Unplugged: The Beautiful World (#3, Unplugged Trilogy)

Chapter Twenty Eight

Enna

Two insects stir within my ears. I wake and swat them in a panic before remembering that the vibration is coming from the Jewels Danny had lent me. My heart rate finally slows after several careful breaths.
    "Who was that?" Becca groans, inching upwards from her position against the back window of the car. She twists her neck, and I hear a few small cracks.
    "Me!" Oscar shouts. The words echo in my skull, louder than I'm comfortable with. "You guys freaking bailed on me! I thought you might have died back there."
    "Gee, sorry Mr. I Can Handle This," Leah mumbles, scratching behind her ears. She looks as miserable as I feel. "By the way, you ever heard about using technology for the greater good?"
    "Where are we?" Matthew asks, his tired voice just a low rumble in the close confines of the jeep. Oscar turns off his Jewels, and the gentle vibration dies in my ears.
    "Region Three. We've just reached the outskirts of Philadelphia." I shake my head, shocked, and energy slowly starts to wake up my limbs.
    "Already? How long have we been asleep?"
    "Long enough to sound like a pack of snoring dogs."
    "Nice analogy," Leah grumbles.
    "Thanks, sweetie." Oscar winks. "Thought of it just now."
    "Enough with the banter," Jackson complains. "Let's just make a plan before we get caught by a bunch of government officials."
    "That's the first intelligent thing you've ever said," Matthew says under his breath. Leah and Becca stifle laughs.
    "Jackson's right," I say, trying to successfully fulfill my role as leader. It's hard to sound commanding just moments after sleeping like a drugged baby. Sorry for the image. "Oscar, have you seen any sign of pursuit?"
    "An hour ago three helicopters flew over us, heading in roughly the same direction. A few jeeps like ours were stationed at the checkpoint between Region Two and Region Three, but no one suspected us. I expect we won't have too much of a hard time getting into Philly."
    "Philly?" Leah asks, raising an eyebrow. Oscar shrugs.
    "Old world slang."
    "How would you know?"
    "It's called research."
    "Do we need to refuel before we reach the city?" I ask, raising my voice to be heard over the nonsense.
    "Good idea," Jackson says. Suddenly, another voice rings throughout my head. Danny's.
    "Is everything okay out there? I thought I heard Oscar's voice..." Everyone in the car remains silent while I update Danny on our current situation. He tells us that the Resistance is holding up well, and then bids us farewell and good luck. Oscar pulls the jeep over to the shoulder of the road. He and Jackson speedily refill the vehicle's gas tank and then we're off again.
The remainder of the journey to the city is relatively quiet. Oscar cracks a joke. Matthew sneezes. Becca has a brief coughing fit. Eventually, the cracky road gives way to smooth asphalt. Our military jeep eats up the road, speeding towards a bridge that connects one island of buildings with another. The bridge passes over a dry bed of soil, where I can sense the ghost of a river.
    "These buildings are nowhere near as tall as the ones in New York," Becca mutters.
    "That won't matter when they're flattened," I say grimly, searching the skies for any familiar signs of helicopters and jets. They must not have started their attack yet. We have some time.
The vehicle jumps a little as we surge onto the bridge. Cables stretch upwards to either side of us, supporting the pothole-riddled deck. There are no other people here, as far as I can tell.
    "So what's the plan, Enna?" Oscar asks quietly. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel. I don't blame him for being nervous. It seems a little too quiet here for a city. Too empty.
    "Well..." I feel the pressure of five pairs of eyes on my face and I steel myself. "Let's find a safe place to park the jeep and then carry our supplies for a little while. That's probably the best way to search for a resistance group."
    "What happens when soldiers find us wandering the streets?" Jackson asks in a low voice. My eyes meet his bright blue ones for a moment.
    "We'll make sure that doesn't happen."

