Unplugged: The Hidden World (#2, Unplugged Trilogy)

Chapter One

My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by quiet, unsteady footsteps coming from the hall behind me. Matthew limps lightly into the living room, yawning, and then collapses onto the sofa across from me. The bullet wound on his foot looks considerably better than it did a few days ago, though it must be tender. He has dark rings around his eyes and his hair sticks up chaotically.

"Why are you up so early?" He asks drowsily.

"I couldn't sleep." I shift my weight slightly. Should I share my dream with him? No, I decide. It doesn't matter. It probably doesn't mean anything anyways.

"What's wrong?" He asks, tilting his head to the side. I sigh. I never have been able to hide my real emotions that well since joining the resistance, especially not these days.

"I just couldn't sleep, that's all." I stare at my hands, my cheeks reddening a little.

"Were you thinking about the attack?" He whispers. I nod, coming to the conclusion that that would be the most believable lie. Before either of us can make another comment, my mother enters the hallway and strides towards us.

"You two are up bright and early!" She smiles at me and ignores Matthew, stepping into the kitchen. "Thanks for the apples, Enna!" She calls.

Matthew and I exchange glances. Ever since the three of us had escaped to my grandmother's apartment, my mother had started acting strangely around Matthew. I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that his father is the tyrant that orchestrated the attack on the Depot. Whatever the reason, Matthew and I make sure to keep our distance from each other when my mother's around.

"You're welcome," I call out, crossing the room and helping Matthew to his feet. He hisses air through his teeth as I lead him into the kitchen. The dying glow of the candle turns our surroundings into eerie silhouettes.

"How did you sleep?" My mother asks. I shrug, not daring to meet anyone's eyes.

"Well enough." Matthew and I take seats around the table and dig in to our pitiful breakfast. After a moment of eating, my mother folds her arms on top of the table, fixing me with a square stare.

"What's the plan?" I pause with an apple slice halfway to my mouth.

"Huh?"

"What's the plan? It's not like we can hide here forever." I tug my eyebrows together, confused.

"I don't..." I look at Matthew helplessly and he clears his throat.

"Ms. Price, it might be smarter to plan our next move rather than jump into it on a whim," he suggests lightly. My mother nods tersely as though she understands but wishes she didn't. I wish I could discover the source of this new edginess between us: but of course, I comprehend plenty more than I'd like to. If I had interpreted Grace Ward's vague comments correctly, then my mother knew the truth about the Training Facility's aims all along. Despite the danger and corruption, she still decided to induct me into their program. I don't know if she could ever regain my trust after that, even considering the fact that she's my long-lost mother.

An awkward silence hangs over us while we eat. I break it by walking to the refrigerator and retrieving three bottles of water. Just like use of electronic devices may give away our location, water usage could put our lives in jeopardy as well. I can't remember the last time I'd showered. When I return to the table with our drinks, the small candle's flame burns out, leaving in its place a sour stench. The room falls to darkness. My mother curses under her breath, and I step into the living room where the hall closet is located.

"It's alright. I'll grab another candle." Visually handicapped by darkness, I reach out blindly. My fingers brush against blankets and towels and paper napkins, finally fingering a medium-sized, waxy cylinder. I close my fingers around it. When I pull it out of the closet, a small, folded sheet of paper floats to the ground.

Curious, I carry both the candle and the note back into the kitchen. It doesn't take long for me to light the candle with a small wooden match and return to the table.

"I wonder how long those supplies can last us," Matthew comments. I shrug, not really hearing him. I'm too preoccupied by the piece of paper I found. Actually, it's more than a piece of paper: it's a note. It reads:

To whom may be concerned,

If you're reading this then you are either a government official ransacking my apartment over my cold, dead body. Or you find yourself in hiding. If you are the former, then I will save you time by letting you know that there are no important messages in this letter other than petty survival tips that may no longer seem prudent. If you are the latter, then I urgently advise you to read on.

Before I can read any longer, my mother backs her chair away from the table, standing to leave.

"Enna. What is that note?" She points to the paper clasped in my hands.

"I think it might be from grandma," I whisper. Matthew raises his eyebrows, then he and my mother lean towards me, reading the note over my shoulders. I continue silently.

I call this my "Miracle Closet". I've stocked it with everything you may need to hide under the radar for a while. DO NOT use any electrical devices. Use the candles for light. If you wish to watch the television, you must unplug it and let it run on batteries. (I have some of those in the closet as well.) The signal cannot be specifically tracked because it reports back to an anonymous public tower. DO NOT look out of the windows, unless necessary. Also, some acquaintances of mine have managed to reroute all of my water sources to a personal reservoir. Even though the water may not seem as "pure" as purified water, I assure you that it is clean enough. YOU MAY take showers and use the sinks and toilets as long as you use COLD water.

I fear that the time for someone to find this note is near, and I hope that your insurgency spreads like wildfire across this city.

- Jessica Price