Vivian Apple Needs a Miracle (5 page)

“Why?”

“You don't know about the Church health care initiative?” At my blank look, Frankie groans. “Lucky you. In the last month, the corporation bought most of the major health insurance companies. The premiums are higher than ever, and really, it's just another way to keep Believers in line. You know—no abortions, no birth control, no assisted suicide. It's a pretty genius way to convince your faithful following that their bodies don't belong to them. Anyway, all hospitals do surveillance for the Church now—I imagine they got your picture even before it went up on the feed. There's no way you could have gotten in and out without getting recognized.”

Once Frankie has tightly swaddled my hand, she closes the first-aid kit and walks around the bar to the center of the room, joining the circle that gathers around Diego. Harp and I move to follow, but when Diego spots us, he shoots Winnie a look and she comes rushing toward us, a tablet balanced on her forearm. She beckons us to follow her and, a little dazed, we do. She leads us down a staircase and into the sleeping area. Winnie gestures to two empty beds and explains, “Diego has to brief everyone, and we need updates on a few individual projects. Why don't you take this time to get some rest?”

She beams at us and races back up the steps before I can object. I can hear Diego's voice above us, but from this distance I can't make out a word he's saying. Harp sprawls on her stomach on one of the beds, snatching up an old issue of a Church of America magazine someone's left lying around. I recognize the cover—we devoured it months ago back in Pittsburgh, laughing over lists like “100 Reasons Demure Girls Have More Fun!” and “How to Tell If Your Best Friend Is Doomed to Eternal Torments in the Pits of Hell!” Now, staring at the shyly smiling ingénue on the cover, I feel a surge of rage. I reach out and yank the magazine from Harp's hands.

“Uh . . .” Harp watches in bemusement as I throw the magazine across the room. “I
was
about to take a ‘Which Biblical Female Are You?' quiz, but that's cool, Viv, you know. Gotta practice your fastball.”

“When I think of how many issues we bought
ironically
, that every penny of it went into the corporation's pockets—that they used that money to . . .” I can't finish. I close my eyes, try to make my breaths come out slow and even. “I'm glad we found these people. I hope so hard that when we go back to the compound, the Three Angels are waiting for us. I want to see their faces when they see us coming. I want to watch Diego mow them down. I want to help.”

I open my eyes and see Harp staring at me with an inscrutable expression. “He can't mow them down,” she says. “Not tonight, anyway. We have to go public. We have to make them tell the world what they did.”

“Who cares, as long as we get rid of them?”

“I care, Viv.” Harp frowns now. “And you should too. Look, I get that you're angry. We're all angry. But I'll be honest—I don't like this side of you. Seriously, you should have heard yourself out there: ‘Swear to me'! ‘Why the fuck are you smiling'! It was like an action movie. Not a good one.” She pauses. “The goal is not to hold on to this secret. Just because we're the ones who found it out doesn't mean it belongs to us. The only way to take down the corporation is to get the truth into as many heads as we can reach.”

“People won't believe us.”

“Diego and Winnie just did. And people have believed weirder things.”

I know that what Harp's saying makes sense, but still I feel this bloodthirsty itch—new and strangely satisfying. “Since when,” I say, “are you about
not
taking action? I thought we weren't going to be meek anymore.”

“This isn't meekness. This is caution. We don't really know anything about these people. I like Winnie, but . . . you heard how she avoided answering you when you asked her about their attacks. That shit was shady, man. I don't know. I want a better reason to trust Diego than the fact that he loves the sister you've only known for a day.”

“We know them better than we knew Goliath,” I reply. “And I don't remember you hesitating to put your faith in
him
.”

Harp's mouth twists into an angry knot. She lies back to stare at the ceiling. I feel a rush of remorse, and I'm about to apologize, but she speaks before I'm able, and her tone is odd.

“Viv. We need to talk about something else.”

“What?”

“Our faces were the only ones on the feed. You saw it. Peter's not on there. They didn't post his picture; they didn't say anything about there being a boy with us, an accomplice.”

“So?”

