Tomorrow, the first steps begin. The train is scheduled to arrive tomorrow at dawn, each train car full of three Patrolmen, the rest with weapons. They say the weapons include spears, electrical whips, boomerang knives, and guns with just about every type of bullet.
I wake up with this in mind, the fear returning as the days come closer to the rebellion, but all drowns away as I remember a memory from last night. My mind confused whether or not it was a dream...or a reality.
I reach my fingers to my lips softly, the sweetness lingering as my tongue slides across my skin slowly, a small grin taking hold of my mouth uncontrollably. I pull away from that, staring outside where robins rest on the rusted handrails, chirping a soft song to one another. They fly away as someone walks past.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my body still weak and half awake to fully register and perform my actions. I open the drawers to the wardrobe as I did every morning, lazily grabbing a folded shirt inside, but before putting it on I stare at my back through the broken glass.
Scars form from just below my shoulder all the way to my lower hip, some cross each other, appearing as strikes of lightning. I place the shirt over my head, hiding the sight I pry my eyes away from.
I finish changing, knowing that a shower is much needed once my shift is over in the large community bathroom every Sector has. Within seconds, I grab my keys and slip on my torn shoes, walking out of my quarter and towards Magecliff with a strange pep in my step.
***
Few people sit inside as I arrive, all talking in low tones as the birds above fly and play with one another. My eyes wander over to the kitchen, no one else behind the counter for the lights that normally gleam over the appliances are turned off, for once I'm early.
I glance back over to the people who sit around a small round table, their elbows resting on the surface as they lean into their arms, dark circles around some of their eyes as they struggle to wake up.
I stride to the kitchen, flicking the lights on and beginning to prepare for everyone else's arrival, grabbing an assortment of dented mixing bowls and old spatulas formed out of used sheet metal. My attention shoots up as another group walks into the hall, and our eyes connect instantly. I expect to see them full of that normal anger and hatred, but they stare back at me with elation, a small smirk on his face as he continues walking on.
It was strange, Tate never once showing his face here this early in the morning, but here he is, his attire fresh and hair groomed with precision. I return to my work, my heart once again doing cartwheels.
In the back of my mind, wonder itches my skull, I can't help but find myself still confused by his sudden change of heart and attitude. One second he's brooding and cruel, the next his facade changes into something unrecognizable. I had so badly wanted to blame it on alcohol, but there wasn't a hint of Moonshine in his breath. In the back of my mind, a thought crosses my mind that has the power to change my whole mood. He's using you to get what he wants, Madelynn.
I shake this thought away, refusing to believe and give into this kind of logic, not wanting it to be true. Maybe I'm being naive...but all of a sudden things just feel different...he feels different, I no longer feel stressed by his presence, but relaxed. Last night he broke down the walls I put up, and I finally gave in.
Shortly, the rest of the workers begin to show up, dragging my attention away from the matter and instead to casual conversation. But every second I could get alone, I found myself being brought back to that moment...nothing else running through my mind except his piercing emerald green eyes and his soft lips claiming my own.
***
Few people show for breakfast, and even fewer numbers at lunch. The food pantries run dangerously low, all scavenging trips have been put on hold, Tate and the others occupied with the rebellion. The only food left being the crops grown fresh is Sector four: carrots, corn, and potatoes.
As the others work to clean the appliances, I gather scraps into a bin and head through the back threshold, leading to a compost station where all scraps are placed and turned into fertilizing soil that is brought to four for crops. I push open the heavy metal door with my foot, the hinges squawking as they open widely.
I take an immediate left, the station down a few paces and an immediate left again. As I walk closer to the station, a voice comes into audible distance, a male. I slow my pace, walking as if on thin glass with careful paces.
"No, I said they are planning that for tomorrow, then the trips to the city begin after that...yes...yes, they are sending the defectors. I told you already...to kill the Governor." I stand and listen, coming closer and closer to the corner where the voice radiates from, the words becoming clearer. I stand and listen more, the voice sounding oddly familiar, I can't help but steal a glance around the corner, to which my eyes widen with stupor.
There, Malcolm stands with a device pressed to his ear, an oddly shaped device that stretches from his ear to the top of his mouth. A speaker at the bottom and an antenna sticking from the top, probing the air for a signal.
I continue to listen sharply, "Yes, disguises. How many? Four of them, three in suits, one without. No, I don't know who they are sending in what order, I haven't been told that much...I'm trying," Malcolm says in a hushed tone, a sudden feeling of uneasiness settles at the bottom of my stomach as I continue to listen, it is that same feeling I got the first time I met him. I couldn't explain it then, and I can't explain it now, but my gut screams at me telling me that something is horribly wrong with this picture.
"That is all I know, I will inform you when there is more news," with that, Malcolm forces the antenna down as he folds the device in half, concealing it into a hidden pocket in his jeans. He begins to walk down the opposite way of me, questions starting to build up in my mind.
What was that? Who was he talking to? Why was he hidden back here? What was he doing?
I shake away the flooding questions, coming from around the corner, dumping the contents of the compost bin into the station, watching as Malcolm walks all the way down the chasm, then takes a turn left entering the dining hall, joining the rest of society again.
***
Dinner closes as people begin to leave from their seats, I place the last plate into the stack like I do every night, the shift in the kitchen working like clockwork. I stare at the clock on the wall, the hands seconds away from ticking to six o'clock. And once those hands landed on that six, I ran from the kitchen with a certain determination.
I run out into the crowds of people that stand outside the hall under the moonlight, talking and laughing with each other with beautiful smiles lighting their characters like stars in the night sky.
My eyes scour their faces, searching for one in particular, a sense of urgency pumping as adrenaline leaks into my bloodstream.
Where is he? Where is he?
"Madelynn!"
I whip around to the sudden sound of his voice shouting my name from behind me. He once stood hidden behind a group of people, but now he strides away from them as he walks closer to me.
"I need to tell you something," I say quickly all in one breath.
"Okay, but before you do, I just wanted to say sorry about last night, I-"
"Tate, you need to listen to me," I say, cutting him off as I pull him away from all listening ears.
"Okay..." He says uneasily, "What is it?"
I take a deep breath before beginning to speak again, "I overheard Malcolm today by the compost station talking to someone through this device he had. I don't know who he was talking to, but it gave me a strange feeling, my gut telling me something is wrong with him."
"I'm sure it was nothing," he shrugs off effortlessly. "He's in charge of notifying the different regiments about changes in the plan."
"How can you be so sure? He was away from everyone and was talking quickly and was constantly looking around him suspiciously, Tate, you're telling me that's normal...while talking to other people that're with us?"
"Not particularly, no, but I'm sure he was just talking to another leader or something, Madelynn. I know Malcolm, he's all for this rebellion, trust me...if you're thinking something about him...don't, because he's not," Tate exclaims with confidence, to which I give him a weary eye.
"Alright, but I still have a strange feeling about him," I reiterate.
"I'm sure it's just your imagination, maybe you're stressed, I get it...but he's not a traitor, I promise you that," he says, his emerald eyes glinting with certainty and exhilaration.
"Come on," he begins to say after a second of silence, "Let's go join the others." And with that, we join back into the group, the worries of betrayal washed away.
But that feeling remains, and I can't help but feel a certain perception of fear and worry.
I hope it really was nothing, but my mind screams at me repeating over and over again: something is wrong. Something is seriously wrong.