Three (Article 5) (20 page)

I stood up, the note tight in my fist.

“Come on,” I said. “We’ve got to find DeWitt.”

CHAPTER

13

THE
Lodge was quiet—eerie quiet. Like something might jump out of each shadow the flickering torchlight threw across the hallway. We bypassed the first two men guarding the north wing without any trouble, but once we got to the door of the radio room we came face-to-face with Rocklin. He crossed his arms over his narrow chest and leaned against the closed door.

“Why am I not surprised you’d show up here?” he asked.

“How strange,” I said. “I was just about to say the same thing.” I mimicked his posture, sick and tired of all the suspicion.

“Looks like great minds think alike,” said Chase. “We need to talk to DeWitt.”

I tried to smile nicely, but when I glanced over at Chase I saw there was still a piece of straw in his hair. I combed a hand through my own, hoping he might copy the move on himself, but instead he only gave me a strange look. The gesture was not lost on Rocklin, who snorted, and said, “Kind of late to be cleaning stalls.”

I snatched the straw out of Chase’s hair.

“DeWitt,” I said. “Can you tell him we’re here? Please.”

“What makes you think he’s here?”

The door opened inward, and Rocklin stumbled backward, catching himself on the frame just before he fell.

“Because I am. What’s this about?” DeWitt appeared behind him. The room was dark but for a lantern resting on the table beside the radios, and the dim yellow light made his face appear gaunt, and the scars on his cheeks deeper.

None of the other techs were present.

“I … um…”

He didn’t look pleased to see us. It hadn’t occurred to me until just then that DeWitt might not hear me out.

“Sorry about the interruption, doctor,” said Rocklin.

“What are you doing here?” said DeWitt, stepping into the hall. A muscle in his neck bulged. At the harshness in his tone, my gaze dropped behind him to a picture leaning against the lantern. I’d seen it my first time here—the profile of a young girl with dirty blond hair, laughing.

DeWitt returned to the room and snatched the photo off the table. He stuffed it in his pocket and grabbed the lantern. Then he cut between us and headed toward the main foyer.

“Wait,” I said, racing to keep up. “We need to talk to you.”

“I’m busy,” snapped DeWitt. He glared over my head at Chase. “I don’t care who you are.”

A heavy feeling settled in the center of my chest—he must have heard something over the radio that had upset him. Another post had fallen. More of our people had been hurt. But if that was true, the other techs would have been called in.

“I have an idea,” I said quickly. “I know how we can wake the people up.”

He slowed. Stopped. Took a deep breath. “You’ve got one minute.”

I uncrumpled the Statute circular I’d smashed in my fist.

“Look familiar?” When he only grunted, I hurried on. “Everyone knows what the Statutes look like, but what if you could change what they said? If they looked the same, but said something different?” I scrambled for words, sensing his confusion. “Look, if someone changed the words on the flyers to something else—some kind of message—you could reach everyone. That message would be on the front of every business. Kids in school would read it. Half the houses in the country would have it posted on the front door.”

“Change the words of the Moral Statutes?” DeWitt asked. “To what?”

“To what’s really happening,” Chase said.

“You could hide the truth right in plain sight,” I said, thinking of the treason embedded in my mother’s magazines. “Write about the arrests and executions of the Article violators, and the abuse at reform school, and the brainwashing of soldiers, and what happened to the safe house.”

Chase grabbed my hand. His fingers locked between mine and squeezed, as if trying to hold me in place.

DeWitt mulled this over. I shoved the Statutes in front of Chase, feeling the plan grow wings inside of me.

“How often did you look at these—really look at them—when you were a soldier?” I asked.

He exhaled through his teeth. “Never. Not once, actually. In training we read from a handbook.”

“Exactly. They’re written for everyone else.” I pulled my hand free from his. “There would be no reason to fight the bases alone. Once the people see the story, they’ll fight with us. It could start a revolution, just like you said.”

DeWitt ran his knuckles down his cheek. “If it’s subtle enough, worked right into the text, the Bureau might not even notice,” he said. “It could be distributed halfway across the country before they caught on.”

