Going Underground

by Denison, L. N

  ‘Don’t you think we should tell Myron where we’re going?’ Jen remarked.

  Forgetting her hellcat nature, Lonny threw a nasty look of contempt in Jen’s direction. He instantly regretted his action. Rather than take the bait, Jen just walked quietly away before she did something that she would regret, as she had so many times in the past.

  The rueful look that Lonny sported afterwards had suppressed her desire to tangle with the man-mountain. She just smiled to herself as she drifted towards the backroom to inform Myron of Lonny’s intent to retrieve Oscar from the warehouse and bring him back into the fold.

  Slowly, and with slight apprehension, Jen pushed down on the handle of the door to the back room.

  ‘Stop soddin’ around—come in if you’re going to!’ Myron grunted loudly from behind the door. With all these unending distractions, he could see that he wasn’t going to get anything done that night.

  Jen poked her head around the slightly open door to encounter a miserable soul looking back at her.

  ‘How the hell are we going to be ready if you people don’t leave me alone to work?’ Myron grumbled. ‘We haven’t got time to waste, Jen. I need to get some kind of plan together before Christmas!’

  ‘Chill out, Myron! I only wanted to tell you that Lonny wants to bring Oscar back, and you bite my head off!’ Jen snapped back.

  Myron didn’t know where to put himself for the best. Jen was habitually surly and opinionated, but he couldn’t remember the last time that she snapped back; it was almost a rare thing nowadays, and most definitely not missed.

  ‘OK, but I will come with you,’ he sighed, ‘Oscar’s absence is down to me anyway.’

  *

  Oscar began to rub the back of his neck. The pain that had manifested there was beginning to drive him slowly mad, and there was nothing that he could do about it. The worst thought began to churn in the back of his mind, and he feared that he would not be able to contain the cause of his discomfort. Not even keeping himself occupied could take his mind off the agonising burning sensation under his skin.

  The printing press was clearly unsalvageable, as Oscar had tried everything he could think of to bend it back into shape. Still, he chose to waste his time. Without paper or ink, what was the point? Oscar took his head in his hands and cried out, half in anger and half in agony, unaware that the warehouse had been infiltrated.

  Even though it was Lonny’s idea that The Independent Mind should allow Oscar the honour of returning to the cell and participating in the final battle for the freedom of all who lived in fear, Myron and Jen were the only members that had taken the journey from Ryker’s to the warehouse. It was Myron’s opinion that Oscar’s closest friends should be the ones to coax him back. They were as close to being family as anyone, without being related by blood; and Myron still felt the guilt of having shunned Oscar, which had been the root cause of his disillusionment.

  A slight stumble on Jen’s part alerted Oscar to the intruders’ approach. He spun around, a hastily-grabbed spanner at the ready. He was both relieved and annoyed to see Myron and Jen standing in the doorway.

  ‘What are you doing here, Myron? What do you want?’ he snapped, rubbing the back of his neck again.

  Myron peeped around the door with an apologetic look on his face.

  ‘We’ve come to take you back, Oscar. We need you!’ Myron exclaimed. ‘You are an important part of the plan. I’m very sorry for any misunderstanding between us.’

  Jen pushed her way past Myron and entered the room, spoiling for a fight. She had had enough of the pettiness surrounding the situation, and she didn’t much care for the fact that Myron had already apologised to Oscar in his own way.

  ‘Get your shit together, Oscar, you are coming with us even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming!’ she barked.

  Oscar was preoccupied with vigorously rubbing the back of his neck, and took no real notice of either of them, with their apologies and their ranting. What Oscar didn’t know was that every time he rubbed his neck, he caused a chain reaction. It would ultimately have an explosive effect on him.

  ‘What the hell is the matter with you? Stop soddin’ about with your neck and come with us!’ Myron roared.

  Oscar stared blankly at him, and continued rubbing his neck. Suddenly, his eyes began to redden, and then to bleed from the corners.

  ‘I don’t feel so good,’ Oscar mumbled.

  Blood began to gush from all of Oscar’s facial orifices. Myron stood paralysed in horrified indecision, but Jen sprinted over to her friend, trying in vain to stem the tide with a rag. Oscar fell to his knees and closed his eyes. A few seconds passed as Myron and Jen stood by helplessly. Without warning, the back of Oscar’s neck exploded, leaving a fist sized hole. Myron and Jen took a step back in disbelief, as Oscar’s lifeless torso slumped forward hideously.

  Myron absentmindedly removed a juicy gob of used-to-be-Oscar’s-neck-stuff from his shirt. He was as shocked as Jen was, but for some reason it had hit her a lot harder. She was almost catatonic, frozen where she stood, one solitary tear making its way from her one good eye down to the corner of her mouth. Myron’s main concern was not Jen’s state of mind, but how they were going to move the body without being detected.

  *

  Over half an hour had passed. Jen had remained in a state of shock, staring down at the spot where Oscar’s body had been slumped before Myron had moved it from sight in an attempt to get Jen to respond.

