“Anna Baronova,” Yusef confirmed, standing behind his desk. “Without a doubt. I do not know how you managed to escape, and almost unscathed. Truly impressive, Mubtadi.”
“Who?” Jesse asked.
“I have had at least one former apprentice come across her before. Ms. Baronova was trained by a camp of Readers that stemmed from a series of Russian secret organizations, most of which were actually public learned societies but with private inner circles, reaching back to the mid-1800s --”
Jesse loudly cleared his throat with annoyance.
Yusef gave Jesse a frozen stare. “Right. I shall give you a crash course in Russian history later. Ms. Baronova was trained by The Divine Servants of Ilya Muromets. But she found this camp had lost its traditional roots, and had become yet another weapon in the arsenal of the Russian oligarchy that morphed out of the Cold War.”
Jesse stuck out his finger accusingly at Yusef, pursed lips on his hardened face.
Yusef raised his hands in defense. “That is all I was going to add.”
“And now? Who she with? Why was she there last night?”
He thought for a moment before responding. “I doubt that her loyalty to her mother Russia has faltered since our last run-in. If I recall correctly from a visit to her subconscious, she had a certain --‘affinity’ for President Putin. That would be putting it very lightly, too,” Yusef said, as his face turned flush. He pulled out his desk chair but didn’t sit down yet.
“Ew! She has wet dreams about Putin?”
Yusef looked away and regained his composure. “So… I doubt that her overall loyalties have changed much. Now we must ask ourselves if the Apostles are allied with foreign groups. What do they gain? What are they willing to give a foreign force that is helping to orchestrate the misinformation and brewing tensions in their own country?”
“Damn. ‘Ey! Is this how Hitler did it? The Nazis, the Holocaust, trying to take over the world? He was a Reader, right?”
Solemnly and painfully, Yusef responded, leaning on the backrest of his chair. “No, Mubtadi. No. Unfortunately, humans do not need a lot of coercion to give in to their fears and insecurities. Most of our great atrocities and failures in our history were not the fault of secret societies or powerful abilities. Humans can be terrifyingly manipulative and selfish on their own. Hitler had no help from the gods, demons, or Readers. It was a dark time in the world, and many people chose self-preservation and obedience over standing up for what was right. That is all that it takes for darkness to consume us all.”
Jesse’s brow was furrowed and his posture was slumped over as he sat in a desk at the front of the classroom. “That’s effed up, ‘Sef.”
He nodded.
“So what chance we got then? If everything’s been shi-- I mean, crappy for a while, and there’s a-holes trying to eff up peoples’ heads on top all that?”
Even more muted and pensive than before, Yusef slowly pulled out his chair to finally sit. He also gave this moment a longer pause as he nodded, perhaps trying to convince himself of what he was about to say before it came out of his mouth. “What do you think the purpose is in putting immigrants in cages?”
Jesse resisted the urge to open his mouth with the obvious answer first. Because they’re fucked up and hate brown people. He sat and thought. They’re not killing them, like the Nazi concentration camps. That we know of.
After Lita was taken, Jesse’s research found that most immigrants were detained in Customs and Border Protection jails for about a month or more before being deported. Assuming they weren’t also accused of terrorism or other illegal involvements. But with the SENTRII Act in place, the new process of “catch, tag, and release” was taking longer because of manufacturing of the new tracking nanochip pill. Approval of the pill was currently being rammed through the Food & Drug Administration. Also, the large-scale production required a large demand for rare earth elements to produce the smart dust. I just read an article the other day about the Chinese companies making the pills and mining the metals. This shit worldwide.
“To get us used to it,” Jesse finally responded.
Yusef didn’t say anything, but he leaned back on his chair in approval.
“We finally doing shit, attacking the camps and freeing people. But this has been going on for years, right? Since Obama.”
“Yes. Things were bad then and grew worse,” Yusef nodded.
“If that can happen here, it can happen anywhere.”
Yusef nodded again. “It already is, Mubtadi. China, Russia, Israel, North Korea, Chechnya, Syria, France, Uganda, Greece, and the list goes on. Immigrants, Muslims, gays, lesbians, ethnic minorities, trans people, political enemies, and more. The marginalized are being targeted, tracked, and captured. In some of these countries, they are being killed.”
