Children of the Uprising (25 page)

“Sophie,” the bartender answered.

“Sophie Escolla?”

Maria paused for a moment. Then she turned toward the cash register and picked up a pack of cigarettes. She was confused. They'd never been this direct before. They'd been following her without a break for six years, and this was the first time one of them had come up to her and started asking questions. Maria pulled a cigarette out of the pack. “Yes,” she answered the young woman. Maria noted how much younger this one and her friend were than all the others. Her friend looked even younger than she did. He was probably about the same age as Christopher. Maria slipped the cigarette between her lips. “You're American, aren't you?”

“Yes,” Addy replied.

“We don't see a lot of Americans up this far. What brings you here?”

Since she asked, Addy figured she should just lay down her cards. She spoke in a hushed voice. “Reggie sent us to find you, Maria. He sent us to bring you back.”

Maria took the unlit cigarette out of her mouth. She felt like she'd been punched in the head. For a second, she could barely move, but then she collected herself. “I don't know what you're talking about,” she said. This might be a trap or, even worse, the woman could be telling the truth. Either way, Maria didn't want anything to do with her. “So, do you want another drink or do you want to go back to your table?”

Addy should have been more ready for Maria's response than she was. For some reason, she had thought that all they would have to do was find Maria and their job would be done. They'd found Maria. Now what? Addy thought about going back to the table and letting Evan give it a try. That option was there, but Addy wasn't ready for it yet. Instead, she leaned in toward Maria—who had somehow turned from a small, meek woman into a force of nature—and said in her most earnest and honest voice, “You can trust us, Maria. We're on your side.”

It wasn't the words that the young woman spoke that reached inside Maria and grabbed her. It was the desperation in her voice. Maria didn't know if there were more things in her life that she wanted to forget or more things that she would do anything to remember. The desperation in Addy's voice made Maria think of both. Suddenly she remembered standing in a dark alley with a knife pressed against her throat, trying to convince the man holding the knife that he could trust her. Maria was them once.

Addy watched as Maria scanned the room quickly again, checking to make sure that no one was watching her. Then she glanced out the window. Finally, she took a long, hard look at Evan. When she was done, Maria turned toward the cash register and grabbed her receipt book and a pen. She began to write something on the receipt book. Addy was certain that Maria was about to tally up their bill and send them on their way. Maria ripped off the top page and passed it to Addy. On the page, Maria had written the words “Who are you?” with the directness that Addy had initially feared.

Addy knew that this could be her only chance, so she took the pen from Maria and wrote under the question “Friends of Christopher.”

Maria read the words. Then she lifted her head. She stared at Evan for a long time again. Then she stared for just as long at Addy. It took all of Addy's strength not to squirm beneath Maria's gaze. Maria began to write something else on the pad. As she did, she said loudly, “It's down the road a ways on the left. You can't miss it. It's the tallest building for miles.” Addy looked down at what Maria was writing. The note on the pad said, “Can't talk here. Not safe. Come to my place after midnight tonight. Wait until all the lights are out. Come in through the back door, facing the woods. I'll leave it open. Go through the door opposite the back door, into the basement. Make sure you're not followed. Don't turn on the lights.” She wrote her address at the bottom of the page. Then she tore the page from the pad and handed it to Addy as if she were passing her driving directions.

“Thank you,” Addy said sincerely, taking the paper from Maria's hand. She was confused about how this tiny, nearly empty bar in the middle of nowhere could be dangerous. She wondered if everything that had happened to Maria had driven her mad. After all, Addy knew the legend. She knew that Maria had no genetic predisposition to paranoia. But Addy took the paper, walked back to Evan, and told him that they had to leave. Evan didn't ask questions. He left money on the table for the beer and then stood up and followed Addy out of the bar. On the way out, Evan turned back and looked at Maria one last time. Maria was watching them. She watched them walk out the door. She would watch them through the window once they were outside. She would watch them get into their car. She would watch them drive away and hope that the people who were following her—the people who had been following her for the past six years—didn't end up following the kids in that car too. Once Maria couldn't see those kids anymore, she grabbed her pack of cigarettes, thought about lighting one, and then remembered the advice an old friend had given her eighteen years ago about trying to hide when you smelled like cigarettes. It was advice that she was suddenly going to need again. So instead of lighting a cigarette, Maria took the whole pack and threw it in the garbage.

