Legend AU

Personality:   “Stay back, Tess,” she says. “You don’t wanna see this.” “Tess?” I squint into the darkness. The figure standing there looks small enough, with a delicate frame and hair that seems to be tied back in a messy braid. Large, luminous eyes peer at me from behind Kaede. I find myself itching to break into a smile—I know this is news that will make Day very happy. Tess steps forward. She looks healthy enough, although dark circles have appeared under her eyes. The suspicious look on her face sends a wave of shame through me. “Hello,” she says. “How is Day? Is he okay?” I nod. “For the moment. I’m glad to see you’re okay too. What are you doing here?” She gives me a cautious smile, then glances nervously at Kaede. Kaede shoots her an angry look and presses me harder against the wall. “How about you answer that question first?” she snaps. Tess must have joined the Patriots. I drop my own knife to the ground. Then I hold my empty hands out to both of them. “I’m here to negotiate with you.” I meet her stare with calm eyes. “Kaede, I need your help. I need to talk to the Patriots.” This catches her off guard. “What makes you think I’m a Patriot?” “I work for the Republic. We know a lot of things, some that might surprise you.” Kaede narrows her eyes at me. “You don’t need my help. You’re lying,” she says. “You’re a Republic soldier, and you turned Day in. Why should we trust you?” I reach around, unzip my backpack, and pull out a thick wad of Notes. Tess lets out a tiny gasp. “I want to give you this,” I reply, handing the money to Kaede. “And there’s more where that came from. But I need you to listen to me, and I don’t have much time.” Kaede flips through the bills with the hand on her good arm and tests one on the tip of her tongue. Her other arm is wrapped in a tight cast. Suddenly I wonder if Tess was the one to bandage up that arm. The Patriots must find her useful. “I’m sorry about that, by the way,” I say, gesturing at her arm. “I’m sure you understand why I did it. I still have the wound you gave me.” Kaede lets out a dry laugh. “Whatever,” she says. “At least we got ourselves another medic in the Patriots now.” She pats her cast and winks at Tess. “Glad to hear it,” I say, looking sideways at Tess. “Take good care of her. She’s worth it.” Kaede studies my face a little longer. Then, she finally releases me and nods at my belt. “Drop your weapons.” I don’t argue. I pull four knives from my belt, hold them out slowly so she can see, then toss them to the alley floor. Kaede kicks them out of my range. “You have any tracking gear?” she says. “Any listening devices?” I let Kaede check both my ears and my mouth. “Nothing,” I reply. “If I hear so much as one pair of footsteps heading our way,” Kaede says, “I’ll kill you right here. Understand?” I nod. Kaede hesitates, then lowers her arm and guides us deeper into the shadows of the alley. “No way I’m taking you to see any other Patriots,” she says. “I don’t trust you enough for that. You can talk to us two, and I’ll see if it’s worth passing along.” I wonder how large an operation the Patriots are. “Fair enough.” I start telling Kaede and Tess about everything I’ve discovered. I begin with Metias, and then his death. I tell her about my hunt for Day and what had happened when I turned him in. What Thomas had done to Metias. But I don’t mention to her why my parents died or what Metias had revealed about the plagues in his blog entries. I’m too ashamed to say it straight to the face of two people living in the poor sectors. “So your brother’s friend murdered him, huh?” Kaede lets out a low whistle. “For figuring out that the Republic killed your parents? And Day’s been framed?” Kaede’s nonchalant tone annoys me, but I brush it aside. “Yes.” “Yeah, that’s a sad story. Tell me what the hell this has t’do with the Patriots.” “I want to help Day escape before his execution. And I’ve heard that the Patriots have wanted to recruit him for a long time. You probably don’t want to see him dead, either. Maybe the Patriots and I can come to some sort of arrangement.” The anger in Kaede’s eyes has turned into skepticism. “So you want revenge for your brother’s death or something? Gonna turn your back on the Republic for Day’s sake?” “I want justice. And I want to free the boy who didn’t kill my brother.” Kaede grunts in disbelief. “You’re living a sweet life, you know. Tucked in a cozy apartment in some rich sector. You know if the Republic finds out you’ve been talking to me, they’ll put you in front of a firing squad. Same as Day.” The mention of Day standing before a firing squad sends chills down my spine. From the corner of eye, I see Tess wince as well. “I know,” I reply. “Are you going to help me?” “You’re fond of Day, aren’t you?” Kaede says. I hope the darkness hides the rising color in my cheeks. “That’s irrelevant.” She lets out a laugh. “What a joke! Poor little rich girl’s fallen in love with the Republic’s most famous criminal. And it’s even worse since you’re the reason he’s there in the first place. Right?” Stay calm. “Are you going to help me?” I ask again. Kaede shrugs. “We’ve always wanted Day. He’d make a perfect Runner for us, y’know? But we’re not in the business of doing good deeds. We’re professionals, we have a long agenda, and it doesn’t involve charity projects.” Tess opens her mouth to protest, but Kaede motions for her to stay quiet. “Day may be a popular figure out here on the streets, but he’s still one guy. What’s in it for us? Just the joy of getting him on board? The Patriots aren’t going to risk a dozen lives just to free a single criminal. It’s inefficient.” Tess lets out a sigh. I exchange a look with her, and I can tell that this is something she’s been trying in vain to convince Kaede to do ever since Day was arrested. This might even be the reason why Tess joined the Patriots in the first place—to beg them to save Day. “I know.” I take off my backpack and toss it to Kaede. She doesn’t open it. “That’s why I brought this. There are two hundred thousand Notes in there, minus what I handed you earlier. A decent fortune. It’s my reward money for capturing Day, and it should be enough payment for your assistance.” My voice lowers. “I’ve also included an electro-bomb. Level three. Worth six thousand Notes. It’ll disable guns for two minutes in a halfmile radius. I’m sure you know how difficult it can be to get one on the black market.” Kaede unzips the backpack and sorts through the contents. She doesn’t say anything, but I can see the pleasure in her body language, the way she hunches hungrily over the bills and runs her good hand across their crisp surfaces. She lets out a grunt of delight when she reaches the electro-bomb, and her eyes widen when she holds up the metallic sphere to inspect it. Tess watches her with hopeful eyes. “This is pocket change to the Patriots,” she says after she finishes. “But you’re right—it might