Going Underground

by Denison, L. N

‘Never mind them!’ she sang out. ‘I feel like I could fly!’

  *

  Oscar straightened up, hearing someone crashing and banging about at the warehouse entrance. He froze to the spot and stopped the work he was doing on the printing press, listening and waiting.

  ‘Oscar, where are you?’ shouted a familiar voice, which Oscar recognised as Myron’s.

  ‘I’m in here!’ he shouted back happily. ‘Last door on the right!’

  The sound of running footsteps echoed through the warehouse, then the door swung open, smashing against the wall.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Oscar exclaimed as his friends and co-conspirators entered. ‘You shouldn’t be here until tomorrow!’

  ‘We thought that you might like to get the newsletter started early!’ Myron said excitedly. ‘We’ve found some great stuff to use in the other files, and we’ve made some notes!’

  Myron pulled a piece of paper with the map that Arthur had given him and turned it over to reveal an illegible mess of scribbled, garbled notes. To Oscar’s consternation, it looked like no effort had been put into them at all.

  ‘Where are the files?’ Oscar demanded anxiously. ‘I trust you’ve put them somewhere where nobody can find them!’

  ‘Of course I have—don’t panic!’ Myron said reassuringly. ‘I found the perfect spot, just before we started our journey to reach you.’

  Oscar sighed. ‘OK, I’ll take your word for it. Now give me your notes!’

  Myron handed Oscar the solitary piece of paper with his scribbling on it.

  ‘You can’t be serious!’ Oscar said despondently. ‘I can’t read this chicken scratch, let alone understand it! Can you please tell me what it says?’

  Myron snatched the paper back and retrieved his actual, proper notes from his coat pocket. He and Jen stifled their smiles.

  ‘Ha-ha! Very funny! We’re supposed to be taking this seriously!’ Oscar retorted, stamping his foot for emphasis like a spoiled child.

  ‘Chill out, mate,’ said Myron. ‘What with all we’ve been through, I thought a little light-hearted fun would take some of the pressure off.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ Oscar said contritely. ‘I’m just weary to my bones, that’s all. Now come on, we’ve got a lot of work to do if we’re going to get the first edition of our newsletter out by the end of the week!’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Work on the first draft of the newsletter went on well into the night. Even so, Myron, Jen, and Oscar hadn’t even scratched the surface. There was far too much information to consolidate onto one page, which gave them a good excuse to serialise their findings as originally planned.

  ‘We have to present it in such a way that people will be begging for more, and we need a name for it as well. Any suggestions?’ Oscar asked.

  ‘How about: “How to put the government’s back up in one easy lesson”?’ Jen quipped.

  Oscar frowned. ‘You’re not taking this seriously!’ he snapped.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Myron, grinning. ‘Plus, it’s way too long, Jen.’

  ‘You’re no help, either!’ Oscar fumed.

  ‘Well, how about this?’ said Myron, after thinking about it a moment. ‘The perfect name, something simple but effective: The Voice of the People.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s pretty good,’ said Jen, ‘but you don’t have to look so pleased with yourself, Myron.’

  ‘Pretty good?’ said Oscar, beaming. ‘Why, it’s perfect! The Voice of the People it is!’

  *

  The trio put their heads together and finally decided on the main topic of the newsletter: Citizens, do you know the true reason behind the war?

  ‘That’ll certainly open up a lot of people’s eyes to what the government has been up to for the past eighteen years,’ Jen observed.

  She grew reflective. It was hard to believe that nearly a whole year had passed since she had left the school, and her nineteenth birthday was on the horizon. What a feat it would be for someone of her tender years to be a part of the government’s undoing! She would be adding her experiences to future issues of the newsletter if the first edition proved successful. The reason behind her being sent to the camp and her miserable time there would make for an explosive exposé.

  Myron, for his part, would write about the impact his father had had on the newsletter’s inspiration and origin, without mentioning the fact that his father was Sir John Cutter. The last thing they needed was to get caught soliciting illegal propaganda, as the punishment would be most severe—worse than everything that Jen and Oscar had ever experienced in the camp—and which Myron, so far spared those horrors, could only imagine in his wildest nightmares.

