Free Pipe Dreams by Destiny Allison Page A

space often, but Mariah had insisted they maintain it in case of emergency. Well stocked with bandages, ointments, sutures, and other supplies, the only thing they didn ’t have was medicine, but that couldn’t be helped. Mariah was not a doctor, but she had been in her final semester of nursing school when the violence broke out. Ignoring the order to triage, she had braved gunfire, grabbed her daughter, and found Jeremy. In the years since, she had diligently administered to her patients, but this was the first time Mariah had really tested her skills. She readily admitted Michael’s injuries might be greater than her ability to help.
    At the far end of the room, Michael lay on a narrow bed. In the thin hospital gown, he looked vulnerable and small. His leg had been set. The thick, white plaster contrasted with the gray blanket on which it rested. A giant lump protruded from his forehead, his skin was pale, and his breathing slow.
    Jeremy laid a hand on Michael’s arm and winced. The arm was cold. He found another blanket and covered his friend, taking care not to wake him. Then he eased himself into a chair, ran his hands through his short, wiry hair, and blinked back tears. Michael was the only family he had left. Together, they’d survived the ghetto, the rebellion, and six long years of hell. If Michael died, what was left?
    When Mariah c ame, he was slow to move. Heavy-limbed, he pulled himself out of the chair and leaned over to stroke Michael’s head before grabbing his crutches and limping out of the infirmary. He couldn’t put off talking with Vanessa any longer.
    Jeremy found her in his favorite chair in the library. She had showered, changed into clean clothes, and her thick, wet hair was pulled back from her face. Though shell-shocked, she seemed somewhat refreshed. He didn ’t waste time with small talk.
    “Vanessa, I ’m sure you’ve got questions. I’ll answer what I can, but first I want to tell you some things about us,” he began.
    Vanessa interrupted him. “Are you rebels?”
    “No. Not really. Well, maybe we are, but it’s not that simple. We were part of the People’s Protest, if that’s what you’re asking.” Sighing, he settled more comfortably on the couch. He told her about being part of the organization, the thrill of trying to do something that mattered, and the frustration he had experienced when the protest began to fall apart. She listened without comment, twirling a lock of hair around a finger.
    “The protests were collapsing,” he continued. “In some cities, they disbanded completely. In others, they rioted. Here, we were divided. Some of us wanted to lobby for change, but one cell thought we were wasting our time and wanted action – the real kind, with guns and bombs and shit like that.
    We were pretty scared. We didn’t see how they could manage to get a revolution going, but there had been other rebellions around the country. Little ones sure, but what would it take for everything to get out of control?  We worried about something like an Arab Spring. Still, we didn’t want to be on the wrong side if it happened, so we planned for contingencies.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “We had a warehouse. My cell was responsible for getting things we needed – food, clothing, tents, office supplies – all the stuff we’d used for the protest, but we’d been careful with the donations. We had a lot stored up, just in case. Then the rebellion happened. At first, most of us thought the violent cell had done it, but without phones or internet, we lost touch with the other people we’d been working with. Nobody really knew anything and everybody went underground,” Jeremy replied.
    “What happened to the other cells?”
    “We’ve managed to stay in touch with a few. It’s not easy. The NSO has cameras everywhere. Besides, there aren’t many left. Without food and heat, winters are hard.”
    “What about the others? The violent ones?” Vanessa asked.
    “We