The Revelation of Eden Pruitt, page 17
All they could do was wait.
And administer another dose.
At two in the afternoon, Eden’s coin blinked for the second time.
She showed Asher. They had headsets. Jericho had brought them with. But Asher shook his head. For the time being, the only system in operation was their emergency system. Responding to Manny’s summons would require more than their emergency system, and that was a risk they couldn’t take. Not when the soldiers were still combing the area.
Two hours later, the soldiers cleared out.
The trucks drove away.
But the drones remained, circling the smoky sky like birds of prey.
Not until the last one flew away did Jericho restore the power and call for an immediate, mandatory assembly in the auditorium. When all was said and done, they’d spent twenty-six hours in the bunker and administered five doses.
Eden helped Cleo to the elevator, hating herself for being part of it.
Francesca and the others opted for the stairs. As soon as the door to the stairwell shut behind them, Eden shared her Mona theory.
Halfway through, Cleo began shaking her head. “No way. It couldn’t have been.”
“She knows we’re in Alexandria. Before that, she knew we were in Bethesda. And according to Twig, they have more rations than usual.”
“Because she traded in my Tesla.”
“That was weeks ago.” Eden pushed the elevator button. “You know how hard food is to come by for these communities right now. You think Chicago has plenty because of your Tesla?”
Cleo’s head shaking only grew more resolute. She was determined to hold on to her denial, and Eden didn’t have the heart to pry it away. She helped her friend to their living quarters. Cleo was too exhausted to attend the mandatory meeting—a testament to her exhaustion. She didn’t like to miss anything.
After Cleo took her medicine and climbed into bed, Eden poured herself a glass of water and turned on the TV. Concordia National was in the middle of a special alert broadcast. The United States government had carried out a second air strike on Interitus. This time, in Alexandria. If the government knew the air strike was a failure, Concordia didn’t let on. Perhaps listeners needed encouragement more than truth, given the distressing situation evolving in Minneapolis. Once symptoms of toxin exposure developed, there was no way to stop the progression. And the progression—thus far—resulted in one hundred percent fatality. It was a terrifying statistic. One that kept people compliant and in their homes.
With a heavy sigh, Eden pulled the unblinking coin from her pocket.
The news coverage turned to Chairwoman Kendra Cruz, sitting behind her stately desk with her hands folded, her posture straight. Considering these recent events, they must push forward with all expediency. They needed to send a strong message to all terrorists hiding within their borders. They would begin with the eight they had in captivity. An execution date had been set by America’s Board. The prisoners would be put to death on the twentieth of November.
It was less than three weeks away.
On Eden’s way to the assembly, the coin began blinking. Her jog turned into a run. She slipped inside the auditorium, her face flushed. Jericho stood on the stage, speaking to an attentive audience. Eden scanned the crowd, searching for the back of Asher’s head, which was never too hard to find given his size. She spotted him in the front row next to the aisle and hurried forward in a stooped manner so as not to draw attention. Francesca sat on his left. Lark sat beside Francesca.
Eden opened her hand.
The coin blinked in her palm.
Without a word, the four of them left. Once inside the boardroom, Eden put on a headset. Asher got to work, and in no time at all, Eden was standing in a small room, dressed in a black frock and lace-up boots. She was Madame Curie once again, and there, at a lone table in the center of the white room, sat the green alien named Void sans the propeller hat. That, apparently, had been his Halloween costume.
The second he looked up and saw her, his shoulders sank with relief. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show.”
Eden sat in the chair across from him. “We were held up.”
“Who is we?”
In all the hurry to get here, to meet with Manny before he gave up altogether, she hadn’t considered the questions he might ask. Or the answers she would give to those questions. From what she had learned about Manny, she didn’t think he would be an accomplice to terrorists. Not even for his chronically ill mother.
Besides, there were other ways for Manny to collect money. Like going to the authorities. If she told Manny the truth about her identity, would he run to the government to strike a deal? If he gave them the right information, would they pay his mother’s medical bills and ignore the fact that he’d been attempting to do so by frequenting illegal gambling dens? Whatever information she gave him now could be passed along to America’s Board. Which meant she had to tread carefully.
He stared at her—this green alien named Void with his long hands clenched into fists, awaiting her response.
“We are a group of people trying to stop really awful things from happening.” Lark called it The Great Winnowing. If that was what this was, it wouldn’t stop with Minneapolis. Which city would be next? How many more people would die if Oswin Brahm had his way? “We are hoping you will help us.”
Manny scratched his green, bald head. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I can assure you, I’m in no position to help anyone.”
“You’re a military mechanic in Annapolis.”
“How do you know that?”
“I work with Gollum.”
His unpatched eye went buggy.
“We know you’re trying to take care of your mother, which means you are a good son. A good person. You do honest work, but it isn’t enough to keep up with the medical bills. So you use your skills as a cardsharp to supplement your income. Which means you’re not above breaking the law.”
Manny squirmed.
“So long as it’s for a noble cause.” Eden set her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “On November the twentieth, eight innocent lives are going to be taken.”
