Three (Article 5 #3)(52)

“Sweet God,” murmured Ms. Rita.

I scrunched the thickly folded paper in my fists below the table. Yes, it was a horrifying story, but the last thing I wanted was to exploit my friend. Besides, even if she said yes, Sean would never go for it.

Before I could answer, Van Pelt, the caretaker of the fields, the red-haired man who’d captured us in the orchard, spoke up.

“We don’t want this coming off as a sob story,” he said. “It needs to inspire.”

“Then you need a hero,” said Chase. They all turned to him, myself included. He straightened in his seat. “Someone people know and can look up to.”

“That’s you, doc.” Panda slapped DeWitt on the back.

Three’s leader rubbed his chin, lost in thought. “I’m hardly a hero. And I’m not sure my situation’s the most relatable anyway. Most civilians aren’t packing away refugees in their basement like we were.”

He was looking right at me.

I swallowed.

“Right,” I said. “The girl who was sent to reform school when her mom was arrested for noncompliance. Who escaped a Knoxville prison, joined the resistance, and supposedly became the sniper.”

“There is a certain ring to it,” said DeWitt.

Chase had paled. “You’d use her name.”

“Yes,” I said weakly. “You’d have to use my name. It’s already out there—the MM’s broadcasted it on and off since we escaped reform school.” Part of me had known it would come to this when I’d come up with the plan. That didn’t make it any easier to swallow though.

“People think you’re dead,” Chase argued. “When Cara died, your name died with her.”

DeWitt flinched. “There’s nothing like resurrecting a hero to get people’s attention.”

I turned to Chase, feeling a cool numbness override the fear. “The MM knows we’re alive because of that stupid photo from the hospital. They’re already looking for us. We might as well shove it in their face that I’m still alive despite everything they’ve done. At the same time we can tell the people what the FBR is really capable of.”

“It’s good,” said Panda. “Look at her. She’s the girl next door. Everyone either is her, or knows someone like her.”

They looked at me like I was some kind of specimen to be studied, all the while considering if my past was traumatic enough, if I’d been innocent enough, if I was strong enough now. It didn’t feel like they were talking about me as much as the me they needed me to be.

I fiddled with the Statutes, strewn across the table while they continued to talk about me like I wasn’t there. My eyes landed on the number that had changed my life.

Article 5: Children are considered valid citizens when conceived by a married man and wife. All other children are to be removed from the home and subjected to rehabilitative procedures.

a) Unwed parents may be tried to determine legitimacy of children born out of wedlock. Evidence used in trial may include hospital records, birth certificates, identification cards and so forth.

a. (revised) Unwed parents may be tried to determine legitimacy of all children below the age of eighteen. Evidence used in trial may include hospital records, birth certificates, social security cards and so forth.

b) Those parents held in contempt of Section 2, Article 5 by the investigative board shall be sentenced appropriately.

c) Children’s parental rights are absorbed by the state. Citizenship may be granted at the age of eighteen following completion of rehabilitation.

“I want it to tell what happened to my mother,” I said, interrupting them. “Since this is my life and all, I think I should get a say in what it says.”

The council stopped, stared at me.

“Of course,” said Ms. Rita.

Chase’s shoulders rounded. There were words inside of him struggling to get free. I could see his jaw working to hold them back.

“It’s not enough time,” said Patch. “Two weeks isn’t enough time to distribute this message to a whole country.”

“It just has to spark a flame,” said Van Pelt. “Charlotte is just the beginning.”

I hoped a spark was enough.

“You’d do this for us?” DeWitt asked me.

I put my hand on Chase’s knee. Felt the muscles flex beneath, and then the warmth of his hand covering mine.

“No,” I said. “I’ll do it for my mom.”

*

WE spent the next two hours going over any details we might be able to insert into the Statutes. I told DeWitt about my mother’s arrest and Chase filled in the blanks. The words grew sticky and caught in my throat. It was like reliving the worst parts all over again.

And then, when we were done, we were excused so that the council could meet privately.

“Thank you for your story,” DeWitt told me, as if I’d given it to him and it wasn’t even mine anymore.

“You’re kicking us out?” Chase asked. “Now?”

DeWitt led us to the cafeteria door.

“I can write it,” I said. “It should be me. It’s my life we’re talking about.”

“You’ve done your part,” he said, making it clear his word was the last word. “It belongs to all of us now. Stay close. We’ll call you soon.”