Jordan dreamed of drowning. Water filled her mouth and eyes and lungs, pressing against her chest and making her limbs ponderous and slow. She was struggling, fighting for the surface, lifting and dragging a dead weight, a body. No, more than one. Jordan couldn’t count, just knew she had to reach the surface and hold everyone there. She did, and it was a dream victory as her head broke the surface. But no. More people, dark water, flailing limbs, and crying. Jordan felt the bodies sinking even as she screamed at people to keep kicking.
Jordan woke in darkness, heart pounding against her ribs, anxiety soaking her shirt in a cold sweat.
“God,” she breathed out. A dream. Just a dream. She rolled over and was about to turn on the light when she remembered Ali was beside her, curled asleep, hands tucked under her pillow. Jordan thought about waking her, sharing the awfulness of the dream. Finding a way to laugh at the predictability of her anxieties, the unimaginative transparency of her not-so-subconscious worry. She didn’t. She allowed her breathing to slow, matching the peaceful rhythm of Ali’s breath.
After a moment, Jordan grabbed her phone, blinking at the harsh brightness of the screen. It was just before three in the morning. Without stopping to think, Jordan sent out a message to Madi. An apology for their fight, a repeated request to check in. Jordan was just about to put her phone down when Madi responded.
Why are you awake?
Anxiety dream. You?
Hate those dreams, Madi texted back. What was it? It didn’t escape Jordan’s notice that Madi hadn’t answered her question.
You’ll like this one. I was trying to save people from drowning. Failing spectacularly. It was an offering of sorts, sharing this vulnerability. Exposing herself to Madi’s further ridicule or anger.
You don’t fail. The only reason some of us sleep at all at night is because of you. Whatever happens, don’t forget that.
Thanks, Mad. Would really love to talk to you tomorrow.
Madi never texted back. Jordan eventually put her phone down and curled back under the covers. She rested one hand on Ali’s waist, smiling at the small sound Ali made as she shifted closer to Jordan, then lay still. Jordan closed her eyes, searching for sleep as she reveled in the warmth of Ali in her bed.
Jordan didn’t think to worry about the ominous feel of Madi’s last words until she descended into sleep.
* * *
By the time Jordan was walking to work the next morning, everyone was talking about the fire that had broken out at Lucky Seven convenience store. Jordan hiked her bag higher over her shoulder and gripped her travel mug of coffee as she walked past police cruisers angled across an intersection near her office. An acrid smell drifted with the occasional shift of the wind, and the lights of emergency vehicles reflected off windows and lit up the dull grey streets of downtown. Jordan pulled out her phone and quickly flicked to a news site, hoping some information would ease the disquiet in her chest. It didn’t.
Four people were suspected dead, including the two owners, in a fire that broke out just after three a.m. The blaze had taken nearly four hours to extinguish, and buildings on both sides of the convenience store had been evacuated. Police and fire were offering no more details, and the downtown core would be blocked off for investigation for at least a day. They suspected foul play, no suspects in custody.
At the office, Jordan tried to focus on her work. It was hard, given the constant buzz of colleagues discussing the fire down the street, information and speculation mingling with an ease that annoyed Jordan. She tried to drown it out, putting in her earbuds and listening to music while she finished a report and began her month-end Ministry reporting data. A number throbbed in her temple, a reverberation like a headache that dully echoed her heartbeat. Three a.m. She’d been awake then. She’d been drifting back to sleep, calm and warm and safe once she’d freed herself from the clutches of her nightmare. As she’d dropped down through the layers of consciousness maybe a match was being struck, a fuse blown, a heat source sparked into life and a fire raged. It was all noise, fire and voices, rising into panic, splintering and banging as the fire trapped and fed.
“God,” Jordan breathed out, wrenching her thoughts away. She yanked her earbuds out, the soaring violins replaced by ringing phones, a photocopier, and voices.
“You okay there, chicken? You’re six kinds of pale.”
Jordan looked up as Cay entered their shared cubicle. She was unwinding a colourful and seemingly endless scarf from around her neck.
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
Cay raised an eyebrow. “No, no. Try again.”
Jordan wiped a hand across her face. She was cold and sweating.
“Just the fire. Waiting to hear more information.”
Cay turned her chair around to face Jordan before she sat down. Their knees almost touched in the small space.
“Tell me your worries, Jordan. What’s got you caught by the throat?”
Jordan released a breath, only now recognizing how tightly wound she really was.
“The kids hang out there sometimes. Panhandle.”
“You’re worried one of them was there,” Cay said.
Jordan nodded.
“Likely not at that hour. But I understand your fear. What else?”
Jordan cleared her throat. “I’m sure it’s the Unharm group. I don’t know the connection yet. Madi was awake at three, when the fire broke out. I’m worried we pushed them too hard last night. Or not enough.”
Jordan knew she wasn’t making sense, her words and worries twisted and conflated into a nonsensical mass of anxiety and deeply rooted fear.
“Madigan has had insomnia for years,” Cay reminded Jordan gently. When Jordan began to speak, Cay held up a hand. “You need to wait, you need to breathe, you need to focus. Whatever is coming for Madi and the rest of our kids, we will be there. Stay present, Jordan McAddie.”
Jordan exhaled. Then she took in a deep breath, full down to the bottom of her lungs before she spoke. “Yes. Okay. Thanks.”
Cay smiled. “Now, then. Why don’t we do a bit of a roll call? Just to ease our minds about the kids. Make a few phone calls, that kind of thing. It’s an appropriate action, given the circumstances, don’t you think?”
Before Jordan could respond, the phone on her desk rang. Kayla from the front desk said Constable Shreve was here and needed to see her immediately. Jordan’s pulse spiked, and the cold sweat returned. She told Kayla to send Rachel back.
“Rachel’s here,” Jordan managed to say. Cay’s eyes widened, and Jordan was sitting close enough to read the fear in her friend’s eyes, in the tightness of her lips, the clench of her jaw.
“Breathe, Jordan.” It was the only advice Cay had time to give before Rachel was striding up to their cubicle.
“Hey,” Rachel said shortly. Her obvious stress ratcheted up Jordan’s anxiety another three notches. “Sorry to drop in, but I needed to talk to you both.”
“Is it about the fire?” Jordan said. “Is it one of the kids?”
“Not the kids,” Rachel said quickly. “Shit, sorry. No, nothing like that.”
