He rips a pair of reflective shades from a man’s face and throws them at his feet. The man bends down to retrieve the glasses and falls to his knees when an aggressive woman jockeys forward to take his place in the prized front row.
With a dizzying suddenness the rail barrels onto the tracks, and in unison hundreds of people surge forward to the edge of the platform in a stampede that crushes the fallen man. The doors of the newly arrived railcar open, and a handful of passengers manage to fight their way out before the onslaught of commuters begin to bulldoze their way in. I tug Mira’s hand hard, indicating that we must do the same.
A loud beep announces the rail’s impending departure. Body upon body presses determinedly against us as we force our way up to the car’s closing doors. A Guard attempts to push away additional passengers trying to enter the car, but we duck and he drives back a man gripping his adolescent son instead.
“The doors are closing. I’m going to push!” I hear someone yell behind me.
Strange hands shove me into the resisting mass of people already stuffed into the car. The doors attempt to close, but there are just too many people. Hands wrap around Mira, pulling her away from me through the doors.
In a blind panic I thrust hard on the chest of the woman next to me, sending her flying out of the car. I’m sorry the moment I see her swallowed up by the hungry mob, but Mira bursts through the sleek metal doors that finally shut with a soft thud behind her.
The railcar lurches forward, instantly gaining high speed. Mira loses her balance and slams into a woman in a flattering dress.
“My apologies,” Mira says. The woman glares down suspiciously at Mira’s beanie and dark clothing before she checks her pockets for anything stolen.
Mira and I shift away from the woman and see the sign above the door at the same time. A warning reads “No Open Umbrellas Inside Car” next to a flashy ad for Texas lab-grown beef.
I lock my eyes on the floor and shove my way toward a row of seats in the back. I have to lift my umbrella high above people’s heads in order to slide the runner closed, eliciting angry scowls when I accidently scrape the tips of the canopy against their faces.
Clasping her own umbrella stiffly to her side, Mira throws her hood low over her eyes and pushes her way to stand near the back of the car.
I manage to find a small opening in the handrail attached to the ceiling. My knuckles turn white with my grip, all my tension manifesting itself in my closed fist. We’ll be in Amarillo soon. Just keep your head down.
A knee brushes against my thigh.
“You can sit in my lap if you don’t want to stand,” a young man offers, admiring me unabashedly. I don’t respond and turn away just as the railcar is enveloped in a breaking newscast from the Lone Star Network.
The ceiling, floor, and all four walls of the car project the towering image of Governor Roth standing behind a podium in the garden of the Governor’s Mansion. He clears his throat and begins to speak in the low, distinct way that forces everything around him to fall silent. And causes every nerve down my spine to shudder.
“I am both saddened and angered to inform the American people of Dr. Darren Goodwin’s arrest made early this morning at his home in Trinity Heights. The Director of the Texas Family Planning Division has been charged with treason against the State of Texas.”
The man beside me lifts his hand to his mouth in astonishment, and two women shake their heads in open disapproval of my father.
I feel dizzy, a hot nauseous ball reeling inside my stomach, and it’s hard to remain still, to not shout out that my father is innocent. But he’s not innocent. Hold it in. Keep your face blank.
Suddenly my father surrounds me. Adorned in a prisoner’s uniform, wrists bound in handcuffs. His image is paraded on every wall. I snap my head up, fighting to get a better view of the damning headline that flashes across his body: “Traitor Awaits Sentencing.”
My God.
“Darren Goodwin was elected by you, the people, with the sworn promise to uplift and protect our great state,” Roth continues with a politician’s poise. “But he has callously betrayed those he was chosen to serve, and with his egregious acts of treason has sought to sabotage our progress and our future.”
I close my eyes to blindfold myself in darkness, waiting for Roth’s final blow announcing the existence of Dr. Goodwin’s illegal twins. I harden myself against the reactions of an outraged public who will soon demand we answer for our great sin of threatening humanity’s right to survive.
If Father is a traitor, then we are traitors too.
“Thanks to the efforts of my grandson, Halton, justice will be served.” My eyes remain closed, and I imagine Halton’s lips stretching into a proud smile as he stands beside his grandfather. You bastard.
A loud murmur ripples throughout the car. Reluctantly leaving my dark hideout, I slowly open my eyes and see holograms of myself pop up all across the railcar.
The word “Wanted” flashes red and bold across my school uniform.
“Ava Goodwin, daughter of Dr. Darren Goodwin, has been charged as an accessory to his crimes. The fugitive has fled the scene but is still believed to be at large in the city.”
Alarmed, I scan the passengers around me. Outrage, disapproval, hostility—their sentiments are marked clearly on their faces.
Then it hits me. The governor didn’t mention the one word that would set the people into a mob. Twins.
“Let it be known that any persons providing illegal aid to Ava Goodwin will be immediately arrested.”
So this is how you’re going to play it. Keep the truth tucked under the bullshit blanket of vagueness. Shift the attention to finding me so you can withhold the reason for my father’s arrest.
“I speak now directly to Ava Goodwin.”
I lock eyes with Roth, who glares straight into the news camera, every bit the formidable general he used to be.
He still only has eyes for me.
“Turn yourself in. You will be caught, and you will pay for your crimes.”
I want to look at Mira so badly, to share this terrorizing moment with her.
“The severity of your own punishment depends upon your next move,” the governor finishes, never once breaking his stare.
The newscast cuts to black, and my hand begins to shake. I quickly cover it, Roth’s last three words echoing in my mind with a terrifying urgency.
What is our next move?
MIRA
The repetitive purr of the high-speed rail creates a soothing lull, making it difficult to fight sleep.
Only ten other passengers remain in our car. A few idly watch the happy sitcom now projected on the wall where Governor Roth’s face dominated an hour before, but most stare at nothing, eyes glazed and vacant. I stare through the glass doors of the car in front of me, eyes moving, always watching.
Anticipation is the worst part. I know something’s coming. Someone will recognize us, the cameras will register our faces despite the concealment of our hoodies, the railcar will slow before reaching its designated stop, a full military unit will swarm the tracks, and Ava and I will be captured.
I can smell my fear. I’m drenched in it. Hiding my entire life behind the guise of Ava is nothing like the terror of being hunted. We’ve been unmasked. We’re a bull’s-eye. And now I’m trapped in a steel box, and I find it hard to sit still.
Adrenaline burns through me and I want to run, but I know the rail is cutting through Texas, closer to where Father wants us to go, at three hundred miles per hour. I just need to stay seated, stay inconspicuous.
My eyes on fire, I allow myself a brief moment of rest. My lids hurt when I close them, but it only takes a few seconds before I feel the heavy pull of sleep.
Loud cackling erupts from a woman beside the sitcom projection, stinging my insides and jerking me alert.