“I’m not trying to start a movement. I just want these people to help me save Wes.”
“What do you think they want?” she asks, opening the passenger door to the sounds of chaos and anger. To a sea of people with locked elbows and fists in the air.
I sigh as I yank the comb through my tangled hair. “A revolution.”
“You built this bomb, girl. Time to go set it off.” Flip winks at me in the rearview mirror before opening his door and climbing out too.
I turn to Lamar. “How do I look?”
He furrows his eyebrows at me, the right one still scarred from the bulldozer accident. “Like a reporter.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I liked Post-Apocalyptic Barbie better.” Lamar shrugs. “Maybe take the hoodie … just in case.”
I give him a sad smile as I reach for my sweatshirt. Anything to make him happy. “You doin’ okay?” I ask, tying the sleeves around my waist.
He shakes his head and drops his eyes. His chin begins to wobble, but he grits his teeth and squashes it.
“Me too, buddy.” I pat his knee. “Me too.”
“Guys …” Flip calls out, slapping the side of the van to get our attention. “Looks like we might be too late.”
Lamar and I scramble outside and notice that everyone’s heads are craned back and tilted to the right as a helicopter descends onto a small, oval-shaped patch of grass next to the capitol building.
Michelle turns to me with an apologetic look on her face. “Shit! I have to get into position. He’s gonna go inside the capitol for a minute and then make a big entrance by coming down the capitol steps. I usually meet him at the end of the main walkway and introduce him. Then, we walk over to the park together.”
“Introduce him!” I shout, my eyes going wide. “How much time do we have?”
“Before he comes out? Maybe twenty minutes? Thirty, tops.”
“Perfect! I’ll be right back!” I tighten the sleeves around my waist and take off running.
“Rain! Where are you going?”
“Call me Stella!” I yell over my shoulder.
“Did I ever tell you you’re my heeee-rooooo?” Elliott sings to me as we jog down the block, take a right, pass the now-maskless dead Bony, take a left, and sprint past the crowd in Plaza Park.
“Ooh! Look at that! My fans await!” Elliott cups his hand and waves at them like the Queen of England as I pull him to a stop next to the news van.
“Michelle,” I huff, trying to catch my breath. “Officer Elliott here would like to introduce the governor on today’s broadcast.”
Michelle narrows her eyes in confusion. Then, she pops them open again once she connects the dots. “Of course! We’d love for you to do the honors, Officer Elliott. Thank you for coming on such short notice. The governor surprised us by moving the execution up, unannounced.”
“Tell me about it, honey. We’re runnin’ around like chickens with our heads cut off over at the station. Got my boy Wes all suited up and ready to go though. He’s gon’ break some hearts, that one.” Elliott shakes his head, and I can tell that one of the hearts is going to be his.
I know the feeling.
“We don’t have much time, so I’ll cut right to the chase. In a few minutes, the governor is going to walk down those steps, and we need you to—”
“Don’t worry ’bout me, honey. I got this!” Officer Elliott interrupts, flicking his fingers at Flip. “Gimme a mic! Where do I stand? How’s my hair?” He runs a hand over his perfectly bald head and cackles.
Flip grabs his camera bag out of the van and leads Officer Elliott toward the capitol building as he continues to ramble. Then, glancing behind him at Michelle, he jerks his head in the direction of Plaza Park.
Go. Now, he mouths.
Michelle doesn’t hesitate. She leans into the van and grabs a large, padded black bag. Unzipping it, she says, “Lamar … I’m gonna need you to be my cameraman for the day.” Turning around, Michelle presents him with a full-size TV camera.
“Oh my God. Can you even hold that thing up?” I ask.
“Pssh.” He dismisses me as he accepts the equipment with straining, spindly arms.
“I’ll start the broadcast,” she says, positioning the camera on his shoulder. “All you have to do is hold it, like this.”
“So, is Flip just not gonna turn his camera on or somethin’?” Lamar asks, shifting his weight to support the load.
“That’s right. He’ll use it to record; it just won’t be live. Yours will be.”
Turning toward me, Michelle contorts her crimson lips into something I assume is supposed to look reassuring, but her wild eyes are just as manic as the cheering, shouting, fist-pumping crowd swelling behind her. She wants this just as bad as they do. Everyone here has lost someone or something because of Operation April 23, including Michelle. That’s why the dream spoke to them, motivated them to pick up their weapons and fight their way down here. The question is, are they here to start a revolution?
Or do they just want their pound of flesh?
“Let’s go!” Michelle grins.
She leads the way, squeezing in between Bonys and housewives and pimps and homeless teenagers. “Excuse me!” she yells. “Michelle Ling! Channel 11 Action News!”
But nobody can hear her, and we’re starting to get separated.
Somebody grabs my wrist just as she and Lamar disappear through a group of old rednecks carrying hunting rifles. I try to yank my arm away, but the grip is surprisingly strong for a hand so small. I follow the skeletal arm it’s attached to up to the face of a woman who’s probably in her early forties but looks about fifteen years older. Everything about her is thin—her body, her skin, the limp blonde hair hanging around her sad, wrinkled face.
“Ms. McCartney?” she asks, a pair of familiar green eyes lighting up in recognition. “Oh my God, it is you!” She wraps her other hand around my forearm. “You saw my boy yesterday!”
Turning her head, she yells to a rough-looking crew of tattooed men and women behind her, “Y’all! It’s the reporter who interviewed my Wesson!”
Her what?
“Ms. McCartney, I’m Wesson Parker’s mama, Rhonda. I saw him on the TV yesterday, and I …”
Her face crumples in on itself, and tears spill down her cheeks as my mind struggles to process the words she just said.
Wes’s mama.
I never really thought of her as a real person before. More like a ghost. A part of Wes’s past that he didn’t like to talk about. All I know is that she was a drug addict who neglected her children to the point that Wes’s baby sister died of starvation, and she’s been in prison ever since.
But here she is, in the flesh. Wes got her eyes, her perfect nose. She must have been so beautiful once.
“You can’t let them kill my baby!” Her voice goes shrill as she clings to me for strength. “Please, Ms. McCartney! Please! You gotta help him! That’s my boy! My baby boy!”
Tears fill my own eyes as I watch the grandmother of my child beg for the life of her own son. Not only because I share her pain, but also because there’s someone else on this planet who loves him. He deserves all the love in the world.