The Rift Uprising (21 page)

I nod. Another episode of
Buffy
begins. I watch the slayer, with all her blond, perky cuteness, kick butt and still have friends and a life. I've always been jealous of her in that way. That and the fact that she is awesome with puns.

“I'm safe,” I say out loud. “I'm safe and you won't hurt me.” I say this over and over again. I watch Buffy. I look down. Without even realizing it, somewhere along the way, Ezra has taken my hand.

“Keep talking, Ryn,” he says softly.

“I'm safe and you won't hurt me. I'm safe and you won't hurt me.” There is a part of me that recognizes Ezra's hand in mine. It feels good there,
right
. There is another part of me that is detached from this contact. I am focused on Buffy, on feeling safe, on knowing I am not going to experience pain, though oddly I am expecting to. I guess there is just so much going on at once that I can't totally focus on Ezra's hand. But it's there. It's happening. The episode ends. I stop speaking. Ezra lets go of my hand. I feel a tiny ache once he's pulled away. He smiles. It is a bright and hopeful smile. His blue eyes are filled with light. There is nothing but silence in the room. Ezra takes my hand again and I do not flinch. I do not push him away or try
to strangle him. I'm also not particularly turned on, either. I try not to think about what would happen if I was. It doesn't matter, though. Finally. I am holding hands with a boy.

“Do you feel up to doing some more?” Ezra asks patiently. “We don't have to if you're too tired.”

“No, I'm good, unless . . . do you want to get some rest? Or do some more work? I could go. Or if you need to go . . .” The last thing I want him to feel is obligated. My cheeks flush a little at the thought. And at my total descent into babbling.

Very smooth, Ryn.

“I'm up for it. Maybe you want to take another pill, though?” I nod my head in agreement. “Great. Have you got cake downstairs? Or Voodoo Doughnuts? Whatever those are.”

I don't bother to explain. The perfection that is Voodoo goes beyond words.

My parents had gone overboard with the grocery shopping before they left. It's become a kind of tradition with them, to prepare for doomsday with the amount of food they leave me when I'm on my own. They got me a chocolate cake, which they know is my favorite and always on the list. I bring the cake upstairs, along with two forks and some whipped cream, which I prefer to frosting. Ezra wisely says nothing when he sees the can. I spray a generous amount of cream on a portion of the cake.

“Ready?” Ezra says.

“I am, but I'm not even that hungry,” I admit.

“It doesn't matter. Just take a bite and keep it in your mouth. Focus on how it feels on your taste buds. Try to associate other good memories with the cake.”

I do as he asks. I close my eyes with the chocolate in my mouth. I think about birthday parties, goofy hats, and brightly colored presents. These are home-movie type of memories. I
am watching a younger version of myself, with pigtails, laughing, happy. I am not seeing these images through my own eyes.

“Okay, now I want you to sit here,” he says, spreading his legs a bit, “with your back on my chest. Keep saying the mantra in your head, or out loud, whatever. I won't touch you. I just want you to lean against me, get used to what it's like to be close to me.”

My heart hammers. Holding hands is one thing, but nestling against him is something else. I trust Ezra. I trust that he knows what he's doing, and most important, I trust myself. I will not be hurt in this room. I take another bite and position myself so that I'm kind of tucked into him. I feel his thigh muscles against mine. I hear his heart beating. I smell him, but I also smell, because of the sweater he's wearing, my dad. If I wanted to, I could turn around, put his mouth on mine, grab his hair, seriously make out with him . . . No—too much. I say my mantra. “I'm safe and you will not hurt me. I'm safe and you will . . .”

Baby steps. I focus on the sweet chocolate in my mouth instead. I focus on being safe. Yes, I am basically sitting on top of a boy, but that isn't the point. Like before, this is more than sex. It's literal closeness, and I'm blown away by how wonderful it feels. I take a few more bites and Ezra sits perfectly still. He doesn't seem afraid, which is amazing to me. I sit there for twenty minutes, pressed against him, eating, thinking, chanting. When I get up, we both smile.

“That was really good, Ryn. But I think that's all we'll do today. I've got a bunch of work to do with the data, so you can just do whatever you normally do. Don't let me stop you.”

I cross my arms. Is he dismissing me? Seriously?

“I just work better alone,” he says, as if he's read my mind.

