Internment(41)

“But how do we know who we can trust? We need to recruit people.” Ayesha looks right at Soheil, who smiles back at her.

He responds, “Recruiting is my thing. I recruited, like, half a dozen ballers for the soccer team at school. I’ll get people. But we can’t all meet here. Three people eating sandwiches doesn’t look suspicious, but more than five and the drones will start to sniff out a conspiracy.”

Ayesha smiles. “I know! Last week when I was at the Hub library, I suggested a teen vegetable garden to the librarian, and she was into it. She even requisitioned tools and seeds and stuff. So we plant. Get some tools, do some work. Rebel.”

Yes, I think. Sow the seeds. Perfect.





Ayesha and I are still buzzing from our conversation with Soheil earlier today. As we walk down the Midway toward the Mess, one of the Director’s shiny red drones flies above us, slows down, and follows. We stop talking altogether, too nervous to speak. Then Ayesha mentions the dinner from the night before and goes on to list all the foods she misses from the outside. I turn my chin up to gaze directly at the drone’s camera; I wonder if it’s sending a live feed into the Director’s office. Creepy. Unsettling. I don’t like being watched; I refuse to get used to it. We keep walking and talking, building our missed-food wish list: Flaming Hot Cheetos, chocolate cake with real buttercream frosting, In-N-Out Animal Style burgers, Badmaash fried chicken, biryani, kheema paratha, samosas, food truck tacos, salmon sushi. And now I’m starving. But the drone moves on, heading toward the back of the camp, which is weird because everyone else is heading forward, toward the Mess. It’s dinner. It’s required. The only reason—

We hear yelling and the sound of boots on the ground, and then a dozen guards run past us. I pull Ayesha toward the Mess. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Director and his private security detail following behind the guards. This can’t be good.

“I’m going to go see what’s happening,” I whisper to Ayesha.

“Are you cracked? We’re supposed to be in the Mess.”

“I’ll only be a few minutes. Besides, something is going on, and I’m sure everyone is going to be distracted.”

Ayesha sighs. “Fine, I’m going with you. If only to tell you to hurry up and get back to the Mess, where the major risk is indigestion, as opposed to getting shot out here.”

I smile a little. Then, when the guard at the Mess door steps toward the Midway to see what’s happening, I grab Ayesha’s hand and dart behind one of the admin trailers. We wait, then dash behind some Mercury Homes. We move closer to the direction of the guards and the drones, but keep some distance between us and the Midway so we can’t be seen.

Then we hear screams. I stop short. I can’t breathe. Goose bumps spring up all over my body. I look at Ayesha. All the blood has left her face. We peek out from behind the Mercury Home. A woman is being dragged down the Midway by the Director’s small special force, his personal security guards, as the Director follows calmly, walking with his hands clasped behind his back like he’s on a stroll, as if his hands don’t have blood on them.

It’s Noor.

Oh God. No.

During our first few days here, Noor caught me smiling at her American flag hijab while we were both doing laundry, and she introduced herself. Block 6, she said, rolling her eyes. Arab American. She told me Authority Suits grabbed her from her dorm room for seditious acts. When I asked her if she had done what they claimed, she looked at me with a mysterious smile and said, “Rebellion is as American as apple pie. And so is fascism.”

Now she’s being hauled down the Midway, pulled by each arm, bleeding from her mouth and her forehead. She’s writhing and trying to kick and twist herself out of the grasp of the Director’s private security guards. They ignore her screams. Like she’s a ghost they can’t see or hear.

I can’t turn away. I step forward. Ayesha pulls me back behind the Mercury Home, but it doesn’t matter. Because no one is in the Mess anymore. Everyone is standing around. Watching.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see two black women run toward Noor—they’re young, maybe in their twenties, Block 7 or 8.

No. No. Stop. They’ll take you, too, I want to scream, but the words catch in my throat. Neither of the women has a weapon.

The one I’ve met before, Asmaa, has close-cropped hair and wears a bright-yellow tee with BAD BRAINS splashed across the front in red letters. She lunges for one of the men taking Noor away. An Exclusion Guard immediately steps up, grabs her by the shirt, and elbows her in the face, like she’s inconsequential to him. She falls to the ground, cradling her head in both hands, groaning. Two guards yank her up.

Then the action feels like it slows down. There’s screaming and dirt getting kicked up and clouds of fine dust filling the air. I hear Ayesha say, “Oh no. It’s Bilqis.”

In the frenzy, Bilqis—who’s wearing a pale-blue hijab—sucker punches one of the guards. Right in the face. Blood spurts out of the guard’s nose and mouth. A beatific smile crosses her face, but before she can take another step, two guards are on her. One punches her in the gut, and when she’s doubled over, another guard kicks her to the ground and handcuffs her. When they pull her up, the guard she punched stomps up to her and rips off her hijab. Bilqis spits in his face, and he slaps her hard—so hard that her scream could crack the earth. Blood is everywhere, smeared across their faces and clothes. I keel over, sure I’m going to be sick. Ayesha rushes to me.