46. Freedom
Freedom
Dylan
Memories of her youth flooded her, up until her thirteenth year when she was shipped off to the Apocalypse Revolt camp.
Her bedroom, like the rest of the house, was bereft of technology.
Her parents had sworn off it since before the agreement between the Revolt and the Tech Kings, fearing more of their subliminal messaging, subtle encouragement, and attempts at mind control.
“What did you want to talk about?” Dylan asked her mum.
“Honestly, your dad wanted to talk with your new boyfriend in private.”
She was filled with mix of cringe and worry. “What the hell?” She started heading downstairs, but her mum held her arm.
“Leave them, honey. Your dad isn’t gonna bite him. Just give him the once-over.”
“That’s as bad as biting him…” She pursed her lips. “Why?”
“Your dad told me you’ve been asking about our time in the Revolt. That you want details. When you texted earlier saying you’d drop by for a visit, alarm bells started ringing. You’re up to something, aren’t you?”
Looking at her mother was like looking at a mirror, stuck through a time machine. She could try and deny it, but her mum knew her well, well enough to know when she was lying. She crossed her arms and leaned against Dylan’s old vanity, its sleek blacks and greys having dulled with time.
“We agreed not to ask you what it is you’re doing. I just need you to be careful, Dylan Marie.”
Dylan pinched the bridge of her nose at hearing her full given name. “Don’t call me that. I’m a grown woman, you can’t nag me anymore.”
“I’m your mother. I can nag you for the rest of my life, and I will.” But she smiled. “Promise me you’ll be careful?”
She avoided giving an answer. Of course she’d be careful…
That didn’t mean they’d be safe. She looked around the bedroom and wondered where all her toys had gone.
The only things left were her posters still hanging on the walls, boy bands underneath Apocalypse Revolt and other revolution signage overlapping them.
Her throat tightened as she struggled to formulate all the questions she wanted to ask. “Why… Why did you send me to the camps?”
Now it was her mother’s turn to avoid looking her in the eye.
“We were afraid. After the pact between the Kings and the Revolt, a few years later, things looked… shaky. The Revolt’s grip on the rule of law was being contested.
We feared a second Dark Year.” She sighed.
Was that regret? “Keeping you in the camp meant giving you all the training you needed to fight, if it came to that. I’m sorry that you missed out on a lot of things other kids got to enjoy, but…
The Kings were not privy to the camps’ locations. If anything happened… you’d be safe.”
Dylan frowned. “But nothing did happen. Five years of my life. It gave me a work ethic, but I left it completely lost. I was ready for a war, and…”
Her mother hung her head. “I know, I know.” Her voice wavered. “I know you’ve been struggling. To find purpose and meaning.”
Tears welled up in Dylan’s eyes. “All I’ve ever wanted to do is help in the revolution, but we’re stagnant.
The camps shut down. The Twin Queens are more powerful than ever.
I look around and people are complacent.
Living their little lives, completely unaware of what might happen.
The tech industries are picking up again.
And the shit me and Isaak have found… There’s something out there you would not believe.
I… I don’t want to endanger you, Mum. I’m not going to lie to you.
But don’t make me tell you.” She sat down on her bed, eyes cast to the floor.
Her mother walked over to her and held her hands.
“Listen, honey. You don’t have to tell me anything.
You’re your own woman. When Wes and me started causing a ruckus, our own parents didn’t approve.
They would rather dob us in to the police than let us carry out our stunts.
Climbing the Shard with an Apocalypse Revolt banner… Gluing ourselves to the PM's car.”
Dylan smiled through a sob. “That’s nothing. I know you guys did more. A lot more. The way I’ve heard your friends talk about you.” Enough darting around the issue. She went for the jugular. “The raids on world leaders and Tech CEOs?”
Her mother exhaled sharply, shocked at the question.
“I can’t… I won’t. Don’t ask me. Look… People were killed.
” She looked older all of a sudden, tired, the harrowing experiences she’d been through marking her demeanour.
“The level to which me and your dad were involved, I regret it.” Constance rubbed her eyes.
“My heart still aches. Yes, they were truly terrible people. The plans they had for the world… But now I think it would have been better if they went to prison. Pay for their sins that way. Let the world see them held accountable. The ones who came after were worse. And we might not have forgotten our lessons so quickly…” Her mother wrapped her arms around herself.
Dylan was hit with a pang of guilt. Making her mother relive those dreadful days. Seeing her mother so affected, so upset. There was blood on her parent’s hands. In her mind she saw herself standing above their graves, laying down flowers.
Goddess, no. Not any time soon, please.
“Mum!” She hugged her, and her mother hugged her back.
“My baby…”
They wept together, her mother’s tears wetting a patch of her hair.
“Do you need… contacts, resources?” her mum asked.
“We have someone. I can’t tell you more.”
“Whatever it is you’re going to do, you must be certain.
You must be ready for the consequences.” Constance locked her arms around her daughter, holding her close.
“Don’t go just yet.” She whisper-sang an old lullaby, hushing Dylan’s tears, and for a moment, Dylan let herself just be her daughter again.
It took her back to twenty years ago, when the world was as small as her route to school and their suburban neighbourhood, not a worry on her mind.
They stayed like that for a few minutes. Dylan felt full of warmth, love, and understanding.
The beautiful house she grew up in, her carefree childhood, they were only possible because her parents fought hard as hell for freedom, for everyone. She used to think it was her father who’d got them into the revolution, but she was certain now it had been her mother.
She heard the others climbing up the stairs. She and her mother wiped their tears, stepping away from the embrace. She tried to make herself look as normal as possible.
“How are you two doing?” asked her dad, peering through the door.
“We’re fine. I’m more worried about Isaak. Did he ask you any difficult questions?” She desperately wanted to call him “boy”, her boy, but it wasn’t a nickname to use in front of her parents.
“Just catching up.” Isaak did that silly smile she loved, but something was different now. It wasn’t worry, more like quiet resignation. Her dad must have told him something.
Wes smiled and clapped a hand onto Isaak’s back. “You’ve got a good egg here, Dee. Take care of him.”
Her parents and Isaak went back downstairs while Dylan stayed behind in her old room, promising she’d be down soon.
She tried to hold back her tears, but once the first few broke the dam that she tried so hard to keep up, there was no stopping them. She held her hands to her heaving chest and lay back on the bed.