Slowly, Collie got to his knees, his eyes locked on mine. “You mean it?” he said – and I knew he wasn’t talking about children.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “You’re right. We’ll leave Gunnison to whatever he’s doing and get out while we still can. I guess…” I swallowed and touched his cheek. “I guess that’s all we can do.”
I traced my finger down his jaw to hide how much I hated the words – hated the thought of leaving Hal and Ma in such dire straits. But they were in enough danger already. They’d be safer if I went far away.
Collie closed his eyes. When he opened them again he looked like a man reborn.
“Thank you,” he said. “We’ll be happy, Amity. I promise.”
When we finally reached the port city of Puget, it was almost evening and it was chaos. Thick traffic clogged the roads. The docks were a heaving mass of people – some struggling with suitcases, others waving signs that said, DISCORDANTS WILL FACE THEIR JUDGEMENT.
I gaped at the scene. Collie swore; we glanced at eachother. Through the slightly open window came a cacophony of shouts:
“How much? I can’t afford that! No, please! I’ve got to have them—”
“Steamer tickets for sale! Get your tickets here!”
“If you weren’t Discordant, you wouldn’t want to leave! Gunnison’s going to bring order and get rid of all you scum!”
A few ships in the harbour rose white and serene above the scene. Collie’s mouth was hard; he angled the auto behind a bar attached to a seedy-looking restaurant. Dark shadows painted the area. “Stay here,” he ordered.
“Where are you going?”
“To get tickets or die trying.” He was already half-out, craning to scan the docks. “Don’t worry – just stay out of sight.” He ducked back in and kissed me, then closed the door. I watched his tall, sandy-haired form grow smaller; he vanished into the seething crowd.
I rubbed my elbows, trying not to stare at the dashboard clock. I stiffened as the bar’s back door opened. A pair of men came out carrying garbage cans. Neither glanced at the auto. They crossed to a large metal bin and hefted the dented cans upwards. Fragments of muttered conversation floated over:
“Why the hell doesn’t Lopez do something?”
“What can he do against a goddamn army?”
“My sister said that troops have reached Riverside. Everyone lined up on the streets and cheered, she said.”
“Cheered?”
“Well, it’s better than being sent to one of those camps.”
My spirits plummeted. Hal. What would it mean for him if Gunnison took over Sacrament where he was in hiding? What would it mean for Ma?
“See him on the telio just now?” said the first one. “He was waving some folder around. Says he’s got evidence that the World for Peace is guilty as hell.”
“Oh, so is that supposed to give him the right to…”
The back door opened and closed again. They were gone.
My thoughts were suddenly as chaotic as the docks. Had they meant Gunnison? What evidence? A desperate hope swept me. Before I could reconsider, I flipped up the collar of my jacket. I shoved my hair into the knit cap I’d been wearing and swung open the auto door. The shouts intensified. I could smell the reek of garbage, mixed with the ocean’s salty tang.
I knew I shouldn’t be doing this. At least the only person I was putting into danger was myself. Hands tense in my pockets, shoulders hunched, I went around to the front of the bar.
Smithies, read the lettering on the plate-glass window. It was packed shoulder to shoulder – a mix of seamen’s blue wool jackets, double-breasted suits, fedora hats. Apparently everyone who wasn’t trying to escape the Western Seaboard was drowning their sorrows.
I stood near the front door as if waiting for someone, occasionally glancing in the window. The telio set crouched on a shelf over the bar: a small round screen framed by curlicue speakers.
Gunnison was on it. He sat at a long table with four other official-looking people, motioning with a thick file. His silent image took out a small, battered notebook and pointed something out. When a woman leaned closer he put the notebook away, still talking.
I started as the bar door swung open and someone bumped into me. “Hey, sister, watch where you’re standing!”
I didn’t answer. I’d hardly moved. I still hardly moved even when the images on the screen vanished and the familiar black-and-white daisy came into view.
“There you are!” Collie appeared, relief battling fear. He grabbed my arm and hurried me back around the side of the building. “What the hell were you doing? I thought you’d been captured!”
