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“If you’d like to clean up, the bathroom is through that door.” Victor gestures to the only door in the room, situated in the middle of the left-hand wall.

“Search through the first locker over here, there should be some new clothes that fit you that you can change into. By the time you shower and change I’ll have the info-disk ready to read.”

“Thank you, Victor.”

I pull the info-disk from my pocket and hand it to him. He takes it. His eyes linger on mine. As his face begins to blush, he twists away, making great haste for the computer terminal and begins to type away in the projected light keyboard. Damian heads to a chair and watches Victor work while Mr. Herrington goes to the kitchen and begins pulling out utensils and boxes to cook something. I follow Victor’s suggestion and walk over to the first locker. The door is unbolted. Inside are neatly stacked clean outfits. They’re labeled by size descending from biggest to smallest. I find some my size and pull them out. The clothes I’m wearing aren’t something I would normally wear but I don’t care. Walking across the large loft space I pass by the other three silently and step into the bathroom. The bathroom looks a lot like mine at home with clean lines and glass.

Hot water feels great against my aching muscles but when I apply the soap I find a dozen cuts and scrapes I didn’t realize I had. The water going down the drain is black from the soot and brownish-red from the dried blood. Finished cleaning, I lean against the wall and relax in the jet of steaming water. The tiredness I’ve been trying to suppress calls to me. Desperately, I want to curl up on the tile floor of the shower and fall asleep in the water’s warm embrace. The only thing stopping me is the nagging feeling at the back of my mind that I have more important things to do.

I turn the faucet and the warm comforting stream of water ceases instantly. Without the heat and steam of the water my skin quickly chills and I feel reality wash back over me. I change quickly and return to the loft.

Mr. Herrington has joined the other two in the middle of the room. All of them are eating something out of a bowl with great zeal. Sitting on one of the empty chairs is a bowl for me. I walk over to it and pick it up before I plop down in the chair. It looks to be some form of chili. Never a big fan of chili before, I’m too hungry to be picky so I dig in with similar zeal as the others. Surprisingly, the warm chili satisfies my hunger and leaves me feeling a little more positive. We all finish about the same time. I walk around, collect the bowls, and deposit them in the sink.

“Thank you, Mr. Herrington, I can’t tell you how much I needed that.”

“My pleasure, young lady. I think we all did.”

Victor jumps up from his seat and returns to the computer terminal.

“Ok, everyone, I’ll play it if you’re ready.”

“Let’s see it.” Damian says.

Victor’s fingers dance in the light. The computer screen comes to life with Margaret’s face filling the screen.

“I haven’t much time. They’re onto us. Hopefully you can get out of there unscathed. I’m sorry I put you at risk, young lady, truly I am, but if you’re watching this you must have seen what was stored inside the sphere. I hope it was as enlightening as I’ve imagined it.”

Margaret looks to her left with a concerned look on her face. A loud pounding can be heard in the background. She turns back to face the camera, her face now visibly shaken.

“They’re at the door. I have information hidden on this disk. Bernie will know the password. Use it to take them…”

The video abruptly ends. The screen fills with static. Victor rushes over to the terminal and shuts off the recording.

“It looks like she made this just in the time. I’ll look for the hidden files right away.”

“Do any of you know who Bernie is?”

Mr. Herrington smiles.

“I’m Bernie. I prefer Bernard, but Margaret always insisted on calling me Bernie.”

“I think I’ve found the files. What do you think the password is?”

“It’s a secret I vowed never to share with anyone but Margaret. If you don’t mind I’d like to keep it that way. I’ll type it myself.”

“As you wish. Just fill it in the open box and hit execute.”

Victor steps back from the terminal. Mr. Herrington rises creakily from his chair and steps up to the terminal. He looks lost for a moment then with slow deliberate strikes of his fingers against the projected input board types in the password and strikes execute. Victor, Damian, and I share an amused look. The file opens and dozens of folders flood out.

“I’ll sift through all of this and try and make heads or tails of it,” Victor says.

