Brightside (27 page)

“Nothing really,” I say, “I just have to take out that helicopter.”

“Oh,” she says, “that all?”

* * *

When I was thirteen, Dad told me there was no honor in killing anything over a hundred yards away. If you can’t see a man’s features, then he’s not a man at all, just a target, which lessens the consequences of taking a life. Consequences are necessary. Without them, this fucked up existence has no value at all. That’s why he never showed me how to use a rifle or anything else long range. The Mossberg 12-guage could shatter your skull across a football field, he said, but move twenty rows into the stands, and
you’ll just end  up with a bruise or blind if you’re not smart enough to blink.

Dad’s lecture worked in theory, but it didn’t do much to inspire confidence in my part of the plan, the part where I have to take down a fully armed chopper hovering in the sky.

When I was nine, I used to point my finger as a gun and take out the airplanes flying over Columbus. I didn’t realize I was playing terrorist, never imagined one day that’s what I’d be called. Thought Thieves were deemed the most dangerous people on the planet by the President, the government, every school board across the country. All because we knew everyone was lying.

The politicians weren’t a surprise, but the pastors and priests; the little league coaches and lunch ladies threw everyone for a loop. It was just easier to get rid of us, ship us here to this mountain, than to face the truth that our society was based on the ability to lie. Parents tell their kids they’re special, that they love them. Teachers tell students they can achieve anything. Bosses want their employees to know they’re valued, that they aren’t just a warm body underpaid and abused. It’s how everything keeps moving. Without the lie, people have to fix shit, face conflict, come to terms. Lying is the buffer that keeps us all from ending up like Rachel.

Thought Thieves aren’t any better. We told ourselves Brightside could be worse, we bought into the bullshit, even though we’d been ripped from our homes, stripped of our jobs and families. We were banished to this prison in the clouds, but we told ourselves we’d just relocated. We had jobs, went on dates, fucked coworkers and the last person left at the bar. Lies have kept
this town intact. They give us a reason to shower, brush our teeth, make our beds.

But none of it was real. It was no different than when I was back in the outside world. The other salesmen at BMW were just like us. We worried about paperwork, what we were going to have for dinner. We wondered if we should move the couch to the other side of the room. Little tasks and stupid nonsense kept our minds busy, but also kept us from realizing all of it was shit. Our lives, jobs, the people we called friends.

I’ve been hearing other people’s thoughts for as long as I could remember, but no matter how many times I heard their
lies
, their excuses, their justifications for doing horrible stuff, I never realized that I was no better. Until Day 100. That’s when I saw who I really was, a coward, a fraud, a waste of potential.

I could have been anything, could have used my gift to get elected to office or the head of a company. I could have rubbed elbows with the rich and powerful and had my own island. But I pissed it all away, told myself I was better than those cheats, even though I did nothing but swindle. I stole girls’ hearts, told them what they needed to hear to get them in bed. I sold luxury cars to unsuspecting souls. I convinced people I was sensitive, caring, when I was simply regurgitating all the things seeping out of their heads.

It was easy to keep secret because no one was like me. Not like Brightside, where secrets are more precious than life. I still can’t believe I’ve lasted a hundred days. I guess I’m lucky Wayne escaped and Sharon accelerated the plan. Another week and I’d be locked away in The Cabin or in a cage with the orange
jumpsuits. I’ve been cracking, letting too many people in. Now Danny’s with Wayne and Sara’s involved. Then there’s Rachel, poor faceless Rachel, shoved in my closet, her version of a suicide note still stained on the ceiling, the floors.

Sara’s in the bathroom, so I decide to take the opportunity to say goodbye. I open the closet and crouch down next to Rachel. I tell her I’m sorry again, imagine she forgives me. I tell her there’s a good chance when this is over I’ll be joining her. I wonder if they’ll put us side by side in the cemetery.

If the rumors are true, we might all end up there soon. Wendell and Carlos; Krystal and
Phuc
. Every
Brightsider
buried to keep the world safe. I honestly don’t know how they ever thought this could last. Selling timeshares and other crap over the phone was never going to keep this place going. Just another lie we told ourselves to keep one foot moving in front of the other.

I just keep thinking about Wendell and all the people we’re going to abandon, the ones too risky for Sharon’s club. If I succeed and take out the helicopter, there’s going to be panic and chaos, bullets ripping through bodies. The Boots won’t know who’s with Sharon and who just happened to be taking a walk. It’s all a part of Sharon’s plan. The distraction, the confusion, the melee that follows. It’s going to buy us time, keep the Boots one step behind.

Collateral damage is just another detail in this fucked up scheme.

Sara comes out of the bathroom and says she wants to know how I’m going to pull this off. There’s no point in lying. I haven’t a fucking clue. Sharon had suggestions, like climbing a
tree or throwing rocks to get the pilot’s attention. Our brilliant leader is an idiot.

Sara asks how close I have to be. I tell her under fifty yards, but probably under twenty to be safe. It’s been over ten years since I’ve fired this shotgun, and I know I’m going to be shaking and scared out of my mind. I’ve only hit a few birds, but that was because of the buckshot spray. It only took one tiny pellet to take out a quail. The helicopter’s going to take a hell of a lot more.

Sara says she wants to come with me, but she’s only being polite. She also needs to stay hidden. The Boots are busy looking for Wayne, but if they find her they won’t hesitate to take her in. I tell her she needs to stay here until it’s time to make a run for the cave. Sara refuses, says there’s no way she’s going to just sit here while I’m out there risking my life. Plus, she wants to find Danny. She says she saw a flicker in Wayne’s thoughts. It was just a blip, but she saw Danny near a tree. I tell her Wayne isn’t dumb enough to slip up like that. In all likelihood he’s trying to get her caught, giving the plan another distraction to keep the Boots off our ass. Still, she’s definitely not staying here, she says, so we make a compromise. I tell her she needs to make sure no one sees me go to the office. She can help me get in so I can get to the roof.

