Taken (A Dystopian Novel) (The Taken Trilogy), page 17
Sasha tells me to drive to the parking lot at the Community Day field. It’s empty and perfect for a first time driver. I shut the engine off. She wrings her hands.
“I didn’t expect to be driven around my whole life,” she says. “But I didn’t think I would be doing this either. Is it as hard as it looks?”
I unfasten my seatbelt and angle myself toward her. “Lots of things to focus on at first, but you learn how to manage. Then it’s like anything else you’ve learned how to do.”
She fakes a confident smile, but it falls when I suggest that we switch seats. When she gets into the driver’s seat, the seatbelt rattles in her quivering hands before she slips it into the slot. Then she sits with her hands folded in her lap.
“Gotta start the engine,” I laugh, and she swats me playfully.
“I knew that!” She twists the key until the ignition rumbles. The side of her mouth curls up.
“Car’s still in ‘park’, but keep your foot on the brake,” I instruct. “Now, check your mirrors, adjust all of them if you need to. Shift to ‘drive’ and turn the wheel to the left. Then, carefully switch your foot to the accelerator. Don’t stomp on it though.”
Her breathing quickens as she follows my steps, and the car inches forward.
“Wow…I’m moving it. I’m moving it!” she squeals and looks at me. “I’m driving! I’m driving!”
“Eyes on the road!”
“Okay, okay!”
“Go all the way down to the end, slowly. As you drive, switch your foot to the brake so that you can start to slow and eventually stop.”
She bites her lip and clenches the wheel, paling her knuckles. I stroke her upper back to reassure her. The car lurches before we move smoothly across the lot. We jerk to a stop. She exhales loudly, and I remind her to put the car back in ‘park’. She palms the sweat from her forehead and fans herself.
“So how did I do?”
“We’re not done yet,” I say. So she repeats back and forth in the parking lot. Then, we try on the side street adjacent to the field. Luckily, it’s off the main road, and she’s not a danger to anyone else. After a really long practice, she drives back to the parking lot, and we step out of the car. She stretches as I walk over to the other side.
“Not bad,” I say, and we both lean against the car.
“Wow that felt good.” She spins on one of her heels. The sound of a car advances. We both turn as a black town car rolls into the parking lot. It idles and Sasha waves before the driver waves back and reverses.
“Thanks,” she says. We intertwine our fingers, and I feel myself slipping away from every reservation I have about her. I don’t make an attempt to stop myself. My mind can’t even create any reluctance. I feel worlds apart from everything in Wicker Farm.
“I tried to look for more stuff about my mom, but no luck,” she says solemnly. “If my dad still has stuff from my life before, it’s locked away.”
“In his office…” I blurt. She jerks her eyes to me. “He’s the governor he has to have an office, right?”
“Yes, he does. I have only been in there once or twice, but he’s always been in there with me. I would never be able to look. As ironic as it is that he wants to know what’s going on everywhere in Wicker Farm, he’s big on privacy.”
“This sounds weird, but maybe there are clues in your mind that you don’t even know. What’s your earliest memory?”
“Standing right over there…” She points at the Community Day stage. “Waving at the crowd while holding my dad’s hand.”
“Nothing before that?”
“Nope. Everything’s been him. He gave me a really good life. Lavish birthday parties at the compound, nice house, house by the lake in Tresling. Maybe it was out of guilt.” She lowers her head to my shoulder. “It’s nice to finally have someone who I can talk to about this. Instead of just burying it like it doesn’t exist.”
“How much deeper do you plan to go? What is it that you want? A name? A place?”
She sighs. “I don’t know, but I just keep wondering who I would’ve been if I had grown up in your world with my mom and sister…what my life would’ve been like.”
“Hopefully nothing like mine,” I say.
“You’re crazy about Aubrey, so I’m guessing it’s your mom or your dad…” Her face falls into a cautious expression. She doesn’t want to offend me. I nod.
“That’s why I’m fighting so hard for Aubrey…because no one else does.”
“When I’m satisfied with the answers I get, if I get them, I’ll just know.”
“Then what? Would you want to go…back?”
She lifts her head and steps into my line of sight. She stares at me thoughtfully, and then she smiles. “One thing at a time, Jackson. I’m not even that far yet. The only thing I know for sure is that I’m so glad we did this. Thank you.”
I pull her close, hugging her around the shoulders, and I feel her hands on my back. She slides them up and down, rhythmically. She places her palms on the back of my neck. Her grip tightens when I cradle her face. She shakes her head lightly.
“I have to know if this is for real, Jackson,” she urges. ‘I can’t…”
“It is…Of course, it is,” I say. That’s the truth. My feelings for her are removed from my plan to get out of here. Staying or leaving has no effect on that, but before she can ask any more questions, I part her lips with mine. I take in the warmth of her mouth and it accelerates my pulse. My hands fall to her sides, and I squeeze her gently. She shivers beneath my touch and pulls me against her.
“We’re should go. I don’t want to be late for curfew,” she says, but we kiss again, more forcefully this time as her lips smash against mine. My mouth slides to her shoulder, and her fingers dig softly into my back. Her breath catches in her throat as my hands slip under her shirt. Her skin is cool in some areas, and warm in others. I skim the base of her spine with my thumb.
