Resist

  Go inside the Resistance with this exclusive short story from Zenn!

  Resist: A Possession Short Story

  By Elana Johnson, Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2011 Elana Johnson

  The city of Freedom lay a thousand miles to the east, and teleporting such a great distance held the potential for intense complications. I eyed the teleporters in front of me, their indicator lights still dark, with a sense of foreboding.

  “Blaze, you go first.” My dad stood at the controls, adjusting a sensor. I watched from my position next to Blaze Barque, a quiet discomfort growing in my stomach.

  But this mission was necessary. Information created power, and we didn’t want the Association to know how powerful the Resistance had grown here in the west. Three prisoners had been taken from the Goodgrounds last week, and we needed them back before they cracked.

  Or were killed, I thought, but quickly pushed away. No doubt the Director of Freedom would extract what he needed and order their swift executions. Blaze and I needed to prevent both.

  “Zenn, you’ll go second,” Dad said without a trace of fear in his voice. I don’t know how he did it. His government job in the teleportation department benefited the Resistance greatly. But the risks he took every day—and every night—had to weigh on him. He lived like they didn’t. “The drop point has been set to an alley behind Rise Eleven.”

  Blaze nodded his acknowledgement and tightened the straps on his backpack. He carried the tech we’d need to cancel the incoming teleportation signal that would bust us before we began. Freedom was no lightweight when it came to security. The only way in or out without breaching the tech barrier wall was by teleportation. And that needed at least ten codes and special clearance from the Director.

  We had neither, which meant that we didn’t have clearance to enter the capital of the Association in the middle of the night. But that hardly mattered to Jag Barque, Mr. Leader of the Resistance. My fingers fisted at the thought of him. I glared at Blaze since I couldn’t laser-gaze at his younger brother. They were both idiots. Blaze Barque had been appointed Assistant Director of Seaside a month ago. He should be nowhere near Freedom on this cold January night.

  I could handle this mission alone. I’d told Jag that. I’d argued that if Blaze got caught, or recognized, or didn’t make it out alive—always a possibility when entering enemy territory—that the entire Resistance would be compromised. He was an Assistant Director, a position of authority inside the Association. Someone who could gather intelligence and keep the Resistance supplied with reliable information. We didn’t have many spies as high up in the government as Blaze. He shouldn’t be going.

  But neither he nor Jag saw the wisdom in that. When I’d mentioned it to my dad, he hadn’t looked away from his notes and said, “Jag does what he wants.”

  And that was the solid-silver truth. He didn’t care that he was only fourteen, or that I was; he never considered that the few adults in the Resistance might know more than him. Sure, he acted like he listened, and he asked for opinions, but in the end, Jag always did what he thought best. And apparently, sending his older brother to Freedom to evacuate Insiders was what was best.

  As his second-in-command, I thought my opinion meant more. Obviously not, I thought as the lights surrounding Blaze blinked and wavered.

  I’d been risking my life for almost two years for Jag Barque and the Resistance. I believed in it fiercely. I felt caged inside a life with no purpose, with no way out, and the Resistance gave me an anchor to hold onto. Jag and I worked together seamlessly. Though we didn’t always agree, we kept the end goal in sight. Our methods differed, but our determination to see this through to the end did not.

  I just hoped the end didn’t include my death. The knot of tension in my stomach tightened as the teleporter whirred. Blaze blinked and wavered.

  Then he vanished.

  Teleportation to Freedom took two minutes, twelve seconds. Dad worked at his instrument panel to cancel the record of the outgoing teleport while I replaced images of Jag with fantasies of Vi. That should have eased the clenching in my gut, or at least brought a smile to my face. But no. All it did was remind me of how dangerously close I was to losing her.

  If the Resistance gave my life purpose, then Vi gave it joy. We’d been best friends for years, but at some point the friendship morphed into something I couldn’t quite name. All I knew was that I loved her.

  More than the Resistance?

