Red Dahlia Part 5

Red Dahlia 
Part 5 
By Kat Franklin and Lynn Flaugh-Reynolds

      Sometimes, the rebellion had really bad timing and a nasty habit of leaving a big mess in the aftermath of their schemes, which left common folk like him to clean-up. Rutlet aggressively swept away the mud and dirt that marred the cobblestone walkways into a small bin for disposal. He glanced discreetly at the camera hanging from the lampost nearest to him. As he expected, but dreaded nonetheless, it was covered in streamers that had unwoven from the posts.  He glanced warily toward the grass, where bits of rubble had tangled themselves in the turf. It was a pain to clean the grass, but the recycling police were very strict about the condition of the rare greenery.


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Red Dahlia: Part 5
By Kat Franklin and Lynn Flaugh-Reynolds

      Sometimes, the rebellion had really bad timing and a nasty habit of leaving a big mess in the aftermath of their schemes, which left common folk like him to clean-up. Rutlet aggressively swept away the mud and dirt that marred the cobblestone walkways into a small bin for disposal. He glanced discreetly at the camera hanging from the lampost nearest to him. As he expected, but dreaded nonetheless, it was covered in streamers that had unwoven from the posts.  He glanced warily toward the grass, where bits of rubble had tangled themselves in the turf. It was a pain to clean the grass, but the recycling police were very strict about the condition of the rare greenery.
       The paths leading toward the stage were filthy from the day’s earlier excitement, but it was free of debris and litter. The signs and banners hanging around each and every corner served as a reminder against littering. The bins declared Reduce, Reuse, Recycle in bright obnoxious colors at any unfortunate passersby.
     Yet, he sighed, it didn’t stop the government from printing banners and other festive designs whenever it suited them. He slumped his shoulder, tossing a stray shredded ‘Happy 100th’ banner into one of the brightly-lit bins, and resigned himself to an afternoon of cleaning up The Government and Resistance’s mess.

*** 

     Lakota raised his head to look at the green walls one more time. Although all the outer walls were glass, the individual sleeping rooms had been painted with various murals and primary colors, usually centering around plants. The year five quarters had smooth grass and textured flowers as their decor, with assortments of butterflies and bumblebees painted above. He noticed that one of the daisies were peeling, and a couple of the bumblebees were smudged. This room, which had once seemed so bright and cheery, now felt depressing with the late afternoon sunlight just beginning to fade. It was dark, but not dark enough for the lights to come on.
     None of the other rejects talked, all buzzing with the vapid energy of their excitement. They must have believed Paloá’s story. He may have been little more than five, but he could always sense when Paloá said something that wasn’t quite true, like when she had told them that if they didn’t eat their veggies their skin would turn green. The paint of the peeling daisy drooped further, flecks falling from the wall and settling onto the moss-green carpet. He wondered when Paloa would come back. He wondered exactly what awaited the rejects.

***

   The room was in chaos. All around were the sounds of clicking fingers on keyboards and the nearly tangible sense of fear shared by every member of the tech department. No one wanted to be the one to tell the Dirigeant how the rebels hacked their system, and they definitely didn’t want to tell him that the signal was untraceable.
The anxiety was so thick you could taste it.
     “What have you found?” the Administrateur demanded. His face was arranged in a blank expression that did nothing to hide the dread in his eyes nor the nervous sweat dripping down the side of his face.
     He swiveled on his heel and pointed at a nearby tech frantically typing on a three screen dashboard. ”YOU!” The unfortunate tech jumped and looked up as the Administrateur stalked toward him.
    “What progress have you made?” The Administrateur demanded. “Have there been any leads?” he continued.
     The tech straightened her glasses and nervously looked around to find someone to help her out of this situation. Her colleagues didn’t dare to look at her--the cowards.
She took a deep breath, “Well ...  Mr. Vandabenner … we managed to track the signal to a vehicle on the outskirts of the city near the mines.”
     The Administrateur, Mr. Vandabenner, narrowed his eyes sensing a ‘but.’
The tech cast her eyes back toward the screen,”It was one of our vehicles, sir.”

