CHAD MAYER: Would you care to elaborate on your specific plans?
SENATOR RUSSO: To do so now would undermine our efforts. And I won’t do that, no matter how advantageous it might be to my candidacy. No election is worth winning at the expense of the American people.
THE OUTLIERS
INDIANA IN THE MIDDLE OF SEPTEMBER IS EXACTLY WHAT YOU’D IMAGINE: HOT and filled with corn. We flew into Indianapolis, a city smaller than Boston, but a real city nonetheless, with tall office buildings and fancy-looking restaurants. We passed them as Chance’s brother drove us to the rally. He is our local contact. He knows his way around and how to keep us out of sight. He’s connected us with lots more local people who can help. Food, shelter, and the other necessities. They will also lie for us if they need to. They will lay down their lives.
There are five of us here, in addition to Chance’s brother. Three Outliers and two not. United, despite our differences, to stop Russo. We picked this rally specifically because it is expected to get some national news coverage. What we are about to do needs that coverage, too.
In the end, the Newton police did their best to help us. But they were shot down pretty fast, threatened like so many others by the powers that be. We knew all along we’d have no choice but to take matters into our own hands. To fight on the front lines. And we are well-organized now. We have a game plan—not just for this day, but for the ones that follow. We have people—a lot of them—who are willing to help. People who have all sorts of skills. And some, even a little bit of power.
But for this, today, we are on our own. We wanted it that way.
We lost whatever might have been on Russo’s cell phone, of course. And all the photos, except the one. But that photo was the most important one. And we have seen to it that the bodies of those dead girls—the lost ones—were tied to the WSRF, Mrs. Porter, and the Wolf. That wasn’t hard, with a few well-placed calls. Russo has proven a lot harder to nail to the wall. This is our chance, though, with that photo of his car in front of the WSRF, and the other documents Elizabeth has been able to lift since. Together they tell a story that will stick this time. We believe it will.
We’ve had most of the evidence for a while now, but we’ve been waiting for the right time, the right place to expose him—too early before the election and the awfulness might be absorbed as noise. But now that Russo is the candidate, now that everybody is looking, everybody will know.
Most Outliers have stayed out of this entirely, to continue on if this particular plan goes south, if we are not able to finish. We do not expect to fail, though. We have planned too long and too carefully. But the road to victory, we have learned, can be much longer and rougher than you ever expected.
We can only hope that this will end with Rachel, the Architect, being taken down, too. These days she is Senator David Russo’s campaign manager and right-hand woman. Word on the street is that she’ll have a top post in his administration—secretary of state, attorney general—should things all go as planned. But who’s to say how things will turn out for Rachel? Once a puppet has cut himself free, it can be easy to get tangled in the strings.
SENATOR RUSSO’S RALLY is on the far side of the state fair. As we drive past it, the scent of popcorn and funnel cake mix with hay in the car. It’s the smell of hope and innocence.
It’s even warmer now that we are farther from the city. Too warm, Chance’s brother says, even for Indiana. His brother is a genuinely nice guy—totally uncomplicated, like Chance, who would be here if he didn’t need to be back in Boston at hockey practice, covering for Jasper’s ass.
We look over toward the tall Ferris wheel and the merry-go-round spinning, at the laughing children tugging their parents toward the gates to the fair. It seems impossible that they could be so unaware.
We can only hope it will be different when all the details are out. When they know just how bad it is. When they understand what Russo really means when he talks about “protecting the Outliers.” But so many people already agree with him. He’s been good at hitting his talking points. The whole idea that some out there—the Outliers—could actually see into your private feelings hardly seems right to a lot of people. Unfair, definitely. Unseemly even, and akin to witchcraft. Russo has churned up more than enough fear to do away with goodness. And with the Outliers so few in number, why should their interests override those of so many others?
In the end, the real question will be: How far will anybody really go to protect somebody who isn’t just like them?
WHEN WE FINALLY arrive, we climb out of Chance’s car and into the warm September sun. We head slowly toward the gates, wearing our Russo for President, Privacy Is Power T-shirts. We are imposters, of course, but at least none of the people at the rally will be trying to read our feelings. Even the ones who can will pretend they cannot. As we get closer to the entrance, we are swallowed by a sea of Russo supporters in the very same T-shirts. More people than we expected. More people than we hoped.
But we cannot let the fact that we are outnumbered change what we are going to do.
