The Rising Tide Read online

  by Kyra Anderson

  For information on future works, please visit:

  www.kjamidon.com

  Copyright © 2020 by K.J. Amidon

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher

  Website: www.kjamidon.com

  Published by K.J. Amidon

  ISBN: 9798696608327

  Cover Art by K.J. Amidon

  Printed in the United States

  Dedicated to:

  My readers, both old and new

  My family for the inspiration you will never know that you gave

  The year 2020 for making this story feel a little too relevant

  Table of Contents

  Dedicated to

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter One

  Fall had not yet descended on the land, but the northern terrain of the country was frigid as we trekked away from the Canadian border. I could not determine if my shivering was due to how far north we had traveled, or if it was because my heart had been ripped out of my chest, no longer pumping warm blood through my veins.

  I desperately tried to push away my guilt about remaining in America while Bethany fled to Canada, but a sliver of remorse lingered like a thorn I could not dislodge. The first night of our return trip I hardly slept, stifling my sobs against my hand while trying to disappear into my sleeping bag. As our journey home continued, I noticed both M and K throwing glances at me, clearly worried but unsure what to say. Despite the small, consoling smiles, I felt worse knowing I could not hide my pain from them.

  The second day, I allowed my mind to drift through memories. I thought about the excitement at learning Bethany and I were assigned to the same Mandatory Civil Service site. I remembered obsessing over the night Bethany told me that she was just like me—a lesbian, and therefore, a criminal of the Commission of the People. I thought about the advances from Anthony and the horrible series of events that led to Mr. Archer’s death. I recalled the day I realized Lydia had joined the Coalition, and my excitement when I attended the first meeting, enthralled by K and the riveting stories of those who wanted to see the end of the infamous Commission of the People.

  As I thought through the events leading me to the border of Canada, it was plain as day that only I had felt the excitement of Coalition membership. Bethany shared everyone’s desire to see the Commission of the People dismantled, but she had no desire to take part in that change. The enemy was too powerful, too deeply entrenched in our society, and her fear was too great to overcome. Joining the Coalition had increased my own fears, leaving me constantly looking over my shoulder. But Bethany’s anxiety became unbearable, and I had been unable to see her terror until she decided to flee America.

  My thoughts were too tangled to worry about my aching feet as I silently walked with the Coalition members. I tried to think of anything I could have said, of any moment where I could have convinced her to stay with me. My mind played through fictional arguments and appeals. But Bethany had always fantasized having a farmhouse in the country with no one around for miles—she had always been ready to flee.

  Even as I was formulating arguments I would never use, the reason I had decided to stay eluded me. I wondered if it was because I desperately wanted to change things, or because I wanted to help others escape the oppression of post-Second Revolution America, or if it was merely because I felt more comfortable among the members of the Coalition than I had ever felt in my life. Belonging to a group of people that desperately wanted to help others—others like me—the decision to stay had been visceral, something I could not explain with words.

  Trapped in my own thoughts, the only responses I could manage when others tried to converse were short sentences. The first three days hiking back to the hotel the Coalition’s Western Chapter called home, I was unable to interact.

  But everyone else also seemed trapped in their inner worlds—K most of all.

  On day five, as my overwhelming guilt was beginning to lessen and the heartbreak was no longer crippling, I asked what we planned to do when we returned.

  “There will always be people to help across the border,” M said. “It will be business as usual, for the most part.”

  “There has to be more we can do,” I insisted. “We’re helping people get out of the country, but why should anyone flee their home because of the Commission? Can we do some kind of demonstrations? Something to make progress in taking down the Commission and Central? We can’t just be shuttling people over the border for the rest of our lives.”

  “Bigger moves are too dangerous right now,” she said. “After the CCLF screwed up, it’s probably best to lay low until the Commission backs off a bit.”

  “No,” K disagreed, looking up from the gravel he was moving absentmindedly around with his finger. “H is right. We can’t pretend that helping a handful of people out of the country is going to fix things. We need to start dealing with the root of the problem. We should consider grander moves.”

  “Okay…” M said, her tone careful, “but we should also be patient. We can’t risk another mistake like the CCLF. The more we screw up, the easier it will be for the Commission to paint us as a dangerous domestic terrorist cell, not a revolution. We need to bring the American people to our side. Without numbers, and without citizens ready to fight, we’ll never take down Central. Central has everyone under its spell.”

  “That’s because they’re playing the media. Central is great at marketing itself as a peaceful replacement to Washington, even though they’re far worse,” K said.