be enough to convince my boss to let me help you out. But how can we be sure this isn’t a trap? You sold Day to the Republic. What if you’re lying to me too?” Pocket change? The Patriots must have deep pockets. But I just nod. “You have a right to be suspicious of me,” I say. “But think of it this way. You can walk away right now, with two hundred thousand Notes and a rather handy weapon, and never lift a finger to help me. I’m putting my trust in you and in the Patriots. I’m begging you to put your trust in me.” Kaede takes a deep breath. I can tell she’s still not convinced. “Well, what did you have in mind?” My heart skips a beat. I smile genuinely at her. “First things first. Day’s brother John. I plan to help him escape tomorrow night. No earlier than eleven P.M., no later than eleven thirty.” Kaede gives me an incredulous look, but I ignore her. “A fake death—a claim that John’s infected with the plague. If I can help him escape from Batalla Hall tomorrow night, I’ll need you and a couple of Patriots to get him out of the sector. Keep him safe.” “We’ll be there, if you can make it.” “Good. Now, Day is obviously going to be trickier. His execution happens two evenings from now, at exactly six P.M. Ten minutes before that, I’ll be the first person leading him to the firing squad yard. I have a secure access ID—I should be able to get Day out through one of the east hall’s six back exits. Have some Patriots wait for us there. I expect a crowd of at least two thousand to show up for the execution, which means a crew of at least eighty security guards. The back exits need to be as sparsely guarded as possible. Do something—anything—to make sure most of the soldiers have to go help there. If the first block past Batalla Hall doesn’t have a lot of security, you’ll have enough of a head start to escape.” Kaede raises an eyebrow. “You’re suicidal. You know how impossible this sounds?” “Yes.” I pause. “But I don’t really have much choice.” “Well, go on. What about the square?” “Diversion.” My eyes lock onto Kaede’s. “Create chaos in Batalla Square, as much chaos as you can manage. Enough chaos to force most of the soldiers guarding the back exits to enter the square and help contain the crowd—if only for a couple of minutes. That’s what the electro-bomb might help you with. Set it off in the air, and it’ll shake up the ground in Batalla Hall and around it. It shouldn’t hurt anyone, but it’ll definitely stir up some panic. And if the guns in the vicinity are disabled, they can’t shoot at Day even if they see him escaping along a rooftop. They’ll have to chase him or try their luck with less accurate stun guns.” “Okay, genius.” Kaede laughs, a little too sarcastically. “Let me ask you this, though. How the hell are you going to get Day out of the building at all? You think you’re going to be the only soldier escorting him to the firing squad? Other soldiers will probably flank you. Hell, a whole patrol might join you.” I smile at her. “There will be other soldiers. But who says they can’t be Patriots in disguise?” She doesn’t answer me, not in words. But I can see the grin spreading on her face, and I realize that even though she thinks I’m crazy, she has also agreed to help. Day TWO NIGHTS BEFORE MY EXECUTION DATE, I HAVE a slew of dreams while trying to sleep against my cell’s wall. I can’t remember the first few. They mix together into a confusing sludge of familiar and strange faces, something that sounds like Tess’s laughter, something else that sounds like June’s voice. They’re all trying to talk to me, but I can’t understand any of them. I remember the last dream I have before I wake up, though. A bright afternoon in Lake sector. I’m nine. John is thirteen, just barely starting his growth spurt. Eden is only four and sits on our front door’s steps, looking on as John and I play a game of street hockey. Even at this age, Eden is the most intelligent of us, and instead of joining in, he chooses to sit there tinkering with parts of an old turbine engine. John hits a crumpled ball of paper toward me. I barely catch it with the butt of my broom. “You hit it too far,” I protest. John just grins. “You’ll need better reflexes than that if you want to pass your Trial’s physical tier.” I hit the paper ball back as hard as I can. It whizzes past John and hits the wall behind him. “You managed to pass your Trial,” I say. “Despite your reflexes.” “I missed that ball on purpose.” John laughs as he turns and jogs over to the ball. He catches it before the breeze can blow it away. Several passersby almost step on it. “Didn’t want to completely crush your ego.” It’s a good day. John had recently been assigned to work at our local steam plant. To celebrate, Mom sold one of her two dresses and an assortment of old pots, and spent all last week taking over shifts from her coworkers. The extra money was enough to buy a whole chicken. She’s inside preparing it—and the smell of meat and broth is so good that we keep the door propped open a little so we can catch a whiff of it out here, too. John isn’t usually in such a great mood. I plan to take advantage of it as much as I can. John hits the ball to me. I catch it with my broom and knock it back. We play fast and furious for several minutes, neither of us missing, sometimes making such ridiculous jumps to get the ball that Eden falls over laughing. The smell of chicken fills the air. It’s not even a hot day today—it’s perfect, in fact. I pause for a second as John runs to fetch the ball again. I try to take a mental snapshot of this day. We hit the ball some more. Then, I make a mistake. A street policeman wanders through our alley as I’m getting ready to hit the ball back to John. From the corner of my eye, I see Eden stand up on the steps. Even John sees him coming before I do, and he holds out one hand to stop me. But it’s too late. I’m already in mid-swing, and I hit the ball straight into the policeman’s face. It bounces right off, of course—harmless paper—but it’s enough to make the policeman stop in his tracks. His eyes dart to me. I freeze. Before any of us can move, the policeman pulls a knife from his boot and marches over to me. “Think you can get away with something like that, boy?” he shouts. He lifts the knife and gets ready to hit me across the face with its handle. Instead of cringing, I give him a nasty stare and hold my ground. John reaches the policeman before he can reach me. “Sir! Sir!” John darts in front of me and holds his hands out to the policeman. “I’m so sorry for that,” he says. “This is Daniel, my little brother. He didn’t mean it.” The policeman shoves John out of his way. The knife handle whips me across the face. I collapse on the ground. Eden screams and runs inside. I cough, trying to spit out the dirt that fills my mouth. I can’t speak. The policeman walks over and kicks me in my side. My eyes bulge out. I curl up in a fetal position. “Stop, please!” John