***

   “Are you sure about this?” Rutlet asked Paloa once more. The rebellion was a very well-protected secret.  If even one person wasn’t completely sure, then the whole convoluted mess could fall apart.
     Paloá’s chocolate irises turned steely as she nodded. Her full lips were set in a deliberate line. The wild curly hair pulled back for their mission. Rutlet smiled at the black outfit Paloá’ had thrown together. The effort was appreciated, but, after the events of today, no one would notice two teenagers out too late.
   Taking slow, careful footsteps, Rutlet led them down a couple of winding streets and a inconspicuous back alley. Paloá’ stayed close behind him, unfamiliar with the darker part of the Province. Finally, the flickering street lamp above the meeting place came into view.  Rutlet had found one of Bethlee’s messengers in the chaos earlier, and he told her to let Bethlee know they’d have a visitor tonight.
    He grinned at her once more, looking almost like a fox in the low light, and opened the break in the ground that was the trapdoor. The two descended into a wide passageway. Paloá marveled at the underground world she hadn’t known had existed before. They turned a corner to a brightly lit, standing room only, with walls made of concrete blocks.
    Bethlee stood at the front, two black-haired, coffee-skinned twins beside her. The first, a girl, was serious and composed. The second, a boy, was jittery; a mischievous glint was present in his amber eyes. Bethlee nodded as Rutlet led Paloá to the back of the crowd, standing on his toes to see above the people in front of them.
    Bethlee cleared her throat. Her cold eyes swept the room to find any disruptors. Suddenly, she broke into a smile.
   “I’m sure you can see,” she started, “Our mission was successful. The truth about the Seedlings has been unveiled at last and there is bound to be doubt somewhere in the minds of the citizens. We’ll be preparing a follow-up video soon to further explain how our nation is corrupted. This same message will be broadcast at every Seedling celebration across the provinces. Please give a warm hand of applause to our technical engineers, Yew and Yarrow.”
    The twins stepped forward, beginning a technological explanation that neither Rutlet nor Paloá understood. Their speech was packed with terms like “broadcast frequency” and “protected servers.”  Rutlet glanced over to check on his companion, finding her eyes full of wonder and excitement. When Yew and Yarrow were done speaking, he was surprised to see her step up.
    “Excuse me,” she pushed through people, “Excuse me!” Rutlet glowered, stretching out a hand to stop her. He tried to follow her path to the front of the room, but the people that parted for her stood as a wall to him.
    “Thank you.” Paloá reached Bethlee, panting a little. Rutlet breathed a sigh of relief when Bethlee swallowed the reprimand and let Paloá talk. “What will happen to the Seedlings? Do we have a plan to protect them?”
      Bethlee’s smile dimmed. “I’m afraid not, no.” Bethlee said sorrowfully. “We can’t guarantee how the people react or what the government will tell them. We can only hope that, one day, the citizens will see the evil they are doing and stop it themselves.” Bethlee stared as if she could see right through her.
     “100 years of wrongdoing cannot be undone in a single night.” Bethlee said softly. Paloá nodded and retreated back to Rutlet. Bethlee’s eyes followed her, but he did not stop her.
        “I’m surprised you handled that so well,” he murmured, leaning closer to be heard.
      “I didn’t,” she responded, tight-lipped. “We’re going to save Lakota, we just won’t have the help of your rebellion.”
     “You have a plan?” He asked. 
     “Of course.”
     “And when will I know?”
     “Later.”

***

    The people were angry, she knew that much. And for once, Margaríte Anne-Marie Fuar did not know how to appease them.
    “People of Agricola!” She had to shout this multiple times before the angry crowd calmed down. “You have heard many lies today.” It took everything she had to keep from breaking on the word “lies.”
       “Malicious, slanderous lies that only seek to tear down our empire. If you believe them, then you join the enemies of the empire. We have been a functioning nation for a hundred years now. We’ve faced conspiracy theories before, and we will face them again. Do not let a few unhappy individuals ruin the sanctity and fulfillment that we find together as a nation. The Seedlings in question are not treated poorly, as the abhorous video suggests. They are treated with love and kindness, and put into government care so that they may receive special care to reach the next developmental markers. We love our Seedlings. We would never hurt them.”
      Throughout the speech, the Fuar watched the faces of her fellow citizens go from angry, to confused, to docile. The angry lions seen in her friends and her family went back to the lambs they’d always been. She had chosen not to be a sheep, and she was paying dearly for it. The lies felt familiar in her mouth, after years of saying them they had finally become true to her. The only way to lie convincingly was to convince herself. To do that, she must lay aside emotion and reason, devoting herself only to The Union. She looked down, tears falling from her eyes for the first time in years. She allowed herself a moment of grief before looking up with iron determination.
        “I am The Union, The Union is me.” She took a deep breath, repeating louder.
        “I am The Union, The Union is me.” The people were quiet.
     “I am The Union, The Union is me.” She said it once again, the people catching on. She repeated it one last time; the citizens carried on the roar. The silent night was filled with a deafening monotone that rung out on the stone streets.
         “I am The Union, The Union is me.”

***

    Paloá pulled Rutlet into the night air. The cool grass sank under their feet; the streetlight dimming as they reached the early hours of morning. They could hear shouting from the center of town; the words indecipherable.
      “Hear that?” Rutlet smirked. “The people are revolting.”
      “So are we.” She pointed out.
      “Ah, yes.” He nodded. “Your plan? How are we going to save the child?”
    
     Paloá Partridge let the words sit on her lips for a moment longer than necessary. Her whole life had been made of rules and regulations. From this point forward, the rules were her enemy. She would meet chaos on the battleground and fight alongside it, until every province was free. She would start with Agri, of course, but she would not stop there.
     “Paloá?” Rutlet prompted. Paloá turned to him, anticipation lighting up her features.
     “We follow the North Star.”


​To be Continued ...