“If you think her worth ends at sandwich making then you are terribly mistake—”
BANG!
Kade looked away.
Thud.
Damn.
∞ Anna ∞
No.
Not again.
“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” Vince scratches his head with the gun. “I couldn’t hear the rest of your sentence over the sound of the bullet leaving my gun and entering her skull.”
I blink rapidly, expecting her to disappear and for me to wake up in my warm bed. She doesn’t disappear and I don’t wake up. Crimson blood gushes from her chest and spills onto the white tiles. The puddle underneath her lifeless body increases with every second that passes and soon there’ll be none left inside her petite body.
She’s gone.
He shot her.
Tears well in my eyes as the realisation of what just unfolded hits me. Portia is dead. The woman I met in the kitchen on my first day out of camp is gone.
Alive one minute.
Dead the next.
A handful of moderators enter the room, slinging their guns over their backs. I press my palm to my chest to see if my heart is still beating. It’s strange…my heart pounds against my hand, thrumming to its usual rhythm, but I don’t feel it in my chest. Kade brushes past me, seemingly the only one who can get his legs to work. I steal a glimpse of his face as he passes by. His eyebrows are furrowed, his lips slightly downturned. The regular olive tone in his skin has paled and he holds his body smaller than usual.
There’s nothing but deafening silence in the room as he approaches Portia’s lifeless body. I clench my jaw on and off, rubbing my tongue along the roof of my mouth to stop the surge of grief that lingers on the precipice of my impending emotional breakdown. Inwardly, I fight tooth and nail to keep myself together for Kaden’s sake. Why? Because Portia is his. I will have my time to cry and it’s not before him.
Kade stops at the edge of the puddle of her blood, but it doesn’t matter. Soon enough, it expands, seeping underneath the soles of his shoes. He watches the rich, crimson liquid spread further and listens as people begin to whisper. He doesn’t care. They no longer matter. It is like, in this moment, he understands the reason for our fight. The reason this rebellion must happen. If not us, who? Society has to change. We’re heading down a path every generation before us has followed. We keep waiting for the generation after us to fix the mistakes we’ve made, but no one does. Instead, we expand on it. We make it worse.
And worse.
And worse.
Until it builds up so high we can no longer backtrack. Then what?
Sacrifices must be made. We need people now who are willing to spill their own blood in order to save the blood of our children, and our children’s children. We need people to willingly endure the pain and the suffering of our rebellion in order to teach our future leaders how to lead. I believe a good leader has to experience the pain of their people. They have to have lived through the injustices they promise to fight. Only then can they truly lead. I don’t know much about politics, but I know one thing for sure. You don’t pick the baker to teach you how to climb a cliff. You pick the climber, the one who knows the correct path to the top.
“Really?” Vince scoffs, pulling me from my thoughts. “You’re going to—”
Kade lowers himself to his knees and Vince swallows his sentence with a growl, grabbing his chin with an angry hand. He massages his jaw as he shifts his weight onto one leg. Kade scoops Portia into his arms, uncaring that blood leaks from her chest. I step closer, trying desperately to keep myself in check. Kade sweeps her hair off her cheeks and lightly touches her cheekbones, admiring the round shape of her face. His hands are bloody and they tremble as he grazes the tip of her nose.
“At least she’s in a better place,” he utters.
I nod. Anywhere is better than here.
I close the distance between us, stopping only when the tips of my toes reach the edge of her puddle. Tears drip onto my cheeks and roll down my face. I purse my lips, desperate to keep it in, but as my heart splinters, a sob is forced up my throat and it hiccups out of my mouth. The sticky warmth of Portia’s blood surrounds my feet. In my head, I feel it climb my legs like a million tiny spiders. The hem of my dress absorbs her blood and, fairly quickly, it becomes heavy. I place my hand on Kade’s shoulder and crouch low. I don’t care that I’m in her blood. It’s the only way I can get closer to her. I want to look at her…what was her last thought? Was it of me? Of Kade? Perhaps her last thought was about Oliver and how he stood by like a coward and allowed this to happen. How could he? I don’t understand. Kade has always defended me. Always.
