Chương 135

Louis woke when the door opened. He sat up fast, heart pounding, unsure for a moment where he was. A guard stood in the doorway with a rifle slung loosely from one shoulder.

"Move," the man said.

"Wash line." His back had stiffened during sleep. His neck hurt. His chest hurt when he breathed too deeply, but nothing felt broken. The jumpsuit still smelled of oil from the yard and sweat from his body. He put his feet on the floor and stood without answering. There were five other doors in the corridor outside, all closed. He did not know who was behind which one. The guard moved him down the hall to a washroom that had once belonged to school staff.

The washroom had cracked mirrors, rusted sinks, and shower stalls with torn curtains. Two men in gray jumpsuits were already there, washing in silence under cold water. Louis washed his face, his hands, and the back of his neck. The cold water woke him fully, but it did not make him feel cleaner. He looked once in the mirror. His blond hair was dark with sweat and grime. His eyes were red. He turned away. The guard moved him out with the other workers.

They were marched across the yard toward the mess hall under a low gray morning sky. Inside the mess hall, workers shuffled forward for oatmeal, beans, black coffee, and pieces of cornbread. Louis took a tray and looked for his group. He found them in the same area as yesterday. Savannah sat among them, her face drawn but alive. Her hair was tied back. Her wrist had been rewrapped in a clean bandage. Gladice leaned close to her, saying something that made her smile briefly.

Angelique saw Louis across the room and nodded once. Cherish sat between Donya and Willa, her eyes red-rimmed but calmer. Louis reached the table. Savannah looked up at him.

"Hi," she said. He sat beside her.

"Hi." For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then he turned and pulled her into a hard embrace, burying his face in her hair. She clung to him, her hands gripping the back of his jumpsuit. He felt her take a breath and let it out. He cried into her shoulder, unable to stop himself. She held him tighter.

"I'm here," she whispered.

"I'm right here."

"I thought I lost you," he said into her hair.

"I thought you were dead."

"I know." She stroked the back of his neck.

"But I'm not. I'm here. We're together." He pulled back enough to look at her face. He touched her cheek.

"I love you, Savvy," he said.

"I love you too," she said. He kissed her, not caring who was watching. He poured all the fear, grief, and love of the last twelve hours into that kiss. She kissed him back with equal desperation. When they broke apart, they were both breathless. The others watched them. Cherish looked stunned. Donya wiped a tear from her cheek.

"Alright, you lovebirds," Gladice said.

"We get it. You survived death. Now eat before the reds take your breakfast." Louis let go of Savannah and turned to the table. Then he stared at her again. He could not stop looking. She was alive. She was real. He reached out and held her hand under the table. She squeezed back.

"Stop looking at me like that," she said.

"I'm alright."

"I'm trying," he said.

"Then stop trying so hard." She gave him a small smile.

"You look terrible." He laughed softly.

"So do you."

"We all do," Angelique said from across the table.

"But we are here." Cherish looked at him.

"Maeve told me the truth last night. She said they faked the shooting." Louis nodded.

"Yes."

"I'm glad," she whispered. Donya put her hand on Cherish's shoulder.

"We all are." Gladice ate her cornbread in three bites and looked at the soldiers by the door.

"We need to get out of here." If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"Today?" Willa asked.

"Before they make us write more of those stupid letters." Gladice set down her spoon.

"I'd rather die fighting than write another word about bourgeois privilege."

"We're not going to die," Angelique said.

"We are going to find a way home."

"How?" Savannah asked.

"We ain't got nothing."

"We have each other," Louis said.

"And we need to learn more about this place."

"Like what?" Willa asked.

"Who is in charge. Where are the weak points. Who can be bribed or convinced." Louis turned to Angelique.

"Right?" She nodded.

"We need information. And we need to communicate safely."

"And weapons," Gladice said.

"I am tired of being unarmed." Louis lowered his voice.

"One step at a time. First, we survive the workday. Then we figure out the rest."

"Easy for you to say." Gladice snorted.

"You're not sewing fucking uniforms."

"I'm changing oil and getting yelled at by Maeve Fyres." Louis managed a weak smile.

"It's not that great either." Angelique leaned forward.

"Maeve told us the truth. That means something."

"It means she's not a complete zealot," Willa said.

"But it doesn't mean we can trust her."

"We can't trust anyone," Savannah said.

"Except us."

"Agreed." Angelique looked at each of them.

"Be careful today. Watch. Listen. Remember what you see. We'll meet again at dinner if we can."