* * *

    Decrepit buildings with fading murals line the street on either side of us. This city might be a nice place to live, were it not for the absence of water and people.
    "See anything that looks like a hideout?" Matthew asks as he stares out his window, eyes roaming for signs of life.
    "Not a hideout," Jackson says in a strange voice. "But what the hell is that?" We all turn our gazes to the direction of his pointing finger. I gasp accidentally.
At the end of the crumbling street we drive down is a sort of town square, encompassing an enormous yard surrounded by a chain-linked fence. Barbed wire is fitted along the top, to prevent people from climbing over it. It looks like the lawn once belonged to a beautiful park. Now, the grass is a depressing shade of brown. Behind the fence, hundreds of people roam around, dead looks on their faces. Some of them wear RScreens, some of them don't.
    "What are they doing?" Leah exclaims, her voice peppered with bits of fear. I rub my eyes and try to pay closer attention. Oscar slows the car once we reach the end of the street. Some of the people stop their activities and stare at our military jeep with looks of utter hatred. The rest just stand miserably or labor in the grass, tending rows of gardens.
    "Pull in over there," I say, pointing to a secluded alley, large enough for our vehicle to fit and remain unseen. No one argues with my command, to my relief. Oscar pulls the jeep into the hiding place and cuts the engine. I let precious silence press into my ear drums for thirty seconds before exiting the car. Jackson, Leah, and Matthew unload the supplies from the trunk while Becca, Oscar and I stretch our weary bodies. It feels nice to be outside again, even though the weather feels hot and stifling. The sun lies directly overhead in the middle of a bright blue sky, hidden by a few sparse clouds.
    "I think only a few of us should go on and check that place out," I whisper. "We'd be way too easy to spot as a group."
    "I'm going with you," Matthew says firmly. His powerful gaze sweeps around the alley. No one objects.
    "I'm not staying," Jackson says stubbornly, arms folded over his chest. I furrow my brow apologetically at Leah and Oscar. They shrug and walk over to Becca.
    "We'll keep in touch through headphone," I say, pulling my thick hair into a messy ponytail. Sweat already starts to collect in beads on my forehead. "Make sure Becca stays safe at all times."
    "We will." Leah nods. I bend down and grab a utility knife from one of the supply packs, stashing it in a pocket before Matthew and Jackson throw the bags over their shoulders.
    "C'mon." I lead the way to the end of the alley, slightly annoyed by my baggy cargo pants. Danny certainly didn't try too hard to find us fitting clothes. Once we reach the main street, I get a clear view of the creepy outdoor prison. A large brick building with no windows sits ominously in the distance. The people in the yard speak in hushed tones, if at all. Now that I look harder, I see several black-clad guards evenly spaced along the perimeter of the fence.
    "What is that, some sort of prison?" Jackson asks.
    "Something worse," Matthew breathes, jutting his chin at the nearest guard, who firmly holds a gun. My eye catches a small, thin man in a secluded corner of the yard, right next to the fence. He works on building a wall out of bricks. No soldiers notice him because he's partly hidden behind the wall.
    "Let's talk to him," I whisper, indicating the man. "I don't think the guards will notice us over there." Matthew studies me for a moment then nods.
    "Okay. But I'll go over first." Before I can reply, he stealthily sprints over to the corner of the yard. The man, startled, starts to stand but Matthew says something that changes his mind. I look at Jackson and shrug. We both cross to the fence just as easily as Matthew, hovering low on the ground. Now that I'm closer, I can tell that the prisoner has a number printed across the breast of his torn clothes.
    "Who are you people?" He asks in a weak rasp. He's older than I thought, with gray hair that's starting to turn white. "I didn't do nothing wrong!"
    "We aren't soldiers," I mutter, glancing furtively over my shoulder. The old man stares into my eyes, at first confused, then a horrified expression lights his face.
    "Yes, you are! You're Enna Pri--!" I flip open my knife and stick it through one of the fence's links, right in front of the man's throat.
    "Raise your voice and we'll get caught." I hiss. "Listen, you have to trust us, alright? The Enna Price on television is a fraud. We're trying to help you." The man's wide eyes flick from me to Jackson to Matthew. Slowly, he sags against the brick wall and I retract the knife.
    "What is this place?" Matthew demands. "Why are all these people trapped?"
    "It's one thing to tease me with freedom, but to make light of my imprisonment..." The man closes his eyes wearily. "Don't feign ignorance, I beg."
    "We aren't!" I groan, starting to grow nervous. The nearest guard starts to pace the length of the fence. "Please, do you want to escape or not?"
    "Tell us where we are," Matthew says, eyes flashing under the glare of the sun. The older man begins to regard us with more seriousness.
    "You must truly be outsiders," he mumbles. "For almost half a year we've been trapped in this labor camp."
    "We?" I gasp.
    "Everyone in the city. That building behind me has been our home for a long time."
    "What do you do here?"
    "We're forced to work for the government on assembly lines and the like. Occasionally someone's taken away or punished if they do something wrong. It's torture." He shudders, grasping at his own bony arms. "Sometimes I feel like I'd prefer being plugged in like some of those lucky son-of-a-guns." I glance at the rest of the yard, where several RScreens gleam in the sunlight.