  The question mocked me inside my own head, but it rattled around in the tone of Director Myers.

  Vi meant more to me than the Resistance. Infinitely more.

  I hadn’t told Director Myers that, but he’d figured out how incredibly close to my heart I held Vi. She needed me in much the same way the Resistance did. And while she was broken, I believed she’d find a way to fix herself. Just like our society. It was broken, but I believed we’d find a way to repair it.

  And so I’d volunteered for this mission to Freedom. But I dreaded it as well. Because I might run into Director Myers. He’d given me an ultimatum last week via e-comm. Choose, Zenn. Jag or Violet.

  I’d always choose Vi.

  Always.

  But if I put Director Myers off much longer, he could do something drastic. Like kill Vi. He’d said as much in his latest message. You can’t play both sides on this one. And time’s not on your side.

  The fact that he knew Jag’s name and how deep I was involved with the Resistance scared me. I could’ve been one of the prisoners taken; what I knew could be extracted and I could be left for dead.

  The fact that he knew about my infatuation with Vi brought a crippling terror to my throat. Director Myers was not to be trifled with. He had the power of the entire Association on his side, and I was inconsequential to his end goal. As was Vi.

  “Ready, son?” Dad’s voice snapped me out of the place in my mind where I imagined Vi bleeding, her life drifting away along with the beauty in her eyes.

  I stepped into the teleporter. As my particles shook and blazed into fire, the image of Vi dying shifted to the murderous look I’d see on Jag’s face if/when he found out I couldn’t help him anymore.

  I could hold my breath for almost four minutes. I didn’t practice because I liked to push the limit. I did it so I could travel to Freedom without passing out. Two minutes, twelve seconds had become nothing over the years. I could probably hold my breath that long in my sleep.

  But sleep was nearly a thing of the past. I didn’t do much of that anymore, not since joining the Resistance just before my thirteenth birthday. And I gave up the habit altogether once Director Myers started hissing threats over my comm.

  The last thing I needed was him inspecting my dreams.

  His threats had started coming in a couple of weeks ago. I’d been dodging Vi since then, spending more time on my work with the Resistance.

  But the Resistance is a poor replacement for Vi. The Resistance didn’t look at me with those turquoise eyes and pouty smile. It didn’t breathe my name next to the lake and send me illegal e-comms in the middle of earth science class. I didn’t dream about kissing the Resistance.

  I’d always choose Vi.

  Because of the great distance, my particles reorganized agonizingly slow. After a few seconds, I could make out Blaze standing next to the wall of Rise Eleven, typing something into it. A bright light flashed, but by the time I could draw breath and take a step, it faded into blackness.

  “Stay here,” I said quickly, shouldering the backpack he’d dropped.

  “What?”

  “You’re the Assistant Director of Seaside. You’re not going.” I didn’t care what Jag said/did. I didn’t care what Blaze said/did. This was my life on the line, and I wasn’t going in there with someone who could compromise
the entire mission, no matter what assurances Jag had given me.

  “I’ll get the Insiders myself,” I said, my voice creeping up in volume. “Have the teleporter ring ready.”

  “Zenn—”

  “I just need you to have the teleporter ring ready.”

  Blaze looked like he was going to argue again, but he didn’t. “Fine. I’ll stay here.”

  “Damn straight you will.” I strode to the edge of the building. I didn’t turn to see if he’d conceded. He’d stay.

  Beyond the alley, the streets of Freedom stretched into a black abyss. I’m not gonna lie, my heart pumped into overdrive, spreading fear and adrenaline through my body. I knew this city. I’d been here countless times over the past few years.

  And I hated this place with every cell in my body. The lair of the most powerful Directors. The birthplace of mind readers and schools to teach people how to use and control others. Freedom epitomized everything the Resistance fought against.

  I stayed inside the shadows, which wasn’t difficult on this moonless night. The height of the buildings would’ve blocked any light from reaching the immaculate cement anyway. Rise Twelve towered in the distance a mile away. To the untrained eye, it looked as sleepy as the rest of the Rises.