  It was vital to maintain secrecy by keeping the newsletter’s origin and the creators’ identities a mystery. Oscar had planned on one or more copies of the newsletter being bound to fall into the wrong hands, which he found exciting. He was looking forward to his little game of cat and mouse, but Myron and Jen were not so enthusiastic about the prospect of continually running and hiding; they had done far too much of that in the past.

  Oscar had more to lose than his co-conspirators, as he had already been branded a traitor for voicing his opinions. There might also be a death warrant on his head.

  Oscar had decided it might be a good idea to keep this intel to himself, for safety’s sake. However, everything that had been collated from the vast selection of files that Sir John Cutter had orchestrated would be used to full effect.

  *

  The first edition was finally ready, and the trio was giddy with excitement. It had taken a lot longer than they anticipated, but it was worth the wait.

  ‘This is fantastic! I can’t wait for other people to read it,’ said Oscar proudly. ‘All we need to do is fire up the printing press and print them off—10,000 should be enough.’

  Jen looked doubtful. ‘That won’t be enough. I know there’s a lot more than 10,000 people left!’

  ‘That’s just hearsay!’ Oscar snapped back. ‘I speculate that there are only 10,000 people left alive in London; 11,000 at most, after the sights I saw on my way here! Besides, we can’t use too much paper, we only have six rolls!’

  Jen threw up her arms in disgust, and walked away for a little while. Everybody was tired, but when Jen became tired she became cantankerous. Myron was attuned to it, but Oscar had never seen her like this. It was a side of Jen that he was experiencing for the first time, and it scared him to think what she might be capable of. Oscar decided it was in his best interests to tread carefully around this hellcat, lest he arouse her dark side. He would let her save her pent-up aggression for the people who really deserved it.

  ‘Right, let’s get the printing press rolling!’ Oscar said enthusiastically. ‘I want the first copies ready by this afternoon, and then we will decide how far into the heart of the lion’s den we are prepared to go to get our message across.’

  *

  The last of the 10,000 copies of the newsletter rolled off the Fuji offset printing press, and Oscar grabbed a copy for each of them to look over.

  ‘Looks very professional, doesn’t it?’ said Myron.

  ‘Indeed it does,’ Oscar agreed. ‘Mind if I read it aloud?’

  Jen rolled her eyes. ‘Go ahead, you egomaniac.’

  Oscar ignored her, cleared his throat, and read in a loud voice:

  The Voice of the People

  Issue One

  Do you know the truth behind the war?

  It hasn’t been widely publicised, but the government has deceived every single one of us. This publication will give you all the reasons in the world to disbelieve everything they have ever told you as to why the war first started.

  What do you know of the labour camps and why they were constructed? We will tell you: they were constructed to carry out illegal experiments on people who were not of pure blood, by removing as much of their productive DNA as possible and then disposing of what was left. Not only that, it was a form of minority-cleansing that
would not be construed as genocide.

  The DNA was and is still used in a cloning capacity. Why do you think the English were so strong in numbers throughout the war? It was because of the cloning program that the government had put into place, causing the deaths of so many innocent people.

  Wish to know more? Then be on the lookout for Issue Two next week.

  ‘I love it,’ said Oscar. ‘It’s written in a simple, conversational style that people can relate to and understand, and it’ll have them begging for more!’

  ‘Don’t pat yourself on the back too much,’ said Jen.

  ‘Put your claws back in,’ said Myron. ‘You know we all contributed to the writing.’

  Oscar privately thought he contributed the most but held his tongue. ‘Now comes the hard part: how are we going to distribute 10,000 copies in London?’ he wondered aloud. ‘Wait, I think I may have an idea.’

  He went off to scour the rest of the warehouse, returning fifteen minutes later with three scruffy looking Hessian sacks. They looked more than capable of doing the job, even though they were threadbare and moth-eaten.