Jordan let out a breath. “What do you need?”
Rachel pulled up a photo on her phone and turned it around. It wasn’t a great photo, obviously shot on the street at night, but Jordan recognized a man she’d seen with Helena at the university and at the group the other night. Before she could speak up, Cay jumped in.
“Roderick Connors. I’ve known him a long time,” Cay said. “That boy was up and down so many times. Is he in trouble?”
Rachel looked grim, and Jordan knew what she was going to say before Rachel even spoke.
“We believe Rod Connors was one of the deceased in the fire. I’m sorry, Cay.”
Jordan heard Cay’s quick intake of breath and saw her tremble.
“Sweet Jesus,” Cay breathed out.
“I’m so sorry,” Rachel repeated. “I need to ask if either of you knows where he lives.”
Jordan shook her head and so did Cay.
“You should check with Helena Cavio,” Cay said, grabbing a tissue when Jordan held out the box. “I know he helps out with her groups. And you should tell her in person. She’ll be devastated.”
Jordan and Rachel exchanged a knowing look. Jordan’s heart hurt. She really didn’t want to add this to Cay’s day.
“Cay,” Rachel said gently. “We’re investigating Helena Cavio in connection to the Unharm group.” She paused, obviously waiting for Cay to react in some way, but Cay just stared blankly. “That’s why I’m looking for Rod Connors’s address, to see if she’s there.”
“More connections,” Jordan murmured and Rachel nodded.
“Roderick Connors had a sun and knife tattoo on his left shoulder, and there is some preliminary evidence that a sun symbol was found inside the convenience store as well.”
So it was connected. Of course it was. It was as if the city had been taken over, held hostage by this group of radicals who didn’t seem to understand that in their efforts to draw attention to those who had been marginalized and hurt, they were inflicting a hurt far worse. Or maybe that was the point.
“What do you want us to do, Rach?” Jordan held her head, as if that would somehow stop the spinning.
“For now, just carry on. Ask around about Helena, whatever sources you have. Or Rod Connors. Text me anything you’ve got. I may not be able to respond, but I’ll pick it up.”
Cay and Jordan both murmured their assent, then Rachel stood, squeezed Cay’s shoulder, and gave an apologetic look to Jordan before turning and quickly walking away. Jordan wondered how she did her job, facing the unexpected, the hurt, and the danger while under incredible pressure. For the hundredth time, she hoped Rachel would have some time to rest soon. She hoped they all would.
Cay had turned back to her own desk, and Jordan could hear her sniffling quietly. She assumed this meant her friend needed a little time and space to process what they’d just heard. Jordan grabbed her jacket and phone, pausing only briefly before touching Cay lightly on the arm. Cay reached up without turning around and briefly squeezed Jordan’s hand. Then Jordan left the cubicle, feeling the need to get out of the space and the noise.
Outside, the sun had broken through the greyness of the November morning. Clouds raced past the sun, and blue sky dominated the dome above them. Jordan wound her way through the crowds on the sidewalk, businesses and offices still open even on the streets that were closed to vehicles. The excitement was still in the air as it had been hours earlier when Jordan had arrived at work.
Jordan blocked out the whispers and words, keeping her head down and taking side streets until she was close to the block where the Lucky Seven convenience store had stood until approximately three o’clock that morning. The smell of burning was stronger here, acrid and chemical. Jordan wanted to get away from it, but she stood and stared at the blackened three-story brick building, almost completely covered with a thick coating of ice that shone in the midday sun. There was no heat here any longer, no urgency or threat. No rage or passion or purpose. Just coldness, emptiness, loss. A well of unanswered questions.
Jordan wanted an end to the stranglehold the protest group held on the city. On her kids. She looked down at her phone. No text from Madi. The silence felt heavy and portentous, but Jordan chalked it up to the day, the environment, and the news. Breathe and focus, that’s what Cay had said. And make a connection. Jordan opened her message app and found Ali’s name. She had someone to connect with, she had someone to lean on. Right now she intended to do just that.
* * *
“Has this ever happened before?”
Jordan looked up from her post at the gym door. Ali was inside, still optimistically arranging mats even though no one had arrived yet.
“No,” Jordan said. “This has never happened before.” She turned away from the empty gym, the sight of it making her sick with worry. Instead, she stared out at the night. The streetlights had just come on, though they revealed nothing other than the occasional car driving past the entrance. The evening was quiet and Jordan was afraid.
The silence felt ominous, and the rapidly descending dark only heightened the sensation. Something was very, very wrong, and Jordan didn’t know what to do. She wanted to fight and yell, draw out her opponent, look it in the eye and channel her fear into anger before she lashed out with purpose. But there was only silence and darkness and Jordan’s hurt. She’d spent her whole life boxing shadows.
She felt Ali’s presence at her side but didn’t turn around. “Think we scared them away last night? Punishment for the accusation maybe?”
Jordan quashed her anger at Ali’s use of “we.” These weren’t Ali’s kids. This wasn’t her fight.
“Maybe a few of them,” she said, trying to keep her tone neutral. “It doesn’t make sense they would all stay away.”
Ali touched Jordan’s arm but dropped it a moment later when Jordan failed to respond to her touch. “What do you think it is, then?”
Jordan just shook her head and stared at the empty street.
“Talk to me, JP.”
The flash of anger again. “What do you want me to say?” Jordan said, turning around. Staring at the street was unhelpful and pathetic. And she was letting all the heat out. Jordan moved away from the door and let it swing shut behind her with a final clang. “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know anything.”
“Okay,” Ali said, following Jordan back inside but keeping her distance. Jordan was both grateful and annoyed Ali was here. “Then what do you want to do?”
There was always an action with Ali, always an achievable goal, a measurable outcome. But Jordan felt like she was back in survival mode, constantly on the defensive, pivoting off her back foot in an effort to duck and avoid whatever was coming at her. Planning a counterattack was so hard when you were under pressure.
“There’s nothing I can do. Nothing.”
“What about calling Rachel?”
“And tell her what, exactly? ‘I’m nervous’?” Jordan shook her head. “No, Rachel is dealing with enough already.” The four victims of the fire had been identified: the couple who owned Lucky Seven convenience store, a bouncer stopping for cigarettes on his way home from work, and Rod Connors. The media was already reporting the link to the protest group. Rachel and the rest of the investigation team would be working overtime trying to find Helena.
