Free Guardian by Alex London Page B

they could reform language, they could reform thought. The new minds that would blossom within the people would never again drift back to corruption and greed. A society would be born based on mutual concern and shared sacrifice. No one would even think to exploit anyone else; they wouldn’t even have the words to conceive of the idea.
    Marie believed this. She did her best to believe this.
    The walk out to the farming cooperative had taken hours, her arm still aching, although the medics had repaired it so well it would barely scar where Liam had shot her. By the time she got out to the co-op, she expected the meeting would be over and she’d planned to find her parents in their barracks.
    When she arrived, the barracks were empty, save for one young Purifier, napping against a motorized tractor. His green uniform was far too large for him. It hung like a blouse off his shoulders. He’d taken his white mask off to use the thick material as a pillow. He didn’t hear her approach over the whoosh of the wind turbines until she stood directly above him.
    When he pointed Marie on her way toward the meeting tent, he shook like a leaf and tried to throw his mask back on at the same time. It ended up backward and he twisted and turned it, frantically stretching the fabric until he was peering with one eye out of the mouth hole.
    “Thank you, friend,” she told him. “I didn’t mean to startle you. If you need to rest, rest. The Reconciliation does not need your exhaustion.”
    The boy nodded and got his mask right. His eyes were wide and damp through the eyeholes. Marie felt certain he would not be sleeping on duty again tonight. Often a reminder that they served a cause greater than themselves was enough to bring most of the young Purifiers in line. All but Marie had been proxies for some spoiled brats under the old system. It amazed her that they were not all as committed as she to the new way of things. Further proof that the Advisory Council was right: The old ways of thinking had to be purged if there was any hope for the future.
    “What’s your name, Purifier?”
    “Tom Sa—” he said, then caught himself, cleared his throat. “I mean, my name is Arik the Destroyer.”
    Marie stifled a laugh. Some of the names these kids chose for themselves. Not that she should judge. Not everyone had the luxury of keeping their old name. In truth, the boy looked more like a Tom than an “Arik the Destroyer,” but perhaps he’d grow into the name by the time he had hair under his arms. She nodded and went on her way, leaving the boy standing nervously alone in the dark.
    As she grew closer, Marie saw that everyone from the co-op was crammed on uncomfortable salvage benches beneath the blazing lights of the big tent.
    She saw the lead Purifier of the co-op standing in the front of the room, addressing a man in tattered slacks and a filthy open jacket—what would have no doubt once been fine clothes in Mountain City. He wore no shirt underneath the jacket and his skin had a sickly yellow color, the heavy blue lines of his veins showing through. He stood beside the Purifier with his head bowed, scratching at his arms and bare chest, scraping angry red lines into his skin.
    As she drew nearer, the desert wind that turned the turbines carried the conversation to her ears.
    “If we had not caught you, would you have stolen food from the central kitchen?” the Purifier demanded.
    The man nodded. He would have.
    “What would you like to say to your friends?” The Purifier gestured over the crowded tent.
    The man coughed and began to speak in a hoarse voice.
    The Purifier beside him raised a hand to stop him.
    “Louder, friend,” he said. “A confession should be made with confidence . . . unless you do not believe the words you speak?”
    “I believe what I say,” the man confirmed. He cleared his throat and straightened his back. With great effort, he spoke, loudly enough for his voice to carry all the way to the rear of