I think not. My father does not care enough about these people to notice the burdens they bear. All he cares about are the royals, and his only goal is to ensure that their way of life does not change. He is all about preserving the past. He does not see the future or the need to change the present to make the future better for those who will come after us. Only when the royals give up their complacency will he change. And as long as he is in charge there will not be change.
The carriage turns a corner. The warehouse where Alex was murdered is gone, nothing left but a large, gaping hole and the wreckage of burnt timbers. I feared that it would fall down around me before I could escape it. The glass above and behind it is scorched black from the flames. Beyond is the door to the outside. A building sits in front of it, a miniature replacement of the former, no more than one story high where the warehouse was at least ten. It was hastily built and looks it, yet it serves its purpose, hiding the door to the outside. There is a barricade around it and bluecoats surround it. I am certain the people have been told it is to protect them from the wreckage. I know it is to keep the curious from poking around.
How many times has Lyon come and pounded on that door, looking to negotiate for Levi’s release, and been turned away? Of course I wouldn’t put it past my father to ignore him completely. As he does everything else that relates to the real world beyond the glass.
Next to the remnants of the warehouse is what is left of the building that housed the fans. It sits in ruins and wreckage, and the fans lay bent and blackened from their tumble from their stands. A last one leans haphazardly over the mess, daring anyone to take their life in their hands and walk below it. It will fall eventually. Above, the glass holds a long crack that splinters off in every direction. Over it I see a hole that from this distance is no bigger than my fist. A narrow beam of sunlight streams through, and it takes every bit of my willpower not to jump from the carriage and turn my face to it.
It will be a long time for repairs to be made, if they ever can be. I cannot imagine any piece of machinery inside the dome that is strong enough to put the fans back in place, although I am certain Dr. Stewart could come up with something, if given the chance.
My father says nothing. He just sits back and observes me, waiting for my reaction, or perhaps he wants an admission of guilt. I look at the destruction, caused by my fellow shiners James, Adam, and Alcide when they set the charges to blow up the fans. I know my father wants me to feel guilt, but I don’t. Instead I feel a pride and a sense of power. Yes, I am very sorry for the lives that were lost. But look at what we accomplished. We put an entire society on its knees. If only there was a way to reach everyone inside and urge them to fight for their freedom. What wondrous things could we all create together?
“What happened to the workers?” I ask.
“Some died. The rest no longer have jobs.” Another burden my father wishes me to bear. I am now responsible for their lives too. “Since they can no longer contribute to society, they no longer serve a purpose.”
“So you are punishing them for something that is not their fault?” I say. “They had nothing to do with the destruction.”
“Yet they are the ones who suffer the most.”
“Have you forgotten about the shiners?” I point out. “Our entire community was wiped out and most of us are dead. Or are we beneath your notice?”
Findley suddenly coughs and turns his head to look at the street before us. I suddenly realize what I’ve said, but before I can react my father says something that makes me wonder for his sanity.
“So you say. There is no way to confirm the deaths. They could merely be hiding and waiting to attack us once more.”
I am dumbfounded. I cannot believe he just said that. Even Findley seems shocked, if the widening of his eyes and the tightening around his mouth are any indication. My anger is so overpowering that I jump to my feet in the carriage and face my father.
“Do not dishonor my people in such a way again.” I feel like screaming at him, but instead I speak quietly and with the force of my emotion. “I was there when they died. I saw the water carry them away, and then I carried their broken bodies on the beach to be placed on the pyre. I stood and watched as they burned until the sun and the heat blinded my eyes and I could see no more. I held children while they cried for their parents, and I watched my best friend’s husband grieve as he said good-bye to her.”
The carriage lurches to a stop at an intersection, and I pitch forward. Accidentally or intentionally I cannot tell. Findley catches me as I fall and straightens me. For a brief moment his face reveals his emotion and I see that he is as disgusted and angry as I am. He once more regains his impassive façade as I sit back in my seat. I cross my arms and look at my father.
“I wish no claim from you. Do not call me your daughter, for I am that because of my mother’s foolishness. The people who died when your soldiers came into the mines with their flamethrowers were my family. They were my brothers and sisters, my aunts and uncles.”
My father smiles and shakes his head. I might as well be talking to the dome for all he listens. “You have only just proven my point, Wren. Many have suffered and died because of your foolishness.”
“Not because of me. It is because of you,” I retort. “How many more will die because you refuse to see reason? Things will only get worse. The air outside is cool now, but the seasons will change. In a few months it will grow warmer, and soon you will be baking beneath the glass. Tell me, Master General Enforcer, Sir William Meredith, what will your precious royals have to say then?”
He seems surprised that something as insignificant as the seasons would dare to thwart him.
“I imagine they will ask you to break the glass,” I say. “And that, Sir William, is something that I cannot wait to see.”
8
I would have thought that after my outburst we would have gone back to my father’s building and I would be thrown in a cell like Levi. Instead we carry on, with my father wearing a bemused expression on his face. I wonder what the guards and the driver thought of my tirade. They, like Findley, remain impassive.
The carriage rolls onward into the area that houses the stockyards. Cows, pigs, goats, sheep, and chickens all live together in an impossibly small area and their voices rise together in a cacophony of misery. The smell becomes horrendous the closer we get, until I feel as if I will gag. Without the fans the stench hangs in the air. I pull my bandana over my mouth and nose. My father, Findley, and the rest act as if they are impervious, but I know Findley’s eyes are watering.
I think of Ghost and the way he buried his nose into the sweet and salty grass. The wretched livestock that live out their lives in confinement should have that opportunity also. I have to smile when I realize my rebellion should include the animals. That might be the only way to convince my father to release his hold on the dome inhabitants. Take away their resources. They have lost the fans and the coal. I imagine all the coal that is left has been commandeered by my father for his own use, such as the steam carriage we ride in. But even that will run out eventually.
I say nothing, as saying anything else would just be redundant. My father knows how I feel, and I do not understand why he thinks our tour will change my way of thinking.
Mercifully, we leave the stockyards behind and move into the area that houses the lower-class workers of the dome. These people get no more consideration than we did as shiners. The only advantage we had over them was that we lived below and therefore had some control over our lives, whereas these people are at the mercy of the internal government. They live in large tenements that have long ago lost their paint. The buildings are plain, crowded boxes with glassless windows. Lines of laundry crisscross over the streets. Noise is prevalent here also. Crying babies, screaming children, and harsh voices rise in argument. I recognize the area even though I only saw the outside for a few brief moments before I was thrown into the back of a prison cart. This is where the filchers brought me when they captured me on the street.