“I can help,” I offer.

“At some point, yeah, I think you can. I'm just collating the data still. I know the patterns I'm looking for. It would be faster if I did this part on my own.”

“Okay, thanks for . . . everything. I know this whole thing is really insane and dangerous for you. I want you to know that it means a lot to me that you'd take such a risk.” I pick up the cake and forks. I want to say more. I literally don't know how to express my gratitude in words.

“Ryn, I like you. I mean . . . I'm into you. My motives aren't entirely unselfish, so don't put me on some kind of pedestal. Right now, I just want to do as much Rift work as possible, but tomorrow I'm hoping we can actually talk. I want us to get to know each other, like normal people do. I'm hoping our entire relationship isn't going to be based around deprogramming and math equations, you know?”

My cheeks burn a little. “We have a relationship?” I ask hopefully.

“Well, we for sure have something that's a big enough deal to make both of us put our asses on the line in the hugest way possible. We don't have too much time to figure out what that is, but . . . I don't know.” Ezra smiles sheepishly and waves his hands around. “Let me get back to work.”

I guess neither one of us is so great with the whole talking-about-our-feelings thing, which suits me just fine. For now.

I walk into the locker room at work the next day with a lightness I haven't felt in years. I have a secret, which isn't quite the same as a lie. People my age keep these sorts of secrets all the time. This is ordinary. Liking someone, not wanting to explain it yet to your friends, wanting to keep it to yourself so that it doesn't get picked apart and analyzed in its newness is unremarkable, even if the feelings aren't. I take off my clothes, and just as I do, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn and see that it's Audrey.

And I am suddenly deflated.

It takes a lot of work on my part to keep my face indifferent.

Why is she here? They must know at the Village that Ezra is gone by now. Did they send her to The Rift to watch me? To get answers? They must have, and yet, I'm not sure that makes complete sense to me. I know Audrey is crazy, but I don't peg
her for a tattletale, especially if she could get into trouble, too. Something doesn't add up. Unless they caught her, they figured out she helped me and narking was her Get Out of Jail Free card. She's psycho, but she isn't stupid.

She pulls me into an embrace. I am naked except for my underwear.
Who does that?
It's beyond awkward. Violet's right beside me at her locker and I can see her “what's going on?” face over Audrey's shoulder.

“
Bonjour,
Ryn. I am here!” Audrey says brightly.

“I see that,” I say passively as I take a step back from her and grab my uniform.

“Yes, the Village, so boring. Well you know; you've been there. No action. No fighting. Just guarding stupid sheep. Immigrants. It's all dinner parties and karaoke.
Mon Dieu!
I asked them to reassign me to The Rift. I could not get full reassignment, but three shifts a week, better than nothing. Now we can have some fun—together.” Violet gives me a second questioning look, but I glance knowingly at Audrey. Vi nods, knowing I'll explain later.

And the thing is that I actually want to—explain, that is. Yes, I could lie. It would be so easy to say she's a friend of Levi's and that he introduced us. But I'm so tired of the bullshit. I want the lies to be over . . . at least with my friends.

Because it's clear ARC has their suspicions. I'm certainly not buying that Audrey's sudden appearance is a coincidence. Not for one minute. Her presence is a game changer, but it's a game I'm confident I can win. “Great, Audrey. I'm sure you'll be an asset in the field. I'm just going to get dressed now. Don't want to be late.” I smile in a way that tells her I'm not buying what she's selling, but the French woman is undeterred.

“Of course. See you on the playground,
mon amie
.” She turns and walks away.

Violet shuts her locker and looks at me as I'm zipping up my suit.

“Later.” I hold up my hand. “I'll explain to everyone.”

We are working another Nest that day, and I wait until the entire team is in place and has checked in before I begin talking. I disable my mic. As soon as I do so, Violet jumps in.

“Spill it. How do you know that girl and how in God's name do you know what it's like in the Village?”

Boone and Henry whip their heads around and stare at me as if they've just heard I was going to have a baby, or maybe eat a baby. With Henry, it's always hard to tell.

“She works with Levi,” I begin.

“Levi?” Henry says suspiciously.

“Yes.” Deep breath—time to start coming clean. “I asked Levi to help get me into the Village. I wanted to see it. I wanted to—”

Violet interrupts before I can finish. “See that guy Ezra.”

