Z 2134 (26 page)

J
onah tried pulling free, but the rope
bit deeper into his flesh, threatening to tear his wrists off if he continued.

His captors were smart, putting him in a
room with no view of anything else and far from any sounds that he could
identify. All he knew was that he was underground in an old train station, but
he had no clue where he was in relation to the parts of The Barrens that were
walled off for The Darwin Games or City 6.

To make matters worse, he had no idea
what lay directly past the room he was in. Was he in a remote part of the
refugee village, or right in the center of their version of a prison? Even if
he could break free from the ropes, he had no idea what he’d be walking into.
Nor did he have any idea which tunnels went back to the surface.

The tunnels went on for miles and were
home to not only other refugees, but bandits, beasts, zombies, and closer to
the City, they were monitored by hunter orbs. So even if he managed to break
free, he had no guarantees of safety.

And even if he happened to run into
Underground rebels friendly to the cause, it wasn’t as if they’d see him as a
friend. He was a Watcher to them, his role in the Underground a secret, which
none would believe. If they spotted him, they’d likely shoot him on sight.

He had to work on Egan. It was his only
chance at freedom, and his only chance to help Ana.

A sudden crash pulled Jonah’s eyes to the
doorway as Father Truth stumbled into the room and knocked a metal cart on
wheels into the wall with a clang.

The dwarf was rubbing his hand on the
side of his leg as he righted himself from his fall, his face lightly flushed
as he looked over to Jonah.

“Wasn’t looking where I was going,” he
said, turning his embarrassment into a smile.

Jonah smiled back. It was hard not to
like Father Truth. He was calm and made every word easy to believe. Jonah
wondered how much his name had to do with trust. That was the sort of shit the
State did. There was nothing safe about a safety stick, which most non-Watchers
called by their more appropriate names, shock sticks.

“Gods,” Father said, looking at Jonah’s
face. “Did you run into a cart, too?”

“Something like that,” Jonah said.

Father reached into a satchel on his belt
and removed a small tube, pressed some paste onto his hand, and then spread it
over Jonah’s swollen cheekbone.

Jonah cringed at the touch.

“Hold on a moment,” Father said, and left
the room, leaving the door partly open.

Jonah’s heart sped up as he began to pull
at his bindings again, to no avail.

A few minutes later, Father appeared,
dashing any hopes of escape. He was followed by Calla, holding a tin bowl.

“She’s going to wash your wounds,” Father
said. “I hope you don’t mind. Meanwhile, I’m gonna give you something to ease
the pain.”

Father pricked him with another of his
needles and then stepped back as Calla approached him.

She dunked a gray rag into the bowl of
water and brought it to Jonah’s face. As her hand got closer, Jonah flinched,
expecting her to perhaps take an opportunity to add to the pain her father had
inflicted.

Instead, her touch was gentle, and her
eyes focused so she would not accidentally press too hard in the wrong spots.
The water was cold and felt good, even if it hurt a bit.

She dipped the bloody rag into the water,
then squeezed it out and brought it to his face again, wiping away at his
bloody lip.

“Did my father do this?” she asked, her
eyes locked on his.

“It’s OK,” Jonah said. “And thank you.”

Calla didn’t respond, but finished
cleaning his wound, then looked at Father for approval.

“Good job, sweetie, thank you.”

Calla nodded at him, then looked at Jonah
again and gave him a subtle nod.

“Thank you,” Jonah said again and watched
as the girl left.

“She’s a good kid,” Jonah said, feeling
overly emotional again.

The damned drugs!

“I thought you gave me something for the
pain, Father, not more truth shit.”

“Both, actually,” Father said with a
grin.

“Fine, fine,” Jonah said. “Could you
please tell me what’s going on with my daughter, though? Last night, did she
make it? Is she still alive?” He choked on the final question as Father shook
his head.

“I don’t know,” Father said.

“Bullshit,” Jonah said, angry. “That
doesn’t sound like
truth
to me, Father.”

Father smiled again, sadder than before.
“You’re right, and I’m sorry. Truth is, I’m not allowed to say.”

“Well, what
can
you tell me?”

“What would you like to know?”

“Why are you here? To get me ready for my
big trial?”

Father turned and pointed to the wall, at
a slit running lengthwise beside one of the several faded train posters on the
wall, so thin and draped in shadow Jonah hadn’t noticed it before, even though
he’d been frantically searching for signs he was being watched.

“We have a camera in the wall,” Father
said. “I came in to tell you to stop pulling at your restraints. You’re making
my
wrists hurt.” He turned from Jonah, then dragged a chair beside him and
sat. “What else would you like to know?”

“Can you tell me about the trial?”

“Sure,” Father said. “What do you wish to
know?”

“Anything? I mean, why have one at all?
Seems like Egan’s mind is made up already. Hell, I don’t even know what I’m
being charged with, but I know I’m guilty.”

“Because sometimes doing the right thing
when everything else is wrong is all we have left.” Father crossed one leg over
the other, and Jonah had to swallow a laugh despite it all. With the drugs
working on him, the unusual man’s size invited giggles he’d normally not have.

“Nearly two hundred years ago, the Old
Nation went to war with the East, and the president authorized leaders within
the War Department to place all citizens living in the west coast of the Old
Nation who were originally from the country they were fighting into detention
camps. So they rounded up 120,000 citizens of the Old Nation and locked them
away. Most had documentation, but the War Department granted themselves
permission to evacuate and imprison any citizen they wanted, forgoing the
time-honored right to a fair trial for the first time in The Old Nation’s
history. The war lasted a few years, I’m not sure exactly how long, but through
its entirety, not a single spy was arrested or convicted.”

