UnDivided
Page 112
“I’m happy to announce that the president has just vetoed the Parental Override bill.”
This time the cheer begins tentatively, but rises to a fever pitch. He doesn’t wait for them to quiet down to continue. “And there’s more. The president is also calling on the legislature to place a moratorium on unwinding. And to shutter the Chop Shops of all harvest camps until every voice is heard!” He feels his own voice gathering strength from the crowd, gathering strength from deep within himself. “And we will stand here!” Connor yells. “In front of the Capitol! Until! They! Are!”
The roar from the crowd is an earthquake rumbling up the steps. He can feel it vibrating in his feet, shaking the foundations of the great domed building behind him. He doesn’t know if this is what Aragon wanted, but it’s what Connor wants: the galvanizing of millions—not to wage acts of violence or revenge, but to hold their ground against the institutionalized murder that has defined a generation.
“Stand with me!” Connor commands. “And I swear to you EVERYTHING WILL CHANGE!”
Up above, the news helicopters circle, and down below, media crews broadcast his message into every home, every workplace, every newsfeed. And he knows for each soul here today, there are a thousand more that at this very moment are rising up to join them. Not a teen uprising as Hayden thought this would be, but the awakening of a nation from its darkest nightmare.
Then, amid the tumult of the crowd, Connor hears his name called. Not just by some random person, but by a familiar voice. A little deeper perhaps, a little older than he remembers, but a voice he can never forget. He looks down to the front of the crowd and sees a boy emerging. A boy almost as tall as him.
“Lucas?”
And behind him, Connor sees them. His mother. His father. Fighting their way forward in the crowd. They came to the rally. They didn’t even know he’d be here, but they still came!
That’s when people begin to recognize them. They realize that these are the people who signed the order to unwind the Akron AWOL.
And the crowd begins to turn.
“They’re unwinders!” the mob yells. “Unwind the unwinders!”
As high as spirits were an instant ago, the energy flips into fury, and his parents are attacked.
“No!”
Connor bolts down the Capitol steps, ignoring the pain in his joints. The crowd around his parents has gone mad! He can’t even see them anymore—they’ve been taken down in a lethal screaming scrum.
“Stop!”
But they can’t hear him over their own rage.
The riot police move toward the crowd wielding their weapons. Connor breaks through their ranks and gets to the rioting mob first.
“Connor, stop them!” begs Lucas.
Connor runs past him and hurls himself into the tangle of bodies, pushing people away. When they see him, they back off one by one, until he’s at the epicenter of the attack, and he finds them.
His parents lie on the ground, their clothes torn, their faces and bodies bloody.
But they’re alive! They’re still alive.
Connor grabs his mother and helps her to her feet. He reaches out to his father, who takes his hand and rises. The two of them look like refugees. Desperate. Alone against a force that outnumbers them. They look like AWOLs.
Around them the crowd still seethes, and the riot police are on the verge of attack. The powder keg is about to blow, and who knows how bad it will be once it does? Everything hinges on this moment.
Connor knows what he must do to defuse this. He knows what the crowd needs to see.
He throws his arms around both his mother and his father and holds them with all the strength he has. Lucas, pulled in by their gravity, joins them in this odd and awkward familial embrace, and for Connor it’s as if the crowd and the police and the world have gone away. But he knows they haven’t. They’re all there, waiting to see how this hair-trigger reunion will end.
Connor’s father, his lips close to Connor’s ear, whispers, “Can you forgive us?”
And Connor realizes he doesn’t have an answer. Right now the yes and the no of his own pie chart are overwhelmed by the part of him that’s undecided.
“I’m doing this to save your lives,” Connor tells him. But he knows it’s more than that. It’s as if his embrace can rewind them—not into the family they once were, but into the one they may still have a chance to be. Connor knows he can’t forgive them today; they will have to fight for his forgiveness. They will have to earn it. But if they all survive today, there will be time for that.
His father now sobs uncontrollably into Connor’s shoulder, and his mother holds his gaze as if looking at him gives her strength. The crowd watches. The crowd waits. And the moment of crisis passes.
It is then that Connor realizes that Aragon was absolutely right. Connor has won. Which means they’ve all won.
“Can we go home now?” Lucas asks.
“Soon,” Connor tells him gently. “Very soon.”
And so, as the mob backs away to give them space . . . and as the riot police holster their weapons, standing down, and as Risa takes the podium, calming the crowd with a voice as soothing as a sonata, Connor Lassiter holds his family like he’ll never let them go.