  “You can’t possibly think that the Washington System was better than Central,” N4 said incredulously. “You said yourself, the corruption in Central is the same corruption from Washington, just not as secretive.”

  “That’s what makes it worse. It’s not disguised, meaning that the people have come to accept that whatever Central does is for the best, even if it means that people with different skin tones and religions are deemed dangerous enough to be killed. The people actually believe that these people we help across the border are criminals. Central was able to get the American people to agree to what they defined as an acceptable human being, and no one should have that power.”

  Even though my heart was pounding at the passion in his voice, there was a tremble of nervousness in my gut. I recalled far too clearly the incident in the cabin basement. Over the previous days, I would occasionally look at K and only see him as the man who had beaten a bound, naked Commission employee to death. A flash of cold fear would wash over me, making me fear K, chasing away my admiration of the chapter leader. But I had shaken those moments off, convincing myself that it was a one-time event. Even then, it was diff
icult to understand how someone I knew to be so compassionate could be capable of such an atrocious act.

  “I completely understand,” M started gently. “You want to take down the Commission. But you just said it, Central runs the media and all the propaganda. They have control over how the people see us, and we can’t be doing anything reckless unless it helps us look better in the eyes of the populous. When we get back to the hotel, we’ll regroup. You can talk with the other chapter leaders and come up with a plan, but we need to be very smart about how we move against Central. Everything is just too delicate right now.”

  It was oddly therapeutic to have nearly two weeks to hike back from the Canadian border. It allowed me time to think, to move in a rhythmic fashion that was almost hypnotic, and to put my old life behind me.

  Bethany was gone.

  I was sure that she would find the life that she was looking for, and when I imagined her in a little farmhouse surrounded by animals, I could not help but smile at the warmth that bloomed in my chest. I wanted her to live happily, to live a life where she no longer felt the need to look over her shoulder, where she was no longer terrified of disappearing in the middle of the night, abducted by the Commission of the People.

  The long journey allowed me to say goodbye.

  My blisters had turned to callouses when we reached the ridge of hills where we could finally see the city. K turned on his phone and, almost instantly, he was flooded with notifications and messages. He spent most of our descent from the hills with his head bent, staring at his phone, his face becoming darker and more creased with anger each time I looked back at him.

  Then, his phone began ringing incessantly.

  Finally, he stepped away from the rest of us and answered the call, telling us to take a moment to rest.

  I tried not to be too curious about what crisis K was handling. When I met eyes with M, I could tell she was just as intrigued. Another questioning glance around the group confirmed that everyone was silently debating who would be the one to eavesdrop.

  M stood and, before I could question my actions, I was on my feet as well, leaving my backpack with the others as I following M into the trees, stepping lightly, trying to remain quiet and listen for K among the trees.

  “What do you care?” his voice snapped, alerting us that he was much closer than we thought. I pressed my back to a nearby tree, not even daring to look around the trunk in case K was facing our direction. M came to my side, pressing close as we listened to K’s side of the conversation, trying to remain hidden.

  “I already told you,” he snarled, “I won’t do it anymore. You’re only doing it to make yourself look better. You don’t actually give a shit about me or what I want.”

  The ice in his words caused a familiar fear to grow in my belly as I recalled the last time I had heard the cold bite in his voice.

  “Don’t bring Tommy into this,” he snapped. “If you actually cared about him or how he’s feeling, you wouldn’t be forcing him into all those classes to make him into a politician…I don’t care that he has a knack for it. Did you even ask if that was what he wanted? He’s a child for fuck’s sake!”

  Realizing the conversation was about K’s younger brother, I deduced the caller was his father. Even knowing that he had a strained relationship with his family, the darkness in his voice was alarming.

  “What if I just never came home? Would that finally make you happy?”

  M and I looked at one another, knowing that he had already made the decision not to return home.

  “Does it even matter? You wouldn’t be happy if I did anything other than what you want me to do. I’ve told you. I want nothing to do with the government, particularly the bloodthirsty cult that is Central.”

  A heavy silence fell over the area. I almost turned to see if K had moved away, but just as I began to turn, he spoke again.

  “Fine. Report me to the Commission. I don’t care.”

  The next silence that fell over the area lasted even longer. I turned to M, silently asking if we should move. She shrugged, trying to peek around the tree trunk. Just as we were getting nervous, we heard K sigh and his feet shuffled, the sounds approaching us. Realizing we were about to be caught, we both stood straight and tried to walk away from the tree.

  He spotted us.

  “You didn’t have to eavesdrop,” he assured. “I would’ve told you if you really wanted to know.”