Father shrugged. “Hard to say whether
this was morally right or wrong. Who knows? The Old Nation was at war, and they
probably figured they were keeping citizens safe. But back when my father told
me those stories, before I escaped The Dark Quarters and the City, he told me
of a world where things like law weren’t just thrown aside at the first moment
it became inconvenient to follow it. We’re different here than inside The City.
Laws aren’t arbitrary, and justice means something.”

“So, I get a ‘fair trial’ so you can say
you gave me one to keep an illusion of what, exactly?” Jonah shook his head.
“That’s bullshit, and it means nothing. Egan’s already decided I’m guilty, so
what’s the point? I’m just another prisoner in the camp, with formality to slow
things down. I should be in The Barrens, looking for my daughter.”

“Egan isn’t in charge,” Father said. “We
have a Council of Five. Egan is only one vote. Even if he’s decided, that makes
20 percent of the vote, and honestly,” Father met Jonah’s eyes, “I think you do
Egan, and yourself, a grave disservice assuming his mind is so easily tainted.”

Father leaned forward. “Would you be so
unfair?”

Jonah shook his head, then said, “Does
the council know he’s gonna try me?”

“They’re aware of your crimes, yes,”
Father said.

“I want to talk to Egan.”

“Why? Do you have new information? Would
you like to confess to a crime? He won’t be interested in seeing you unless you
do.”

“Yes,” Jonah said. “I have something I’d
like to confess.”

“Really?” Father said, eyebrows arched.
Something about his expression reminded Jonah of Duncan. He wasn’t sure why,
but the feeling was unmistakable.

“Yes,” Jonah repeated. “I have something
to confess.”

“Very well,” Father said. “I’ll be back.”

The dwarf left, disappearing up the
stairway and returning moments later with Egan, as though he had been standing
nearby waiting for Father to fetch him.

Father and Egan stood side by side. Egan
said, “So, you have something to confess?”

“I do,” Jonah said.

“Then get on with it.” Egan crossed his
arms, waiting.

Jonah wasn’t sure what he was going to
say. He simply wanted a chance to say something to appeal to Egan’s humanity.

“I’m a bad man,” Jonah said. “I deserve
to hang for many sins. Some at the service of the City and State, ignorant of
my wrongdoing. Others where I knew what I was doing was wrong, yet I did them
anyway because it was easier to follow than to question authority. Hell, I
was
the authority. And I wish I could take it all back. As a Watcher, I burned
books because they contained forbidden knowledge, I actively pursued people I
thought to be conspiring against The City, I torched people’s homes and shops
to teach them to obey The City, and I burned evidence that likely could’ve
freed many people over the years. But the sin I regret more than all others
combined was not telling the truth that day in the courtroom.”

Jonah swallowed, partly for dramatic
effect and partly to try to keep his voice from cracking with emotion. “When I
saw your eyes, when you begged me to tell the truth, part of me knew right
there that I should’ve done something. And yet I did nothing. And then, when I
was called onto the scene where your wife was murdered, it killed me to know
that it would never have happened had I told the truth. You’d still have your
wife and your son, and you’d still be living within The Walls of City 6,
happily ever after. Well, maybe not, if someone was setting you up. But perhaps
I could’ve intervened and spared you some of the heartache. Maybe I could have
made a difference. But I didn’t. I was a coward. And for that, I am sorry, Mr.
Egan.”

Egan stared, emotionless despite Jonah’s
plea.

Is he waiting for something else?

Jonah continued, hoping to find the right
combination of words to change the man’s mind.

 “I have no problem paying for my sins,
and I tried making amends with years of service in the Underground, helping
rebels behind The Wall. In that time I probably made a bigger difference than
anyone else, at least when it came to raw numbers, constantly furthering the
cause. I wanted to try to undo some of the wrongs that I’d done.”

Jonah didn’t want to cry, even if it
would help draw Egan’s sympathy, and hated his eyes for welling up.

“If my attempted amends aren’t enough to
pay for my mistakes, well,” Jonah held Egan’s stare, “then I’m happy to pay
with my life. But not yet,” he shook his head. “Not while my daughter’s in
danger, and not when I can still help her. Please, Egan. Let me go, let me find
Ana and save her — she shouldn’t have to pay for
my
crimes.”

For a second, Jonah thought he had
reached Egan, that maybe his words had slipped through some small chink in the
man’s emotional armor.

Then it was gone, as if he had never seen
it at all.

Egan’s eyes remained stone dry as he
leaned into Jonah. “My family paid for my supposed crimes against The State. So
perhaps its only justice that yours pay for your crimes. An eye for an eye, two
lives for two lives. Yes, that sounds just to me. In a few hours you can make
your case at your trial. Perhaps you’ll find the mercy I was denied.”

Egan then turned away and left the room
without saying another word.

Jonah’s eyes met Father’s, seeing a look
that Jonah knew all too well. It was the look you give a dead man moments
before he is sentenced.

L
iam was careful to vary his walk,
occasionally pulling ahead of the group, or falling slightly behind, making
sure they saw him as a minimal threat, absorbing the inane chatter from the men
while trying to ignore Chloe’s siren’s song in his ear.

The longer he walked behind her, the more
he wanted to fuck her. But each time he caught himself staring at her ass, he
turned his attention to Marcus’s giant ass instead, splashing cold water on his
libido. Thankfully, it was a trick that had worked each time over the course of
the hour they’d been walking together.

“I prefer a blade,” Keb said.

“Why would anyone
prefer
a blade?”
Chloe asked, turning to the tattooed leader, or at least the guy too dumb to
realize the leader was Chloe. “A blade is only slightly better than nothing,
and a great way to get yourself dead.”