“I’ll go call everyone in,” says Damian. “We need to fill everyone in with what has been happening.”

Damian and Victor go straight away to their self-appointed tasks leaving Mr. Herrington and I with nothing to do.

“I think I’m going to lie down for a while, Miss Brennan. A man of my age can only handle so much excitement in a day. The cots are comfortable and clean if you’re so inclined.”

The thought of sleep is appealing but the knowledge that I’ll dream makes me hesitate.

“You go ahead, Mr. Herrington, I think I’ll stay with Victor and help him look through the files.”

“All right, young lady, but remember, you may be young but you’re not a robot, you need rest sometimes.”

Mr. Herrington claps me on the shoulder then makes his way to one of the eight bunks. Sitting in the chair nearest Victor and the terminal, I look over his shoulder as he pours through spreadsheets and candid videos of Margaret speaking with Fowler. It doesn’t take long for us to figure out something bad is coming.

Chapter Twenty-Two

It takes a few hours before the other members of the group arrive. From the far corner, I see them come in ones and twos. Soon the group grows to thirty-two people. As the people come in, I take a long look at their faces. I don’t recognize any of them. I could have passed these people a hundred times on the street, but with everyone always hiding behind their masks, it’s impossible to know. They range in age from mid-twenties to their fifties. Mr. Herrington is the oldest member by far. Most of them are men; the group only contains five women. However, each of them has the look of determination in her eyes that I see in myself when I look in the mirror and a demeanor that radiates confidence.

Damian steps in front of the gathering. Their murmuring stops and he addresses them in a commanding voice.

“We are waiting on Charles and then we can begin. What Victor, and our newest member Evelyn Brennen, have discovered is going to disturb you, so get a glass of water or whatever now, you may not feel like it in a little bit.”

The assembled group begins to migrate toward the kitchen. Their indistinct conversations rise considerably in volume. With concerned faces and impassioned voices, they speculate wildly. Seeing me alone in the corner, Victor walks over to me.

“Doing the meet and great with thirty-odd people can be a nightmare. Don’t worry, you’ll get to know everyone eventually.”

I continue to stare at him. The files Margaret smuggled to us have deeply disturbed me and I don’t feel the need to talk.

“What’s wrong? Is it the files? We’ll discuss it with the group in a minute. We’ll come up with a plan.”

“I know the group will come up with a plan, and they’ll figure out a course of action for themselves, but I need to come up with my own plan.”

“You’re not alone in this anymore, we are a team.”

“I understand that, and I do feel safer knowing I have a group at my back, but with the coming storm, I don’t want to lose my family. It may be selfish, but I need to get them to safety. I need to find a way to convince my mother to let go of her fears, to break free from the prison she has built for herself.”

“I don’t think that is selfish at all. In fact, I think the whole group needs to be considering their families right now. I already know what direction Damian is going to try and sway the group, but if the both of us offer a less reactionary, self-preservation style response we might be able to keep things from getting out of hand.”

“So you think Damian is actually committed to fighting? Doesn’t he realize that is what they want him to do? Violence against the Caretakers only strengthens their position by making them look like victims.”

“I agree whole heartedly with you. I don’t want to see Damian throw his life away, or anyone else’s.”

“Together then, we’ll convince them to approach this rationally.”

Victor smiles. His face has healed considerably but his eye is still black and blue. The commotion in the kitchen dies down for a second. A man named Charles is here. To my astonishment, it is Mr. Standish, my apartment’s superintendent. He walks straight into the crowd and begins shaking hands and saying his pleasantries. He seems so much more alive than I have ever seen him before. It is amazing how different people are when they aren’t being watched. Damian stops pacing and retakes his spot of authority.

“Nice of you to make it, Charles. Ok everyone, gather around the computer terminal. Victor is going to project what we’ve found. Try and keep your comments to yourselves until we’ve gone through the information. After that I would like to propose a plan of action.”

Stepping out of the corner, I stride toward the computer terminal.

“Victor and I also have a plan we would like to propose. It is nice to meet you all.”

