nothing other than the sounds of our footsteps and rain
splattering against rooftops. A young boy, Billy Akers, runs out of his front
door. He’s laughing, looking over his shoulder as Elder Akers darts from their
front door. He grabs his son around the waist, lifts him off the ground, and
then looks at me, saying, “Is it true?”
“Yes,” I yell as we race past. “Tell
the others we have to run.”
“But Hawkins said—”
“Go!”
We don’t stop to see if he listened.
None of the Elders are used to taking orders from a scout, let alone a girl my
age, but I hope, for once, this fact doesn’t matter. We’re all conditioned to
blindly follow whatever the GC says; it’s how things have always been, but in
this case, doing so will get them killed. All of us.
I may be younger than Elder Akers by
thirty years, but I know when it’s necessary for logic and reasoning to
overstep the bounds of authority.
We reach Hawkins’s shack, and I
expect him to be outside, waiting for me. Or delegating tasks—something,
anything productive—but I don’t see him anywhere. His shack is much, much
larger than the rest of ours. Kind of like how I imagined the White Home must
have been in the Olden Days. He has multiple rooms and a porch with columns
that he forced the others to build. Hawkins took when he should’ve given or
shared, and right now I hate him for it.
The man is abhorrent. Abusing his
privilege, his power. Ridiculous decisions that bettered his life and made it
harder on others, the people he’s supposed to protect. I never will, but if I
had the chance, I’d do things differently.
Using the side of my fist, I pound
on his door, hard enough for his walls to shake. “Hawkins! Where are you? Hawkins!”
My voice screeches in desperation. I pound on the door until my fist hurts, and
when he finally opens it, I push it to the side and shove past him, into his
home. It’s an invasion, impolite, no matter what the circumstances, and I can
tell that he’s momentarily offended.
The sight of Finn, an unfamiliar
face, is enough to distract him from my rude intrusion. “Who’s this?”
“I’m Finn, sir.” Finn holds out his
hand to shake and Hawkins narrows his eyes.
Hawkins says, “Caroline? Who is this?”
I smell the scent of cooking goat
meat, and it infuriates me even more than I already am. Hawkins has been hiding
inside his home, fixing himself lunch while the lives outside his doors get one
drumbeat closer to the end. “You’re eating?” I shout.
“I asked you a question, scout.”
“It doesn’t matter. We have to—”
Hawkins grabs my throat and slams me
to the wall. Shelves rattle as my head bangs against the wood. “You bring a
stranger into my house, and it doesn’t matter? Explain yourself!”
His hand squeezes tighter around my
throat, and I can’t answer him. He’s cutting off my wind, and I struggle to
breathe as he chokes me.
Finn is smaller than Hawkins by at
least a hundred pounds, but he’s quick, agile, and strong from years spent in
the woods. He lunges, wraps an arm around Hawkins’s fat neck and yanks him
backward, away from me. “Do it again, and I’ll bury my knife in your heart.” He
drags Hawkins over and throws him down onto a rickety chair as if he’s
punishing a misbehaving child.
No one treats a General Chief this
way—no one ever has—and Hawkins’s face goes red with contempt. He tries to
stand. “I am your General Chief, and you will do—”
Finn shoves him back into the chair,
points a finger at him. “Shut up and listen.”
Hawkins stays seated, but he
persists. “Young man, I don’t care who you are or where you come from, but I do not take orders from PRV underlings such as yourself.”
I rub my throat. It hurts, and hurts
worse when I speak. My words come out in a croak. “He’s not PRV.”
“What? So help me, Caroline, if you
brought a Republicon into this encampment, I will have your badge.”
Finn stands guard over Hawkins as
splattering against rooftops. A young boy, Billy Akers, runs out of his front
door. He’s laughing, looking over his shoulder as Elder Akers darts from their
front door. He grabs his son around the waist, lifts him off the ground, and
then looks at me, saying, “Is it true?”
“Yes,” I yell as we race past. “Tell
the others we have to run.”
“But Hawkins said—”
“Go!”
We don’t stop to see if he listened.
None of the Elders are used to taking orders from a scout, let alone a girl my
age, but I hope, for once, this fact doesn’t matter. We’re all conditioned to
blindly follow whatever the GC says; it’s how things have always been, but in
this case, doing so will get them killed. All of us.
I may be younger than Elder Akers by
thirty years, but I know when it’s necessary for logic and reasoning to
overstep the bounds of authority.
We reach Hawkins’s shack, and I
expect him to be outside, waiting for me. Or delegating tasks—something,
anything productive—but I don’t see him anywhere. His shack is much, much
larger than the rest of ours. Kind of like how I imagined the White Home must
have been in the Olden Days. He has multiple rooms and a porch with columns
that he forced the others to build. Hawkins took when he should’ve given or
shared, and right now I hate him for it.
The man is abhorrent. Abusing his
privilege, his power. Ridiculous decisions that bettered his life and made it
harder on others, the people he’s supposed to protect. I never will, but if I
had the chance, I’d do things differently.
Using the side of my fist, I pound
on his door, hard enough for his walls to shake. “Hawkins! Where are you? Hawkins!”
My voice screeches in desperation. I pound on the door until my fist hurts, and
when he finally opens it, I push it to the side and shove past him, into his
home. It’s an invasion, impolite, no matter what the circumstances, and I can
tell that he’s momentarily offended.
The sight of Finn, an unfamiliar
face, is enough to distract him from my rude intrusion. “Who’s this?”
“I’m Finn, sir.” Finn holds out his
hand to shake and Hawkins narrows his eyes.
Hawkins says, “Caroline? Who is this?”
I smell the scent of cooking goat
meat, and it infuriates me even more than I already am. Hawkins has been hiding
inside his home, fixing himself lunch while the lives outside his doors get one
drumbeat closer to the end. “You’re eating?” I shout.
“I asked you a question, scout.”
“It doesn’t matter. We have to—”
Hawkins grabs my throat and slams me
to the wall. Shelves rattle as my head bangs against the wood. “You bring a
stranger into my house, and it doesn’t matter? Explain yourself!”
His hand squeezes tighter around my
throat, and I can’t answer him. He’s cutting off my wind, and I struggle to
breathe as he chokes me.
Finn is smaller than Hawkins by at
least a hundred pounds, but he’s quick, agile, and strong from years spent in
the woods. He lunges, wraps an arm around Hawkins’s fat neck and yanks him
backward, away from me. “Do it again, and I’ll bury my knife in your heart.” He
drags Hawkins over and throws him down onto a rickety chair as if he’s
punishing a misbehaving child.
No one treats a General Chief this
way—no one ever has—and Hawkins’s face goes red with contempt. He tries to
stand. “I am your General Chief, and you will do—”
Finn shoves him back into the chair,
points a finger at him. “Shut up and listen.”
Hawkins stays seated, but he
persists. “Young man, I don’t care who you are or where you come from, but I do not take orders from PRV underlings such as yourself.”
I rub my throat. It hurts, and hurts
worse when I speak. My words come out in a croak. “He’s not PRV.”
“What? So help me, Caroline, if you
brought a Republicon into this encampment, I will have your badge.”
Finn stands guard over Hawkins as
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