The Gambit (49 page)

“Really? So Flores means flowers.”

“Yes, and I still never got any.”

“As beautiful as you are, that’s such a shame…” He muttered.

“I know, I dated assholes,” I said flatly.

“Don’t worry, Rachel. One day.”

“One day?”

“One day you’ll get flowers.”

“They better be from you,” I said, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Of course.”

“Propaganda is to a democracy what the bludgeon is to a totalitarian state.”

The blaring fire alarm echoed throughout my apartment. I jolted out of bed, disoriented from the earsplitting drone of the alarm. My clock read 2:03 a.m.—what the hell was happening? I hopped around my room on one foot as I struggled to slip on my shoes. I threw on a jacket and headed for the door.

I heard voices from the hallway. I sniffed deeply as I neared the door. I didn’t smell smoke…had someone pulled the alarm? I opened the door to see two-dozen of my neighbors being herded through the hall towards the stairwell by men in full military gear. They all had automatic weapons strapped to their backs. My pulse quickened from the sight. One of the soldiers saw me standing still and pushed me forward with the rest of them.

“What the hell is going on?” I shouted in reaction to his shove.

“Everything is fine. Stay calm and exit the building.”

He must have been a couple years younger than me, and his unwavering tone was a telltale sign of a mind that had been molded by his superiors. Had there been another riot? Who would have given orders to evacuate a building this late at night? I tried to resist but was met with another shove against my back. We piled into the stairwell and began descending.

I lived on the top floor. We had nine more stories to go down.

“Keep it moving,” the soldiers behind us said. Their voices echoed.

I had to look down in order not to step on the heels of the person in front of me. We were packed like cattle. Suddenly, the line in front of me slowed. I leaned over the railing to see the circular opening that allowed a visual of the ground floor. The rest of the floors were being evacuated also. The many voices talking at the same time was dizzying. As the floors beneath us began to exit on the ground floor, the line moved forward again.

I was pissed. I had to go to work tomorrow. With everything that happened on Black Monday, the EPA was one of the only sectors of the workforce that were actually needed. The whole country was being laid off en masse. It was tragic, but I had to try and keep mine. We were still trying to figure out what was used to create the dirty bombs.

“Daaad,” a child groaned from below. The voices of the children stuck out more than the adults.

We reached the ground floor, and through the windows I saw the hundreds of people that had evacuated the building.

“All right everyone, keep it moving! Outside, now!” another soldier called out. I shuffled across the marble floor and zipped my jacket tighter as we exited the building. The January air was frigid, and my breath trailed from my mouth. I turned around three-hundred and sixty degrees to take in the chaos that was unfolding around me.

There were massive flatbed trucks with Army emblems on the sides of their camouflaged bodies. Half of them were already loaded up with people. My eyes bulged from what I saw. This was like something out of a war movie.

I began hearing shouts from the others.

“No! You can’t take us like this!” a man yelled. I turned around, trying to find his location. There was a soldier in front of him pointing to the flatbed truck.

“Sir, I don’t want to have to tell you again. Get on the truck!”

I shuffled backward, trying to watch the encounter. I bumped into a mother and her two boys.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled to them. I glanced back, and the man had an enraged look in his eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere!” he screamed.

The soldier tried to pull him forward, but the man slipped out of his grasp.

“Get the hell on the truck! I’m not going to ask you again!”

“What are you gonna do about it?” the man yelled and reached for the soldier’s gun. The soldier threw him on the ground with brutal force. As he slammed against the ground I heard the wind get knocked out of him. The soldier swung his weapon off of his shoulder and my heart raced as I watched in horror.

“No!” I screamed. The gunfire rang throughout the air. Behind the painful ringing in my ears I heard the high-pitched cries of the children. The man who had resisted clutched his chest as blood began to seep through his clothes and drip from his mouth. He coughed and looked around at the crowd with teary eyes. Anyone who wanted to resist now knew what would happen to them. I felt like I was going to throw up, but I held it back. I was deaf. In the utter chaos around me, everything was muffled. I felt numb.