Before I could respond, he said in a rush, “Listen, I got tickets on one of the ships – the last two available, and it’s a private room too. It’s just about to start boarding. We’ll keep you hidden somehow once we’re there, and—”
“We can’t go,” I broke in.
“What?”
“We can’t go.” I lowered my voice; my words tumbled over each other. “Collie – the evidence from Russ’s house wasn’t destroyed. I just saw it on the telio – Gunnison’s pretending it says something it doesn’t say, but it’s still there; he has it! If we can get hold of it somehow, we can use it to bring him down!”
Collie gripped my arms. “Amity, the ship is boarding right this second. We can argue about this once we’re on board.”
“Didn’t you hear me? I’m not going. I can’t, not while there’s a chance of saving Hal.”
Looking frantic, Collie pushed his hands through his hair. He glanced over his shoulder at the ship. “Amity… please…you promised…”
My voice rose. “Don’t you get it? This changes everything!”
Collie took my elbow and pulled me back to the auto; we got in and he slammed the door. In the sudden silence he said, “Even if you’re right, how do you propose we get hold of this stuff? Just saunter up to Gunnison and ask nicely?”
“I don’t know! But there must be a way. You’re the one with contacts – wouldn’t any of them be interested in this, help us get hold of it? The evidence proves Gunnison was in on the corruption up to his neck!”
“You probably saw something different – not the same file at all—”
“It is! I recognized Russ’s date book!”
In a low, tight voice, Collie said, “We cannot get hold of it even if it still exists. And our ship is boarding now.” He clutched my hands, his expression raw. “Amity, please. You promised. This is our chance to get away, to have a new life—”
I jerked away. “And just leave Hal to rot when I can do something about it?”
“Amity—”
“We’re the only ones who know what that evidence really says! We have to let the world know that the thrown Peacefights all led back to Gunnison. There must be thousands of people in hiding, just like Hal. This is the only thing that might save them!”
Shouts still came from the docks: If you weren’t Discordant, you wouldn’t want to leave! Collie scowled at the windscreen, bumping his fist against his mouth.
I sat staring at him. Suddenly it felt as if I’d never really known him. “Or don’t you care about my brother?” I said finally.
He glared at me. “Of course I care,” he snapped. Collie had grown up down the road from us; Hal was practically his brother too. “But, Amity…” He rubbed his forehead. “We’re so close,” he murmured. “We can still get away…”
Fury gripped me. I could see the bulge of his wallet in his back pocket; I reached behind him and yanked it out. I found the two steamer tickets, plucked them out and shoved them at him.
“Take yours and go,” I hissed. “Sell the other one. And you’d better hurry – the ship’s about to leave.”
We slept in the auto that night, hidden behind a row of office buildings. We were hardly speaking. The ship had left hours ago. Silence draped over the docks like a cloak.
When I woke up, Collie was sitting with his shirt unbuttoned, gazin
g out the window at pink streaks of dawn. I sat up and he looked over at me. The corner of his mouth twisted.
“Still speaking to me?”
“Just about,” I said warily.
He rubbed his temples with one hand. “You were right, okay?” he said at last.
I drew a startled breath. “Do you mean it?”
Collie let his hand fall. “Yeah. We can’t leave if there’s a chance of exposing this. I just…” He sighed, tapping a fist on his thigh. “I guess I panicked. The thought of escaping with you – of having the life we’ve always wanted together, for ever…” He trailed off.
I lunged at him and hugged him hard. He held me tightly. “I don’t know if my contacts can help, but we’ll try,” he said against my hair. “It’s worth a shot if it means we can save Hal and never have to worry about Gunnison again.”
His steady heartbeat beneath my cheek felt a part of me. “Thank you,” I whispered.
Collie took me by the shoulders, his expression as determined as when we were kids together, plotting some escapade. His eyes, pure blue now, locked onto mine.
“We will do this,” he said. “I promise you. Then we’ll have the only thing in the world I want: a life together.”