They left Jung-Su tied up in one of the huts while they decided what to do with him. From the window of the hut, he could see the moon hanging low over the sea. He could hear the waves lapping gently under the floor beneath him. He questioned himself, wondering if he should have waited. Should he have acted like everything was normal, gone back to Korea and then leaked the entire plan? If he'd done it that way, he wouldn't have been able to help them catch Christopher. The only way he could be sure to help them catch Christopher was to sneak out in the middle of the night and notify someone while Christopher was still on the island. So he tried and he failed. Now he was trying not to think about what the punishment for his failure would be.

“I want to talk to him,” Christopher said while all those around him debated Jung-Su's fate. They had gathered in the largest of the huts, the one used for meals, to discuss what to do with Jung-Su. They were down to twenty-six people from twenty-nine. The subtracted three were Galang, the other casualty on Galang's boat, and, of course, Jung-Su. They had found the others, the ones that jumped off Galang's boat into the dark water. A few had symptoms of whiplash and they were all cold, but they were all accounted for. They had joined hands in a circle as they floated in the sea, waiting and hoping someone would come for them. “I want to see him and I want to talk to him,” Christopher repeated even louder this time. Nobody had asked for Christopher's opinion. He almost felt like they'd forgotten that he was even there.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Reggie said softly to Christopher, as if he was hoping that no one else would hear.

Christopher glared at Reggie. “I think it's a better idea than having me kidnapped in the middle of the night to try to protect me,” Christopher said loudly, hoping the opposite.

Reggie shrugged. “If you'd known what was happening, you would have demanded to come on one of the boats chasing after Jung-Su and we couldn't take that risk. We needed to get you off the island in case Jung-Su was able to contact someone. We can't afford to lose you, Christopher.”

Now others began to pay attention to Reggie and Christopher's conversation. A few of them began nodding their heads. Even more of them stared blankly at Christopher as if trying to see in him what it was that Reggie saw. Reggie's words didn't soften Christopher's glare. “What good am I to you if you're going to treat me like a child? If you want me to inspire people, then you have to risk letting me do something inspirational.”

The nods increased now. They wanted to believe, but Reggie had failed to give them anything to believe in. “What can it hurt to let them talk?” Apsara asked Reggie. “He should be allowed to face the man who betrayed him.”

Slowly, the nods evolved into murmurs. Soon there was no way for Reggie to say no even though he wanted to. He was still afraid. He was afraid that, as loosely as Christopher already gripped the belief in what they were doing, any tiny shred of doubt would pry him free. “I suppose it's not my call to make,” Reggie said out loud to the room. “You all believe that Christopher should go talk to him?” Reggie's question was met with a grumbling consent. “Okay, can we at least send two men in with him as bodyguards?”

The room seemed ready to concede to this demand until they were interrupted again by the Child. “No,” Christopher said. “I want to talk to Jung-Su by myself.” Christopher didn't really understand this urge. He wasn't even sure that he wasn't making demands out of spite. But there was something about Jung-Su that made Christopher want to talk to him. There was something about Jung-Su that Christopher admired.
At least Jung-Su had made a decision,
Christopher thought.
At least Jung-Su had acted without doubt.
“I'm not asking.”

Christopher had believed he was going to die out on the water, watching the stars, merely waiting for these three men to determine the time and conditions of his demise. He was wrong. He didn't die. The three men were trying to protect him. How much more was he wrong about?

“Can we at least post someone at the door?” Reggie asked Christopher.

“You can all stand outside the door if you like,” Christopher answered the room as much as Reggie, “so long as I go into that room alone and none of you listen to our conversation.”