An American soldier just
killed
a citizen.

A soldier in the bed of the truck tugged at my arm. I turned to him disoriented, and my survival instincts told me to yank my arm out of his grasp and run away. I would just take my chances of them shooting me as I attempted to escape…but I didn’t. I didn’t want to end up like the man who was lying on the asphalt, just a few feet in front of me—dead.

He pulled me into the truck bed, where I was crowded in with dozens of other people. We all sat elbow to elbow, knee to knee. We were packed in tight. There were two soldiers sitting in the middle, holding their weapons. Clearly we outnumbered them, but no one dared to resist. They made an example of that man, and it
worked
. We were in fear, and they had control. I was tempted just to pull out my EPA ID with the government seal. Would they realize we worked for the same people? Then, I realized that half of my building worked for the government. What the fuck was going on here?

I stared into the eyes of one of the soldiers, and the gaze that he returned was cold. It was as if he was a robot. I tried to search for the smallest bit of remorse, or guilt…but I couldn’t sense any. He broke our stare and looked around at the other people.

My hearing faded back in, and the only thing I could hear was the shrill, whining cries of the woman’s two sons who sat across from me. The mom held them close, one arm wrapped around each to comfort them, but it wasn’t working. She removed her jacket and used it as a makeshift blanket, but it was only big enough to fully cover one of them. I took off mine and tossed it to her.

“Here,” I said. The engine of the truck was so loud she probably didn’t hear me. She nodded and smiled, putting my jacket over her other son to keep him warm.

The children’s cries were bloodcurdling. Their mouths were wide open, and their small faces covered in tears. They both stared at the soldiers with the most undiluted fear I had ever seen. They had just watched a man die, and they probably were sleeping soundly just ten minutes ago.

The soldiers ignored the children. They didn’t even look at them. It must have bothered them. I mean, what kind of person wanted to scare a child? To make them cry? I couldn’t help but wonder where the hell we were all going. After watching the man get shot, the possibilities were endless. This was probably the first time in my adult life that I wanted
fewer
possibilities and not more. I looked around as we turned onto the main road. Wisconsin Avenue was filled with flatbed military trucks all heading in the same direction. It horrified me to see more people being removed from their homes. This felt like a modern-day Holocaust. I glanced at the faces around me, and every one of them was terrified, half of which were quietly tearing up. The endless whine of the children’s cries was an indicator of what was to come. It reminded me of when a child misbehaves, and they are sent to timeout. Except, from what I just saw, we weren’t the ones misbehaving, but we were
still
being sent to timeout.

This was martial law in action. It all made sense. We were being punished for the riots that had been happening since Black Monday. Two questions spawned from that thought.

Where were we going? And how long would we be there?

The answer to that question laid in the children’s cries. They knew this would be a
long
timeout.

“Owen, wake up! Please! You’re scaring me!”

I was being shook violently. I jolted awake, gasping for air. I coughed and choked, trying to catch my breath. Rachel’s hand rested on my leg, and she combed her hair behind her ear with her fingers. The ocean breeze was blustery. It felt cool against my bare chest. Her forehead was creased, and her eyes were wide. She looked petrified.

“What the hell was that?!”

“What the hell was what?” I asked, still panting.

“You were cussing in your sleep, tossing and turning. It looked like you were struggling against someone. Did you have a bad dream?”

The children’s whining cries were still present in my mind, but they were quickly fading. The image of the man clutching his chest and coughing up blood flashed before my eyes. My breathing was shallow, and my lower lip began to tremble. I nodded yes to her, and I was suddenly blindsided by overwhelming emotion. My eyes began to glisten, and I could barely see her reaction through the blurriness. She wrapped her arms around me and pulled my head to her chest. She ran her fingers through my hair, and I started to bawl. I couldn’t help it. I let it all out. She rubbed my back lovingly, and the tears streamed down my face, running past my nose and mouth.

“Owen, you’re awake now. You’re fine. It was just a dream.”

“It wasn’t just a dream,” I groaned. “It was a memory.”

