The McCall Initiative Episodes 9-10

Cascadia, 2063

The McCall Initiative

Episode 9: Redemption

Chapter 1

Logan

Everyone speaks at once.

Quiet! I bark. We need to hear the rest!

The room goes silent except for the squawk of the police scanner, which reveals that the suspect—Bailey—climbed the fence after the explosion. She made it twenty yards onto the Pittock grounds before a dog pinned her. Security found the banner bearing the modified Frequent Deadly Lightning logo and our slogan tucked inside her shirt.

Now what? Zoey asks in a thin voice.

I don’t have an answer.

Piper rivets me with stony eyes. We can’t rescue her.

No. Our only option now is damage control. We need to leave.

The trouble is, while we have an evacuation plan, Bailey knows about it, so it’s useless. We’ll have to act quickly, which means consulting Troeh and Wright is out of the question. And we can’t even rely on Callahan. As soon as Bailey’s interrogated, he’ll be a fugitive like the rest of us.

No stress, Callahan says. With Zoey’s jammer, my car oughta be safe for a little while.

I shake my head. They know your vehicle and your plate number.

So we lift some plates off another car. All we’ve gotta do is get somewhere safe. Maybe to one of the captain’s places.

No, Cooper says. Bailey knows all of them. They’ll be compromised.

"Everything’s compromised," Piper says, her tone as brittle as the look she’s giving me.

I glance away. Not everything. Bailey didn’t have access to the database. The people under our local captains might eventually be tracked down, but the teams outside Portland are safe. We could steal a set of plates and head up to New Seattle.

All right, Cooper says, let’s do it.

I ask Piper to gather our belongings. She could deliver the ultimate I-told-you-so, but she refrains, sliding silently out of the booth and pushing past me.

As I reach for Zoey’s laptop to send a warning to the captains, the keypad outside the door beeps. I scramble out of my chair, turning and drawing my firearm in one swift motion. Though my body automatically moves to block Cooper, my mind protests with two fleeting, agonized thoughts. Zoey … Piper. I can’t protect them all.

The door swings open.

My finger hovers on the trigger.

A figure dressed in black steps inside.

Bailey! Zoey squeals.

"Yeah. You wanna not shoot me?"

Heart pounding, I lower the Beretta. My hands shake as I return it to its holster.

We thought you got arrested, Zoey says. We heard it on the police scanner.

Bailey shuts the door. That was Nita. You don’t think I’d be stupid enough to climb the fence myself, do you?

An answer springs to my tongue, but I hold it back. What happened?

The drone tanked. We couldn’t get the damn thing to turn on, let alone fly. Bailey crosses the room in a few easy strides. Nita volunteered to take the banner over the fence.

Anger churns deep inside me. And you allowed that?

Bailey shrugs. She knew what she was getting into.

For as silent as everyone else is, the room might as well be empty. That’s beside the point, I say, struggling to keep my tone level. Your orders were to use the drone to deliver the banner. If there was a snafu, you should have abandoned the mission.

Why? Nita was totally willing.

You handed her directly to the enemy. Not only have you risked her life and destroyed her future, but you’ve also compromised the rebellion.

Bailey rolls her eyes. Oh, chill it, Logan. She didn’t know enough to hurt us. Anyway, it was her idea, and she was totally gung-ho. I probably couldn’t’ve stopped her if I tried.

I bite back a growl of frustration. The problem with that statement is the ‘probably.’ You didn’t try. Instead you went completely off script.

That’s right. Because things changed. Bailey meets my narrowed gaze with a mild look. "I knew the mission wouldn’t have nearly as much impact without the banner, so I made a decision on the fly. I can’t see why you’re so frosted about it. I was just following your precious Art of War. Her lips twist into the slightest smirk. ‘Good strategy requires quick and appropriate response to changing conditions.’ Ring any bells, Logan?"

Heat rushes to my cheeks. It’s a paraphrase, but an accurate one. That passage is meant to warn leaders not to be rigid in their thinking. It isn’t a carte blanche authorization to disobey your commanding officer.

So now you’re gonna cherry-pick the parts you like? That’s twenty kinds of stupid, Logan. Arms crossed, Bailey shifts her weight to one hip and cocks her chin at me. Admit it—I didn’t do anything wrong. You’re just a control freak. You don’t like anyone questioning your authority.

The words clip me in a place I didn’t even know I was vulnerable. For a moment, I’m paralyzed. How could she turn on me like this? I went out on a limb for her—risked my relationship with Piper and manipulated the president’s vulnerabilities.

