Free Torched by April Henry Page A

parade around in their
armored existence, leaving a wasteland behind in their tire
tracks. The time is right to fight back.
We must strike out against what destroys us before we
choke to death on smog or are silenced by the state.
     
     
    Take the power into your own hands.
It’s your life.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    It had been four days since we had set the fire at the Hummer dealership. Four days since Coyote had dropped me off at my house and then taken Meadow home. Four days of longing to see Coyote, knowing that I couldn’t see him or even call him. The MEDics had made it clear we must all avoid contact after an action, stick to our everyday routines.
    At night, I slept in snatches, waking from dreams where I tripped and the fire consumed me, or an explosion sent my body cartwheeling through the air.
    Without having any idea of my involvement, Matt talked to Laurel about the fire at the Hummer dealership, speaking obliquely about “our friends.” The night after the Hummer action, Laurel had come into my room to wish me good night. She leaned down to kiss me on the forehead, which she hadn’t done since I was in grade school. I thought about turning my head away, but instead I just closed my eyes while her cool lips briefly touched my skin. Something about the tears I had seen the night of my first action had been eating at me. I knew she was sorry.
    When my parents weren’t around, I compulsively checked news sites. The FBI must have known who was behind it, known all our names and exactly where to find us, but they fed the media a different story, one in which the fire had burned up any clues and they were completely in the dark.
    I wondered how the FBI really felt about what happened. Gluing locks was one thing, but I didn’t think they had wanted me to cause a million dollars’ worth of damage.
    Then Agent Richter left a message on my cell phone, asking me to meet him in a service hallway at the Washington Square Mall.
     
    Inside the mall, I walked past the drinking fountain, past the doors for the restrooms. At the end of the hall, I turned to look at the streams of shoppers shuffling by. They seemed like zombies, hypnotized by all the choices. My end of the hallway was shadowed, with unmarked doors on either side.
    I had the creepy feeling that I was invisible.
    I knocked three times on the second door on the left, just as Richter had instructed me to. He half opened the door, I slipped inside and he closed it behind me. He gave me a tired smile that did nothing to ease my anxiety. The long, narrow room seemed to be a storeroom for mall decorations, with boxes labeled XMAS LIGHTS AND HALLOWEEN SKELETONS . The animatronic bear I had been photographed with every Christmas when I was little was probably in here someplace.
    “I don’t like this,” I said as Richter leaned against a box marked CORNUCOPIA . “I don’t like this at all.”
    “Why?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
    “You wanted me to prove myself. I thought it would be something little. Not . . .” My voice faltered as I thought again of the fire.
    “You did exactly what we wanted you to do, and you did it well,” Richter said.
    “Better than we expected.” The new voice made me jump.
    I turned to face the new speaker, who had appeared from behind a pile of boxes. Dressed in jeans and an old Pendleton shirt, he looked like one of my parents’ friends. His grizzled hair was caught back in a thin ponytail, as if his ability to grow hair on the back of his head made up for the receding hairline in front.
    “Who are you?” For a second I wondered if there were people behind every pile of boxes. Was I being watched? Was this being videotaped? Anything seemed possible.
    He regarded me calmly. “A friend.”
    “Do you have a name?”
    He shrugged. “You can call me anything you want.”
    Richter nodded like it was okay. But it wasn’t okay. What had I gotten myself into?
    Deciding to ignore Ponytail, I turned back to Richter. “How can