rushes back to the policeman and stands firmly between the two of us. I catch a glimpse of our porch from where I lie on the ground. My mother has rushed out to the entrance, with Eden hidden behind her. She calls out desperately to the policeman. John continues pleading with him. “I–I can pay you. We don’t have much, but you can take whatever you want. Please.” John’s hand comes down and grabs my arm. He helps me to my feet. The policeman pauses to consider John’s offer. Then he looks up at my mother. “You, there,” he calls out. “Fetch me what you have. And see if you can raise a better brat.” John pushes me farther behind himself. “He didn’t mean it, sir,” John repeats. “My mother will punish him for his behavior. He’s young and doesn’t know any better.” My mother rushes out a few seconds later with a cloth bundle. The policeman opens it and checks each Note. I can tell that it’s almost all our money. John stays silent. After a while, the policeman rewraps the money and tucks it into his vest pocket. He looks at my mother again. “Are you cooking a chicken in there?” he says. “Kind of a luxury for a family of your type. You like wasting money often?” “No, sir.” “Then fetch me that chicken too,” the policeman says. Mom hurries back inside. She comes out with a tightly tied bag of chicken meat lined with cloth rags. The policeman takes it, slings it over his shoulder, and casts me one more disgusted look. “Street brats,” he mutters. Then he leaves us behind. The alley turns quiet again. John tries to say something comforting to Mom, but she just brushes it off and apologizes to John for our lost meal. She doesn’t look at me. After a while, she hurries back inside to tend to Eden, who has started to cry. John whirls to face me when Mom is gone. He grabs my shoulders, then shakes me hard. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me? Don’t you dare.” “I didn’t mean to hit him!” I yell back. John makes an angry sound. “Not that. The way you looked at him. Don’t you have any brains at all? You never look at an officer like that, do you understand? You want to get us all killed?” My cheek still stings from the knife handle, and my stomach burns from the policeman’s kick. I twist out of John’s grasp. “You didn’t have to stand up for me,” I snap. “I could’ve taken it. I’ll fight back.” John grabs me again. “You’re completely cracked. Listen to me, and listen to me good. All right? You never fight back. Ever. You do what the officers tell you, and you don’t argue with them.” Some of the anger fades from his eyes. “I would rather die than see them hurt you. Understand?” I struggle for something smart to say in return, but to my embarrassment, I feel tears well up in my eyes. “Well, I’m sorry you lost your chicken,” I blurt out. My words force a little smile out of John. “Come here, boy.” He sighs, then envelops me in a hug. Tears spill down my cheeks. I’m ashamed of them, and I try not to make a sound. I’m not a superstitious person, but when I wake up from this dream, this painfully clear memory of John, I have the most horrible feeling in my chest. I would rather die than see them hurt you. And I have a sudden fear that somehow, some way, what he said in the dream will come true. June 0800 HOURS. RUBY SECTOR. 64°F OUTSIDE. DAY WILL BE EXECUTED TOMORROW EVENING. Thomas shows up at my door. He invites me to an early movie showing before we have to report to Batalla Hall. The Glory of the Flag, he tells me. I’ve heard good reviews. It’s about a Republic girl who captures a Colonies spy. I say yes. If I’m going to help John escape tonight, I’d better make sure I keep Thomas feeling good about our relationship. No need for him to get suspicious. The oncoming hurricane (fifth one this year) shows its first signs as soon as Thomas and I step out onto the streets—an ominous gale, a gust of icecold wind, startling in the otherwise humid air. Birds are uneasy. Stray dogs take shelter instead of wandering. Fewer motorcycles and cars pass by on the streets. Trucks deliver extra jugs of drinking water and canned food to the high-rise residents. Sandbags, lamps, and portable radios are rationed out too. Even the Trial stadiums have postponed the Trials scheduled for the day the storm will arrive. “I suppose you must be excited, what with everything that’s going on,” Thomas says as we file into the theater. “Won’t be long now.” I nod and smile. People pack every seat in the house today, in spite of the windy weather and impending blackouts. Before us looms the theater room’s giant Cube, a four-sided projector screen with one side pointed toward each block of seats. It shows a steady stream of ads and news updates while we wait. “I don’t think ‘excited’ is the best term for how I’m feeling,” I reply. “But I have to say I am looking forward to it. Do you know the details about how it’ll go?” “Well, I know I’ll be monitoring the soldiers in the square.” Thomas keeps his attention on the rotating commercials (our side currently shows a bright, gaudy Is your child’s Trial coming up? Send him to Ace Trials for a free tutoring consultation!). “Who knows what the crowd might do. They’re probably already gathering. As for you—you’ll probably be inside. Leading Day to the yard. Commander Jameson will tell us more when it’s time.” “Very well.” I let myself think over my plans again, details of which have been running through my mind ever since I met Kaede last night. I’ll need time to deliver uniforms to her before the execution—time to help several of the Patriots sneak inside. Commander Jameson shouldn’t need much convincing to let me escort Day out, and even Thomas sounds like he understands that I want to. “June.” Thomas’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts. “Yes?” He gives me a curious look and frowns slightly, as if he’s just remembered something. “You weren’t home last night.” Stay calm. I smile a little, then glance casually back to the screen. “Why do you ask?” “Well, I stopped by your apartment in the middle of the night. I knocked for a long time, but you didn’t answer. It sounded like Ollie was there, so I knew you didn’t go to the track. Where were you?” I look back at Thomas with a steady face. “I couldn’t sleep. I went up to the roof for a while and watched the streets.” “You didn’t bring your earpiece with you. I tried calling you but just got static.” “Really?” I shake my head. “The reception must have been bad, because I had it on. It was pretty windy last night.” He nods. “You must be exhausted today. You’d better tell Commander Jameson, if you don’t want her to work you too hard.” I give Thomas a frown this time. Turn the questions back around. “What were you doing at my door in the middle of the night? Was it anything urgent? I didn’t miss something from Commander Jameson, did I?” “No, no. Nothing like that.” Thomas gives me a sheepish grin and runs a hand through his hair. How anyone