  M sighed, her head hanging as she turned around and walked to him. I also turned, half-hiding behind the older woman, nervous that K would be angry at me for listening.

  “…we all know your father is a mean son of a bitch,” she said. “Fuck him. You don’t need to take his bullshit.”

  K’s face was dark, his gaze lowered to the ground, his hand shaking as he gripped his phone tightly.

  “…actually,” he started, his voice quiet, “I need to go back to the house.”

  “Are you serious? You can’t go back. He’s gonna beat the shit out of you.”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “What wouldn’t I understand?” she retorted. “You think I didn’t have my own shit when it came to my parents? But I knew there was no way I could survive while living under that roof. It’s tough, but at some point, you have to let them go. This is that time, K.”

  “You don’t understand,” he repeated angrily, finally lifting his eyes to glare at us. “You didn’t hear him.”

  “We heard enough,” she assured, trying to soothe him. “He threatened to report you. We already knew that was likely to happen.”

  “No, you didn’t hear him!” K barked. “You didn’t hear the tone of his voice. I pissed him off. More so than usual…”

  He looked at his phone, his hand clenching the device even tighter, his knuckles turning white.

  “I can’t leave my mother and Tommy to suffer the brunt of his anger. I know that tone. That’s the tone that means someone is about to get hurt.” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Better me than them.”

  I wanted to protest, to tell him that he could not go back to such an abusive household. I wanted to tell K to report his father, but the words stubbornly refused to leave my mouth. M seemed to be struggling with the same impulses, her mouth opening to speak, but no sound coming out.

  “…it’s alright,” he said, understanding our internal deliberations.

  “No, it’s not alright,” I said sharply. “You’re going back to someone who is abusing you.”

  “It’s complicated,” he said. “And, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m very happy you don’t understand my need to go back.” He finally pocketed his phone. “I have to go back and help those who can’t make the decision to leave. My little brother shouldn’t have to endure our father’s wrath because I decided to be selfish and piss him off on purpose.”

  “Your mother should step in,” I insisted.

  The sadness in K’s eyes when he lifted his head nearly ripped my chest in two.

  “It doesn’t always work like that.”

  * *** *

  It felt like coming home when I walked into the dilapidated hotel. Our group was greeted with smiles and cheers from other members of the Coalition, asking if the impromptu mission had been successful. K adopted his normal, charismatic air and said that we ran into no trouble, which surprised me. I expected him to gather everyone around and talk about our near-miss with the Commission of the People like a campfire story. Of course, I also understood that he did not want the others of the Coalition to know about his outburst in the cabin basement.

  Once I had excused myself for the night, I found myself outside the door of the bedroom I had shared with Bethany. The pain that had plagued me on the trek back from the border began to pierce my ribs again. Even though there was nothing about the room to distinguish it from the others in the hotel, nor had Bethany left any personal effects, it still felt like returning to a place steeped in memories of my first love.

  Finally opening the do
or, my eyes passed over the room, recalling hopeful conversations with Bethany about our new life together across the border. Hot tears came to my eyes as I kicked myself for not telling her sooner that I wanted to stay in America, for waiting until we were so close to the border that my decision was devastating.

  The memories were too painful, and being in the room where Bethany had expressed so much hope for how our lives would change was overwhelming. I backed out of the room, my hands sweating and my heart pounding as my chest threatened to collapse in on itself.

  I returned to the dining area, where several Coalition members remained awake even as the late night hours progressed. I smiled and nodded at those who greeted me, but I was focused on finding M. When I did not see her or K, I approached the nearest familiar face.

  “Hey, where is M?”

  “Oh, you just missed her,” J3 answered. “You could probably catch her before she goes to sleep. Room 315.”

  Quickly thanking him, I turn on my heel and half-ran back upstairs. I wanted to catch her before she went to sleep so I could change rooms, hoping she would understand my need to do so.

  When I reached her room, I hesitated before knocking, wondering if I was being silly and too sentimental about Bethany’s departure. I did not want to appear weak or upset in front of seasoned members of the Coalition, knowing they had more important things to worry about than my broken heart. Still, I rapped my knuckles against the door.

  A few moments later, a confused M greeted me.

  “Everything alright?”

  “…I…I hope I’m not bothering you,” I started, suddenly tongue-tied, my gaze dropping to the floor. “I was just wondering, would it…would it be possible for me to have a different room?”

  She stared at me for a long moment, her expression remaining confused. Just as I was about to abandon the idea and apologize for disturbing her, she nodded.