Donor 23 (36 page)

Lucas’s desire to rebel against the Alliance was not motivated by the donors and any desire to free them. As a product of his environment and his upbringing, he considered donors inferior. Though he’d never articulate that nor ever admit to it, it seeped through in his manners and in his actions. Lucas, for his part, would have adamantly denied any prejudice.

As they sat, Lucas went on, “It’s good to see you’re alive. The Alliance is spreading propaganda that you’re dead. Killed by barbarians. You know who I am, I presume?”

He asked it in a way presupposing she did. It reminded her of the Governor.

“I heard there’s a Resistance. You’re the leader?” Joan spoke in a strong voice, although she was dismayed to hear it crack. She coughed, as if to clear her throat of an obstruction.

Lucas’s eyes narrowed, studying her. “That’s right. This’s my adjutant, Colonel Spiller. My officers.” He waved his hands. “And my soldiers. We have a large group of ex-citizens—”

“I never heard of any Resistance back in the Alliance. What exactly do you do?” she challenged, trying to exhibit courage as she rubbed her wrists.

He chuckled and looked knowingly at his associates. “We’ve done a lot. We
do
a lot. We sow discontent among the citizens. Sabotage things.”

“Never heard of any of it,” Joan said.

Patronizingly he said to her, “They make it out that it’s barbarians attacking. You’re aware of barbarian attacks, aren’t you? I know most donors don’t pay attention to the news, but it’s us—the Resistance not barbarians.”

Joan cringed inwardly.

“Of course I know about the barbarian attacks. I just wasn’t aware of the Resistance.”

“Yes, we’re hoping to free our people.” He caught himself and added, “By saying ‘our people,’ I mean everyone. Donors and citizens.”

“What do citizens need to be free of?” she argued, with irritation.

He looked at her with a surprised looked on his face. “We’d all like to be free to voice an opinion without fear of arrest. Free to think what we want. Write what we want. Read what we want. Love whom we want. We can’t. No one in the Alliance can. Donors or citizens.”

She had difficulty thinking of citizens as not being free. “Citizens always seemed happy to me,” Joan countered.

“The government always told us we were happy. They never asked us if we were,” Lucas explained.

“Well, at least they cared enough to tell you that you were happy. They never bothered with us,” Joan said sarcastically. “So, what do you want with me?”

Colonel Spiller warned her, “Watch your tone, 23. You should be honored. The General doesn’t normally—”

Lucas held up his hand to silence the man. The general was an intelligent person with keen observations. One of the greatest attributes of any warrior is patience, and Lucas had plenty of patience. As a leader, he knew how to use people, and
he definitely wanted to use her. But her hesitation and anger were evident. She wasn’t a compliant donor anymore. Pushing her—pressuring her—wouldn’t work. At least not now.

Lucas said matter-of-factly, “We just wanted to offer you our help. Jack radioed me to look out for you. We’re on our way to Pax City and then on to Seaton. We can all go together, Lionheart.”

Instead of calling her Joan, as she requested, he used the nickname. He did it for a specific reason. It gave him power over her to call her what he wanted.
If you name something, then you own it,
his grandfather had taught him.

37

B
ack at the camp of the Children, Joan expressed no interest in talking to Lucas. She kept quiet about what transpired at the canyon. One Who Sees and Old Owl knew what happened. None of them asked her about it or even tried to talk. From personal experience they understood silence is sometimes best for a while. One Who Sees noticed Joan spent time in the forest, surrounded by the trees.

Duncan heard the story from Bash. He had been aware of what happened with Joan’s mother, but now everyone else would know. He couldn’t imagine what she was going through. He approached Joan one afternoon, as she cleaned clothes at the river, and sat next to her so he could wash his socks. Like the day after her mother’s execution, he said nothing and just offered quiet support with his presence. He let his arm brush against hers. She didn’t pull away.