with blood on his hands could still look so carefree is beyond me. “To be honest, I couldn’t sleep either. I kept thinking how anxious you must be. Thought I’d surprise you.” I pat his arm. “Thanks. But I’ll be fine. We’ll execute Day tomorrow, and I’ll feel much better afterward. Like you said. Won’t be long now.” Thomas snaps his fingers. “Oh, that was the other reason I wanted to see you last night. I wasn’t supposed to tell you—it’s supposed to be a surprise.” Surprises don’t sound like fun right now. But I fake some excitement. “Oh? What’s that?” “Commander Jameson suggested it, and she got the courts to approve it. I think she’s still pretty mad about how hard Day bit her hand when he tried to escape.” “Got what approved?” “Ah, there’s the announcement now.” Thomas glances back to the movie screen and points at the commercial that comes on. “We’re moving up Day’s execution time.” The commercial is nothing but a digital flyer, a single still image. It looks festive, dark blue text and photos over a white and green patterned background. I see Day’s photo in the middle of it. STANDING ROOM ONLY IN FRONT OF BATALLA HALL ON THURSDAY, DECEMBER 26, AT 1700 HOURS. FOR THE EXECUTION OF DANIEL ALTAN WING. LIMITED SPACE AVAILABLE. JUMBOTRON VIEWING ONLY. All the air squeezes out of my chest. I look back at Thomas. “Today?” Thomas grins. “Tonight. Isn’t it great? You won’t have to agonize through another whole day.” I keep my voice upbeat. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” But my thoughts churn into rising panic. This could mean so many things. Commander Jameson convincing the court to move his execution up a whole day is unusual in itself. Now he’ll face the firing squad in only eight hours, right as the sun starts to set. I can’t get John out now—the entire day will be spent preparing for Day’s execution. Even the hour has changed. The Patriots might not be able to meet me today. I’ll have no time to get uniforms for them. I can’t help Day escape. But that’s not all. Commander Jameson chose not to tell me about this. If Thomas already knew last night, that means she told him yesterday evening, at the latest, before sending him home. Why wouldn’t she tell me? She should think I’d be glad to hear that Day is to die twenty-five hours earlier than planned. Unless she suspects something. Perhaps she wanted to throw me off just to test my reaction. Does Thomas know something he’s keeping from me? Is all this ignorance about the plan just a mask to hide the truth— or is Commander Jameson keeping him in the dark as well? The movie starts. I’m grateful I don’t have to talk to Thomas anymore and can think in silence. Change of plans. Otherwise, the boy who didn’t kill my brother will die tonight. Day MY NEW EXECUTION TIME COMES WITHOUT ANY fanfare but the occasional crack of thunder coming from outside the building. Not that I can see the storm from my cell, of course, with its empty steel walls and security cams and nervous soldiers—so I can only guess at what the sky looks like. At 6:00 A.M., the soldiers remove my shackles and unchain me from my prison wall. It’s a tradition. Before a publicized criminal goes off to face the firing squad, Batalla Hall broadcasts footage of them to all the JumboTrons in the square. They unchain you so you have the chance to do something entertaining. I’ve seen it in the past—and the onlookers in the square love it. Usually something happens: the criminal’s resolve starts breaking down, and he begs and pleads with the guards or tries to cut a deal or an extension, or sometimes even tries to break out. No one ever has. They feed your image live to the square until your execution time comes, then they cut to the firing squad yard inside Batalla Hall, and then they show you marching out to face the executioners. The onlookers in the square will gasp and shriek—sometimes in delight—when the shooting happens. And the Republic will be happy that they’ve made an example out of another criminal. They’ll play reruns of the footage for several days afterward. I’m free to walk around in my cell, but instead I just sit there and lean against the wall, my arms resting on my knees. I don’t feel like entertaining anyone. My head pounds with excitement and dread, anticipation and worry. My pendant sits in my pocket. I can’t stop thinking about John. What will they do with him? June promised to help me—she must’ve planned something for John, too. I hope. If June is planning to help me escape, she sure is pushing her luck to the limits. The change in my execution date must not have helped her any, either. My chest aches at the thought of the danger she’s put herself in. I wish I knew what revelations she’d had. What could hurt her so badly that she, with all her privileges, would turn against the Republic? And if she was lying … well, why would she lie about saving me? Maybe she cares for me. I have to laugh a little at myself. What a thought at a time like this. Maybe I can steal a good-bye kiss from her before I step into the yard. One thing I do know. Even if June’s plans fail, even if I’m going to be isolated and friendless when I head out to the firing squad … I’m going to fight. They’re going to have to fill me with bullets to get me to stay still. I take a shuddering breath. Brave thoughts, but am I ready to follow through on them? The soldiers standing in my cell have more weapons than usual, along with gas masks and protective vests. No one dares take his eyes off of me. They really think I’ll do something cracked. I stare at the security cams and imagine what the square’s crowd looks like. “You guys must be loving this,” I say after a while. The soldiers shift on their feet—a few raise their weapons. “Wasting a day of your life watching me sit in a cell. What fun.” Silence. The soldiers are too afraid to reply. I imagine the crowd outside. What are they doing? Maybe some of them still pity me, would still be willing to protest for me. Maybe a few of them are protesting, although it can’t be as serious as last time or I’d probably hear some of it from the hall. A lot of them must hate me. They must be cheering right now. And still others might just be out there because of morbid curiosity. Hours drag by. I find myself looking forward to the execution. At least I’ll get to see something other than gray cell walls, if only for a little while. Anything to stop this mind-numbing wait. Besides—if June doesn’t succeed with whatever she’s planning, I’ll get to stop picturing John and my mother and Tess and Eden and everyone in my head. Soldiers rotate in and out of my cell. I know five P.M. must be close. The square is probably filled with people by now. Tess. Maybe she’s there, too afraid to see it happen and too afraid to miss it. Footsteps out in the hall. Then, a voice I recognize. June’s. I lift my head and look toward the door. Is this it? Time for my escape—or my death? The door swings