The Last Uprising (Defectors Trilogy) Page 7

  I threw a panicked glance at Greyson. The herd of people was growing as the corridor widened, and I was worried we would be separated.

  The crowd sorted itself into distinct groups. The men in the blue overalls seemed to stick together. They were burlier and scruffier, and they cleared a path easily with their sheer mass and exuberance as a group. The women dressed like Logan and me were huddled together in tight knots, arms linked, giggling conspiratorially.

  Suddenly, the ceiling began to slope upward until it disappeared, and the walls gave way as though we were entering a football stadium. My eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden brightness, and when they did, I realized the entire ceiling was one giant skylight. Ornamental white rafters stretched up to give the illusion of a sloped roof, and the entirety of one wall was dominated by a fifteen-foot cross rising up over an altar.

  The horde of people began to disperse into rows of pews, and Amory placed his hand on the small of my back to steer me into one of the back rows. I tried not to gawk at the enormity of the worship hall, but its size and grandeur made it nearly impossible.

  What I first thought were upper decks of seating was actually a hallway, probably one that led to individual apartments. The last stragglers were hurrying down two spiral staircases in the back corners of the sanctuary.

  We took our seats, and my heart nearly jumped out of my chest when I felt a tiny tap as soft as a bird’s wing on my shoulder. I froze, dread and fear pumping through my veins.

  I tried to arrange my face into an expression of calm friendliness as I turned, but it probably looked more like a grimace.

  Behind me was a woman in her midtwenties. She had thin, white-blond hair folded into a neat plait. A cloud of angelic curls framed her pale, heart-shaped face, and her mouth was lifted into a sweet smile.

  “Excuse me, sister. You might want to move before Sister Elise sees.”

  I must have looked puzzled, because her eyes darted to Amory, who was sitting close enough for our arms to touch.

  “Sorry to intrude. It’s just . . . well . . .” She blushed a little. “You know the rules.”

  About men, I filled in for her in my mind.

  “You’re welcome to sit with us.” She extended a porcelain hand. “I’m Mary Beth, by the way.”

  Looking around, I noticed entire pews filled with women in white dresses, chatting in whispers or bowing their heads in prayer. Behind them, unable to hide their stares, were rows of men. Some sat back in the pews looking bored while others kneeled to flirt with the women sitting in front of them, pretending to whisper a prayer behind their folded hands.

  “Oh, of course,” I spluttered, feigning embarrassment and pumping her limp hand quickly. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  I got up and excused myself, ignoring Greyson’s confusion and Amory’s look of panic. I hoped he would not make a scene and reveal that we knew absolutely nothing about the congregation’s rules.

  Mary Beth motioned for me to sit next to her friend at the end of the pew, who offered me a forced smile. I settled in beside them and looked around frantically for Logan. She was nowhere to be found.

  Copying the guys I had seen in the back, I shifted down to the padded kneeler to whisper to Greyson.

  “Where’s Logan?”

  “Dunno,” he said. He was looking straight ahead and barely moving his lips, but I could feel the nerves coming off him in waves. “I lost track of her when we came in here.”

  The congregation was beginning to settle into their seats. A hush spread toward the back of the hall like a cold draft. I got back up onto the bench, ignoring the scowl from Mary Beth’s friend, who had been watching my whispered conversation with scorn. She must have thought me very Hester Prynne, brushing up against one man and whispering into the ear of another.

  A man in white robes was ascending the steps of the altar, and everyone fell silent when he stepped behind the lectern. When he spoke, his voice boomed out in surround sound.

  “Good morning, my brothers and sisters.”

  “Good morning, Brother Jedediah.”

  “Today, like every day, we celebrate the birth of the New Republic. We give thanks for peace. We give thanks for order. We give thanks for abundance. And, of course, we give thanks for World Corp International, whose fine people are doing the Lord’s work so that we may benefit from the great gifts He has to offer.

  “So if you will all refer to your hymnal and join me in the first prayer of the day for the New Republic . . .”