“So . . .” Harp sits up. “For the picture of us to exist, they watched the security feed. They saw all three of us. There's no way they could have missed Peter. I'm worried that if they're only looking for us, that means they've already got him.”

My stomach drops. I lower myself to sit beside Harp. I've been so wrapped up in everything that's happened since we escaped—my mother, Winnie, the danger we're in—that it never occurred to me to wonder about Peter's absence from the feed. The only thing that's kept me from falling apart is the sliver of possibility that he is on the run, just like we are.

“I can't see what else it would mean,” Harp whispers. “If they didn't have him, he'd be in the picture. The only other reason he wouldn't be . . .” She shakes her head. I wait for her to continue, but she doesn't.

“What? What's the other reason?”

“I don't think—” Harp falters again. “I mean, there isn't one.”

But somehow I realize what she doesn't want to say, and I'm torn between being so angry at her I can hardly see straight and a fear that turns my fingers numb.

“The only other reason Peter wouldn't be in the picture,” I supply, “is if the Church isn't looking for him. Because they don't need to. Because he stayed behind last night to join them.”

“I'm not saying that! Not exactly! I'm only saying we have to prepare ourselves for anything. Maybe Peter escaped; maybe he's got Frick and his dad and he's on his way to the nearest TV station to prove the Rapture was faked, to take down the Church single-handedly. That's what I want, Viv. That's my dream scenario. But the fact that he isn't on the feed like we are makes me think it's not what happened. Either he got caught, or . . . he didn't.”

“And if he didn't, he's a traitor,” I drawl. “If he didn't, I just spent the last month batting my eyelashes at a psychopath.”

“Viv—”

“Harp, I love you. I don't want to fight. But you sound completely paranoid. I know you have your suspicions about Goliath, but this is Peter we're talking about.” I shake my head. “Remember Nevada? Remember how he let that crazy Believer beat him senseless just so we could escape? If he's working for the Church, he's not doing a good job of it.”

After a moment, Harp gives me a weak smile. “You're probably right. Sorry, Viv—I'm just freaked out by the feed, I guess. I wish so hard we weren't on it.”

I wish it too. But at the same time I realize that all we would have had to do to continue going undetected by the Church was nothing. It was our own defiant actions that brought us to this point. And though the consequences are huge and terrifying, I can't regret the actions themselves. I'm about to tell her so when I see movement on the balcony above—Diego.

“Ladies?” he calls down. “Would you mind joining us?”

Harp and I exchange a look, a silent agreement to talk more later. We walk up together. I know she's not totally convinced about Peter, and that her doubts are born out of love for me. I'd do the same for her; I
have
done the same. There's not a single person Harp's made out with this year whom I've not vocally suspected to be a Church of America sleeper agent. But I can't, I
don't
believe Peter lied to us. Even if it means the Church has him, I won't believe he lied to us. I glance down at the necklace he made me—he spent all that time whittling a tiny sledge- hammer out of wood, because he thought it would make me happy, because he thought it would help me be strong. No one can lie as well as that.

Can they?

Diego waits at the center of the room above in a soldier's stance. The militia forms a semicircle around him. I watch them watch us approach. I only recognize Birdie and Frankie. Winnie appears to be gone. Diego nods as he sees me looking for her.

“She went to check on Mara,” he explains. “We don't know if the Church realizes your mom escaped the Rapture—if they do, they might be looking for her. Don't worry—Winnie will be back tomorrow for our morning meeting. She'll update you then.”

“Great.” I wonder if he hears the acid in my voice. I haven't considered the possibility that my mom might be in danger, and I'm glad Winnie's looking out for her, but the thought of their cozy evenings at home together makes me want to run at full speed through Cliff House's windows.