  ‘Jen, snap out of it! We need to move—curfew is approaching!’ Myron yelled.

  But still Jen did not move.

  Myron knew what he had to do. ‘I know I’m going to hate myself in the morning,’ he muttered, ‘but here goes!’

  He hauled off and slapped Jen hard across the left cheek. Her head snapped to the side, and after an expectant moment, she began to hyperventilate as adrenalin circulated throughout her body. Myron knew it was a bad sign and readied himself for any retaliation that might come his way.

  ‘You hit me—again! You son of a bitch! Don’t think I’m going to let you get away with it this time!’ Jen grunted maniacally, her face a study in hatred.

  ‘I did it for your own good, Jen! Curfew is approaching, and we need to get out of —’

  Jen’s vicious right hook to Myron’s jaw cut his explanation short.

  ‘Feel better now?’ Myron responded groggily, as he clambered to his feet. Jen resisted the urge to gloat; she had gotten her payback and made her way towards the door to the old print room. Myron followed gingerly behind as they went through the warehouse towards the exit.

  Oscar’s body had been safely tucked away until such a time as it could be moved. Myron had painstakingly raised a few of the floorboards in the print room, and as it happened there was just enough room to stow him.

  *

  The journey back to Ryker’s was proving to be a sombre affair. The surrealism of that evening’s events still hadn’t sunk in completely. Neither knew how to begin talking about Oscar’s grisly end, and neither wanted to speak of their comrade in the past tense. Every now and then Jen would sniffle and raise her hands towards her face. Although Myron was following behind her, he knew by her body language that she was suppressing tears. He saw his chance to get closer to her, to try and get her to open up and let out her emotions.

  Slowly, he sidled up beside her and placed his arm across her shoulders and drew her closer. At first, Jen tried to pull away, but it was no use—every time she pulled away from him, he pulled her back. Jen wasn’t one for giving up so easily, but her emotions had begun to get the best of her. She found herself burying her head in Myron’s chest and sobbing uncontrollably. Myron had only known her to show her most deep-rooted emotions twice before in all the time that he had known her: once after the death of her mother, and the other after Simon Besson’s revelation that he was her father—both family related, in a manner of speaking. In a sense, Oscar could be classed as family—the big brother that she never had; the one who woul
d always look out for her, even more so than Myron had done in the past.

  ‘Besson did this, Myron! I want him dead, now more than ever!’ she said through angry tears. Myron said nothing; there was no need for words. Like Jen, he had also come to the inescapable conclusion that Besson had implanted an explosive device in Oscar’s neck during his incarceration.

  Myron had it set in his mind that he wasn’t going to tell any of the others about Oscar until the day of the final onslaught on the government. He planned to leave it until the very last hours, to tell Lonny and the others of Oscar’s demise at the hands of John Howard’s henchmen. To his way of thinking, this would incite them to carry out their mission with heightened passion and resolve.

  Ten minutes remained before the beginning of curfew, and as usual Myron and Jen were cutting it fine. If they were to get off the street before the patrols started their shifts, they would have to speed it up.

  ‘Come on, Jen, we need to shake a leg—we have precious little time left!’ Myron whispered urgently in her ear.

  *

  Jonah cast his eye towards the back entrance of his bar on hearing the sequence of knocks that constituted the code to get in. He nodded to his bouncer to go to the door. It seemed unlikely to be Myron and Jen—not enough time had passed, he thought. But then he looked at his watch and realised how late it was. He nodded to his hulking but simple-minded bouncer, Eric, to peer through the peephole.

  ‘It’s them—Myron and Jen,’ Eric reported matter-of-factly.

  ‘Well, let ’em in, man!’ Jonah shouted over the din.

  Myron and Jen elbowed their way past Eric and a small knot of patrons near the door, and got to their followers to tell them the falsehood they had fabricated on the way back. Along the way, they were waylaid by Jonah.

  ‘So, where is he then?’ Jonah pried, expecting Oscar to be trailing behind them.

  Myron tried desperately to avoid answering him, but Jen had no qualms about doing so.

  ‘He’s still at the warehouse—he isn’t ready to return!’ she answered quickly and sharply, moving away before any sign of emotion began to show.

  Jonah wasn’t sure how to respond to Jen’s abruptness, so he just let them go about their business. Myron took hold of Jen’s arm forcefully and pulled her towards the back room.

  ‘That was far from convincing, Jen—you should have let me deal with it!’ he snapped in her ear.

  Jen pulled away from Myron angrily and made her way back towards the bar. Myron went to find the others, having no interest in alcohol at that moment.

  Jonah approached Jen with caution, as her sullen expression suggested she was in no mood to talk to anyone. He didn’t even ask what she wanted to drink; he just pulled up the usual. Jen managed a slight smile as he placed the pint in front of her and began to push it closer.

  ‘Thanks,’ she grunted solemnly.