“I want it too,” I said softly. I traced the outline of his lips. “We’ll have it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
November, 1941
“Faster!” shouted one of the Guns. They sat idling their snowmobiles, watching us trudge down the wooded path in the headlights. The Gun revved his motor with gloved hands.
“Lazy Discordant scum,” he bellowed. “March!”
“I’ll make them move,” said another one. He raised his pistol and fired. My body flinched as the retort echoed. I felt only dull surprise when the bullet didn’t tear through me, when no one in our group fell, staining the snow red.
“Next time I won’t aim over your heads!” shouted the Gun to hooting laughter from his comrades.
Anger took too much energy. We emerged from the woods into a clear, icy night. I ached after a twelve-hour shift, struggling on my unsteady heel. Distantly, I recalled what it had been like to fly on such a night – to glide through the stars, in control of where I went. The idea seemed extraordinary.
It had been three days since I’d seen Ingo.
Had I only imagined the flash of recognition from the scarred miner’s dark eyes? I prayed that I’d hallucinated the whole thing…and not just because I wouldn’t wish this place on anyone. I resented the headspace I was giving Ingo. I couldn’t afford it, not here.
Things I hadn’t thought about in months kept crowding in on me: one of the Guns in my cell, holding a cigarette. Let’s talk about your father, Amity. Being a traitor runs in the family, doesn’t it? My trial: the moment when I’d finally broken down and the flashbulbs had gone crazy. Wildcat Confesses, screamed the headlines the guards had taunted me with.
More painful than any of it was my arrest.
No. No.
Shakily, I shoved the memory of Collie away. We were nearing the entrance to Harmony Five. The Guns shot past on their snowmobiles. Our group stood waiting, silently, not meeting anyone’s eyes, as the gate slowly swung open.
At the first notes of “Happy Days are Here Again”, I started to march forward with the others – and that’s when I saw it.
Half-buried in the snow there glinted a thick shard of glass about two inches long. My breath caught. Instinct shrieked at me to keep going. Instead I stopped short and crouched over my boot, pretending to tie its laces. My fingers scrabbled quickly in the snow; I grabbed the glass and tucked it up my sleeve.
A Gun kicked me in the shins so hard I almost fell over. “What’s the hold-up?” he barked.
I rose, my leg throbbing. “I’m sorry, sir. I was just tying my boot.” I stared straight ahead, sick with fear.
He glanced down and sneered at the state of my shoes. “Well, get inside!”
I hastened in, keeping my sleeve pressed against my side. I felt so agitated that I didn’t pay attention to who was in charge of the food wagon, and found myself too far back in the line even though it was Darrow, a bottom-ladler.
Food in hand, I stood against our hut and ate quickly, dipping the bread into the watery soup and wolfing it down. A raven flapped at me and I jerked away. It snatched up a piece of bread that Rosie had let fall. She swore in tired dismay as it flew off.
“You found something,” muttered Natalie. She’d finished paying her three days’ half-rations to Claudia for the rags and had eaten her scanty meal even faster than I’d eaten mine.
“No, I didn’t,” I said.
But despite myself, I glanced furtively towards a shadowy corner of the camp. When we weren’t working, the Guns didn’t really care what we did – so long as it didn’t seem suspicious and we were all present whenever they counted us. Everyone knew that area was the “marketplace” – if you had something to trade, that’s where you went.
The shard pressed sharply against my wrist. Once I’d have seen it as garbage. Now its possibilities were endless. You could signal with it, start a fire with it, cut things with it…
It might even be enough to get a better pair of boots.
I licked the remaining soup from my cup, trying to hide the sudden shaking of my hands. The heel on my left boot was so loose now that I wasn’t sure how it was hanging on. Worse, the too-tight fit had rubbed blisters upon blisters over the months – angry sores that I was terrified might become infected.
You did not want to be admitted to Medical in this place. You did not want to give the Guns the idea, ever, that you were unable to work.