Shaking off the shock of it, I step toward her. "You disobeyed orders—that’s what you did wrong. And because of it, I can no longer trust you."

"Mierda, Bailey swears, giving me another beleaguered eye roll. You are such a football player. Not everything can be scripted play-by-play, y’know. Things happen. Plans go wrong. If you want to score, you’ve gotta be able to think on your feet."

While her actions rattled me, it’s her attitude that’s the true betrayal. This isn’t a soccer game, Bailey. But if that’s how you want to think of it, fine. I’m benching you.

As soon as I say it, I know I’ve made a mistake. But I’m too angry to take it back. If I can’t count on her to use her head, how can I place the well-being of our army, the president—the very rebellion—in her hands?

Bailey jerks back as if I’ve slapped her. "You’re benching me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Though I feel everyone’s eyes on me, and sense Cooper’s disapproval, I don’t flicker a glance at any of them. It means exactly what it sounds like. No more missions until further notice. If you can’t exercise good judgment, I can’t use you.

A squall of fury breaks out over Bailey’s face. ‘Good judgment?’ Oh, that’s prime. You’re really one to talk. She sweeps an arm in my sister’s direction. You think it’s ‘good judgment’ not to tell Zoey your dad is safe? You think it’s ‘good judgment’ to let a poor, sick kid go on worrying about him?

Shock douses me like a bucket of ice water, robbing me of my breath. I dart a look at Zoey, who gives me an owl-eyed stare in return.

What’s that mean? she demands, straightening in her seat. Logan, what’s she talking about?

A flat, bitter smile pulls at Bailey’s lips. Well, tell her, Logan.

It’s nothing, I say, scrabbling for what control I can salvage. At the meeting Monday night, I found out Dad has been transferred. But there still isn’t anything we can do.

Hurt and betrayal flood my sister’s face. You know where he is?

Fort Lewis, Bailey says before I can get the words out.

It’s a military base, I clarify. We have absolutely no chance of rescuing him.

But we’ve got help now! Zoey’s voice spikes with urgency. All those people from the Timbers Army, and the Sounders fans up in New Seattle. Some of them might have connections. Maybe one even works there.

Shooting a hateful glance at Bailey, I sigh. "Sparky, it’s a military base. Sarto is currently Commander in Chief. Those soldiers don’t have any choice but to obey his orders."

The explanation is a waste of words. To Zoey, they just translate into no. She glares at me, her breath quickening. You knew where he was, and you didn’t tell me. That’s as bad as lying!

I’m sorry, I say, lowering myself onto the bench beside her. I had every intention of telling you. I was just waiting for the right time. I reach for her hand, but she yanks it away.

Don’t give me that crap. How much of your … precious time would it have taken to say, ‘hey, Zoey, I found out Dad’s at … Fort Lewis’? Her face is red now, her breathing ragged. If I explain, it will upset her, but if I don’t, it’ll be even worse.

Telling you wasn’t the problem. It was dealing with the aftermath. I knew you’d be worried, and I couldn’t afford the distraction right before a critical mission.

Bullshit! Zoey jerks back from me, swinging to face the president. What about … you, Jefferson? Can’t you help?

Looking truly pained, Cooper shakes his head. I’m sorry, Zoey.

"But you’re the real … Commander in Chief! Some of those soldiers … must be on your side."

Some of them, yes. But your brother’s right. Anyone who went against Sarto would be brought up on charges. Even if they’re loyal to me, their commanding officers might not be. Besides, it would take more than one ally to get a man out of a military prison. It would take a whole team.

So find a team! Zoey grips the edge of the table, leaning in at him. You helped Piper … when she went after her family.

That was an entirely different situation.

Sure because … you like her best! Zoey pushes against the tabletop and turns to find me blocking her path. When a shove fails to move me, she growls in frustration, scrambling over me to get out of the booth. She’s wheezing now, but when Piper makes a grab for her, Zoey pushes her aside.

Let her go, I say. Nothing will calm my sister when she’s this upset, and fighting her will only sap her strength.

As she staggers for the hotel stairs, I get to my feet, reeling from all that’s unfolded. I worked so hard to keep the team together, and now everything’s falling apart. I’ve lost Bailey, I’ve lost what little remained of my sister’s trust, and in all likelihood, I’ve lost the respect of Cooper and the others.

Drained and hollow, I turn to Bailey. You gave me your word.