I rest my forehead against Kaden’s firm bicep and cry. I try my hardest not to overshadow his grieving process with my own, but it’s hard. He’s not a crier and I am.
Behind me, John orders people to leave his house. I don’t know what he tells them or what he says to Vince, but when I look up some time later, they’re all gone—except John.
No Fortunates.
No Vince.
I glance over my shoulder. No Oliver.
By the staircase, two moderators wait patiently. They look everywhere but at us, allowing us our private moment.
“I want to bury her,” Kade says, turning his head to me. “Somewhere nice.”
“You can’t.” John clears his throat. “I don’t mean any disrespect, but her body is to be burned like the rest of them.”
I scowl up at him. “You’re just going to throw her on top of a pile of dead Unfortunates and set it alight, huh?”
John’s eyes soften as he tilts his head. “I want her to have the burial she deserves, Anna,” he says softly so only we can hear. “But we cannot stray from the path yet. It’s too soon and we’re not ready.”
I smooth the palm of my hand over Kaden’s back. John is right. We don’t have enough weapons and we definitely don’t have time on our side. Every detail in our plan has been plotted out meticulously. A sudden change could throw the whole thing off balance and get us all killed.
“She deserves something nice…” Kade whispers, staring into Portia’s lifeless face.
He swallows, his lips pinching tightly as he tries his hardest to fight off his emotion. My own lips quake, causing my teeth to chatter. She does deserve something nice. She deserves the best.
“We can have her cremated separately, if you like.”
We whip our heads up, our gazes settling on the young blond moderator who pushes off the staircase bannister.
“And we can bring her ashes to you,” the other moderator, the redhead, chimes in.
The young men can’t be that much older than me. I’d peg them both around twenty, at most. With a nervous hand, the blond runs his fingers through his short, messy hair while gripping the neck of his gun in the other. I frown.
“Say I want to decorate her urn with a ribbon,” John says, eyeing them closely. “What colour would you recommend?”
“It’s a secret,” they reply in unison. A secret ribbon. If my heart wasn’t already heavy with sorrow, I’d be elated these two thought our cause was one worth fighting for.
John steps in to finalise the details with the boys and Kade and I say our final goodbyes to our friend. According to John, the boys are to drape a purple Milano wolf cloth over the urn they receive after burning Portia. Apparently, that’ll stop any other moderators from asking questions. John warned them that it was in their best interest to keep tabs on Vincent Sario while they burned the ashes of a single Unfortunate. Unfortunate ashes weren’t allowed to touch an urn. By law, their life dust is sucked up into a large vacuum and deposited into the ocean. Without a word, the moderators gently took Portia from Kaden’s arms and carried her out the door. After twenty minutes of staring into Portia’s cooling blood, John finally manages to convince Kade to get up.
“Take a shower. Get some sleep. Spend tomorrow in bed,” John orders, as I hook my elbow around Kade’s and lea
d him up the stairs. “In the meantime, I’ll restrict Vince from entering my house.”
∞
We shower together like we always do, only this time he keeps his back to me. I don’t mind it. I wash my body. I wash away all of the grime and blood. My heart aches and the tears don’t stop falling. I can’t grasp the concept of death. Funny, considering I’ve been surrounded by it my entire life. Someone you love is here one minute and gone the next. How? How do people cease to exist? I don’t understand it.
I watch the last bubble of soap as it runs down my ankle and slides off my heel. Finally, I turn around and meet the large expanse of his muscular back. Kade presses his palms against the glass and hangs his head, using the sole of one foot to wash the other. I wrap my arms around his waist and plant a kiss on his spine. Then I leave.
