Untitled Agenda 21 Sequel (9781476746852) (2 page)

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Joan jumped up from her mat and rushed to meet John at the door. He wrapped his arms around her, felt the warmth of her against his chest and the firmness of her back under his hands. He leaned against her for a long silent moment before turning to shut the door. She gasped when she saw the moonlight glistening off the gun tucked into his waistband.

“John!” She stepped away from him and sank to the sleeping mat. “A gun? They could kill you for that!”

“I don't care. It's more dangerous not to have one on a night like this.”

“Is it that bad?” she asked. “It's the Village, isn't it?”

He sat beside her, clicked on the gun's safety lock, and laid it on the mat.

“It's that bad. But the Children's Village is fine,” he said, knowing that the Village and the young lives it housed was the most important thing to her. “It's the Social Update Stage.”

Joan breathed a sigh of relief. “Why? How?”

He rubbed his forehead with his right hand and laid his left hand on her knee. “I don't know. But David wasn't at his post. Their Living Space somehow . . .”

“David wasn't at his post?” Her voice was sharp, slicing through the air in the dark room, and the words hung like cold daggers above their heads.

“No. And their space is empty. But our Gatekeeper wasn't at our gate either. So I don't know. I don't know what's going on.”

“Where could David be? What about Emmeline and Elsa?”

John walked to a window slit and looked out. Their Gatekeeper had
returned to his post and was pacing nervously back and forth, talking to a guard. They were both waving their arms, shaking their heads.

“I don't know. Emmeline and Elsa should be at the Village.” He turned back to her. “But I have no way of knowing for certain. Emmeline must have heard the rumors about the relocations.”

She nodded. “I think everybody heard them.”

“You know how she feels about Elsa.”

Joan nodded.

They heard people running on the bike path past their Compound and then more gunshots.

John took a deep breath and looked his wife straight in the eyes. “I'm afraid that Emmeline could be involved in all of this.”

Joan gasped. “How?”

“She would have been frantic hearing about the relocation.”

“I was going to try to stop it. After all, I'm the manager at the Village. She should have talked to me.”

John shook his head wearily. “I know you would try to do what you could, but the rumor was spreading fast and ringing true. The relocation was going to happen. And soon. Emmeline would have been desperate. She wouldn't have had time to talk to you.”

“Well, then, maybe David knew she was upset and went to the Village to calm her down.”

“He wouldn't leave his post and he wouldn't be allowed in the Village.”

“Well, then, maybe . . .”

“No more maybes, Joan. We know three things for certain. There's a fire, David's not at his post, and outside there's chaos and gunfire.” John rubbed his temples with his fingers in small, tight circles, then put his hands on his knees and sighed. “She probably told David they had to leave and take Elsa with them.”

“Leave? There's no way to leave the Compound. You know that.”

John stood and paced back and forth in their small space, then
went back to the window slit. The Gatekeeper and the guard were still talking, still agitated.

He stopped pacing and faced Joan.

“The fence is not perfect.”

Joan frowned but said nothing. She sat with her hands in her lap, waiting.

“There's a way to get through. A way to get to the other side.”

“The other side . . .” Joan's voice trailed away as though the enormity of what he was saying was too dangerous to comprehend. She looked at him with skepticism. “That's impossible! How would David even know how to do that?”

John stared at the floor. He knew Joan would be upset but it was time to tell her everything. She needed to know the truth. “Because I made a hole in the fence and told him about it. He probably told Emmeline.”

“John!” Joan stood up and faced him, her face tense with deep frown lines. “You did what? You made a
hole
in the fence? What were you thinking?”

“I know. It was dangerous. I just needed to know that every once in a while I could be on the other side, free.” He shrugged. “But I was fooling myself. It was false freedom.”

“And nobody saw this hole? What if somebody discovered it and knew you made it? They would have taken you away. Then how good would your
false
freedom be?” She clenched her hands into fists.

