Storm (Swipe Series)

definitely a risk. I grant you that. And I’m aware of what this ongoing drought could mean.
    “But try, Sheriff—for me, please, just for a second—to see things from my perspective. The fact is, I don’t know why the general asked my parents to sabotage Lahoma’s weather mill. My father did say something two nights ago about a civil war, and he seemed to know what he was talking about, but do I have any idea what that meant? No. You got me. I can’t tell you.
    “But I can tell you that whatever precise reason Lamson had for his request, it was convincing enough that my own mother and father—two Marked citizens who never wronged a single person once in their entire lives—were willing to pay the ultimate sacrifice just to see it through. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
    The sheriff didn’t look doubtful anymore. But he didn’t look convinced either. He just looked . . . concerned.
    “Oh, Connor,” he said. “It’s natural, you know, to defend the ones you’ve loved—”
    But Connor had heard enough. He knew a dead end when he saw one.
    And so it was that Connor Goody Two-Shoes stormed out of a sheriff’s office midlecture.
    He was on his own now—truly on his own. He walked fast along the dirt road of Main Street.
    April 1 , he thought.
    That’s my deadline.
    Six weeks.
    He would have to begin now.

SIX
    HAIL TO THE CHIEF
    1
    T HREE WEEKS HAD PASSED.
    Lily Langly pushed through the Markless protesters that crowded Beacon’s ground level streets, and she thought about how much the demonstrations had grown.
    In the beginning, her commute from Acheron to Lamson’s Capitol Building had been relatively easy. On a normal day, it was hardly more than a fifteen-minute walk, and as long as Lily could stick to the moving sidewalk treads, it was easy to avoid the worst of the crowds that had been mobbing City Center for weeks. Barricades along each road had, up until that point, done a good job of keeping the Markless protesters on the streets and off the sidewalks, so that IMPS and stand-up Marked citizens could shop and travel and go to work without too much of an inconvenience.
    But as the days passed, these barriers slowly eroded, one block at a time, until City Center became just one single mass of wall-to-wall protests. IMPS stood shoulder to shoulder with the Markless now, magnecuffing them, tasing them, taking them away . . . any excuse was good enough. Marked Beaconers, meanwhile, had given up traveling at ground level. It wasn’t just inconvenient anylonger—it was dangerous. And yet still the Markless kept coming. By now, everyone knew that Lahoma’s weather mill was down, and rumors spread wildly about why and how and what it meant for Americans and for the Markless in particular. More than a few protesters had started to cry foul, and the anxiety and fervor of the demonstrations had only grown from there. Was it endless ? Lily wondered. Her commute wasn’t so easy any longer.
    Finally, Lily reached the steps of Lamson’s Capitol building, climbed to the top, and passed by the two heavily armed IMP guards stationed at its entrance.
    There’d been a time, Lily knew, when these steps had been welcoming, inviting even, to all of Beacon’s citizens. The Marked could walk up, sit leisurely at the top, enjoy a snack or pose for a picture . . . the Marked could even go inside, could take a tour of the Capitol’s outer rooms, could walk through those hallways just one hundred yards away from the general-in-chief himself.
    That time had passed.
    Lily entered the general’s oval office now, approaching his desk and reporting for duty as she did every morning. As usual, Lamson was sitting behind his desk, facing away from the door, and confiding in Michael Cheswick about his schedule for the day and about his current list of priorities and concerns. He hadn’t much use for Lily this morning, he said, which was hardly a change in the status quo. Sometimes, Lamson even wondered why Cheswick had stationed an extra IMP assistant in his office at all, though he usually backed down once Cheswick reminded him of all the day-to-day tasks Lily had taken over. Juggling the general’s calendar, arranging both standard and emergency meetings with Parliament members, coordinating triangulations during legislation negotiation . . . all meaningful stuff.
    “My apologies,” the general would say upon hearing the reminder. “Carry on then, Advocate. For now.”
    Personally, Lily concluded, Lamson