Going Underground

by Denison, L. N

  ‘Oscar Saracen?’ said Myron.

  ‘Yeah, that’s him,’ Jen replied, as she fumbled around the coat’s pockets and pulled out her small collection of leaflets. Myron grabbed them and threw them on the pile of kindling, along with the other leaflets that he had found.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Jen snapped. ‘Everything that he said was true!’

  Myron looked at Jen, and then took hold of her hands.

  ‘I know, Jen, but I don’t need the leaflets to remind me of that fact. Everything I need to know is stored right here.’ Myron tapped his forehead for emphasis. Jen could see the logic behind the burning. As Myron said, they knew everything that they needed to know, and didn’t need to be reminded of current situations and those still on the horizon. Life was bleak enough without having illegal political propaganda to reiterate the fact. Myron found a box of matches among Joe Ryerson’s belongings and headed towards the neatly stacked pile of chair legs and leaflets to try and light the fire. The box seemed to be damp, making Myron wonder if the matches would be any good as he bent over the miniature pyre. Strike after strike—nothing! With one match left in the box, Myron dared to strike it against the side of the box again. Much to his relief, the last match burst into flame by some miracle. They had found a single blanket, but it was rank with the smell of stale urine and they were loath to use it. Now, maybe, they wouldn’t have to.

  *

  The fire was almost at full strength. Myron and Jen had placed their coats within a few feet of its warmth, and then went searching for that evening’s food. Curfew wasn’t due to start for another four hours, so they had nothing to worry about as far as getting back in time was concerned. The problem would be finding something edible, as Jen had been lucky enough to do earlier in the day. Setting out for the park seemed like the best bet.

  As before, they decided to separate for safety’s sake. On exiting the school, Myron had already decided that he was going to take the long way round; it was unexplored territory for him. He had never dared go down those particular roads before. Cromwell Road and Exhibition Road were two of the worst roads in that part of London—full of junkies and outcasts; full of disease and degradation; to many, as repellent as a leper colony. The chances of Myron finding food by taking that route were very slim; Jen had a better chance of finding food than he did. Maybe the inhabitants of Queens Gate would be charitable and offer Jen food, but in light of the decree, that possibility was also unlikely. She stood a better chance of being crowned queen than of someone offering her scraps off of their table. Nevertheless, Jen took her chances and continued her trek towards Hyde Park. Again, bedroom curtains began to ruffle on hearing the echoing thud of boots on concrete, and Jen couldn’t help but look up at her eerie surroundings again. She could sense many eyes staring down at her, making her feel uncomfortable. Jen’s pace quickened as she saw an end to Queens Gate in the distance—much to her relief—and Hyde Park, just around the corner.

  Myron’s journey had so far been trouble-free. It appeared that the people who occupied the so-called leper colony had taken to hiding. The decree had instilled fear in everybody, even the socially insignificant. But even though Myron was getting a free run towards Hyde Park, there was still no sign of anything edible hidden among the rubbish bins along the two roads travelled. He pinned his hopes, as Jen had, on their finding sustenance in the park.

  Even though it was still light, the park seemed devoid of any human life. The overly cautious Jen began to slink around the outskirts of the park, keeping a wary eye on her surroundings. The park was usually bustling between the times of three-thirty and five, with people trying to get home from work or school. It hadn’t occurred to her that it was, in fact, the weekend and entering the park over a weekend was strictly prohibited—yet another inane law that had been enacted by the hierarchy. Why such a law had been passed wasn’t known. It was just another way that the government could subjugate the people under them, making their lives even more miserable than they already were.

  Much to her delight, it didn’t take Jen long to find something edible. Someone had brought a six-pack of sweet pastries, eaten one, and thrown the rest away. What a wonderful find! She couldn’t wait to share the goodies with Myron. A short time later, she spotted a figure coming towards her. She hoped it was Myron, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She hid herself in the bushes until she was certain of their identity. Leaves rustled with every advancing footstep, and then there was silence. Jen dared to peer through the foliage, making every effort not to make any sound. Myron stood over the same bin that Jen had found that evening’s meal in, looking dejected. Suddenly, Jen sprang out of hiding, looking very pleased with herself. ‘Ta-da! Look what I found,’ she cried, showing off the package of pastries.

