Written in Fire

CHAPTER 30

Natalie stood in the kitchen and stared at the news on her d-pad. A headphone in one ear, the other maternally tuned in to the sounds of Todd and Kate watching a movie in the living room. She’d offered them a daytime double feature with popcorn and Coke, and while they were surprised, they’d been quick to seize the opportunity before she changed her mind.

Funny to think that there had been a time when what she’d worried about was making sure they didn’t watch too much tri-d, that they ate their broccoli.

The news was limited, just live footage from one angle, a high-altitude drone aimed at the militia. A reporter babbled pointlessly, using a lot of words to say nothing specific. The existence of the Vogler Ring was an open secret, but the details weren’t public, and the reporter was clearly being cautious. It was only as it became clear that the kids were suffering that she started to sound like a human being, her voice cracking and fear spilling out.

Literally the last thing Natalie wanted to watch was children burning alive, but as their hands knotted in agony, as furious boils bubbled on their faces, she made a vow that she would not look away. That she would watch every second, no matter how horrible, because if she couldn’t do anything to save them, then by God she could at least stand witness.

Then, suddenly, it was over. Whatever force had been hurting the kids vanished, leaving them baffled and obviously fearful of its return. Her joy had been both overwhelming and short lived, because behind the kids, the endless column of armed men had started cheering.

That was Nick. Her certainty was based on nothing, but it was certainty nonetheless, and her chest swelled with pride for the man she loved.

She continued watching the news, staring hypnotized as the New Sons marched ever closer. The sea of men began to split into two groups that would spill around Tesla, enclosing it like pincers. Natalie watched and listened to the reporter’s breathless string of nonsense, and waited for the knock at the door.

When it came, she plucked out the earbud and walked to the front window. They were still in the diplomatic quarters they’d been given three weeks ago. It was a lovely space, but it wasn’t home, and as she drew aside the sheer curtain, it felt like she was staring out a hotel window. She’d never seen the street below so busy, electric cars and mini-trucks bumper-to-bumper, bicycles zipping between them, nervous people in the street pausing to watch the video feed projected from the opposite building, the same news footage she had just been watching.

The SUV was an old-fashioned gasoline behemoth, muscular and black, and though the windows were tinted, she could see that a woman sat in the passenger seat, looking up at the window she looked down from. For a moment they stared at each other. Then Shannon raised one hand, and Natalie followed suit.

The knock came again. She dropped the curtain and opened the door for her ex-husband.

Nick looked tired but resolved, dark circles under his eyes but his shoulders high. She recognized his expression; she’d seen it before. It never meant things were about to get better. For a moment they just looked at each other. Then she said, “Come on.”

They’d skirted the living room, stepping lightly as the movie played loud. She could see Nick’s urge to join his kids, to drop down on the sofa between them and grab a handful of popcorn and tuck Kate under one arm and Todd beneath the other. Instead, they’d gone into the kitchen, where she’d set about making coffee. It had felt surreal to go through the motions of measuring beans, grinding them coarse, letting them bloom in the French press, all while Nick explained what she had already guessed, that he had convinced Erik to turn off the Vogler Ring, that in so doing he had saved six hundred children but set the rest of the city up for a war. Then he told her about killing John Smith, how he had shot him three times through the heart. Her husband—ex—had killed fourteen times that she knew about, and probably more that she didn’t, and while for most women that would be distinctly a turn-on or a turn-off, for her it had always been something apart. A piece of Nick that she would never fully understand, and yet was grateful for. She knew that every time cost him something. He paid that price because he believed that he was making a better world for their kids.

“I can’t stay,” he said, nodding thanks as he took the mug of coffee.

“I know.”

“The New Sons will wait until dark. We’ll have a couple of hours to get ready.” A pause. “This is everything I didn’t want to happen.”

“I know.”

“Epstein is appealing to the president now. Maybe, with John Smith dead, he can convince Ramirez to help.”

“If the government wanted to stop the New Sons of Liberty,” she said, “they would have done it days ago.”

“Yeah.” He sipped his coffee. “There’s a bunker beneath Erik’s complex. You and the kids will be safe there.”

“No.”

“You will,” he said. “It’s under forty feet of rock. The doors are solid steel. Erik built it to—”

“I saw the bulletin.” It had flashed up on her d-pad only moments after the militia had passed the Vogler Ring. A brief message from the king of New Canaan, telling his subjects that the barbarians were at the gates. “Children fourteen and under, report to the bunker. The rest of you, get ready to fight.”

Nick paused, with that look on his face, the one that meant he was skipping conversational steps because he’d read her intent. It had always driven her crazy. He couldn’t help it, she understood that, and his intentions were good, she understood that too, but being married to someone who always knew where you were going—or thought they did—wasn’t easy. He said, “Natalie.”

“Nick.”

“Nat, don’t—”

“Nick, don’t.”

“Listen to me.” He set the mug down. “You need to get our children to that bunker, and you need to stay with them.”

“I’ll get them there.”

“This is bad. Those men out there, they aren’t soldiers. They’re a lynch mob. They’re wounded and angry, and they don’t see the people here as people. There is nothing they won’t do.”

“I know.”

“I will fight with everything I have. But I can’t be worrying about you and the kids while I do it.”

“I know.”

“So you’ll stay in the bunker?”

“No.”

“Natalie—”

“I love you,” she said. “I have forever. I loved you when my parents disapproved of us. I loved you when you started killing other abnorms for the DAR. I loved you when you went undercover to find John Smith and left me alone for six months, scared every moment that someone would firebomb our house. I loved you as you were dying in my arms. I will always love you.”

“I love you too. But—”

“But you are not the only one willing to die for our children. Or kill for them.” She saw the impact her words had, how profane the notion was to him. The dying, sure, but more the killing. She understood. It was profane to her too. Natalie locked eyes with him and said, “I’m going to take the kids to the bunker. And then like every other parent in this city, I’m going to get in a window, pick up a rifle, and fight.”

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Finally, he closed it.

“Now,” she said. “Let’s go tell our kids that they don’t get to watch the end of the movie.”