“Betts is bringing everything,” Layla said. “Don’t worry. You’re safe. There is nothing to harm you here.”
We emerged from the trees at the edge of what was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen. Snow was softly falling as we crossed a stone bridge. Ancient houses lined the street; smoke curled from the chimneys of some. I recognized certain things from pictures I’d seen at the Art Institute. That thought vanquished the beauty of the moment. My family. My friends. What would be their fate?
“We’ll stop at the infirmary first,” Layla said. “Then I’ll take you to your father’s house.”
“We can speak freely here?” I asked. “There’s no surveillance?”
“You can say whatever you want, whenever you want,” she said.
“But I don’t understand. Isn’t there a council?”
“There is a GUI Council headquartered in London, but they are council in name only. The Greater United Isles have nothing of value to offer the various world councils. After the outbreak of glandular fever in 2035 killed off over half the population of the United Kingdom and left any survivors sterile, most of the remaining citizens relocated to the European mainland. Despite a cleanup, most areas of the GUI have never been reinhabited.”
“The Media never told us any of that.”
“Of course not, they’re Media,” Layla said. “It was more convenient for the council to have the Isles uninhabited. Fewer people to keep track of and no surveillance to install and man. Every so often they revive the story and broadcast a supposed update about sterile men and women and infected lands. No one wants to take that chance, so they stay away. Which is just fine by us. We have twenty children in our school; all were conceived and born here by people who have lived here for years. And, we’re all healthy. So much for the truth of anything Media reports.” She stopped in front of a neat, two-story house. “This is Dr. Churchill’s. She’s expecting us.”
Dr. Mauri Churchill had steel-gray eyes and a warm smile. After examining me, she said, “You’ll need to stay in this sling for at least three weeks. Fortunately, you’re right-handed.” She gave me a dissolve for pain. “One under the tongue every eight hours. But be careful, they will probably make you drowsy.”
“And you, Joan. I want to see you again tomorrow. I think some nutritional therapy will do you a world of good.”
Drowsy had been an understatement. I barely noticed what my father’s house looked like. The minute my head hit the pillow, I was asleep.
I woke up in a panic, having no idea where I was. I rolled over and cried out when pain cut through my shoulder. Moments later, there was a tap at the door, and a man’s voice said, “Are you all right? May I come in?”
“Sure.” I managed to push myself up to sitting with my good arm. As I adjusted the sling, memories of what had happened played through my head. I looked up as the man entered.
“Nina.” He started toward the bed but hesitated when our eyes met.
“Dad?” This wasn’t at all what I thought it would be like. We were supposed to rush into each other’s arms, crying and laughing and immediately loving each other. But at this moment, I wasn’t sure what I felt.
He moved a step closer, like I was a wild animal he was afraid to spook. In the end, he sat in a nearby chair. “Layla told me you were hurt. What did Doc Churchill say?”
“That I’ll be fine in a few weeks.” I watched him looking at me. Wondering if he saw traces of Ginnie in my face. I wondered if he was even thinking of her. Maybe Layla was his girlfriend, or his wife. I had no idea what his life was all about. “Where’s Joan?”
“The girl you came with? She’s in the next room, still asleep, I believe.”
“I should be there. She might freak out when she wakes up.”
“Betts is with her. She was a nurse before she joined the Resistance. She’s dealt with reclaimed FeLS girls before. Your friend’s in good hands.”
Speaking of hands, I looked down at mine; without looking up, I said, “Pops is dead. Kasimir Lessig killed him.”
My father didn’t say a word. Eventually, I raised my eyes. Dad was staring out the window, his eyes misty—and a deep need to comfort him rose in my chest.
“He was so proud of you,” I said softly. Spying my bag in the corner, I maneuvered myself out of bed. The bag wasn’t easy to open with only one hand, but I managed. “This was his.” I held out Pops’s ginger tin.
My father took it. He ran his fingers gently across the dented lid. “They discovered our man inside.” His shoulders heaved. “There was nothing I could do.”
I threw my good arm around my dad, and we cried.
EPILOGUE
I’ve been in the GUI for almost a month.
Joan’s getting better every day. Betts is so patient with her, and Doc Churchill has her on a special diet. She’s starting to look and sound like the old Joan. Mike and his mom would be so happy to see her this way.
The day after the Sisterhood exposed Lessig, we heard about the major shake-up it caused. Kasimir Lessig and Angelo Fassbinder are enjoying the hospitality of B.O.S.S. at a special facility in New York. I’m guessing B.O.S.S. wants information before those two will be reassimilated. I sincerely hope Lessig suffers, a lot. Oh, and the GC relieved Xander Critchfield of his presidential duties. Apparently, they haven’t dismissed the FeLS program yet. Its fate, and that of the girls in it, still hangs in the balance.
I’ve received one message from Wei. Her mom fled the country, mostly having to do with the arrest of her relatives in Japan. But her dad risked everything and stayed—remaining a Media employee. After Dorrie’s broadcast, when everyone saw Lessig admit to setting up Mr. Jenkins, Media offered him Lessig’s job in an attempt to save face. Although he hasn’t said yes for sure, Wei thinks he’ll probably take it. That can only be good for the Resistance.
Wei is still at her home with her father. Gran will be joining them when she gets out of rehab, and Dee will move back with them then. Though Wei said Dee really loves living with Martin and Percy. She told me they threw Dee a huge birthday party in one of the rooms of the Art Institute. Wei sent a digi. Dee’s radiant. I cry every time I look at it. Not just because I missed her special day, but she thinks I’m dead.
I understand why they told her that. The reasoning behind it makes sense. Miss Maldovar is Ed’s sister, and she’s obviously going to keep inserting herself in Dee’s life. The risk of Dee’s letting it slip that I’m alive to Miss Maldovar, to this woman she may trust, is too great. Wei said she’s dealing with it pretty well—or as well as can be expected.
Dee and Gran both know about Pops’s death. But neither knows the truth of how it happened. Thankfully, Dorrie had cut off the transmission before it was broadcast to the world. It’s better that way, I think. They miss him enough as it is; they don’t need to know the details of how he suffered.
Dad and I put a stone marker in the church’s graveyard. I go there pretty much every day to talk with Pops. Sometimes my dad’s there, too.
I was right. Layla’s his girlfriend, wife, whatever. I want to hate her, for Ginnie’s sake. But I can’t. She’s nice. She loves my father. And he seems to love her. Although I overheard him one day, when he was talking to Pops, say that he wondered if he’d made the right decision all those years ago. That Ginnie was his one true love. I couldn’t help but feel sad—for both of them. But the past can’t be changed. We’ve got only the present and the will to work for a better future.
Wei said Paulette told her that she’d located Sal. He’s out west, on NonCon reconnaissance. She didn’t know how long he’d be gone. When he returns, she’ll tell him where I am. If he even wants to know, I thought.