Boone rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Holy shit, Ryn. Are you telling me that you broke in there
to see a dude
? You have got to be kidding me.”

“Oh, Ryn,” Vi says sadly.

“That was an incredibly impulsive and reckless decision—not to mention stupid. You're smarter than that,” Henry says quietly, but his anger is clearly rising to the surface.

I hold both my hands up. “It's not what you think. Yes, I
did
want to see him—I had made a promise. But that's nothing compared to what I saw there. It's not like some apocalyptic concrete prison. They call it the Village because it's really a village—well, more like a town. It's cute. It's quaint. It's also creepy as hell and totally unsettling.”

My teammates all look at one another.

“What do you mean?” Boone asks. “I don't get it.”

“I mean, whatever comes through and isn't hostile—though God only knows what they do to the hostile ones—whatever they were before, whatever they believed, whatever it was that made them who they were, is stripped away. The entire point of the Village is to humanize
everyone.
They have to speak English, they have to celebrate our holidays, dress like us, act like us. They can't have families of their own and even if they
are
humans, they can never,
ever
leave. It's like the scariest propaganda campaign you have ever seen. It's fucked up. Wrong.” There is silence among us for a few seconds as I let what I've said sink in.

Eventually Violet speaks, clearly disturbed. “Well, I get not letting some of the more . . . I mean . . . the species that aren't obviously human and could never pass, I understand why they need to be kept in the Village, but I guess I always thought humans were sort of debriefed and then released, with ARC's help, of course. Treated like people in Witness Relocation or something.”

A snicker escapes my lips. “Oh, please,” I say sarcastically. “We're all so wrapped up in our own drama, about what they made us into and what we can and can't do that we assume we have it the worst of everyone. The fact is, I know I never even actually thought about the Immigrants at all. None of us did. And yet I'm telling you, we're actually the lucky ones, if you can believe it.”

“Well, since I've never actually gotten lucky, no, I don't believe it,” Boone snaps at me.

“For the record, I can believe it,” Henry says. “I've always thought something terrible happens to the Immigrants. I just didn't know what, and now I'm kind of ashamed that I never
asked or went to find out the answers like you did, Ryn. It's just, every time I thought about it, I'd get distracted and forget. Which makes me feel even worse about it.”

I bite my lip and squirm inside. I have a pretty good idea of why he was “forgetting.”

“Don't, Henry,” I tell him softly. “I mean, no one talks about it. No one said anything, so it's not like you're the only one. The thing is, Applebaum and ARC, they make us feel like we have no power and no say. Guys,
we
are the most powerful people in this entire system. We need to start acting like it. If we're going to be sending Immigrants off to the Village, then it's our moral responsibility to know exactly how that process goes. We can't put our heads in the sand anymore. We cannot be part of the system in that way. We can't just be good soldiers and follow orders.” Instinctively, I put a hand on my rifle and stand a little straighter.

Violet shakes her head. I can see that she's afraid, but angry, too, and maybe a little ashamed. “How do we start doing that?”

“Whatever comes through today? We're going to sit in on their debriefing session. I want to know what lies ARC tells them. I want to hear how it all starts, right from the beginning.” I stare at them all intently.

Boone bristles. “And just how are we supposed to do that? Are we going to go up to one of the intake coordinators and be like, ‘Hey, where's the brainwashing room?'”

I wince a little when he says the word. I should tell them the whole truth. I want to—and I will—but it's too much, too soon. Let them live with this first.

Just like I did.

“Yeah, no one is going to let us just waltz into an intake room,” Violet argues.

“With the four of us asking? I think that's exactly what they are going to let us do.” I look over to see Henry nod and give me a tight-lipped smile. Violet looks between us two, and nods as well. We all look at Boone.

“Fine!” he says, throwing his hands up. “I always wanted to Clockwork Orange someone anyway, so maybe this is my chance.” He's joking, which means Boone is in, too.

My team is with me. Of course they are.

It's not long after the decision is made that we devise a loose plan. Then, just when we are getting to particulars, The Rift opens. We all tense. I hear Levi. He's on point, down at the rock, leader of Alpha Team. We hear it before we get a visual, a long wail of chirping that sounds like a thousand tiny screams. Hundreds of bright purple and turquoise birds fly out of The Rift, moving together as if they were one body. They are breathtakingly beautiful, like little fairies all rushing together, waving, undulating.

