Breaking Point (Article 5 #2)(36)

The woman stepped aside and revealed a boy maybe five years old. He had red dashes on his cheeks, not just from a recent tantrum but a long season of crying. The fingers of one hand twisted his mangy, shoulder-length hair. The other hand was missing.

The woman approached the boy and opened his shirt. His skin was scarred and warped by past burns, red with infection. She lifted him up for everyone to see.

“Oh God,” I said before I caught myself. Chase approached, eyes betraying no shock.

“Here.” He was holding a surgical mask like the Sisters were wearing. Hurriedly, I looped the elastic bands around my ears and felt my breath warm the covered space over my nose and mouth. This shield would hide my identity at least for a little while.

“There are…” The woman’s voice trembled. Her eyes darted around the crowd of onlookers.

“Louder,” prompted the soldier.

“There are worse ways to live!” she cried. “You think it’s bad now, but you have no idea. If you have information on the sniper, if you’ve seen the criminals from the wanted posters, tell a soldier right away!”

Rampant whispers flew around the circle.

The soldier unhooked the strap locking the gun in his belt. He toyed with the boy’s hair, like a father might, but for the threat so obviously posed by his weapon. From his blank expression, I knew he’d have no trouble hurting this boy to get what he wanted. I shoved back, but those behind me held solid.

“Do you think the soldiers did that?” I whispered to Chase.

His expression remained flat; only his eyes showed his rage. He didn’t answer.

“Now, who has information for me?” the soldier asked.

“Someone’s got to stop it,” whispered a man beside me. He was right. My blood was boiling again.

“I heard that Miller girl was in Tent City yesterday after the attack,” a woman to my right confessed.

I went absolutely rigid. I didn’t dare breathe. Chase’s shoulders rose. He shook his head as if to say don’t move.

“Come with us. We need to ask you a few questions,” said the second soldier. The mother was now grasping her child against her chest, though she seemed too petrified to move.

“That’s all I know,” said the confessor, her voice faltering. “I swear, that’s all I know.”

“Come with us,” he repeated. “Or you’ll be charged with withholding information.”

“I told you all I know!” she screamed as one of the soldiers hauled her away.

My mouth fell open in horror. There were hundreds of people within earshot. Hundreds who could take down these two soldiers, but no one moved. I wanted to stop them myself, to say, “I’m the one you’re looking for!” but I couldn’t. They’d kill me on the spot.

“The sniper did this to us!” The mother finally set her child down, close to where we stood in the arc surrounding her. She wept bitterly. “We were fine before he got here!” People murmured their agreement.

I wanted to shake her. I told myself she was scared, that’s why she was saying this. Things were just as dangerous before. But the woman in Tent City had told me not everyone would see the good of the resistance, and she was right.

The second soldier lifted his baton, and a path cleared back into the medical station. I followed Chase’s gaze to the little boy, who was now bawling quietly and trying to close his shirt with his single hand while his mother ushered him away.

“What was that?” I whispered. I felt exposed; every sideways glance prickled my skin.

He swore, obviously agitated. “Advertising. Nothing puts people in their place like the threat of pain. I saw it in Chicago. It’s sick.”

It was not so unlike Wallace’s plan to let the people see me in Tent City, I thought. Only that message was meant to inspire hope, not fear.

The world was coming unhinged. I could feel it, like a great crushing weight on my chest, pushing me into the ground beneath my feet. I’d been linked to a serial murderer, my name slandered across the country. My mother’s killer had infiltrated the resistance. Girls like Sarah were being beaten by their MM boyfriends and left for dead. Moms were using their kids to spread the MM’s tyrannical message. I’d lost Rebecca all over again, I didn’t know what was happening at home with Beth, and poor Rosa was probably still a zombie up at the reformatory. If there was ever a time to push back, it was now, but how?

“Name?”

My eyes refocused on a woman in front of me. A Sister. The light blue knot in her handkerchief was tied perfectly. She wore a paper mask over her mouth and nose, like mine.

I felt a surge of panic and blurted, “Lori Whittman.”

“Lori Whittman,” she read down the list on her clipboard. “Have you been here in the past two days, Ms. Whittman?” She didn’t look too closely at my face.

“Mrs.,” said Chase, tearing away from another masked Sister and moving to my side. “My wife is sick,” he said. “She needs to rest.”

I coughed for effect, adjusting the mask to cover as much of my face as possible.

“If they’re married…” began the one who had asked my name. She was halted by the other’s dubious expression.

“We’re married,” I said defensively. I held up my left hand, thankful for my stolen wedding band.