“Where are they, Jordan? The kids.”
Jordan started to reiterate that she didn’t know. But the concern etched in Ali’s expression made Jordan’s heart break a little, and she took a breath and voiced her fear. “I think…” Jordan cleared her throat and tried again. “Whoever texted them that night, whatever link they have to the protest group…I think something is happening tonight. I think the kids are there.”
“The next target,” Ali said. “That could be anywhere. The police have no leads?”
Before Jordan could respond, the sound of the gym door clanging made Jordan and Ali both turn. Hope and fear leapt into her chest as someone dragged the metal door open.
Sierra walked in. She was out of breath and looked like she’d been crying. Jordan and Ali both ran to meet her.
“Don’t answer the message,” Sierra said, gulping in air and trying to speak. “It’s a fake. Madi says they took her phone, so it’s not her and she’s fine and don’t answer it.”
Jordan glanced at her phone, concern and confusion mixing in her belly. “Did you get a message?” she asked Ali.
“No.”
“What message, Sierra?”
Sierra gulped air. Ali brought her one of the water bottles, and Sierra took a long drink.
“Maybe start at the beginning,” Ali said.
“Yeah, okay. So, I got a call about an hour ago, but I ignored it because I didn’t recognize the number, and who calls anyway, you know?” Jordan nodded though she didn’t know really. “I finally remembered to check the message, and it was Madi. She sounded kinda weird, but she said they’d taken her phone and it was really important you and Ali knew so you could ignore the messages coming from her phone.”
“Is that all she said?”
“Basically. She said it was important you guys knew it wasn’t her, that she was fine. But I was out at the mall. It’s Brooklynn’s birthday next week, and I want to get her some books. That’s why I forgot to check the message and then my battery died, but I was worried so I just thought it was faster to come here.”
Sierra took another drink from the water bottle. Jordan and Ali looked at each other, both obviously evaluating the sketchy information.
“Did she say who took her phone?” Ali said.
Sierra shook her head.
“Do you know where everyone is tonight, Sierra?” Sierra blinked at Jordan’s question but didn’t respond. “You don’t seem surprised that the gym is empty.”
Sierra shrugged. “Madi told me to stay home tonight.”
“Why?”
Another shrug from Sierra.
“Tell me what everyone has been hiding, Sierra. Tell me why you’re scared.”
Sierra dropped her eyes to the ground, her hair partially hiding her face.
“I don’t know anything.”
“You know more than we do,” Jordan coaxed. “Whatever reason you were given for keeping this a secret, people in danger trumps that. No matter what Madi says.”
Sierra looked up. “No, Jordan, you don’t get it. I don’t know anything because Madi won’t tell me anything.” She sounded angry now, frustrated. “She said I should stay out of it, that it was better if I knew nothing. That way, Social Services couldn’t hold it against me when I petition for more time with Brooklynn. So, I stayed out of it. Until tonight.” Sierra sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve.
The chime of a notification on Ali’s phone sounded loud in the empty gym. Jordan’s heart pounded as Ali looked down at her screen and opened the messages app. Everything seemed to take so long, she wanted to scream with frustration and impatience.
“It’s Madi,” Ali said. Then she paled and Jordan saw her hand shake. “Shit,” she said quietly. “The message says, ‘I need help. I’m on the bridge and I’m not okay. Can you come get me?’”
Jordan was frozen, ice in her veins, her head throbbing. Madi on the bridge, Madi hurting. The force of logic made her listen to what Sierra had just told them. Then a message popped up on her phone. Jordan opened it.
“I got one, too. Madi’s phone, same message. I’m going.”
“But it’s not Madi?” Sierra said tentatively.
Jordan was grabbing her jacket, checking for her keys. “Either it is Madi and she’s on the bridge, or it’s someone pretending to be Madi to draw us in. Either way, Madi’s in trouble.”
Ali was putting on her jacket as well and looking at her phone. “Should we respond?”
“No,” Jordan said. “We should not. You stay here with Sierra and get her a cab home. I’ll text when I know something.”
“Fuck that. I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not.” Jordan turned and headed toward the door, thinking that if she just left, Ali would go away. It had worked before.
Jordan heard scrambling behind her as Ali and Sierra grabbed their stuff and followed her out. The steel door slammed shut. Jordan’s heart pounded, fear chasing confusion. The sun had gone down, and dusk had turned to a damp, cold night as she walked around the gym to her car. The crunching of gravel behind her made her angry as Ali and Sierra followed.
“Go away, Ali.”
“No, Jordan.” Ali wasn’t just stubborn, she was completely immovable. Wind whipped her blonde hair around her shoulders and Ali pushed it away. Sierra stood completely still, looking back and forth between them.
“Goddamn it,” Jordan muttered. “We don’t have time for this. Both of you get in.”
They did, scrambling for seat belts as Jordan started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.
“Give me your phone, I’ll call Rachel,” Ali said.
Jordan handed it over and kept her eyes on the road as Ali scrolled through her contacts and connected the call. Jordan focused on the wet streets, the traffic, the lights. Anything to stop herself from thinking about Madi up on the bridge.
The sound of ringing interrupted her thoughts as Ali put the phone on speaker.
“Not a good time, Jordan.” Rachel’s voice was loud and slightly garbled through the speaker phone.
“We got a message from Madi,” Jordan said, trying to project her voice through the phone speaker and keep her eyes on the road. “She says she’s on the bridge and she needs help. But we also just got information saying someone took her phone and—”
“The bridge?” Rachel said. “You got a text from Madi saying she was on the bridge? Is that all she said?”
“Rachel, it’s Ali. I got the same message.” Ali pulled out her phone and read the text message word for word. “But like Jordan said, Madi sent Sierra to tell us that someone took her phone and the messages are a fake and to ignore them.”
The sound of Rachel’s muffled cursing filled the car. Jordan could hear voices in the background, wind through the speakers, the sound of car doors slamming.
“Where are you right now?”
“We’re on our way to the bridge. About five minutes out, maybe a little more with traffic.”
“Shit, okay. Yeah. Look, we started getting calls about twenty minutes ago from commuters saying there was a group of demonstrators on the bridge. They’ve shut it down now, and it’s a shit show. Traffic backed up, and we’re trying to get close but the protestors have a line of their own vehicles blocking both ways.”