  ‘There you go! You two, fill these up and we can get going!’ Oscar threw the sacks on the floor at Jen and Myron’s feet and stood there with his arms folded, looking smug and superior.

  Jen was outraged. ‘Who the hell do you think you are? You’re not the boss of us! We are in this as equal partners, not your bloody skivvies!’ She picked up one of the sacks. ‘Here, you bossy bastard—fill this one up yourself!’

  She tossed the sack in Oscar’s face. Chagrined, he began sacking up bundles of newsletters, his brief power trip blown out of the water.

  ‘Way to go, Jen,’ Myron said approvingly as they bumped fists.

  With the newsletters all sacked and ready, the time was right to begin their journey back to London.

  ‘If we leave now,’ said Myron, ‘we can make it in time to distribute them and get to the safety of the underground networks before curfew begins.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan!’ Jen agreed.

  Oscar remained po-faced, still reeling from Jen’s outburst. In his mind he knew he had pushed her too far, even after intending to give her a wide berth. He counted himself lucky she hadn’t taken a swing at him, as she would have done if it were anyone but Oscar.

  *

  The journey to London was uneventful. Everything north of London had pretty much been abandoned for the safety of Central London. Many of the inhabitants had heard of the government’s fear of anything or anyone north of their imaginary line; it begged the question of why they had chosen the Watford Gap as the front line for most of their battles against the now defunct Scottish armies. The answer was simple: they couldn’t appear weak in front of the enemy or the people in the South.

  The residents of northern London, Hampshire had made the pilgrimage to Central London upon hearing of the culling that had been put into play. They came to take advantage of the safety of the underground, making it almost overcrowded in most places—Hyde Park included.

  With time running out to complete their mission, Oscar decided that Finsbury Park underground station would be the easiest to get to.

  ‘What we will have to do is enter the underground network at Finsbury Park, and make our way through to the most populated areas,’ he outlined, doing his best to tone down his usual pomposity, ‘as I don’t think that we’ll have time to distribute out in the open. What do you two reckon?’

  Myron and Jen looked at each other, and then turned their attention to Oscar, who was waiting patiently for an answer.

  ‘It is good in theory, but how are we going to distribute them without drawing attention to ourselves?’ Myron questioned. ‘I thought you were all for anonymity.’

  ‘I am! But I didn’t consider that. Anyone got any better ideas?’

  ‘Yeah, I do!’ Jen piped in. ‘Why don’t we wait until everybody is asleep and secretly leave piles at the entrances of as many stations as we can before morning?’

  Oscar smiled at her, knowing that Jen was just waiting for him to say something detrimental.

  ‘That is a half-decent idea. In fact, that is a bloody brilliant idea, if only for one fact.’ He paused for a second. ‘We can’t hump these bags all over the place—we’ll have to find somewhere safe to put them.’

  ‘What about your friend in Finsbury Park? Couldn’t he look after the bags?’ Myron asked.

  Oscar thought a moment. ‘Who, Arthur? I guess he’s a friend, at that. I certainly owe him big-time for getting my message through to you.’

  ‘Well, then, what are we still standing here for?’ said Jen impatiently.

  ‘You two go ahead without me,’ Oscar replied ‘I have to sort out Arthur’s reward!’

  *

  Myron and Jen had nearly made it to the entrance of Finsbury Park station with their bags of newsletters, but they had to get out of sight: a patrol had positioned itself between them and the safety of the tunnel networks. Myron looked at his watch. Surely curfew couldn’t have started already?

  ‘Oh, bloody hell!’ he cursed. ‘My soddin’ watch stopped! We’re going to have to tough it out for a bit,’ he added anxiously.

  Jen thought to herself not again; she had been in this situation once too often, evading the patrols. They waited for the longest time for the patrol to finish what they were doing. Judging by the grunting and whining noises, it was pretty evident: some poor soul was getting a patrolman special life-threatening beating.

  Myron took a quick glance around the bush they had both hidden behind. From this distance, he couldn’t make out who the victim was. Jen was looking in the other direction, keeping an eye out for Oscar.

