“And here I thought it would be close,” Spine jokes, brushing dirt off her shirt.
“You’re hurt.” Dewey lifts his lantern and digs out a handkerchief, which Atlas presses to my wound.
“I’ll be fine.” I wince. “But I could use a Band-Aid and some aspirin.”
We follow Spine through the pedway to the exit station, Atlas holding the cloth against my cut as we climb into the elevator and head aboveground. When the doors open, the buzz of conversation washes over me.
“We were wondering what happened to you.” Index comes around the corner. She takes one look at us and frowns. “What happened?”
“Scarlett initiated the lockdown early,” Atlas explains. “If anyone else wants to go down, you’ll have to tell them the Lyceum is closed.”
“But why?” Index asks.
“That’s a longer story than we have time for right now.” Spine glances at Atlas. She clearly doesn’t want to bring up Scarlett’s betrayal of his father in front of him. “If we are going to be ready to spread the truth tonight, we need to get our plan together and give my Stokers time to prepare.”
“Here.” I pull my notes and the map out of my bag and explain the plan Atlas and Rose helped me come up with. “These locations should be filled with enough people to make this work,” I say, showing them the five I have starred. “Scheduled events will be starting at those places in the next few hours.”
“What’s this one?” Dewey points to the sixth location I have circled on the page.
“Have you ever looked at an image you see every day and realized you never noticed parts of it before?” I ask. “A good artist knows how to force the eye to focus on the thing they want to be seen. This—” I point to the sixth location. “This is our attempt to change the focus.”
Spine nods. “Atlas, see that Merriam gets patched up. Dewey and I will assign teams to hit each of these locations and brief them on the strategy.” She glances at the clock on the wall opposite the elevator. “We have two hours to put together our game plans.”
“Come on,” Atlas says as Spine and Dewey follow Index to where the Stokers are waiting. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“I’m really fine,” I protest as he nudges me toward an open door at the other end of the hall. When he flips on the light switch of the sterile beige bathroom, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and let out a small shriek. My face has taken on a gray, dusty color, and there are smears of blood and dirt on my neck and ear.
Atlas digs a fluffy, turquoise-blue hand towel out from the sink cabinet and runs it under the water. “Take a seat and let me see how bad it is.”
Wincing, I remove my hat, sit on the closed lid of the toilet, and shift my hair to the side to give him a better view.
“It could be worse,” he says as he gently presses the wet cloth to the wound.
“I guess I’m lucky I have a hard head.” His fingers brush back my hair as he works on cleaning away the blood and dirt, sending a cascade of jittery bubbles through my chest.
“Sorry if that hurt,” Atlas says. “I’m trying to be careful.”
“It didn’t hurt.”
His eyes lock with mine, and the warmth inside me spreads. He runs his thumb across my cheek, then shakes his head, breaking the moment. “I think there are bandages in the medicine cabinet.”
I push to my feet and head to the sink to wash my face and arms as Atlas rummages through the small white cabinet and comes up with antiseptic spray, gauze, medical tape, and a bottle of aspirin. “Index keeps things stocked, just in case of emergency.”
I stay standing. Atlas pushes my hair out of the way again. I wince at the sting of the antiseptic spray while attempting to ignore the whisper of Atlas’s warm breath on my neck as he affixes the bandage.
“Better?” he asks, lifing my hair to cover his handiwork.
“I think so.” I turn to face him. Now that there are no medical ministrations to be done, the room feels smaller. “How about you?” I ask as I look up into the face that in a handful of days has become so familiar. “Are you okay?”
“Truth?” Atlas takes a seat on the closed toilet lid. “I don’t know.” He drops his head into his hands and takes a deep breath. “I’ve known Scarlett my entire life. She’s like family. She worked with my dad for years. I never dreamed she’d turn on him or the Stewards. Or me.”
“She doesn’t think she did.” I kneel next to him and try to put into words what I saw and feel. “She wants the truth to be protected and wasn’t willing to see there might be another way.”