There are over fifty people in Amanda's army, but Diego only introduces us to his core team: Robbie, a boy who can't be more than thirteen, who peers at us from beneath shaggy blond bangs; Elliott, mustachioed and older than our dads, who gives Harp an unnerving wink; Colby, the tallest person in the room, who stands straighter than even Diego; Julian, long-limbed and fidgety, who turns out to be Diego's cousin; Suzy, tall and curvy and pigtailed; Karen, a bubbly woman around Frankie's age who makes a point to say the word
welcome;
and Kimberly, who has a curly black halo of hair and a long, intimidating rifle strapped across her back, who greets us with “What up, ladies?”

When introductions are complete, Diego turns to Harp and me. “A team of us will breach the Point Reyes compound tonight. We don't want to waste time—it's possible the Church has already taken steps to destroy it now that you've seen it. We want to thank you for this info—it's a big step in the right direction for us. Now, I'm sure you're exhausted, so please get some sleep. I'll fill you in as much as I can in the morning.”

A handful of soldiers breaks away to head for the front door. Diego has already turned away when I call out, “Wait! I'm not tired. I want to come with you!”

When he faces me again, I see the slightest hint of irritation in Diego's eyes. “That wasn't part of our agreement, Vivian. I'm sorry.”

“But . . .” I'm confused; I feel like I've been tricked. There's no way I'm not going into that forest again—I won't let anyone but myself find Peter. “You don't know what you're looking for! How do you plan to find this compound you didn't know about until an hour ago?”

There's a cough beside me, and when I turn, Suzy waves. “I hacked into the tax returns of local Church branches and found a few million set aside for construction—fall, two years ago. Then I matched that with a public works notice about Point Reyes—a
very
specific press release that went out at the same time, claiming an outbreak of rabies-infected rats.” She shudders. “They've put out the same notice every month since: still dealing with the rats, here are the coordinates to avoid. That whole area's been closed to the public for the last two years—it's a perfect place to hide a compound, if you've got a compound to hide.” Suzy grins. “You have to give them points for creativity.”

“Okay. But look, we
want
to go. We want to see this through. We can handle ourselves. Please, Diego, this is important to us!”

He sighs. “Vivian. I appreciate that you and Harp have some real balls between you, but I'm sorry—I'm not going to take a couple of teenage girls along just for the hell of it. This is a dangerous mission, okay? This isn't a trip to the mall.”

Harp makes an indignant noise. “You're taking that little boy with you!” she says, pointing at Robbie, who scowls at us as he passes with his gun.

“Robbie is trained in combat,” Diego replies.

“You wouldn't have this information without us,” I say firmly. “I don't know what this Amanda person had planned before we told you about the faked Rapture, but surely this changes it. We're a part of this now, and we intend to come with you.”

He assesses me for a long moment. If he refuses again, I don't know what I'll do. I'll steal one of the cars parked in front of Cliff House; I'll race back to the compound myself. But I will not sit here and kill time while Peter's in trouble. I don't know if Diego's convinced by some fire he sees in me or just cognizant of the pressure of time, but he finally sighs. “You'll do exactly as I say and nothing more. Do you understand?”

Birdie and Frankie lend us dark jeans and black jackets to replace the summery clothes we've been wearing for nearly two days now. We bundle into the back seat of Diego's car alongside Suzy; Julian rides shotgun. Another car carrying Colby, Robbie, Kimberly, Birdie, and Elliott drives behind us. Within moments, the Golden Gate Bridge towers above as we cross to the Point Reyes side. The mood is tense; the only voice speaking is the GPS on Suzy's phone. I shiver against Harp, even though the windows are shut tight against the cold night air. We're headed back to the place my father was killed, back to the place where we last saw Peter. I'm scared as hell, but I can feel my pain transforming with every passing second into angry energy.

After about an hour of the automated voice's directions, the dark forest swallows us up on either side. Suzy consults the map.

“After about three miles, you'll hit a side road without a name. Take a left there, and after another four miles, park. That'll put us in the vicinity. We'll head in on foot after.”

I press my face to the car window, trying to make out something familiar, but all I see are black trees whipping past. I remember how I felt trudging through the forest last night. Like someone was watching. I hope they can see me now, whoever they are: the Three Angels, or the larger faceless mass of the corporation. I hope they see me coming and I hope they tremble.