She glowers, the fire of her anger no longer raging, but stubbornness and pride still lurking in its embers. I lost my temper. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, now would you?

Without another word, she turns and strides for the door.

Chapter 2

Piper

When I finally get back to bed, I fall right to sleep, in spite of Logan and Bailey’s fight and Zoey’s meltdown. No matter how high tensions are running, I’m just glad the Pittock mission is over.

My peace ends with Zoey’s angry voice rattling me awake late Friday morning. I lie on my air mattress, listening to her snipe at Logan. He’s patient and soothing at first, trying to calm her, but when she keeps at it, his voice gets tight and desperate.

A thud startles me—something hitting the wall. Then go away! Zoey shrieks. If you won’t … do the right thing … get out of my face!

This time, there’s no response from Logan. After a few seconds, I hear his footsteps in the hall.

Logan? I call. Even though I was as stunned as Zoey to hear the news about their dad, it’s a no-brainer why he kept it to himself.

The footsteps stop. He ducks as he comes into the room so none of the construction guys across the street will spot him through the windows. Settling cross-legged on the floor, he gives me a solemn, shamefaced look.

I roll onto my side. Six hours ago, I was conflicted about how I felt, but after seeing Bailey tear him one and his sister come unglued, something squeezed all the anger out of my heart. You okay? I ask.

Logan looks down at the carpet. I guess that depends on how things are between us.

I rake my teeth across my lower lip. They’re all right.

Really? Because last night, you seemed pretty angry.

More like … I search for the right word, … spooked, I guess. It was a rough mission. And then there was the thing with Bailey.

Yeah.

I’m so smoked at her I can’t even talk about it. What she did was flat-out mean, and Logan wasn’t the only person she hurt. Honestly, I say, "I’m just glad you did come back."

His eyes sweep up to meet mine. Piper …

You meant what you said, didn’t you? About talking to me before planning any other missions?

Of course.

Then we’re good.

He frowns, doubt simmering under the surface.

An abrupt, suffocating wave of exhaustion rolls over me. How long has it been since he held me? Since he kissed me, or we talked without fighting? I’m sick of being so cut off from him. Patting the air mattress, I give in to the ache of loneliness. C’mere.

He hesitates.

I’m not mad, Logan. Really. Like I’d have any right to be after the way I left him to look for my family.

He crawls over to stretch out beside me, but instead of snuggling close, he lies on his back, a safe buffer of space between us as he stares at the ceiling.

I’m sorry about Zoey, I say. I wish I had some reassuring words, but anything I say would just sound like a load of crap.

Yeah.

I reach for his hand.

It tightens into a fist. Piper, don’t.

What?

He shuts his eyes, pain twisting his face. I just—I don’t deserve your sympathy. You were right. I blew it. I hurt you and Zoey, and I made an ass of myself.

I can’t deny any of that, so I don’t try. At least it’s over.

Not for Zoey, it isn’t. He sighs. I’ve been such an idiot.

It’s hard to find words for my jumbled feelings. As freaked as I was by his whole damn-the-torpedoes attitude, I knew from the start that it had more to do with fear than with pride or callousness. Trusting Bailey might not have been the greatest idea, I say, but I get why you thought it would keep the team together.

He grunts. The irony is, I wound up tearing it apart. She’s gone completely off the rails, Zoey’s back to hating me, and you’re upset with everyone.

Not everyone. My fingers close over his clenched fist.

A soft little sound—pained and desperate—leaks out of him. How am I supposed to fix this? Zoey’s still so weak. She doesn’t have the energy to spare on being hurt and angry.

I scoot closer, resting my head on his shoulder and draping an arm over his stomach. She’ll be okay, Logan. And she’ll forgive you.

Actually, I’m not sure of either of these things, but I want to believe them as much as I want him to.

Logan draws a shaky breath, and his hand comes up to rest on my arm. For a few moments, we lie quietly together, and then I hear the distinctive sound of Jefferson’s single foot and crutches in the hallway.

I stiffen. Things have been weird between us since I confronted him about approving the Pittock mission. Even though I don’t give a rat’s right foot what he thinks anymore, I don’t exactly want him to catch Logan in my bed.

The sound stops just outside the room. Instead of looking in, Jefferson raps sharply on the doorjamb. Logan?

Yes, sir?

We need to talk. People downtown and in the West Hills are reporting damages from the concussion of the blast. Several businesses have been looted because of broken windows.