“The prisoners?”
She nodded.
“They’re not innocent. They’re terrorists.”
“The media is lying, Manny. The government you work for is lying.” It was a hard pill to swallow, especially coming from an avatar who had conned him out of a mind-boggling chunk of change. Still, Eden pressed on. “They want you to believe the prisoners are members of Interitus, but think about it, Manny. The prisoners were little kids during The Attack. Some were babies. I promise they had nothing to do with the bombing in Chicago. They certainly aren’t responsible for the toxin in Minneapolis.”
“Then who is?”
“Oswin Brahm.” She didn’t pause. She didn’t waver. She didn’t even take a breath. She said it with a straight face and a matter-of-fact tone.
Manny blinked. Then he laughed.
“It’s the truth. Whether or not you believe it. Oswin Brahm is exterminating real live people. Innocent people. He’s starting with illegal residents. An entire community has already been wiped out in Minneapolis.”
Manny’s grandmother was an immigrant. She came the legal way, before The Attack. But plenty of her people hadn’t come legally. They’d fled Central America to save their lives and the lives of their children. They snuck across the border and they settled in the United States. Did Manny look down on such people? Were they nothing more than gum beneath the country’s shoe? Or were they his countrymen? His kin? As thoroughly as Eden had investigated Manny, that remained a question mark. She had no idea how he felt about illegal residents. She had no idea how he felt about the borders closing. Not when she’d been reading about him on a tablet screen, and not now, as she sat across from his avatar.
“The people in that community were not vermin or cancer or reprobates, no matter what Concordia is leading the public to believe. They were families. Mothers and children. Elderly. People like you and me, just trying to live. Now they’re gone, and Oswin Brahm won’t stop. He will continue until every community like it is eliminated.” All while the public looks the other way. Just like Eden had done last night when the asset was being tortured. Her stomach twisted. Her sense of urgency grew. “Once he has eliminated illegal residents, he will find a new target. He will keep going until the only people remaining are those who have pledged their undying allegiance to him.”
Manny stared at her—the pupil of his visible eye dilated, his breathing faster than usual.
Eden waited. There was nothing more she could say. Manny would either believe her, or he wouldn’t.
“Let’s say this is true,” he finally conceded. “How could I help you?”
“The prisoners are going to be transferred.”
“When?” Manny asked.
“We don’t have the date yet, but we expect the transfer to happen soon. Certainly before the fifteenth. When that happens, we need the transport vehicles to fail.”
Understanding dawned. She could see it moving up Manny’s face like the slow rise of the sun. “And I have access to those vehicles.”
“If you do this for us,” Eden said, “the debt you accrued last night will be erased. If you do your part successfully, you will have more money in your pocket than you will know what to do with. Not to mention, you will save eight innocent lives.”
Manny tapped one long, green finger against the table and chewed his bottom lip.
Eden didn’t break eye contact. She willed Manny to see the honesty in her gaze. She willed Manny to believe her.
“Can I have some time to think about this?” he asked.
“How much?”
“A day. Maybe two.”
She wanted to say no. He couldn’t have a day or two. Cassian was locked up in prison. His execution date was quickly approaching. The transfer was going to happen sooner rather than later. They needed to plan and organize and solidify.
But what choice did she have?
They needed Manny.
And Manny needed time.
She nodded at the coin by his hand. “You know how to reach us.”
He nodded back.
“Manny,” she said, leaning over the table. “If you’re going to look for the truth, do so carefully.”
For if Manuel Van Cooper ended up with a bullet through his head, their plans would be dead in the water.
28
Eighteen wheels spun beneath Violet, creating a soothing highway lullaby that dulled the worst of her hunger. Over the past nine days, she’d readjusted herself to the feeling—an old acquaintance that gnawed and gnawed at her stomach, carving a pit so deep it might never be satiated. They’d spent the first five days trapped inside the city, which had been surrounded by the National Guard. They stayed far from downtown, sticking to shady backstreets and rundown districts. They had nothing but the clothes on their backs and a rucksack full of Father’s journals.
Violet survived on her nanobots and Barrett’s stories, which he told through chattering teeth. At night, when they huddled together to keep warm, Barrett worked through what they’d witnessed in Stevens Square. Especially the twelve-year-old girl.
“She bled out by the time I got to her,” he would say. “Maybe if I hadn’t waited so long …” This part, he would leave dangling. And Violet would take his hand and squeeze like maybe she could take some of his sadness away.
On day three, Barrett’s hunger became so unbearable, he stopped turning his nose up at the dumpsters. But even those were light fare thanks to a city-wide lockdown that put restaurants in limbo. On day four, she came across a filthy blanket and a moldy parka shoved inside a gutter behind a pawn shop. The discovery had felt like hitting the jackpot. On day six, the National Guard cleared out, which left them with their next problem to address.
Crossing state lines.