  Oscar had scrounged up the food he’d promised Arthur, and was not keeping to the edges to avoid the patrols. In the foreground he saw Myron and Jen squatting down behind a bush, and in the murky background five patrolmen. He couldn’t tell what they were up to. He slunk his way slowly towards Myron and Jen with his Hessian sack slung uncomfortably over his shoulder, the coarse material rubbing against his neck. The closer he got to them, the more he could see what the hovering patrol was doing.

  ‘Oh no, not Arthur!’ Oscar cried in a panicked whisper and scurried to his comrades’ side.

  Jen turned back round to grab Myron’s attention.

  ‘Oscar’s on his way over.’ she whispered.

  Myron turned his attention away from the patrol and looked across to where Jen was pointing. He stuck his hand in the air and waved him over, making sure not to rise above the bush.

  Once the patrol finally moved away, the trio inched furtively toward the station, finding Arthur John’s lifeless body slumped on the entrance’s tiled floor. It was bound to happen sooner or later—and like the others before him, his body had been relinquished of flesh for the purposes of the government’s cloning program.

  ‘That’s it! I have had enough!’ Oscar hissed angrily. ‘The sooner we put an end to this barbarity, the better.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree with you more!’ Myron agreed. ‘We’ve got to stop those bastards! But we won’t stoop to their level. The pen is mightier than the sword. It’s the newsletter that will put the government to rest!’

  Jen bent down and rolled Arthur’s body over. They had done a good job of rendering the harmless gaffer unrecognisable, and if it weren’t for the shock of grey hair and the tatty, plaid overcoat that had moulded itself to his withered body, they never would’ve known that it was him lying there. His face had been beaten to a pulp, and his eyes had been gouged out.

  ‘Right! I want to start the newsletter distribution bloody now. I don’t care about being seen!’ Jen said hastily.

  Oscar shook his head. ‘You’re not thinking straight, Jen. We’re all upset; let’s calm down a bit and wait till it’s darker.’ He reached into his pockets. ‘In the meantime, I’ve rounded up some half-decent food. It was supposed to be Arthur’s reward.’

  Oscar suddenly lost it. He broke down, weeping openly an
d unashamedly. Myron and Jen comforted him, gathering together in a group hug.

  Later, after they had eaten their first meal in nearly two days, they each grabbed a Hessian sack and headed through the turnstiles of Finsbury Park station. Oscar took charge.

  ‘I reckon it’s late, and dark enough now,’ he said. ‘I will take the Piccadilly Line to Hyde Park. You two are to take the Victoria Line to Kings Cross. Once there, you will separate. Myron, you will take the Circle Line to South Kensington and the Piccadilly Line, then join me at our home base, Hyde Park. Jen, you will carry on taking the Victoria Line until you hit Green Park; then take the Piccadilly Line back to Hyde Park.’

  Oscar wrapped his arms around both of them. ‘Good luck!’

  Oscar went in one direction, and Myron and Jen in the other.

  *

  The distribution was successful, carried out without incident. Newsletters had been left anonymously at every station entrance, including their home base, Hyde Park. Not leaving newsletters there would more likely draw unwanted attention, placing the inhabitants in jeopardy.

  The thrill would come when the gossip started circulating after people had digested the provocative material and began to draw their own conclusions. Oscar had already set himself up for a few hours rest, but Myron and Jen remained awake for a little while after hiding the now empty Hessian sacks with the hidden files. The excitement of the day had them wanting to talk about it.

  ‘I can’t wait to hear what people have to say—those bastards need to pay for what they’ve done to us!’ Jen enthused. ‘Maybe, just maybe, more people will want to join our cause to rid us of the tyrants.’

  ‘We shall see!’ Myron replied. ‘Anyway, it’s about time we got some rest. I don’t know about you, but I’m knackered.’

  *

  Hyde Park was already abuzz at seven-thirty the next morning, the contents of the newsletter having spread like wildfire. The hubbub of wagging tongues woke Myron and Jen up. Oscar was already awake and had made the rounds to take the pulse of the people. He returned just as Myron and Jen were stretching themselves awake.