Land of the Free

Chapter 4

“President Chartin is going to address a few concerns that we, as a nation, have been worrying about in his presidential speech,” the attractive reporter on the TV is saying. Her curled blonde hair is obviously dyed, and her grin is much too wide to be sincere.

“He’s probably just going to spew some more bullshit,” Aunt Lillian says through mouthfuls of oatmeal. Her lacquered nails are in perfect condition. The cuticles of her fingers are trimmed and kept neat. She has a thing for being a tidy, well-kept person. She believes that as long as one is groomed and well-kept, it means everything is fine. Her short-cropped hair bobs and swings as she shakes her head disapprovingly.

“There have been…rumors,” Chartin is now saying on TV. 14-year-old me turns back to face the box producing the image. “That some parts of our government have gone rouge.” Chartin runs a hand through his neat crew cut. His face is young and free of any wrinkles. His fingers are long and slim. But his gray eyes are hard and aged. As if he’s seen too many things that he shouldn’t have.

“Yes, we know that. It’s no rumor,” Aunt Lillian is muttering now.

She hated the government. Aunt Lillian hated it so much that she was even a part of a secret organization that had started two months ago named Freedom. They were working on exposing the “real America”. They had a theory that the US made our country seem happy-go-lucky to the other countries using media and by cutting off communication. No calls to anyone outside of the US. No emailing, texting, nothing. People weren’t allowed to travel outside of the US, either. And though everyone had been outraged, the congress had simply said that the outside world was being plagued by too many diseases and war issues, and “we as a nation, cannot afford to risk putting our fate into such perilous situations.” And though I agreed with Aunt Lillian that something was definitely wrong, I still didn’t understand the whole government being rogue thing, but all I knew was that my fifteenth was just around the corner in August, and I was being taken care of by my only living relative.

“People,” Chartin is speaking again. “Are saying that those who are missing are being taken by members of the congress. And that the reason no one has heard from Georgia, is because they have been eradicated. I just want to address these rumors,” here he pauses and licks his lips. Behavior that only a nervous person would do. “And say that they are false.” Without another explanation, the president steps off the podium, straightens out his tie, and walks off. The TVs go blank.

“Aunt Lillian,” I start. “What’s going to happen?”

But before she has a chance to speak, the doors of our house are burst open. Shards of broken wood fly towards me, and I fly backwards in panic.

“NO!” Aunt Lillian tries to pick me up and set me running to my room, but she’s gunned down. Just like that. No cry. No groan. One instant she was alive, the next, completely dead. At least she died wearing her favorite shade of lipstick and nail polish.

Fourteen-year-old me doesn’t know what to do. I have spaghetti arms and bad cardio. I can’t fight the people that are fully covered in black clothes meant for protection. And I can’t outrun them. So what do I do? I sit there helplessly, sobbing so hard I can’t even see them approach me. The room becomes a bleary mess of tears and black. All I know is that I’m being carried off in the back of a car in the middle of a June night by strangers.

And I never came back.

 

“I’m surprised you’re not better at this whole being-aware thing. Considering you’ve made it out this far,” Mark is saying as we slosh through dark green water. I wish he’d shut up. We’re not even sure if They saw us climbing into the sewer or not. There was so much dust and rubble after the shot. I hoped it had hid us while we ran.

“I would be if you shut up for two seconds,” I say through clenched teeth. My head is still sore and my throat is parched. Not to mention, my stomach is begging for food. And my whole body is just aching.

“Look, I’m not as stupid as I seem,” Mark continues.

“Which is very stupid,” I point out. He laughs and shakes his hair out of his face.

“Do you have food and water?” He asks suddenly. God, this guy can change conversation topics without warning.

“Oh, and now I suppose I’m supposed to feed and hydrate you? Look, I’m not a babysit—”

“You’re not,” he says before I can finish. “But I am. I have food and water. Want some?” He stops in his tracks, and slides his pack off his back. In a moment, he has two bottles of water and two cans of pinto beans in his hands.

Great. So now Stupid over here turns out to be fast, life-saving, and a supply-wielding person. He made my three years of training look like I had zero. I’m just tired and fatigued, I tell myself. So we sit on the walkway of the sewer where it’s the cleanest and eat. I try to eat slow, but my brain and stomach are too eager to let me do so.

“So where did you come from?” Mark asks after downing half of his water and all of the beans. I look at him through my peripheral vision uncertainly. He’s looking at me expectantly, like a teacher waiting for a student o reply. Can I trust him? What if he’s one of Them? Just not dressed up in those fancy suits? And what if he’s been trained to take me back to the Lab as soon as I say I escaped?

“Washington,” I say cautiously. It’s not a lie. And it’s not the truth. “What about you?”

Mark shrugs and examines his fingers. “Is this where you came from, or where you’re from, Sally?”

Right. He still thinks I’m actually Sally. I’m starting to believe that he just acts stupid. Because from the way he’s sitting, I can tell he’s ready to slit a throat in less than second. His body is an instrument of battle, he’s ready to turn rogue any moment. His ears are tuned to find the tiniest of sounds that might be wrong. A soldier on edge. Like me. If he were one of Them, he wouldn’t be trained that way. He’d been trained to act relaxed, but be ready to pounce on command. No. Mark can’t be one of Them. He’s too nervous. Sweat glistens on his forehead. He’s too human. So I tell him the truth.

“I escaped the labs of the government. So I came here after being hunted down by Hybrids. You know, animals genetically modified to hunt down a specific person and bring them back alive no matter what. I came here looking for Freedom. My aunt was part of them, and they were located here, in Georgia. Which is why it was destroyed. The government couldn’t take any chances. So that’s why they killed her, my aunt that is, and took me away.”

Mark looks at me blankly. He probably has no idea what I’m talking about. But he nods anyways.

“You should’ve said that from the start,” he says, standing up suddenly.

“And what was that supposed to do?” I say, and stand up, too.

“It could've saved us the trouble of going through this," he gestures to the whole sewer. "Because the people up there didn’t simply try to kill us because we’re normal people that might’ve survived the bombs. They tried to kill us because of you. Come on.” With that, he pulls on my sleeve and we take off at a run, water sloshing up and soaking our pants.

“Wait,” I say. It’s not that I’m out of breath, but Mark has stopped acting nonchalant and that worries me.

“What?” he asks urgently, looking behind us nervously.

“Where are we going?”

“To Freedom,” He whispers, and tugs on my sleeve again to keep me going.

“And how do you know where it’s located?” I ask uncertainly, pulling my arm back. I could run on my own, thank you very much. I wasn’t a child.

“Because I'm part of them,” he replies and continues running.