  But I saw the flicker of light on the roof that indicated someone stood there. I noticed the flip of a curtain on the fifth floor which meant someone was breaking curfew. I caught the flash as the front entrance opened and closed, quick as a blink.

  Despite the chill, I arrived at Rise Twelve sweating. I needed a nice long break after this. Midnight missions to enemy territory were taxing, especially when you’re perched on the pinnacle of two impossible decisions.

  I’d always choose Vi. I would not be responsible for her death, for any more suffering than she’d already endured. With her dad gone and her mother on her case all the time, she needed a safe place. I wanted to be that person, that place. No matter what.

  I circled around to the back of the building, where my Freedom spy should be waiting. Together with the three Insider prisoners we’d leave this pathetic excuse for a city behind.

  I stood at the corner of a medical kiosk, studying my watch. Seven seconds… Four… One…

  The back door opened and a tall silhouette emerged from the building. Click, step, click, and the door closed again, sealing the techtricity inside in under a second.

  I didn’t speak; I never spoke first. Part of me wanted to tell him to hurry, but I waited still and silent.

  “Warm tonight,” the man said, and my blood ran cold.

  That wasn’t the keyword. Not even close.

  I turned to leave but had only taken one step before angry fingers gripped my bicep. “Well, Zenn, have you made your choice?”

  I tried to shake my arm out of Director Myers’s death grip. I freed myself and strode away on legs made of putty. Director Myers. Director freaking Myers. How did he predict my every move? How did he know I’d be here tonight of all nights? My heart battled against my ribs, sending fear and desperation coursing through me. The only redeeming thought I had was that at least Blaze Barque was safely hidden in that alley.

  “I’ll match you with Violet Schoenfeld.” The Director’s voice sliced daggers through me. “You can be together. You and Miss Schoenfeld. I’ll make sure it happens.”

  The stillness of Freedom pressed down on me, unnatural and terrifying.

  “I can make sure something else happens to her too.” He spoke nonchalantly, but danger lurked in every syllable.

  “When?” The word seared my throat.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “What else do you want?” I asked, because surely he wasn’t going to give me Vi and then allow me to scurry home to report to Jag. I feared that if I made this deal—any deal—with Director Myers that he’d exploit it for the rest of my life. I might never be free from him.

  “I want Jag Barque.”

  “He’s impossible to cage,” I said. I’d lived the past two years watching him. By now, I could predict his decisions about half the time. The other half left me shaking my head and wondering what he was thinking.

  “Maybe,” Director Myers said. “But you can provide me with at least some details I need.”

  “He doesn’t tell me everything.” I held my breath, hoping Director Myers wouldn’t hear the half-lie in that sentence.

  “He tells you enough.”

  My back ached from standing so straight and still. “So I turn Informant, is that it?”

  “No, Zenn,” Director Myers purred. “You get the girl you want. A life with everything you want—and more. So what if you send a few e-comms every once in a while? No one has to know.”

  I didn’t respond. The Resistance had provided me with some measure of control in my life. Jag was my best friend. I wasn’t sure I could abandon him, and the thought of informing on him made me queasy.

  But the Director didn’t have to know that. And he didn’t know how much—or how little—I knew. I’d been playing both sides for years; I could do it a little longer. The stakes felt infinitely higher. This was Vi’s life on the line.

  “You’ll match me with Violet Schoenfeld? She’ll be safe and protected?” I knew she had a record. Vi didn’t like to follow rules, something I adored about her.

  “You have my word.”

  “Her record will be wiped clean,” I said. “Mine too.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “Done.” I didn’t turn and we didn’t shake hands. I simply melted into the night.

  His voice cut through the darkness when he said, “Two minutes, Mr. Bower.”

  One minute and twenty-one seconds passed before the city of Freedom began to wail. The whitest of white lights flashed from every doorway, every rooftop. The sound of hoverboards filled the sky.