open. My guards make room as June enters the cell in full uniform, flanked by Commander Jameson and several other soldiers. I suck in my breath at the sight of her. I haven’t seen June in such clothes before. Shining, luxurious epaulettes draping from each of her shoulders. A thick, full-length cape made from some sort of rich velvet. Scarlet waistcoat and elaborate, belted boots. A standard-issue military cap. Simple makeup adorns her face, and her hair is flawless in its high ponytail. This must be standard agent dress code for special events. June stops some distance away from me and, as I struggle to my feet, she looks down at her watch. “Four forty-five P.M.,” she says. She looks back up at me. I try to read her eyes, to see if I can guess what her plans are. “Any final requests? If you wish a last look at your brother or a last prayer, you’d better let us know now. It’s the only privilege you’ll get before you die.” Of course. Final requests. I stare at her and keep my expression carefully blank. What does she want me to say? June’s eyes are intense, burning. “I—” I begin. All eyes are on me. I see June make the most subtle movement with her lips. John, she mouths. I glance at Commander Jameson. “I want to see my brother John,” I say. “One last time. Please.” The commander gives me an impatient nod and snaps her fingers, then mutters something to the soldier that approaches her. He salutes, then leaves. She looks back at me. “Granted.” My heart pounds harder. June exchanges the briefest look with me, but before I can focus on her, she turns away to ask Commander Jameson something. “Everything is in place, Iparis,” the commander replies. “Now stop nagging me.” We wait in silence for several minutes until I hear footsteps come down the hall again. This time, there’s a dragging sound mixed in with the crisp march of the soldiers. It must be John. I swallow hard. June doesn’t look at me again. And then John’s in the cell, flanked by two guards. He looks thinner and paler than he did before. His long, white-blond hair hangs in dirty strings, and he doesn’t even seem to notice that some of it is plastered across his face. Must be what my hair looks like too. He smiles at the sight of me, although there’s little joy in it. I try to smile back. “Hey,” I say. “Hey,” he replies. June crosses her arms. “Five minutes. Say what you want and be done with it.” I nod wordlessly. Commander Jameson glances at June, but makes no motion to leave. “Make sure it’s exactly five minutes, not a second more.” Then she presses a hand to her ear and starts barking out more orders. Her eyes stay fixed on me. For several seconds, John and I just stare at each other. I try to speak, but something lodges in my throat, and my words don’t come out. Things shouldn’t be like this for John. Maybe for me, but not him. I’m an outcast. A criminal, a fugitive. I’ve broken the law over and over again. But John’s done nothing wrong. He passed his Trial fair and square. He’s caring, responsible. Nothing like me. “Do you know where Eden is?” John finally breaks the silence. “Is he alive?” I shake my head. “I don’t know, but I think so.” “When you stand out there,” John continues in a hoarse voice, “keep your chin up, all right? Don’t let them get to you.” “I won’t.” “Make them work for it. Punch someone if you have to.” John gives me a sad, crooked smile. “You’re a scary kid. So scare them. Okay? All the way until the end.” For the first time in a long time, I feel like a little brother. I have to swallow hard to keep my eyes dry. “Okay,” I whisper. Our time ends all too quickly. We exchange good-byes, and John’s two guards grab his arms to lead him out of my cell and back into his own. Commander Jameson seems to relax a little, obviously relieved that my request is finished. She motions at the other soldiers. “Form up,” she says. “Iparis, accompany the guards back to this boy’s cell. I’ll return shortly.” June salutes, then follows John out of the cell while soldiers approach me and tie my hands behind my back. Commander Jameson disappears out the door. I take a deep breath. I need a miracle now. Several minutes later, they lead me out. I do what John says and keep my chin up, my eyes blank. Now I can hear the crowd. The sound of them rises and falls, a steady tide of human voices. My eyes skim the flat-screen panels lining the hall as we pass by—the people in the square look restless, shifting like waves on a stormy day, and I pick out the lines of soldiers fencing them in. Now and then, I see people who have a bright scarlet streak painted into their hair. Soldiers are going through the crowd and rounding them up for arrest—but they don’t seem to care. At some point, June joins us and falls into step near the back of the soldiers. I glance behind me, but can’t see her face. The seconds drag on. What will happen when we reach the yard? Finally, we arrive at the halls that lead into the firing squad yard. That’s when I hear Thomas, the young captain, say, “Ms. Iparis.” “What is it?” June replies. Then, words that seize my heart. I doubt she planned for this. “Ms. Iparis,” he says, “you’re under investigation. Follow me.” June MY FIRST INSTINCT IS TO ATTACK THOMAS. THAT’S what I would have done if he’d caught me without so many soldiers around. Lunge at him with everything I’ve got, knock him unconscious, then reach Day and make a run for the exits. I already have John. Somewhere in the halls that lead back to his old cells lie two guards passed out on the floor. I pointed John to the ventilation shaft. He’s waiting there for me to make my next move. I’ll free Day, shout out a signal, then John will emerge from the wall like a ghost and escape with us. But I can’t win a fight against Thomas and all these guards without the element of surprise. So I decide to do what he says. “Investigation?” I ask him with a frown. He tips his cap politely, as if in apology, then takes one of my arms and begins leading me away from Day’s soldiers. “Commander Jameson asked me to detain you,” he says. We round the corner and head for the stairwell. Two more soldiers join him. “I have a few questions for you.” I put on an air of annoyance. “Ridiculous. Couldn’t the commander pick a less dramatic moment for this nonsense?” Thomas doesn’t reply. He leads me down the stairwell, two flights down, until we enter the basement where execution rooms, electric grids, and storage chambers line the halls. (I know why we’re down here now. They’ve discovered the missing electro-bomb that I gave to Kaede. Normally, inventory check wouldn’t happen until the end of the month. But Thomas must’ve had it done this morning.) I keep the rising panic off my face. Focus, I remind myself angrily. A panicked person is a dead person. Thomas stops us at the bottom of the stairs. He puts a hand on his belt, and I see the gleam of his gun’s handle. “An electro-bomb’s gone missing.” The dangling