless to her. They were like a movie themselves, bittersweet theater filled with childhood drama that both mimicked and avoided the real world.
She smiled and said, “I’d like that.”
Yes, she’d like that very much. After everything, she was ready to smile now and then, have a conversation that wasn’t about survival and death.
“Did you see any fighting during the war?” Olivia asked her. “Between the militias? On TV, it never looks like anything is happening.”
Hannah offered to share her dessert, a slice from a chocolate cake Lena had baked for her. “Let’s talk about something nice. So who do you like?”
Olivia turned scarlet while the other girls howled.
They talked about boys for the rest of lunch, inventorying them as cute or nice or just annoying, and Hannah found herself smiling more and more.
She’d wanted to become lost again, and this was a good way to do it.
Hannah was ready when Captain Foster pulled into the driveway. Looking out the window, she zipped up her spring jacket with trembling fingers. “She’s here.”
Lena hugged her. “You’ll do great, I’m sure. I’m proud of you.”
Hannah went outside and got in the car. “Good morning.”
The captain backed out of the driveway. “How was your week?”
Hannah looked out the window at the world that once seemed so alien but now felt more and more like home. “I’m really nervous about doing this.”
“I know,” the woman said, as always giving a simple acknowledgment that whatever she was feeling was normal but shouldn’t control her.
“I made some friends at school,” Hannah said.
Foster pulled onto the road t
hat would take them to Saint-Bernard-de-Lacolle. “That’s a big step for you. How is it going?”
“I don’t know what to talk to them about, so I just listen. They like that.”
“You’re doing everything right. You’re reclaiming your childhood.”
Every day, she woke up, brushed her teeth, ate breakfast, went to school, came home, watched TV or read, ate her dinner, did her homework, went to bed. Her new life was still strange, but she now remembered this, not the war, was normal.
The woman added, “You’re a role model for what these kids can become. They need to hear it. You need to show them what’s possible.”
The number of kids at the refugee camp had skyrocketed in the past month. UNICEF was pushing a model treaty forbidding the use of child soldiers, and it was spreading throughout the states. UNICEF next partnered with the Canadian military to expand the rehabilitation programs at the camps.
“Ben and Lena said they want to adopt me,” Hannah said.
The captain grinned. “That’s very good news.”
“I don’t know.”
“You still don’t think you deserve it?”
“Maybe.” Being a kid again, living the way the people thought of as normal, it was all meant for Maria, not her.
“Whatever you did, it wasn’t your fault,” Foster said.
The camp came into view. A lot had changed in the months since she’d lived here and run with the Congress gang. The sun had melted all the snow and turned the fields green and the roads into mud. There were more tents, more buildings.
Hannah got out of the car and looked around. Nearby, a family lived in a trailer that had a vegetable garden growing on a small plot next to it. Smoke wisped in the air from a small fire. A man was hanging diapers on a clothesline.
She’d thought her return would be a homecoming, but the camp now seemed alien and hostile. What a horrible place.
“This way,” Foster said.
“Wait.” She took off her jacket, which was Congress blue, and left it in the car. The marks on her arms were gone. Only a small scar on her left temple remained to tell her story.
The tables had been cleared from the southeast mess tent. A crowd of kids sat on the ground, buzzing with conversation. Empty space separated the Congress and President gangs. Captain Foster tapped the microphone and launched into her introduction, talking about how kids were the future, how they’d be the ones to rebuild America after the war.
Hannah’s stomach flipped as she picked out Mike, Tanya, Chloe, and the rest of her gang, who grinned and pointed at her.
She smiled back. This part felt like a homecoming.
Then it was her turn to talk. Blushing furiously, she walked up to the microphone. “Hi. My name is Hannah Miller. I was a soldier with the Free Women militia in Indianapolis. I was a fighter.”
One of the kids called out, “Congress forever!” The rest roared. Some of the President gang shouted back, “Executive power!”
Hannah raised her hands for quiet. “I’m here to talk to everybody, not just my old comrades.” She smiled. “I see Gary Thompson out there.”
“You come back for more?” the kid yelled to laughter.
Hannah said, “Not today.”
The kids quieted as she told them about her brother disappearing at the truck stop, her parents murdered, training with the Free Women, fighting the First Angels, bombing the Liberty Tree line, taking revenge on the giant.
“My old comrades know that story,” she said. “But I never told them or anybody else the real reason why I left the militia. In that battle—”
Her voice hitched. She steeled herself by taking a deep breath.
“In that battle, I killed my own brother with my bomb. I killed Alex.”
Saying it aloud unleashed a torrent of pent-up grief. She burst into tears. Her cheeks turned hot with embarrassment and a deeper shame that was always there.
“I didn’t care what happened to me after that,” she said in a stronger voice. “But I was very lucky. An enemy soldier brought me to UNICEF, and UNICEF got me out of Indy. The Justines gave me a home. I have a new family who love me regardless of what I did. I go to school and live a life a lot like the one I had before the war.”
