The Mapkeeper and the Rise of the Wardens (4 page)

“I’m honored too, Dad. I can’t wait to start. I’ll let you know when I receive word to report to the Capital. Mr. Quincy said they will pick me up in a secret location by helicopter.”

“Why does it have to be in secret?” he asked. Her heart ached for him, but she continued with the act, terrified of what the Commune might do if they overheard her telling him the truth.

“Those are just the instructions I was given. They are very strict with compliance.” She shrugged, apologetic. She knew her father was dying to know the truth, and Lucy sensed a deep strain of sadness beneath the surface of their false conversation. It wrenched her heart.

“Well kids, I can’t say I’m happy that my daughter will be spending time away from the family, but after all the Commune has done for us—providing security and protection, teachers for our schools, and transporting goods across Apocrypham, I guess our time has come to give back.” He forced the words, but his eyes were shadowed with deep unhappiness.

Lucy couldn’t meet her father’s eyes. She longed more than anything to tell him everything and to ask his advice. But she also knew that the truth was nothing short of disturbing. He would be opposed to her involvement with the map, but since she might not have a choice, maybe it was best that he not know about it. Guilt gnawed at her.
I’ll think of a way to tell him
, she promised herself.

There was a knock at the front door, and then a key turned the lock and it opened.
Click
. Lucy’s heart leapt into her throat and her body tensed.

Her father jumped out of his seat. “Oh, Drew, it’s just you.” He walked over to shake Drew’s hand, relieved. “How are you? It’s been a few weeks.” Lucy let her breath out and relaxed, sinking back into the plush couch cushions beneath her.

“I’m doing great, Mr. Barnes! I’ve still got an edge on Mack for number of goals scored this season. I’m at 22 and he’s at 21.” Drew flashed his straight, white smile. Lucy took a deep breath and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Hey, man, speak of the devil!” Drew tugged his boots off his feet and flopped onto the couch next to Mack. “You plan on catching up to me with a goal or two at our game on Friday?”

Drew shook his head, tousling his long dark hair as he settled into the couch. Lucy loved his hair. It had the perfect amount of wave, falling around his head in an arbitrary, athletic way. He was tall and tan, with more muscle than most boys his age. He was the kind of guy who seemed to have a natural talent for just about everything he tried.

“Hey Drew,” Lucy said with a smile.

“Hey Lucy! I heard about what happened today. Are you okay?” His dark brown eyes were soft with concern. She sensed that he would do everything in his power to help her if she ever needed it.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I guess they chose me to work in the Capital. It’ll be a part-time gig though. Just whenever they need me.” She looked down, wishing she could tell him everything.

“That’s cool, I guess. Are you okay with the idea of it?”

“Yeah… It is what it is, you know?” She tried to smile, but she felt awful. She couldn’t stop envisioning the map buried in the forest, glowing beneath a pile of snow.

Mack flipped on the television. “It’s seven o’clock,” he announced. “The Form of the Nation is starting.”

Mr. Quincy bared his wide, bleached grin for the camera. His plain green tie was tacked with perfection to a starched collar, dangling down to folded hands atop a mahogany desk. His dark, gelled comb-over and thick-brimmed black glasses added an aura of professionalism to his lean, dark, youthful face. His gaze was locked on his audience.

“Good morning, Apocrypham. As your Representative of the People, I am pleased to come before you once again in my annual Form of the Nation address. My friends, times have never been better for us. Here in the Capital we see the economic results of your everyday efforts. Once again our citizens have worked hard all year, producing record yield across the board! I look forward to introducing you to a few of your fellow citizens from across the country.

“I had the honor of meeting some of you in person over the past year during my annual visitations. My friends, you are thriving in every corner of this nation! We must never forget how we got where we are today and that the freedoms we enjoy are a luxury inaccessible to the rest of civilization. Exalt Apocrypham.”

Lucy sneaked a look at her father as the camera cut to the first portion of the program, which this year happened to feature their hometown of Algid in the northernmost reaches of Apocrypham. Peter’s stony worry-lines deepened. He was nearly as well-weathered as the fatigued fishing boats he serviced at his marine mechanic shop. His tanned, leathery skin blanketed a frame composed of small but firm muscles and strong bones. He was always cold.