On the screen, a smiling black-and-white Gunnison made his way down a line of soldiers, clasping their hands. The sound boomed abruptly: “…I’m sure proud to meet you, Ned! Lady Harmony is smiling on you…!”
I darted a look at the gates. The Guns stood talking in a bored cluster. A few people milled in the marketplace. The Guns didn’t seem to know about it, though if too many people congregated there they broke it up… sometimes with gunshots.
Gunnison’s voice bounced against my brain. Still over an hour till ten o’clock curfew – as long as I didn’t attract any notice, I should be fine. I swallowed hard. I pushed away from the hut and started over.
As I passed the building that held the solitary confinement cells, I faltered. The door was opening. Keep walking! I screamed at myself. Standing and watching something, drawing attention to yourself, was the worst thing you could do. But I was frozen.
Two Guns emerged, carrying the limp body of a woman. Her eyes were open, dull. Her head hung to one side. She was so emaciated that one of the Guns could have carried her by himself.
“No, the honour’s all mine!” boomed Gunnison. “Please, call me Johnny!”
I began to tremble, remembering the tiny, bare cells. Cold concrete and only four feet high, so that you could never stand up. No food. No sanitation. Water only once a day, and that foul-smelling. My first time had been for two weeks; by the time they let me out I could hardly stand and I’d been beaten for falling down.
Another stint at this point would kill me.
Head down, I hurried back to my hut. The reek of the overcrowded room felt like safety. I curled up on my bed as Gunnison shouted, grateful that Fran wasn’t there yet. The shard pressed mockingly against my wrist. I was tempted to throw it away so I wouldn’t be caught with it – but I couldn’t be that craven.
I wanted to be, though, and I hated myself for it.
In the mine the next day I felt clammy with nerves. I was acutely aware of the piece of glass, which I’d tucked into my brassiere. It seemed incredible that the Guns didn’t realize.
I bent and straightened, bent and straightened, feeding endless rocks to the conveyor belt. As I stooped to grasp one, a miner crouched down too, his face near mine. I stiffened at the angry crinkled scar.
In a low voice under the crusher’s incessant noise, Ingo demanded, “Why did you b
etray me?”
My fingers fumbled as I grabbed at a rock. I glanced nervously at the Guns. We weren’t allowed to talk.
Ingo grasped my wrist. “Answer me.”
I yanked away in a panic. “Shut up!” I whispered back. “Are you crazy? They’ll hear you!”
“I don’t give a damn. Tell me!”
“I did not betray you!”
Even stained with sweat and dust, Ingo’s thin form held derision in its every movement. He straightened and hefted one of the largest rocks onto the conveyor belt. “Yes, and why should I believe you?” he said from between gritted teeth. “I’m here, you traitorous bitch.”
Anger flared through me – the first I’d felt in months, dizzying in its power. As we stooped to the rock pile again, I shoved back one sleeve and showed Ingo my own scar: a cigarette-sized hole on my wrist, deep and puckered. It had been burned and re-burned in the same spot.
“This is what I got for not betraying you,” I hissed. “They knew everything – someone had told them – but I lied to cover for you anyway. And to hell with you if you don’t believe me.”
As Ingo stared at the mark, his lean face paled. Suddenly his own scar looked redder than before, his face more drawn and tired where the ruined skin tugged down at one eye. His gaze flew to mine again. He started to say something and stopped.
He rose abruptly and left, pushing the empty wheelbarrow before him. I could see every knob of his spine along his grimy shirtless back.
“What are you looking at?” shouted a Gun. “Get to work!”
On the second night after my whispered conversation with Ingo, it finally happened: a snowmobile swooped close, kicking up snow, and I stumbled. With a soft snapping noise, my left boot’s heel broke off.
My pulse lurched. I stooped down and snatched it up in one motion, praying not to be noticed, and kept walking.
Immediately pain stabbed my foot: a nail, maybe, sticking up through the sole. It got worse with every step. I started to sweat despite the cold. I bit my lip and didn’t stop walking, though I was limping badly now and could feel damp warmth in my shoe.