When she had finished, she gathered the clothing but dropped a piece. Duncan picked it up promptly and handed it up to her.

“Thanks.”

Duncan nodded.

As she walked away from the river, he called quietly to her, “I’m sorry about what happened.”

Joan walked on. She wasn’t paying attention as she trudged back to her tent with her arms full of clothes. She didn’t notice when four uniformed men surrounded her, blocking her path. One of them was Colonel Spiller.

“The General wants to see you, Lionheart.” He said it as an order.

Joan realized she’d have to confront Lucas eventually. She couldn’t put it off forever. But at this moment she experienced a minor bit of intimidation—a little of the old fear crept in her, as it did back in the Alliance when a citizen gave her an order. It wasn’t much, but it was there. And she was weary. She nodded feebly at them, and they all walked off together.

Lucas sat at his table, laughing with his aides. Reck hovered nearby. Bash had seen Joan walking in the company of the soldiers and had run up to join her. Bash squeezed her arm, and the simple gesture gave her strength. Joan and Bash stood, as Lucas kept her waiting.

He eventually turned his attention to her. Regarding her arms full of clothes, he ordered the donor, 12, whom Joan discovered was Lucas’s personal servant to take them. “Go help her with those, will you, 12?”

He took the clothes out of her arms, placing them on a nearby chair.

“I was hoping we could talk, Lionheart,” Lucas smiled benevolently.

She didn’t reply.

He became more business-like. “We’ve a place for you in the donor contingent. Your friend here…,” Lucas paused and snapped his fingers.

Colonel Spiller interjected, “Reck Tyndall, sir.”

“Tyndall, yes,” Lucas continued, “joined up. He’s told us a lot about you. You have experience fighting the Alliance army. I heard you had a run in with them in a canyon.”

She glanced at Reck.
How much had Reck told him?
Joan surmised Reck hadn’t divulged all of what transpired in the canyon. At least not about her mother—about the fact she’d been an informant.
Is he embarrassed?

“It’s nice to find someone with experience. A donor, I mean—like you and this young man, Tyndall. I’d like to put you two in some sort of leadership role in the contingent. We can use your help. You’ve caused quite a stir in the ghettos. We’re looking for something to start the fire, so to speak. The two of you, together, could be just thing to get the donors up in arms.”

“What can
we
do?” Joan dared him, as she crossed her arms.

“Instead of just sabotage, we’re planning to attack the Alliance—a full-out assault. We’ll wait for fall and winter to pass, and then hit them next spring. We’ve many people on the inside. As Tyndall knows, there’s also a movement among the donors. He has connections in the donor underground. With you and him, it could grow.”

“I’m not a soldier. I don’t see how I could help by going back to the Alliance,” Joan said.

“I’m aware. But for every donor who comes out of the ‘barbaric wasteland’ ready to fight for freedom, there will be ten in the ghettos who’ll join him. And for you, the great Lionheart, even more would join.”

Joan rolled her eyes.

A supportive—almost kind—look appeared on his face and his voice exhibited understanding, “One person can make a
difference in the lives of others, Lionheart. One person.” He reverted back to an efficient manner. “We’d like for you to come back to Seaton with us. There’re thousands of us, both citizens and donors. See what we’re about.”

Over the next couple weeks, she spent her time around the tent, with the family. Joan didn’t know what to do. She didn’t give Lucas an answer—avoided him and kept him waiting. This was where she wanted to be. She was happy here. Content. Safe. But the Children planned to move south soon. Autumn was here, and it was time to start the trek to their winter camp. One Who Sees wanted Joan to stay with them.

She sought Bash’s advice, pouring out her heart to him again and explaining she didn’t want to be part of any rebellion. She wanted to stay with the Children, to forget about the Alliance. All she wanted to do was live, but she couldn’t get the thought of her fellow donors out of her mind. It always came back to what happened to her and what was happening to them right now.