“What was it?” she pulled me closer. “Let it out, babe.”

She called me babe.
I could feel her love for me, and it was beautiful.

“It was…the night…the night they took us away,” I struggled to compose myself. “The beginning of the Confinement.”

“Oh no,” she muttered. “The fifteenth…”

She remembered. We all did. That night was engraved in the minds of every American. January 15
th
, 2015—just ten days after the bombs on Black Monday. We were all ripped out of the comfort of our sleep and thrown into a nightmare.

“These two kids beside me watched a man get shot. They saw him die, Rachel! They were so young! He bled out right in front of us…” My voice was distorted from the sobs. “He was the first of many to die. All the ones who resisted didn’t have a fighting chance.”

“I know, Owen. I know. I remember,” she consoled, rubbing the back of my hair. “I’m sorry you had a nightmare of that night.”

My forehead began to crease in anger.

“We can’t let them win, Rachel!” I sobbed. “We can’t let whoever did this, win. Please, I don’t want it to happen again. A child should never have to see murder. This is the United States of America!” I exasperatedly shouted. “We are better than that. We can’t let them win, Rachel. Please, we have to get your story. We have to…” I mumbled over and over again. I felt Rachel’s tears hit the side of my neck.

“We will, Owen, we will. The truth will be their demise. I promise.”

Rachel opened the patio door, and I quietly followed. I used my shirt to make sure my eyes were dry. I didn’t want anyone knowing I had cried. The cooler, dryer air from the air conditioned house hit me. Rachel’s mom and aunt were cooking breakfast. The sizzles and pops of bacon in a pan were all I heard. The scent of the scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon were mouthwatering. I could barely remember my last real meal.

Briana and Grey stared up at us. Briana was trying to swallow her food, and Grey had a forkful of eggs that slipped off and landed on his plate.

“Where did you two sleep?” Briana asked. Her hair was finally back to normal. She wore her typical, slicked-back ponytail, with her blonde ringlet curls falling to her shoulders. Grey looked like Grey; he had just changed into something other than the suit.

“The beach,” Rachel answered nonchalantly.

“You’re lucky no one recognized you,” she muttered.

“No joke,” Grey added.

I glanced at Mrs. Flores, and she was staring at the food she was cooking. From my angle, I could almost see she had a worried look on her face. I checked my watch—it was barely 6:15. Why was everyone awake so early?

Rachel’s aunt approached the table with two plates full of steaming food.

“
El desayuno
,” she said.

“Breakfast,” Rachel translated and gave me a flirty smirk.

“
Gracias
,” I said. The aunt and Mrs. Flores laughed. Briana even let out a chuckle.

“It’s your accent,” Rachel explained. “Don’t worry, you said it right.”

“At least I tried,” I laughed with them.

I sat in front of my plate filled with eggs, bacon, and sausage. It was so nice for her mom and aunt to make this, but I felt kind of guilty. We had disappeared all night. I wondered if Rachel had told her mom that she was going to the beach. Her mom was the last one to sit down at the table.
Our eyes locked. I got the sense she was trying to tell me something without words.

“Remember what I said
…”

Perhaps, it was just my conscience. She had asked me to keep her daughter safe, to protect her. I hadn’t forgotten. Rachel’s safety was my number one priority. What she didn’t know, didn’t hurt her…like the fact we had sex all night. I respected her mother. I didn’t have mine anymore, so it only added to the weight of her words.

“This is really good, thank you,” I spoke up.

“It’s no problem,” Mrs. Flores answered. “I wanted you all to get a good meal before you leave.”

I froze.
Leave?
Who said we were leaving?

Rachel glanced over at me, but she didn’t say anything. No one did. I kept eating, but her mom’s statement bothered me. Did she know something that I didn’t? I finished most of the food on my plate, and it was delicious. Grey and Briana had finished minutes ago, but they didn’t leave the table.

“Owen, can I talk to you alone?” Grey asked.

