Page 13

AMITY

Ren steps smoothly between the train cars.

There’s a platform with rails to hold on to.

The wind whips up the minute I’m in the doorway.

It’s scary, but I watch what they do carefully and step, clutching the rail tightly and managing the second step into the next car, pulling the door closed behind me.

Ren grins. “Good work.”

It’s a whole new, crowded train car full of unfamiliar faces. From the look of things, it’s a mix of deportees from the Peaceful Society and a bunch of New England folks.

There are more men than women in New England. They come from Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington, DC, the cities that make up the Peaceful Society. Somehow even with all those men they manage to keep the peace, but we hear stories. It’s different up here.

Ren stands tall as they move through the crowd. Their hoodie has pockets and a zipper and they tug the zipper all the way to their neck and run a hand through their hair. I’m reminded of Zeph and recognize the fidgeting as nerves. I appreciate that Ren is willing to come and help me.

I prepare myself mentally that getting a phone might not work out right now. The people we talk to could be rude, or mean, or scary. I can try again in Canada, I plan as a backup.

We do the same thing again, moving to the next car.

It feels easier this time and Ren slides into a seat in the back, speaking in a low voice to a woman I’ve never seen before.

She glances up at me and I freeze, standing in the aisle.

I’m not sure what’s happening right now.

There’s more whispered conference and then Ren straightens back up, leading the way.

Standing before the door into the next train car, they turn.

“The dining car has a group of guys from Anchorage that sell stuff off the books. For the right price they’ll probably have a wiped phone you can use.”

I nod. Ren runs their hand through their hair again, nervous.

“Just, uh, try to answer their questions as honestly as…makes sense. But don’t say more than you need,” they suggest.

I reach into my coat. “I could give you the money and you could…”

Ren’s face twists. “Sorry, kiddo, I’ll go in with you, but I’m not interested in buying anything from these guys today.” They say it with finality. “If this is what you want, you’d better handle it.” Their eyebrows draw together and I can tell Ren’s worried.

“You don’t have to do this, Ami,” they whisper .

But these are my instructions. This is my next task. I can do it. I start my breathing, fast in, slow out, and Ren gives me a wink.

“PS for Patiently Spineless…”

I can’t hold back a chuckle, and as the tension breaks a little, Ren pushes the door open and steps through.

The next train car is all men. My eyes sweep the room slowly, trying to make it look casual. I don’t see a single woman here.

The men are sitting together all around, eating and drinking and talking loudly. There’s a group playing cards in a booth.

In the back, a cluster of men have papers and a map scattered across their table. It’s loud. There’s a counter with a stooped man behind it, standing in front of bottles and packages lined up on shelving.

Ren lets their body slouch a little, looking more relaxed, and I immediately copy them. A few heads turn but we’re mostly ignored. The eyes lingering on me make me shudder. Ren leads me through the car to the counter where the stooped man dries his hands on a towel, turning to us.

“Get you all something?” he says without expression.

Ren tilts their head to me, indicating I should answer. I make eye contact carefully.

“I’d like to buy a cell phone,” I tell him. He doesn’t react. Then his eyes flick to something behind me, and he shrugs.

“I hear they have them in Canada.” He checks his watch. “We’ll be there soon.”

He turns away but I stay rooted. Ren told me about the difference between the kinds of cell phones. Whatever I buy in Canada will be overseen by the CGC, the Canadian Government Corporation, and what I need is a wiped phone that can use the infrastructure but not be tracked.

“I’m looking for a wiped phone,” I say to his back.

The man still doesn’t reply. You’d think we were back in the Peaceful Society with all this deliberate non-reactivity. He turns to the table behind me, the one with the papers and maps.

Someone approaches and the man behind the counter turns away again. This time, with something like a flinch. I turn and start.

It’s an older version of the guard I saw with Zeph, the boy whose name is on the tip of my tongue.

He has the same deep brown skin, deep-set eyes with long lashes, and strong brow.

The lines on his face are deeper, and there are streaks of gray in his closely cropped hair.

His mouth has a pinched, cruel tilt to it. He notices my obvious reaction.

“Have we met before?” he asks in a low, raspy voice.

“No,” I answer. Then I remember Ren telling me to be honest. “You look like someone I met in Baltimore.”

The man grins and it doesn’t improve things at all. Even Ren flinches beside me, as they try to appear interested in the card game going on by the window.

“You’ve met Vale,” he says and his eyes narrow.

Vale! That was his name, Vale Adamson. I remember his mom’s warm voice now, calling him to come to the car after meetings. What happened to them, and why is the son of a MAV leader working for rebels?

