Taken (A Dystopian Novel) (The Taken Trilogy), page 26
We also agree to Friday morning. It is one of the days that Richards does not plan to open the space between dimensions. We can only hope that no one drives through and gets stuck here in the process. Erwin will cut the electricity in the dorms and force an evacuation, and Marcus and the others will take Erwin and Monica’s van and fill it with as many people as they can and drive to the crossover point where the rest of us will be. People from the Clave will stay in the safe houses the night before.
We send word to The Institute and The Clave. Once they find out that the governor is throwing a party, the people at The Clave decide to have one too. I attend Richards’ party Tuesday night at the compound in the same building as the art event. It’s the typical ritzy compound celebration. More taffeta and tuxedos and twirling aerobatics. Sasha spends most of the night at her father’s side, entertaining. I brood in a corner. Any thoughts I had about Aubrey and I staying here are wiped form my memory. I just watch everyone laugh, drink, and dance. Brian is the man of the hour and is commended for his work in apprehending Marco. I can’t help confronting him. I wait until he walks away from the group of people he is speaking with.
“I bet you’re enjoying all of this,” I say when I approach.
“You couldn’t even begin to know how much.” He smiles and tips his head back to finish his drink. He picks up another from a nearby table.
“So what did he do? What did Marco do?”
“I’m no judge, Jackson. He’ll get his day in court. Though, you know, the justice system here has been shaky since The Epidemic. A backlog. Years worth. Who knows when they’ll get to him.” He finishes off the second drink. “Your face is healing well.”
I walk away because I feel my rage building, but soon, I may never have to see him again and that helps to calm me down. I walk to my car and start to drive away when Sasha comes running out of the building after me.
“Are you going to The Clave?” she asks.
“Yup. One last party while it still exists,” I say. I’m really not in the celebratory mood, but I need something to take my mind off Marco and where he could be.
“Can I come?” she asks, leaning into the window.
“Sash…That’s not a good idea,” I say.
“It’s a costume party, right? I can wear whatever I like. Come on. No one will know it’s me. Pleeease.” Without waiting for an answer, she runs up to her house and returns several minutes later with a bag of clothes. How can I say “no” to her? Our days together are dwindling anyhow.
We drive to my house and she changes into a black dress that kind of looks like it used to belong to a ballerina. She applies heavy makeup and puts on sunglasses and a long pink wig. I still think she looks like herself, but she is convinced that she can pull it off. A lot of people know that we are together, so I pray for her sake that most people are too drunk and The Clave is too dark for anyone to pay any attention. Or maybe they like her enough to excuse her presence. I change into more comfortable attire and we walk to The Clave.
Sasha clutches my hand tightly when we enter, trailing a group of partygoers. The front is dark as usual, and I see a few residents acting as lookouts, but they recognize me and wave me in. As we weave to the back, the voices grow and I actually hear music. Old boom box CD players are stationed, but because there is no electricity, they’re all battery-powered and playing old songs, but people are dancing and laughing and toasting to The Clave. I wonder how many of them actually know about the plan to go home versus those who are purely engaging in merriment. Makeshift torches provide some light, but otherwise, the place is really dark, but there’s joy in the air, which troubles me because there is no way we will be able to get all these people back to our dimension before we’re shut down.
Sasha takes her sunglasses off and looks around.
“Keep your head down,” I whisper and kiss her shoulder. There are people everywhere and any one of them might figure out who she is. We drift around, and we both take all of it in, her first time, and hopefully, my last time. Every time someone walks by us, I flinch. It’s hard to be comfortable when I feel like I have a bomb strapped to my chest. After a while, we start to get comfortable. We even dance a little.
“Mississippi!” Hands, wearing an eye patch and a pirate’s hat, comes over and high-fives me. “And who is this amazing sight to behold?” he asks. He takes Sasha’s hand and plops his lips on the back of it. A gun sticks out from his waistband.
“This is uh…” I start.
“Katya!” Sasha says without any hesitation. A guy dressed in black wearing a ski mask, typical Resistance attire, approaches us, flipping a metal pipe in the air and catching it like it is a baton. One of Russell’s goons, I bet.
“Really original dude,” Hands says sarcastically as he claps him on the back roughly. The guy laughs like he is the only one in on some joke (because apparently he is), and smiles, but from beneath the ski mask, it looks like he’s just baring his teeth. He bows at us and slips into the crowd.
“It was very nice meeting you, Katya,” Hands says. “Later, Mississippi.”
“Mississippi?” she asks.
“Katya?” I whisper to her once Hands leaves.
“It sounds mysterious and sexy,” she says defending her choice.
“Yeah, and totally inconspicuous,” I say sarcastically. “No one’s going to remember the girl in the pink wig named Katya.”
“He seems a little young to be carrying a gun,” she says with worry.
“I’m told he’s good with guns,” I say, but she is not content with my response.
“He’s a kid.”
“Who is good with guns.”
“Oh, God. Is that supposed to be my dad?” she whispers. She gestures at a guy in a suit. A ratty gray toupee slides around on his head, and he wears a nametag that reads “Da Govna Bitchards.” Sasha giggles, but when she looks at me, her smile is forced. She is trying really hard to see the humor.
