The community, p.25
The Community, page 25
The crowd still gawked at Frankie, who had been forced toward the south wall. But they were also quiet, listening to Nate, some faces even streaked with tears.
The band started singing, in acapella, a sad, melodic tune while Nate set down the megaphone, stepping off the stage to shake hands and hug citizens. He was the beatific leader in a sea of followers, all who reached to tug, touch or comfort him. He was also, unfortunately, stuck.
Frankie turned and saw Nate’s position. Shit. This entire thing would fall apart if she didn’t get him out of the crowd. The officer who gripped her arm stumbled into her. He swore, then mumbled an apology. “Wait!” she whispered. “You forgot to get Nate.”
“Keep walking,” the officer replied, but reached behind his ear and spoke quietly. A portly officer walking just ahead of them, whose resemblance to Lo was so similar that he had to be her father, responded. He stopped the small group of agents, putting a hand up.
“Get the boy.” Two of the hulking officers grunted and turned back to extract Nate, still being pulled from all sides. It took some effort, but at last the four men and Frankie were joined by a disheveled Nate and the other two officers.
A cheer rose from the crowd when, after a brief buzzing sound, the lights were restored. Citizens dropped their candles, letting their insolence roll away on the ground, unseen. Onstage, the band fed off Frankie and Nate’s energy, grabbed their instruments and plugged in to amps, whipping the already hyped crowd further into a frenzy for the Community’s three-night celebration. The citizens were here to party; the beer garden was back in full swing.
Frankie’s group trooped to a side entrance, unseen by the crowds, and all stood outside a door marked Community Officers Only – Demerit Warning to Unauthorized Personnel in small, glowing letters.
The entire crew of officers, Frankie and Nate moved past the doorway into a stairwell. Nate took a step forward and tripped, barely missing the floor as the officer to his left grabbed his arm.
“Easy brother,” the officer murmured, and, after a quick look to Lo’s father for confirmation, scooped Nate up as if he weighed no more than a baby.
“msorryan,” Nate mumbled. Lo’s father nodded in approval at the officer, then looked at the rest of the group.
“Let’s move. Good work out there, Frankie.”
CHAPTER 30
Upstairs, a concessions attendant came into the reception and beelined toward the powerful trio of Senators Abbott, Thomas and Lynch; Abbott fuming in silence over Frankie’s stunt while Thomas and Lynch argued around him. The attendant took a deep, shaky breath before addressing Paul.
“Mr. Council Leader, sir,” the boy said, squeaking on the word “sir.” His sweaty fingers clutched an illicit box of cigars. “Sir,” the boy said again, practically shaking as he spoke. “A discovery from the most recent salvage trip. A gift from Leader Swanson as a thank you for your work on the space program.”
Paul straightened, his glowering expression softening at the proffered box in front of him. He gave a broad smile at his companions, reaching for the cigar box that might as well have been a brick of gold, its existence so rare and valuable. He paused, hand outstretched, looking at Cecily, her perfume announcing her presence.
“Darling, do you mind …?” he trailed off.
The men knew Cecily minded. All three council members stared at her, their eyes downcast like little boys caught with fingers stuck in a jar of sweets, but not quite wanting to pull their arm out and relinquish their goodies.
Cecily gave Paul a long look. “I suppose I’ll check on Nate,” she said, relenting. The senators’ hangdog expressions turned to victorious smirks, nodding her dismissal.
“Gentleman.” Paul gave a quick glance around the party. “Shall we take these elsewhere?” Paul jauntily hoisted the box in the air for the men to follow, like animals being taunted with bait.
Cecily huffed, giving her all to this performance, snatching up her bag and exiting out a side door. She lingered in the hall, just long enough to hear Paul move toward his private suite.
The concession attendant was waiting for her, ready to head back in. “Nice work,” Cecily said, pressing her gold chip and eyeing the attendant’s nametag. “5,000-currency transfer to citizen 92204.” The boy’s jaw dropped.
“Ma’am – I can’t – thank you –” he stuttered.