I shrug, breathing through my nose, and hope I’m keeping a straight face. “Vale, yeah. ”

He stares at me, silent, and a crawling sensation creeps up my arms. His head swivels to the man behind the counter.

“She says she wants to buy a wiped phone,” the stooped man tells him.

“What’s your name?” the man who looks like Vale asks me in his low voice.

“Ami,” I answer softly. I remember I’m supposed to be a rebel sympathizer, an Oath Refuser, and I straighten my shoulders.

“And where are you going, Ami?” he asks, not giving me his name.

“Anchorage,” I tell him and close my mouth to stop myself from saying more.

He nods. “Then we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

I’m not sure what that means. I try not to flinch from his sharp gaze. I have a million tells. My ears, unpierced. My hair, all-natural color. No tattoos to speak of. I don’t look like the other deportees.

At least my clothes are worn and blend in, but I can tell that the years of Citizen training, my posture, my expressions, my breathing must show through. This man doesn’t miss anything.

He decides. “Get her one, on the house,” he directs the man behind the counter. Unreactive as ever, the stooped man moves to open a low drawer behind him, his body blocking me from seeing what’s in it.

“I’m happy to pay,” I say, imbuing my voice with strength.

“Let’s call it a favor,” he rasps. I don’t want to owe this man a favor, but I don’t want to say no to him .

Next to me Ren gives a sharp nod. “Thanks,” they say and I echo them, “Thank you.”

“How was he?” the man asks, leaning closer.

I freeze to prevent myself from jerking back, then ask curiously, “Who?”

“Vale, in the PS. You said you saw him in Baltimore. Was he working as a guard? Or in the WPA?”

“As a guard,” I confirm. “Is he your…?” I trail off, not sure what to ask. They certainly look related.

“Son,” he confirms. “Vale is my son. I haven’t seen him in weeks. How did he look?” An anxious twist comes over his face. I smile back before I can second-guess myself, thinking about Vale.

“He looked good. He looked…well.” He was gorgeous is what he was. Just as handsome as the older man next to me, but without the scary vibe.

I remember how his eyes followed me, the quiet way he stood with his fingers on the skin of my wrist. I still don’t understand how he got involved with whatever this is—Ren called them a militia group.

I’ve been staring off into space and I suddenly worry that Vale’s father can read my thoughts somehow, but his eyes are also blank. Does he miss his son? Why was Vale “gone” for weeks? If this man says he’ll see me in Anchorage, does that mean Vale will be there—and Zeph too?

“He was traveling with someone I'm looking for, someone named Zeph, with red hair.” I search the man’s face for answers but he just shakes his head, frowning.

“No idea.”

Maybe I can get the answers I need from Vale and his group when I get to Alaska, the information the Peaceful Society wants. Then I can go back and have a normal life with Ethan and my mom and dad, or join the other HighClear girls at the Institute, and not be on this crazy mission.

I correct myself; it’s not a crazy mission. The reason the Peaceful Society sent me is because I was close to Zeph. If anyone can earn his trust and find out more about the group that brainwashed him and stole him away, it’s me. We can keep more men safe, keep more families together.

I glance around at the men in the room. A few meet my eyes; they were staring at me. I suddenly want to leave this train car, find a spot back with the deportees and farmers, and leave all these men behind, with their loud voices and roving eyes.

The stooped man behind the counter hands me a box. He opens the lid and I see a smooth silver case. He takes a pen out and scribbles something on the box.

“Code,” he mutters to me and Ren nods. I guess they know what that means.

Vale’s father heads back to the booth. “I’m sure I will see you again, Ami.” He nods to Ren but doesn’t say anything to them.

“I’m Isaiah Adamson,” he continues. “My organization is called the Forge, and we’re available if you need anything once you get to Anchorage.”

Ren stiffens but I coach myself through staying loose, keeping my eyes on his as I nod. Maybe he thought this would scare me, but I simply thank him for the phone one more time and move back through the car.

I feel his eyes on my back. Maybe not just his, and I can’t get through the opening into the next car fast enough.

Ren pulls me through the aisle and the next car until we find an empty seat and slide in.

This time I’m next to the window. I hand the box to Ren and bend forward over my knees, breathing deeply, my face in my hands.

“Jeez, Ami, that was crazy,” Ren mutters.

I’m shaking.

“You’re okay, you’re okay.” Ren rubs my back. They pull off their hoodie and bunch it up, pushing it into my arms where I squeeze it tight.

“You did it, Ami, you got your phone. Now let’s take it easy for the rest of New York, okay?”