“Yes,” I say sheepishly.
“They really hate him, don’t they?”
I nod. She gasps. “Do you think anyone here is dressed as me?” she asks.
“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” I say, knowing that Charlie probably is. The guy dressed as Governor Richards awkwardly dances past us with a zombie female.
“There’s nothing flattering about that,” she says with a nervous laugh. I grip her hand, and we burrow further into the mass.
“Look at it this way, the more you’s there are, the less likely anyone will know you’re the real you,” I say. When we find a place she wants to stand, her eyes dart with childlike curiosity.
A drunk girl leans back too far and falls against Sasha, who is completely unfazed by the careless hand that smacks her on the head. The girl, who is dressed like a cat, if cats were strippers, steadies herself. Then, she clutches my arm for balance.
“Oooh…I’m sooo sooorry,” she says, and every word is dragged out and elongated. Sasha extends her hand, and at first, the girl is confused, but she suddenly realizes what she needs to do. She sticks out her own hand, and it waves around like she has no control over it.
“You are so beautiful. Like the beautifulest most beautiful you…” The girl staggers away, and Sasha tracks her until she loses her in the crowd. By the time her eyes meet mine again, the fascination in her expression has faded, giving way to one of introspection.
“I was so conflicted for a long time. My dad made me think that The Clave was this awful place full of bad people doing really bad things. And I nearly fell for all of it.”
“It’s how you keep people in allegiance to you. You create a common enemy through fear,” I say. I adjust the wig and kiss her. When I look up, I spot Charlie staring right at us. I tell Sasha that I’ll be right back. Charlie is indeed dressed up as Sasha, wearing pink and a makeshift crown made of cardboard that has “Princess Bitchards” scribbled across it. She is disgruntled.
“I can’t believe we’re already so close to pulling this off,” I say, trying to distract her attention away from Sasha. “Is everyone good to go? How come you didn’t make it to Community Day?”
“Is that Sasha Richards?” Charlie hisses into my ear. I don’t respond, but I’m sure my eyes betray me.
“You brought her here.” Hurt suddenly fills Charlie’s eyes. We both turn and look at Sasha, who is talking to a goblin.
“Charlie, please you can’t tell anyone. It’s a matter of life and death for her, you know that. She’s not her father, and there are things you don’t know.”
“Are you in love with her?” she asks. I see her hands balled at her sides.
“Yes, but I didn’t come to rub it in your face. She really wanted to come and there’s so much you don’t know.”
“You’ve got ten minutes to get her out of here,” Charlie threatens.
“Then what?” I ask incredulously.
“You don’t want to be around to find out.” With a flip of her hair, she pushes past me and nearly knocks me down. I turn to look at Sasha again, and she actually looks like she is starting to have a really good time.
I need to find Russell and, as soon as I do, I need to get Sasha out of here. I find him in the cottage he normally uses. It’s dark as usual, but a few candles are lit. And he has a visitor…. It’s James. They’re talking just past the doorway. I freeze in my tracks.
“What are you doing here?” I ask James. “You’re Resistance?”
“Uh, hey Jackson,” James says. My heart pumps faster.
“You were working with him too? All this time?” I say to Russell. My memory triggers, and I think about the times I thought I saw him at The Clave. Could he have been the hooded figure too?
James walks by me and leaves. I start to follow him, but Russell says, “I told you, Jackson. You are way too kind for what needed to be done so I made other arrangements. James got a little spooked after the incident with Brian and found his way here. I actually turned his down at first because I had my faith in you until I realized you wouldn’t do things how they needed to be done. He got impatient. He tends to be very self-preserving, and he started following you, watching you and reporting back to me. He thought you were spending too much time with Richards’ pride and joy.”
“You had him spying on me?” I step closer to Russell. He absently claps The Aeneid against his palm.
“He said it looked like we were losing you, especially after what happened in Tresling. Lately, I have been thinking that you had forgotten which side you’re on.”
Instead of responding, I smile. I know exactly which side I am on. Whichever one gets me the hell out of this place.
“I needed security uniforms. You refused to get them. So I made other arrangements. I’m sorry your friend had to go down for it, but I did what had to be done.”
I gasp. “James stole Marco’s ID.”
Russell nods. “I’m really sorry, but everyone here understands sacrifice, even you. You’re going through with leaving this dimension and leaving him behind. I’m sure your friend will understand too.”
“The day James and I helped Marco move into his apartment, he messed with the window, didn’t he? We left him alone for a split second. That’s when he did it.”
“I have no idea what methods he chose to use. He just got the job done,” Russell says coldly. His face is emotionless. I feel so betrayed that I feel empty. I turn away from him.
“I knew we weren’t friends and that we barely trusted one another, but I at least thought some things were off limits,” I say through clenched teeth. “I wonder how your loyal followers are going to feel about this.”
“You think Charlie and Jefferson don’t know?” He laughs. “Of course they know. Charlie was concerned about the day you saw James staring at her at Community Day once. I told him to back off a bit. The night you and Marco came to tell us about Tresling, James had already been here, so Charlie and Jefferson just played along. Why do you think they didn’t show up to Community Day? They felt horrible. But again, they understand how sacrifice works.”