“Offer the bourbon next,” she instructed, before turning and walking toward the elevators. She punched the T button. The elevator jerked, then crept up toward the terrace.
Nora looked different since she last saw Nate. Rounder. It was an odd feeling, being nervous to see someone you knew so deeply, intrinsically, before. Before. Nora thought about the word, rolling it over and over in her mind. Yes, before. So much had happened since leaving for the Fringe. So much, and then not so much.
She watched the waves do their dance in the moon. Sarah forced Nora on a walk; Nora’s fretting finally getting on Sarah’s nerves. So here she was, just below the cliffs. It was an alcove sheltered from the tide, and it was where Nora hoped there would soon be a ceremony.
Rebecca offered to administer the vows. She felt like a solid replacement for Nora’s own Oma. Now Nora traced a large rock that had a knife buried neatly beside it. Rebecca lent her the knife – ceremonial, of course – wrapped in tiny seed beads and dripping with feathers. It was old, too. Older than the Burning, a treasured artifact from some of the villager’s First Nation’s tribe members.
Nora shuddered at Rebecca’s instructions: Cut a small wound on Nate, he on her, and then clasp hands, smearing the blood so they became one. The idea was a bit repulsive but somewhat romantic, and Nora supposed she was part of the Fringe now – if this was their thing, she would do it. Maybe this was why no one here got married anymore. No one liked the idea of cutting their partner up.
Nora exhaled, leaning back on a massive tree stump, tracing the tree’s rings with her finger. It made her feel small, part of a deep, complex history. Hopefully Nate got to be part of it with her. Nora pressed her palm to the tree and waited.
“Cecily!” Frankie exclaimed as the elevator doors slid back on the terrace. An expansive building, the large roof was crowded by massive solar panels, air-conditioning, and filtration systems. Its only entertaining space was a small fenced-off area that was occasionally used for Level Six sunset events. It was under this awning that Frankie, Nate and two remaining officers waited.
Cecily gave a rare smile and walked forward, relieved to see Frances. Her smile fell the instant she saw her son, tucked in near the wet-bar and closely guarded by who she knew must be Manny, Lolita’s father.
“Is he okay?” she demanded, crouching down. He looked peaceful, almost as if he was sleeping. Or …
Manny shook his head. “We don’t know. Just sleepin’. Something’s wrong, at any rate.”
“Yes,” Cecily agreed softly, pushing his hair out of his eyes. She pursed her lips, clearly trying to work something out.
Frankie stepped over a large grate, peering down at the mother-son duo. “What’s next?”
Cecily glanced at Lolita’s father, who picked up on her concern and opened his hands, palms facing out.
“Not to worry, Mrs. Abbott. I trust Jamal here with my life. He’s good.” Cecily exhaled in relief. Tonight’s importance was really wearing on her.
“Thank you, Manny.”
He bobbed his head and shrugged his massive shoulders, stepping to the side with Jamal while Cecily focused on her son. She crouched down low and picked up one of his limp hands. It was warm, but not too warm.
“All right – here’s where we’re at,” Cecily brushed away a lock of his hair, then spoke. “Good job both of you – especially you, Frances.” Cecily watched Frankie blush and look away. The woman had just risked her Level. It was a favor Cecily wouldn’t forget.
Cecily looked across the roof and out toward the streets. “Your little show should work for switching the boys, and as it turns out, is also doing a nice job clearing the paparazzi from our travel route.”
Frankie gave a noncommittal shrug, looking a little dazed.
But Cecily reached over and tipped Frankie’s chin up, looking her full in the face. “You did good, sweetheart.”
“And Mr. Abbott?” asked Frankie, dipping her head, but smiling.
“Getting blitzed. Thank your father for those cigars.”
Frankie’s smile dropped. “I don’t want to be around when he finds out I stole them.”
Cecily gave a short laugh and patted Frankie’s arm. Her laugh died as she watched her son, unresponsive. “We can’t move James until we’re absolutely sure they’re gone. What’s he on?”
Frankie eyed James-masquerading-as-Nate with a guilty expression. “Colin’s sister never said what it was, only that she got the drugs in Level One.”