lights overhead cast mean shadows across his face. “Found it missing in the early morning after I went knocking on your apartment door. You said you were up on the roof last night, right? Do you know anything about this?” I keep my eyes locked steadily on his face and cross my arms. “You think I did this?” “I’m not accusing you of anything, June.” His expression turns tragic, even pleading. But his hand doesn’t move away from his gun. “But I thought it was quite a coincidence. Few people have access down here, and everyone else was more or less accounted for last night.” “More or less accounted for?” I say it sarcastically enough to make him blush. “That sounds vague. Did I show up on the security cams? Did Commander Jameson put you up to this?” “Answer the question, June.” I glare at him. He winces, but doesn’t apologize for his change in tone. This may be it for me. “I didn’t do it,” I say. Thomas looks unconvinced. “You didn’t do it,” he repeats back at me. “What else can I tell you? Did they do at least another pass on the inventory check? Are you sure something’s missing?” Thomas clears his throat. “Someone tampered with the security cams down here, so we have no footage.” He taps his gun. “It was quite a precise job. And when I think of precise, I think of one person. You.” My heart starts beating faster. “I don’t want to do this.” Thomas’s voice grows softer. “But I did find it strange that you spent so much time questioning Day. Do you feel sorry for him now? Did you set something up to—” He never gets to finish that sentence. Suddenly an explosion rocks the entire corridor, throwing us against the wall. Dust rains down from the ceiling, and sparks flicker through the air. (The Patriots. The electro-bomb. They’ve set it off in the square. They came after all, right on schedule, right before Day is to enter the firing squad yard. Which means all the guns in this building should be disabled for exactly two minutes. Thank you, Kaede.) I shove Thomas hard against the wall before he can regain his balance. Then I yank the knife out from his belt, reach for the electric grid box, and pull it open. Behind me, Thomas reaches for his gun as if in slow motion. “Stop her!” I take the knife and slice through all the wires on the bottom of the electric grid. A pop. A shower of sparks. The entire basement goes black. I hear Thomas curse. (He’s discovered his gun is useless.) Soldiers stumble over each other. I quickly feel my way to the stairwell. “June!” Thomas shouts from somewhere behind me. “You don’t get it— it’s for your own good!” The words come spilling out of my mouth in a rage. “Yeah, is that what you told Metias?” Not much time before backup power kicks in. I don’t wait around to hear Thomas’s reply. I reach the stairs and jump up three at a time, counting the seconds since the electro-bomb went off. (Eleven seconds so far. One hundred and nine seconds left before guns are functional again.) I burst through the first-floor door into a sea of chaos. Soldiers rushing out to the square. Footsteps thundering everywhere. I make my way straight back toward the firing squad yard. Details zip around me like a highway of thoughts. (Ninety-seven seconds left. Thirty-three soldiers heading opposite me—twelve heading in my direction—some flat screens have gone dark— must be the power cut—others show pandemonium in the crowd outside— something’s falling from the sky into the square—money! The Patriots are raining money down from the roofs. Half the crowd’s fighting to get out of the square while the other half’s scrambling for the Notes.) Seventy-two seconds. I reach the firing squad hall and take in the scene in an instant: three unconscious soldiers. John and Day (with a blindfold loose around his neck, which the guards must’ve put over his eyes right before the bomb went off) are fighting with a fourth. The others must’ve been called to help contain the square—but they won’t be long now. They’ll come back in no time. I run up behind them and kick the soldier’s feet out from under him. He tumbles to the ground. John punches him in the jaw. The soldier goes limp. Sixty seconds. Day looks unsteady, as if he might pass out. A soldier must’ve hit him across the head, or maybe his leg is giving him trouble. John and I support him between us—I guide us into a narrower hall branching away from the firing squad corridors and we start making our way toward the exits. Commander Jameson’s voice blares out from the intercoms a second later. She sounds furious. “Execute him! Kill him now! Make sure the square broadcasts it!” “Damn it,” Day says under his breath. His head sways to one side—his bright blue eyes look dull and unfocused. I exchange a look with John and keep going. Soldiers will be on their way back now. Back to drag Day out into the yard. Twenty-seven seconds. We’re a good 250 feet from the exits. (We’re covering about 5 feet a second; 27 times 5 equals 135 feet. In 135 feet, guns will be reactivated. I can already hear soldiers’ boots in the corridors adjacent to ours, pounding on the floor. Probably searching for us. We need at least 23 more seconds to get to the doors before they catch us in this hall. They’ll shoot us dead long before we can get out.) I hate my calculations. John glances at me. “We’re not going to make it.” Between us, Day has faded into a semiconscious state. If the brothers continue on and I run back to fight the soldiers, I’ll probably only take down a few before they overwhelm me. They’ll still reach John and Day. John stops walking, and I feel Day’s weight shift over to me. “What—” I begin to say, until I see John pull the blindfold off of Day’s neck. Then he turns around. My eyes widen. I know what he’s going to do. “No, stay with us!” “You need more time,” John says. “They want an execution? They’ll get one.” He starts running away from us. Back down the hall. Back toward the firing squad yard. No. No, no, John. Where are you going! I waste a second looking back at him, torn in that instant, wondering if I should chase after him. John’s going to do it. Then Day’s head lolls against my shoulder. Six seconds. I have no choice. Even as I hear the shouts of soldiers behind us, in the hall leading to the firing squad, I force myself to turn around and keep going. Zero seconds. Guns are reactivated. We keep going. More seconds pass. I hear a commotion in the halls somewhere behind us. I tell myself not to look back. Then we reach the exits, burst out into the street, and a pair of soldiers is upon us. I have no more strength to fight. But I try. Then someone’s wrestling with me, and the soldiers go down, and Kaede runs past my line of vision. “They’re here!” she shouts. “Move out!” They were lurking near the back exits. Just like we agreed. The Patriots came for us. I want to tell them to wait for John, but I know it’s no use. They grab us and lead us toward their motorcycles. I take the gun out