The Wounded (The Woodlands Series) (17 page)

I laughed a little. “You sound like him.”

“Sorry
.” He smirked.

He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close, kissing my forehead gently. I felt myself aching for
more, but now was not the time.

“You coming?”

I nodded. “Yes, give me a minute.” He strode out, flipping back to me with a look of concern. I smiled weakly. “I won’t be long.”

I splashed some water on my face and took a deep breath. What could I do? How could I help when just the images of that place sent me spiraling and scrambling to wedge myself between the toilet bowl and the wall? I had to find some way to pull myself together.

It was funny how some things took forever to understand. Some obstacles were like mountains, they took years to climb and conquer. But I realized that what was shredding me, could also bind me. I could wrap myself up in this trauma and use it. I actually didn’t need any more time. More time was wasted.

I walked out with a flimsy sense of purpose and straight into a mess.

The film was
over, and the images had not formed into some great plan. They had burned and shriveled like over-exposed film. Everyone was arguing, but mostly they seemed at a loss. What good did this all do? How could we use this information to free the people and take down the Woodland government? It seemed too big.

Members of the group
swiped their arms in the air angrily, like the whip of a blade. All these surveillance videos had done was upset everyone.

One man, tall and thin as a pipe
, with a hollow-sounding voice like he was shouting through one, yelled, “What if we tunnel under this building here?” He clicked the photos over to a schematic of one of the schools. We could fortify it, set it up as headquarters, and recruit citizens from there.”

Another man shook his head
, his cheeks wobbling with the flurry of it. “They would just destroy the building with us in it. We have to remember who we’re dealing with. They place no value on human life. They won’t think twice about killing us all.”

Pietre, who had been sulking in the
corner, yelled, “We should just blow them all to hell.”

To which some people
cheered, but the majority of us found the idea deplorable.

The three leaders were standing now, looking down on us from the
stage, trying hard to follow the spits and spatters of conversation and suggestions ranging from massive scaffolding, to getting large numbers of Survivors over the Wall, and to capturing soldiers and brainwashing them. We were getting nowhere, and the ridiculousness of the plans pointed clearly to how lost we were.

The female leader, all golden curls and pink
cheeks, stomped her foot impatiently. Everyone stopped and turned their gaze upward. “We have the information. Stop and think. Take your time. What can we do with it? How can we use it to our advantage?”

Everyone sat down and took up various poses of introspection. I
was agitated, my thoughts shaking around like a paint can in a color mixer. There was something nagging in the back of my mind. Brainwashing soldiers was impossible. They were too far gone. Convincing the citizens to take up the cause seemed impossible. They were too afraid and too protected. What would be the motivation for fighting? What meant something to them?

The quiet had quickly degraded into arguing
again. I stood and left the group, feeling Joseph and Rash’s eyes on me. But I wasn’t running. I was chasing an idea. I ran my hands over the carved, wooden armrests, picturing films being watched here, the rancid butter smell transformed into something fresh and delicious. Such a different world. Mine was small and considered; theirs was so big it invited ruin. Who stood and fought back then? What were they even fighting about?

My
thoughts trailed to when I was still living in Pau Brazil. Had I ever seen any semblance of emotion, of defiance? Twice. Once when the one-child policy was first introduced and a father argued against them taking his child, and the other was when Paulo’s brother hid his son from the authorities. Both ended in bloody confrontations...

It was about love
and family.

Even though parents let their kids go to the
Classes, there was still love and hope that their children were going on to a better life. It was what we were supposedly guaranteed. But I saw it in their faces the day I left, reluctance, doubts.

If they knew
it was a lie.

If enough people knew what was really happening to their children
… If they knew what had happened to me, to Careen, to Clara, it could be enough.

I knew
it.

I stormed back to the fighting, pushed past the people snapping at each other like ducks fighting over a crust of bread. I climbed the stage and stood in
front of the group. My hands on my hips held me up.
Don’t give in to fear now.
The leaders coughed behind me, and I moved to the side, addressing them and the curious group below me.

I searched for
Joseph, we locked eyes, and he beamed at me. I felt myself grow. No longer holding myself up, I stood tall. I felt surer with every breath that I was right.

I cleared my throat and spoke
. “I think we’re looking at this wrong,” I said, wavering a little as everyone’s eyes turned to me. Joseph nodded, encouragingly.
Keep going
. “We’re trying to use the
information
in these images; we’re trying to find some flaw in the Woodlands’ security. I don’t think we’ll find anything.”

Pietre
glowered. “What’s the point in telling us what we
can’t
do?”

