Burn (Pure #3)(12)

And then there’s one photograph of his father with an arm around each of his sons. Partridge looks lanky, small for his age, and is wearing the worried brow of someone middle-aged. Sedge, on the other hand, went through puberty young. He’s tall and thick shouldered. He stands straight and smiles at the camera. They’re standing in front of a Christmas tree. It might have been the first Christmas after the Detonations. They have the air of survival. They’ve gotten through something. They’re safe now.

Partridge walks up to the podium set up for the broadcast. He looks out across the audience but can barely see through the glare of the bright lights. He spots Mimi, who looks at him, bleary-eyed. Beside her, Iralene gives him a tight-lipped smile and a nod of encouragement. Foresteed stands along one wall next to Purdy and Hoppes.

As if you don’t have lies of your own already, Partridge. If you’re going to come clean, why don’t you start with yourself?

He coughs into his balled fist and then opens his mouth to state his given lines. I’m here to represent my family. My father is dead. And now is a time for healing…

But as he starts to speak, the words that are there are simpler: I killed my father.

He panics. What’s he going to say to these people? The cameras are pointed at him—it’s like being surrounded by oversized eyes. Out there, Lyda could be watching. Everyone is watching. This is actually the first time he’s addressed all the people of the Dome.

The first time.

The truth.

It doesn’t matter what Cygnus wants from him, what Glassings expects. None of them have gotten in touch with him since his father’s death anyway. Why? He doesn’t know, but he does know that he’s in charge now. He’s the leader. It’s time for him to lead.

He thinks of Bradwell looking at this footage one day. What if it ends up in his footlocker with all of the other old stuff he’s kept? He hears Pressia wondering aloud if he’s got enough courage and El Capitan shouting at him, “Say it! Tell them! What are you afraid of? The worst has already happened to us.”

Damn it. He’s going to be a father himself one day—soon. His own child could see a recording of this moment in the distant future.

He looks out and spots Gertie, who seems too old to look so ashamed, but he is and quickly looks down at his knees. Partridge doesn’t want to have to send a message to each and every Gertie in the Dome one by one. No. Damn it. Now’s the time.

He opens his mouth again. If you rob them of their lie, they’ll self-destruct. He can’t keep the lie going. He has to be able to look himself in the mirror too.

“Thank you all for coming,” he says and glances at Hoppes, who looks pleasantly surprised. Hoppes wanted him to be more conversational, but Foresteed’s face darkens. He knows this break from the script isn’t good. These people like consistency, normalcy…

Partridge takes a deep breath and grips the podium. “Here’s the honest truth about my father. He was the mastermind behind the Detonations. He was a mass murderer.” Partridge can feel the air in the room tightening, going silent and still. “I’ve been outside of the Dome. I’ve met people who know the truth, including my own mother. My father killed her and my brother too. I was a witness.” This feels like the most important thing, suddenly. Giving witness. He sees a flash of his mother and Sedge, the explosion. He looks down at the podium and back up again at the sea of blanched faces, staring at him wide-eyed. He sees Iralene. Her eyes are shining with tears. She shakes her head just the tiniest bit, urging him to stop, but he can’t stop now. “The only reason you all needed saving was because he blew up the world as we knew it. My father saved you because he wanted to scorch the entire earth and start over.”

Foresteed has started pushing past Hoppes and Purdy up the aisle toward the back of the hall—maybe looking for the person in charge of the cameras.

Partridge speeds up. “Why start over alone? In addition to having the lower class of fused and broken wretches as servants, why not have a more or less handpicked population of like-minded sheep to herd into some new version of the planet that my father wanted to rule, solely? You were his sheep.” He shakes his head. “No—he was no shepherd. Not like that. You weren’t his sheep. You were his audience. We are all complicit. We let the Detonations happen. We have to be honest. How else can we move forward into the future if we can’t at least acknowledge the truth of the past?”

Iralene’s mother, Mimi, is out of her seat, marching toward the aisle, saying, “I can’t take this! I can’t take it!”

Iralene scrambles after her.

Others are standing up too, trying to leave, pulling others with them.

Partridge has lost Foresteed in the lights at the back of the hall, but he hears his voice now. “Cut the mic! Cut it!”

Many voices rise up, but Partridge keeps going. “We owe it to the survivors out there—the ones we call wretches—and we owe it to ourselves. We can do better. We can move into the New Eden with all of our losses. We can own up to them now. And we can feel the guilt at last. If we do, that’s how we can maybe—just maybe—be forgiven. I want each of you to know—” The mic cuts out. The spotlight dims. Partridge can see more of the audience now. Those still in their seats are stunned. Their faces are slack with shock, their eyes widened with fear. The boy who saluted him earlier is sitting next to his mother, who’s covered his ears with her hands.