  Myron shushed her before whispering, ‘What a great find, Jen. I think that will do us for the night. We can have one and a half each for dinner, then one each for breakfast. Now come on, let’s go, it isn’t safe here.’

  Myron grabbed her hand, keeping to the perimeter as he pulled her back towards the school—going back the route he had come.

  Chapter Four

  Sir John Cutter had been informed of his son’s unauthorised leave of absence from the academy—not by the cowardly major, but by someone outside the school. One of the Queens Gate residents was a former member of Sir John’s security detail, and had recognised Myron as he passed through. The informer wasted little time in telling Sir John of his son’s whereabouts, making the journey to Knightsbridge to let him know in person.

  For weeks, Sir John’s men (including the informer) kept track of Myron’s movements, and those of Jen, the lower-class lawbreaker Myron had developed an attachment to. Sir John regarded her as nothing more than a common criminal.

  With the decree in full force and the war raging, Myron and Jen had to keep moving and finding new places to hide on a regular basis. Their preferred place at the moment was an alleyway one hundred yards from the ruins of one of pre-war London’s biggest tourist attractions: the Natural History Museum. Every day for the past week they had made the journey separately, making sure they weren’t being followed. Myron had managed to get hold of a grey uniform for Jen so as not to draw any unwanted attention to them, as they struggled to stay under the radar.

  *

  The date of December 22, 2044, would remain etched in Myron’s mind. He had a sixth sense that something was about to happen. He felt uneasy with his surroundings as he made his way to the secret meeting place, sensing that someone was watching his every move.

  Myron paused in the alleyway behind the derelict Lantern Chinese restaurant, and waited patiently for Jen’s arrival. She was only a small distance behind him. Jen didn’t have the same insecurities as Myron; to her, their meeting was like any other.

  Myron watched as Jen made her final approach, his smile growing broader with each step that she took. His arms opened, ready to take her in. Jen jogged over to Myron and flung herself into his arms. They clung to each other as if they had been apart for the longest time. Myron looked up briefly, placing his chin on Jen’s shoulder. A silhouette of a man stood in the entrance of the alleyway, just watching—and Myron’s suspicions of being followed had been confirmed. The man had pulled a phone from his pocket. Myron pulled Jen away to try and get out of the alleyway at the other end, knowing that nothing good lay beyond the conversation that the mysterious figure was engaging in.

  Myron and Jen reached the other end of the alleyway only to find several men blocking that exit. Myron knew by looking at the black suits and leather trench coats that they were a part of his father’s detail, and the man who had called them into action was one of his father’s trusted henchmen.

  There was no escape from what lay ahead; Sir John had given strict instructions as to how his son and Jen were to be handled. Of course, Jen would be made to pay dearly for her many indiscretions—chief among them, having a relationship with someone not of her own class. The fact that that someone was the
son of a leading government official would condemn her to a fate worse than she could have ever imagined.

  The governmental patrol hemmed them in, making it impossible to move. Two thugs from the five-man detail took Myron aside and rendered him unconscious with the use of a chloroform-filled cloth. Jen stood helplessly as she watched them drag Myron’s limp body towards a white van that pulled up just at that moment. Frantically calling out Myron’s name, Jen tried to break away but was quickly subdued.

  Jen found herself at the mercy of the governmental patrol. ‘Clasp your hands behind your head, and drop to your knees!’ the patrol leader snarled. Jen complied. ‘That’s the spirit, girlie. Now, don’t move or I’ll blast your soddin’ head off.’

  Fear of the unknown kept Jen rooted to the spot, but one thing was for certain: she knew where she would be sent for breaking the government-imposed rulings.

  The patrol leader grabbed hold of Jen’s clasped hands and a handful of her hair simultaneously, and roughly pulled her to her feet in one swift motion. Jen winced only slightly; there was no way she was going to give the brute the satisfaction of knowing just how much his ill treatment hurt. As with all patrolmen, he did not have a gentle bone in his body and he wasn’t about to change his brutal methods.

  He dragged her towards another van that had been parked behind the vehicle that had transported Myron to whatever location Sir John had prescribed as punishment for his part in the deception.