Jesse was quiet again, taking it all in. “People keep getting sick. This flu that’s hitting right now. What’s going to happen? What’s going to happen to all of those people being detained? What’s gonna happen to save us?”
Yusef got out of his seat, put his hands on his desk to lean on, and got closer to Jesse. “Nothing.”
His face contorted in annoyance and then he shook his head. “Nah.”
“Pandemics are not quick matters. Humans are impatient and foolhardy. Prideful. Selfish. The proper measures will be suggested and even mandated in some cases. But Americans live to break the rules and boast. Here, the government has no interest in protecting the well-being of its people. Only inasmuch as will keep them docile. Just content enough and hungry enough to keep us focused on one thing: chasing our dreams in a system that allows only a few into the winner's circle and leaves everyone else out in the cold to fend for themselves -- and against each other, more importantly.”
“So what? We’re just going to be screwed?”
Yusef nodded again, “Yes. Most of us will one way or another. Those select few, however, will prosper even during a plague.”
“Why’s it always like this, ‘Sef? Why are my people always getting screwed? Why does my generation have to clean up the mess of yours? You’ve shown me how the ones with the dreams most denied are the ones that just want enough to live comfortably -- to work hard, earn what they deserve, and have the respect and rights everyone else has. But no, they can’t even have that. This shit, everything is rigged. We’re just living in the shadows of these giant ass monsters who feed on us.”
Looking down, Yusef seemed to remove his mind to somewhere else, nodding to himself and gave out a short chuckle. “You remind me of myself, long ago. I argued the same thing with Haseem Nusaybah, my old sergeant. By this point he was a lieutenant, and it was the night before he turned in his bars. He was quitting the PLA and wanted citizenship in Israel -- our sworn enemy. ‘How can you do this?’ I asked him. ‘You are literally joining the enemy. You would become one of them? We are outmanned and outgunned -- they take everything from us! We need you to fight!’ And you know what he said to me, Mubtadi?”
Jesse stared back with anticipation, not bothering with a response.
“He said, ‘Fight? Where has that gotten us, Abdel? What have we gained in our war against Israel? We have lost more land, more people, and more resources. No, Abdel. We do not need to fight. We need to live, to dream! Look at us. We are ravenous, skirting around this relentless giant as we fight for scraps in its shadow. They take our land, our children, our dignity. But they cannot take our dreams. For what shadows may dream shall make giants fall.”
Staring right into Yusef, Jesse quickly retorted, “Yeah, well this feels like a fucking nightmare. How long is this plague gonna last? Once it’s here?”
Yusef leaned back again and rubbed his gray, bearded chin. “At least one year, under the best circumstances.”
“What do you mean?”
“Whether by design or destiny, this might be the final stroke to bring this country crashing down.” Yusef got back out of his seat to walk as he spoke, as if giving one of his lectures. “This 21st century of ours has brought us many miracles in science and technology. But with those have also come distractions. With all of the means we have to save us time and energy, we still find ourselves too busy to learn, to reflect, to pay attention to the things that really matter to our future and our wellbeing. It is too much energy for us to even fake caring about them. We have television shows to catch up on, and personas to portray in our online lives.”
Now it was Jesse’s turn to lean back into his desk. His brow was furrowed with agitated thought, as guilt began to settle in. He was culpable of these things all of his life.
Clearing his throat, Yusef continued. “While there will be an attempt to keep people calm and focused on staying safe once the pandemic strikes, the forces you and I are fighting against will continue fomenting misinformation and discontent. There will be attempts to defy science and the experts in the name of liberty, for the sake of the economy and justifiably so, to keep money moving. People will still need to eat, even when everything eventually shuts down.” Yusef paused as he was now facing away from Jesse, caught up in his foretelling. “I am doubtful that our current administration in the White House will take quick or effective action. When people are out of work and are forced away from their distractions, they have time to observe, to discuss, to learn, to get angry, and to take action. In due course, there will be a boiling point. Another cultural controversy, another extreme political act, or another tragic killing, and then…”
Hanging onto every word, Jesse was impatient. “Then what!”
Yusef turned and looked back at Jesse. “Chaos.”