Drying myself, I slip into a short, loose nighty and climb into the large bed. I slide under the blankets and smooth my palms over the surface. It’s all mine. Tonight, the thought doesn’t excite me. I need to take a step back and appreciate just how lucky I truly am. Thirteen, Portia, and every other Unfortunate that has died at the hands of a Fortunate since Freeport’s inception have never slept in a bed like this. They’ve never tasted real food or felt love like I have. I am lucky, truly lucky, to be in a position where I can make a difference. Of course, the “can” is subjective. The chances of this rebellion failing are higher than its success. What if we fail? A whole lot of people are going to die and the Fortunates in power will come down harder on the rest.
Make it better or make it worse. That is my reality. Unfortunately, things have to get worse before they get better. I snuggle down in bed, listening to the sounds of the shower as the water it spews crashes against the tiles. It sounds like rain. I grab a pillow and stuff it under the blanket, hugging it tightly against me. I close my heavy, swollen eyes and sleep finally pulls me under.
Unexpectedly, my eyes flutter open sometime later. Tension dances up my spine and I arch my back to stretch it out. Groaning, I swipe my hand against a wide, clothed back. My heart slams into my throat and smashes my oesophagus. Gasping, I snap my hands to my chest and shoot up in bed.
“Kade?”
“Yeah. It’s me.”
“You scared me.” I exhale, relaxing instantly. “What are you doing?”
I shuffle over and reach out to the bedside table. The air is cool, much cooler than I was expecting it to be. As a result, goosebumps bubble along my skin. I touch the base of the metal lamp and it turns on, casting a dim, yellow light around the room.
“I couldn’t do it,” he mutters, looking down at his lap.
I frown and kick back the blankets. “You couldn’t do what?”
I push myself onto my knees and crawl up behind him. I smooth my hands up his back and over his shoulders.
“I couldn’t kill him.”
I rest my chin where his shoulder curves into his neck and glance down at the handgun in his hand. I’ve never thought of weapon as beautiful before, but this one certainly is. Kade strokes the face of the lion that’s expertly carved into the handle.
“I was there…I had the gun pointed at his head while he slept, but I couldn’t pull the trigger.”
Disappointment bites my chest, but I ignore it. I guess it’s a good thing he didn’t. I’d hate for Vince to miss the shitstorm we were going to whip up.
Sighing, Kade places his gun on the bedside table. “What is wrong with me?”
“Nothing is wrong with you.” I don’t sound very convincing.
Standing up, Kaden shrugs his blood-stained jacket off his shoulders and lets it fall down his arms to the floor. I sit back on my heels, resting my hands in my lap.
“I still remember the excitement I felt when my mother brought him home.” He whips his shirt off over his head and tosses it away. “He was so small and innocent. I’d give anything to go back in time and fix him…”
I swallow the bitterness dancing on the tip of my tongue. I’d only go back in time to stop Vince’s conception. Nothing else.
“I bet that makes you sick,” he states, pulling back the blankets.
I shake my head as I crawl to the top of the bed and slip underneath the blankets with him. Kade pulls me into his warm arms and holds me close, so close I can barely breathe and I love it.
“He’s your brother. I get it.” That’s a lie. I don’t get it. “No one expects you to make that decision.”
Maybe it’s because I don’t have a sibling and I don’t understand that familial bond, but Vince is a monster and I will wear his heart as a badge of honour around my fucking neck.
Chapter
Twenty-One
Anna
(Three Weeks Later)
Today is the day.
I haven’t slept much since the night Vince killed Portia. Kade hasn’t either, though he spends all day in bed while I finish making last minute adjustments to our plan. It’s quite simple, really. As the sun sets over the horizon this evening, the moderators in the Unfortunate camp on our side will kill the moderators on their side. Yesterday, John informed us that the moderators guarding the fence and patrolling the town will have a shift change at five to six, giving us a fighting chance at making it to the Unfortunate camp at the top of the hill before they have time to react. The most important thing for us today is getting as many people to the camp as we can. We need to keep those who don’t want to fight safe while assembling a small army of those who do.