Logan scrambles off the air mattress and bear-crawls for the door.

Why wasn’t I warned? There’s a subtle note of accusation in Jefferson’s tone. If I’d known this was going to happen, I never would’ve authorized that mission.

Logan disappears through the doorway. I didn’t know either, sir. Barsetti assured me the damage would be minimal.

Then I suggest you get in touch with him and ask for an explanation. And in the future, you’d do well to restrict his activities.

* * *

When I get downstairs, my email inbox and Connect Me page are swamped with public commentary about the Pittock mission. Stories flood the news sites, but there’s no need to read them. Jefferson, who apparently never made it back to bed, fills us in: the Federal Tunnel system is shut down, Sarto’s hiding in an undisclosed location, and someone leaked the story about Nita hopping the fence. A lot of people are high-fiving us, but others—like the ones whose homes were damaged—think we’ve gone too far.

While Logan emails Vince Barsetti, I bring breakfast stuff out and put it on the powwow table. Zoey, pale and shaky, slides into the booth across from Jefferson. She’s carrying her oxygen in the little backpack Dr. Alvarez sent with the last batch of bottles, using it constantly now, but her breathing is ragged. She hasn’t sounded this bad since the day she got heat exhaustion. I think back to the conversation I had with Jefferson about her PVAD. If things don’t improve, we might have to send her to Chicago after all.

No one has much to say while we eat. Jefferson’s still combing through news sites, Logan’s messaging his captains, and Zoey’s settled into a siege of cold, stony silence. We’re just finishing up when the shriek of an emergency alert pierces the air. Jefferson swivels his laptop around just as Sarto appears. I shoot a glance at Logan. If Sarto’s back to using the Emergency Alert System for his broadcasts, it means we’re getting to him.

One look at his face confirms it. His jaw has a determined set and there’s fury in his eyes, but he looks like he’s aged about ten years.

Check out the muscle under his right eye, I say. See how it’s twitching? It’s barely perceptible, something you really have to be searching for to notice, but it tells me he’s either stressed or not getting enough sleep—which is basically the same thing.

Sarto makes a statement about the bombings, assures the public he’s in complete control of the situation, and says he’ll be back in Pittock as soon as the damages are repaired. Then his face settles into that troubled-leader expression that always looks so fake to me. Sadly, he says, this time these criminals have done more than just provoke the public or deface private property. He pauses, mock-concern deepening. "This time, they’ve committed murder."

A wave of icy heat shudders across my skin. Beside me, Zoey sucks in a breath.

A security guard—the mother of two young children—was killed in the collapse of the Pittock branch of the Federal Tunnels, Sarto continues. Her name is being withheld at the request of family members, but a candlelight vigil will be held in Pioneer Courthouse Square tomorrow night.

Shaken, Jefferson swings to face Logan. You told me you’d be using a tranquilizer dart on the guard—that you’d set up motion detectors to ensure no one would be hurt.

Logan’s eyes flit from the screen, where Sarto’s just finished yammering about how evil we are, to Jefferson’s face. We did, sir. I messaged Barsetti about it last night. He said they carried the guard—an older man—out with them and that they didn’t encounter anyone else in the tunnels.

Is there any chance someone entered after they left and the motion detectors failed?

I doubt it. Barsetti assured me he’d be using a redundant system.

Jefferson scowls. He also assured you the damages would be minimal. You weren’t with him. You’re just going by what he chose to tell you.

Logan swallows, shifting under Jefferson’s hard stare. I’m sure the rest of his team could confirm it. Barsetti may be a hothead, but he wouldn’t intentionally let someone die. Anyway, Sarto’s statement sounds suspect. Why wouldn’t the family want the name released? Even if they were reluctant, why wouldn’t Sarto strong-arm them or ignore their wishes entirely? He must know he could drum up more sympathy by providing details about this woman’s life.

Jefferson studies Logan, his jaw rigid. It’s several long seconds before his suspicion fades. All right, I’ll ask Sam and Tyson if they’ve heard any rumors. But I want you to contact the other team members and get a full report. We need to be one hundred percent certain this is only a fabrication.

* * *

Barsetti’s team gets back to Logan right away and confirms his report, but there’s no word from Barsetti himself about the damage from the explosions.

