Children of the Uprising (17 page)

Christopher wasn't going to waste any more time telling Evan to walk away. He wasn't going to tell Evan to go home again. He knew that it would be pointless and he didn't want to spend his last day with his old friend arguing over things that neither of them had any control over. Evan wasn't going to leave the War now that he'd seen what he'd seen. He had spent his whole life training with Christopher for something like this. Abandoning it now, with nothing resolved, would seem like too much of a waste. Even so, Christopher would have liked to tell Evan that he was leaving. He would have liked to say good-bye like a true friend, but he didn't. Instead, he now had to go looking for Addy because he wanted to make sure that he told someone that he was leaving and he wanted to tell Addy to keep an eye on Evan. He had no idea what else he was going to say to her.

Addy was with Dutty when Christopher found them. They were talking, making plans for a future that would never occur. Brian would be picking Christopher up in twenty minutes. Christopher was supposed to wait for him on the side of the highway at the top of the hill. Then they'd start the long, lonely drive back across the country to Florida, where it all seemed to start anyway.

“Christopher,” Dutty called out with joy in his voice when he saw Christopher walking toward them.

“I need to talk to Addy,” Christopher said, cutting Dutty off before he could launch into details about the next raid that he was planning or the next message he was going to send to the masses. Christopher said the words with more confidence than any words he'd said to Dutty since they'd met and with more confidence than any words he'd said to Addy since she'd turned her hair the color of fire.

“Okay,” Dutty said to Christopher, acquiescing not because he wanted to but because he knew that if Christopher was going to start making demands, he had to. “I'll leave you two alone.” Then he walked out of the room.

Christopher didn't waste any time. He knew that any hesitation could lead to paralysis. “I'm leaving,” he said to Addy.

“What?” That was the only word Addy could find to respond. It was like Christopher had sucker-punched her.

“I'm leaving,” Christopher repeated, “tonight. I wanted you to know. I want you to take care of Evan.”

“I don't understand,” Addy said.

“I don't understand either, but you want me to be a leader so I need to start making my own decisions sometime, right?”

“So leaving is your own decision?” Addy asked, hinting that she understood more than she possibly could.

“I don't know,” Christopher said. “I think it is—more than staying would be anyway.”

Addy stood there, silently, swaying on her feet as if she might topple over. Christopher had never seen her like that before. He'd done more damage to her than if he had punched her in the stomach. She looked dazed. She looked at him, her eyes shiny with tears. “You can't go. You can't leave us. You can't leave me.”

“Promise me that you'll take care of Evan.”

Addy pursed her lips. She felt vulnerable, like a child. She thought that maybe if she didn't promise him, he wouldn't leave.

“Promise me, Addy,” Christopher begged, though they both knew that he was asking for more than what his words implied. He was asking for her forgiveness too.

“You know that I'll watch over him,” Addy said, finally promising. “Is that why you're leaving?”

“No.” Christopher managed to force out a smile. “I'm happy for the two of you. I'm just sorry that I'm not the person you thought I was.”

“You don't need to give up yet,” Addy whispered, her voice cracking as she spoke. “None of us are who we will become.”

Christopher wondered why Addy never asked him where he was going. He didn't understand that it was not something you asked people in Addy's world. Where you were going was never anyone's business but your own, even if you were the Child. “Please try to wait as long as you can before you tell anyone I've gone.” That was Christopher's one last request of Addy. “You're the only one who knows.” Then he turned and began walking away. When he'd made it all the way to the door leading outside, he took one look back at Addy. She hadn't moved. “I hope we will see each other again,” he said to her. Addy only nodded in response, not believing that it was possible. Then he was gone.

It's possible that Brian and Christopher passed the SWAT cars on the road as their car raced away from the compound and the SWAT cars raced toward it. If they did, neither Brian nor Christopher noticed. They were already out of California when the first of the rebels hit the ground, struck down by a well-aimed bullet while trying to escape a burning building.

Donald and the
others waited silently until they couldn't see any more movement inside the dilapidated old building. The place didn't look like much. It was one story, spread out over a barren stretch of brown dirt. Most the windows were still in place, but they were caked with mud. If Donald had known his assignment, he would have guessed that the building was just a way station for squatters. Hell, for all he knew, it was. For all he knew, the whole story about the domestic terrorists was one big lie meant to get them there, meant to give them cover to have the innocents help them find the Child as he hid himself among a bunch of L.A. street kids. Seeing the clearly defenseless, dirty building, Donald began to wonder what the other cops and agents were thinking, the ones who didn't know the real reason why they were there, the ones who saw the picture of the Child and figured he was some punk that needed to be taught a lesson. Donald wondered if he would be gullible enough to believe that they were amassing this much firepower to nab some punk kid if he were in their shoes.

They camped out on the other side of the highway until the building fell quiet, staking the place out with long-range binoculars, making sure that they were far enough away that nobody in the building would be able to see them through the darkness. It was late by the time things settled down. By the time they were given their orders to move, they'd already been waiting by the side of the road for more than two hours. The tension had been rising since they'd pulled off the highway, gotten out of their SWAT cars, and begun to check their weapons. Now they were chomping at the bit, ready to move, ready to attack. If any of them had had any hesitation before, it died a quiet death on the side of the highway. “Time to roll, boys,” the team leader said, motioning for the first wave to get in place.