The teams on the ground fan out. I see Audrey on Alpha Team with Levi. Does ARC know that he helped me? Did they put them together to work as some sort of an investigation? Into me? Into each other? Seven ground teams pull out what looks to be a bazooka. I know it's not, but that doesn't stop me from wincing when they fire. A spray of nets flies up into the air around the murmuration of what looks to be a version of starlings. It doesn't take long, maybe five or six seconds, and the birds are captured. Their gorgeous plum wings flap against the white rope of the nets. They crash and flip over each other. Momentarily, they get enough leverage in a few of the nets to actually make it off the ground, but it's pointless. They crash down again and their screaming chirps bounce off the trees and echo up to the Nest. The four of us look at each other. We don't need to say it. We all know what each of
us is thinking—that at the end of the day, anyone who comes in contact with The Rift is as trapped as those birds are—Citadels, Immigrants, even Applebaum with his underground bunker life and his lies and the way he hurts children year after year, believing it's for the greater good. Applebaum isn't a monster; I've seen plenty of those. He's just a man with a terrible job. I turn away from the scene below me and sit down against a post. I lower my head onto my knees.

Shit. I don't even like birds.

LATER ON THAT DAY, TOWARD
the end of the shift, a group of about ten Maribehs come through. Yes, they do sort of look like they belong in a
Planet of the Apes
movie (the older ones), and I've joked about it, called them damn dirty apes, but never again, not now that I know where they are going and what the rest of their lives will be. They might not be able to speak English, but the least I can do is honor them by calling them what they call themselves in their own language.

Levi's team and another on the ground surround the Maribehs. They are a docile species. Personally, I've never seen one get violent on the ground. They are more of the pee-their-pants-in-fear variety, which, given the circumstances, I might be, too, if I wasn't a Citadel. The Maribehs are crying, arms are flailing. Levi is being calm, giving off an authoritarian vibe, but one that isn't scary. Say what I will about Levi, he
is
good at this. The two teams have the Maribehs circled and are herding them toward the vans that are waiting to take them to HQ. One of the Maribehs trips, and I watch as Audrey yanks him up hard and shoves him forward. Levi gives her a stern look and she just shrugs and smiles. I can't believe there is any situation in which I would prefer Levi's company, but I'd take him any day over Psycho Girl. There are about thirty
minutes left of our watch. The team sits it out and when the other Beta Team comes in to relieve us, we make our way back to the base in relative quiet. I know what they are thinking: They are beginning to see the Immigrants in a different light. They aren't just victims and they aren't always enemies, either. They are sentient beings who will now be prisoners for the rest of their lives.

We all change into our training uniforms and meet in the hallway. Collectively, we walk to the intake section of the bunker. I have only been called here a couple times, to deal with Immigrants who seemed passive at first but then went bonkers. It isn't entirely unusual for a Citadel to be in this part of the base, but it is out of the ordinary. Generally, regular military take over from here. As such, we get a couple looks from some soldiers. We look right back at them. It almost makes me smirk—they know to not even try. I see a few coordinators, but I want Kendrick. He's the only one who might just let us go where we want without too many questions. Other than my few times in the Village, I know most of what I know about the Immigrants from him.

So obviously we run smack into Greta.

“Shit.”

“What?”

Did I say that out loud?

“What are you doing here?” she demands. “Nobody called in the Citadels. It's just a group of Maribehs—we can handle it.”

“I'm looking for Kendrick,” I state simply. Greta furrows her brow. She's thinking. Not good.

“Why?”

“That's none of your business,” I answer coolly.

“I'm a manager of this division. Everything that happens here is my business.”

Wow, is she going to try to pull rank? Or maybe she thinks because she's older than us, she's automatically in charge.

“The only reason you have a ‘division,'” I say as I twirl my finger around in a circle, “is because me and my friends risk our lives every day out there in the kill zone. Now, tell me where I can find Kendrick and stop asking me questions.” I am not angry when I say this. I am not smarmy, either. She knows what we are capable of. Regardless of her definition of management, we have all the authority we need scrambled into our DNA. Moreover, she's a bully—using condescension and intimidation to get results. When it has no effect on me, she wisely backs down and tells us to follow her.

You are in no way superior to
me
, lady
.