Faster, louder, faster, louder, and then-bang.
And then-uhh.
My guppy brain feels as if it's come unattached from the inside of my tiny little fish skull. I think I just did sixty to zero in point two seconds.
And then all is calm.
Calm… and sunlit?
I'm outside?
In one piece? I think so.
Why am I not surprised that the environmentally unfriendly New Order has a sewer that goes directly into a river without any filters or processing facilities that would grind two innocent little guppies into crop fertilizer?
For the first-and hopefully last-time, I'm thankful for their complete lack of morals and civility.
I'm in a lazy bend in the river, and, despite the toilet water that the New Order has clearly been pumping into it, it's still totally beautiful.
Lily pads and their brilliant white flowers float around us lazily. Spiral snails slide along the rocks without a care in the world, and a brilliantly striped turtle slips off a log and glides by like a stubby-legged flying saucer.
Suddenly I realize I'm seeing this with eyes that are above water. I'm floating…
Like a dead fish, or a living human being?
I jolt up onto my feet and realize I'm alive and human again, standing in about three feet of water. The spell must have worn off. I whisper a prayer of thanks to Mom and Dad, who I feel are out there, watching over us somehow. Then I give quick thanks that the spell didn't remove my white Brave New World Center jumpsuit, which is now sopping wet.
I swirl around, looking for Wisty. Thank God-there she is! She's just now hauling herself up the wooded bank of the river. She's dazed, but her eyes light up when she sees me.
"Whit!" she calls. "Wasn't that… wasn't that just the most amazing ride ever?"
Chapter 70
Whit
It might not surprise you to find out that I wasn't just an athlete in the old days, I was also a fourth-degree Falcon Scout. So I know that generally when you're lost in the woods, the first job is to find shelter.
But on a night as perfect as this one, we're not stressing about it.
We've already walked several miles-west, back toward Freeland-and though it's starting to get a little cool, we're just going to sleep under the stars.
The sun has dipped below the horizon, and things are starting to get pretty dark. From here on out, we're strictly going to be feeling our way around.
"Bring a flashlight?" I ask my sister jokingly. "We could use it to find two sticks. And then we could rub them together, and -" Suddenly the tree trunks ahead of me are flickering with dancing orange light.
I spin around to face Wisty. And there on the ground, with my sister sitting cross-legged in front of it, is the most perfect campfire I've ever seen, complete with encircling stones and a nearby stack of wood.
"Fire looks a little hot," I say, referencing the six-foot-high flames nearly licking the overhanging branches of the trees.
"No problemo," says Wisty and, as if she were turning a dial on a stove, drops the flames down to a more manageable foot or two.
"And without your drumstick," I observe. "I'm impressed."
"Yeah, well, I've always done better out of school," she says. Her pale face is flushed, glowing. She looks like she's just risen from the dead. "I know it sounds dumb, but it feels so good. To just be able to use my power. Without being crushed. It's like I didn't even realize how heavy the weight was until it was gone."
"I know what you mean. I feel it, too." And it's true. Without even focusing too terribly hard, I'm able to produce three hot dogs on the ends of three bamboo skewers. It's almost as if there's been a backup of energy and potential from all that time I hadn't been using any of it.
"Sweet," says Wisty as she takes her dog. "Maybe you did learn something at the BNW Center."
"I don't give them credit for anything beyond learning to love lima beans," I joke. "Which, actually, is a handy skill when times are lean and mean. Remember when Mom and Dad were, like, the emperors of discount vacations? I swear we spent more time in the woods than we did indoors."
Wisty nods, and we start roasting our dogs. "Remember that time it was raining so badly and Dad slipped and fell off the path into the swamp and all the food was in his pack and it got ruined?" She laughs.
"Yeah. It was a long hike back to civilization for dinner," I say, but I'm remembering something else now about that day. "Weird…"
"What?"
"I never mentioned this 'cause it didn't mean anything to me at the time. I overheard Dad saying to Mom something like 'We could just solve this the easy way, Liz.' And then Mom said, 'We promised each other never to take the easy way. Especially with the kids. They need to learn the hard way.'" Wisty takes it in. "You think they meant magic? Or whatever it is that we're doing-'realizing our potential'?"
"I think they didn't want us to just rely on magic to get what we wanted. I guess that's why they didn't teach us about it at all. They wanted us to -"
"Learn to do stuff the hard way? So we'd understand what the rest of the world was going through?"
I nod. "Could be."
"Well, Mom and Dad, wherever you are…" Wisty looks up at the sky. "We're learning the hard way. The really hard way. Hope you're happy. Somehow, I really hope you're happy."
Chapter 71
"I'll ask it again in case somebody's actually listening this time: do I have to do everything around here myself?" demands The One Who Is The One.
The One Who Tallies the Internal Revenues, Byron Swain's father, stands behind him and shakes his head in disgust.
The One's overseers of pedagogical technology, facilities, and discipline are standing over the smashed circuit boards that had formerly contained the ERSA computer program-the system that had been in charge of the Brave New World Center. All three are fairly shaking under the wrathful eyes of The One.
"Your Eminence, it would appear they escaped through the toilet fixture because Byron Swain -"
"For the last time, and I assure you this is the last time I will ever remind you, citizens are not to be addressed with Old Order names! These can lead to insidious individualistic tendencies. His name is now The One Who Infiltrates The Resistance Leadership! And his punishment will be nothing short of torture, I assure you."
The One smiles at Byron Swain's father, then studies him for a reaction. The man offers not a flinch of discomfort.
"The fact that there are not filters on the toilets, the fact that the dampening shields were not consistently employed, and the fact that this moronic computer program of yours decided to grant a toilet request to the two most powerful dynacompetents in our custody are just the beginning of where the true failure lies!"
"We're already in the process of correcting those problems."
"Not necessary. Those of us who are competent enough to wear the insignia of the New Order will deal with this. Those of you not competent shall have the insignia removed. Or, rather"-he chuckles-"the insignia will have you removed."
With that, he throws out his hands and vaporizes the three BNW Center administrators-everything, that is, but the "N.O." insignia on their uniforms.
"Somebody pick those up," he says, pressing the intercom button on his desk. "And send in the Informant."
Byron Swain is escorted into the room at once. Though his hair lacks its hallmark camera-ready coif and his eyes are puffed with weariness, he holds his head high.
"Your Eminence," Byron begins, looking The One di-rectly in the eye.
The One raises his stick threateningly. "Who dares to speak to me before I speak?"
"I do, sir," Byron continues with his steady gaze. "I know I have failed you, sir. I have been a traitor to this Great Order. I fully accept my punishment. I am ready."
The One pauses, then studies Byron. "So very brave indeed! I wouldn't normally expect that from any son of"-he gestures to his minister of internal revenues-"that one."