Lucy’s attention snapped back to the television. A representative from the Capital was interviewing one of the Commune-appointed teachers from her high school. It was Ms. Goker, Lucy’s least favorite teacher. She was a mean, pudgy, middle-aged English teacher with a distaste for teenagers.

“Oh yes, Frostbite High is one of the best high schools in the entire nation,” she bragged. “Our English department is second-to-none, as evidenced by our superior annual nationwide aptitude test scores. We pride ourselves in putting education first. Not sports, not recreation, and most of all, not the counterproductive social quests of juveniles!” Ms. Goker frowned into the camera with her bulging dark eyes, shaking a sausage finger at the viewers. Lucy shuddered. She shared a smile with her two brothers, Mack and Luke, who sat on the couch beside her. The whole school knew what a tyrant Ms. Goker was.

The camera panned to a full-screen shot of the high school. It was a large, five-story building paneled with dark blue one-way glass windows. Heavy white double doors dominated the front of the building, with “Frostbite High” inscribed on a large granite slab above the doors. The parking lot was equipped with spots for a variety of vehicles. Many students rode miles to school on snowmobiles, some drove cars, and others took the bus.

The scene cut to Main Street, which led from the center of Algid to the waterfront. Algid bordered the Northern Sea, the coldest ocean in the world. A Commune reporter guided the cameraman down Main Street, identifying the various shops that lined the broad, lamp-lit boulevard.

“On my right you’ll see Mrs. Coventry’s Bakery, where I’m told you’ll find the best baked goods this side of the equator!”

Mrs. Coventry, like her fellow shopkeepers, stood dutifully outside her store. She was plump, with a shock of wrinkled skin and a wiry mop of salt-and-pepper hair. She waved at the camera, baring a gap-toothed grin and ruffling her lace-trimmed apron in delight. “And next door is the local woodworker. He begins with high-quality northern lumber and whittles it into unique, intricate furniture pieces!” Mr. Wealder grinned and waved, his petite body swaying with the momentum of his moving arm.

“Finally, this year we’ll be going up close and personal with the local marine mechanic.” The reporter guided the cameraman across the street to the waterfront. They’d reached the northernmost end of Main Street, where Peter’s shop was located. “Good afternoon, Mr. Barnes. Would you be so kind as to show us around your shop and tell us a little bit about what you do?”

Her father gripped the armrests of his chair as he watched himself on screen. Lucy and her brothers glanced at one another, exchanging a silent agreement to keep quiet as they watched their father’s moment on national television. They knew how much he mistrusted the Commune, and that he had been selected to be interviewed against his will. Of course, he hadn’t made his dissention known. Peter had made one thing very clear to his three children as they grew up—the Commune was not to be trusted, but dissention could
not
be voiced.

Center-screen on their television, Peter glanced at the camera before turning his back to show the reporter inside his shop. He guided the man around, explaining the docking and lift systems he used to secure boats while he worked.

“Here is my tool bench. Times are good here in Algid, but they could always be better. I lack many of the tools I need to perform all the services necessary to repair and maintain these fishing boats. A simple oil change is never a problem, but—”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Barnes!” The reporter cut Lucy’s father off. “Your shop is very quaint! We from the Commune are so grateful for the work you do to ensure these important vessels are able to continue their work and provide fish for your town and the rest of Apocrypham!” The reporter ushered his cameraman out of the shop. “Next, we’ll be showing you a beautiful panoramic view of the Northern Sea. This stunning sea is the backdrop your counterparts from the north are privileged to enjoy every day!” The camera swept across the glittering sea as the helicopter hoisting the camera crew took to the sky.

Lucy stole another glance at her father. His knuckles were white. “Kids,” he licked his lips and began, “As I’m sure you can tell, this interview wasn’t my finest moment in the eyes of the Commune. There are certain standards they expect to be upheld. They expect citizens to portray happiness and prosperity for the camera regardless of the truth. I failed to meet that expectation, and it’s possible I may be punished for it.”

“Dad! What are you saying?” Luke cried.

“I’m not saying anything bad is going to happen, son, but I’m being realistic. The Commune is a corrupt organization that will do anything to save face. They want to portray a prosperous nation that is grateful toward the government. Those who are subversive hinder the Commune from achieving its goals—and that is intolerable in the eyes of the Commune.”

“So are you saying they could punish you for saying you needed more tools?” Mack’s mouth hung open.