“Now, we’re really going to be late for curfew,” she laughs. We pull away and I take hold of her hand again and find her gaze. I just take a moment to stare at her.
“What?” she asks. No matter how wonderful a life Richards has made for her, he has deprived her of so many things. At the least, she deserves to know what her life could’ve been. She may not know it, but I’m fighting for her, too.
*****
Sasha insists on having driving lessons as often as she can, but I finally get some free time one evening when she stays late at The Institute, and I seek out the other Resistance member living in the townhouse complex. Hopefully, Charlie has spoken to him by now. I decide to take my chances. I knock on the door of the blue house with the potted plants. A woman answers with a tentative look on her face. Behind her, I see children, two little girls, on the floor playing. She is a curvy woman with big, brown hair that hugs her face. Even though she is wearing an apron, patches of smeared food have settled into the fabric of her blouse. She blocks my view when she sees that I’m staring into her house.
“May I help you?” she asks.
“Hi, I live on the other side of the complex. I’m looking for your husband. Can I come in?”
“He’s unavailable at the moment,” she says sternly.
“Well I was hoping that he was expecting my arrival,” I say. “My name is Jackson. He and I have some mutual friends.”
“Oh,” she says. “Come on in.” She takes a few steps back, and with a flick of her wrist, she beckons. The house looks like Nora’s, but a lot more cluttered, which makes it seem smaller. Toys are scattered on the carpet. Clothes drape over the furniture. Cans of food are stacked in the counter. The kids stare up at me like I have sudden sprouted horns and a tail.
“Let me see if he’s awake,” she says and then trudges up the staircase. I get a strange sense of déjà vu. When Mrs. Myers left the room to “call her husband” she left me with her child too. But soon both she and a man come down the staircase. He is tall and square-jawed with a face that a sculptor might have chiseled. His neck and biceps could compete for which is thicker. His build reminds me of one of the bouncers that used to guard the door at this bar Ed and I used to try to sneak into. He is dressed in a navy suit without a single crease, which leads me to believe that he wasn’t sleeping like the woman had suggested.
I brush my hands along my jeans and extend one of them to him as the woman takes the children upstairs. A sense of foreboding causes my nerves to fire. Something doesn’t feel right. He circles me until he is standing between me and the door. Hand still extended, I turn. He takes it firmly almost knocking my shoulder out of the socket. His stare is scrutinizing. I rub my shoulder when he releases my hand. He leans against the door with his arms folded. Behind me, feet thud down the staircase and shuffle into the kitchen.
“I need your help,” I say. My voice sounds small and frightened. Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice. There is no way he’s another Mrs. Myers….Right?
“Oh? With what?”
I want to say something, anything, other than “getting to The Clave.”
“Getting to The Clave,” I say. His eyes are making it hard to lie.
“Okay. Here’s how I’m going to help you.” He leans toward me. “I’m going to report you, but I’m going to give you a five minute head start to get the hell out of my house.”
13
R is for Resistance or Russell. Depends On Who You Ask.
Even as his laughter booms, the joke doesn’t immediately click, and I dive for the doorknob, not that I am able to physically move him, which only makes him laugh harder. Then, my mind catches up. He’s not being serious. He pushes me playfully, but I stumble back several steps before I can catch my balance. His wife chuckles in the kitchen.
“I’m just kidding around. You’re safe, son. A little humor,” he says holding his hands up in surrender. “You’re okay. We can all use a laugh around here every once in awhile.”
But he is the only one laughing, and I’m still sweating and shaking. My heart is struggling to get back to a regular beating pattern instead of rupturing. I’m surprised that I have not had an accident on their rug.
“Sorry, that was cruel,” he says, but he is still smiling. “Charlie got word to me that you would show up here. She says you’re pretty impatient and anxious so we expected you days ago.”
“I got a little sidetracked,” I say, now that I have my wits about me again. He tells me that his name is Erwin. He and his wife, Monica, are native to the dimension, but they migrated to Wicker Farm from another state after The Epidemic. Nearly everyone in their town died from the disease, and the survivors hung around for awhile, but eventually they ran out of food, power, and water. However, what really drove them from their home was the danger that they faced from marauders. While roaming around, they heard about Wicker Farm, but they soon found out what Governor Richards was up to.
Erwin works with electricity maintenance in Wicker Farm and his wife Monica teaches at the high school. They don’t hold Richards in the highest regard.
“Getting to The Clave is going to be more difficult than before, especially now that we can’t hop over the back gate.” For him, I’m sure it was a literal hop. “The best thing to do is to just not come home. That way you don’t have to try to get out of the gate. Get to one of the safe houses and hide out there until really late and then go.” He retrieves a map of the town and spreads it over the table.
“This is The Clave.” He taps the cluster of houses on the far end of the map with a loud tap against the table. Then, he draws a circle around several houses. “And these are the safe houses. My advice is to go to the Sanders house. ” There is another series of hard taps. “They have a son about your age. A kid named Miles. You’ll be able to walk right through the front door. I’ll have Monica let Miles know. The sooner you can show up the better.”