I ignored him and continued. “The fundamental flaw of the Woodlands is their arrogance.” I felt like I was sixteen again, shakily holding my report in my hands and waiting for my teacher to stop me.
But I wasn’t in the Woodlands now. Everyone was waiting. “They would never dream the people could turn on them. A while ago, I wouldn’t have believed it possible either.” I started to smile. It was coming together in my head. I could see it happening. “But now, as a parent, I understand something.” My eyes flicked to Pelo. He was looking at me curiously, like he didn’t recognize me. I leaned down, picked up one of the discs on the table, and threw it in the air, catching it and giving myself time to snatch a breath. “Instead of trying to use the
information
in the images, we should use the images themselves.” Someone let out an ‘ah’ of recognition. But everyone else still stared at me like I was from another planet.

I held up the
disc, turning it over in my fingers, thinking about the power of this tiny piece of plastic. “We have to show the people of the Woodlands what the Superiors have been doing to their children.”

“How?”
asked the man with the plait, his eyes narrowing on me like he was trying to tell if I was pulling his leg or not.

Joseph said
it before I could.

“We need Deshi.”

I had their attention now but my idea was just that, an idea, and I hadn’t had any time to formulate a real plan. I tripped over my words as I spoke them. “We, er… Can we adapt the projectors that hide our settlement to play moving images?”

Matthew tapped his chin
. “It’s possible but, yes, I think Joseph is right. We need someone like Deshi to accomplish this.”

“Ok…
so assuming we could somehow get Deshi… I think if we could stick these images into the projections and show them on a night where everyone is outside…” I said, pacing, feeling eyes on me.

Rash jumped up
. “Signing Day! Everyone has to stand outside for the piss-weak fireworks.” Mumbles and agreements vibrated across the room.

Joseph excitedly called out, “Yes Signing Day, that’s perfect.” He
clapped Rash on the back.

My excitement was building
, galloping towards the solution. But when a man stood and said, “Wait, wait, everybody slow down. This is all very well and good, but who is going to volunteer for this suicide/rescue mission?” Nobody said a word, and my body crashed into a brick wall of their fear.

Pietre laughed at me
, an unpleasant noise like he was coughing up a two-by-four. I kicked the side of his good leg as I passed him, which only made him scoff harder.

The same man, greying and round, shuffled towards me and put his hand on my shoulder condescendingly
. “I’m sorry, young lady. It’s a great idea; it’s just missing some key components to make it feasible.” I tried to sharpen my bones so he wouldn’t continue to touch me, but he kept his damp hand there as he shouted to the rest of the group, “We have just returned to a wounded and hurting settlement—do we want to leave on another mission? All in favor of continuing to search for a more plausible plan, hands in the air.”

We were outvoted, overwhelmingly
so. It seemed people were about as willing to take off on another rescue mission as they would be to jump into the crater with their fallen comrades.

I appealed to everyone, my eyes searching for sympathetic faces
. “But we can’t stay here, they know our location now. What’s to stop them from coming back and finishing the job?”

“She’s right
about that.”

I waited for more but they turned inwards, playing with the projectors, trying to come up with a better plan. The noise swallowed my
resolve; the bravery I knew the Survivors for was shrouded in sadness and loss and it was holding them back.

And in the
end, they gave up trying to find a better plan.

They put it
to the entire settlement.

The decision was made to leave
.

The door rattled. I gripped Joseph’s arm, only half awake. A part of a familiar nightmare started to creep under my skin. He grumbled, but didn’t wake. It was still dark outside. I shook his shoulder. “Joseph, there’s someone at the door.”

He slapped at my hand like it was a mosquito
, rolled onto his back and started snoring.

I peeled back the covers and moved to the rattling door
, my imagination conjuring ghosts and demons, tigers battering my screen door with their enormous heads.

“Rosa
, let me in.” Careen’s shouts coasted through my early morning fog.

I pulled open the door, the faint glow from our living room pulling Careen’s face into fuzzy focus. She looked dark, her usually perfect face
shadowed.

I rubbed my eyes and yawned as she pushed past me.

She slid across the floor elegantly, flicking on light switches as she went. My eyes followed, but my brain was struggling to keep up.

“What the hell are you doing?” I said, mid
-yawn.

The floor creaked and sighed under Joseph’s
weight, and I turned to see him leaning against the doorframe to our bedroom, his hair raked up on one side. He looked adorable this time of the morning, messy with sleep. I tucked my hair behind my ears self-consciously and gazed at a knot in the floorboards. I knew I looked like a crow had made a nest on my head. Joseph folded his arms across his chest and said, “Careen, slow down. What’s going on?”