“Can you say that again?” Jordan said. The background noise through the speaker was loud.
“Stay off the main routes, try Novalea Street.” Rachel’s next words were drowned out by a loud, thumping, continuous noise. It filled the car as Jordan pressed down on the gas and shifted into a higher gear. She had no idea what was happening. She needed to know.
Without warning, the sound died, and the phone gently chirped to say the call had disconnected.
“I think that was a helicopter,” Ali said quietly.
Silence permeated the car, just the sound of Jordan downshifting as she came up against traffic. She mapped out a route in her head, trying to move around the block of rush-hour traffic backed up from the bridge closure. Jordan needed to find her way there. Needed to find Rachel.
“What’s happening, Jordan?” Sierra sounded scared, and Jordan saw her pale face in her rearview mirror.
“I’m not really sure. Sounds like the protest group is demonstrating on the bridge. They’ve shut it down. I’m going to try and get close.”
“Why? Because of Madi?”
Because of all of them, Jordan wanted to say.
“We’ll find Constable Shreve,” Ali said calmly, answering Sierra’s question. Jordan could hear the undercurrent of strain. “We’ll find out what’s happening.”
Jordan wound her way through and around traffic, breaking more laws than she cared to admit until she was on the nearly dead residential street that paralleled the highway entrance to the A. Murray MacKay Bridge.
A sudden sound from the back seat made Jordan turn around quickly. Sierra was staring down at her phone, the small speaker blaring voices and nonsensical noise.
“Someone’s posted something to YouTube,” Sierra said. Jordan could just make out the sound of garbled cheering and shouts.
“Do you see anyone you know?” Jordan said, pulling her car half over the curb and jamming on her hazard lights. She could see some emergency vehicles with their whirling lights just down the hill.
Sierra stared at the screen for a few seconds longer. Jordan wanted to scream at her.
“No, it’s stupid dark. There are comments, though. ‘Bring it all down,’ ‘block the bridge,’ ‘you’re all dickwads.’” Sierra looked up. “Maybe that last one isn’t super relevant.”
Jordan got out of the car and Ali and Sierra followed. She climbed the small rise and looked down through the chain link fence that separated the residential block from the highway entrance to the bridge below. A cluster of police cruisers and emergency vehicles blocked the entrance to the bridge. Farther up, a confusion of cars and trucks were trying to turn around, with a transport truck wedged sideways across the bridge as it attempted to retreat. Cops in neon high-vis jackets were trying to direct traffic off the bridge. A helicopter suddenly buzzed overhead.
Rachel was right. This was a shit show.
“You two stay here,” Jordan said, climbing the fence. She hadn’t worn gloves and the metal was a crisscross of cold pain against her palms and fingers. She gripped the top bar to steady herself as she swung a leg over. She could feel the fence shake and looked over to see Ali and Sierra climbing on either side of her. Jordan said nothing.
The grassy hill at the base of the bridge was steep and slippery, not intended for pedestrians. Jordan, Ali, and Sierra all slipped their way down, each of them taking at least one fall. As they skittered to a stop at the edge of the highway, they were met by a young officer, his face enraged.
“What do you think you’re doing? This is an active scene and you can’t be here.”
“My name is Jordan McAddie. Constable Shreve asked me to come down. I have information relating to individuals on the bridge.” It was an approximation of the truth.
The young officer eyed Jordan with suspicion.
“Constable Shreve asked you to come down?”
“She’s the one who told me to use the side streets,” Jordan said, throwing a thumb over her shoulder at the hill they’d just descended. “I really need to see her.”
“Stay here,” the officer said. “I mean it, or you’re going to find yourselves in the back of a police cruiser.”
Jordan stepped to the side as a group of officers in dark tactical gear moved en masse to the front of the vehicle line.
“Jesus,” Ali breathed.
Jordan glanced at Ali. Her expression was focused. And just the edge of scared.
“Jordan!”
Rachel was waving her over, the young cop by her side.
“I shouldn’t be surprised you muscled your way onto the scene. Jesus, McAddie,” Rachel said when the three of them approached. “Have you heard anything else from Madi?”
“No, nothing. Have you seen her? Have you seen any of them?” Jordan had to shout to be heard above the racket around them.
Rachel shook her head. “No confirmation. We’ve got helicopters overhead trying to get footage, and we’ve got two police boats circling underneath. So far we’ve got around a hundred head count. Placards and chanting. No demands at this point, which, I have to say, is making me nervous.”
“You don’t think blocking the bridge during rush hour is the final goal of this demonstration?” Ali said.
Rachel shook her head again and was about to answer when the two-way radio attached to her lapel crackled a message Jordan couldn’t hear. Rachel spoke into the two-way and listened to a garbled message. Jordan saw shock and fear take over Rachel’s expression before it was replaced by grim focus.
“Officers on the Coast Guard boat are reporting activity on the struts of the bridge.”
“What kind of activity?” the young officer said.
“They’re not sure. But I can’t think of a reason for any protesters to be down in the structure of the bridge if all they’re trying to do is bring awareness to their cause. Can you?”
The young officer silently shook his head. Rachel closed her eyes briefly.
“Jordan, I’m going to ask you to come with me. Constable Jeffs, can you escort Sierra and Ms. Clarke back to their vehicle, please?”
Jordan nodded her agreement but Ali was already building her case.
“Sierra should go, yes. But I got a message from Madi as well. Let me stay until we know why Jordan and I were asked to be here. There’s a plan, let’s see if we can co-opt it.”
Jordan watched as the two women squared off, Ali standing her ground even though Rachel had all the power.
“Okay, you can stay,” Rachel said. “For now. Let’s go find Staff Sergeant Buck.”
Jordan and Ali followed Rachel around vehicles and clusters of cops and firefighters until they reached a large van with “Emergency Response Team” emblazoned on the side. Staff Sergeant Buck was conferring with the tactical team, looking down at a tablet playing video footage.
“Staff Sergeant Buck,” Rachel said, and the officer looked up before handing the tablet to the tactical officer. “You know Jordan McAddie, and this is Alison Clarke. They both received texts from Madigan Battiste trying to get them on the bridge tonight.”
Buck stepped in closer as the helicopter made another pass overhead. He shouted as Jordan and Ali leaned in to hear. “I need to know if Ms. Battiste is part of the protest group. A leader or a follower, it doesn’t matter. Her allegiance in this is central to any plan we have moving forward.”