He didn’t argue or ask more. Yusef had already taught him about the French Revolution, and the American Revolution, and the Civil War, and the Russian Revolution, and more. None of them were just started on a battlefield or in a monarch’s throne room. The elements of economic disparity, cultural and class divisions, and political conflicts were boiling under the surface for decades before these big events. Food shortages and high inflation, acts of violence from the state, a new law that goes just a bit too far: these were the catalysts to changing history.
Always, it was someone whose name we don’t even know that threw the first stone, or fired the first shot, or started the first fire. Someone else of entitlement always stepped in to fill in the void of power once it was displaced by the people. They relabeled everything the people had fought so hard to tear down, and after so much fighting and instability, people were always eager to go back to their work and their distractions and accept the new normal.
“So we’re going back to take down Erik Peters, right? We gotta shut him up. That crap he keeps spewing out every day: it’s what’s making people do all this crazy ish. Judge Thompson, the shooters, the SENTRII Act. It’s him and the Apostles, right?”
“Yes, Mubtadi. Exactly,” Yusef agreed as he eagerly walked back to his desk. “But our time is short. Erik Peters is but one head of many on this giant monster that is breaking us apart. The presence of Ms. Baronova, as well as the defenses and traps I encountered inside Mr. Peters’ haze, definitely indicates a wider plot. This goes beyond him. In his dream last night, very similar to what we saw in Judge Thompson’s subconscious, was an outside influence. He was being enthralled by Representative Tilson.”
“¡Venga!”
Yusef flinched at Jesse’s coarseness. “Even then, Mubtadi, I do not believe it ends at him. With a foreigner like Ms. Baronova, we will need to keep moving up the ladder of this conspiracy. And as quickly as possible,” he emphasized as he gripped his chair. “We must move again tonight!”
“We going to D.C., dawg?”
“No. Representative Tilson’s den is not there.”
Jesse thought for a moment. “It’s back in Idaho, where he’s from?”
Shaking his head, Yusef said, “Colorado.”
“Huh?”
“Some time ago, I received a coded message from a former apprentice of mine. He was updating me on an investigation he was doing. He was nervous about the potential danger and stated that he was on the verge of locating Representative Tilson’s den, as a part of a corruption scandal he was attempting to uncover. I did not pay much attention to it because it seemed like such a minor matter at the time, compared to what we have been dealing with.”
“Wait. Who is this guy? You mentioned him before.”
“It was a long time ago, and we saw our roles in this world differently. We went our own ways, and occasionally sent each other valuable information. After that last letter, I did not hear from him again. He either found what he was looking for, or it found him.”
“Sounds like you gonna have to give me a few more tips about quick esca-- oh, fuck. Fuck, ‘Sef! Tonight’s the dance!”
He slowly turned his head at an angle, not wanting to look at Jesse when he said it. “It would appear that you will have to leave early.”
“Ah, shit, ‘Sef! Really? How early we talking here? I’m going with Maria Fucking Fonseca!”
“Language!”
“‘Sef! Come on!”
“Colorado is one hour ahead of us. And who knows what we will encounter when we arrive. You will need to be extra vigilant and perceptive tonight. I cannot stress enough just how fortunate you were with Ms. Baronova.”
“What. Time?”
“Meet me by ten o’clock.”
“Aw, what? You can’t be serious! That means I’ll need to leave the dance… by like, what, nine?”
Yusef shrugged. “You would know better than I would, Mubtadi.”
“No mames! It just starts bumpin’ at that time.”
“Need I remind you, Jesús, that the fate of this country, and the wellbeing of your grandmother, relies on the actions we take tonight?”
With a loud, aggravated, and forced sigh, Jesse conceded. “Goddamn it, ‘Sef. Fine. I’ll be there. At ten.”
“Excellent. You will be able to catch up on your sleep in the morning since tomorrow is Saturday. You see? It all will work out in the end.”
Under his breath, Jesse muttered, “The fuck it will.” He got up from his desk and grabbed his things.
“What was that?”
“With luck it will, ‘Sef,” Jesse said as he made his way out of Yusef’s classroom.
“Ma’ al-salāmah,” Yusef Abdel replied with a wave as he stood and prepared to welcome his students.