Peter seemed tired. “I don’t know, Mack. You never know with the Commune. All I know is my feature was cut short—and it didn’t end on a good note. The only way I imagine they’d allow me a free pass is because of you kids. They already—” he cut himself off. His eyes were far away. Despite Lucy, Mack, Luke, and Drew’s undivided attention, Peter appeared to lose himself in a flurry of memories within his mind.

“Dad? Are you okay?” Lucy prompted. She hated to see her father this way. She’d seen it a few times before when he spoke of the times when their mother was still around. He didn’t speak of their mother often. She and her brothers knew very little about their mother, though Peter had told them she was courageous, outspoken, intelligent, and beautiful. What happened to her, the children did not know.

“Yes, yes I’m fine. Sorry—I was just remembering something. I need to go out to the garage to collect a few items to bring to work tomorrow.” He stood and left the children alone in the living room as a dazzling shot of the Northern Sea panned across the screen.

Lucy met her brothers’ eyes, sharing in their alarm. She didn’t dare speak her fears aloud for fear of substantiating them: would the Commune take their father away?

The Commune camera crew transitioned to the next segment of their annual production with a breathtaking shot of a vast, plateau-peppered desert. The arid land of south-western Apocrypham boasted expanses of colorful sands due to upwelling of various minerals, the reporter explained. Patches of teal, neon green, and electric red minerals bejeweled the bright orange sand.

The helicopter passed over several massive quarries abuzz with construction equipment and people, where the reporter noted that workers were mining rock, precious metals, and minerals.

“Do you guys think Dad is okay?” Luke asked his older siblings. The three Barnes children had always been very close. With their mother gone, they felt a compelling need to stick together. Aside from their father, they were all each other had.

“He’ll be fine, Luke. He’s a little rattled by the interview but I think it’ll be okay…” Mack trailed off, glancing at his sister. Drew shifted, uncomfortable despite his closeness to the Barnes family. He’d spent so much time with them that he was practically part of the family.

“It’s going to be fine,” Lucy agreed, as much in an effort to convince herself as her younger brother. “Dad has taught us since we were kids not to trust the Commune. We can put on a good front if someone from the Commune ever shows up to question us. Dad just got frustrated in his interview… he’s never been good at masking his emotion.” Her heart constricted with pain as they discussed their father’s interview. It brought back the hurt of their absent mother, making Lucy wince. She pushed the feelings away, unable to bear the sadness.

Luke crossed his arms, unconvinced. The Barnes children had witnessed the brutality the Commune was capable of. Dissenters disappeared. Ordinary, law-abiding citizens were fitted with Commune tracking devices at random. It was said that the ankle strap tracking devices reported citizens’ everyday movements and were monitored somewhere in the Capital. Over the years, Lucy had seen temporary tracking devices fitted to her father, a few neighbors, and several of her friends at school.

Public trials of traitors and spies were broadcast on Commune TV, and the sentence for the guilty was always execution. Images of wailing defendants being dragged away were caged in the Barnes children’s minds.

“Turn that garbage off,” their father would scold, but often Commune TV was the only channel they picked up. At best, they’d receive three or four channels at a time, but most days there were alleged technical difficulties due to snowstorms or equipment failure. Somehow, Commune TV never experienced outages.

“And now, we bring you to Scaldsburg, the hub of life in the desert here in southwestern Apocrypham! Scaldsburg specializes in medicine, services for the transcontinental railroad, spices, mining, drilling oil, and natural gas. That’s right—without Scaldsburg, you wouldn’t be able to drive an automobile, build houses, or even have medicine when you are sick!”

The reporter’s eyes bulged atop his goofy grin. Mack and Drew rolled their eyes at his over-exuberance.

The reporter led the cameraman down a wide, packed dirt road lined with shops. Everything seemed to be built right up from the dirt—there was no pavement. The reporter approached a tall middle-aged woman standing outside a jewelry shop. “Hello, there! You must be Mrs. Leftwick, the local jeweler. Can you tell us a little bit about your business, ma’am?”

“Certainly!” Mrs. Leftwick beamed at the camera, her thin glasses reflecting the sun’s sharp rays. She unveiled a long, thin-lipped smile, managing to show just a sliver of teeth. “Please, step inside and see my collection of precious metal jewelry.” She gestured to a long glass display cabinet. “The metals are all mined here in the desert and hand crafted into the fine shapes you see. I adorn my handmade jewelry with local semi-precious stones, and export my products nationwide for other Apocryphites to enjoy.” She smiled at the reporter, entwining her bony fingers in front of her body.