    "We're gonna get you out of here," Matthew says. Jackson pulls a metal knife from his pack and starts to saw off one of the small bars from the chain-link fence. Just as he cuts a sizable chunk away, a magnified voice rings around the prison yard.
    "Time's up. Report to your stations in five." The guards stationed around the fence start to roam around, herding people towards the large building. The old man looks at us fearfully.
    "Faster!" He rasps. Jackson increases his sawing speed, grimacing. My breath catches in my throat. A guard slowly starts towards our corner. There's a hole in the fence big enough for a child to squeeze through but not enough for the man.
    "C'mon!" I urge under my breath.
    "I'm doing my best!" Jackson spits. His face is red and dripping sweat. The guard is ten paces away from spotting us. The hole grows a little larger.
    Eight paces.
    The man has his head through.
    Five paces.
    The man's torso is on our side of the fence. Matthew and I throw caution to the wind, each taking one of his arms and pulling the rest of him through.
    "Hey!" The guard has spotted us. He raises his gun to fire, and we all roll to the side at the last second. Fear propelling me onwards, I pull the man to his feet and push him towards the road.
     "Run!" I scream. "Get out of here!"
     "Thank you!" He calls, just before another gunshot rings out. I dive to the side, blinded by terror, and an agonized scream rips through the air. Everything freezes and I look over my shoulder. Jackson falls to the ground, clutching his upper arm. A small chunk of flesh is missing. The guard pursuing us calls out to his comrades for back-up.
     "Take Jackson back to the others!" I scream at Matthew. He supports Jackson by the waist, glances at me, then starts to head towards the car's hideout. I swivel to face the guard that struggles through the hole in the fence.
    "Please, wait!" I shout, holding my hands out in front of me. The guards don't cease to fire at me. I jump and roll to the side, trying to avoid the bullets.
    "Please!" I call. Still, the attackers don't stop shouting and coming for me. A sensation of power rises from my gut, filling my chest with an indescribable fire. The Voice--Father--speaks in my mind for the first time in a while: "Rise above them." Somehow, I know what to do.
    "Stop!" I scream, my voice seeming to fill every inch of empty space. Suddenly, every one of the guards keels over and falls to the ground, unconscious. The confident feeling dissolves instantly. A deep silence hangs in the air, and all I can hear is the pumping of my heart. In the prison yard, people of all ages look at me like I just grew an extra head. What did I just do? Utterly disoriented, I turn on my heel and speedily start towards the alley. I'm sure more back-up guards will exit the prison building once they notice something's up. Ahead, Matthew leans against a brick building for support, staring at me with a gaping mouth. Jackson gasps on the ground beside him, too busy with his gunshot wound to notice me. Once I come upon them, I lead them back into the alley, not daring to look them in the eyes. It doesn't take us too long to reach the jeep, where Becca, Oscar, and Leah rest on the hood of the vehicle.
    "Guys, I heard some... What happened?" Leah cries when she sees the blood covering Jackson's upper arm. I hurriedly convey what had happened, leaving out the part where I took out all of the soldiers just by uttering a single word. Matthew kneels beside Jackson and starts cutting away the patch of fabric around his wound, revealing a gaping, bloody crater. I bite my tongue to keep from retching. Thankfully, the bullet only grazed his skin and didn't become lodged into it. Still, it doesn't look pretty.
    "Someone give me a spare jacket!" Matthew demands, hands trembling. I fish one out of a pack and hand it to Matthew, who ties it firmly around the wound. Jackson sucks in a breath and holds it, groaning.
    "I'm contacting Danny," Oscar says. He retreats to a more secluded corner for sufficient privacy. Leah herds Becca back into the jeep, trying to assure her that everything will be fine. I stare at the ground, unable to shake the feeling that Matthew keeps staring at me. He must have been the only one to see what I did.
    He must think I'm crazy.
    "Water," Jackson moans, blinking dizzily as if he might pass out. Suddenly, a drink sounds very good to me as well. I open another one of the bags, removing three bottles of water. Oscar walks back over to us, a dark look on his face.
    "Danny is very scared. Said he didn't expect us to encounter anything on this scale. He told me that we should just try to head back the first chance we get."
    "He wants us to give up?" I ask, wiping stray water droplets from my lips.
    "You think we stand a chance against those guys?" Jackson spits, fighting to lean on an elbow. He tears off the jacket that Matthew had carefully tied around his wound and points at his gory skin. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm done with trying to fight a battle I know I won't win!"
    "I think you're just too apathetic to try," I retort, face growing red in anger. "We've made it this far."
    "Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. At least I can call off a fight when I sense the outcome."
    "You mean you can rely on being a coward when things don't work your way?"
    "Guys, stop," Matthew warns, alert, staring at a pile of wooden crates opposite the entrance of our alley. I narrow my eyes and observe the boxes. Something moves. I hold my breath. Another movement, much larger.
    There's a person hiding behind the crates.