The red, pink, and silver Mylar balloons suffocated the hallways all day, and blinded everyone outside when they reflected the California sun. Passing periods were clogged with people hugging, making giant displays of affection toward each other, and grabbing each other close in pairs and groups for selfies. Everywhere he looked, he spied a couple kissing and wished that was him and Maria already. Candy wrapping littered the ground and the floor of every classroom in every period. In each of his classes, Jesse noticed at least one girl lugging around giant, oversized stuffed animals with embroidered phrases like, “I luv you” or “Valentine Cutie” or something of the sort.
He couldn’t afford any of these things for Maria today, but he managed to write her a poem and sent it to her in a Val-O-Gram that got delivered by the Associated Student Body to her fourth-period class. But she approached him during third period to thank him.
“Ohmygod, Jesse. Thank youuuuu,” she said coolly when she walked in before the bell rang. Her arms were up and she closed in for a hug as she dragged out the last syllable.
“I, uh,” Jesse stammered.
“Your poem was the best! It was so cute.”
“But how--”
“Erika sent me a photo. She saw it in ASB when she was organizing the Val-O-Grams.”
“She reads them?”
“Oh, not all of them. Just the ones she thinks might be interesting. Us gals gotta look out for each other, right?” Maria reasoned as she plopped her stuff down by her desk and sat. She had balloons, a stuffed animal, a rose, and a small cake in a disposable tin and plastic covering that was decorated with frosting and read, “Happy Valentine’s Day” along with a fire and a pair of pointing fingers emojis that were directed at each other.
Jesse stood in front of her desk and stared at everything then looked at her. He felt his face getting hot and focused on trying to keep his embarrassment and hurt pride under control.
“What? They’re from friends.” She tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “And maybe a few losers who are totally not in our league,” she reassured as she reached and grabbed his hand. “My hero.”
The bell rang and Jesse pulled his hand away. “Right,” he said. “Well, I can’t wait for tonight. It finna be snatched! And I got a big gift waiting for you later, too,” he lied with forced confidence. “All this shit ‘ere is grade school. Huh, no offense to your ‘friends.’”
“Alright, alright! To your seats, already!” Klinkhammer boomed. He walked to his podium, big belly resting atop. He shook his head. “Damn it, I hate this day.”
Jesse hurried to his desk but barely paid attention to Klinkhammer’s lesson. Within a minute he saw that Maria posted on her social media about how excited she was for tonight’s dance and her special mystery gift from him, and she even tagged him in her post. This shit is getting real, he realized. And now I gotta figure out what the fuck I’m going to get her that’s so big. And how ‘m I gonna get it?
It didn’t leave his mind much until the end of the school day, just after he had snuck a short walk with Maria out in the field during her Track practice. He hesitated to give her a kiss goodbye, but figured he’d have plenty of time to make his move later that night.
Heading home, Jesse began brainstorming ideas about this amazing gift he was somehow going to just conjure out of thin air, because he had absolutely no money set aside for such a thing. To help with ideas he thought he would browse online so he took out his phone and hopped onto the school’s Wi-Fi.
As his fingers hovered over the screen, frozen in his complete cluelessness about where to even start looking on the internet, he received an instant message notification through one of his chat apps: Dominique Arcos.
Aw, shit. This can’t be good. She never messages me. Did Fredo get in another fight? If he did and his school finds out that Lita is gone, then now I gotta worry about CPS!
Friday, Feb 14, 3:12 PM
Dominique Arcos: Jesse im sorry but the restaurant called me in. Half the staff is sick and they need everyone tonight im so sorry ! I need to leave in 15 mins pls hurry and sorry
“Fuuuuuck!” Jesse yelled out with a raised and clenched fist. He tried to think of some reply that would save the day for them both, or at least stall Dominique, but nothing came to him. Nothing worth lying about, anyway. He understood now how important a job was and keeping that stability. He didn’t want to jeopardize that for Dominique, or lose her as one of his very few remaining adult allies. He hustled his pace to get home so she could leave for work, and now he was brainstorming how to break the news to Maria that he would be stuck home babysitting and not take her to the dance, on top of this miraculous gift he apparently had waiting for her.
When he fumbled into the apartment, Dominique was already waiting on the couch in her uniform and adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder as she stood up and jangled her keys. “Antonio is napping and I already helped Marcy with her homework. Alfredo is all yours.” She nudged past a sweaty and panting Jesse to the door. She opened it and stopped in the doorway. “I’m sorry, Jesse. I know tonight was big for you. I’ll make it up to you.” Then she walked out and shut the door behind her, locking it from the outside. He heard her do the same for the metal screen.