Three of the men led Christopher to the hut where they were keeping Jung-Su. They had put him in the hut jutting farthest out in the South China Sea. To escape any way other than by jumping into the water, Jung-Su would have had to walk past the congregation that was debating his fate. One of Christopher's escorts opened the door and motioned for Christopher to go inside. Once he had stepped into the hut, his escort stepped away and closed the door behind Christopher.

They had stripped the hut bare. Christopher wondered if it was always like this, if they had always kept a designated jail cell. Not a single piece of furniture remained. The only things in the hut were three windows, the door, and Jung-Su. He was sitting on the floor in a kneeling position. They had taken his pants and his shirt and left him in only his underwear. His legs were bound together and his hands were bound behind his back. The rope around his hands was then tied to a bolt sticking out of the wall. Christopher wondered if the hut that he and Reggie were staying in had a bolt too or if only this hut had one. He looked at Jung-Su's face. Jung-Su's eyes were cold. They'd tied a rag around his head as a gag to keep him from shouting. Christopher took a step toward him. He wanted to untie the rag, but he was worried that Jung-Su would try to bite him like some sort of unmuzzled rabid dog. “Can I ask you a few questions?” Christopher asked Jung-Su.

Jung-Su didn't move.

“You don't have to answer them if you don't want to,” Christopher said, though he wondered what the point was of asking questions that wouldn't be answered.

Jung-Su bent his head down toward his chin. For a moment, Christopher thought he was either bowing or praying. Then he realized that Jung-Su was showing him the knot in the rag so that he could untie it. Christopher took one more step closer, wondering why he was afraid of this man who was shackled and incapacitated. Christopher stopped close enough that he would be able to reach forward and untie the knot holding the rag over Jung-Su's mouth. He didn't think that Jung-Su would be able to bite him from that far away, at least not anything but his hand anyway. Christopher tugged on the knot and it came loose. The rag fell away and Christopher quickly stepped backward, away from Jung-Su's mouth.

Christopher assumed that Jung-Su would say something then, but the man remained silent. He merely lifted his head and met Christopher's eyes. Christopher was amazed that Jung-Su, who was tied up and tethered to the wall of his enemies, appeared to be less afraid than he was. “Are you going to say anything?” Christopher asked.

Jung-Su didn't respond.

“Do you want me to put the rag back over your mouth?” Christopher asked, letting anger seep into his voice.

Jung-Su didn't respond.

Finally realizing that Jung-Su was merely taking Christopher up on his offer and not answering questions that he didn't want to, Christopher asked, “What do you think we should do with you?”

“I think you should let me go,” Jung-Su told Christopher.

“But you betrayed your friends,” Christopher said. “They all could have died if you'd made it out.”

“My friends betrayed themselves,” Jung-Su responded.

“How did they betray themselves?”

The look of disgust on Jung-Su's face was unmistakable. “They accepted lies for truths. They put their own interests ahead of their true destinies. I almost did the same, and all because of you.”

“How is that my fault?” Christopher asked him.

“Because you are a false prophet,” Jung-Su said.

Christopher shook his head. “I never claimed to be a prophet. I never claimed to be anything. I'm not the one who started all of this. All I want is for this War to end so that I can go home.”

Jung-Su didn't say anything. He stared silently out the window toward the moonlight.

“You said that your friends put their own interests ahead of their true destinies. What are their true destinies?”

“The War,” Jung-Su said.

“That's ridiculous. Nobody's true destiny is this stupid fucking War.”

Jung-Su spit on the floor of the hut. The spit landed only a few inches from Christopher's feet. “Mine is,” Jung-Su said. Then he looked up at Christopher again. “What is yours?”

“Like I said,” Christopher muttered. “To go home.”

“Then why don't you go home? Why are you here pretending to be something you are not?”

“If I had given a great speech, what would you have done? If I had convinced you that I was a prophet, would you have followed me?”

Jung-Su didn't look at him now and didn't answer him.

“You were willing to kill everyone on this island because why? Because you were hoping that I could guarantee you victory? Because you were hoping that I could do what? Wash away your sins?” Jung-Su still didn't look at him. Christopher was becoming frustrated. He tried one more question. “Two people died going after you tonight. Do you feel guilty about that? Would you have felt guilty if everyone on this island had died because of you?”