The gathered people smile and nod. Only Standish seems unsure of how to act. We make eye contact. He is visibly nervous. Damian interjects before I have a chance to walk over to him and convince him that I do not share the same convictions that my mother does.

“Play it, Victor.”

Victor’s fingers dance on the keyboard and the terminal comes to life. The videos, images, and spreadsheets project up on the small screen. The group gathers in close to see.

“The first thing I’m going to show you is a video conversation between Margaret Waters and Undersecretary Ursula Fowler, the subversives’ program operator. This video was shot without Fowler’s knowledge.”

The video begins to play. The familiar, bright living room comes on the screen. Everything is neat and clean the way I saw it the first time. The time stamp on the video shows it was taken almost two years ago. Fowler enters the room and takes a seat in one of the armchairs. Margaret brings tea, sets it on the coffee table, then sits on the couch as far away from Fowler as she can.

“The tea is a touching gesture, but this is not a social call,” says Fowler. “I’m here to discuss the terms of your parole.”

“Which terms do you mean?”

“The contract you signed on your way out of prison all those years ago obliged you to work for the Great Society if ever the Caretakers needed your services. Well now is such a time. I am the head of a top secret program that has been recently activated. You will perform a task for us. You will act as my recruiter.”

“What kind of top secret program?”

“That is none of your concern. You need only do what you are told.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll throw you back in a cell or I’ll send you to the coal pits. It all depends on how generous I’m feeling that day.”

Margaret picks up her tea cup. Her quivering hands splash much of the tea out on the way to her lips.

“Recruiter? I don’t know very many people, and certainly not the types of people you would be interested in. I’m not sure I’m the woman for the job.”

“Believe me, you are the woman. You won’t have to find the people yourself. We’ll find them and push them in your direction. All you have to do is answer the door, pour them some tea, and convince them that they are on the right path.”

“And which path is that?”

“Mine. I’ll give you a script of what to say and things to give them. You are a stepping stone for them, nothing more, but a vital stepping stone. You will weed out the smart and the driven and send me the docile and dependent.”

“I still don’t know why you cannot do this yourself.”

“Because I don’t have to. You will do it or I’ll find someone else. You are not the first person I’ve approached and would certainly not be the first person I’ve thrown back in jail or condemned to the pits when they refused to work with me.”

“Tell me what to do then.”

“Wise choice.”

The video cuts out. The murmuring in the group grows loud.

“Settle down everyone. I know that you have a lot of questions, but Margaret has put together spreadsheets and documents outlining what Fowler’s plan is as she pieced it together. That should fill in the blanks.”

Victor’s fingers once again dance on the input projection and the documents and spreadsheets appear.

“I encourage you to read them over at your own leisure later, but Evelyn and I have already read through them, so I will do my best to summarize. We already knew Fowler was in charge of the subversives’ program and that she was close to activating it, but what we didn’t know is that she has her own agenda. During the last cycle of violence she determined that with enough pressure and prolonged violence she could set the stage for a successful coup against the Caretakers so she could seize power for herself. Over the last two years she has been building her army in secret. Using the Oracle Device, she indoctrinates her initiates far beyond the level Peace Officers and Guardians receive. According to Margaret’s estimation, Fowler has ten thousand fully indoctrinated warriors ready to unleash chaos and bloodshed across this city for her own purposes.”

The group lets out a collective gasp.

“Most unsettling, though, is Margaret was somehow able to learn the starting date for the violence. Tomorrow.”

The groups murmuring and hushed chatter erupts into a cacophonous roar. Damian’s booming voice cuts through the din. He stands by the bolted lockers; everyone turns to face him.

“Time has long since passed for talking. We need to take action. The people need to know what is going on. They need to know that the subversives are part of the state apparatus, that Fowler is planning a coup. We need to strike now.”

“Hear, hear!” the group cries out.

“I propose we arm ourselves and gain entry into the television broadcast center. Then we can communicate with the entire city, and the whole nation, all at once. We have to strike now before Fowler begins turning the city upside down! Then after we’ve made our presence known we will go to the Under City, empty the factories and march with legions of workers at our back. We’ll march all the way to the Halls of Power!”