He was so overcome with anger, disappointment, frustration, exhaustion, anxiety, nervousness, and bewilderment about his next moves. He wanted to yell or punch a wall. But he remembered he was the adult now, and punching holes was bad for the security deposit. He took a few deep breaths and focused as Fredo chased Marcy across the living room, and Alexia was yelling about how her TV show wasn’t working.
Alright, pendejo. One thing at a time. What do you gotta do first? What do you know for sure and can’t be helped? You’re stuck here. You got no favors, no money, and probably no time to find someone to watch these kids. On Valentine’s Friday Night. Nope, that’s definitely not happening. You gotta tell Maria.
His face grimaced at this thought. This was the type of night he had fantasized about the entire year. This was the magic moment he was waiting for. It was here! And about to fall between his fingers.
He messaged her to explain the situation and apologized profusely, stressing how everything was out of his hands at this point, she should go without him and have a great time, and how he promised he would bring her the gift tomorrow. That last part was a bit of a relief since he had more time to figure it out. While waiting for a response, he wrangled the kids, sat Alfredo down to do his homework, and constantly checked his phone.
Expecting Maria to be angry or really disappointed, when she finally messaged back about a half hour later she brushed it off and asked about the tickets. Jesse’s stomach dropped. He realized yet another problem he didn’t anticipate: the tickets were under his name in his student account. This meant that he would need to physically be there to let Maria into the dance, otherwise she would have to buy her own. Assuming the dance wasn’t sold out. He checked the Portola High School ASB’s social media feed to check. Sure enough, the dance had just sold out. I could have been there taking care of this problem. But now I’m fucked.
“Jesse!”
“What!”
“Tell me! What do I do?” Alfredo stared at him from across the small kitchen table with his pencil in his hands. He looked miserable. “Come on, I can do this on Sunday! Let me go play.”
“Do it now, maricón. We both know you’re not doing it Sunday.” Jesse reinforced as he held his phone in front of his face and stared at it, stuck in thought.
“Ugh!” Alfredo then clicked his tongue. “Qué soso eres.”
“Shut up. This message is more important than you’ll ever be.”
“How do I do this!”
Jesse reached for his paper and skimmed the directions. “¡Ponte chingón! This is basic math.”
“You’re basic.”
Jesse shook his head. “I’ll help you in a minute.”
“Come on! I don’t want to sit here while you drool on your phone.”
“Fuck. Alright, go play. But just for a few minutes while I figure this out.”
Alfredo was already flying out of his seat and running to their room before Jesse even started his last sentence. “Maaaarrccyyy! It’s my turn on the tablet! Jesse saaaaaid!”
Jesse scanned the living room and saw Alexia watching TV on the couch and playing with her toys while little Antonio, now a year and a half, sat in a playpen with his toys, also watching the TV and blabbing away. Gotta check that diaper soon.
His phone pinged. It was Maria. He opened the message:
Friday, Feb 14, 4:33 PM
Maria Fonseca: a friend is gonna take me and sneak me in. Sucks about babysitting. Ill give youa shout out on the dancefloor, tho. See ya manana!
Jesse looked up from his screen. “Well... Shit.”
The rest of the night Jesse was a dizzying mix of referee, tutor, parent, and big brother as he uselessly attempted his own homework amidst constantly checking his social media feeds, watching everyone at the dance have an amazing time. It was hard to avoid since people kept tagging him in their posts and eventually people were asking where he was.
He obsessively tried to track Maria through the feeds, tags, and stories. She did tag him in one post, on the dancefloor like she promised. It was a three-second selfie video taken from above her head and looking downward on her face and cleavage as obnoxiously loud and incomprehensible music blasted through his own phone speakers. The dance floor around her was filled with shouting students bouncing and throwing their arms amidst lasers shooting across fogged air and blue-red lights. Toward the end of the video a guy appeared from behind and started grinding on Maria as her head turned toward him and the video cut.
From Phi’s feed he eventually saw Maria in the background of one of his videos, dancing with the same guy from her post. Jesse couldn’t recognize him, but his blood began to boil.