Allegiance, a tricky word. It implied ties and loyalty, love and family. Jordan hated that she hesitated, a complete betrayal of Madi. But maybe that was her answer. Ali touched her arm and shook it a little until she had her attention.
“Tell him, Jordan. You know the answer to this.”
Jordan looked briefly at Ali, and then she turned to Buck. “I think Madi has known what’s been going on with this group for a long time. I think she’s involved to protect the other kids. I think she’s involved to keep me as far away as possible. I think someone took her phone and sent that message so we would be here. But I don’t know why.”
Staff Sergeant Buck nodded once curtly. “That’s Constable Shreve’s opinion also. I needed to hear it from the source.” He gestured to the truck and they all followed him.
The space was cramped, walls lined with monitors and equipment and gear Jordan only recognized from movies. But it was quieter here, even with the various screens streaming footage obviously taken from the helicopters and the boat. Jordan stared at the screens, seeing the protestors at the apex of the bridge, some waving placards, some cheering, most moving in a ponderous, massive circle. She tried to find familiar faces, but she couldn’t.
Rachel seemed to follow Jordan’s gaze. “Norton, can you show us what you’ve got zoomed in?”
The officer sitting at the controls clicked on his keypad and pointed at a monitor above his head. The aerial footage was magnified.
“There,” Jordan said suddenly, breaking the tense silence as she pointed to the screen. “That’s Philip and Rupert. Jasmine. Dylan. Seamus. Raya.” Jordan named some kids she’d seen just yesterday in gym as well as a few that had aged out of her programs.
The picture zoomed up and away as the helicopter raced past and turned around mid-air. The sensation was nauseating, but Jordan kept staring at the screen as the helicopter returned. She was looking for Madi, tiny and fierce Madi.
“We can switch to the boat footage,” Rachel said quietly. “It can give us another—”
“I see Helena,” Jordan said. “Right there.”
Rachel and Buck both leaned closer.
“Capture that image, Norton,” Buck said.
They all stared at the screen in silence. Helena was surrounded by people, but two looked like they were acting as bodyguards, positioning themselves between Helena and the crowd. They had their hoods up and their faces were obscured. But Helena, in her pea coat and scarf, had her head bare. She seemed to be smiling.
Ali moved a little closer to the screen. “Is that…?” She pointed at a figure sandwiched between one of the bodyguards and Helena.
Jordan saw Madi’s face. She couldn’t make out all the details, but she recognized her pale face and defiant body language.
“Pause it, please, Norton,” Rachel said quietly. The frame froze, and Rachel pointed. “Madigan Battiste next to Helena Cavio.” She looked at her superior officer. “I think you need to let Jordan in on a few details.”
Buck ran a hand over his mouth as if considering Rachel’s request. Then he turned to Jordan. “The protestors have blocked the bridge with vehicles in both directions.” Norton, the video guy, pulled up images without being asked. “The ones that concern us most are the four rental vans, two on each side of the bridge. Their contents are unknown, and we’re treating them as suspicious until we can get more intel. Those vans coupled with activity on the understructure of the bridge means we are moving real careful on this one. With a hundred people on the bridge, a couple dozen of them minors, we’ve got the potential for a real situation here.”
Jordan squeezed her hands in her pockets, clenching and unclenching her fists as a wave of dread threatened to engulf her. “What do you need from me?” Jordan said. “I’ll help in whatever way I can.”
Buck regarded her before he nodded decisively. “All right. We want you to make contact with the protestors, specifically with Helena Cavio. We assume that’s why she used Ms. Battiste’s phone to get both of you down here. I am very hesitant about asking you to go on that bridge. I have very little idea what I’m sending you into, but my gut is telling me a police presence or show of force will only add fuel to the fire, and we need eyes and ears up there.”
“I’m in,” Jordan said. “Let’s do it.”
“Me, too.” Ali held up a hand as Jordan spun to face her. “Save it, McAddie. I’m not interested in your argument.”
Jordan felt all eyes on her as she glared at Ali. In response, Ali just lifted her chin in silent challenge.
“Hand me a mic and earpiece, will you, Norton?” Rachel said.
Jordan didn’t move as Rachel hooked a battery pack to the back of Jordan’s jeans and threaded a wire up her back and over her shoulder. “You know,” Rachel said conversationally as she worked, “as much as I don’t want to see both of you walking toward that protest group on the bridge, I’ll feel a hell of a lot better knowing you’ve got backup.” She handed Jordan an earpiece. “Especially backup that has already proven she can kick ass if necessary.”
“There are a hundred people on that bridge,” Jordan said, adjusting the rubbery piece of plastic in her ear. “No one can kick that much ass.”
“I don’t think they’re all a threat,” Buck said from his position by the door.
Rachel grabbed another set and started wiring Ali. Jordan felt sick. She focused on Buck’s words.
“What do you mean?”
“I think more than one agenda is playing out right now. Hell, I think there’s been more than one agenda this whole damn time. I think most of the people on the bridge, most of the folks who have been involved in the graffiti and demonstrations, truly believe they’re fighting a cause for justice and change. I don’t think their motives are violent. My guess is a core few, like Helena Cavio and her henchmen there, have no issues with injury or loss of life to further their cause. The convenience store fire proved that.” He pointed at Jordan and Ali. “I need you two to find out who is a threat and what do they have planned.”
As Jordan and Ali, both fitted with mics and earpieces descended out of the ERT truck back onto the windy and loud bridge, those words kept repeating in the back of Jordan’s head. Who is a threat, what do they have planned. Rachel and two officers in tactical gear escorted them to the front of the line of the emergency vehicles. Then, with a few last words of encouragement, Jordan and Ali began making their way up the slope of the bridge.
It was an odd feeling, silently climbing the deserted four-lane highway as wind swept over the massive structure spanning the Halifax harbour.
“I love you, Jordan McAddie,” Ali said as the wind whipped in a downward draft, bringing the sound of the protestors in an anger and energy-fueled wave. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
For a moment it all hung in the balance, past and present and future, as Jordan’s heart struggled to place Ali’s words where they needed to go.
“Your timing is impeccable, Alison Clarke,” Jordan said.
Ali grinned, her eyes shining.
“I love you, too,” Jordan said. “But I won’t pretend I’m happy you’re here right now.”
