Authors: Mary E. Pearson

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Science Fiction, #Dystopian

Fox Forever (32 page)

“Locke? Who’s there?”

I turn to see Raine walking in from the kitchen, large with our third child. She stops when she sees Jenna out in the cold. She knows what that means too. She tries to persuade her to come in, but Jenna is firm in her decision.

“It’s already done. I’ve been outside for hours. I just need a little time with an old friend.” Her voice is fragile.

Raine touches her belly, perhaps understanding more than I can, and walks over to hug her. There are no more words between them, just an exchanged look of understanding. I grab my coat and give Raine a kiss. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back. You’ll be okay?”

“Hap’s upstairs, and Mother and Father are right next door if I need anything,” she says, and she pushes me toward the door and Jenna.

* * *

The wind has stopped like the world has sucked in its breath for Jenna, and snowflakes flutter as delicately as white butterflies in no hurry to land. Jenna hooks her arm into mine as we walk, leaning on me more with each step. We’re the only ones on the street, the only ones with a reason to be out late in weather like this.

“You and me again,” she whispers. “Just like in the old days. Almost.”

Kara’s name doesn’t have to be said. She’s always present.

She sighs, serene and content. “Such lives we’ve lived. Lives we never could have imagined.”

An understatement. “Never,” I agree. “My imagination isn’t that good. But we’re probably not so different from anyone else. We all envision one life and live another, don’t we? I’m probably lucky my other imagined life never came to pass.”

She laughs and pulls my arm closer. “You’ve done a lot of good, Locke. Your parents would be proud.”

I smile. “I didn’t exactly become the president or scientist they had hoped for.”

“Better,” she says.

Change came relatively fast by most people’s standards but never fast enough for me. Jenna was right, it was molded over time by people who refused to give up. I was one of those people. I pushed and pushed and realized I had become a member of the Resistance. A leader even. Raine and I together, along with Karden, Miesha, and Xavier. It wasn’t easy, but I guess things of worth rarely are.

Raine and I lived on the run for the most part, just about everywhere, even in the room under Jenna’s greenhouse for a while, but we didn’t have to wait ninety years for change the way Jenna did. The money helped our voices be heard, but it was still people who made the biggest difference. Each one made sacrifices, some contributing in large ways, others in small, everyone helping as much as they could, but all people who never lost sight of the goal.

Ian proved true to his character, and years after we had last seen him at a Collective meeting, he became part of a core Citizen group who helped push through legislation. He worked closely with Xavier and other key Non-pacts to draft the final wording of the bill.

Ten years from the time we began running, the country was reunified and the whole class of Non-pacts ceased to exist. After a lifetime of living on the fringes, Non-pacts were now Citizens like everyone else and could openly walk wherever they chose. Raine and I were both overcome with emotion the first time we saw Karden and Miesha walking hand in hand toward us through cheering crowds at Faneuil Hall for the official signing, two new people in so many ways.

A short time later that freedom was extended to all sentient beings like the one Dot had been. They were given basic rights, the circumstances of their existence no longer tied to their worth.
We even dare to dream that those worlds could be ours one day. Escape is not about moving from one place to another but about becoming more.
Life it seems is precious, no matter how you come by it. In appreciation for the work I’d done, they allowed me to name the bill that secured these rights, now known as the Dot Jefferson Act.

We never found Livvy. The Reformation and Reassignment camps were disbanded. She wasn’t in them. There were trials for crimes against humanity—LeGru was tried and sentenced to life imprisonment—but the Secretary escaped the trials, enough of the old system still in place to protect him. A pardon. He retired in disgrace, an old man on a government pension, absolved of his crimes by an outgoing president. My only consolation is that he’s utterly alone in a prison of his own making, still holed up in his rooftop fortress, knowing that the child he stole—his daughter—helped to topple his secret empire, and a lab beast like me was his final undoing.

Like Karden and Miesha, Xavier became a new person too, refocusing his energies on employment and decent housing for former Non-pacts. Because of him, the abandoned tenements on the south side of Boston have been cleaned up or bulldozed, and every man or woman willing to work is paid a fair legal wage. But there’s always more to do.

* * *

The world has changed. It’s gotten better. It’s gotten worse. After all these years, Jenna’s words still echo in my head,
just as one problem is solved, a new one is created.
The work never ends. If there’s one thing you can always count on in this world, it is change. I don’t fear it the way I used to. I try to be ready for it. One day, maybe, all the changes will be only for the good. I can dare to dream. I can always hope for more.

We turn the corner. The Commons is just ahead, but I watch Jenna’s strength ebbing, her steps slowing. I know that Allys’s death a few years ago was a blow to her. True to form, Allys had married again, this time to an adventure seeker. Allys said seven was her lucky number, but on one of their ocean adventures near the tip of South America they were both drowned at sea. At least we all knew she died doing what she loved and was with someone she loved when it happened. Jenna’s arm shakes in mine, and with a sudden wild desperation I’m ready to sweep her into my arms and run, save her, keep her, turn back a clock that always moves forward, but the unthinkable stops me. What if I outlived everyone that I love?
Raine. My boys
. I wouldn’t want it for myself. I can’t force it on her.

