“Jade, is that you?” Dawn staggered to get up but sank back to the floor. “It’s okay. They’re friends.”
The hand pushing Amanda against the wall slackened just a little. “Positive?”
“Hey!” Chiara, now wide awake, sprang from her position on the floor, rushing to Amanda’s side. “Let her go!”
Joe awoke with a start, his mouth dropping open. “What—”
“Jade, please.” Dawn opened both hands, palms up, appealing.
The girl released Amanda, taking a few steps back and withdrawing the knife. “Sorry. It’s a crazy, sick world and you can never be too careful.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. No problem.” Amanda pocketed her trembling hands.
“They just arrived here last night,” Dawn said.
“Our dad is fighting with the opposition.” Chiara crossed her arms. “We’ve come to join him.”
Jade grunted. In the dim light, Amanda watched her toss her long hair behind her shoulder. Her thin hair fell like strands of silk nearly to her waist. Jade had a wide forehead and large ears that slightly stuck out from her head. She walked over to Dawn, kneeling next to her, and pulled something from her coat pocket. “Carter gave me this roll. You should have it.”
Dawn locked her jaw. “No, you take it. Or give it to the others. They probably haven’t eaten.”
Jade pushed the roll into Dawn’s hand. “You need to eat something.”
“You know I’ll probably just vomit it up, and then it’s a complete waste.”
“Take a few bites for now and leave the rest for later.” Jade stood up and cast a glance in Amanda, Chiara, and Joe’s direction. “So, they’re here for their dad?”
“Not my dad,” Joe said. “I’m not related to them.” He jerked his thumb at Amanda and Chiara. “At least not yet. Maybe one day by marriage.” He winked at Chiara, who grinned in return.
Jade whipped something from her other coat pocket and Amanda shut her eyes, stunned by the brilliant circle of light flooding her and the others.
“Hey!” Joe put both hands in front of his face. “Can’t you douse the light a bit?”
She kept the flashlight on them. “Hey! I know who these people are!” Her voice rose, her words coming more quickly. “I bet they haven’t told you the whole story. Their faces are plastered on every news report across the city. They blew up the NCP arsenal in Boston!”
“Well, not exactly, you know. We didn’t do the actual pyrotechnics. And, come on, knock it off with the spotlight!” Joe jumped forward, yanking the flashlight out of Jade’s grasp. He turned it around, shining it in Jade’s face. “Whoa. You’re even younger than me.”
Amanda stared, shocked at the girl standing before them. Jade’s height deceived her; she couldn’t have been more than fifteen.
Jade raised her chin. “I’m not that much younger. I can take care of myself! And give me back my flashlight!”
Chiara inserted herself between Jade and Joe. “We can take care of each other now. I’m Chiara.”
Jade eyed them. “Did you really help blow up the arsenal?”
“True story.” Chiara smiled.
“Not bad.” Jade pulled a second roll from her pocket. “You guys can have it. If you tell me how you did it—how you got rid of the NCP’s arsenal.”
Joe lowered the flashlight from Jade’s face. “Score! That’s a deal!”
Jade tossed the roll to Chiara, who divided it into thirds. Amanda tried to parse out her portion as Joe and Chiara told their story, but her appetite got the best of her and she consumed the whole thing in a matter of minutes. As Joe and Chiara related their experiences, Amanda stared at the floor, saying little.
She didn’t want to remember their time in Boston because it only reminded her of the fourth member of their party—Ethan—and she felt his absence even more strongly now, her heart aching more than the pangs of hunger in her stomach. She missed him … how much she missed him … she couldn’t even dwell on it too much because if she did, she might start to fall apart.
But isn’t that what she did after her mom died: stifled all her grief and sadness, repressing it and refusing to acknowledge and work through it? She somehow hoped it would dissipate stuffed into the back corner of her consciousness. Instead, it only stifled her, turning her into an emotionally disengaged person, impenetrable to friends and family, with walls around her heart so thick and imposing she lived a solitary, bitter, lonely life.
Yet what could she do now? It was not as though she lived safe at home and had the luxury of putting on some emo music, grabbing a box of tissues, and crying her eyes out over a pint of ice cream. She came to Peekskill to fight. She had to be strong. She had no choice but to smother her feelings for Ethan and pretend her heart wasn’t completely shattered into a million pieces.