This time the cheer begins tentatively, but rises to a fever pitch. He doesn’t wait for them to quiet down to continue. “And there’s more. The president is also calling on the legislature to place a moratorium on unwinding. And to shutter the Chop Shops of all harvest camps until every voice is heard!” He feels his own voice gathering strength from the crowd, gathering strength from deep within himself. “And we will stand here!” Connor yells. “In front of the Capitol! Until! They! Are!”
The roar from the crowd is an earthquake rumbling up the steps. He can feel it vibrating in his feet, shaking the foundations of the great domed building behind him. He doesn’t know if this is what Aragon wanted, but it’s what Connor wants: the galvanizing of millions—not to wage acts of violence or revenge, but to hold their ground against the institutionalized murder that has defined a generation.
“Stand with me!” Connor commands. “And I swear to you EVERYTHING WILL CHANGE!”
Up above, the news helicopters circle, and down below, media crews broadcast his message into every home, every workplace, every newsfeed. And he knows for each soul here today, there are a thousand more that at this very moment are rising up to join them. Not a teen uprising as Hayden thought this would be, but the awakening of a nation from its darkest nightmare.
Then, amid the tumult of the crowd, Connor hears his name called. Not just by some random person, but by a familiar voice. A little deeper perhaps, a little older than he remembers, but a voice he can never forget. He looks down to the front of the crowd and sees a boy emerging. A boy almost as tall as him.
“Lucas?”
And behind him, Connor sees them. His mother. His father. Fighting their way forward in the crowd. They came to the rally. They didn’t even know he’d be here, but they still came!
That’s when people begin to recognize them. They realize that these are the people who signed the order to unwind the Akron AWOL.
And the crowd begins to turn.
“They’re unwinders!” the mob yells. “Unwind the unwinders!”
As high as spirits were an instant ago, the energy flips into fury, and his parents are attacked.
“No!”
Connor bolts down the Capitol steps, ignoring the pain in his joints. The crowd around his parents has gone mad! He can’t even see them anymore—they’ve been taken down in a lethal screaming scrum.
“Stop!”
But they can’t hear him over their own rage.
The riot police move toward the crowd wielding their weapons. Connor breaks through their ranks and gets to the rioting mob first.
“Connor, stop them!” begs Lucas.
Connor runs past him and hurls himself into the tangle of bodies, pushing people away. When they see him, they back off one by one, until he’s at the epicenter of the attack, and he finds them.
His parents lie on the ground, their clothes torn, their faces and bodies bloody.
But they’re alive! They’re still alive.
Connor grabs his mother and helps her to her feet. He reaches out to his father, who takes his hand and rises. The two of them look like refugees. Desperate. Alone against a force that outnumbers them. They look like AWOLs.
Around them the crowd still seethes, and the riot police are on the verge of attack. The powder keg is about to blow, and who knows how bad it will be once it does? Everything hinges on this moment.
Connor knows what he must do to defuse this. He knows what the crowd needs to see.
He throws his arms around both his mother and his father and holds them with all the strength he has. Lucas, pulled in by their gravity, joins them in this odd and awkward familial embrace, and for Connor it’s as if the crowd and the police and the world have gone away. But he knows they haven’t. They’re all there, waiting to see how this hair-trigger reunion will end.
Connor’s father, his lips close to Connor’s ear, whispers, “Can you forgive us?”
And Connor realizes he doesn’t have an answer. Right now the yes and the no of his own pie chart are overwhelmed by the part of him that’s undecided.
“I’m doing this to save your lives,” Connor tells him. But he knows it’s more than that. It’s as if his embrace can rewind them—not into the family they once were, but into the one they may still have a chance to be. Connor knows he can’t forgive them today; they will have to fight for his forgiveness. They will have to earn it. But if they all survive today, there will be time for that.
His father now sobs uncontrollably into Connor’s shoulder, and his mother holds his gaze as if looking at him gives her strength. The crowd watches. The crowd waits. And the moment of crisis passes.
It is then that Connor realizes that Aragon was absolutely right. Connor has won. Which means they’ve all won.
“Can we go home now?” Lucas asks.
“Soon,” Connor tells him gently. “Very soon.”
And so, as the mob backs away to give them space . . . and as the riot police holster their weapons, standing down, and as Risa takes the podium, calming the crowd with a voice as soothing as a sonata, Connor Lassiter holds his family like he’ll never let them go.