I set down my fork. His question confused me, but I returned it with a nod and stood up with him. We walked into the foyer, away from everyone else—far enough to where no one would hear. It had only been two days, and Grey’s five o’clock shadow had grown into quite a stubble.

“What’s up, man?” I asked.

His face was serious, but there was something restrained in his expression. Whatever it was, he was ready to tell me.

“I have an idea,” he said.

“Okay, shoot.”

“Don’t freak out, okay?”

I studied his face. I had no clue where he was going with this, but it was Grey. If anyone in the group had a good idea, it would be him. He was smarter than all of us combined.

“I won’t. I swear, man.”

“We are going to Atlanta.”

“What?” my voice sounded harsh. “Why?”

“Because, I have a plan.”

I let out a long exhale. I respected Grey’s intellect. As pointless as Atlanta sounded, I was sure he had a reason behind it.

“What is it?”

“Okay, so last night when I was lying in bed, I couldn’t fall asleep. I felt down in the dumps, and I’m sure you have too with everything that happened at the airport.”

“Yes…” I mumbled. “I have. I just didn’t want to say anything on the drive here.”

“I know,” he said. “Me neither. Anyway, as bleak as it sounds, I couldn’t think of a better option than this. There isn’t much left we can do.”

I swallowed hard as Grey said those words. It was something I had thought about all day yesterday, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it as true. It took Grey saying it for it to
really
sink in.

“You’re right…” My words were barely audible.

“There’s a little over two weeks until the election,” he began. “We have no idea if Rachel will get her story in time. This would shake things up a bit. I’m going for shock value with this plan.”

“So, why Atlanta?”

Grey’s lips pressed into a hard line, and I could see his nervousness in telling me.

“CNN.”

“CNN?” My forehead creased.

“I’m going for shock value, remember?”

I nodded.

“After what I did at the airport, I know I could do the same thing in Atlanta. The CNN building is there. I could hack into their wireless, watch the cameras, and find out what floor the newsroom is on. You can barge in and tell the world the truth—that you were framed.”

I opened my mouth to tell him he was crazy, but I stopped myself. In actuality, he wasn’t crazy, he was right. I had nothing to lose. It was just a matter of time before they caught me, so at least I could go out with a bang.

“Okay,” I said. “When do we leave?”

“When Rachel’s done eating. I’ve already packed all of our things. Remember what Luke said? We need to get out of this state. We’ve already stayed here far too long for my liking.”

I nodded, and I walked back to the table and sat down. I ate the rest of my lukewarm food. Rachel’s eyes met mine, and it was as if I heard her voice in my head asking,
‘What was that about?’
. The thought of telling her frightened me. Not because I didn’t want her knowing, but because I knew she wouldn’t be thrilled about the idea. With her plan, I would have been safe. I would have been in Moscow right now, trying to figure out what I would do with my future. With Grey’s plan, I was anything but safe. If I went on live TV,
they
would swarm me like an angry bee colony.

Then again, she knew just as well as I did. We couldn’t run forever. The longer Rachel and I stayed together, the greater likelihood of them catching us together. I didn’t want her to get caught, regardless of what
she
wanted. Her story was the most important thing to me now, not my safety. With the election being so close, this might turn things around. At least long enough for Rachel and Ian to find the other pieces of the puzzle.

Grey and Briana stood up.

“Thank you for breakfast, Marta,” Briana said as she grabbed the used plates. “Yeah, it was delicious,” Grey added. Rachel glanced between them, confused.

“Where are you guys going?” she asked.

“To pack up the car,” Grey answered.

“Why are we leaving so soon?” her voice wavered, and she stood up too.

“You remember what Luke said, Rachel. He said to get the hell out of this state. Although we feel safe here, we aren’t. It’s just a matter of time.”

“Where are we going?!”

My stomach sank from the thought of him saying Atlanta. I had no desire to be a part of the discussion that would follow. I
knew
Rachel would not approve of Grey’s idea, for one simple reason. She wanted me
safe
.

“We’ll talk about it in the car,” he replied.

Whew. Good save, Grey
.