  The mysterious figure standing at the other end of the alleyway slowly made his way down to meet the remaining patrolmen. Still in the lead patrolman’s vice-like grip, Jen watched helplessly as he approached.

  ‘Why are you doing this to me? I’ve done nothing wrong!’ Jen cried. She assumed removing the infernal tracking device had been her downfall, and the reason behind her arrest.

  ‘Don’t talk until you are spoken to!’ the mysterious figure ordered. ‘Jenara Cole, you have been found guilty of the destruction of governmental property. How do you plead?’

  The henchman judged her on the spot. It was all part of the unjust process, but Jen was luckier than most; others were taken away without being able to plead their innocence.

  ‘It was a tracking device—you’re arresting me because I took the soddin’ thing off?’ was Jen’s reply, much to the henchman’s annoyance.

  ‘Guilty as charged! Get her out of here—take her to camp five!’

  Jen tried to pull away from the lead patrolman’s tight grip, but to no avail.

  ‘No use struggling, girlie—you’re not going anywhere!’ He pulled her towards the back of the van and opened the doors.

  ‘Oi, you two layabouts!’ the lead patrolman barked at his idle subordinates. ‘Get her inside the van and secure her!’

  They each grabbed one of Jen’s arms and pulled her up into the van, where they cuffed one of her wrists to a steel strut above her head. Jen defiantly tried to escape before the van doors shut on her, pulling her cuffed hand ferociously downwards to try and break the flimsy-looking chain.

  ‘Stop that racket, you little bitch!’ shouted the annoyed patrolman sitting opposite her.

  ‘Shove that rifle up your arse!’ Jen shot back.

  ‘Saucy wench!’ snarled the patrolman. ‘I’ve got a better idea.’

  With that, he slammed the butt of his war surplus rifle into Jen’s temple, rendering her unconscious. Blood began to trickle slowly from the gash. The patrolman shut the doors and then sat watching Jen, thoughts of ways to abuse her running through his head. He got up from the van’s hard wooden seating and took a step towards her to pull her matted hair away from her face and gaze upon her wound. Although he hated everything that Jen stood for, he could not bear to hurt her any further. His desire to violate her faded away, and he rued his decision to spoil her beauty. The patrolmen couldn’t deny that Jen had the features of an angel, despite her lowly social standing.

  A glint of compassion blossomed on his sallow face as he frantically rummaged for something to bind the small, bloody gash. He remembered he had a handkerchief and tied it round Jen’s head to stem the bleeding.

  Jen began to stir as he secured the knot. The smell of stale cigarettes and coffee on the patrolman’s breath forced her to turn her head violently away.

  ‘Get away from me!’ Jen growled angrily, pushing him away with her one free hand.

  The patrolman wondered why he had bothered to help Jen in the first place as he tumbled backwards, astounded by her reaction. He set himself back down on the opposite bench and the little humanity that he had demonstrated faded altogether, only for his brutal nature to return to the fore.

  ‘If you ever try anything like that again, I’ll blow your pretty little brains out!’ he snarled as he pushed the barrel of his gun against her forehead.

  Jen smirked at his threat, trying to make him feel inferior. ‘You don’t scare me, you cowardly git!’ she hissed.

  The patrolman lowered his rifle and smacked her hard across the face, and then yanked the bloody handkerchief off her forehead.

  ‘You’re lucky I don’t have my way with you, you impudent bitch!’

  Suddenly the little window between the cab of the van and the cargo area flew open.

  ‘What the hell’s going on back there?’ the lead patrolman demanded.

  ‘Nothing, sir,’ replied the patrolman. ‘I was just putting this cur in her place.’ He pointed at Jen’s bloody gash.

  ‘Good work. Carry on.’

  The patrolman looked fiercely at Jen and said, ‘Keep your gob shut the rest of the way, wench, or else.’

  Jen was frightened of what lay ahead. Everybody knew what went on in the camps—even if it was based around conspiracy theories. How anyone could make up such fantastical stories of torture and experimentation, unless they were devised to put the fear of God into the patrons of England? Jen didn’t hold out much hope for them being untruths.