Hannah didn’t know how to continue. The kids all gazed at her with a fierce longing. She was lucky. Only one in a hundred refugees was granted permission to live in Canada, and she’d won the lottery. She had a new family that wanted her and gave her everything she needed. These child soldiers, these orphans and lost children, all they had was one another and Captain Foster.
“Whatever you did in the war, whatever you saw, it wasn’t your fault,” she said. “And you should know there are people who love you. I love you.”
Hannah’s war was over.
After her speech ended, Captain Foster placed her hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “You did good.”
“I don’t see how I changed anything.”
“You showed them what’s possible, that they can live a normal life again,” the captain said. “You told them they’re loved even if they don’t think they deserve it. And they heard it from one of their own. Believe me, you did good.”
“Okay.” Hannah hoped it was true.
“You never told me about your brother. I’m sorry.”
“I’m never going to fight again.”
“You ready to go home?”
“No.” Hannah wiped her eyes and walked into the crowd to find her old gang.
Tanya and Chloe cried and hugged her. They all sat on the floor to talk. A lot of other kids stayed too, kids she didn’t know, even Thompson and most of his gang.
They talked about the war, comparing commanders and weapons and combat experiences, but the kids were far more interested in Hannah’s life outside the camp. They asked her about her family, house, school, friends, what she ate, what movies she watched. They didn’t resent her. To the child soldiers, she lived an exotic life full of wonder, and by hearing her talk about it, they were able to taste it themselves.
At last, it was time to go. Hannah promised she’d come back.
While it wasn’t home anymore, she’d always have family here.
A typical school night, dinner followed by family time in the living room with the radio playing softly. Hannah sat cross-legged on the rug working on her decimals. The old math, but she didn’t mind.
She looked up at Lena, nestled on the couch with her book, and Ben, newspaper on his easy chair, and felt something that might have been love. One day, they’d die like everybody else she’d ever loved, but not for a long time.
Lena caught her staring and smiled. “How are you feeling?”
“Good.”
“En français, s’il vous plaît?”
“Je vais bien.”
“Very good,” Lena went on in French. “You work so hard.”
“I want to catch up.”
“You need to have fun too. Any big plans this weekend?”
“Well. Olivia asked me to a sleepover at her house Saturday night.”
“That is a wonderful plan.”
Hannah wanted to go but wasn’t sure she was ready to leave the safety of her home and its comforting routines. “I’m not sure I’m ready.”
“We’ll be just a phone call away.”
She thought about it. “Okay. I’ll tell her yes.”
Ben lowered his newspaper. “Listen.”
Lena cocked her ear toward the radio. “What is it?”
He grabbed his TV remote and turned it on. “Armistice!”
Cheering crowds filled the screen, which carried the caption TIMES SQUARE. New York City, the other capital of the United States.
“Oh, God,” Lena said, choking back a sob. “It’s real.”
“What does that mean?” Hannah said. “That word?”
He smiled and said in English, “It means there’s a truce.”
She swallowed hard. “The war’s over?”
“The shooting is over. It�
��s the first step to peace.”
The screen cut to a reporter in front of Americans roaring and flashing victory signs. On the right side of the screen, a crying militia fighter hugged her comrade.
Hannah stared at this woman until her own eyes stung with tears. She remembered Grace Kim telling her on the rooftop, Some of us don’t get to go back, and prayed that wasn’t true. Everybody deserved to go back, even the rebels.
The reporter said the states had agreed to a convention in Columbus, where delegates would rewrite the Constitution. After that, new elections. Both sides were calling for a general amnesty for the militias.
Ben stood. “Come with me to the dining room. Both of you. Please.”
Hannah followed him to the big wood table, where he opened a bottle of red wine and poured out three glasses.
He smiled. “I’ve been saving this bottle for just this occasion.”
The adults raised their glasses and waited for Hannah to do the same.
“To peace,” he said.
To my family, my friends, my comrades: Namaste, Hannah thought and sipped the wine. She’d expected it to be very bitter, but it wasn’t.
They returned to the living room to watch the coverage of the celebrations. The President of the Senate would address the nation in an hour. After that, President Marsh would take his turn.
“This feels real,” Ben said.
“Gabby must be so happy.” Lena beamed. “She’ll be home soon.”
Hannah nodded, sleepy from the wine and excitement.
“Bedtime,” Ben told her. “Tomorrow is another day.”
She went upstairs to brush her teeth and put on her jammies. Usually, she sat on the toilet reading until Lena came in to tell her to quit stalling, but this time, she got ready quickly.
She slid between the covers, luxuriating in their softness. Lena and Ben tucked her in and kissed her good-night. For Hannah, this was always a moment of safe smells and the wonderful feeling of being a child again.
The lights went out, and that’s when the war came back, as it always did.
Dad reached for her in the smoking car. Mom toppled to the asphalt. Her friends died in battle one by one. She killed enemies, shot the giant. And she hugged Alex again and again and again.
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