“Just lovely, Mrs. Leftwick! You are a true master craftswoman. Dave—get a close-up of this turquoise stone set in sterling silver!” He summoned the cameraman closer, holding up a large pendant necklace. Lucy was taken aback by the beauty of the piece. She would never reveal it in front of her brothers, but she wished their father had the money to buy her something like that. She relished the thought of being able to dress up, though in Algid, impractical clothing was scarce and frowned upon. Her day-to-day attire consisted of jeans and a t-shirt indoors, or jeans, boots, and her purple puffer jacket outside.

The reporter smothered Mrs. Leftwick with chirpy partings as he backed out of her shop. Mrs. Leftwick beamed and waved at the camera as the Commune crew moved off down the road.

“Next, we will pay a visit to the main medicinal factory,” the reporter declared. Shopkeepers and residents lined the road, intrigued by the spectacle as the crew approached a towering, rectangular white building. Several small glass windows freckled the face of the massive structure.

A serious-faced man in a white lab coat and thick black-framed glasses stood at the access gate awaiting the crew. He shook the reporter’s hand and swiped a plastic access card. The massive iron gates guarding the grounds slid open. The building was encircled by hundreds of assorted cacti planted in a sea of red rocks.

“Here, I’m told Scaldsburg produces hundreds of medicines which are distributed throughout the country. Over 5,000 people are employed at this facility alone!” The reporter spread his arms in a grand gesture as a hoard of sweat beads matured on his forehead.

The man in the white coat led the camera crew to the large glass double doors. He paused to swipe another plastic access card, then approached an eye-level sensor, removed his glasses, and allowed an orange laser beam to scan his eyeball. The sensor rewarded him with a shrill beep and the thick glass doors released with a hiss of pressure, bulging ajar.             

The program rattled on, but Lucy couldn’t concentrate on it. Her mind wandered as she stared at the screen, the scenes blurring together and failing to register. She couldn’t stop thinking about the map and Mr. Quincy’s strange orders. Confusion and anxiety were waging a war inside her head, though she kept a straight face and pretended to be absorbed in the show.

Does this have something to do with Mom’s disappearance? Is it some sort of trick? Are my family and I in danger?
A terrible vision of Mr. Quincy laughing at her flashed across her mind’s eye, but sudden pain and the metallic tang of blood on her tongue jerked her back to reality. She’d chewed one of her fingernails to the nub.

“Excellent—it’s 1:58! We’ve made it just in time. Our viewers are in for a real treat!” The reporter sprang into action on screen. “Dave, get in position for the shot!” Lucy’s attention was recaptured by the reporter’s enthusiasm. The camera crew was at a train station in a town somewhere near the middle of the country called Ryesville.

She watched as the cameraman secured the camera to its tripod facing west, where the train tracks disappeared into a field of swaying golden grain. Gusts of wind left pulsating impressions among the stems. Lucy marveled at how the stalks heaved and caved like wave tops on the ocean as the wind pressed and released their tips. A black speck appeared on the horizon and a distant whistle was just audible over the swishing of grain. The speck grew as the seconds passed, until Lucy could make out a dark smoke cloud rising from a stack atop the train.

“There she is!” The reporter jumped into the scene to narrate the train’s arrival. “Ladies and gentlemen, the two o’clock is just moments away. The Intercontinental is vital to our nation’s success. It enables us to transport goods across the country and to the Capital, sharing our resources, making it a true symbol of this great nation’s unity! As you know, following the Third Great War of 2127, our nation was thrown into turmoil when the world economy collapsed. But while other nations warred and ravaged and starved, our isolationism saved us. We strengthened our already-superior military and beefed up our defenses, including the Great Fence that keeps the rest of the world out. We
survived
.

“No one else lives like you do, Apocrypham! You see the terrible images of extreme poverty from the rest of the world on Commune TV. We
must
remain ever-grateful to the Commune for providing ongoing military protection to sustain us! There is no better representation of everything we stand for—independence, working together, and industriousness—than the Intercontinental Railway!” He threw his hands high in triumph and was engulfed in a great rush of air as the huge black train sped past him, just an arm’s length from where he stood.