A near unanimous cheer from the assembled group unnerves me. I climb quickly onto a chair so that everyone can see me.

“What Damian suggests is counterproductive. We want to unseat the Caretakers from power
because
they resort to violence, fear, and intimidation. If you march armed into the streets you are committing the very acts you rebel against! You cannot win freedom from oppression with bullets and fists. It’s too late for us to stop Fowler, but we need to stay resolved as a group. We need to keep the fire of peace, truth, and liberty kindled in these dark times and not stoke the flames of revenge. Instead of fighting, we should all be making sure our friends and families are safe. We need to be patient. We need to lay a proper foundation.”

“Enough talk!” says Damian. “Enough platitudes and hollow words! This girl speaks as if she has truly felt the weight of the Caretaker’s boots on her neck, as if she has trembled in her sleep fearing the Peace Officer’s baton. I will take up arms and fight alone if need be. Those who wish to cower in this safe house until the danger has passed, be my guest, but know that when we’ve won our victory, you won’t be able to live with your shame.”

Victor, sensing that we’re losing the crowd to Damian’s fiery rhetoric, clambers up onto his own chair.

“Evelyn may be young, but she has seen things we can only imagine. She has a wisdom beyond her years and I implore you to heed her warning. If you go out now, the people will mistake you for subversives. Killing Peace Officers does not help our cause; it only creates animosity among the people, especially in the Under City, where most of the recruits come from! Don’t do this, Damian. We need more time to think about this.”

“I’ve had my whole life Victor. I’d rather die this instant than live another day in this forsaken city.”

“Then I wish you the best of luck. But I cannot condone violence; I cannot stand with you.”

Victor’s eyes stream with tears. Mr. Herrington stands silently next to Victor, sorrow etched into the wrinkles in his face. Damian locks his fiery eyes with Victor’s a tinge of disgust curls his lips.

“To arms!”

His cry echoes in the large open room. Chest up, shoulders back, he strides with pride to the bolted lockers, opening them with a key. The doors swing open revealing row upon row of rifles. Damian grabs one along with a few extra magazines then heads directly for the exit. The group begins to follow his example, casting Mr. Herrington, Victor and I disgusted expressions. Person after person, gun after gun, they file by the locker and out the door—everyone except one, Mr. Standish. The last person exiting the safe house slams the door loudly behind them. We stand in the silence trying to regain our composure. Mr. Standish breaks the silence.

“I was worried when I saw you here that we had been infiltrated by a loyalist, given who your mother is, but hearing you speak just now I have no doubt you truly want change. Peace.”

“I could see your worry, Mr. Standish. I’m glad I’ve persuaded you.”

“Please call me Charles. I’ve never been one for confrontation, but it’s hard to see how we’re going to do this peacefully.”

“I don’t have an easy answer, I don’t think there is one, but we have to keep searching. We can’t lose hope that we can succeed.”

“You amaze me more and more the longer I’m in your presence, Miss Brennan. I think your plan is a good one, but alas, you three are the only family I have left now,” Mr. Herrington says with a sigh.

“The same goes for me. My sister moved to the coast a few years ago and besides her, this group is it,” says Victor.

“What about you Charles?” I say. A tinge of guilt grips me for not knowing if he even has a family.

“My wife Cornelia and daughter Georgette live at the high rise. We can kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, and get your father while we’re there.”

“Doesn’t Miss Brennan have a mother you’re forgetting about?” Mr. Herrington says.

“He’s right, Mr. Herrington,” I say. “We should go there to collect my father. My mother probably won’t come.”

“Well, regardless, Victor and I will do everything we can to help.”

“Hopefully Damian left us the van,” says Victor.

“Indeed, I’m not sure my knees can handle too long of a walk.”

Charles leads the way to the garage. Victor, helping Mr. Herrington, follows him. The van is still there. The last one out, I switch the lights off behind me as I pass through the door into the garage.