In Erika’s story, Jesse saw her and Maria screaming excitedly in the girls’ bathroom mirror. They hugged, smashing their faces and bodies together with huge smiles. Then they pretended to kiss each other on the lips, giggling the entire time as other girls screamed and scurried about behind them.
Jesse checked the time yet again. “Alright, niños. Time for bed!” He announced from the couch in the living room.
“No, it’s not!” Alfredo yelled back as he ran from the kitchen to their bedroom.
“Damn it, ‘Fredo! Get your ass in the bathroom and brush your teeth. Now!”
Marcy leaned her head out into the hall from the bathroom doorway. With toothpaste all over her mouth, she blurted, “Yeah, ‘Fredo! Stop looking at inappropriate things on my tablet and go to bed!” Then she quickly ducked her head back into the bathroom.
“Ughhhh…” Jesse groaned out through his hands, now covering his face and trying to massage his forehead and temples. He put down his phone and began the real challenge of the night: getting all the little ones to bed so that he could get himself to sleep in time for his meet-up with Yusef.
Considering the triple anxiety of Maria unguarded at the dance, putting four kids to bed early, and anticipating the huge risks involved in tonight’s mission on the Plane, Jesse boiled some water for valerian tea to help him get to sleep. He eyed a bottle of Nyquil on the counter, but tried to remove the thought.
Yusef warned him a long time ago about the dangers of addiction and the reliance on drugs to sleep. While it might work well for a few times at first, the convenience stretches a Reader’s willpower, allowing them to stay on the Plane longer but with an inflated sense of control. Since this makes them more susceptible to staying on the Plane longer than normal, their need to sleep longer for recovery after leaving the Plane increases. This further throws off their sleep cycle and numbs them in the waking world. Then they crave the feelings and experiences from other people’s subconscious, blending with the buzz of deep sleep. These addicts, who usually become power hungry on the Plane and use their extra time to infiltrate the hazes of plebs to consume memories and secrets, were known as Dream Eaters.
By the time he got everyone to bed with Alfredo being the last one to go down, Jesse’s phone had to be recharged, he had finished his entire cup of valerian tea, he hadn’t finished a single piece of homework, and his anxiety wasn’t anywhere close to being gone. He quickly got himself ready for bed and then checked his phone as he carefully crawled onto his mattress and under the covers. Alfredo and Marcy had become accustomed to sleeping in Lita’s old bed together with their heads at different ends. They insisted the mattress still smelled like her.
When Jesse finally swiped through all the feeds he could find from the Winter Bash, then went through them again to find no more clues or signs of affection from Maria, it was already close to 10:00 PM. He typed out a message to her, hoping she had a great time, he apologized again for not being able to make it, he expressed that he missed her and had been really looking forward to this dance, and then wished her goodnight. Staring at his own message and seeing that it hadn’t been read made him unnerved, and he thought about the mystery guy taking her somewhere to put his hands and face on Maria. Jesse shook his head with frustration. Imma be so late to see ‘Sef. Goddamnit.
He got up from the mattress and went to the kitchen, grabbed a spoon, and took a dose of Nyquil. Trying to relax and distract himself from the social media feeds, he instead switched to news feeds.
Earlier that day, a regional militia calling themselves the Augusta Legion used their guns to attempt a citizen's arrest of a small group of the escapees from the Nevada CBP facility. With the help of local Ojos, the militia found them hiding out on in an RV parked on the driveway of an American citizen’s home in Elko, Nevada, who was providing refuge. The homeowner, 68 year-old Alyssa Torlakson, her family, and her allies attempted to protect the refugees, and a standoff developed where the Augusta Legion found itself supported by the local police and ICE when they arrived on the scene with a tank. Although unarmed, two American citizens were shot and killed, including Alyssa Torlakson, three others were shot and hospitalized, and the refugees were detained. The police and ICE did not acknowledge whose guns fired on the American citizens, whom they were quick to label as Antifa members. No investigations had been opened into the case.
A white woman was thrown off a flight before it left the tarmac in Florida. She was caught on video as she erupted in a racist tirade after seeing an Asian and Black couple in the seats in front of her kiss. The headline was “Love Is Not in the Air.”