Before Ali could respond, Rachel’s voice came through Jordan’s earpiece. “As much as I’m looking forward to the wedding invitation, I thought I should remind you two that you’re being broadcast to the ERT base here.”
Jordan felt herself blush, and Ali’s eyes went wide and she mouthed “oops” to Jordan.
“Sorry, Rach,” Jordan said. “How should we play this, exactly?”
“Don’t play it,” Rachel said immediately. “You can be completely honest about your motives for being there. We’re not trying to fool Helena or whoever is running this. You want a peaceful resolution, end of story.”
“Okay.”
“Just be yourself,” Ali said, briefly squeezing Jordan’s hand. “Treat Helena like you always have. She respects you because you’ve always shown her respect.”
Jordan’s steps felt heavier as they passed the first set of struts that held the suspension wires over the Halifax Harbour. Jordan couldn’t hear the water far below but she could picture it, inky and cold and deep. She shivered.
“Fifty metres from contact.” Jordan heard an unfamiliar voice in her ear.
“If you’re with the police, that’s close enough.”
Jordan tried to find the source of the shouted command, finally isolating it to a figure in a bulky jacket standing by the hood of one of the rental vans. He popped his head over the hood, and Jordan recognized him immediately.
“Creaser, it’s me. Jordan.”
Creaser immediately walked around the hood of the van, smiling broadly.
“Jordan? Hey! I didn’t know you were joining us. The boss said no one else was allowed on the bridge. What the hell are you doing here?”
Jordan passed the line of cars and shook Creaser’s outstretched hand. “I should be asking you the same thing.”
“Ah, you know. Just doing my duty,” he said good-naturedly. Everything about Creaser had always been good-natured. “Vive la révolution, and all that,” he added in a terrible imitation of a French accent. He switched his gaze to Ali. “Who’s with you, Jordan?”
“Creaser, this is Ali. Ali, this is Creaser. We grew up in the same housing project together.”
Ali shook Creaser’s hand and smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same to you, ma’am.” Creaser looked over his shoulder and yelled out. “Jamie, come cover the van for me. I’m going to take these two to the boss lady.”
The man Creaser had called over glowered first at Creaser and then at Jordan and Ali. Jordan looked at him impassively, trying to remain neutral and unaffected by the urgency and undercurrent of tension.
“Fine,” Jamie said curtly.
Creaser waved them over. Jordan tried to look at everything and everyone, counting cars, detailing locations, trying to decipher intent from the expressions of everyone around them. The vans were most heavily guarded, and the stationary guards seemed to have the coldest and most serious expressions. The main group of protestors was surrounded by these hardened, immovable men and women. Jordan caught sight of a few of her kids, though they were too caught up in what they were doing to pay attention. They were imprisoned, not protected. Jordan doubted they knew.
Ali had her chin tucked into her jacket, as if she was cold. But Jordan was fairly certain she was relaying everything she could see into her mic.
“Boss lady is just back here with her lieutenants. Well, two of them. You heard about Roddie Connors, didn’t you, Jordan?”
“I did. Was he a friend of yours?”
“Yeah. I mean kinda? Guess I’m just surprised. He just seemed so set on doing whatever the boss lady said, you know? She was so clear with everyone that our group wasn’t about revenge. But when Rod heard about how those people at Lucky Seven treated Helena when she was on the street…” Creaser gave a low whistle and shook his head as he ducked around more people and more cars. “He wanted to get back at them even though Helena said not to.”
“Was she upset? Helena?” Jordan said just as a cheer went up with the protesters.
“They’re really having a blast,” Creaser said, smiling at the antics of the group. Then his face fell. “She was mad. Real mad.” Creaser gestured at the side of the bridge. “Here we are.”
A few men shuffled back as Jordan and Ali approached, giving them a clear view of Helena.
“Hello, Jordan.”
Helena’s voice cut through Jordan. She looked at Helena Cavio standing calmly in the midst of the chaos. Madi was nowhere to be seen.
“Hello, Helena. I think you wanted to see me.”
Helena smiled. “I’m always happy to see you.” When Helena looked at Ali, her expression grew noticeable colder. “Ms. Clarke, I see you got my message also.”
“I did.”
Helena nodded briefly in acknowledgement and turned her attention back to Jordan. “I knew you would ignore a message from me, but not from Madigan. I hope you’ll forgive the trickery. It really was very important to get you here. You straddle worlds in a way I have never been able to. I need you to do that now since you have a voice people will listen to.”
“I don’t know about that,” Jordan said. “But I want to help in whatever way I can.”
Helena nodded, her face becoming more animated. “I always admired your willingness to help. Not just a willingness, a selflessness.”
“These kids are important to me, Helena.”
“Yes. Exactly. They are important. Which is why we need to make changes now. Demand change. Force change.” Helena spread her arms wide, as if glorying in the cold confusion of this dance she had orchestrated.
“I’m worried about my kids. They’ve had a chance to be part of this protest and use their voices. But I’d like to take them home now.”
Helena’s eyes had become distant with that far-off stare Jordan had come to recognize. It no longer looked like a simple quirk. It seemed like the marker of someone no longer able to connect with reality. That gaze filled Jordan’s chest with fear far more than the shouts and stomps of the protestors behind them or the glares of Helena’s bodyguards.
“Where’s Madigan?” Helena said suddenly. One of the men gestured to someone behind Jordan. “Her voice is important in this.” She laughed, but the sound was off to Jordan, just this side of shrill. “You know that already, of course. You helped give Madigan her voice.”
Madi walked into the small circle of people, her expression oddly blank. Her hood was pulled up against the wind. She looked at Jordan and stood in the vacant spot next to Helena. Jordan’s heart pounded.
“Hey, Madi,” Jordan said.
Madi nodded an acknowledgement.
“You okay, Mad?” Ali said.
“You didn’t need to come down here.”
“You said you needed help.”
“I don’t.” Madi looked at Helena. “Let them take their guys out of here. We had a better turnout than we expected, we don’t need—”
Helena held up a hand, and Madi stopped talking. She looked pleadingly at Jordan and then she dropped her gaze to the ground.
“A brief story for context,” Helena said, her voice sharper than it had been a moment ago. “Eight years ago, I decided I would become the person I had always needed on the streets.” Helena stopped and seemed to scrutinize Jordan’s face. “You don’t look surprised.”
“I always knew you were connected to the people you supported in a way most folks weren’t.”
