Spine checks her watch. “At this very moment, Stacks is leaving for his decoy run. Anyone having second thoughts should speak up now.”

The woman with the age-streaked red hair whispers to the person next to her and shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I want to do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.” She then hurries to the door with tears in her eyes.

When the woman is gone, Renu steps forward. “We can divide up her work among the rest of the group.” Her eyes are determined behind her dark glasses. “We have it covered. Right?”

A muscular gray-haired man next to her nods. “Damn right.”

Spine’s smile is grim. “She’s right to be scared. What we do tonight is dangerous. The government is counting on us to be afraid. They think fear will keep us quiet, but we will be silent no more. Removing words changed our country to what it is today. Returning them will start the process of giving back the freedoms that have long been denied to everyone—the ones our founders believed in. While they fought with weapons to gain the freedom they sought, the most powerful shots they fired in that fight were ones made up of words. Today you will follow in that tradition.”

Stokers pump their fists as Spine continues. “Be smart. I already know you are brave. For years you have guarded the embers of truth, and now it is time to stoke them into a fire that cannot be extinguished.” She rolls her sleeve over her tattoo and puts up her black hood.

The air is still as she checks the time, then scans the room from one side to the other. I hold my breath.

“You have forty-five minutes to get into your positions. Keep your phones on in case we have any news to share with you. And now . . .” She takes a deep breath and nods. “I wish you all a safe and purposeful ride.”

There are whoops and fist bumps, and under the excited shouts of “Let’s go!” and “For Atticus!” is the sharp edge of fear.

“In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act,” Dewey says, looking down at the battered hat in his hands. “Let the revolution begin.”

“Who said that?” I ask as the first group of Stewards each grab at least two bags of books and papers off the pile near the door and head out. Their jaws are set. Their eyes are bright with determination. My stomach jumps and rolls.

“Funny . . .” Dewey places the hat on his head and smiles. “But no one seems to truly know. When this is over, we’ll have to do our best to find out.”

Finally, it’s our turn.

I pick up two bags and groan under the weight. Awkwardly, I adjust them onto my shoulder next to my much lighter backpack, while the others, even Dewey, heave three or four of them onto their shoulders without flinching.