Erik Peters’ special Los Angeles radio broadcast and pro-gun rally drew in Second Amendment rights advocates and White House supporters from all over California, as well as Arizona, Nevada, and even Oregon and Washington State. Counter-protestors gathered as well in a futile attempt to thwart the demonstration. Peters’ crowds surrounded the counter-protestors, attacking them. One counter-protestor was sent to the hospital in critical condition after being run over while marching in the street. The suspect, whose truck was heavily decorated with “Don’t Tread on Me,” “We the People,” and “III,” decals, and a giant American flag, was still at large.
Multiple states began issuing mandatory use of masks for their hospital workers and first responders as cases of the new flu were being confirmed in major cities and numerous deaths had been announced linked to the virus.
Big protests were being planned in cities across the country tomorrow to speak out against the new federal Stand Your Ground law, as well as the SENTRII Act. Counter-protesters were also being encouraged to come out in support of the new laws and to enforce open-carry gun laws where applicable. Jesse barely found a report about the FBI arresting a member of a Georgia militia for obtaining explosive materials in an attempt to bomb one of the protests. There was no information about what happened to the rest of the militia members, if anything.
A 6.1 magnitude earthquake hit Mexico, where a towering concrete prison building, gray and windowless, collapsed. A sole survivor emerged from the rubble, wearing black baggy pants and a wife beater. He was quoted as saying, “You need to be the man now, Jesse.”
A gunshot rang out and echoed. Sirens were all around. Metal doors opened and clanged shut behind Jesse. He turned around and saw masked police in riot gear leaping out of trucks and vans. They charged past Jesse as if he wasn’t there.
“You got my back, hermano?” he heard from over his shoulder.
His eyes followed the police force while crowds of loud and anxious people, watching from the sidewalks, cheered them on down a large street. In the distance, the lines of police marched toward a crowd wearing face coverings and dark clothes. Above their heads were handmade signs, banners, umbrellas, and waving poles of various colors and designs.
Hundreds of heavy boots rumbled on the asphalt as they marched in unison. The tide of black tactical uniforms began to vibrate with the roar of the marching, the crowds, the tear gas guns, the pounding of sticks against make-shift shields.
Jesse shook himself to attention as he recognized these familiar sensations and images. He reached an arm across his body and extended his arm out, as if he were pulling a curtain open. The entire scene around him vanished like dust being blown away.
After it cleared, he was in his room. Anchoring a pylon in his closet just seemed more familiar to Jesse than the rooftop; there were less distractions and less things to recreate. The beds and dressers were there, but no one else was. He walked to the closet and like before, extended his arm in the same motion, this time pulling open the sliding closet door. He entered his pylon and focused, closing the door with the same motion of reaching out and extending his arm across his body.
He was weightless in a vacuum of darkness. Numbness, then a feeling of wind not on his body, but through it. When he felt his limbs again and the rest of his body, he impatiently reached his arm out again and pulled across. The flashing, spinning, swirling of colored lights surrounded him as he flew.
Gravity returned and his forward momentum sent him into a sloppy, somersaulting tumble onto his bedroom carpet. The swirling lights from his haze were gone now and his husk lay on the bed as a shadow, still moving as it breathed in the waking world. Both hazes of Alfredo and Marcy were active, however, casting lights across the room as well as occasional putrisomn mist that floated out of their haze’s spin.
“That landing was less than graceful, Mubtadi,” Yusef quipped from a padded chair in the corner of the room. One of his hands gripped his staff, which he held upright with one end on the floor.
Jesse clambered up. “Ah, sorry, ‘Sef. Crazy night. Dominique had--”
Yusef raised the palm of his other hand and shook his head. “No. We do not have time for your excuses. We must go. Now.” He got up and brushed past Jesse as he left the room.
“‘Sef! I’m sorry!” Jesse apologized again as he trailed him.
They made their way down the stairs to the apartment courtyard. No sign of Carolina tonight. “The boat awaits us in the alley. We have a lot of ground to cover and you have a major teleportation to cast at the end of it all. We cannot leave a single trace of ourselves behind, Mubtadi. We are very close to the top of this conspiracy.” Yusef stopped on the concrete pathway just before they reached the parking alley and turned around to look Jesse right in the eyes. “Everything may very well depend on tonight. Do you understand, Jesús?”
He scoffed, but then saw the serious look in Yusef’s face. “Psh. Yeah. Yes. I get it, ‘Sef. I’m ready. I’ll do what I have to. For Lita. For my family. For the country… for us.”