“So, yeah, that’s pretty much it.” Joe tossed the last crumb of roll into his mouth, finishing his narration of events. “And here we are.”
“Cool.” Jade examined the three of them in the now-morning light, admiration in her wide, brown eyes. “I’d love to blow up some NCP buildings.”
Chiara grimaced. “I don’t know. I’d rather not do it again.”
Jade puckered her lips. “And now you need to find the opposition that’s hiding out here? Seems a strange place for them to pick, with all these JPD officers everywhere. Why’d they come here?”
Amanda shrugged. “I have no idea. My dad didn’t tell us.” She gazed at Jade, an idea forming. “It seems like you know the area well. Maybe you could help us find the opposition?”
“I’ll find out what I can. But I can’t promise you anything, that’s for sure.” Jade stretched out her long legs and crossed her hands behind her head.
“We’ll take any help we can.” Chiara frowned. “I don’t think it’s wise for the three of us to tramp around the city, searching—not if the JPD alerted the city that we’re here somewhere.”
“Hear that, Jade?” Dawn asked. “Now we’re all relying on you.”
Jade smirked and raised her eyebrows. “It’s not bombing buildings, but if I can do something to hit the NCP, I’m in.” She stood up and began to hoist her body through the window. “It’s still early enough to make some rounds before the city wakes up. I’ll be back … hopefully with some intel.”
And before anyone could say goodbye, she had whisked away like straw in the wind.
Dawn struggled to her feet, clinging to the concrete wall. Chiara hurried to her side, putting Dawn’s arm around her shoulders.
“Sorry … I just need to use the toilet … there’s an unfinished bathroom in the back corner.” Dawn raised a limp hand, indicating some shadowy part of the room, past some wooden stairs. Amanda could just make out a toilet and sink.
“No problem.” Chiara wrapped her free arm around Dawn’s shoulders. “Take your time. I can help.”
Dawn took a shaky breath. “Thanks. I just need a sec.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I get lightheaded when I stand up after sitting for so long.”
“Happens to all of us!” Joe joked, trying to lighten the mood. “Especially thick-headed guys like me.”
“Actually, you all should use the toilet soon.” Dawn glanced at them. “The restaurant owner usually comes in every morning to work and if he hears the toilet flush down here, he’ll get suspicious.”
Amanda cocked her head. “So no one knows you are down here?”
“Oh, well, Jade befriended the dishwasher who works the evening shift most nights. He tries to give her some extra food. But beyond him, no. I don’t think anyone else knows we’re down here.”
“Let’s keep it that way.” Chiara gave her a grim smile and they began a slow trek toward the “bathroom”—if one could dignify the spot with that name.
The four of them had settled back into their spots and, not long after, footsteps sounded overhead—the restaurant owner, just as Dawn had said. The old floorboards creaked as he walked about the first floor. Amanda felt like a mouse, hidden in the basement, whose nocturnal activities remained unknown to the inhabitants of other floors.
Joe bounced his knee up and down as he sat, staring out the window. “When do you think Jade’ll come back?”
Dawn shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Have you known her for long? Why is she hiding from the JPD?” Chiara asked.
Dawn glanced downward, the wrinkles on her face furrowing deeper in her skin. “Jade … well, I’ve known her for the past six months. Around the end of the summer, I began looking for a place to stay. I met Jade at a nearby food pantry run by an Episcopal church—it’s closed now, of course. She told me about this basement and she began staying with me from the first night. I guess we both needed each other. I depend on her for food and information; I guess she needs someone to care for. It’s in her nature.”
“She was alone?” Amanda cocked her head. “No family?”
“Jade’s a survivor. It’s in her blood, I think. She constantly amazes me with her tenacity, right from the beginning. You see, her mother tried to abort her, but she somehow survived the procedure. The doctors would have killed her then and there, but her grandmother found out what happened and demanded that she have the newborn. The mother didn’t care either way, so the grandmother got custody.