The Unfortunate camp on the hill is the perfect place to plan our next move and keep an eye on our surroundings while we do.
To be honest, we don’t know what our next step is. Ideally, we’d like to start negotiating new laws right off the bat, but obviously that’s unrealistic. They’re going to test us. They’re going to see how strong our will is and, when we don’t back down, they’re going to get angry and come at us with all they’ve got. We have to be ready for that.
Or it’s all for nothing.
As soon as we’re in and the large gates of the camp are closed behind us, we’ll start plotting our attacks. We want to hit them where it hurts first.
Their companies…
And then their homes…
And then their lives…
They need to know we’re serious.
Yesterday, the last of the weapons were deposited in the camp silos and scattered throughout varying locations around the town. This was done by moderators on our side to avoid suspicion. They’re always moving weapons, so pushing a wheelbarrow full of rifles isn’t something anyone considers odd.
Sighing, I lower the bullet I’ve been staring at for the past hour and set it on my table with trembling fingers. Do I even have what it takes to pull the trigger? On the occasions that Kade has managed to drag himself from the bed, he’s done five things. Use the toilet, shower, nibble on food, drink alcohol, and show me how to use a rifle. I know the ins and out of one now, but I still don’t know what it feels like to shoot one. Kade said shooting a rifle isn’t a good idea, especially in light of Portia’s death. It’s suspicious, apparently. Maybe he’s right.
And that reminds me…Vince. He’s banned from the Milano household until further notice. He claims it’s because we sympathise with Unfortunates—an accusation the heads of the families are more than happy to look into—but John says it’s because Vincent Sario damages the functionality of their house by killing needed Unfortunates when the Milano residence has already reached their limit. I don’t know what the verdict is. Last I heard, the heads of the families were waiting for Kade to resurface and slip in his two cents. As far as they know, Kade is suffering a stomach bug and cannot leave the room. We’re supposed to launch into civil war today. How can he do that if he’s still in bed and it’s already launch?
Knock.
I flinch, snapping my attention to my bedroom door as the handle turns and it opens. In bed, Kaden pulls his pillow over his head and tugs the blankets up, shielding himself from the visitor. I take in Oliver’s
dirty appearance, from his week-old beard growth down to his ripped jeans and dirty sneakers.
“I thought you’d forgotten about us,” I say, pushing myself to my feet.
Oliver has been a no-show since the night Portia was killed. Some nights, I hear him drag his drunken body down the hallway and into his room and others, I hear him cry, but he doesn’t show up to important Ribbon meetings anymore.
Swallowing, he blinks, scanning my room. He bypasses the lump that is Kade underneath my sheets and turns his sad stare on the fireplace. On the mantle is Portia’s beautiful glass urn. In the lid, there’s a tiny terrarium. Now she can be under the trees without a care, like she wanted.
Oliver grimaces when he sees it and he has to swallow hard to quell the tremble in his lower lip. He swipes at his face and sways with a lazy blink. Still drunk. A pang of sympathy hits me in the gut. I have been mad at Oliver for weeks. I was mad the night he allowed Vince to kill Portia and I’ve been mad since…until I realised there was nothing anyone could have done. Vince was going to kill Portia regardless and he was going to kill whoever stopped him.
Oliver did the right thing. The thought makes me sick, but it’s true. This war was his brainchild. We need him to finish what he started. I can’t run this without him. I just can’t.
“You’ve lost people you love. How do you do it?” he slurs, swaying to the side. “How do you keep going?”
“I’ve lost people I care deeply for,” I say, walking around my desk. “If I lost the person I love…I don’t think I could carry on.”
Live a life without Kaden? I’d sooner allow myself to fall in love with Vince.
“The past few days have been rough.”
I frown. He’s not serious? How much alcohol has he consumed over the past twenty-one days?
“Three weeks.”
His face remains placid, his eyes thin and tired. Then it hits him. His eyes widen. “Three weeks? It has been three weeks?”
I nod. “Today is the day. You know that, right?”