Touchstone paces around the back library anxiously. His furry companion had long since tired of following at his heels, and had resigned to lie down on the table where Touchstone set up his computer and tablet, watching his friend, his head cocked to the side.
What if something goes wrong? I should have gone. I should be there.
For the millionth time, Touchstone thought of all the things he could have done, and for the millionth time rejected them all. He thought about waiting just outside town, but that was useless. He would be outside radio range, away from any networks, too far away to help if things went wrong, and too easy to be spotted by patrols. He could have gone in the van. Again, useless. If anyone searched the van or saw him get out, the op was blown. He wasn’t clever or skilled enough to come up with a brilliant disguise like in the movies.
He had spent hours ruminating about all the things that could go wrong. They could get caught scouting, they could get shot during the actual breakout, Jonah’s men could decide to cut their losses and betray them after all, the militia could decide to recall their men from patrol, they could actually have someone competent or experienced coordinating them for once.
Rachel can handle this. He told himself, but the truth was he really didn’t know anything about her. He didn’t know if she would crack under pressure or make a mistake. He didn’t know what really happened with those robots. All he had was a good feeling about her after traveling and teaching her over the past two weeks. He can’t believe he had sent her to correct his mistake. If she, or anyone of the others, got caught as a result of his deal with Jonah…
He picks up a chair and brings it down on the stone floor surrounding the fireplace with a shout that shakes the walls. The force travels through the split wood and into his hands. Before, that kind of force would have hurt his hands to the bone, maybe even fractured them. But now, he felt only a slight pressure, like feeling the dentist poke around after they numb your mouth. He missed feeling pain.
He put his hands on his head and sank into a nearby chair. One wrong move, and all his clever plans could end up ruining so many lives. And it was completely out of his hands.
May storms in, looking pissed.
“Absolutely not!” She says, throwing her fiery gaze from the busted chair to Touchstone.
Touchstone sighs and looks up. “I’m sorry…” his words heavy.
May’s face softens a little. Usually she would say something like ‘your friends are going to be fine’, but she knew the boy too well for that. He didn’t care for meaningless words of comfort. He would probably bite back, saying ‘there is no guarantee of that’ or ‘wishing it doesn’t make it so’ And he would be right. There was nothing to do but let him sulk. She closes the door and resumes her post out front.
Intellectually, Touchstone understood that this was the best course of action, that everyone was probably competent enough to handle this without him. But he simply couldn’t stand being helpless. Not when they were all out there because of him. Not when he pushed Rachel into this.
You didn’t push her into anything. You explained everything and let her make her own choice. They all knew what they were getting into. They all know the risks. They all made their own choice.
That’s what he tells himself. But he feels like he manipulated Rachel. She was obviously uncomfortable with the idea at first. He knows some people feel obligated to say yes when they are asked of something, and he didn’t know what kind if person Rachel was.
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That’s not true. She knew how to tell you no. She’s assertive and independent and smart. She knows what she’s doing.
She can handle this.
He hates when he gets like this and starts spinning out of control. It was fine when he had an outlet, something to occupy his racing mind. Now, the only way to manage it was to just let the panic and paranoia come flooding in, and address each thought one by one.
And to do it all again when the thoughts found another reason to reassert themselves.
He goes back and forth for hours until a message chimes on his tablet. He silently makes his way across the room and views the message. It was good news. The only reason Rachel or her team would message him would be because they were stranded in town. They had agreed that signaling him through wifi took precious time from the getaway, so he would know the job was done when they reported in face to face. The message was regarding his special delivery.
‘Hot Wing inbound’, the message reads. Touchstone smiles.
He hears a vehicle pull up to the gravel outside. Touchstone heaves a sigh of relief. Then he was out the door, Arch leading the way.
Curt switches channels and gives the signal for the rest of Jonah’s vans, only four, to clog up streets and checkpoints, hopefully giving him a window to pass unmolested. They had no reason to seize legitimate vans going about their deliveries, so the militia should just let the decoys go. By the time someone put together that it was a distraction, everyone would be long gone.
Right before Curt turns into an alley on the outskirts of town, he sees a group of three people with reflective armbands stopping a gray van that wasn’t even one of theirs. Close call.
He drives over a collapsed wooden fence. The van jostles as he drives over the wood and pulls onto a dirt road cutting through a cornfield. In his rear-view mirror, he can see a man and a woman putting the fence back together.
He remembers how back in the day, and in most other places, most people would have just stayed in holding, too scared of the repercussions of escaping custody, or piling into a van with strangers. The folks here were a different breed.
Rachel and Stephan try to disappear into a group of bystanders that had gathered to watch the jail break. Their approach cause the group to scatter in several directions, so they duck through some alleys instead.
As the two dash across one of the larger streets, Rachel hears a woman scream. She turns to see a woman with Asian features, tears streaming down her face, pinned to the ground by a large man with a reflective armband. He has a knee on her back and a pistol in his hand. He waves it at the crowd of bystanders surrounding them, their faces hard and their eyes alight with rage. He uses his other hand to lock the woman’s wrist behind her back as another militiaman approaches with zipties. She screams again as the large man leans into his knee.
Rachel powers up her stylus as soon as they are concealed behind the corner of a building.
“No. We don’t have time, we gotta go!” Stephan says.
“She’s getting hurt, because of me!” Stephan isn’t an athlete. He’s too slow for a foot chase. “You run ahead. I’ll make this quick.” She darts around the corner before he can argue.
Stephan hesitates. He can’t just leave his friend. He readies his tazer and watches as Rachel sprints and kicks the large militiaman off the woman, following up with an elbow to the man with the zipties. That had to be dumb luck, right? There’s no way Rachel knew the guy with the gun was going to have his back turned for just long enough for Rachel to take them both by surprise.
“Hold ‘em down!” someone shouts. Four people from the crowd descend on the two militiamen and restrain them. Two more approach as Rachel helps the woman to her feet. She's hunched over, leaning on Rachel as she clutches her chest. Rachel hands her off to the two strangers. They sit her down on the sidewalk and start asking her questions with the cool confidence of a first-responder.
Stephan hears a shout from down the street and sees a group of five reflective armbands running towards them. He ducks into the alley and runs. Rachel turns from the approaching militia and watches as a blonde man from the crowd confiscates the gun, tucking it into his waistband. His friend bends over to take the radio. She locks eyes with the blonde man. He nods as the crowd scatters and the woman is walked to safety. She can hear panicked chatter over the confiscated radio as she darts into the alley.