“Nobody can see it. It's hidden.”

“Hidden? They see everything, know everything.” Joan paced in a tight circle. “How could it possibly be hidden?”

“It's behind a broken down bus-box that's parked by the fence.” Large wooden bus-boxes were used to transport people, when necessary, and to move food from the farm commune to be processed into nourishment cubes for the Citizens. Bulky and heavy, they were pulled by men assigned to Transport Teams, harnessed like workhorses.

“I suppose a bus-box would be big enough to conceal a break in the fence. But you never told me about it?”

“I wanted you to be completely guiltless, completely unaware, in the event it was discovered and linked to me. I'm sorry. I should have told you.”

“Yes, you should have. But you shouldn't have done it in the first place.”

“It was something I had to do. I needed it for me. But we can't debate this right now, we're losing time. We've got to figure out if they're really gone. If they are, we've got to follow them through that hole before the chaos dies down. They need us.”

“You've lost your mind! How would we ever survive out there? It's called the Human Free Zone for a reason.”

“For starters, we've got a gun. But beyond that, you're going to have to trust me. I know it's asking a lot. But this is our son, his wife, and our grandchild that we're talking about here. They're out there somewhere. I think a little blind faith is justified. Besides, what's the alternative—to sit here in this cement box of a home saluting the Republic while we never see our family again? Is that what you want? To stay here and do nothing?”

Joan knew that
if
John was right and David had taken his young family to the other side, she would never see them again. She also knew that if she and her husband were taken into custody by the Authorities, they would be held out as examples or, worse, used as bait to lure David and Emmeline back to the Compound.

That is,
if
John was right.

“I don't know what I want,” she answered, her lips barely moving.

They sat side by side and the tiny Living Space settled around them like a shroud, airless and tight. Joan pushed her clenched fists against her forehead so tightly that her knuckles turned white. John picked up the gun, turned it over in his hand, and felt the smooth gray metal, cold against his fingertips.

The door to their space opened and, without notice, the Gatekeeper rushed in. John quickly pushed the gun under the mat. The Gatekeeper grabbed Joan by the arm, pulling her toward the door.

“Hurry, Citizen, hurry. You're needed at the Village immediately.”

“Yes, yes,” Joan said, “I'll come. But my husband must come too, for protection. I need him.”

“I don't care if he comes or not. I was told to get you quickly.” He pulled her through the doorway. John grabbed the gun from under the mat and followed behind them, pushing the weapon deep into the waistband of his orange Transport Team pants and pulling his shirt down to cover it.

They ran toward the fire and noise. Joan saw the dark shape of a guard lying motionless beside the path. “Look,” she called out to the Gatekeeper. “Over there, someone is lying there. He's not moving.”

“Not my problem,” the Gatekeeper said. “My orders are to get you to the Village. Keep moving.”

They passed by the burning Social Update Stage where Citizens, under the watchful eyes of guards, were beating at the flames with bed linens. Water was limited in the Compound; there was none available to put out fires. The air was heavy with the smell of smoke. They kept hurrying toward the Village.

Once there, the Gatekeeper turned them over to an Enforcer. “I'm going inside with you while you inventory the children,” the Enforcer said, pointing his pistol at Joan. “If any are missing, inform me at once. And you,” he said, pointing at John, “stay in my sight at all times.”

Joan rushed inside past the cramped supply cupboard. The fire cast enough light through the windows for her to see the two Caretakers huddled in the corner. The Enforcer stayed so close to Joan that she could smell the cold carbon of his gun.

“What are you doing, sitting in here?” Joan screamed at the Caretakers. “Have you checked the children?” The stale odor of alcohol wafted from them and out into the hallway. “Hand me a torch.”