Cecily thought back to the dirty baggie Frances gave her in the wine cellar and rubbed her forehead. “I knew those were a mistake. We should have just used one of our physicians.”
Frankie shrugged. “Probably. But you can never trust them. They’re too worried about dropping Levels.”
Cecily reluctantly agreed.
“Anyway, they can’t be that bad. She thought I was scoring them to party with this weekend.”
“Frances, darling, you seriously ought to reconsider some of your friendships.”
Frankie only laughed. “I’m the least of your worries, Mrs. Abbott! Whatever he took, worked – he could barely stand up.”
Cecily made a noncommittal noise. As she remembered James looking a mess at the party. He was the poster child for terrible health.
“Just as long as he sleeps it off,” she murmured, watching her slightly older twin son doze peacefully in a drugged sleep.
“When did Dane say he’d get here?” Frankie asked, stepping around a cement pillar to get a better look at the streets below. The lights of the city winked back at her.
Cecily frowned. “Ten minutes? Come to our estate, and we’ll get you back to your place when the paparazzi has died down. And Frances – I would hide out for the rest of the weekend. The stories are beginning to … escalate.”
Frankie groaned. “Just so I’m prepared – what kind of stories?”
Cecily raised an eyebrow. “Nothing you won’t survive,” she said, then, after a pause, “but I’ll send another case of wine to keep you company.”
“Pre-flight check complete, sir.”
“Roger that. Prepare for takeoff.”
Dawn broke over the Community, and its citizens were pushing the limits of sun curfew as they partied their way through the night. That tense moment with Frankie Swanson? It was all anyone could think about, but no one dare speak of. Forgetting was easier.
The only citizens not partying the night away were on the runway, headed northwest.
In the airplane lay Nate.
Nate didn’t know that Nurse Linda, the pilot, co-pilot, and several others were bribed heavily to be there. Nor did he know his brother had prearranged the flight as a supply plane, its clearance thin at best. Their best hope was to fly during the least-watched hour, when citizens were breaking laws and otherwise distracting the Protectant.
No, Nate only slept, his hand held by the soft, wrinkled hand of his nurse, his forehead soothed, reassurances whispered into his ear. Once the plane left the ground, Nate would reunite with his fiancée within hours, finding the happiness he so desperately sought.
Outside the hangar, Micah sat on the concrete runway, massaging his swelling jaw. He looked beside him, at the unconscious bodies of Les, Keith and Barney. Barney. Micah felt badly about that one; Barney seemed a decent enough fellow. At least Barney had the sense to avoid Micah and almost seemed to help in the fight against Les, and to a smaller extent, Keith.
Oh, Barney. Micah frowned, shoving Barney so he lay in a comfortable, easily recoverable position, then turned to glare at Les and Keith. Typical, he thought, glowering. Paul’s men all looked the same – older, prematurely greying hair, behaving like the former military nitwits they were.
Life as a rebel had been awfully slow of late. When Dane got word to him that Nate needed moving, Micah hadn’t thought twice. He had been bored out of his skull attempting to reenter society as a Four.
He didn’t care how much it helped the Uprising, he wouldn’t have lasted much longer anyway. On the ground, Les moaned. Micah’s eyes narrowed. The plane still needed to depart. Micah stretched his arms and did a couple of neck rolls, his bones popping. If Les wanted a fight, Micah would be ready.
CHAPTER 31
Cecily stared at the ceiling, clutching the duvet. She was in bed, but she was nowhere near sleep. She hadn’t heard if Nate made it safely to the Fringe, but then, nothing was said about not having made it, either. She took that as a good sign.
Still. Cecily lay in her bed, looking at the sunrise. In the distance, sirens wailed, warning memorial revelers of the sun curfew. The day, she knew, would be a long one.
Down the hall, she knew the same for Paul. He had smoked and drank his way through the entire first night up in the booth with his senator cronies. The rest of the night, the speeches, the talent show, the bands, had to have been rough, if for an entirely different reason. He wasn’t anxious that his son’s transport wasn’t stopped, shot down, burnt or crashed. No, her husband was flat-out drunk.