  *

  The rest of the journey remained incident free, as they bounced along a bumpy, single-track lane that led straight to the camp’s gate. Jen had been asleep for the past ten miles, but remained under the barrel of the patrolman’s gun. The bumpiness of the journey had not aroused her, but the sudden halting of the van did. Jen couldn’t see her surroundings—the windows of the van had been blackened out—and she was unable to see through to the front of the van—but what she would see when she was forced from the van would be a vision of hell on earth, surrounded by a ten feet tall, razor wire fence. The gates were slowly opened by one of the camp’s guards, who had been notified of Jen’s arrival. The van started off again after the guard told the driver to head towards the administration building.

  Jen’s head hung forlornly. She knew she might be entering into something she wouldn’t survive.

  ‘Not so cheeky now, eh, girlie?’ chided the patrolman guarding Jen, revelling in her misery.

  Jen didn’t even look up.

  *

  The administration building loomed up ahead. Two more guards had already come out to greet their new arrival, armed with coshes and shackles. The van ground to a halt. The sound of heavy footsteps drawing towards the rear of the van had Jen frantically trying to escape from the cuffs again, making her wrist bleed. The patrolman guarding Jen guffawed at her wasted effort. Just then, there was a swift bang on the van doors.

  ‘Open up!’ a stern voice shouted from the other side. The patrolman stood up as far as the van would allow him and then took hold of Jen’s shackled wrist. He reached into his breast pocket for the key, and proceeded to set her free. The door was then opened from the inside and forcefully pushed outwards, almost hitting one of the camp guards in the face in the process. Although they were on the same side, a certain amount of animosity had arisen between the camp guards and the patrolmen.

  ‘Get up and get out!’ the patrolman guarding Jen barked. When she didn’t move, he gave her a swift kick with his boot.

  ‘I’m going, you ugly brute,’ said Jen.

  ‘
Get moving then! And close the door behind you!’ the patrolman ordered, as he sat back down for the journey back to London.

  Jen rose to her feet and dismounted the van tentatively, closing the door behind her as ordered. Jen stood motionless and fear-stricken as one of the awaiting guards approached with a set of combined ankle and wrist shackles. The shackles themselves were separated by a belt, which was fastened around Jen’s waist. The guard placed Jen’s wrists in the floating restraints as tightly as he could—so tightly, in fact, that her veins began to balloon. The guard knelt down to place her ankles in the dangling bracelets. Jen was completely helpless, and not knowing what was about to happen to her made things worse. The guard began to push Jen in the direction of the processing department, but she wasn’t able to move as fast as he would have liked.

  ‘Can’t you go any faster, gutter trash?’ the guard complained.

  ‘Sorry, sir, I left my running shoes at home,’ Jen quipped, trying to sound braver than she felt.

  ‘Guess I’ll have to drag your sorry arse then,’ the guard replied.

  He grabbed her arm roughly and proceeded to pull her the rest of the way through to the front desk. The building was nothing special. It was reminiscent of an old schoolhouse, very square and whitewashed. The camp itself was sectioned off into three categories: one section was reserved for war criminals, another for political prisoners, and the last for commonplace crooks guilty of various wrongdoings. Each section housed five Nissen huts, which in turn housed fifty inmates.

  Jen had finally reached the processing department, where she was brought to face the camp’s commanding officer. Before starting the processing procedure, Jen had to be released from her bonds. The guard moved to Jen’s rear and proceeded to unshackle her, much to her relief. She immediately began to rub her wrists, sore and tingling with pins and needles.

  The commanding officer looked on Jen for a moment, trying to read her mood. She stood in front of him, scared of her impending fate, but he could almost see past the frightened little girl façade she projected. He knew that if she had the chance, she would strike out at her captors—and damn the consequences. He looked down at the file of misdemeanours that had been purposely fabricated to hide the true reason for her incarceration. All that Jen knew was that she had been arrested for the destruction of the tracking device, and nothing else. The major ran through the camp routine with her, giving her the dos and don’ts and secretly hoping that she was picking up on the fact that he was trying to help her. He didn’t agree with what he had been forced to undertake, but he didn’t dare to cross Sir John. He agreed to his wishes of making sure that Jen suffered in every way for her part in Myron’s deception.