“What are you planning to do?” I spin around to face him.
“You’re angry with me now, but you’ll thank me later, Jackson. I have a lot of respect for you, which is why I told James to make sure you were not the one he framed. I have plans for you.” He smiles. I want to smack it off his face, but I storm out, feeling so much worse about Marco. I gave Russell everything he needed for James to carry out the mission. He knew officer and camera placement. He knew where we lived and he knew we would be at Community Day.
I dart through the crowd and find Sasha and tell her that we have to go. We exit The Clave and start the trek back to my house. Soon, we can no longer hear any sounds of celebration.
“That was so much fun! I’ve never done anything like that ever!” Letting go of my hand, she runs ahead of me. I’m conflicted about whether we should continue with the plan. By the time Sasha and Erwin figured out how to get Marco out, Richards will have tightened security around the machines because he would know that we were gone.
Sasha skips back toward me. I try to hide my sadness when she reaches me. Suddenly, her face changes as her gaze swivels to just above my head. She points, but a choking sound replaces whatever words she is trying to say. The look of horror on her face is the last thing I see before something solid smashes into the back of my head.
21
The Beginning of the End
I crash to the asphalt on all fours, and lose all sensory perception, like the force of the blow disconnected me from my body. Then everything tumbles back into place. My head is burning, and for a second, I think that I have been set on fire. I touch the back of my head. I hear myself scream when I look at my hand. It’s a really deep red, almost black. That color of red, which when you see it, you know that it can only be blood and that you’re losing it fast. I want to ask Sasha so many questions, but the sight of my own blood renders me incapable of saying anything. Or maybe it is the dazedness.
My eye catches a metal pipe, standing vertical, next to legs. Then, the pipe is lifted, slicing the air, and whoever is doing so, does it with so much strength, that there’s a breeze as it swings upward near my ear.
“Please, Brian. Don’t!” Sasha squeals as she sobs. “Brian! Please!”
As I try to crawl away, I hear the sound of shoes scuffing, and the pink wig falls to the ground.
I hobble to my feet and stumble a few steps before I catch my balance. I gag as I feel the blood start to soak the back of my shirt. After several blinks, the white spots peppering my vision clear. Sasha and Brian are struggling over the metal pipe, and because he is significantly stronger than she is, every time he pulls it toward him, he drags her with it. It is a violent tug-of-war.
He is wearing all black and I realize that he is the guy from the party dressed like a Resistance member. He followed us. Except for his chilling blue irises, he nearly blends in with the darkness. He had probably planned to kill me right there, and he probably would’ve gotten away with it. No one would’ve been the wiser when they found my body. Even in such a warm night, goose bumps settle over my skin.
The degree of unyielding malevolence in Brian’s eyes is the kind that involves a person giving up on all sense of reason. He is determined to hurt me, even if it means hurting Sasha. Slowly, but steadily, I walk to where they are. I grab hold of his service weapon at his waist, causing him to release the pipe. Sasha hits the ground, and the pipe rolls away noisily.
It’s not until he lunges at me that I realize that I’m holding the gun. The two of us fall to the ground, and I see Sasha’s heels dashing away from us back toward The Clave. Both of our hands are on the gun and he’s attempting to shift the muzzle so that it points at my abdomen. I grimace and headbutt him. The edges of my sight blur, and excruciating pain shoots to every part of my body. The impact stuns him momentarily, weakening his grip on the gun. I kick him away and scoot against the pavement as far back as I can. My head is starting to feel heavy, and every time I blink, my surroundings blur. I focus on maintaining my grip on the gun, but I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to do it. I’m pressing my limits on consciousness.
He lumbers forward, and I try to lift the gun. I squeeze the trigger, and my wrist pops back painfully, and I feel nauseous. I don’t want to kill him.
He advances after a brief pause. I didn’t hit him, and part of me is glad. I point and squeeze again, closing my eyes. This time, my hand is too low to hit him. Then, I lift my arm again with barely any effort. I realize that I’m not holding the gun. I can’t keep my eyes open anymore, so I stop trying.
I don’t know how much time passes, but I hear several voices in the distance, and a scream that abruptly cuts off. Someone slips something soft under my head.
“He’s bleeding really badly,” Sasha says. “I have to get him to a doctor.”
“We can’t come with you,” someone says. It’s Jefferson, I think. I hear the accent.
“It’s fine. Just get his car please. It’s at his house,” Sasha says. “You have my word that I will do everything to keep you all out of it.”
“Jackson, can you hear me?” Charlie asks. “You’ll be okay…I’m so sorry.”
I try to speak, but it only comes out as a series of moans. I hear a car approaching, and my body is lifted delicately and placed in the back seat. Someone cradles my head, and sounds fade in and out around me. Then the car wrenches to a stop.
“You should get out here. I can handle it the rest of the way,” Sasha says to someone. My head is lowered to the car seat, and the car moves at a careful pace for awhile before it stops again.
“Let me out…now!” Sasha demands and the car starts moving again. The sounds fade out and never come back in.
