Eighteen

The sky is still bright, but the sun is starting to descend toward the horizon as we weave through the people chattering while they walk. We use the Steward CTA cards to take the bus to the stop closest to our destination. Spine goes over the best exits from the pier with a lanky, older blond guy with wire-rimmed glasses named Huck while Dewey chats up a sprite-like girl with at least a dozen piercings and pink-and-black-streaked hair called Flap. Atlas stays close to me as the bus jerks forward. I watch the city streets roll by, anxiety growing with every block.

Are there enough people out tonight to make this plan work? I don’t know. The city streets will be busier in a few weeks when the weather is hotter and there is a festival or concert or art display on every other street corner, but there are enough—I hope—to help us fight back. To give Rose an opening to locate Atlas’s dad and Isaac. To let me finish the task my mother left for me. We just need to reach a few hundred people and get them asking the right questions. That will be the spark. Those questions will get others talking. Hundreds will become thousands within days, and then there will be nothing the government can do to stop the truth from spreading. The Marshals can’t possibly have the ability to silence everyone.

Spine points to the door as the bus jerks to a halt. “This is our stop.”

The six of us climb onto the curb, and Spine checks her phone. “The other three groups have all reached their positions. Stacks will start his run in five minutes. We have to move.”

We reach the end of the next block, and the six of us part ways.

“Five minutes until Stacks is set to ride. As soon as you have passed out all of your tickets, get back to Index’s station,” Spine says. “I’ll send the green light as soon as Stacks gives me the go. With any luck, we’ll be able to spread the truth to a lot of people and give your friend enough time to find what we need.” She nods to the others. “Have a good run.” With that, she starts jogging down the street. Huck and Flap fall in behind her.

Dewey shifts his bags on his shoulder and gives me what he probably considers a smile. “Whatever happens, I know Atticus and Folio would be proud. I will see both of you soon.” With a parting touch to the brim of his hat, Dewey follows Spine and the others into the final rays of daylight.

Atlas and I walk in silence to our assigned starting location—an alcove of a building a block and a half away from Navy Pier. I take out my phone and wait for the message from Spine that will tell us Stacks has drawn the Marshals to the location on the south side of the city and that it is time for us to go.