At the gate, we put on our VIP passes, very good imitations, courtesy of Elizabeth Oshiro. Level99 is defunct now, its members scattered to the wind. In the end, they heeded Riel’s warnings more than Brian’s assurances.
We have already decided which one of us will do the talking if we get caught. And we will adhere to another core principle. Outlier Rule #10: A lie is always better when it is very close to the truth.
Rachel knew that. She knew so much more than we ever gave her credit for.
We wave and smile at the older woman at the gate. She looks like a kind person who will be persuaded by our story. We lift our homemade VIP badges. We tell her about our special connection to Russo, how it’s a family thing. Margie, an assistant to Senator Russo, said it would be okay.
There is an assistant Margie, though she’s never actually heard of us.
“Oh!” the grandmotherly-looking woman exclaims. “Aren’t you the sweetest!” She waves over a security guard. “Take them backstage. To Margie.”
From there, we become a game of human telephone. Deliberately, of course. Who we are and why we are there becomes more unclear as we are handed off from security person to assistant to backstage hand—until eventually no one has any idea who we are. The last person we are delivered to is Margie, petite with huge blue eyes and a perfectly manicured bob.
“Oh,” she says, blinking at us as she searches her memory for some possible exchange in which she would have agreed to give backstage passes to anyone, even a relative of the senator. No, she thinks, she’d never be stupid enough to do that. But she is too worried to trust her own instinct. “Of course” is what she says instead.
And all we really need is just to get close enough to flip one particular switch to the AV; Elizabeth has described what it should look like. Elizabeth can hijack the system then. She can be sure our broadcast will also go to the live feed and out to the rest of the world as long as we flip the switch.
Margie leads us toward where a large trailer is set up. Like the senator is some kind of movie star. Surely, it is part of why he wants this. Maybe even the biggest part. Margie checks her watch. She’s stalling. She doesn’t want to disturb him.
That’s when we spot the panel of AV switches we need. They are right there. We are already in the perfect location.
The door to the trailer has swung open, and Senator Russo descends the steps in a sharp blue suit, his hair especially silver in the sunshine. He is distracted, speaking with someone behind him. Perhaps someone introducing him, definitely someone inflating his ego. There she is a moment later: Rachel. Glowing. At long last exactly where she wants to be. And in that moment it’s hard to decide who is worse.
Russo is halfway down the steps when he spots us. We raise our hands in a wave. And there it is, the delay. The pause. Russo motions angrily to a security man. Surely he is saying some version of: Take them away.
It is time to go. To run
and knock something over. To flip the AV switch in the commotion. And so, that is precisely what we do.
All right on schedule. And exactly as planned.
A HALF HOUR later we sit on top of the water-gun game at the very west edge of the state fair. We look out over the rally, the chimes sounding again and again beneath us, each time somebody wins. We have been waiting—through initial speaker after initial speaker—for the senator to finally take center stage. The sun is sinking quickly now, the sky beginning to pink in long, crooked streaks. The air smells of charcoal and the sunset. It is so peaceful up here near the trees, above the laughter and the crowds. Yes, this will work, we think. We can feel it this time.
Rachel comes onstage to introduce Russo, talking with such pride about all his accomplishments. We try hard not to let the words sink in. Otherwise our rage will multiply, it will swallow us whole. Instead, we have to keep believing in goodness and justice. In the end, that’s all we have: hope.
We watch the small outline of Russo finally at the podium in the distance. Hands clasped, we sit side by side, faces to the setting sun. Our breath held, we pray that this is an end. And also, maybe, a beginning.
And then, finally, it is happening. The screens behind Russo scramble and catch, their images replaced by a loop of long, steady flashes. Each a document, classified and personal. Each a step in the terrible route Russo took to that stage. All the awfulness that he is already responsible for. There is the photo of his car. Riel and Kelsey as young girls. The WSRF. The fake news articles praising him from EndOfDays. The very last image is a picture of the girls. The lost ones. The Outliers maybe, their fingers reaching out desperately for someone or something to grab hold of.
There is noise and confusion then, audible gasps from the audience as people begin to make sense of it. The images are too fast to understand in one go. But the media will slow them down and parse them out. They will be obsessed with understanding what they mean. Scattered dots for now, but images that can be connected. Ones that will eventually collide.
Then everyone will see exactly what Russo has done. Exactly the person he is and will always be: someone who cares only about power. His power.