“They’d deliver our message for us,” I said. “There’s still two weeks before the chief’s party in Charlotte. If we could get it done before then, we’d have a better chance of taking the base, right?”

Excitement, but also something dark and terrible, swelled inside of me. If this worked, the FBR would be irate. Their vengeance would not be pretty.

DeWitt was quiet for several seconds. The light from the lantern threw lopsided circles across the ground as he twisted his wrist.

He nodded slowly.

“So how do you propose we hijack the message into the Statutes?” he asked.

For the first time since we’d arrived, Chase’s mouth turned up in a slow, sly grin.

“We just so happen to know a couple of guys who might be able to help.”

*   *   *

AN
hour later Chase and I were sitting around a foldout table in the cafeteria. The council was summoned, and had been arguing since DeWitt had introduced my plan. They all agreed that hijacking the Statutes was a good, although risky, idea, but disagreed on what exactly the text would say.

“You need to focus on what happened at the safe house,” said Ms. Rita, her hair hidden beneath a red scarf. “Go for sympathy, and then tell them the rallying point and time at the Charlotte base.”

Patch, the old man who led the fighters, scoffed, tapping his cane against the metal edge of the table. “And if the Blues get the message before the people? Our operation’s blown.” He shook his head. “No, you have to keep it vague. Speak in general terms.”

“Vague is not relatable,” said DeWitt. “We need the civilians who read this to have something to hold on to. This happened to my cousin, my neighbor, my father. This could happen to me.”

“Then you have to use names,” said Panda, absently running his fingers over the tattooed list on his opposite forearm. “Real stories, real names.”

Chase and I glanced at each other. There were too many stories to count, too many people already lost. How could you choose?

“That list would be a thousand miles long,” said Ms. Rita, speaking my thoughts.

There was a heap of Statutes on the table, and a pile of freshly sharpened pencils, but as of yet no one had taken any notes. I took one sheet and folded it in half. Then in half again. And again, and again, just to busy my hands.

“What about your friend with the spinal cord injury?” DeWitt turned to me; it was the first time since we’d arrived any of them had acknowledged us. “A girl who’s beaten mercilessly at the reform school, and then purposefully kept out of treatment so she could be used to scare other girls into complying with the Statutes.”

“Sweet God,” murmured Ms. Rita.

I scrunched the thickly folded paper in my fists below the table. Yes, it was a horrifying story, but the last thing I wanted was to exploit my friend. Besides, even if she said yes, Sean would never go for it.

Before I could answer, Van Pelt, the caretaker of the fields, the red-haired man who’d captured us in the orchard, spoke up.

“We don’t want this coming off as a sob story,” he said. “It needs to inspire.”

“Then you need a hero,” said Chase. They all turned to him, myself included. He straightened in his seat. “Someone people know and can look up to.”

“That’s you, doc.” Panda slapped DeWitt on the back.

Three’s leader rubbed his chin, lost in thought. “I’m hardly a hero. And I’m not sure my situation’s the most relatable anyway. Most civilians aren’t packing away refugees in their basement like we were.”

He was looking right at me.

I swallowed.

“Right,” I said. “The girl who was sent to reform school when her mom was arrested for noncompliance. Who escaped a Knoxville prison, joined the resistance, and supposedly became the sniper.”

“There is a certain ring to it,” said DeWitt.

Chase had paled. “You’d use her name.”

“Yes,” I said weakly. “You’d have to use my name. It’s already out there—the MM’s broadcasted it on and off since we escaped reform school.” Part of me had known it would come to this when I’d come up with the plan. That didn’t make it any easier to swallow though.

“People think you’re dead,” Chase argued. “When Cara died, your name died with her.”

DeWitt flinched. “There’s nothing like resurrecting a hero to get people’s attention.”

I turned to Chase, feeling a cool numbness override the fear. “The MM knows we’re alive because of that stupid photo from the hospital. They’re already looking for us. We might as well shove it in their face that I’m still alive despite everything they’ve done. At the same time we can tell the people what the FBR is really capable of.”