  Alarms and sirens and hoverboards I could dodge. I could push away the extra thirty-nine seconds I’d been promised and didn’t get. Myers was such a liar. What if he didn’t honor his word regarding Vi?

  When the dogs started barking, I couldn’t swallow back the fear. I had a solid mile of ground to cover, and I sprinted full-out toward Rise Eleven and ducked into the alley I’d emerged from twenty minutes before.

  Blaze, gone; the teleporter ring, dark. I swore and gasped for breath. The barking grew louder. The sirens pitched shrilly. The panic blossomed into terror.

  I wrenched the backpack off, desperate to find something inside that would save me. Before I could even unzip it, a girl stepped into the alley. Her eyes shone sharp and metallic in the flashing lights. She threw something hard at the ground and slunk back into the shadows. A purple ring brightened the alleyway.

  I didn’t wait to say “Thank you,” or “Where’s Blaze?” or anything. I bolted into the teleporter ring and shouted the coordinates for my dad’s lab in the Goodgrounds.

  The whole two minute, twelve-second ride echoed with the word traitor.

  “I don’t know,” I said, probably for the fifth time during the interrogation. Technically, it was a post-mission report, but since the Resistance had lost such an important member, it felt more hostile.

  “You don’t know where the prisoners were?” Dad asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where was Blaze while you were gone?”

  “The alley. I asked him to stay in the alley.” A cold shock of guilt chilled me. I’d told him to stay. Had he died there, waiting for me? The alley hadn’t held a footprint. Not a speck of blood. Almost like we’d never been there.

  “You don’t know who the girl was who helped you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  And I didn’t. My dad recorded my answers, a look of supreme doubt in his eyes. I wanted to shake him, make him understand. I was his son; I was the one who joined the Resistance when my older brother wouldn’t. I desperately needed my dad to believe me.

  I opened my mouth to explain it again, but I didn’t have different words that would work. I’d told him what had happ
ened, right down to the detail of that girl’s crazy-controlling eyes.

  Of course, I’d left out the bit detailing Director Myers’ offer and my agreement to feed him information about Jag. I’d simply said the Director had been there in place of our Freedom spy, and that I’d hightailed it out of the area as quick as I could. Both items were true.

  The only thing going for me was the fact that Jag was away on business. He’d fillet me alive with a simple look. I imagined him getting the news of the failed mission, his missing and presumed dead brother. The anger in his eyes would be replaced with anguish.

  I put my head down on the table, feeling lost. Trapped. How could I tell Jag—or anyone—about Vi? About my crazy-intense need to protect her? That she was the reason I’d turned Informant?

  I couldn’t.

  Jag would scoff; tell me that a girl didn’t warrant backstabbing; remind me that in the Resistance, we shouldn’t have any emotional attachments.

  “Zenn,” Dad said, his tone soft and parental. Something squeezed inside, tightening the fist I felt around my heart. He didn’t touch me, but his hand hovered over my shoulder.

  “I don’t know.” I exhaled, pushing all the air out of my lungs in an attempt to get a decent breath. “Dad, I don’t know.” My voice cracked on the last word, but I swallowed hard and regained my composure. I did not cry. I did not show weakness on the job.

  Dad nodded, tapped in a note on his screen, and sat down next to me. “I’ll send word through the proper channels. I’m sure Jag will want another meeting.”

  I was sure he would too.

  Sure enough, the summons for the face-to-face meeting with Jag came three days later. He must’ve left the moment he received the report and flown most of the way. He didn’t use teleporters if he could help it. He adored flying, but three days from Seaside set a new record.

  The message contained one word, scrawled in Jag’s messy writing on a ripped piece of paper: Midnight.

  I left at dusk, minutes before curfew. I walked along the tree line, one foot in the forest and one foot out. The settlements had been swallowed by foliage, but I picked my way through the undergrowth with ease. I’d been here so many times before.