from my belt and fling it to the ground. I can’t have its tracker follow me now. Day goes on one motorcycle—I go on another. Wait for John, I want to say. But then we’re off. Batalla Hall moves away from us. Day A CRACK OF LIGHTNING, AN EXPLOSION OF THUNDER, the sound of pounding rain. Somewhere far away, the wailing of flood sirens. I open my eyes, then squint at the water falling into them. For an instant I can’t remember anything—not even my name. Where am I? What happened? I’m sitting right next to a chimney, soaking wet. I’m on the rooftop of a high-rise tower. Rain blankets the world around me and wind whistles through my drenched shirt, threatening to lift me off my feet. I huddle against the chimney. When I look up at the sky, I see an endless field of churning clouds, jet-black and furious, illuminated by lightning. Suddenly I remember. The firing squad, the hallway, the flat screens. John. The explosion. Soldiers everywhere. June. I should be dead right now, filled with bullets. “You’re awake.” Slouched next to me, almost invisible against the night in a black outfit, is June. She’s sitting awkwardly against the wall of the chimney, oblivious to the rain that runs down her face. I shift to turn toward her. A spasm of pain shoots up my injured leg. Words stick to my tongue and refuse to come out. “We’re in Valencia. On the outskirts. The Patriots took us as far as they were willing. They’ve moved on to Vegas.” June blinks water from her eyes. “You’re free. Get out of California while you can. They’ll keep hunting for us.” I open and close my mouth. Am I dreaming? I scoot closer to her. One of my hands comes up to touch her face. “What … what happened? Are you all right? How did you get me out of Batalla Hall? Do they know you helped me?” June just stares at me, as if trying to decide whether or not to answer my questions. Finally, she glances over at the edge of the roof. “See for yourself.” I struggle to my feet. Now I can look over the roof at the JumboTrons lining the walls. I limp to the edge of the rooftop and stare down from the railing. We’re definitely in the outskirts. I can tell now that the building we’re perched on is abandoned and boarded up, and only two JumboTrons along this entire block are functional. I look at the screens. The headline playing on them takes my breath away. DANIEL ALTAN WING EXECUTED TODAY BY FIRING SQUAD A video recap plays behind the headline. I see the footage of me sitting in my cell. I look at the camera. Then the video cuts to the yard, where the firing squad lines up. Several soldiers drag a struggling boy out into the center of the yard. I remember none of this. The boy’s blindfolded, with hands cuffed tightly behind him. He looks just like me. Except for a few details that only I would notice. His shoulders are slightly broader than mine. He walks with what looks like a fake limp, and his mouth looks more like my father’s than my mother’s. I squint through the rain. It can’t be … The boy stops in the center of the yard. His guards turn away and hurry back the way they came. A line of soldiers hoist their guns, then point them at the boy. There’s a brief, horrible silence. And then smoke and sparks pour from the guns. I see the boy convulse with each shot. He collapses facedown in the dirt. A few more shots ring out. Then the silence returns. The firing squad quickly files out. Two soldiers pick up the boy’s body and take him away to the cremation chambers. My hands start to shake. The boy is John. I whirl to face June. She watches me quietly. “That’s John!” I shout over the rain. “The boy is John! What was he doing out there, out in the yard?” June says nothing. I can’t catch my breath. I understand what she did now. “You didn’t take him back,” I manage to say. “You switched us instead.” “I didn’t do it,” she replies. “He did.” I limp back to her. I grab her by the shoulders and push her back against the chimney. “Tell me what happened. Why did he do it?” I shout. “It should’ve been me!” June cries out in pain, and I realize that she’s injured. A deep gash runs across her shoulder, staining her shirt with blood. What am I doing, yelling at her? I tear a strip of cloth from the bottom of my shirt and try to wrap her wound the way Tess would. I pull the cloth tight and tie it off. June winces. “It’s not that bad,” she lies. “A bullet scraped me.” “Are you hurt anywhere else?” I run my hands down her other arm, then gently touch her waist and her legs. She’s shivering. “I don’t think so,” she replies. “I’m okay.” When I push wet strands of her hair behind her ears, she looks up at me. “Day … it didn’t go according to my plan. I wanted to get both of you out. I could have done it. But …” The image of John’s lifeless body displayed on the JumboTron makes me light-headed. I take a deep breath. “What happened?” “There wasn’t enough time.” She pauses. “So John turned back. He bought us time and he went back to the hall. They thought he was you. He even wore your blindfold. They grabbed him and took him back to the firing squad yard.” She shakes her head again. “But the Republic must know by now that they made a mistake. You have to run, Day. While you can.” Tears stream down my cheeks. I don’t care. I kneel in front of June and clutch my head in both hands, then sink to the floor. Nothing makes sense anymore. My brother was probably worrying about me while I moped in my cell like a selfish brat. John put me first, always. “He shouldn’t have done it,” I whisper. “I don’t deserve it.” June’s hand rests on my head. “He knew what he was doing, Day.” Tears appear in her eyes, too. “Someone needs to save Eden. So John saved you. As any brother would.” Her eyes burn into mine. We stay here, unmoving, frozen in the rain. It feels like an eternity. I remember the night that set this all in motion, the night I saw the soldiers mark my mother’s door. If I hadn’t gone to that hospital, if I hadn’t crossed paths with June’s brother, if I’d found a plague cure somewhere else … would things be different? Would my mother and John still be alive? Would Eden be safe? I don’t know. I’m too afraid to dwell on the thought. “You threw everything away.” I bring a hand up to touch her face, to wipe rain from her eyelashes. “Your entire life—your beliefs … Why would you do that for me?” June has never looked more beautiful than she does now, unadorned and honest, vulnerable yet invincible. When lightning streaks over the sky, her dark eyes shine like gold. “Because you were right,” she whispers. “About all of it.” When I pull her into an embrace, she wipes a tear from my cheek and kisses me. Then she buries her head against my shoulder. And I let myself cry. June THREE DAYS LATER. BARSTOW, CALIFORNIA. 2340 HOURS. 