Vanquished by Katie Clark Page B

though, what does that mean for me?
    Fischer comes in a few minutes later. He injects a yellow liquid into Mom’s IV line, and then pulls a paper from his pocket and hands it to me.
    “I hope you’ll be there,” he says quietly. “There will be people who can answer your questions better than I can.”
    I’m surprised because I thought it would be just me and him. Embarrassment hits me, but I hide it by looking down. At least he doesn’t know I thought it’d be just the two of us. But then I think of Jamie’s warning and a silent relief floods through me.
    Still, I’m nervous at the same time. There are others? People who know strange things are going on, and who know the government isn’t all it promises to be?
    This thought strikes me as eerie, like I’ve just learned about an alternate world right in my own backyard.
    I nod. “I’ll be there.”
    “Good. I’ll see you around.” He checks Mom one last time and then backs from the room.
    He’s so quiet when he moves. So gentle. Caring.
    I’m glad he’s taking care of Mom. It reminds me of Ava—a natural caretaker. I admire him.
    I unfold the note. 871 Kensington Ave. 11 PM. Tonight.
    I swallow hard. Let’s see if I get caught after curfew this time.
     
     
     
     

17
     
    I slip into the dark backyard as quietly as I can. I’m not exactly a pro at sneaking around, and I hope no one can hear my thundering heartbeat. A bright moon lights my pathway, and I can see clearly. That’s good and bad. Good because I can see, but bad because so can others. The address Fischer gave to me is familiar. Kensington Avenue is across town. Its houses are older, falling apart. No one lives there, or at least I thought no one did.
    I’ve thought the whole day about the best way to get there. Most of my path will be lined with alleys. That makes for great cover.
    A stray cat meows at me, and I nearly shout out. What’s a stray doing around here anyway? We don’t have many animals in our city. The Greaters say we barely have enough food to feed ourselves. We can’t be feeding pets, too. In fact, most pets end up as meals during the winter months.
    I’m three blocks from home when I see the first guard. It’s a man, I think, and he’s wearing strange glasses on his eyes. I’ve never seen glasses like that—kind of like I’d never seen the little machine the woman guard had the last time I was out past curfew. He casually scans the streets, like he doesn’t really expect to find anything.
    He turns my way and I press myself behind a tree, hoping the trunk hides me. He scans the street and then moves on. I take a deep breath and keep moving. How long will it take me to get there? I’m not entirely sure. I’ve never been to Kensington Avenue, especially not in the middle of the night.
    I dart between hiding spots, camouflaging myself from a guard here and there. It’s not nearly as hard as I thought it would be. I shouldn’t be surprised, since it was so easy getting out of the house. My dad never suspected a thing when we said goodnight. I guess it’s the same for getting across town. The guards don’t actually expect to see anyone out in the dark.
    I get there within twenty minutes. I’m actually a few minutes late, I think, but that can’t really matter. I was right about the houses. They’re old and falling apart. The shutters hang at odd angles, and most of the windows don’t have glass. I wonder why Fischer and his people would want to meet me here, but then I realize. The place is abandoned.
    I scurry down the side walk, glancing at dilapidated number signs hanging on the fronts of the houses. Where is 871? It has to be around here somewhere.
    I look away from a sign numbered 7-9-0 and right into the face of a guard. My scream pierces the night, but it doesn’t affect the guard.
    “What are you doing here?” he demands.
    My mind sputters and moans and dies, and no words come from my mouth. I don’t know what to do, but I can’t let this guard