I promised Wayne I’d talk to Sharon, but there’s no point telling her shit. If I do and she agrees, there isn’t a damn difference, but if she freaks, like I know she will, then I’m only putting Danny in more danger. Wayne’s going to be there whether I talk to Sharon or not, and his big ass isn’t going to climb down a rope by himself. And he’s going to want in on the getaway vehicle, whatever that might be. I’m such an idiot for not asking Sharon for more details. I was too caught up in arguing about Sara and Danny being sent to The Cabin and my father turning me in.

Still, I have to call her. Sara and Danny have to be included in the getaway. I take out the cell phone, the one Sharon said couldn’t be traced.

“There a problem?” Those are the first words out of Sharon’s mouth and I almost tell her there are more problems than she can handle.

“Just one,” I say. “Sara and Danny are both coming.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then I’m not firing a fucking shot and that helicopter will be sitting right outside the mineshaft. You can kiss your little plan goodbye.”

Sharon’s breathing, and while I can’t hear her thoughts, I know that damn mantra is on full blast in her head.

“It’s your call,” I say.  “But I’m not doing shit until I know they’re in.”

Sharon’s teeth click a few times. She says, “Fine.”

“Yeah? I have your word?” As if her word means anything.

“Yes, but if they get caught on the way to the cave or if they’re one second late, we’re not waiting.”

“Okay.”

“And Joe?”

“What?”

“If you fail, the deal’s off.”

“Yeah…” I start to ask how we’re getting off this mountain if we actually pull this off, but Sharon’s already hung up.

I know Sharon has something waiting for us when we get out, a bus or car or even a plane. She told me there were others in the real world, ones yet to be discovered, willing to help us. Unlike Danny, Sara, and me, there were a lot of Thought Thieves rolling in cash. They broke into banks already knowing the
security codes. They bought stocks on silent information. They took down casinos one table at a time, knowing exactly what the dealer or other players were holding. Unless they were stupid or too goddamn greedy, there are probably hundreds, even thousands, still on the outside.

It makes me wonder how many Thought Thieves are still sitting in power. The President himself only signed the law after the panic had gotten out of control. I like the idea of the Commander in Chief being one of us. It would explain his second term, how frequently he fires top officials. I imagine the White House is filled with people looking to take him down, but he’d know every move before they could make a grab at his job.

Even Carl Pepper, the man who supposedly saved the President’s life, never seemed to be fully responsible for stopping the assassination. When they played the scene on the news, the President definitely ducked before Carl clobbered the gunman.

Carl was one of the first sent to Brightside, but no one has seen or heard from him since. He’s either dead or locked up so tight he’s wishing he were. I can’t imagine what Carl must be going through. He was a hero for a week, then a villain for life. I’m sure there’s not a second of the day he doesn’t wish he would’ve let the gunman
fire
the shot.
The President he saved banished him for being a traitor and I can’t fathom how that must feel. Even though my own father turned me in, at least he tried to offer me a way out. Carl is just fucked, same as all the other
Brightsiders
we’ll leave behind.

I need to stop thinking about pointless crap. Who cares what Carl is thinking or if the President is a Thought Thief?
Neither is going to help me one bit. I have a job to do, and I need to shut off my head. I know I’m doing it to distract myself, to keep from thinking about the chopper’s gun spinning and firing fifty rounds into my chest before I even take aim, but if I can’t control my thoughts, I’ll for sure end up dead.

Sara’s wearing a stocking cap, parka, and these huge sunglasses Rachel left at my place on Day 39. I’m wearing my puffy jacket wishing I had a trench coat. The shotgun is practically sticking out the bottom of my pants, and it’s making me walk like someone who’s trying to hide a gun. There’s an elastic drawstring at the bottom of the jacket, and I pull it tight to keep the Mossberg in place. But I just keep picturing it sliding down and blowing off my leg. Sara asks if I have a duffle bag or something, says this just looks stupid. I run to the closet and have to pull Rachel forward to slide out the bag. It’s covered in blood, which is only going to draw more attention.

I rummage through the closet, through all of Dad’s boxes, when I find a backpack. It’s too small to hide the Mossberg, but it’s better than keeping it in my pants, so I fieldstrip the gun. Not all of it, just break it down so it’ll fit. Assembling it is going to take more time, time I don’t know if I’ll have, but it’s the best option I’ve got.

* * *

The walk to the office is freezing because the sun is about to set. I’m wearing headphones, but my iPod is turned off. I’m just
silently talking to Sara as we move down the street. Most people are at work or locked away in their apartments. Wayne has set everyone on edge.

The building where I work has a small crowd out front, but I don’t see any Boots. Neither Sara nor I know how many people heard she’s being sent to The Cabin, but we can’t take any chances. I have to go in alone. We keep our distance and switch up the plan. It’s better this way, because Sara needs to draw the helicopter to me.

She slips off through the Square. I watch her and have the fear this might be the last time I ever see her. I want to chase her down, tell her how sorry I am she got pulled into this, but again, it’s not going to help me do what I have to do. I flick on my iPod, crank it as loud as it can go before entering the building. There are a few people getting into the elevator so I take the east stairs. The shotgun pieces clang around in my backpack as I climb. Luckily, no one is in the stairwell, though, I sort of wish there were. I want someone to catch me, to make me go back to my apartment. The Cabin doesn’t seem like such an awful outcome right now.

My hand goes to the door handle, but I can’t open it. It’s not locked, I’m just freaking out. I keep thinking about how I almost plummeted off the side. Sara had to pull me up to save my life.