  There was a rustle in the crowd, and I copied everyone around me as they reached for the white leather books tucked into the back of the pew, Prayers and Hymns for the Church of the New Republic.

  I fumbled for the right page, but I didn’t have to look far: the prayer was inscribed inside the front cover in silver ink.

  Dear Lord, we give thanks for the gifts we have been given.

  We give thanks for order; we give thanks for peace; we give thanks to our benefactors for the abundance they provide.

  I promise to serve the republic as I serve you, so my benefactors may continue with your great work.

  I forsake sin; I forsake lawlessness; I forsake the evildoers who seek to destroy the republic, for they are the minions of Satan.

  Please give me the strength to do my part, for I remain your loyal servant and a soldier of salvation for the New Republic.

  Amen.

  A chill ran down my spine as the last words of the congregation resonated in the great hall, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. The prayer for World Corp and the New Republic shouldn’t have unnerved me, but it did. Something about it felt wrong — artificial.

  “Thank you, brothers and sisters, for those lovely words,” said Brother Jedediah, as though he had not asked for the prayer himself. “And now, I’ll yield the floor to my friend, Officer Ramsey, so that he may share with you a message of caution from World Corp International.”

  While Brother Jedediah was speaking, I had not noticed the PMC officer standing in the wings. He wore a grave expression that could not conceal the lines of cold hatred in his brow.

  “Thank you for that introduction, Brother Jedediah. And thank you all for your continued support of the New Republic, the Private Military Company, and World Corp International. You all have built a wonderful community based on shared values and mutual respect. But I’m here today to warn you all about the dangers we still face.”

  He pointed an accusing finger. “Outside those doors, evil still walks. There are those who seek to tempt you . . . to pull you off the path of righteousness.”

  Hushed whispers of indignation rippled through the crowd. Officer Ramsey waited for silence, seemingly satisfied with the congregation’s reaction.

  “But this deal with the devil is not without its consequences. For when you walk with demons, they consume your body and soul.”

  As if on cue, there was the rattle of wheels on the shiny tile floor, and Brother Jedediah reappeared, pushing a human-sized cage.

  The crowd recoiled, and the smell confirmed my worst suspicions before I even saw it.

  Inside the cage, slobbering from the lesions at his mouth, was a carrier. My stomach clenched automatically, and the panic started to thrum in my veins.

  But I wasn’t scared of the carrier, I realized. I was scared of Officer Ramsey.

  “Now I . . . hate to bring this abomination into a house of God,” said the officer. “But I felt it only prudent to warn you all and show you the fate that awaits sinners and enemies of the republic.”

  The crowd erupted in a frenzy of terror. Women in the front row screamed as Brother Jedediah wheeled the carrier toward the center of the sanctuary.

  Officer Ramsey walked smugly around the cage and struck the metal with his nightstick. The carrier howled, rattling the bars, and his yellow eyes darted around the room.

  “This is what happens out there to wayward men and women. This monster used to be a rebel. See what became of him?”
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br />   Brother Jedediah turned to a woman in the front pew, who was crying and shaking uncontrollably.

  “Don’t be afraid, my child. You are a righteous woman. Evil has no hold on you . . . but be vigilant of sheep that wander from our flock.”

  The woman sobbed audibly, and the sound echoed through the huge chamber — magnified in surround sound.

  “Let’s show the good sister she has nothing to fear from this demon.”

  Officer Ramsey strode obediently out of the sanctuary and reappeared with a can of gasoline and a blow torch.

  I shook my head, silently hoping he did not intend to do what I imagined.

  As I watched, he doused the carrier in his cage. Whatever human senses the carrier had left resurfaced, inciting an angry howl. He knew something terrible was about to happen. I imagined his eyes were burning from the gasoline fumes, but the officer kept shaking the can until only a few drips of gas escaped the nozzle.

  No. No, no, no. Every muscle in my body had tightened and recoiled. This was wrong.