And in that moment, we finally become what we were always meant to be. Each different in her own way, but warriors all the same. Ones who think but also feel. Warriors who will fight longer than they believed possible for the people they love and the things they believe in. For people they have never met, and will never know. For an idea about what is right. For the way the world should be.
Warriors who are strong and whole. And, finally, free.
EPILOGUE
SENATOR RUSSO WAS DEFEATED IN THE GENERAL ELECTION BY SENATOR LANA Harrison, but only by a very slim margin. Despite an extensive federal investigation, he is not expected to be charged with any crime.
President Lana Harrison has already begun a push to amend part of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, known as Title VII, to include broader rights and several additional protected classes. One of them will be the Outliers.
She has also created the Freedom Institute, dedicated to the protection of all minority groups. Still in the planning stages, the Freedom Institute already has its slogan: Knowledge Is Power.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to my dedicated editor Jennifer Klonsky for being so kind and attentive throughout this trilogy, and to the very patient and extremely diligent Catherine Wallace. Thanks also to Claudia Gabel and the rest of my terrific HarperTeen team: Gina Rizzo, Ebony LaDelle, and cover designer Sarah Kaufman.
A special thank-you to Kate Jackson, and also to Suzanne Murphy.
Thanks to the rest of the fabulous HarperTeen marketing, publicity, sales, and library teams for all your work on the entire series. And last but certainly not least, thank you to all the fantastic (and fantastically patient) people in HarperTeen managing editorial: Josh Weiss, Mark Rifkin, Bethany Reis, and copyeditor Valerie Shea.
To my beloved agent, Marly Rusoff—thank you for all the things. There are far too many to name. Thank you, thank you to Julie Mosow for your wise advice. Thanks also to Michael Radulescu, Lizzy Kremer, Harriet Moore, and the fantastic and dedicated Shari Smiley. A huge thank-you to the incredible Katherine Faw for saving my tail on a consistent, patient, and cheerful basis. Thanks also to Laura Chasen and Deena Warner.
Thank you to the brilliant Daniel Rodriguez for yet another title. And to Victoria Cook for your ever-wise counsel and the gift of your friendship. Thank you, Megan Crane, for always being there, but especially at the eleventh hour.
As ever, I am grateful for the generous support of kind friends: Martin and Clare Prentice, Catherine and David Bohigian, Cindy, Christina, and Joey Buzzeo, Jeff Johnson, Cara Cragan and Michael Moroney, the Cragan family, the Crane family, Joe and Naomi Daniels, Larry and Suzy Daniels, Bob Daniels and Craig Leslie, Diane and Stanley Dohm, Elena and Dan Panosian, Dave Fischer, Heather and Michael Frattone, Tania Garcia, Sonya Glazer, Nicole and David Kear, Merrie Koehlert, Hallie Levin, John McCreight and Kim Healey, Brian McCreight, the Metzger family, Jason Miller, Tara and Frank Pometti, Stephen Prentice, Maria Renz and Tom Barr, Motoko Rich and Mark Topping, Jon Reinish, Bronwen Stine, the Thomatos family, Meg and Charles Yonts, Denise Young Farrell and Peter Farrell, and Christine Yu.
To Nike Arowolo: thank you for your warmth and generosity.
Emerson, Harper, and Tony: I will be forever most grateful for the three of you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo credit Beowulf Sheehan
KIMBERLY McCREIGHT is the author of the New York Times bestseller Reconstructing Amelia, which was nominated for the Edgar, Anthony, and Alex Awards, and the USA Today bestseller Where They Found Her. She attended Vassar College and graduated cum laude from the University of Pennsylvania Law School. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband and two daughters. Visit her online at www.kimberlymccreight.com.
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BOOKS BY KIMBERLY McCREIGHT
The Outliers
The Scattering
The Collide
For Adult Readers
Reconstructing Amelia
Where They Found Her
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COPYRIGHT
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other names, characters, and places, and all dialogue and incidents portrayed in this book are the product of the author’s imagination.
THE COLLIDE. Copyright © 2018 by Kimberly McCreight. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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COVER ART © 2018 Getty Images / Rubberball / Mike Kemp
PHOTO ILLUSTRATION by Craig Shields
COVER DESIGN by Sarah Nichole Kaufman
* * *
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017962472
Digital Edition JULY 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-235917-9
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-235915-5
* * *
1819202122PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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Kimberly McCreight, The Collide
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