Donald was in the first wave with the other two pyros. Four sharpshooters and two grunts accompanied them. Initially, the sharpshooters and the grunts were only there for cover. They had the place pretty well mapped out. They knew where the entry points and exit points were. They knew where three pyros needed to be to make their equipment count. The two grunts took the first spots in the line. They moved up quickly, like lead blockers, getting into position so that they could defend against any ground-based counterattacks. Then the sharpshooters moved into place, each one roughly equidistant from the next so that they could cover the entire front of the building. The pyros moved into place last, taking their positions between the sharpshooters and the grunts.

Donald took his spot on the far right-hand side. Once in position, he knelt down and removed four canisters from his backpack. One was already loaded into his launcher. Each of the pyros had five canisters. With that equipment, each one of them could have burned down the whole building by themselves. Together, they could have burned down half a town. It wasn't merely about burning the place down, though. It was about speed. It was about generating heat and fear and panic.

Donald rechecked the preloaded canister to make sure there were no issues. He would have to manually reload after each shot, but he could do that in under a minute. He was supposed to hit two rooms with two shots each. The fifth canister was in case he missed with one of the first four, but he never missed. If he landed the first two shots, he was supposed to shoot the fifth canister onto the roof. The canisters weren't meant to explode. They were meant to start fires. Shortly after being shot, they sprayed out a potent liquid in all directions, some mixture of diethyl ether and gasoline that was meant to catch fire easily and then burn hot and long. Once the canister sprayed out its contents, it would combust. The explosion wouldn't be enough to do any damage on its own. It was merely enough to ignite the fire, but once the fire started, it would be almost impossible to stop. Anything the liquid touched would burn to a cinder.

Donald aimed his weapon at the first window and waited for the signal.

Everyone but Addy was asleep. She was in bed, but she couldn't fall asleep. Her head was too full of questions. What were they going to do now that Christopher was gone? How would they keep everybody going? What would they say? What was she going to tell Evan? She lay still, forcing herself not to toss and turn. She didn't want to risk waking up the other women in the room. She didn't want to have to talk to them. So she kept her body still but her mind was running. She couldn't stop that. She saw Christopher's face over and over, all different versions of it—his face when Max first led him into Reggie's compound, his face when he first saw Addy walk out of the bathroom with her red hair, his face after Max was killed, his face right before he walked out the door. She wondered if she should have learned more from all those faces.

Addy was still awake when the window in their room shattered, spraying glass everywhere. The other three women were asleep when it happened. They woke up to the sounds of shattering glass and the feel of shards cutting their skin. Nobody, not even Addy, knew what it was that had broken the glass. Then the spray came.

The spray was clear and almost odorless, but they still all knew to try to avoid it. They moved quickly, ducking behind furniture or blocking the spray with blankets, but everything was happening so quickly. Not all of them moved fast enough. Addy held a blanket up and used it to keep the spray from reaching her. One of the other women managed to duck behind her bed. They didn't know what the spray was. They didn't know if it was acid or poison. It landed on two of them without having any immediate effect. One of the women, unable to block the entire spray with her pillow, merely got some of it on her pants leg. None of it hit her face or body. The fourth woman wasn't so lucky. The canister had landed closest to her and the spray hit her before she had time to move. For a second or two, it seemed like everything was going to be okay. The spray stopped and all of the women looked at Ruth. They could still see the dark marks on her clothes where the spray hit her. She reached a hand up to wipe some of the drops of liquid off her face. None of the others could smell anything, but she could. A few drops of the spray had landed right under her nostrils. She could make out a faint smell of eggs.

Addy was still staring at Ruth when the fire started. None of them had moved. They were still too surprised and shocked to realize what was happening. They heard noises from the other rooms, feet rustling and mumbled voices. Their room didn't ignite first. Addy heard it happen in one of the other rooms first. She heard the whooshing sound of air being sucked out of the room as the fire lit and began devouring the room's oxygen. That's when she realized what the liquid was. She watched as Ruth lifted up her hand to wipe a few more drops of the liquid away from her eyes. Everything appeared to be happening slowly. Then Addy saw the shimmering light of the four small flames that jumped from the canister. Then she felt the heat. Then she heard the whoosh in their room. Then she heard the screaming. Addy looked away from Ruth as Ruth clutched at her own skin, peeling away from her body. It was quick. It was far from painless, but it was quick. Once the screaming stopped, all that was left was the smell.

The woman who had gotten some of the spray on her pants had managed to get her pants off but not before her leg had been badly burned and when she pulled off her pants, some of the liquid got on her hands. Addy felt sick. She wanted to help but knew there was nothing she could do. Instead, she ran out of the room. The whole building was already quickly filling with smoke. When she got into the hallway, she dropped down to her hands and knees. Then she heard the first of the gunshots.

Donald watched as the flames grew. He'd gotten all four of his canisters into the building and landed his fifth on the roof. Another canister landed on the roof shortly after his. Then the third. All three of the pyros had been perfect. Twelve canisters had made it into the building. It was overkill. Donald knew it. He didn't worry about that, though. What he worried about was that the body of the Child would be unrecognizable if he got caught in the fire. He wondered if the leadership had thought about that, if they had the Child's dental records or something else they could identify his body with. He guessed it wasn't his problem, though. He knew that he was merely a tool. And rules were rules. And orders were orders. And he wasn't the type to rock the boat.