“Yes,” Helena said softly. “I know their powerlessness, and I promised myself I would do what I could to shift the balance. So I paid for a new identity and took a bus and a ferry to Halifax to start over. I lived in a shelter in Dartmouth, worked on my résumé, found a job. I dressed up in donated clothes, I even carried the same Starbucks coffee cup for two weeks and refilled it at the shelter every morning. I pretended to fit in, but I was a sheep in wolf’s clothing. I mimicked the tones and postures of the people who worked in Social Services, bemoaning the lack of resources when all I saw were misspent riches. I feigned exhaustion at the end of the day when people went home congratulating themselves on their hard work. Instead, I walked the streets and used my paycheck to hand out food, and all I wanted to do was sit with them, be one of them. But I needed to keep my cover. I played the game just enough to hide. I wanted the world to see a wolf among wolves.”
“But you are a wolf, Helena,” Madi said. “You’ve always been a wolf.”
Helena smiled sadly. “I was born a sheep, Madigan.” She pointed at Ali. “That one is a wolf. Born a wolf, lives her life amongst wolves, congratulates herself on being a wolf. She is all pride, that one.”
Jordan didn’t like the way Helena had focused on Ali. Her eyes had gone cold, and though Ali was silent and impassive, Jordan needed to bring Helena’s focus back.
“What am I?”
Helena switched her gaze back to Jordan. “What are you, Jordan? You tell me.”
“A sheep,” Madi said, before Jordan could find the words. Her dark eyes bored into Jordan, alive now with anger. “Content to be a sheep though the world keeps offering her a chance to be a wolf.”
Helena looked at Madi approvingly. “Yes, very good. Exactly.”
Jordan steeled herself against the hurt of Madi’s words. She blinked as Rachel spoke quietly in her ear.
“We’ve got a problem. Intel on the convenience store fire shows an incendiary device was used, which means this group has had access to the materials needed for explosives as well as the knowledge and capacity to put it together.” Jordan risked a quick look at Ali, who had obviously heard the same thing. Ali shivered. “We’re assuming the bridge has been set with explosive charges. We need whatever intel you can give us. Fast.”
Jordan tuned back in to the chanting and the wind and the bright overhead lights and the dark sea around them. She felt shuddering beneath her feet, the instability of fear, of facing an opponent so much bigger.
“They’re asking something of you,” Helena said, sounding more curious than concerned. “What is it?”
“The police know about the explosives,” Ali said, her voice calm confidence. “They want to know your demands.”
“Really,” Helena said. “And are you volunteering to relay my demands to the police?”
“Yes, I am. I’m an excellent negotiator,” Ali said. “And I speak wolf.”
Helena’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Don’t fuck with me, Ms. Clarke.”
“I’m not. You’ve set the stage for a takeover, all the stakeholders are here. We’ve all agreed the power lies in your hands. We’re all just waiting here for you to tell us your demands. Show us your teeth, Helena.”
Each of Ali’s words seemed to hit like a blow to Helena. She shrank visibly as Ali handed her the power and outlined the magnitude of the moment. Helena took a step back.
“Let Jordan and Ali take the kids off the bridge,” Madi said, obviously seizing Helena’s moment of indecision. “Give Jordan the manifesto we wrote. She’ll read it to the media. There will be change. Just let my friends off the bridge.”
Helena blinked and grabbed Madi’s arm. “Madigan?”
“The manifesto, give it to Jordan,” Madi said quietly. “Give the all-clear to let them off the bridge. They’ve played their part. They have come to meetings, they have taken risks and built up their voices. They need to take their own messages out into the world.”
“And you?”
“I’m right here.”
Jordan began to protest, but Madi shot her a scathing look and Jordan swallowed her protest. She had to trust Madi knew what she was doing.
Helena reached into her oversized pocket with a shaking hand and pulled out some folded papers. She gazed at them with incredulity, then confusion eclipsed the happiness and she reached into her other pocket and pulled out a small flip phone. She stared at them both.
“It’s not enough,” Helena whispered, her words nearly carried away by the wind. “Words on the page, spoken to the uncaring media and viewed by an uncaring community.”
Helena was getting her strength back, and Madi looked distraught.
“We have to tear their hearts open, Madigan. Tear them open, and they’ll understand layers of pain. Then we’ll see change. Then we’ll see caring. Then we’ll see collaboration.” Helena gestured at the two men standing beside her. “Escort these two over to the black box, please.” She looked at Jordan. “You can say goodbye to your kids on the way. Don’t forget to tell them they’ve been strong and good.”
“Helena, no—” Someone yanked Jordan’s arms painfully behind her back. Jordan struggled and then dropped her weight. Her knees hit the ground painfully, but Jordan pivoted and kicked out with her leg even as she blocked a swing from above. Her kick landed with a satisfying thud, but Jordan was soon lost under a flurry of legs and arms, at least three men now trying to subdue her. An elbow to the eye had her seeing stars and a kick to the gut made her double over in pain. Her face pressed to the cold, wet pavement, Jordan gasped for air as her arms were once again wrenched and bound behind her back. They hauled her to her feet and held her there with a bruising grip.
Ali was on the ground with a man kneeling on the small of her back. “Jesus, Ali. No! Get the fuck off her.” She saw the blow coming at her from the corner of her eye, and she turned her head just in time to avoid a broken nose.
Ali was still struggling but then she too was hauled to her feet. Her face had a long red scratch down one side and she was shaking, her eyes murderous. Jordan shook her head to clear the pain and fear.
Helena was staring at Madi, who was being held from behind by a huge man, one hand over her face, one wrapped around her small frame. Madi struggled and tried to scream.
“Black box,” Helena said. “All of them.”
They spun Jordan and Ali around and pushed them forward across the bridge. The line between them and the demonstrators, hard men and women with anger and resolve etched into their expressions, melted away as Helena approached. The demonstrators were lifting their voice in protest, completely unaware of what was happening around them. Which was obviously the point, Jordan thought. She imagined Helena had convinced them they were safe in this circle. Her kids and the others, maybe forty in all, did not know they were trapped. This line of defense was meant to keep them here, a circle of sacrifice.
“Jordan? What the hell?”
Jordan didn’t recognize the voice, but she saw some of the protesters turn and watch as she and Ali and Madi were pushed along. She saw Rupert’s face briefly, his goofy grin quickly replaced by shock. Jordan said nothing, just concentrated on what was ahead of her. If she was going to keep her kids safe, she needed to figure out Helena’s plan.