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Joan recognized one of the Caretakers. Lizzie. Lazy, nasty Lizzie. She was the one who had told Emmeline about the mass killings that occurred before Citizens were loaded onto trains and moved into Compounds—killings that counted Emmeline's grandmother and aunt among the victims. Emmeline had been devastated after hearing the story. Joan couldn't remember the name of the other Caretaker. They both looked dazed—probably a combination of the alcohol and the confusion from the fire outside. The Caretakers felt for their torches. Gone. Their torches were gone.

Dusk to dawn, Caretakers always had their torches. Always. They couldn't function without them. Joan knew then, with absolute certainty, that Emmeline and David had escaped. They'd taken the lights, grabbed Elsa, and fled. There was no one else with access to the precious torches and no one else but Emmeline with access to the drunken Caretakers. There could be no other explanation. John was right. There was no more
if
. Her doubts were replaced with grim determination.

“I can't inventory without light,” she said to the Enforcer. “Let me get a torch from my office. Please.” She knew there was no torch there, but she wanted to delay any inventory of the children and confuse the Enforcer if she could. She rushed down the corridor and into her office. Flinging open closet doors, pulling open desk drawers, she searched with frantic hands. The Enforcer stood close, watching her.

“Help me, John. Do something.” John stood in the doorway and watched the corridor, hoping no other Enforcer entered. He heard the urgency in her plea and immediately understood what she was doing. “Put down your gun and help us search,” he said to the Enforcer.

“No. Never,” the Enforcer said, keeping his eyes on Joan. “Do you think I'm a fool?”

John reached for his gun. The movement of his arm seemed like slow motion. He pulled the weapon out, raising it in his hand, pointing it, curling his finger on the trigger, each motion deliberate. It felt like
the whole process lasted an eternity, yet it happened in the space of one short breath.

A shot rang out.

The Enforcer collapsed to the floor. The bullet had hit him directly in the center of his head. No one seemed to notice the sound of one more gunshot. John, who, before that day had never hurt another human being, had now struck a guard with a rock and shot an Enforcer—all in one night. He felt like a stranger in his own skin. A cold shiver ran down his spine, sharp as a bony finger.

Joan leaned against the wall, her mouth open.

John bent over the Enforcer and began unfastening his jacket, slipping the sleeves off his limp arms.

“What are you doing?” Joan asked.

“I'm getting us out of here. No one will stop us if they think I'm an Enforcer.” He began putting the Enforcer's uniform on over his own clothes, then picked up the Enforcer's gun. “Go confirm that Elsa is gone from her crib. Then gather some supplies. Grab whatever you can carry. Hurry.” He tucked both guns into his waistband. His fate was sealed. He was now a Citizen with not just one gun, but two.

Joan nodded and ran down the corridor to the nursery. Feeling her way in the dim room past crying babies she reached Elsa's crib. It was empty. It had been empty long enough that the mattress was cool to the touch. She went back into the hallway, running, glancing into the rooms as she went. In the flickering light from the fire, she glimpsed an empty cot in the boys' sleeping space, an empty chair where the next day's clothes should be laid out. In other cots, boys sat upright, frightened, holding their thin blankets tightly against their chins. She paused in the doorway and whispered, “It's okay,” but she couldn't stop to say anything else.

She ran back to the supply cupboard. The two Caregivers were still huddled in the corner like frightened, cornered animals. “Get up! Do you hear me? Get up! Go tend to the children. Now!” They stood, unsteady, staring at her.

“I said
go
. I'll report you if you don't.” She pointed to the corridor and the two of them left the closet quickly. With rapid frantic movements she randomly pulled things off the shelves, filling a flimsy trash bucket. She put as much as she could into it before returning to the office.

“Elsa?” John asked, the Enforcer's black uniform now completely covering his orange Transport one.

“Gone. And one other child, too. A boy. They're gone.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God.” John pushed his hands through his thick dark hair, trying to think. “Is there another exit from the Village?”

“Just this door at the back of my office.” She pointed to it.

“What does it lead to?”

“A metal shed behind the Village but inside the fence. There's broken equipment in it. It's locked.”

“Do you have the key?”