Internment(86)

I swallow. I close my eyes and desperately search for the words I need. My insides twist and tighten. He thinks he’s won. I won’t let him win. I lift my head and gesture toward the fence, toward the Occupy protestors and the media. I pray this works.

“We’re not going anywhere,” I say into the bullhorn.

“Then their blood will be on your hands,” the Director yells at me. He knows just where to stab.

“And then what? You can’t kill us all. Are you forgetting the cameras? The world is watching you, Director.” The Director takes a step back to eye the press and the hundreds of Occupiers on the other side of the fence. He rubs the back of his neck with his hand. He opens his mouth to speak. But he says nothing. Slowly he steps behind my parents, gesturing the security detail with guns aside.

I hold my breath.

He shoves my parents down the stairs. They trip and fall into the dust. I want to run to them, but Jake holds me back and motions for two of the guards from our side to help them up. I suppose men with guns are better protection than I am. My parents rush over. Mom grabs me and holds me, and Dad wraps one arm around both of us.

“Are you okay?” I croak. I’m trying to stop myself from shaking. I’m willing my knees not to give out. My mom nods and kisses my cheeks, but my dad’s arm doesn’t look right. Ayesha and Suraya step out and help my parents find a spot behind me; a few people gather around them.

The Director takes it all in as he moves to stand behind his security team. He points a meaty finger at me, and his spite-filled eyes bulge out of his head. “There. You’ve made your little demonstration. I’ve given you your precious reunion. Now scurry back into your ratholes, where you all belong, and you won’t be responsible for anyone else getting hurt.” His words hit me like an anvil. I shift from one foot to the other and swallow. I glance back at my parents. They look so broken, but there’s a shimmer of pride in their eyes. Jake cups my elbow to steady me.

I take a deep breath. “We’re not leaving until those gates are opened and we can all walk out together,” I bark into the bullhorn.

“I suggest you look around,” the Director yells, waving his arm over the camp, addressing the internees. “That electric fence? That barbed wire? These men with guns? They’re here to keep you inside. To protect America from you. You are enemies of the state to the strongest country in the world. And what? You propose to take over this camp with pots and pans and a little girl leading you? You’re fools. Disband. Now.” He pauses. “Or there will be consequences. My mercy has limits.”

A murmur moves across the crowd like a wave, but no one moves.

Then a silvery voice from the middle of the crowd yells out, “The people united will never be defeated!”

And that’s all I need. I yell into the bullhorn, “You’re done, Director. You’re over. We will bury you.” My mom reaches out and grazes my back with the tips of her fingers.

The Director steps forward, fists clenched, sweat shining on his forehead. His chest moves up and down, and his nostrils flare like he’s breathing fire.

The entire camp hushes—the protestors, even the wind. I hear the faint click and zoom of the cameras beyond the fence. My throat is parched, and my heart pounds in my ears. I glance skyward, praying for a storm, a rain to wash away the hate and dust and pain. An epic flood to wipe Mobius off the map and let us start the world anew. I feel so small. And scared.

I allow my eyelids to flutter closed for a flash, a tiny reprieve from the scorching sun. And in that second, I hear David’s voice, feel his hand pulling me into some imaginary portal that will take us back in time to the pool house, before the Exclusion Authority came and burned the world down. In this time slip, I’m there with David in the low light of flickering candles and fireflies. Everything is like it used to be, before all this. Maybe if I keep my eyes closed, this version of the world will vanish, and Mobius and the Exclusion Laws will fade into the smoky blur of my nightmares. I think of all the people throughout history who found themselves in a place like this, stepping out from the shadows, raising their voices. Finding their courage, facing their fears so that they could be free. There were so many we lost, the ones who were taken, cut down, for the color of their skin, or the religion they practiced, or the person they loved.

All they wanted was to live.

I open my eyes.

I want to live, too.

I take a deep breath and step out of the line, in front of Jake and the others. The Director squares his shoulders to me, a combatant readying for battle, his neck wiry, his eyes unblinking. He thinks he can cut me down. I’m about to show him that I’m a warrior, too. I drop the bullhorn and talk to the Director in as steady a voice as I can manage. “Step aside. It’s over.”

The Director’s red face stretches into a tight grin; his fists shake at his sides. He looks at me with a rage so palpable it fills the space between us with fire.

“Shoot her,” he says. His voice is low, but everyone hears him.

All the motion slows around me. The air is still. And suddenly death feels awfully close. I hear my mom scream, my dad yell something, but the sound is muffled.

The Exclusion Guards and the Director’s private security detail don’t move. Panic and confusion fill the air.

“Stand down!” Jake roars at them as he steps forward next to me. The Exclusion Guards who joined us earlier follow Jake’s lead and step up.