“The woman was already elderly, so Jade became her caregiver even as a little girl. Jade loved her grandmother dearly. She was all she had in the world. But when her grandmother got seriously ill, the NCP had her transferred from the hospital to a quarantine site. Jade never got to see her again. The NCP had her killed—alone and uncared for—in some ‘freedom to die’ medical facility. Jade was only ten at the time. She feared becoming an orphan under the ‘care’ of the government—many of those poor kids end up killed too if they don’t perform high enough on standardized tests and qualify for entrance into an Academy.”
“I didn’t know the NCP murdered children.” Amanda shook her head, disgusted. “I mean, I knew they did terrible things but children?”
“Too much deadweight for them to bother with I suppose.” Dawn narrowed her eyes. “Can’t have anyone holding our nation back from its full potential, right? That’s the first and really only priority.”
“And the one that gives the NCP the most money,” Joe grumbled.
Chiara swallowed. “Poor Jade. I can’t even imagine that … so many people who preferred her dead than alive.”
“I guess that’s why she has taken me under her wing.” Dawn sighed. “Jade is fiercely loyal to me, even when I’ve told her time and again that she has a better chance on her own. The girl comes back every day with food for me. I have no idea how she manages it. She even got some medicine for me once to help the coughing. I didn’t tell her that I think the medicine will do little; the cancer’s probably spread into my lungs by now.”
Amanda rubbed her eyes. A weight seemed to fill her. So much sadness, so much hurt and pain … that intermixed with the bleakness of the empty, dust-laden basement, cold and barren, seemed to fill her with despondency. The sun barely lit the downstairs room. Everything seemed dark here.
“Strangers in the night … exchanging glances. Wond’ring in the night … What were the chances? … We’d be sharing love before the night was through!”
The thunderous singing, horribly off-key, came to them through the open window. Amanda jerked her head toward the unexpected noise (she didn’t dare call it music). Joe, meanwhile, cringed and covered his ears.
A pair of loafers stopped before their entryway, corduroy pants—faded at the knees—appeared next as the person knelt.
“Dooby-doooby-doo …” The crooning filled the room as an older man let himself down into the basement. Amanda stared at him; her eyebrows raised. He seemed out of place here. A pair of suspenders kept his corduroys from falling down. A busy Hawaiian shirt, filled with palm trees and coconuts, did little to complement the faded football jacket he wore—some vintage piece from a school likely no longer open. He shuffled back and forth in a strange waltz by himself, repeating his dooby-doooby-doos, seemingly unaware of their presence.
“Good morning, Larry,” Dawn called over his singing.
He paused and glanced at her. “Eh? What’s that? Morning already?”
Dawn cocked an eyebrow. “You’re the one with the watch, not me.”
Larry raised his arm in an exaggerated manner, squinting at the old timepiece on his wrist, the leather band faded and worn. “It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.”
Joe leaned over toward Amanda and Chiara. “Last I checked, it was still March.”
Larry clapped Joe on the back, almost throwing him forward. “In like a lamb, out like a lion, they say!”
Amanda moved closer to Dawn. “Um … this is your other … roommate?”
Dawn huffed. “Meet Larry, everyone. Larry? Larry? Larry!” Dawn shook her head, her voice straining with effort.
“Eh? You talking to me?” Larry scratched his cheek and then took a toothpick from the pocket of his Hawaiian shirt, which he proceeded to use to clean between his teeth, spitting every few seconds out of the corner of his mouth.
“We have some newcomers.” Dawn pointed at them. “Amanda, Joe, and Chiara. They’re here, trying to join the opposition.”
“What’s that?” Larry turned toward Amanda. “You got a supposition for me?”
Amanda looked at him. He had a lazy eye, which seemed to look past her, and she didn’t know how to hold his eye contact. “I suppose you know something about the opposition?”
“Crikey, I’m opposed to cheap wine and buses that run more than fifteen minutes behind schedule.” Larry burst into raucous laughter.
Amanda and Chiara exchanged glances.
Joe scowled. “Look, we’re talking about the opposition!” He stood next to Larry and shouted into his ear. “Opposition! We need to find someone!”
Larry tilted his head. “Who’s MIA, kid?”
“Our dad,” Chiara answered, leaning forward. “Do you know where we can look for him?”
Larry tapped his lips. Then he stood up straight, his eyes closed. When he spoke, he sounded like someone making a recitation in school. “We seek him here, we seek him there. Those Frenchies seek him everywhere. Is he in heaven?—Is he in hell? That demmed, elusive Pimpernel!”