His head comes up. “I want to believe he’s still out there somewhere. That he’s alive and he’s doing whatever he can to stay that way.”
I put my hands on his and hold them tight. “If he’s anything like you, he won’t give up. And we won’t give up doing whatever we can to find him.”
A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of Atlas’s mouth. “You know, when we stood on that bridge, I was certain giving you a ticket was the worst decision I’d ever made.” He turns one of my hands over and presses his lips against the center of my palm. “It might be one of the best.”
“Only one of?” I say lightly, even though I have never felt less like joking.
Atlas flashes a quick grin. “That’s something we’ll talk about later.” He grabs the blue hat off the sink, brushes off the dust, and gently places it on my head. Then, with a playful tug of the brim, he adds, “For now, we have work to do.”
Index escorts Atlas and me to the second floor. The smell of pizza and the hum of voices make it almost seem as if a party is happening, but there is nothing celebratory about the “war room” into which Index ushers us.
Dewey, Spine, and several other Stewards are huddled over the map. My stomach tightens as I notice the papers that have been tacked on the wall with the names of the locations I chose to carry out my mom and Atticus’s mission. Under those locations are lists of names.
“We lost six Stewards to the early lockdown,” Spine says, looking up from the map. “I’ve tried to spread out the non-Stokers through the groups.” I find my name listed in the same group as Spine, Atlas, and Dewey under the heading “Navy Pier.” “The groups are meeting now to determine their team strategy. We have the smallest of the teams, since ours is the most challenging target. The four of us will be working with Huck and Flap. Stacks will join us for the end of the run if he has time after his primary assignment. We’ll work in partners, each starting at a different point, then fanning in to the pier.”
When Atlas and I nod, she continues, “Dewey and I figure we’ll have forty-five minutes at most to hand out the tickets before returning here or to a safe house.”
“There are some that claimed time was on the side of truth, but when the Marshals are dispatched, time will certainly not be our friend.” Dewey turns to me. “The time we gain through the shifting-focus part of this plan will be essential.”
“Stacks will leave for that task in thirty-three minutes,” Spines says, checking the clock on the wall. “He’ll drive to the stadium, plant his evidence, and once he’s clear he’ll call in the tip.”
If it works, the Marshals will believe there is a large group of people handing out pages with the word “verify” roaming the area in and around the White Sox’s baseball stadium—on the other side of the city from where we’ll all be. The government will have to send a lot of their resources to cover that much space. It should make it harder for them to respond quickly to what we are doing on the North Side and increase the window Rose will have to search for information about her brother’s whereabouts.
I hope.
Atlas hands me a bottle of water and a plate with a slice of pizza. The idea of food makes my stomach churn. Between the planning and fleeing the Lyceum and Atlas . . . I haven’t had time to think about the risks everyone is about to take. Now that I am and the time is approaching, I feel ill.
“Trust me,” Atlas says. “You need to be at the top of your game tonight. Eat.”
I take a bite and force myself to chew, even though it tastes like ash. Then I tell the team I had another idea that, if it works, will give us a warning as to when the Marshals learn of our real locations.
Rose answers on the first ring. She sounds tired, but the steely determination that I’ve always envied is present as she tells me she’s on her way to meet her father. “He tried to convince me I should stay home with Mom, but I told him I needed to see that he was working to get Isaac home. I can tell he knows more than he’s admitting.”
“There’s something else I need your help with,” I tell her. “The minute your father starts getting calls that upset him and give you an opening to do your search, let me know.”
“I can do that.”
I think about what could be happening to her brother and swallow hard. “Be careful, Rose. Please.”
“I know how to handle my father.”
That’s what I’m counting on.
“Speaking of fathers . . .” Rose pauses. “Yours called a little while ago looking for you. He said you weren’t answering your phone. I told him you must have forgotten it in my room when you went to get me a latte. Meri . . . he sounded strange.”