  Officer Ramsey set the can on the ground with the dull echo of empty plastic and picked up the blow torch. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.

  I wasn’t watching the carrier — not anymore. I was watching the firelight gleam in Officer Ramsey’s eyes as the carrier’s flesh ignited. His screams of pain caught in his deteriorated throat and were drowned out by the roar of the crowd, some gasping in shock, others goading Officer Ramsey on.

  Dense smoke furled up through a vent in the ceiling, and I covered my ears to block out the shrieks ripping through the carrier’s infected lungs.

  My heart was pounding against my ribcage. The carrier’s screams tore at my insides, and I thought instantly of my mother. She had been a carrier. Those could just as well have been her screams.

  I knew the virus was wrong. It shouldn’t have existed at all. But the monster wasn’t the sick, deteriorated human in the cage. The monster was Officer Ramsey — World Corp.

  The smell of burning flesh reached my nostrils, and I bent over my knees, willing myself not to be sick. The pain was ripping through the back of my skull.

  Between the debilitating headache, the screams, and the horrible stench, I nearly passed out.

  People all around me had risen to their feet for a better view. Some looked horrified, but most wore expressions of excitement. Someone bumped my shoulder, grabbing my upper arm and yanking me to my feet. I raised my head slowly, thinking I was definitely going to vomit, and Roman pulled me out of the pew and down the aisle toward the back of the hall.

  I twisted around, searching for Greyson and Amory, but the crowd was thickening. I had lost sight of them. The congregation pushed forward to get closer to the scene at the altar, and Roman’s grip on my arm was the only thing pulling me out.

  There was no back exit, and the side doors were blocked by the crowd. The only way out was the spiral staircase that led to the private apartments.

  I barely noticed where my feet were carrying me as Roman dragged me up the stairs.

  The carrier’s screams were echoing inside my head. I saw Officer Ramsey’s wicked eyes and then Aryus Edric’s — the man who’d hovered over me as I drowned and burned in the facility.

  Going up and around in circles was making me dizzy. I stumbled more than once, but Roman was holding on so tightly I never fell.

  All the doors upstairs were wide open, probably as a symbol that the commune’s residents had nothing to hide. The rooms were all furnished the same: freshly made beds with crisp white linens, armchairs upholstered with some scratchy blue material, and closets with no doors as one might find in a hotel. If the commune hadn’t been so creepy — and if I couldn’t still taste the burning flesh on my tongue — the rooms would have looked inviting.

  Keeping away from the edge of the railing, Roman pulled me along down the hallway. The walkway wrapping around the sanctuary gave way to a smaller passage with more apartments. A large clear staircase at the end of the hall led down to the cafeteria on the lower level. I could still hear the carrier’s shrieks and the roar of the crowd as we descended.

  Rounding the corner, we collided with a woman in white.

  My heart skipped a beat, and my brain struggled to form an excuse for why I had left the service with a man.

  Then I realized it was Logan. She was wearing a white backpack that clashed horribly with her too-small dress and nurse’s shoes.

  “Oh! It’s you,” she breathed. “I thought you were someone else.”

  “Where are the others?” I stammered.

  “No idea. I thought they were with you.”

  “We have to get out of here,” broke in Roman. “Now’s the time. Greyson and Amory were leaving, too.”

  I didn’t know if that was true, but I followed them down the hall back toward the laundry room. The racket from all the dryers drowned out the sounds from the sanctuary, but the heat was stifling. Logan threw open the door, bathing us in cold air and sunshine, and we stumbled back out into the world.

  The first thing I noticed was that Greyson and Amory were not there. Logan reached down to retrieve her discarded rebel garments without breaking stride, and she and Roman continued across the parking lot toward the dumpster.

  “Where are they?” I demanded, my lungs heaving as they dragged in the fresh, cold air.

  “I’m sure they’re coming,” growled Roman, sounding as though he couldn’t care less.

  “Super creepy service, don’t you think?” mused Logan as she began to strip.

