Internment(87)

One of the guards who is standing by the Director turns to him. “I didn’t sign up for the National Guard to shoot innocent Americans. I signed up to defend my country.”

One by one, the other guards peel off, so all that remains between the Director and the rest of Mobius is his security detail.

The Director bellows at them, “Shoot her, goddamn it! I said, shoot her—that’s an order!”

One of his security detail scans the crowd and the guards standing with us, then looks at the Director and slowly shakes his head. “She’s a kid, sir.”

The Director turns his back to us, his shoulders drawn, hands at his hips.

I don’t know if I’m breathing anymore. I can’t feel my body.

Jake touches my arm, and I finally draw a breath and speak to the Director’s back. “You’re alone. You’ve lost.”

The Director spins around, barreling through his remaining security as he draws a handgun from his waistband.

A single shot rings out.





Pop.

Like a firework going off. That’s what it sounds like. A firework.

And that is all.

Because in the next instant, time moves like a viscous liquid, dampening all sound. The screams, the stampede of thudding feet against hard dirt, guttural wails, the thwack of the Director’s body being slammed to the ground by his own security, the barked “GO! GO! GO!” as Exclusion Guards, weapons drawn, rush the Director and his security team.

I try to move and realize I’m down on the ground, dirt in my face. Screams come from every direction. And there is blood. I push myself up and see it on my T-shirt, my arms.

But it’s not mine.

I whip around to see my parents. My dad is on the ground, clutching his arm, groaning; my mom hovers over him. I crouch next to them. “Dad! Dad!” I yell.

“He’s okay. He’s okay—” My mom stops short. She stares past me. All the color drains from her face.

I’m afraid to turn my head and look. Chaos churns all around me. Dust chokes the air. Slowly I pivot my body.

A scream rips through me.

Jake is lying on the ground, clutching his stomach, blood oozing from between his fingers.

“Jake! Oh no. No. No.” I kneel next to him, placing my hands over his, pressing down like I’ve seen in movies. But it’s not the movies, and the blood won’t stop. It’s not stopping. God. There’s so much blood. How do I make it stop?

Jake looks up at me and parts his lips. He coughs, sputtering up blood.

Fred races over, and when he sees Jake close up, his face turns gray. He gulps. “Hang on, Jake. An ambulance is on its way.” He tears off his shirt and wads it up, pushing it down over the wound. Jake grimaces and gurgles, a deep, awful sound. “Layla, keep the pressure on, you hear?” Fred directs me. “I gotta clear the path for the paramedics to get in here. Talk to him. Keep him awake.”

Jake’s eyelids start to droop.

“Jake. Jake.” My voice catches in my throat. “Jake? Stay awake, okay?”

His heavy eyelids tremble open. His lips part. I can see he’s trying to speak. But no words come out. With a jerky motion he moves a hand to his stomach; his fingertips graze mine. A vise squeezes my heart. I press harder against Fred’s shirt. It’s soaked with blood. I can’t stop the blood.

I close my eyes. Tears stream down my dust-stained cheeks. “Jake,” I whisper, my voice catching. “Jake, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. For everything.”

Can he hear me? Does he understand? He stepped in front of me. Jake, why did you step in front of me? I know you think you failed me, but this… this shouldn’t be your penance, Jake.

“Layla. I… You…” His voice fades.

“Don’t talk, Jake. Save your energy. I can hear the ambulance. Keep your eyes open, okay? I’m here. Stay with me. Stay awake.” I turn my eyes toward the sky and pray. The rest of the world falls away, until there are only the sounds of my steady inhalation and exhalation in contrast with his rattling, wheezing breath. I sniffle and wipe the back of my hand across my nose. I feel the streak of blood my fingers leave on my cheek.

This can’t be how the story ends for Jake. Not here. Not in this terrible place. I want to will this horror away. Bend time and space to give him something better than this. I wish I could give him the magic hour at Castle Lake when he was a boy with his mom. I wish I could give him fresh air to breathe. I wish I could give him a compass to find his way home.

I press down harder against his stomach. His eyelids flutter a little. Don’t close your eyes, Jake. Please. Please. I look down. My hands are smaller than his, but it’s like he’s shrinking, losing his muscle mass. He’s trying to wrap his fingers around my hand, but he can’t. His skin is so cold; the pads of his fingers are almost blue. His eyes are open but they’re glassy, and I don’t even know if he can see me anymore.

I can feel his life ebbing away. Please, God. We already lost Soheil and so many others; please don’t take Jake, too. Is there something I can do? A covenant to make that will save him? But there is no bargaining with death. When it comes, it gives no quarter and doesn’t care about your merits.

I hear my mother’s voice and other voices. I glance up and see my parents and people from different blocks kneeling in a semicircle around us. Hands cupped in front of their faces, heads bowed, murmuring a prayer: “Merciful God, forgive him his trespasses. Make wide his grave and light his path. Raise him unto the highest heavens.”