I stare at the map and try to memorize everything that he is telling me. He walks to the kitchen and returns with two glasses of juice. It’s freshly squeezed orange juice so it has a tangy kick. Initially, I decide to drink it to be polite, but I drain the glass without ever putting it down, suddenly aware of how thirsty I am. It is like he scared me into dehydration.
“So you’re serious about trying to get out of here, son?” He asks. He takes a sip for his own glass.
“Definitely. With as many people as want to go. We don’t belong here,” I say. He nods. I thank him for meeting with me, and he tells me to stop by any time, and he promises not to play any more practical jokes on me.
I don’t make the journey to The Clave for another two days, after Marco and I pick up the surveys. We spent the day before hounding everyone we gave them to by phone, so they have them ready for us when we arrive. We will compile the results.
After I pick Aubrey up from school, and we go home, I tell Nora that I have to work with Marco, and I’ll probably just spend the night at his house since I won’t make it back for curfew. She doesn’t hide her disapproval, but she doesn’t stop me. I drive to the Sanders’ street and park a block down from their house. As I get out of the car, another car slows down behind me.
“Hey, how it going?” a man says. I slam the door and see the reflection of a security car in the driver’s side window. When I turn, the driver waves. It’s the officer from the Richards’ house, who was guarding the front door during Aubrey’s party, and the one who guards the building I work in. Roger.
“Pretty good,” I say.
“What are you doing on this side of town? Most of the New Rezzies live down there,” he says pointing in the direction of the area I live.
“Just finishing up some stuff with my co-worker,” I say.
“A government employee who lives over here? Thought everyone was in one of the cushy houses. Richards is keeping you busy, huh? Well, try not to work too hard and make sure you’re back home by curfew.”
“Right. Curfew. Definitely,” I say nervously. With another wave, he drives off. I take the box of rations from the trunk and lumber to the Sanders house. I hope to give them some of the items as gratitude and take the rest to The Clave.
The Sanders son, Miles, opens the door and lets me in. He gives me more instructions about how to get to The Clave, when to leave, which route to take, and reminds me of where the other safe houses. He tells me that I have to be back by 2 a.m. or I’ll have to go to another safe house. Also, he warns me that if I run into trouble, and a security officer is in pursuit, they won’t let me into their house. I’m impressed. If he lived in my world, he would be a shoe-in for the CIA. I half-expect him to say, “This message will self-destruct in ten seconds” when he’s finished.
We open the rations box and divide the contents between his cupboard and a book bag he gives me. I pack as many cans as will fit into it. Then, he directs me to a room that I can wait in until I’m ready to leave.
*****
I slip out of the Sanders’ house around 9 and head in the direction of The Clave. The night is warm except for a light breeze that occasionally spins through air. The streets are empty, but some of the homes still have lights on, but the further I get from the Sanders house, the more aware of the darkness I become. Miles told me that security officers frequently patrol the houses closest to The Clave because they’re empty, and they don’t want Resistance members to become squatters or use them for safe houses or set them on fire.
I quicken my pace when I see the weather and time battered array of one-story houses. The Clave. It does resemble a really big village, and the houses look like cottages. There are even wooden shutters on some of the windows. A short concrete barrier, barely reaching my knee, wraps around the entire community. A sign stands with faint traces of where bright letters once were. It reads, “Welcome to The Griffin Enclave!”
The whole place is cloaked in a deep darkness. I shiver as I walk through the entrance. Sinuous walkways unfurl between the houses. A legend on the right describes the numerical order of the homes. At the bottom of the sign it says, “Griffin Enclave: Our Town within a Town.”
Up close the houses are in even worse condition than I thought. Chimneys are missing bricks. Many of the roofs have fallen into disrepair. Shingle tiles litter the ground around the houses. Some the windows are boarded or covered with cloth or plastic. In another lifetime, it might have been a really nice place to live. It looks like it was designed so that it is wholly pedestrian-friendly. There is no way to drive a car into it, so residents would’ve had to park on the street and walk inside.
I think I see something black dart to my left, but when I look there is nothing. I clutch my backpack straps a little tighter and move a little faster. I do one spin to make sure that no one is following me. It’s creepy in here. There are too many dark corners and places for people to hide and sneak up on you.
Then, I see a sliver of orange light between the houses further in the back. It has to be people. I run toward it, but not fast enough with my heavy backpack. I’m completely out of breath when I reach the light. There are figures surrounding a fire. It looks like they are performing a sacrifice. The flames only light some of their faces. From the back, one of them looks like James, but I can’t be sure, and he wouldn’t be Resistance anyway. Suddenly, two figures pounce on me. They grab hold and hoist me up.
“When was the last time you smelled patchouli!” I scream.
“We don’t use that password anymore,” the guy holding me on my left says. “You’re out of luck.”
“Find Russell or Charlie! They know me. Tell them I’m Jack—Mississippi,” I say. The crowd has completely turned its attention to me as I wriggle. They all step in closer, curious to know what I’m screaming about.