I rub my forehead as pressure builds behind my eyes. “He’s just worried. I’ll give him a call. Don’t worry about it. Focus on your dad and on finding something that can help us locate Isaac.”
Rose assures me she’ll be fine and hangs up as Spine yells for the teams to assemble on the third floor to go over the final plans before we head out. I tell my team I’ll meet them up there. When they exit, I take a deep breath and dial my father. He answers on the first ring.
“Honey, I was hoping you’d be home by now.” His words sound strained, but strong and sober. “Rose filled me in on what’s happening with her brother.”
“Then you understand that I have to help her.”
“Rose needs your support, but we have to talk. Why don’t I come by and pick you up. We could get dinner and you can go back to Rose’s after.”
“I’ve already eaten.”
He lets out a sigh. “I know you’re upset about last night. If you let me explain—”
“Explain later, Dad,” I shoot back as fear and frustration and disappointment burst free. “Right now there are more important things than whatever excuse you have this time. I’ll be home in a few hours,” I say as someone shouts my new name from down the hall. “If you really want to talk to me, you’ll be sober when I get there.” I hit End and close my eyes tight to ward off the growing tension. If he’s sober when I get home, I’ll tell him everything, because tonight is about truth, and it is time to end the lies.
Switching my phone to vibrate, I push the ache in my heart to the side and hurry to find Atlas and the others. Spine is standing on a chair in the center of a recreation-style room. Stewards are jammed on worn couches or milling about the tight space. Some tie and retie their laces. Others are huddled in groups, talking intently. The bags of books and papers that were brought from the Lyceum are piled near the door.
Spine nods when she spots me and lets out a loud whistle. Everyone quiets.
Nervous excitement crackles as I weave through the Stewards, almost all dressed in black sweatshirts, to stand next to Atlas and Dewey.
Spine rolls up her sleeves—the book and the flame tattoo on her forearm visible as she slowly turns on her chair to survey everyone in the room. Several Stewards pull up their sleeves or roll down their socks to display the same tattoo.
Finally, Spine straightens her shoulders and speaks with a voice that carries throughout the space. “Atticus should be the one to make this speech.”
I find Atlas’s hand and weave my fingers through his.
“The Stewards were founded because Atticus’s father understood the power of words and did what he could to protect them. Atticus continued to lead that mission, but he decided that keeping the record of our country was not the way we should measure success. He believed that every day the lies presented as truth by our government went unchecked made it harder for the truth to be returned and embraced. And that truth valuable enough to protect was important enough to fight for.”
Stewards around me nod and raise their fists.
Spine turns to face Atlas. “Atticus intended on waging this fight quietly. He did not ask for our help, because he did not want to put anyone else at risk. But he is not here to stand for the truth. He was turned in to the Marshals by one of our own who believed she understood the Stewards and our mission better than anyone else. So we will stand for the truth in his place and hope the truth will set not only Atticus but the entire country free.”
She scans the room again. “This won’t be easy.”
Feet shuffle around me.
“Some of you have trained for months, others for years, to avoid the Marshals and keep the Stewards a secret. Today, we are asking you to use those skills to let the people of this city know what we have been protecting all these years. When the government realizes what we are doing—the Marshals will come.”
Heads nod. A Steward not far from me with a shock of gray running through dark red hair jams her hands into her pockets and looks down at the floor.
When that truth settles, Spine continues. “When you see them, run. Return here or to one of the stations in the surrounding neighborhood. Keep your face hidden if there is any chance you’ll be recognized by anyone in the area. If your real identity is compromised, Index will see to it that you are safely hidden until you can be taken out of the city.”
Spine checks her watch. “At this very moment, Stacks is leaving for his decoy run. Anyone having second thoughts should speak up now.”
The woman with the age-streaked red hair whispers to the person next to her and shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I want to do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.” She then hurries to the door with tears in her eyes.
When the woman is gone, Renu steps forward. “We can divide up her work among the rest of the group.” Her eyes are determined behind her dark glasses. “We have it covered. Right?”