She shook her head. “I think about how many names have disappeared from ghetto apartment buildings over the last few months—how many people dragged into the third floor of the medical center. I think of how close I was to being taken to the third floor. Why did I survive and get away?” She admitted in despair, “I never even tried to help any donor. I only cared about myself. My goal was to buy a citizenship for me and my dad.”

And the memories of her betrayal of her mother, her father’s death and that of Kaleb haunted her.

Bash said, “Those horrors don’t always leave us, Joan. They’re like ghosts, like wraiths, following us. Sometimes, to be free of them, we have to face them. Otherwise they’ll consume us. How we handle these ghosts will follow us the rest of our lives.”

Joan looked up at the clouds and said thoughtfully, “You think I have to destroy them—these ghosts?”

“Destroy them? Not sure. The important thing is facing them. We can’t live life by walking along the edge. If we are true to ourselves, then by our presence we can free others. I said something to you once about putting walls and fences around ourselves. Well, we can peek over the fence, and we can sit on top of it. But in order to live, we have to climb over.”

Contemplating, she questioned, “You speaking from experience?”

He flashed a grin at her and turned serious, “Perhaps I have faced some ghosts. Climbed over the fence.”

She shook her head. “General Lucas…I hate it when he calls me Lionheart. It’s different than when One Who Sees or any of the Children say it…” Her voice trailed off.

Pursing his lips, he said philosophically, “A rose by any other name….”

She raised her eyebrows, questioning.

His gray-blue eyes sparkled mischievously in the sunlight, tempered by a glow of wisdom on his gentle face. He wrapped an arm around her. “I mean, it doesn’t matter what Lucas calls you. Or Nox. Or anyone back in the Alliance. You are who you are in here.” He tapped lightly over her heart.

“I’m not a hero. You know that.” She rolled her eyes in resignation. “Everyone knows that now. I mean, everyone who was in that canyon. But I don’t think Reck’s told anyone. General Lucas and the others think I’m some sort of a hero…”

He gently turned her chin up to him, “No one makes a decision to be a hero. You’re a young woman, Joan—a young woman who’s been through more than anyone ever should, who’s been pressured, had burdens placed on her.” He spoke in his usual protracted and unhurried manner—increasing the tension for Joan—persuading her, encouraging her, and heightening her anticipation. “Don’t do anything for Lucas or
for the Resistance. Do what you have to do for you, then it all flows from there. There may be time when something—our instinct—tells us to do something, something that defies reason and logic. I think you have to listen to that. Ignore the reason, ignore the logic.”

He paused for a moment, and the words—the import—came from straight his heart. “And maybe when something bad happens to us—or to someone close to us—it can result in us doing something good for others. Doing something good that we wouldn’t have done otherwise.”

She leaned in to him, resting on him, and they sat peacefully for a while. Pondering her dilemma, she realized the difficulty involved in having to make a decision. All her life she had been spared that thorny task. The System had dictated to her. She was told what to believe and what to think for her whole life. The System had arranged her life for her.

Bash nudged her back and pointed at the lion figurine hanging around her neck. He wondered aloud, “What’s the lion reaching for, do you suppose?”

Joan fingered the small mountain lion.
What was it reaching for?
It seemed a lifetime ago when Arrow Comes Back carved it for her, but it was only about four months. Joan pondered the passage of time.
She escaped the Alliance almost six months ago.
So much happened to her since then. Things changed for her—for the better. But not for the donors still in the ghetto. Nothing had changed for them.

Colonel Spiller interrupted them.

“Just looking for you, Lionheart. The General wants to see you.”

She rolled her eyes but stood up. Then he stepped back to give her way and waved his hand toward Lucas’s tent. She started walking with the Colonel, and Bash followed. He slid his arm over her shoulder, while they walked.

Lucas was admiring a Nomad’s rifle, smiling and joking. An aide motioned to him, and he turned as Joan approached. Impatience showed on his face. He’d been waiting here for almost a month.