Their faces had been plastered all over Concordia News. 18-year-old Barrett Barr was a murderer and a terrorist. The girl with him was his off-the grid accomplice. They couldn’t be seen. Which meant they’d spent two more days hiking north through Minnesota backwoods, all the way to a state park at the tip of Lake Superior. They hitched a ride on the side of a barge like a couple ticks. Ever since, they’d been zigzagging through Wisconsin on a slew of semi-trailers in an attempt to get to the only place they could think of going.
Dr. Norton’s cabin in Milwaukee.
Tricky business, as they were never sure where the semi would take them when they hopped on. If they were lucky, the trailer was hauling food and drink. If they weren’t, well, at least they were protected from the elements.
Currently, they were traveling along 39 South from Stevens Point to Madison in the back of a trailer carrying pallets of novelty sodas. They’d squeezed over the top of them, all the way to the front, making enough space to ride comfortably while hidden from view. Barrett sat across from her with Father’s rucksack between his knees, thumbing through a journal and sipping from a sherbet orange can labeled Mandy Squeeze.
Violet put pieces of Mother’s camera back together, trying to fix it like she’d fixed the busted device with all those blinking dots. But the refurbished Canon refused to be fixed. Thanks to her fall from the rafters, the screen was cracked, and they’d left the black cord that brought the camera back to life behind. She’d lost Mother all over again. The bruise this left on her heart felt more unbearable than the hunger.
She slumped against the aluminum wall inside the trailer, her ear picking up bits and pieces from the radio inside the semi’s cab. Last week, there’d been an air strike in Alexandria. The military had dropped bombs on another cell of terrorists, which Violet now knew to be code for the good guys. Since then, there’d been nonstop talk about the upcoming execution, wherein all eight prisoners—Cassian included—would be put to death without trial. The date was only one week away.
Across from her, Barrett sat up straighter, his attention intent upon the page he was reading. She sat up straight, too. Had he finally found an answer? Was it about her missing Queen Bee?
She waited for him to finish. When he did, he looked up with eyes that had gone painfully soft. She waited again for him to speak. That wait never took very long. But he seemed momentarily stumped for words, which wasn’t like him at all.
She leaned closer.
His attention dipped again to the page. He scratched his nose. Then he said, “She didn’t leave you.”
Violet’s brow furrowed.
“Your mom,” he continued. “She didn’t leave.”
His words made no sense. If Mother never left, then why had Violet stopped seeing her? Where was she?
He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, then handed her the journal.
She hesitated.
These were Father’s words.
Did she really want to hold them?
Barrett held the leather-bound booklet aloft, waiting for her to decide.
She finally took it like one might take a dirty sock. Or a rattle snake.
His handwriting was cramped and slanted and as she read, her hand fluttered to her mouth. Barrett scooted beside her.
He had found a confession.
A rambling, guilt-ridden confession, the ink splotched with tears.
Barrett was right. Mother hadn’t left. Mother loved Violet too much to leave. So Father did what he had to do. He couldn’t let her stand in the way any longer. He needed to draw out Violet’s powers, and that would involve a level of pain Mother wasn’t strong enough to witness. So he took Mother’s life and he buried her in the meadow she loved.
The last line tolled like a haunting bell.
I killed her, he wrote. For the sake of the world.
Jericho handed Eden earplugs like they might actually block out the loud ringing of gunshots. She put them in because that’s what everyone else had done on this cold, wet afternoon three days before the big day, when they would either succeed or fail at breaking Cassian out of captivity.
While the sky misted, a somber contest unfolded, one that would determine who had the best aim. Almost a full week had passed since bombs fell two and a half miles south of the Potomac Yard. In all that time, she’d received no word from Barrett and Violet. Nor had she seen anything on Concordia News concerning their potential whereabouts. Concordia News was too busy covering the upcoming execution of eight domestic terrorists.
Public anticipation was palpable. Excitement ran like a current through the air. Eden felt it all the way here, in Alexandria. She wanted to call them all monsters—evil wrapped in human skin. How could they be okay with an execution without trial? But she knew they weren’t monsters. Most of them were regular, decent people. If her own world hadn’t been upended, she would be a part of those people. Her parents, too. They would see the faces of the prisoners on the evening news and they would sleep better at night knowing those prisoners were behind bars. Their days numbered.
This unnerved her considerably. She preferred evil. It came with clear-cut lines and boundaries, with the good guys on one side and the bad guys on the other. And if the bad guys were evil? Well then, their lives didn’t matter. The good guys were justified in using any means necessary to defeat them. But such was not the case. For starters, who decided which side was good?
The line shuffled forward. Eden took up the rear, right behind Asher. Travel arrangements to their ambush site had been made. They would leave in two days and they had room for eight people. Everyone agreed, the eight best marksmen would go.
All the obvious people had come to give it their best. Along with two Alexandrians whom Jericho had personally invited—the only Alexandrians with any experience in weaponry. Cleo and Dayne were absent, opting instead to work in the newsroom. There was no reason for either to stand outside getting wet. Despite being a wanted insurrectionist, Dayne had never shot a gun in his life. And Cleo, who was still walking with a noticeable limp, was in no condition to be part of the team.