“It’s good,” said Panda. “Look at her. She’s the girl next door. Everyone either is her, or knows someone like her.”

They looked at me like I was some kind of specimen to be studied, all the while considering if my past was traumatic enough, if I’d been innocent enough, if I was strong enough now. It didn’t feel like they were talking about me as much as the me they needed me to be.

I fiddled with the Statutes, strewn across the table while they continued to talk about me like I wasn’t there. My eyes landed on the number that had changed my life.

Article 5:
Children are considered valid citizens when conceived by a married man and wife. All other children are to be removed from the home and subjected to rehabilitative procedures.

a)
Unwed parents may be tried to determine legitimacy of children born out of wedlock. Evidence used in trial may include hospital records, birth certificates, identification cards and so forth.

a. (revised)
Unwed parents may be tried to determine legitimacy of all children below the age of eighteen. Evidence used in trial may include hospital records, birth certificates, social security cards and so forth.

b)
Those parents held in contempt of Section 2, Article 5 by the investigative board shall be sentenced appropriately.

c)
Children’s parental rights are absorbed by the state. Citizenship may be granted at the age of eighteen following completion of rehabilitation.

“I want it to tell what happened to my mother,” I said, interrupting them. “Since this is my life and all, I think I should get a say in what it says.”

The council stopped, stared at me.

“Of course,” said Ms. Rita.

Chase’s shoulders rounded. There were words inside of him struggling to get free. I could see his jaw working to hold them back.

“It’s not enough time,” said Patch. “Two weeks isn’t enough time to distribute this message to a whole country.”

“It just has to spark a flame,” said Van Pelt. “Charlotte is just the beginning.”

I hoped a spark was enough.

“You’d do this for us?” DeWitt asked me.

I put my hand on Chase’s knee. Felt the muscles flex beneath, and then the warmth of his hand covering mine.

“No,” I said. “I’ll do it for my mom.”

*   *   *

WE
spent the next two hours going over any details we might be able to insert into the Statutes. I told DeWitt about my mother’s arrest and Chase filled in the blanks. The words grew sticky and caught in my throat. It was like reliving the worst parts all over again.

And then, when we were done, we were excused so that the council could meet privately.

“Thank you for your story,” DeWitt told me, as if I’d given it to him and it wasn’t even mine anymore.

“You’re kicking us out?” Chase asked. “Now?”

DeWitt led us to the cafeteria door.

“I can write it,” I said. “It should be me. It’s my life we’re talking about.”

“You’ve done your part,” he said, making it clear his word was the last word. “It belongs to all of us now. Stay close. We’ll call you soon.”

I frowned, feeling somehow lighter without this burden, but infinitely more exposed.

Chase and I sat on the swings at the small playground just outside the cafeteria, rocking gently forward and back. After a while, Will brought us some food, then disappeared back into the kitchen. We ate quietly, plates on our laps, and watched the light from the standing torches throw shapes against the concrete side of the building.

“The Expungement Initiative,” I muttered. Chase had used the term earlier when describing what they’d done to my mother in the Lexington FBR base. It was a new protocol, approved by the Chief of Reformation, meant to make the Article violators disappear so the country could start fresh.

“I can’t believe they named it,” I said.

Chase leaned forward to put his plate on the ground.

“It’s the government,” he said, staring at the sand between his feet. “They have a name for everything. Even the things that don’t really exist.”

I pushed the rest of the food aside. An image of Tucker flashed in my mind. I didn’t know if he’d made it to the safe house yet, but part of me was now glad I hadn’t been sent to find him. The thought of seeing him now, with my mother’s story fresh in my mind, made me sick.

“I hope this works,” I said.

Chase didn’t respond right away. “If it works, we’ll never be able to go back.”

I didn’t know if he meant back home, or back outside of the Red Zone. It didn’t much matter; either was a risk. I rested my head against the cool chain of the swing. “I know.”

“What happens then?” He’d never asked me a question about the future before. I didn’t know how to answer.

I pushed back on my heels and let the swing carry me forward. “Remember when we were little we’d see who could jump the farthest?”