She listened while attendants walked to and from his room, bringing him hangover cures. She listened while his moans eventually subsided, giving in to the sweet relief of various concoctions.
Even her children – she still didn’t know where James got off to after recovering from his drug-induced stupor. Well. Cecily rolled over, watching the bright white of the mills as they whirred in perfect precision. What was she going to do, punish the boy? He just put his life on the line for his brother. Let him blow off steam; it was well deserved. At least he came home – impersonating Nate – and put himself to bed, much to Paul’s satisfaction.
“Time,” she intoned.
“Zero five-hundred hours,” came the automatic response. Paul would want to see James-as-Nate at breakfast. She hoped he came home in time to continue the charade.
Cecily shivered at the audacity at it, stretching her toes in glee. It was almost too much – she had pulled it off.
Cecily laughed, rolling over yet again, and waited out the day.
James was not hard to find. After coming home with Cecily and sleeping off his high in Nate’s room, he went straight to Lo’s.
Lo knew she should send James right back home, but Nate had a good start. That might just be enough. Lo still couldn’t believe all the details came together – coordinating the plane with the rebels took at least five years off her life – but it was done.
Besides, she wanted Paul to chase after Nate; their contingency plan was rather brilliant. Lo smiled in the dark – of course it was; she thought of it. Come on Paul, she thought, looking in the direction of her boss’s estate. Go and get him.
The next evening came much too early for most of the Community.
Ding.
“Good evening, Community! Night Two festivities are rescheduled. Your attendance is required at the Space Center at twenty-three-hundred hours. Happy fiftieth anniversary.”
Ding.
“That should help about ninety-percent of the city,” Dane said brusquely. Ryan only moaned in response.
“I told you it was too much.”
“Fugherr off.”
“Very mature.” Dane eyed Ryan’s bare torso, somewhat annoyed, but mostly amused. Ryan’s thick hair, usually perfectly shaped, was a black streak on the pillow, his sharp, strong jawline dotted with a hint of drool. His husband, with his strong Korean ancestry, was attractive even when hungover.
Dane reluctantly stepped back to the mirror, giving his poppy-orange tie a quick tug. Paul had a major night tonight, announcing the changes to the space program. Dane wanted to ensure everything was just so. He grabbed a morning bar and left out vitamins for Ryan, at last leaving for the Space Center north of town.
On the way downtown, a message from Paul popped up, “Where is James?”
Dane leaned back against the D-less. Dammit. It would take one call around with James’s superiors for Paul to know James wasn’t on desert maneuvers after all.
By the time Dane’s D-less arrived at the Space Center, it was 21:30, and already Protectant agents were scanning citizens through to the building. It was a good thing they moved the time – only a small crowd was in attendance, nowhere near the swells of people that should have been there. Dane walked around the massive building until he spotted an entrance with Community officers milling about outside. They could help him access the restricted areas and prep it for Paul. Before he got too involved inside, Dane stopped and typed a quick message to his boss.
“At SC. Checking stage. Saw James.” Dane cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the lie. It wasn’t that he was the most honest person. But it was simply hard to lie, and he rarely, if ever, did it. Too much was tracked for anything but the truth to stick.
A message from Paul flashed again on Dane’s phone and was automatically read in his ear, a setting that drove Dane nuts, yet was one he didn’t alter.
“Good. I want to speak to him. Be there in one hour.”
Dane shook his head. James. In truth, the man played his role – it was agreed the entire plan was to ensure Nate got a healthy head start. Dane just didn’t want to be around when Paul figured out that Nate got away in the first place.
Nora saw the aircraft before she heard it. She stood, watching the moving dot get larger and larger. She felt like she could burst from excitement; she wanted to laugh and cry all at once.
This, this right now, was the best she had ever felt. Beside her, Sarah reached over and squeezed Nora’s hand. Nora had gotten bits and pieces out of Dewey, but not much other than this move was an escape, not a planned journey. The instant she heard “escape,” Nora hurried to the open field.
