UnDivided (45 page)

“Wait—what announcement?” Then she turns to Connor. “You're going to let this guy tell you what to say?”

“Don't worry, I already know what to say, with or without him,” Connor tells her.

They veer around the Washington Monument, getting a little too close for Risa's comfort, then descend toward the far end of the crowded park, just short of the Capitol building.

Risa still feels a beat behind. “How can we land with all those people in the way?”

“Don't worry,” Aragon says. “When a Whisper-Bomber comes down on you, you move.”

As they descend, the scene becomes clearer. The crowd is tightly packed. Riot police are everywhere, shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the first sign of violence—and in a crowd this big, this fired up, it's bound to happen.

“My God, this isn't a rally,” Risa says. “It's a powder keg.”

“Which is why you're here,” says Aragon. “To make everyone play nice.”

Risa catches sight of a shirt that reads in bold letters
WHERE ARE THEY?
And it's not just one shirt—there are hundreds of them, and other sentiments just like it speckled throughout the crowd. Risa's mind begins to reel when she realizes who the shirts are talking about.

“There's a growing rumor that the Juvenile Authority has
both of you buried in unmarked graves,” Aragon says. “You've got to show people that it's not true before they decide it's time to take vengeance.”

“Looks like they'll have to get new shirts,” says Connor.

When the door is opened, it becomes clear how they were able to land. Their vertical descent has dropped them right into the Capitol reflecting pool. Beyond the edge of the pool, the crowd tries to peer in to see who has just arrived. Connor gets up first, then turns to Aragon, who hasn't moved from his seat. “Aren't you coming?”

Aragon shakes his head. “If this is going to work, it has to be your show, not mine. Good luck.”

Connor reaches his hand out to Risa, and although she's not ready to face the multitude, she takes his hand and steps down into the water.

“Damn, that's cold,” says Connor.

The reaction of the crowd is immediate. “It's them!” “It's the Akron AWOL!” “It's Risa Ward!” The news relays through the crowd and down the length of the massive park like a wave of electricity. Did Risa say thousands? There must be more than a million here! It's not just teenagers, either. There are people of all ages, all races, probably from all over the nation.

Hayden comes wading across the reflecting pool toward them. “What an entrance! You are the only people I know who can arrive by deus ex machina and pull it off.”

“Hayden, I have no idea what you're talking about,” says Connor.

“As it should be.” He quickly hugs them both. “I'm glad the reports of your deaths were greatly exaggerated.” He leads them out of the pool and through the crowd, toward the Capitol steps. The crowd parts before them, still whispering their names with charged excitement. Some people actually reach out to touch them. A woman grabs Risa's blouse, nearly ripping it.

“Hands to yourselves,” Hayden tells the reachers. “It might look like they walked on water, but the reflecting pool's only a foot deep.”

There's a speaker at a podium toward the top of the Capitol steps calling for justice, fairness, transparency, and all the other things people demand but rarely get from their government. Risa hears his words being broadcast throughout the rally by audio systems that seem to have sprung up spontaneously. The speaker, Risa realizes, is none other than rock star Brick McDaniel—and there are more celebrities in line to speak.

“When I called for this,” says Hayden, “I wasn't even sure anyone was listening.”

At the base of the Capitol steps, a line of riot police blocks the way, and the crowd taunts them, daring them to attack. Risa feels like she's just stepped into a mousetrap that's about to spring. Doesn't Hayden see that? How can he be so enthusiastic?

“I haven't seen a single Juvie,” Connor notes. Risa looks around to realize he's right. There's the riot police, street cops, heavily armed military boeufs in camo, even special service, but no Juvies.

“The word is Herman What's-His-Face—that lying tool who ran the Juvenile Authority—is out,” Hayden tells them.

“Sharply was fired?” says Connor.

“Had his nuts handed to him, is more like it.”

“He was Proactive Citizenry's favorite puppet.” Risa says.

Hayden offers up his famous grin. “I thought I'd get arrested the moment I showed up, but the powers that be are all scrambling like AWOLs. No telling where they're going to land, but I hope they all splat like tomatoes.”

As they reach the line of riot police, Hayden says, “Open sesame,” and they actually let him pass, but close their ranks again and grip their weapons before Connor and Risa can get through.

“Uh, excuse me,” Hayden says. “Can't you see who they are?”

One of the guards looks at Connor, then at Risa, and the moment he recognizes them, he pulls his gun from its holster. She doesn't know if it's loaded with tranqs or real bullets, but it doesn't matter. If he shoots them, the crowd will attack, and it will be a bloodbath. So she looks into the officer's angry eyes.

“Are you willing to be the man who starts the war?” she asks. “Or do you want to be the man who prevents it?”

Although the anger never leaves his face, it's caressed by a little humanity, and maybe a little bit of fear. He holds his position for a moment more, then steps aside to let them pass.

Climbing the Capitol steps is clearly difficult for Connor. He grimaces with every step, and Risa helps him as much as she can. When Brick McDaniel sees them approaching, he stops speaking midsentence and yields the microphone, a little bit awed. The entire crowd from the Capitol to the Lincoln Memorial falls silent in anticipation.

Risa stops a few steps short of the podium, hanging back with Hayden. “It's you they need to hear from,” she tells Connor. “I've already been in the media spotlight. Now it's your turn.”

“I can't do this alone,” he says.

Risa smiles. “Does it look like you're alone?”

Gripping the letter in his hand to the point of crumpling it, Connor approaches the podium, trying to keep himself from hyperventilating. He's never seen so many people in his life. He leans forward into the microphone.

“Hi . . . I'm Connor Lassiter.”

His voice booms out over the crowd, and the collective cheer it brings forth nearly knocks him off his feet. It's a roar that echoes back from the Capitol behind him. It even seems to sway the trees. He imagines it surging forth along the Potomac, out into Chesapeake Bay, and across the Atlantic, where it can be heard around the world. And then he realizes it will be! Everything that happens here today will be seen and heard everywhere!

“I'm here to tell you that I'm alive. And so is Risa Ward.” He pauses for more cheers, once more waiting for the crowd to settle before he says, “And there's something I need to tell you.”

He looks down to the letter in his hands, then realizes he doesn't have to. He's read it so many times since Aragon gave it to him, he's memorized it. He had to—it was the only way he could convince himself it was real.

“I'm happy to announce that the president has just vetoed the Parental Override bill.”

This time the cheer begins tentatively, but rises to a fever pitch. He doesn't wait for them to quiet down to continue. “And there's more. The president is also calling on the legislature to place a moratorium on unwinding. And to shutter the Chop Shops of all harvest camps until
every voice is heard
!” He feels his own voice gathering strength from the crowd, gathering strength from deep within himself. “
And we will stand here!
” Connor yells.
“In front of the Capitol! Until! They! Are!”

The roar from the crowd is an earthquake rumbling up the steps. He can feel it vibrating in his feet, shaking the foundations of the great domed building behind him. He doesn't know if this is what Aragon wanted, but it's what Connor wants: the galvanizing of millions—not to wage acts of violence or revenge, but to hold their ground against the institutionalized murder that has defined a generation.

“
Stand with me!
” Connor commands.
“And I swear to you EVERYTHING WILL CHANGE!”

Up above, the news helicopters circle, and down below, media crews broadcast his message into every home, every workplace, every newsfeed. And he knows for each soul here today, there are a thousand more that at this very moment are rising up to join them. Not a teen uprising as Hayden thought this would be, but the awakening of a nation from its darkest nightmare.

Then, amid the tumult of the crowd, Connor hears his name called. Not just by some random person, but by a familiar voice. A little deeper perhaps, a little older than he remembers, but a voice he can never forget. He looks down to the front of the crowd and sees a boy emerging. A boy almost as tall as him.

“Lucas?”

And behind him, Connor sees them. His mother. His father. Fighting their way forward in the crowd. They came to the rally. They didn't even know he'd be here, but they still came!

That's when people begin to recognize them. They realize that these are the people who signed the order to unwind the Akron AWOL.

And the crowd begins to turn.

“
They're unwinders!
” the mob yells.
“Unwind the unwinders!”

As high as spirits were an instant ago, the energy flips into fury, and his parents are attacked.

“No!”

Connor bolts down the Capitol steps, ignoring the pain in his joints. The crowd around his parents has gone mad! He can't even see them anymore—they've been taken down in a lethal screaming scrum.

“Stop!”

But they can't hear him over their own rage.

The riot police move toward the crowd wielding their weapons. Connor breaks through their ranks and gets to the rioting mob first.

“Connor, stop them!” begs Lucas.

Connor runs past him and hurls himself into the tangle of bodies, pushing people away. When they see him, they back off one by one, until he's at the epicenter of the attack, and he finds them.

His parents lie on the ground, their clothes torn, their faces and bodies bloody.

But they're alive! They're still alive.

Connor grabs his mother and helps her to her feet. He reaches out to his father, who takes his hand and rises. The two of them look like refugees. Desperate. Alone against a force that outnumbers them. They look like AWOLs.

Around them the crowd still seethes, and the riot police are on the verge of attack. The powder keg is about to blow, and who knows how bad it will be once it does? Everything hinges on this moment.

Connor knows what he must do to defuse this. He knows what the crowd needs to see.

He throws his arms around both his mother and his father and holds them with all the strength he has. Lucas, pulled in by their gravity, joins them in this odd and awkward familial embrace, and for Connor it's as if the crowd and the police and the world have gone away. But he knows they haven't. They're all there, waiting to see how this hair-trigger reunion will end.

Connor's father, his lips close to Connor's ear, whispers, “Can you forgive us?”

And Connor realizes he doesn't have an answer. Right now the yes and the no of his own pie chart are overwhelmed by the part of him that's undecided.

“I'm doing this to save your lives,” Connor tells him. But
he knows it's more than that. It's as if his embrace can rewind them—not into the family they once were, but into the one they may still have a chance to be. Connor knows he can't forgive them today; they will have to fight for his forgiveness. They will have to earn it. But if they all survive today, there will be time for that.

His father now sobs uncontrollably into Connor's shoulder, and his mother holds his gaze as if looking at him gives her strength. The crowd watches. The crowd waits. And the moment of crisis passes.

It is then that Connor realizes that Aragon was absolutely right. Connor has won. Which means they've all won.

“Can we go home now?” Lucas asks.

“Soon,” Connor tells him gently. “Very soon.”

And so, as the mob backs away to give them space . . . and as the riot police holster their weapons, standing down, and as Risa takes the podium, calming the crowd with a voice as soothing as a sonata, Connor Lassiter holds his family like he'll never let them go.