“Forget it.” Dawn half-closed her eyes. “Half of the time I can’t tell if he’s totally drunk or just got a few screws loose.”
Joe chuckled in agreement while Chiara turned away from Larry, a sulk on her face.
Larry, meanwhile, settled down across the room from them, a strange smile on his lips. In the silence that ensued, he began to sing under his breath, just loud enough for Amanda to hear. “Welcome to the Hotel California. Such a lovely place, such a lovely face …”
After another verse and chorus, he sung himself to sleep, silent aside from an occasional muffled snore.
* * *
Davis marched down the sidewalk and took a deep breath. The air here in Arlington felt warmer than when he left his home in Vermont yesterday. Despite the cooler weather there, he had enjoyed his furlough—he certainly waited long enough for it. The years passed like days during his time of service, not that he nursed any resentment. He valued his work, work he considered indispensable. That’s why he devoted his entire life to it.
Even so, he felt within himself that growing need for a break, some time away to recharge. His ex-wife had always complained about his tendency to overwork. She could never appreciate the sacrifice he made for his nation. He wasn’t in it for money or prestige, though he liked those too; most of all, however, he valued freedom. Four generations of Davis men had dedicated themselves to the preservation and strengthening of this country. The job taxed and drained him most days, but he would never give up. You gotta do what you gotta do. He knew what loomed ahead too. It would demand more effort, intelligence, and skill than any of his previous assignments. This had made his last furlough even more necessary.
He recalled the tranquil days of his furlough—tranquil but productive. His brother, who lived in his house and helped with the dogs, agreed that they had made great progress. Blitz especially had shown marked improvement in his training. Davis had added an additional weight to his chain and Blitz responded well. Davis pulled out his phone now and checked the spreadsheet he shared with his brother where they tracked Blitz’s training schedule and full nutritional intake. His analytical eyes surveyed the data; he nodded to himself. Good … very good. He’s ready for the next show. Blitz’s campaign had proven lucrative so far. Two more wins and he’d be named grand champion. But Davis wouldn’t think about victory just yet; he would put in the steady, controlled, diligent work.
He sent a quick text to his brother, Max, asking him to keep a close eye on Sentry. Her puppies would come soon—any day now. She had three litters before and handled everything like the champion she was, but these puppies were purebred; he didn’t want to lose a single one. They’d bring in a big profit. Max kept petitioning to keep one of them, but Davis objected. They already had a dozen dogs in the backyard and he doubted if they had enough space for another.
It took little time to reach the Pentagon. The National Citizens Party’s relocation of the U.S. capital to New York City meant much less traffic here in Arlington and across the Potomac in Washington D.C., among many other consequences.
He passed through security and fingered the gold buttons on his dress uniform, two parallel rows, perfectly straight … like soldiers. His finger lingered on the top button and he glanced down. A lone string, loose from the button, dangled like an escapee. He pulled at it, trying to force the rebel back into place, restoring order. It resisted, stubbornly sticking forth; with a sudden grab, he yanked it free, tearing it loose. He satisfactorily flicked it away, discarded on the Pentagon floor, doomed to be forever trodden underfoot.
Adjusting his silver glasses, he continued his march through the massive complex. Any destination in the Pentagon required a ten-minute walk at minimum. Davis had visited the Pentagon more frequently in the past few months—they had much to plan—yet he still hardly penetrated the massive building, the largest office building in the world. Military men and women, wearing serious expressions, swarmed all around, each on his or her own vital mission. He passed a poster on the wall: an image of a Justice and Protection Division officer with the words “If you see something, say something.” Davis stared ahead, his blank face showing zero change of expression, though inwardly he appreciated the irony of the moment.
He made his way toward 3A277: third floor, A ring, closest to the second corridor, room seventy-seven. He rapped on the door, which opened to a barrel-chested man, square and squat, whose buzz cut did little to diminish his flaming red hair.
“Morning, Captain.”
Davis saluted. “Colonel, sir.”
The Colonel turned about-face and sauntered to his desk. Davis closed and locked the door behind him, then stood in the middle of the room.