A muscular gray-haired man next to her nods. “Damn right.”
Spine’s smile is grim. “She’s right to be scared. What we do tonight is dangerous. The government is counting on us to be afraid. They think fear will keep us quiet, but we will be silent no more. Removing words changed our country to what it is today. Returning them will start the process of giving back the freedoms that have long been denied to everyone—the ones our founders believed in. While they fought with weapons to gain the freedom they sought, the most powerful shots they fired in that fight were ones made up of words. Today you will follow in that tradition.”
Stokers pump their fists as Spine continues. “Be smart. I already know you are brave. For years you have guarded the embers of truth, and now it is time to stoke them into a fire that cannot be extinguished.” She rolls her sleeve over her tattoo and puts up her black hood.
The air is still as she checks the time, then scans the room from one side to the other. I hold my breath.
“You have forty-five minutes to get into your positions. Keep your phones on in case we have any news to share with you. And now . . .” She takes a deep breath and nods. “I wish you all a safe and purposeful ride.”
There are whoops and fist bumps, and under the excited shouts of “Let’s go!” and “For Atticus!” is the sharp edge of fear.
“In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act,” Dewey says, looking down at the battered hat in his hands. “Let the revolution begin.”
“Who said that?” I ask as the first group of Stewards each grab at least two bags of books and papers off the pile near the door and head out. Their jaws are set. Their eyes are bright with determination. My stomach jumps and rolls.
“Funny . . .” Dewey places the hat on his head and smiles. “But no one seems to truly know. When this is over, we’ll have to do our best to find out.”
Finally, it’s our turn.
I pick up two bags and groan under the weight. Awkwardly, I adjust them onto my shoulder next to my much lighter backpack, while the others, even Dewey, heave three or four of them onto their shoulders without flinching.
Spine turns to me. “I’ve put you and Atlas together. Our three teams of two will be approaching the pier from different sides. There will be a lot of people there, which makes it an excellent choice, but it is also the most dangerous. It could be easy to get trapped at the end of the pier without any method of escape. You requested this particular location, but I can assign you to another if you have any concerns. No one will think less of you.”
“My mom used to take me to Navy Pier at least once a week when I was younger.” We rode the carousel and the Ferris wheel and afterward we would sit with our tablets and draw. She with sure hands and a clear eye. I with the hope that someday I would be as good as her. As I grew older, there was less time for those adventures. But we still made a point of visiting as a family several times a year. The last was two weeks before she died. If my mother were here now, it’s the location she would take. “It’s the place I know best.”
Spine nods. “I had a feeling you were going to say that. You’re right,” she says to Dewey. “She’s a lot like Folio.”
I hope so.
Spine goes over our starting locations one more time and reminds me to keep an eye on my phone in case Rose has information to share.
“I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” I assure her.
Index appears at the doorway and motions that the previous group has left the area and the street is clear for us.
Shifting the weight on my shoulder, I start forward, only to have Spine put out her arm to stop me. “There’s one more thing,” she says.
“What?” I ask.
She reaches into her pocket, pulls out a small red bag, and shakes a blue pill into her palm. “This.”
My heart beats in my throat as I stare at the deadman’s switch.
“Every Steward has one. It’s to protect the mission of truth and give you a choice when the Marshals would take all your choices away.”
She holds out her hand to me, and my mouth goes dry.
Just days ago, I had never heard the word “verify.” My truth was what I heard in school and learned on screens and saw when I walked down the street every day. I believed the world was safe because I was told that it was. And maybe the world could have still been safe if I’d chosen to ignore what I know. But I can’t. The truth changed my life before I ever heard it spoken. And tonight the truth will change my life again.
Slowly, I take the pill from Spine’s palm and roll the blue capsule between my fingers.
“I hope I never need to use it,” I say, sliding the small pill into my front pocket.
“You and me both, Merriam.” Spine shifts the bags on her shoulder. “Now let’s ride.”