“It’s all economics, you realize—who stood to gain the most money and power. None of the major corporations were really interested in the general populous. They were interested in their own profits. When they started to merge in order to gain more influence, Carson and Mills came out on top. Everyone else was absorbed—polarized into one of two mindsets.”
I know most of this though the perspective is skewed. I have no doubt that both sides were focused on money and power, but I can’t help but think of Riley’s father being murdered for spreading his viewpoint.
“Now, let’s get back to your personal history,” he says. “Mills knew they couldn’t provide for all their people without some level of agriculture, despite the rhetoric they told the public. Even though the land in your area was practically devastated, it was the first place they invaded.”
He leans forward again.
“Despite whatever you’ve been told or whatever you may think you believe, Mills Conglomerate was responsible for the first attack—the first real act of war. Negotiations for land in exchange for technology fell apart, and Mills took matters into their own hands.”
“And Peter Hudson had Robert Grace executed for speaking his mind.”
A tight-lipped smile spreads across his face.
“Is that what you think?”
“That’s what I know.”
His face lights up with understanding.
“Your doctor, the one who transformed you…she’s Riley Grace, isn’t she?”
I don’t answer him. I’m not even sure why I’ve spoken at all. Somehow I have managed to give him information without even saying much of anything. My instincts to stay quiet were right from the beginning.
“She is,” he says softly. “I can understand why you believe that, then. She probably believes it herself.”
I look away from him. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to open my mouth.
They already knew about Riley.
A memory strikes me quickly. The men who were torturing me—they knew her name already. Merle is trying to make me believe he’s figured something out, but he’s known the whole time.
I glare at him.
“I should get back to your story,” he says. “That’s what you need to hear. Would you like some more water first?”
I don’t answer. He claims to be thirsty himself and pulls two more bottles from the canvas bag. He puts one on the floor near my feet and opens the other one before he continues.
“After the first invasion, your father refused to hand over the crops to the Mills Conglomerate. They hung him in the public square to make an example of him, and you were left to care for the farm and your sister alone.”
My heart begins to race. Could he be telling the truth? I have nothing to go on save the few memories from dreams I can’t confirm. He definitely has my attention now.
Merle continues.
“After your father’s death, you and your sister were allowed back to the land your family had farmed for generations, now under the control of the Mills Conglomerate. You were forced to sign a loyalty oath to Mills, just like all the other farming families. You agreed to farm what they told you to farm, and in return, they said you would be protected from further harm.”
“You were nineteen years old,” Merle says. “Amelia was fifteen. It was a bad year for crops, and Mills didn’t have the resources to keep the farms they had taken over on their feet. Some of them, like yours, were designated failures, and the military was sent in to relocate the families. Your farm was overtaken by the Mills military.”
I narrow my eyes and lean back against the wall, arms crossed. I tap the empty plastic bottle against my arm and stare at him. I know what he’s trying to do. He wants me to sympathize with his cause—switch sides and work for Carson.
Not a fucking chance.
“You don’t believe me.” Merle nods slowly, his lips pursed. “I can show you all the records, Galen, but you probably won’t believe them either. They don’t have any details about exactly what happened that day, but I know someone who does, someone you might listen to. If Errol does his job right, you might even remember him.”
As if on cue, the door opens.
I know the man immediately—I’ve seen him in my dreams so many times. He’s a little older, a little greyer, but it’s definitely the same face. His head bobs slightly as he look at me—an involuntary nodding caused by some genetic ailment.
“Hal,” I say softly. “Your name is Hal.”
“I thought ya said he wasn’t gonna remember nothin’.” Hal chuckles as he sits beside me on the cot and clasps his shaky hand on my shoulder. “It’s been way too long, Galen, my boy.”