Even if the thing about the guard getting killed isn’t true, we’ve still got trouble. Last night, Logan contacted Nita’s captain, Brendan McClellan, to warn him that he and his team should go into hiding. He listened, but a couple of his people didn’t. Now their families are saying they’ve been arrested. Logan holds Bailey totally responsible, but by three o’clock she still hasn’t shown up, so he’s been denied the pleasure of telling her so. Instead, he grumbles about it to me and Jefferson.

Both of us are trying to dig our way out from under the avalanche of public support, him from the powwow table, and me from across the room at my desk. Zoey’s upstairs, snubbing us all.

These arrests aren’t nearly as much of a problem as you’re making out, Jefferson says, not shifting his focus from his laptop screen. As mad as he was earlier, I’m surprised at how chill he is now. With the way you’ve structured the flow of information, those people don’t know enough to cause us trouble. And as much as I regret losing them to Sarto, it isn’t like they weren’t warned. They could’ve gone into hiding.

Logan—who’s been antsy since the broadcast—paces past him. And then what? They’d have lost their jobs and the lives they’re used to leading? They’d have been forced to leave their families? McClellan had to abandon his dry cleaning business.

We knew arrests would happen eventually. You said so yourself.

"That’s right. But they didn’t have to happen now. Stopping abruptly, Logan swings around and slaps his hand down on a table. Bailey should never have allowed Nita to go over that fence."

The venom in his tone pries Jefferson’s attention from his computer. I’m not so sure I agree. That story’s gone viral. I don’t know how it got out, but it did, and people love it. Nita’s become a martyr—the gutsy young student who sacrificed herself for the rebellion.

That doesn’t justify Bailey’s actions. She disobeyed orders.

Jefferson sighs. I should think you’d be glad to have people who can think on their feet.

Not if it’s going to put the rest of us in danger.

How did it put us in danger? Jefferson locks eyes with Logan, and after a few uncomfortable seconds, Logan glances away.

I understand why you’re upset, Jefferson says in a softer tone, but I don’t think you’re looking at the situation objectively. Bailey could’ve gone over the fence herself—that’s exactly the sort of thing she lives for. Instead, she used her head. You might not agree with her decision, but it’s clear she put thought into it.

Logan’s whole body goes stiff.

You’re doing a commendable job with this rebellion, Jefferson continues, but it’s not practical or realistic to expect to control every detail. You have to give up some power to the members of your team. You have to trust them.

Like Jefferson’s got a right to lecture anyone about what it takes to be a leader after the way he caved on the Pittock mission.

Still staring at the floor, Logan draws a long breath. It has to be killing him to hear he’s supposed to let Bailey off the hook—that he’s screwing up the thing he’s best at. I’ve been steering clear of Jefferson as much as possible, but I can’t sit here listening to him bash Logan. "He did trust Bailey, I point out. He trusted her not to say anything about his dad. If she can’t keep her word about that, why should he put her in charge of a situation where people’s lives are on the line?"

Jefferson turns his mild gaze on me. Even from across the room, it makes me want to sink under the table. There’s no justification for what Bailey said to Zoey, he admits, but that doesn’t mean she was wrong about Nita. They’re two entirely different situations.

Not to me, they aren’t. Bailey’s been a loose cannon since way back in kindergarten. She says and does what she wants, when she wants, and I’m sick of it. If you ask me, Logan’s smart not to trust her.

Jefferson rivets me with the same lost, regretful look I’ve been getting since we fought three days ago. I can’t deal, so I turn back to my computer screen.

I should’ve just kept my mouth shut.

* * *

By six thirty, when Deke shows up, Bailey is still MIA and Zoey’s permanently ensconced herself in one of the unused hotel bedrooms. There are bathrooms up there, and she has no qualms about messaging me through Carrier Pigeon whenever she’s hungry, so she’s got pretty much everything she needs.

Sam and Tyson, who’ve been in touch several times to report the latest insider information, don’t have any news on the alleged death of the guard, but they have heard rumors about how shook up Sarto was by the bombing. Apparently, he’s hired his own security force and ordered the police to crack down on protestors. He’s also cancelled his upcoming election rallies in Redding and Kelowna. Sam doesn’t think it’ll take much more to break him.

Deirdre Kalani, the CBI agent who works with the Portland Police, has confirmed the report about the crackdown and warned Logan that a lot of the new cops Sarto hired are soldier-of-fortune types who probably belong behind bars themselves.

Instead of deterring Logan, all this translates into proof we should keep up the pressure. It kind of surprises me. After how remorseful he was this morning, I thought he was finally ready to let up.