Troubling as his speech was, chills still ran up Lucy’s arms. He managed to create quite a climactic moment with the train’s arrival. She rolled her eyes, chastising herself for succumbing to the reporter’s obvious attempt to inspire nationalism.

The camera panned away from the reporter to follow the train as it squealed to a stop at Ryesville Station. Several men in cornflower collared shirts hopped down from the train and sprang into action, filling out paperwork, opening side-car doors, setting up ramps, and unlocking train car hatches.

Ryesville Station workers opened sheds storing local goods awaiting export. The blue-shirted Intercontinental workers busied themselves unloading heavy pallets and stacking them in neat piles next to the sheds. Once the offload was complete, the workers loaded the cars to maximum capacity with boxes of produce, clothing, and livestock. Chickens clucked, roosters squawked, men gestured and shouted, and dust clouded the air. Lucy was captivated by the blur of organized commotion.

“As you can see, unloading and loading the Intercontinental is a busy process!” The reporter injected himself into the scene, stepping in front of the camera. A cheeky Ryesville station worker leaned into the edge of the scene. He smiled at the camera, baring an alarming set of gappy teeth, gray at the gums. Lucy cringed, grateful that they had a dentist in Algid.

The station workers finished loading the train, sealed and locked the hasps, and stepped away from the tracks. With a prolonged toot of its whistle, the train discharged a cloud of steam and began to chug away from Ryesville station.

Lucy sensed the mistrust of the gathering of locals who loitered around the station. Mothers clung to their squirming children amid a crowd of rigid, somber faces.
It seems that attitudes toward the Commune are no different in Ryesville than they in Algid
, Lucy thought with an involuntary shudder. She pulled a woolen blanket around her shoulders and tried to shake off the sudden, eerie feeling that someone was watching her

The reporter was engulfed in steam as he made his final remarks. “Well folks, this concludes this year’s on-scene coverage for the Form of the Nation address. Thank you for joining us. It has been our pleasure to provide you with a glimpse into life in various cities that comprise our great nation! We now hand it back over to the Representative of the People, the honorable Mr. Quincy.”

The screen flickered as the program cut to Mr. Quincy, who sat behind a heavy wooden desk with flawless posture.

“Welcome back, people of Apocrypham. I hope you enjoyed this year’s peek into life across Apocrypham. Our country is the best and strongest nation on this earth today! As you know, when the world economy collapsed during the nuclear attacks of the Third Great War, the nations of the world went to war. Everyone suffered. Countries were wiped out. Those who survived were left without central government, alone and unprotected. But we were smarter than that. And with the protection of our military, we remain safe from infiltration to this day. The horrors and suffering of the outside world will remain outside our borders.

“Here in Apocrypham, we know peace and prosperity. Under the Commune, you are protected from those who would destroy us. They want what you have. They want everything you work hard to produce. But together, we will continue to live our peaceful lives. Together, we will keep foreigners out and maintain order!” He pounded the desk with a fist. His dark black eyes flashed. Not a single hair fell out of his glassy comb over. “My friends, together we are the future, not just of Apocrypham, but of the world.” He spoke slower now, emphasizing each word. Lucy’s upper lip curled.

The national anthem began to play as the camera zoomed out, signaling the end of the Form of the Nation address. Mr. Quincy shuffled some papers on his desk in a staged effort to appear occupied. Mack sighed and switched off the television.

“Did you guys notice how the people were standing off at a distance when the Commune crew was leaving?” Luke asked. “They must feel the same way people around here do,” he muttered.

Mack nodded. “I noticed it too.”

Goosebumps formed on Lucy’s arms despite her blanket cocoon. “Stop!” she insisted in a low voice. “You both know you can’t talk like that, even here. Especially after what happened with Dad! You never know if we’re being watched—”

“Or listened to.” Peter finished her sentence in a hushed voice. He had returned from the garage without making a sound. “Boys, Lucy is right to be cautious. The things I’ve told you all your lives about the Commune and how we must behave are now more important than ever. There will be a time to finish this discussion, but it is not now.” Peter’s tone dictated the end of the conversation. Sighing, he sank into his favorite chair.

The children regarded their father with the deepest respect. They were old enough to have pieced together the fragments they knew of his past and to begin theorizing as to what may have happened to their mother. Lucy sensed that it was part of what made him such a grave, closed-off man.