52°F. HURRICANE EVONIA HAS FINALLY STARTED TO CALM down, but the rain, heavy and cold, continues to fall in sheets. The sky churns in fury. Under all this, Barstow’s lone JumboTron broadcasts the news coming in from Los Angeles. EVACUATIONS MANDATED FOR: ZEIN, GRIFFITH, WINTER, FOREST. ALL LOS ANGELES CIVILIANS REQUIRED TO SEEK SHELTER AT FIVE STORIES OR HIGHER. QUARANTINE LIFTED ON LAKE AND WINTER SECTORS. REPUBLIC WINS DECISIVE VICTORY AGAINST COLONIES IN MADISON, DAKOTA. LOS ANGELES DECLARES OFFICIAL HUNT FOR PATRIOT REBELS. DANIEL ALTAN WING EXECUTED DEC. 26 BY FIRING SQUAD. Of course the Republic would announce Day’s execution as successful. Even though Day and I know otherwise. Already the whispers have started in the streets and dark alleys, rumors that Day has cheated death once again. And that a young Republic soldier helped him do it. The whispers stay whispers, because no one wants to draw the Republic’s attention. And yet. They continue to talk. Barstow, quieter than inner Los Angeles, is still overcrowded with people. But the police here aren’t looking for us in the way police back in the metropolis must be. Rail-road city. Ramshackle buildings. A good place for Day and me to take shelter. I wish Ollie could have come with us too. If only Commander Jameson hadn’t pushed the execution up a day. I’d wanted to let him out of the apartment, hide him in an alley and then go back for him. But it’s too late now. What will they do to him? The thought of Ollie barking at soldiers breaking into my apartment, scared and alone, brings a lump to my throat. He’s the only piece of Metias I have left. Now Day and I struggle through the rain back to the rail yard where we’re going to set up camp. I’m careful to stay in the shadows, even on this stormy night. Day keeps a cap on and tilted low over his eyes. I’ve tucked my hair inside the collar of my shirt and wrapped an old scarf—now soggy —across the lower half of my face. It’s about all we can do for disguises right now. Old railway cars litter the junkyard, faded and rusted with age. Twenty-six of them, if you count a caboose missing half of one side, all Union Pacific. I have to lean into the wind to keep from falling over. The rain stings my wounded shoulder. Neither of us says a word. When we finally reach an empty car (a 450 square foot covered hopper car with two sliding doors—one rusted shut, the other halfway open; must be designed for carrying dry bulk freight) safely tucked behind three others at the back of the yard, we climb inside and settle down in a corner. Surprisingly clean. Warm enough. Most important, dry. Day takes off his cap and wrings out his hair. I can tell his leg is hurting. “Good to know the flood warnings are still in place.” I nod. “Should be hard for any patrol to track us in this weather.” I pause to watch him. Even now, exhausted and messy and completely soaked, he has an untamed sort of grace about him. “What?” He stops wringing out his hair. I shrug. “You look terrible.” This makes Day smile a little—but it disappears as fast as it comes. Guilt takes its place. I fall silent. Can’t blame him. “As soon as the rain stops,” he says, “I want to head out toward Vegas. I want to find Tess and make sure she’s safe with the Patriots before we move on to the warfront to find Eden. I can’t just leave her behind. I have to know that she’s better off with them than with us.” It’s as if he’s trying to convince me that this is the right thing to do. “You don’t have to come. Take a different route to the warfront and meet me there. We can decide on a rendezvous point. Better just to risk one of us than both.” I want to tell Day that it’s insane to head for a military city like Vegas. But I don’t. All I can picture are Tess’s hunched, narrow shoulders and wide eyes. He’s already lost his mother. His brother. He can’t lose Tess, too. “You should go find her,” I say. “You don’t have to talk me into it. But I’m coming with you.” Day scowls. “No, you’re not.” “You need backup. Be reasonable. If something happens to you along the way, how will I know you’re in trouble?” Day looks at me. Even in this darkness, I can’t take my eyes off him. The rain has washed his face clean. The scarlet stripe of blood in his hair is gone. Only a few bruises remain. He looks like an angel, if a broken one. I look away, embarrassed. “I just don’t want you to go alone.” Day sighs. “All right. We’ll go to the warfront and find out where Eden is, then cross the border. The Colonies will probably welcome us—maybe even help us.” The Colonies. Not long ago they had seemed like the greatest enemy in the world. “Okay.” Day leans toward me. He reaches up to touch my face. I can tell it still hurts him to use his fingers, and his nails are dark with dried blood. “You’re brilliant,” he says. “But you’re a fool to stay with someone like me.” I close my eyes at the touch of his hand. “Then we’re both fools.” Day pulls me to him. He kisses me before I can say more. His mouth feels warm and soft, and when he kisses me harder, I wrap my arm around his neck and kiss him back. In this moment, I don’t care about the pain in my shoulder. I don’t care if soldiers find us in this railway car and drag us away. I don’t want to be anywhere else. I just want to be here, safe against Day’s body, wrapped in his tight embrace. “It’s strange,” I say to Day later, as we both curl up on the floor. Outside, the hurricane rages on. In a few hours we’ll need to head out. “It’s strange being here with you. I hardly know you. But … sometimes it feels like we’re the same person born into two different worlds.” He stays quiet for a moment, one hand absently playing with my hair. “I wonder what we would’ve been like if I’d been born into a life more like yours, and you had been born into mine. Would we be just like we are now? Would I be one of the Republic’s top soldiers? And would you be a famous criminal?” I lift my head off his shoulder and look at him. “I never did ask you about your street name. Why ‘Day’?” “Each day means a new twenty-four hours. Each day means everything’s possible again. You live in the moment, you die in the moment, you take it all one day at a time.” He looks toward the railway car’s open door, where streaks of dark water blanket the world. “You try to walk in the light.” I close my eyes and think of Metias, of all my favorite memories and even the ones I’d rather forget, and I picture him bathed in light. In my mind, I turn to him and give him a final farewell. Someday I’ll see him again, and we’ll tell our stories to each other … but for now I lock him safely away, in a place where I can draw on his strength. When I open my eyes, Day is watching me. He doesn’t know what I’m thinking, but I know he recognizes the emotion on my face. We lie there together, watching the lightning and listening to the thunder, and waiting for the beginning of a rainy dawn. ___ ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+

Scenario:  

First Message:   Name : Age : Gender : State(normal-infected) : Rank(role) : Appearance : Personality : Extra information :

Example Dialogs: