Right now, we’re relatively safe here in Mexico. Our own country is in chaos. The Opposition has basically instituted martial law. David Rosenthal, the man who really ought to be president, is missing. The Spark is afraid. Banks are closed and people are panicking and the stock market has crashed. Jinx thinks she’s got Marshall’s encryption key to work. I don’t really know what that means. The “key” is a bunch of gobbledygook computer code that looks like you let a monkey pound on a keyboard for a while. But she says it works, and I trust her.
And we have a name of someone who can help us. We’re going to leave the bunker with the key and find Esmerelda Ojos. We’re calling this a plan, even though my dad and Toby have yet to agree to it. Plus, we still don’t have an answer to the big questions.
How will we get Charles back?
What will happen to my dad?
What will happen to all of us?
Jinx wants to get her brother back.
Toby wants a revolution.
Navarro wants to hide in the bunker.
And I want...
I put the pen down for a second and, like, I can feel the corners of my mouth fall into a frown. Mr. Johnson would give me an F for this report for sure. It has slang and all kinds of bias and about five hundred uncorroborated facts.
And, seriously, MacKenna, this isn’t a story in the inverted pyramid format.
Who cares about the New York Times or style sheets? Who knows if I’ll ever get this stuff published? Or if anyone will ever even read it. Screw Mr. Johnson.
This is my story.
I cross out the words Field Report #1.
I replace them with:
And I want...
I want to go back. That’s what I want to write. Like, back to my life before any of this happened. Not only is that impossible, it’s not right anyhow. The election of Ammon Carver exposed terrible problems that were hidden or ignored or covered up. These problems have to be solved. It’s a real mess.
We have to clean it up.
I want...
I want a world where none of these things could ever have happened.
And I want to find out the truth about why they did.
I drop the paperback book in time to see Navarro, all red in the face, get up from the kitchen table.
“We have a name,” I tell him as he passes me. “Esmerelda Ojos. Now that the satellite is up, we can use the internet to find her and—”
He turns around. “You don’t know what you have. Or what you’re doing.”
He goes to the stairs and leaves the bunker. After his footsteps trail away, it’s silent apart from a few clicks and beeps coming from the old computers in the corner.
Some part of me knows that this is the beginning of something.
The start.
Today is Day One.
Maybe you have heard it said that a nation will more willingly believe one big lie over many small ones. But the truth is far older. Caesar spoke correctly when he said that men will willingly believe whatever they wish.
—Comment by PRESIDENT AMMON C. CARVER to his daughter, ANNIKA CARVER, after issuing Executive Order 17881, Suspending Congressional Activities during the Ongoing Economic Emergency
JINX
For an hour or so, Navarro sits alone on the beach.
I watch him on the security monitor. He’s got his back to the camera and faces the waves. He doesn’t move as they roll in and out.
Toby’s at the opposite end of the bunker, messing with a pile of books.
MacKenna stands next to him as if to supervise whatever he’s doing, but she says nothing as he makes a series of stacks on his bed.
While Navarro’s outside, I explain the situation to Jay.
I’m behind the desk of the comm center, listening to the whir of the machines. “Okay, so as you know, Dad encrypted all the bank’s data. It can’t be accessed or restored without a key, a piece of complicated code that he hid on disks in the bunker. We can’t use the code here. These computers are way too slow, and the satellite dish Dad left is super old. But we can access the internet and use it to plan our next steps,” I tell him. “Figure out where to go next.”
I cough into my shoulder. When the computers run for too long, there’s a faint whiff of burning plastic in the air.
Jay, who has remained in the kitchenette, drums his fingers on the table. He opens his mouth. And then closes it, as if he’s thinking carefully about how to phrase something. After a pause, he clears his throat. “The boy is right though. You should have discussed the satellite with me before you activated it.”
That’s not really what Navarro said. But I appreciate Jay’s efforts to keep some form of order. At least it feels normal.
Toby drops a stack of books with a loud thud. “I’m glad you did it, Jinx. We’ve been sitting around here discussing things. Drilling. Talking. Arguing. For a month. It’s time to do something.”
Jay again hesitates, thinking. “Perhaps, son. Perhaps. But—”
The return of Navarro interrupts Jay’s train of thought. Jay takes a deep breath and remains silent, surveying the bunker.
I swivel the comm center chair around to face Navarro as he flops onto his own bunk. “But,” he says, picking up the conversation, “we could have at least come to a decision as a group.” Navarro folds his arms across his chest. “It also, apparently, didn’t occur to you that Jay could have remained here in relative safety regardless of what we decided to do.”
MacKenna and I exchange a look.
Actually, this very thing had occurred to us. But—
“I’m sure Stephanie knows where this place is. It’s only a matter of time before she sends someone to look for us,” MacKenna says.
—there is that.
“You don’t know that,” Navarro says. But I can tell he’s thinking. About the rules.
Rule fourteen: Don’t put your fate in the hands of your enemy.
“MacKenna is right,” Toby says, staring down at a paperback. “Stephanie might not be looking for my father right now. But the instant that locating him becomes a political necessity, we’ll be hearing from her again. I told you before. We should move him to a safer location.”
Yeah, my mom might know about the bunker. But the bigger issue is—
Jay stands up, puts his hands on the back of his chair. “Excuse me, son, but you are all out of your minds if you think I’d remain underground, hiding like a groundhog afraid of his shadow, while my children run around fomenting a revolution.”