This question got Jung-Su's attention. He looked at Christopher again with only anger in his eyes. “Would you?” Jung-Su answered.

Christopher stood in the barren room staring at this insolent, nearly naked man tied to the wall like an animal. “I came in here to talk to you because I thought I admired you and hoped that I might be able to help you.” Christopher licked his dry lips. “They're going to kill you. I thought you might tell me something that I could use to save your life.”

Jung-Su looked away from Christopher and out the window toward the moon again. “I don't want your help.”

Christopher had heard enough. He walked back to the door of the hut. The three men who had escorted him there were still standing outside. “Retie the gag,” Christopher ordered them. They nodded, acknowledging his order, and stepped into the room as Christopher left.

Then Christopher walked back toward the dining hut. The walk felt long. The walk aged him. By the time he reached the dining hut, Christopher was far older than when he started. The minutes weren't measurable in seconds, only in moments, and the moments took forever. Christopher still didn't believe that he was a prophet, but he began to realize that he might never be able to get home if he kept denying it. Either way, he was now certain that he couldn't afford to suffer doubters.

They were still debating when Christopher walked back into the hall. No one looked up upon his return—not until he spoke. He spoke loudly and as clearly as he could through the lump in his throat. Everyone heard the two words he spoke: “Kill him.” Then he walked over and sat down next to Reggie. He decided that he wasn't mad at Reggie anymore. He felt like he now knew what Reggie was trying to protect him from.

The room went silent. All the eyes followed Christopher as he sat down. “What did you say?” One of the men broke the silence.

Christopher stood up again. He addressed the room, the whole room, turning his head and making eye contact with everyone. “I said, ‘Kill him.' You all know that you have to. You all know that it's inevitable. You can't carry him around like a pet. You have no prison for him. You sure as hell can't leave him here. Every option but one is too dangerous. You all know that you have to kill him, but you sit around here debating and pretending you have options because you all want to think that you're better than that now. The whole reason why you're here is to be better than that—to end the War—to stop killing—but you're not better than that. Not yet. So I'm giving you all an out. I'm giving you your option. You don't have to decide to kill him, because I already have. I'll carry this one. I'll take it. Kill him so we can move on and finish this thing.”

The silence after Christopher spoke lasted a long time. Christopher didn't bother sitting down. He stayed on his feet, waiting for a response. “Who should do it?” somebody asked.

“It doesn't matter,” Christopher said, “because whoever does it will be doing it with my hands, so make it quick and painless. We can at least be good enough for that.” He looked around at the faces in the room. They were expressionless. “If no one else has anything to say, I'm going back to my hut,” he said. He was suddenly incredibly tired. No one said anything else, so Christopher left.

An hour later, Reggie came into the hut. Christopher was lying on the bed, staring out the window, unable to sleep. He turned toward Reggie as Reggie walked through the door. Reggie had a bottle of liquor and two glasses in his hands. “Jung-Su is dead,” he told Christopher. He walked over and set the two glasses on the table between the beds. Then he uncorked the bottle of liquor and poured out two full glasses. He handed one of the glasses to Christopher.

“What is it?” Christopher asked Reggie.

“It's called arak. It's Indonesian. They make it from palm trees. Apsara had some stashed away in the kitchen.”

“Are we supposed to be celebrating?” Christopher asked.

“No,” Reggie told him. Nothing in Reggie's voice made it sound like a celebration. “I'm hoping that the liquor might help you to get some sleep.”

“I've killed people,” Christopher said. “Jung-Su's not even my second.” Christopher counted in his head. “He's my fifth.”

“Yeah,” Reggie said, sipping from his own glass, “but you've never had to think about it first. Thinking makes it different.”

Christopher downed half the liquor in one gulp. It burned his throat. He was about to ask Reggie if he'd done the right thing, but he stopped himself. It didn't matter what Reggie thought. It was too late to change anything now anyway. “How did they do it?” Christopher asked instead.