  Roman made a noise of assent in his throat, turning away to change as well. I stood at the back corner of the dumpster, watching the door to the laundry room and trying not to be sick.

  The wind ripped through the thin dress, biting at my exposed arms and legs, but I did not notice the cold. All I could think about were the carrier’s shrieks and the way that crowd had egged Officer Ramsey on. I realized that this was probably not the first gruesome display. The commune leaders must have given these demonstrations on a regular basis to keep the fear alive in their congregation.

  The whole setting disturbed me: the amphitheater-like sanctuary, the morality guise of the commune, the message that linked the New Republic with the divine and the rebellion with sin.

  Slowly, I changed out of my torn dress and donned my real clothes. The bulky coat and worn jeans were a welcome relief. I sank down against the back of the dumpster, watching Logan show off the goods she’d stolen.

  She had raided the infirmary, probably depleting their supply of antiseptic and medication. She had also managed to swipe some odds and ends that were forever in demand at the rebel camp: matches, batteries, and even a portable radio.

  The laundry room door burst open, and Greyson and Amory came sprinting out. Relief as I’d never known flooded through me — enough to dull the throbbing pain in the back of my head. They were each toting a white bag like Logan’s, running toward us as if they were being chased.

  “We have to go,” panted Amory. “Now.”

  Greyson was already stripping off his scrubs.

  “Were you caught?”

  Amory shook his head, pulling on his jacket over the scrubs. “Morning assembly is over. They’re all heading out to their jobs in the fields and the factories. This place is going to be swarming in about five minutes.”

  Logan tossed Amory his cargo pants as he shoved his feet into his boots. “Let’s go.”

  Not bothering to be covert, we sprinted through the parking lot and across the highway, looking over our shoulders every few paces to see if we were being followed.

  We reached the other side of the highway and took shelter in a stand of trees to watch the morning commute. Men in overalls were flooding out the back exits toward the fields, while others were piling into white vans and pulling onto the highway.

  “What took you so long?” asked Logan, turning in irritation to Amory and Greyson.

  “We were getting some food and supplies. And we broke into Bro
ther Jedediah’s office and stole this.” He retrieved a large packet of information that looked like official documents.

  “You didn’t.”

  Amory nodded, clearly pleased with himself.

  “Now they’ll know we’ve been there.”

  “I doubt it. They’re so confident in their security that they’ve gotten complacent — don’t even lock their doors. It’s supposed to ‘build trust within the community.’ It’s all in there.” He withdrew a small book and tossed it to me.

  I turned the book over in my hand. It bore the World Corp International logo and was titled Community Standards.

  “This is going to be useful,” said Greyson. “If we know how they operate, it will be easier to dismantle everything they have built.”

  He was right. Even the defectors from the commune up north wouldn’t be privy to the strategy the World Corp leaders had devised.

  Logan nodded grudgingly. “Good work.”

  As we plowed through the woods back in the direction we had come, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that I was missing something crucial. How had I ended up on the same side as World Corp? How could I fight for an entity that burned carriers alive and was bent on so much evil?

  It didn’t make any sense, but here I was, trudging along beside Amory, Greyson, Logan, and Roman. I had been their prisoner, but I wasn’t anymore. That much was certain.

  After seeing the commune dwellers through the eyes of an outsider, something had shifted in our relationship. We weren’t on different sides anymore.

  Even though the returning pain in the back of my head told me I shouldn’t trust them, I did trust them — as much as I distrusted Brother Jedediah, Officer Ramsey, and Mary Beth.

  We settled in a protective copse of pine trees near a tiny stream and built a fire. Amory withdrew some tea bags from the stolen backpack, and the comforting warmth of the drink reminded me of my mom and made me feel just a little less hopeless.

  I could feel his eyes on me, but I pretended not to notice.

  “It’s sick, you know?” Roman muttered, finally breaking the silence that had descended upon the group. “Twisting those people’s beliefs . . . making them so scared they won’t ever leave.”