The Colonel remained silent, his face scrunched up as he squinted at his computer screen, his fingers flying across the keyboard. Davis learned by now that everything happened on the Colonel’s timeframe, and no one could rush him. Davis let his gaze rise to the large portrait of President Truman, hanging on the wall behind the Colonel’s desk.
A few minutes later the Colonel leaned back in his chair, the springs groaning. His red hair seemed brighter in the fluorescent overhead lights. “I expect you have taken care of the business we discussed last time.”
David nodded. “Everything, sir. All is how you ordered.”
“Fine, very fine.” Hicks gestured to a chair in front of his desk. “Take a seat.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve been busy myself. I can’t do too much all at once, of course. But here and there—transferring this one, reassigning that one.” The Colonel’s face darkened for a moment. “Not that I have many men to work with. But I’ve done my best, and you should have more than enough support by now. There’s certainly a majority there.”
“If I may, sir, exactly how much of a majority?” Davis had enough of a job to accomplish; he didn’t need to worry about keeping his own men in line. He needed precise numbers, not generalities.
The Colonel returned to his computer, clicking and typing. “There’ll be about ten percent who are undecided. Possibly opposed.” The Colonel stared at him, waiting to judge his reaction.
Davis didn’t blink. “Ten percent is manageable. Either they assist us, or we will take care of them.” His mind, quick to jump a few steps ahead, moved on. “What is my timeframe? When is the targeted date?”
“That is largely within your control. Once you’re on the ground, assess the situation, and I’ll let you recommend a date to me. I’ll approve or veto at that point.” The Colonel leaned forward. “I hope you’re keeping grounded. Don’t let this assignment get to your head. You obviously can deduce the historical significance of what we’re about to do. You start thinking too much about that—your name in history books—and it will cloud your thinking.”
“I don’t think about that, sir. If I fail this mission, then my name will appear in the history books for the wrong reason. I won’t take that risk for mere vanity.”
The Colonel nodded. “Very good. Very, very good. That’s what I liked about you from the start: you’re steady, controlled, dependable.”
Like a stone wall. Davis had spent his Academy years, before military school, studying the Civil War. He toured the battlefields at Gettysburg, Fredericksburg, Manassas, and Petersburg. Stonewall Jackson became a kind of idol to him. Little did he know that, twenty years later, he would find himself in similar circumstances as his military hero.
“We arranged your air travel this afternoon. I want you to go directly to your assignment. As I said, you’ll find conditions favorable.”
“Do you have specific instructions as to my initial tasks, sir?”
“The JPD is very active in that area. They’ve spread out from the city. The NCP will not restrict their blockade on the major cities to just those cities. Soon, they will extend their reach to every city across the nation. They’ve already started. I recommend close contact with the head of the Division. His name’s Simmons. Keep a tab on their actions.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’ve maintained a working relationship with the JPD. Don’t let that change now when it’s so critical. No need to rock the boat and draw any kind of attention to yourself, especially when you are so close to headquarters.”
“I’ll reach out to Simmons immediately and keep regular contact with him.”
“If you need to speak to me, call my new number.” The Colonel wrote the series of digits on the pad of paper lying on his desk. “Study it. I’ll give you one minute. I won’t risk having it written down.”
Davis obeyed, reciting the number and finding clues to commit it to memory. The last three numbers, for example, were similar to his address a few years ago. Forty-five seconds later he had it down. The Colonel made him repeat it back a few times and then placed the paper with the number on it into the shredder.
The Colonel stood. “Any final questions, Captain?”
Davis stood up as well. “No, sir. Thank you for your time.”
“Contact me with any questions.” He opened the door and paused. “How are your dogs doing?”
“I’ve got one who’s showing tremendous gameness. My brother is watching another who’s about to have a litter.”
“What’s the breed?”
“Cane Corso.”
The Colonel raised his eyebrows. “Very nice. Will you keep any pups?”
“If my brother has his way, we will.”
The Colonel chuckled. “That’s quite the hobby you two’ve got.”
“It’s something I’ve enjoyed since childhood.”
“Well, I’m more into golf myself, but to each their own.” The Colonel reached out his hand. “Take care, Captain.”
“You as well, Colonel.” He straightened up, saluted, and turned about-face. The gaze of President Truman seemed to follow him out the room. In just a matter of hours, he would arrive in Peekskill.