"What if we can't?" Donya asked.

"Then we'll see each other at evening instruction," Angelique said.

"They will put us on display again."

"Fuck that," Gladice muttered.

"I'll cut that Yates's balls off before I sit through that again."

"I'll help you if it comes to that," Louis said. He looked at each of them.

"Stay safe. Please." Cherish looked at him.

"You too." The whistle blew. Workers stood with their trays. The guards moved them out into the yard. The morning air was cold against Louis's face. They were separated again. Louis was marched to the vehicle yard. Trucks were parked under patched roofs. Armored plates, tires, and fuel drums lined the walls. Beyond the fence, three mechanics worked on a Black Hawk with its side panel open. A shaved-headed woman supervised them with a cigarette between her teeth. Someone was welding nearby.

Maeve was already there, boots up on a stool, a wrench in her hand, a mug of coffee beside her. She watched him approach.

"Morning," she said.

"Morning," he answered. She nodded toward a toolbox near the engine of a truck.

"Start with oil and filters. I'll check when you're done." He went to the toolbox, took a wrench and a catch pan, and slid under the truck. He found the drain plug and set the pan beneath it. Then he loosened the bolt and let the oil drain. While he waited, he thought about how to get them out. Maeve came over while he was working. She crouched beside him.

"You look like shit," she said.

"I didn't sleep well."

"Nobody does the first week." She watched the oil flow.

"You did that right, at least."

"Thanks."

"Don't get used to praise." She stood up.

"You still have a lot to learn." He said nothing. She walked away and yelled at one of the younger mechanics for leaving a socket on the ground. Louis replaced the filter, tightened the drain plug, added fresh oil, and finished the job. He wiped the tools on a rag and returned them to the box. By noon, he had worked on three vehicles. His hands were raw, and his knees hurt, but he was beginning to understand the order of the work.

"Break," Maeve called. He sat on a stack of tires with a mug of coffee. The coffee was bitter and thin. Maeve came over and leaned against the wall beside him.

"You're not completely useless," she said.

"I'll take that as a compliment." She gave a short laugh.

"Don't."

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

"Since I was born." She sipped her coffee.

"This camp is my home."

"Born here?"

"My parents were in the army." Maeve held the mug in both hands.

"They died in the war. I was raised in the camps."

"The war with the Authority?" he asked.

"Yes." Maeve stopped drinking.

"The Authority killed my family. My sister too. She was fifteen."

"I'm sorry." She shrugged.

"It was a long time ago." He looked at her for a moment.

"I have two sisters," he said.

"Victoria and Serana."

"Are they like you?" Maeve asked.

"No. Serana is quieter. More thoughtful. She likes books. And Victoria likes running around and making messes." He smiled a little.

"I miss them." Maeve said nothing.

"Do you miss your sister?" he asked.

"I try not to think about it."

"It's not that easy," he said.

"No," she agreed.

"It's not." Louis watched the other workers move through the yard, talking and smoking. He tried to imagine being born into this, with no other life and no future beyond the camps, the war, and the red armbands. He was angry, but he pitied them too.

"Does it ever get better?" he asked.

"What?"

"This place. This life." She gave him a hard look.

"It's not a life. It's a war."

"So what is the goal? When do you win?"

"When the Authority falls and the workers own the roads." Maeve's voice was certain.

"When there are no more tolls. No more bosses. Just people doing what needs to be done."

"And then what? After that?" For the first time, she looked confused.

"Then we build socialism."

"Here? In West Virginia?"

"All over. Starting here."

"With this?" He gestured to the yard.

"With camps and guns and executions?" Maeve stared at him.

"You don't understand. You never will."

"Try me." She stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head.

"You're still a bourgeois. You think freedom is a thing you can buy. You think safety comes from a name. You don't know what it is to be nothing. To have nothing. To fight for every breath."

"I know what it's like to lose." His voice was low.

"I lost my home. My friends. I almost lost them again."

"But you will always have something to go back to." Maeve leaned closer.

"We don't. This is all we have." He did not look away.

"That doesn't justify what they did to Savannah."

"No. But it explains it." She stepped back.

"Break is over. Get back to work." She walked away before he could answer. He sat for another minute, then stood and returned to the trucks. A siren sounded from the far side of the city. A loudspeaker crackled over the yard.

"Air watch reports hostile drone contact northwest. All crews secure equipment. Defense stations. Repeat, hostile drone contact northwest." Maeve grabbed the loudhailer and shouted, "Cover the choppers! Move!"