We’ve got Sarto exactly where we want him, he says as we sit at the powwow table, eating the Thai food Deke brought. We can’t back off now.

I cut him a wary look.

Don’t worry, he rushes to reassure me. I’m not going back on my word. Just because I think we need to be aggressive doesn’t mean I won’t share my ideas with you before they get to the planning stage.

Jefferson glances up from his som tam, eyebrows raised, and I make busy dragging a chunk of tofu through peanut sauce. I don’t know, Logan, I say. If Sarto’s getting serious about stopping the protests, we might want to lay low for a while. Maybe we should scratch the flash mob mission.

But it’s all set up, Deke says. And the bands are totally stoked about taking a stand, especially FDL.

I agree, Jefferson adds. We got an enormous amount of mileage out of the Pittock mission. Having another one so big and well-choreographed immediately after will prove we’re a force to be reckoned with.

Logan gives me one of his calm, steady looks. Piper, there’s no way we could call it off now. We’ve been spreading the word all week. It won’t just be our operatives taking part, it’ll be their friends and families, too. It wouldn’t be possible to alert everyone if we changed the plan.

He’s right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

We’ll be fine. Logan lays his hand on top of mine. There will be thousands of people at that concert. Sarto can’t corral all of us. By the time the police get there, I’ll be long gone.

I don’t see why he needs to be there at all. There are plenty of Timbers Army guys who can stir up the crowd. But I’ve never gotten anywhere arguing with him about this stuff. I fade back into my seat and resign myself to listening while they discuss the details of the mission.

It’s pretty simple. The bands will go through a playlist of songs that were chosen to subtly flip Sarto the bird. FDL will be up last, and they’ll end with the one Jefferson wrote about me. When their drummer shouts, It’s time to pay the Piper, Logan and the other rebels will take up the chant, rallying the crowd. Jim Stark, the journalist who filmed the protest down in Medford, will record it all. Meanwhile, simultaneous events will be taking place in New Seattle, Spokane, Eugene, Vancouver BC, Boise, Eureka, Butte, and Salem. Deke will go down to help out with the Salem one, since that team is just getting started and doesn’t have strong leadership yet.

Everything’s been worked out, so it’s just the last minute stuff that Deke, Jefferson, and Logan need to go over. They’re in the middle of it when my laptop, which Logan has open in front of him, beeps to let us know about a new Carrier Pigeon message.

Logan glances at the screen. It’s Barsetti.

And? Jefferson asks.

He says, ‘It’s collateral damage. These things happen in war. We achieved our goals. Isn’t that what matters?’

Jefferson grunts. Not at this cost. The idea was to rattle Sarto, not bring Pittock down around him. He gestures toward the computer. Let me see that.

Logan slides it across the table. I never thought I’d say this, sir, but I think I agree with him. It’s like what you said about Nita and the arrests. We’ve made a sizeable impact. We can’t expect to accomplish that without sacrifices.

Jefferson glances brusquely at the screen, apparently not seeing anything more than what Logan’s already read. The difference is Nita knew what she was getting into. Those home and business owners didn’t. If we start taking actions that inconvenience the public, we’ll lose any momentum we’ve gained. You know that, Logan. It was your strategy from the beginning.

The way things have been going between them, I half expect Logan to argue, but he doesn’t. Yes, sir, he says, looking directly at the president.

Jefferson’s expression softens. I’m counting on you to put a stop to this behavior before it goes any further. We can’t let ourselves slip into the mentality of letting the end justify the means.

* * *

After dinner, I make a short statement refuting Sarto’s claims about the dead guard, then I take the camera up to Zoey so she can post it. We’re all perfectly capable of handling this ourselves, but it gives me an excuse to check on her, something I’ve been doing every couple of hours.

Throughout the evening, Jefferson and I get messages from supporters who are outraged that Sarto’s once again lying to turn the public against us. As I’m scanning Connect Me, I keep an eye out for Bailey, but by ten o’clock, she still hasn’t shown. It’s not that I particularly want to see her, it’s just kind of unsettling. I can’t remember a time she hasn’t at least sent a message when she couldn’t make it. I guess the rebellion will get along without her if it has to, but I don’t want to put that to a test.

Logan goes up to bed early because we didn’t get much sleep last night. Jefferson soon follows. After the heat wave ended, Deke brought him an air mattress so he could take one of the rooms upstairs. Unfortunately, he chose the one beside mine, probably because most of the others have windows that face into little interior alcoves instead of directly outdoors. I’m still nervous