Jordan needed to talk to Rachel. She shook her head but couldn’t feel the earpiece in her ear anymore. Shit. She tucked her chin into the neck of her coat and felt the microphone rub against her chin. Jordan whispered, hoping like hell the guy behind her couldn’t hear over the din.
“No earpiece, I can’t hear. Ali and I restrained, taking us to east side of bridge. Called it a black box.” They pushed Jordan the last few steps, and the crowd cleared so Jordan had an unobstructed view of a heavy plastic box taking up most of the space on the bed of a truck. Jordan whispered all the details of what she could see into her coat.
“Why’d you piss off the boss lady, Jordan? I thought you were on our side.”
Creaser pushed off from where he was leaning against the pickup truck, looking confused and hurt.
“Creaser, I am on your side,” Jordan said quietly. “What’s in the van you were guarding?”
Creaser’s face lit up. “Snacks. Helena said we’d need fuel for the protest, and because so many teenagers were here, I’d have to make sure they didn’t eat them all.”
Jordan closed her eyes briefly. “It’s not snacks, Creaser. Go look in the van.”
The man holding Jordan shook her, and Jordan bit back a cry of pain as he wrenched the muscles in her shoulders. “Shut up and listen. Creaser, fuck off.”
The chants of the protesters had died down, and Jordan could feel the crowd like a silent presence at her back. Ali was being held on the other side of the semicircle. The cut on her cheek dripped blood and her top lip was puffy.
“I’m sorry,” Jordan mouthed to Ali.
Ali mouthed something back. Jordan shook her head; she didn’t understand. Ali did it again, slower.
“Five minutes.”
It must be a message from Rachel. They needed five minutes. How to delay what Helena had planned?
Helena now stood beside the black box with Madi still held captive beside her. She waved away the huge man until it was just the two petite, powerful women.
“This is a proud moment,” Helena said, her voice lifted and carried in the wind. “I hope you all feel it as I feel it. You have used your voices, your minds, and your hearts to get us to this moment. I am proud to call you all family.”
Some cheers and clapping met Helena’s announcement, and her expression became infused with benign resolve. The look terrified Jordan, and her fear leapt into her throat as Helena reached for the sniffling, broken Madi, who stood complacently beside her.
“Madigan represents our future, the moving forward in our fight to be seen and heard. And as our future, Madigan will be making the decision for what happens next.”
Helena took the phone out of her pocket again. Madi reached for it, but Helena smiled and pulled it out of reach. “Your friends can leave the bridge before our final announcement,” Helena said, and Jordan had to strain to hear the words. “But you have to choose either Jordan or Alison to lead them. One will stay and be witness, immortalized in the message we have to send.”
Jordan saw the moment Madi broke.
“I can’t,” Madi said, staring at the ground.
“You must,” Helena said, quietly triumphant. “Who stays, Madigan? The sheep or the wolf?” Helena leaned in closer to Madi, and Jordan could just read the words on Helena’s lips as she whispered, “Who lives?”
Jordan couldn’t breathe. It couldn’t end like this. All of them needed to walk off the bridge. We just need minutes, she thought. Rachel has our backs. Minutes.
“I’ll stay,” Jordan called out. Madi lifted her head and Jordan saw her defiance. Good. “Madi, I’ll stay. Tell Ali to get the kids and go.”
“Not your decision, Jordan,” Ali said. “I’ll stay.”
Jordan noticed a movement out of the corner of her vision. She thought she saw Creaser moving toward the front of the truck, but she didn’t want to give him away by looking. She just hoped like hell she’d convinced him.
“Madigan? You see my vision, don’t you?” Helena said. “You always have. This burden will be carried by the many. When the bridge goes, we fall and we rip their hearts open. They see what they have done to us. We will use the sun to light the dark and help them see. They will carry your name and your memory along with the burden. You will be beloved as you have always wanted to be beloved. We all must sacrifice in our own way.”
Madi looked at Helen, and Jordan read eerie calmness. And resolve.
“I see your vision, Helena. But I don’t agree with it. I—”
The sound of helicopter rotors drowned out Madi’s words. A chopper with lights blazing rose up out of the darkness, just out of reach of the suspension wires, a confusion of lights and noise. The pressure of the downdraft made people duck and cower. The chopper gained altitude and dropped again, blasting everyone with a downdraft so hard most fell to their knees.
Jordan used the moment to turn on her captor, kicking him hard between the legs as he fell. Ali was fighting as well, using the back of her head to smash into the nose of the man holding her. Where was Madi? Jordan fought through the chaos of noise and movement. She heard the sound of a revving engine and looked up to see Creaser pulling away in the truck, smashing through other vehicles and careening against the railings of the bridge.
Jordan caught a glimpse of Madi, squaring off against Helena, who still held the cell phone in her hand. Then someone hit Jordan from behind, knocking the breath out of her as she hit the ground again.
“Lie still! Lie still! Police!”
Jordan’s shoulders screamed in protest as she tried to lift the weight off her back. She managed to get her head up just enough to see Helena try to take Madi out, the cell phone clenched in her hand. Madi blocked Helena’s strike with her forearm, ducked under the intended blow and landed a perfect, solid right hook into Helena’s solar plexus. Helena folded under the punch, and Jordan stopped struggling as officers in tactical gear swarmed Helena and grabbed the cell phone.
Madi sank to the ground and covered her face with her hands. Jordan wanted to go to her, but she was so tired and everything hurt and her heart was shredded. She closed her eyes, feeling every piece of rocky asphalt press into her cheek, the smell of gasoline and seawater. Her muscles were jelly as an officer hauled her to her feet, asking her questions as she released Jordan’s hands from the plastic ties cutting into her wrists.
Jordan ignored the officer and looked around, dazed and unsteady. Scuffles and fights were still happening around her as officers subdued the last of Helena’s lieutenants. Jordan could see her kids huddled together, Rachel in their midst shouting orders and sheltering as many of the kids as she could. Then Jordan’s eyes landed on Ali, also unbound now, crouching down next to Madi and holding Madi’s head between her hands.
Jordan forced her legs to hold her for the few feet it took to sink down next to Madi and Ali and hold them in her arms with all the love and strength she had left to offer.