Gods of Anthem (38 page)

He holds out a hand. “I see that it is. Would you like me to read it?”

“I think so.”

We trade—he takes the letter and I take a shaky breath.

“My dearest daughter,” he begins.

Eyes clenched, I grip the seat like this is the worst train ride ever.

Nate clears his throat and continues, “If you’re reading this, little one, then I’ve left you alone in this place, this hellish last stand against sickness and the undead.

“It’s no surprise that you, out of all of us, would live on. As a little girl, you came into this world screaming at the injustice of simply being, and ever since then, you’ve held such a sense of right and wrong.

“I wish I could say I’ve instilled such levelness about you, or that your mother had, but in truth, you were born into a time that demanded you, and you answered that call.

“I’ll never forget the day you’d threatened to run away, but had decided it was unfair to steal money to do it. So you worked all summer long, saving for your plane ticket to leave.

“Liza, I hope you always stay that same little girl—or woman now, I suppose—who clearly saw good and worked for it, no matter the patience or endurance needed. Never change, sweetheart. Can you promise your old man that your flame won’t die out in the great wind of life?

“When I wrote the lullaby in your music box, you always said it was a sonnet about the dying world. Please, listen to it again.

“It’s about the heart of a girl so strong and true who, even though she’d been given a mother too selfish to notice her and a father too busy to relish the time he had with such a wonder, still blossomed through the torrents. Like a flower out of the scorched earth, you rose, darling.

“We were never worthy, daughter, know that. We never deserved, for our own ambitions and passions, to have something so precious and special waiting in the halls while we practiced, and played, and passed away, and who still misses us, despite our neglect.

“Know that I love you more than the entirety of this world. Too late did I realize what you really were for us: proof of our love, in the flesh. A living piece of art greater than all others.

“At one point, the world knew my name, and it was for a simple composition. But you, Liza, were my greatest piece, and my secret one.

“Let your life be a song. Let music be the background of whatever human things you will do for this blazing, spinning planet, and never let go of the good, never let go of the kindness.

“They need you. More than ever, that inferno needs the balm you give so openly. Always strong, always patient, and always willing to fight for the undeserving.

“And now I ask you to fight, Liza.

“Fight.

“Because others will give up on you, but you never give up on anyone.

“I love you, princess.

Your father.”

The Irish lilt in Nate’s voice had gone dry and brittle toward the end, and I’d snatched the letter from his hands before the echo of his last words had died away. He quieted while tears ran unchecked down my cheeks.

Somehow, through the accent of another man’s voice, I’d heard my father all over again: his wisdom; his regret at the end; but most importantly, his unconditional love.

I held the letter to my chest and cried, while Nate tried to calm the storm inside of me with a hand at my back. But soon, he left me there all alone, because it was all I could do just to breathe.

No time was spent to care about my father’s great commission for me to fight. My loving and wonderful parent is gone … he’d left me behind.

It took great effort to accept the grief, truly allow it for once.

And though I was alone, sitting there on the church floor in the candlelight with the crucifix hanging over me, it sort of felt like this person, this savior of Nate’s family, was there to comfort me, as strange as it seems.

My tiny
dancer
spins all day long. With fingers sore from winding the piece of metal designed for small hands, I turn the key again to listen to the song for what feels like the millionth time.

It sings to me. And this time the tune makes sense.

The song is about love.

And loving love.

My father had keenly written in the loss, true, but you have to
have
in order to lose.

Inside, my dull aching eases. Still there, but lessening with each round she spins. My father’s here. With me.

It’s almost nighttime when I finally force myself away from the music box, and curiosity moves me outside. The twins haven’t checked on me since my disappearance to the church yesterday.

Yet something else tickles the back of my mind when I realize there is a certain stillness to the city. It’s quiet—too quiet.

Although curfew creeps closer, I walk through the streets trying to decide what’s changed. Is it me? Because of my letter?

It’s nothing as simple as that, though. Citizens move through Anthem with a new impatience. And people pause strangely as if they’d forgotten what they were doing before continuing on.

Curfew comes and goes, and still a steady stream of people flow despite the bells.

The last warning chimes for us to return inside.

But no one does.

Night descends like a coin flipped in the air, and when it lands, it doesn’t matter if it’s heads or tails, all that counts is something’s been decided.

I see a familiar face in the crowd. He sees me, too, and comes toward me with purpose.

His prisoner’s smock is still on, with its numbers on the breast.

“Journee…?”

His face is worse for wear, and he’s squinting without glasses.

I press through, now seeing the bump on his head, fresh and oozing.

Journee looks half-dazed. “Liza?”

“Yes, Journee, are you all right? When did they let you out?” When we draw close, I’m searching him for more injuries.

“Out?” He’s gazing off into the distance.

When he doesn’t answer me, I grab him by the arm and steer us for home. My touch seems to snap him out of his trance.

“There was an uprising at the prison,” he whispers, matching my quick stride.

“What!”

“The Skulls tore down a wall, and everyone went crazy. We have to get off of the streets—now.”

We jog the rest of the way until we get to his door, where Journee stops to look at me with tears in his eyes. “Desi … he didn’t make it. The guards fought back with lethal force. He … I …”

“It’s not your fault.”

He nods and sucks in a breath. “I just want to see the girls.”

After
helping Journee find his extra pair of glasses and cleaning the cut on his head, we both separate to search for Serena and Manda.

Being out after dark usually feels wrong, but even more so tonight. With the chaos of so many still outside, the going’s slow.

I’ve been so wrapped up in my own problems, the subtle shift of Anthem City’s spirit has gone unnoticed. But it’s easy to understand what it means when guards show up and no one scurries back into their respective holes. My neighbors: survivors—people who’d escaped the zombies, the cancers, and the Authority … they’re tougher than we give them credit for.

Everything Jeremy has been working for is coming to fruition. With stiff spines and steely resolves, they’ve hardened, these citizens of Anthem.

Feet plant and fists clench.

This isn’t some petty rebellion.

This means war.