“Can you make it?” I ask.

She nods. “Remember when we used to come here when we were supposed to be in seminar?”

“Hiding behind the Washington Monument. How could I forget? This was the first place I was ever kissed. By
you.
”

She laughs. “But it certainly wasn’t the last.”

“No.” I smile, thinking of Raine, my first kisses with her not far from this spot. “Not the last by a long shot.”

“Even with all the hard times, we have a lot of good memories.”

“It doesn’t have to be over, Jenna. There’s still time—”

She looks at me sharply with strength I didn’t think she still possessed. “Yes, Locke. It’s
over
.” And then more softly, “Death isn’t a curse. It’s the shadow that gives life its form, and that shadow’s whispering to me now.”

Her shoulders slump like the burst of energy has drained her. Still, she lets go of my arm and walks onto the lawn of the Commons, snow swallowing her boots, her arms shaking as she lifts her hands and face to the sky.

“I had forgotten how snowflakes felt on my face,” she says.

“They sting,” I say.

“No, it’s more of a flutter. Almost like wings brushing my cheeks.”

I lift my face, trying to see the snowflakes as Jenna does. I’ve become immune to them, so many winters in Boston now. I remember winters as a child, racing to get my sled at first snowfall, the excitement and fear of hitting my brother dead center on his back with a snowball, the times I tried to capture the quarter-sized flakes to put in our freezer, wanting to preserve the fragile crystals forever, and more recently, sharing the first-time wonder with Raine as our toddler son caught the tiny treasures in his own small hands and licked them away.

“And so light,” she says. “A lacy wing that melts away. It’s a miracle.”

A miracle.
That’s the look I saw in my son’s eyes too. And though I knew all the explanations of how snowflakes form, in that moment I ached inside with the mystery and miracle of it all.

A cough wrenches Jenna’s lungs and her steps falter. I hurry to her side, holding her, my arm around her waist.

“It’s time, Locke,” she whispers. “I can feel it.”

“No, Jenna, not yet—”

Her legs fail and I catch her, falling to the ground with her.

“Jenna, what can I do?”

“Nothing.…”

Locke

Jenna

A mysterious connection that can never be explained.

A connection that will never be broken.

She coughs, her shoulders shaking in my arms. I spread my fingers beneath her head, supporting her, looking at the girl, still every bit seventeen but over three hundred years old.

“So many others are already gone. It’s my turn.”

She stares into my face, the last thing she’ll ever see, staring until her crystal blue eyes don’t see me anymore, snowflakes gathering on her lashes. My hands tremble as I reach up and close her lids. I pull her close to my chest, holding her, rocking her, the world hushed, saying the word it took me more than a lifetime to learn.
Good-bye.

Snowflakes fall silently around us, fluttering white butterflies.

No, Jenna … never gone.

Some things last forever.

Acknowledgments

I owe thanks to so many remarkable people who have made the Jenna Fox Chronicles happen.

First, thank you to the many writers who have held my hand through the course of these books and shared the “writing life” with me and all that it entails. Special thanks to Marlene Perez and Melissa Wyatt who listened to my questions and ramblings and offered much wisdom as I worked my way through this final book. Writing a series, I’ve learned, is not for the fainthearted.

Thank you to all the smart and hardworking people at Macmillan and Henry Holt. Jean Feiwel for support and inspiration, helping the ending crystallize while on tour! Rich Deas who made the puzzle come together perfectly with his breathtaking jacket designs; Laura Godwin for being a beacon of encouragement and calm; Rebecca Hahn for taking care of infinite details, and special cheers to the marketing, publicity, and sales staff for getting Jenna’s and Locke’s stories into the hands of readers. I am deeply grateful to the whole talented Mac-team.

My editor, Kate Farrell, is simply the most perfect editor any writer could dream up. Thank you, Kate, for your wise counseling, creative nudging, and boundless enthusiasm throughout this trilogy. Jenna and Locke’s story wouldn’t be the same without you—they’d probably still be stuck in a cube! You
are
the best.

I’ve said it before but it still bears repeating: My agent, Rosemary Stimola, is smarts, wisdom, savvy, and friend all rolled into one
brilliant
package. If she doesn’t already have a star named after her, she should—or a whole constellation. Thank you, Ro. I am one blessed writer.

I am grateful to and for my children, Karen, Ben, Jessica, and Dan, They continue to inspire me and bring me so much joy. Without them there would be no stories. They are also my constant cheerleaders, always wanting “more.” Which means I need to get back to work, but not before I mention:

As always, my infinite love and gratitude to my husband, Dennis. He makes everything that matters to me happen, sometimes just by walking into the room.

Praise for the Jenna Fox Chronicles

The Adoration of Jenna Fox