  She lifted the pint of frothy, lukewarm beer to her lips, and took a large gulp. She savoured the tasty mouthful, the first drink she had had in a long while. It felt like silk as it made its way down her throat, and her pinched face relaxed a bit.

  Jen wiped the residue from her lips on the sleeve of her threadbare grey dress coat and briefly smiled to herself, forgetting all her cares for a moment. Jonah could see that his intoxicating formula was hitting the spot and left her to enjoy the rest of her drink.

  As Jen drowned herself in her pint, Myron was left with the unenviable task of telling his operatives why Oscar wasn’t with them. Immediately, Lonny bombarded him with questions.

  ‘Why isn’t Oscar with you? I thought you were supposed to be bringing him back, no matter what!’ The big man made no effort to hide the annoyance in his gravelly voice.

  ‘I did try, Lonny, but you know how stubborn Oscar can be at times—I wasn’t going to force the issue!’ Myron explained, offering what he classed as a satisfactory reply.

  ‘So you left him to the mercy of the patrols, eh?’ Lonny retorted with a scowl.

  ‘Come off it, Lonny,’ Myron shot back. ‘You know the patrols don’t retrace their tracks to places they’ve already raided. Oscar’s safe as mother’s milk in the warehouse.’

  ‘He would have been that little bit safer had you dragged him back kicking and screaming, but never mind,’ Lonny replied coldly.

  Myron pondered about the situation. Should I tell them what really happened, or should I stick to the plan? He was torn in two with indecision. He knew what Jen would do: she would have wanted to tell everybody straight away, and sod the consequences; Myron was more for the diplomatic approach.

  No, he was going to leave the news of Oscar’s premature and shockingly graphic death until the night of the final act against the government, as he had explained to Jen along the way.

  *

  Gerick had been on his wife and daughter’s trail for nearly two days and seemed to be getting nowhere. The fact that the government now classed him as a traitor had not helped his cause one iota. He was finding it difficult to move, what with posters and notices offering rewards for his capture at every turn—irresistibly enticing for people eager to curry favour with the patrols. He had narrowly evaded capture more than once on his perilous journey. If only he knew where Myron and his co-conspirators were hiding out, he could ask them for help.

  Gerick flitted like a shadow in between the undergrowth of the Kentish countryside towards the armoury. It was nearly as dangerous as trying to get through London, what with the threat of small rebel cells that still operated in the area.

  On his approach towards the normally heavily guarded armoury outpost, Gerick began to wonder what he was walking into. He was ill at ease with the lack of security, and his thoughts automatically turned to his family’s wellbeing. He summoned up every ounce of courage he possessed and hotfooted it to the armoury, preparing himself mentally for the worst.

  The place was deserted, apart from a clerk who had volunteered to stay behind to finalise and complete the move to London. He informed Gerick that his wife and daughter had already been transported to London. Gerick’s heart sank as he thought about Besson’s open threat towards him, and his unsuspecting kin.

  ‘When did they leave? Please, I need to know,’ Gerick begged.

  The clerk referenced a log book. ‘Two days ago. A couple of men arrived in a white van and took them away, along with all their belongings. Be reassured—they went of their own free will.’

  Gerick hastily thanked the clerk. He exited the armoury and embarked on the hazardous journey back to the city with a renewed sense of urgency, doing his best to try and dodge the various snipers along the way. He would be at his safest taking the same route he had used to get to the armoury in the first place.

  *

  Gerick had a short way to go before reaching London. It was the most dangerous part of his journey so far, as curfew lingered in the air like a bad smell. He knew that trying to steal back into the Parliament buildings would likely mean his arrest by the alert guards, but he also knew that he had to get Jane and Louise out of the building, and away from Besson—little knowing that Jane and Besson had been carrying on a torrid affair.

  The affair had been going on for a long time before Jane’s arrival in London, being consummated exclusively through sensual telephone conversations; it was the only intimacy available to them due to the distance between them. Five years had passed by since Simon and Jane last met each other in person, and she had come to doubt that Gerick was Louise’s father every day since then. Of course, she put on a brave front as far as Gerick was concerned to hide the extent of her infidelity. It would most definitely break his heart if it ever became known that she had been having secret relations with the one person that he feared and hated at the same time.

  Patrolmen began to filter into the streets of London, welcomed by the nightly emptiness and silence. It was becoming very tiresome; for a long time they had bayed for blood, wishing some reckless soul would dare to break curfew.

  Gerick had to move
with stealth and caution if he were to survive the rest of the journey through London, slinking in and out of alleyways to avoid detection like a thief in the night. He was relying on all the wits and courage he could muster.

  Gerick didn’t function well in tense situations outside of his work. He could just about cope under constant scrutiny; it was a case of having to, for he had no choice but to act naturally. Howard would sooner see him rot than see him divulge the nature of the work that he hated doing so much.

  Gerick’s heart beat like a jackhammer as he flitted silently through the streets of Charing Cross on the final and most dangerous part of his journey. There had been several near misses, but thankfully for him the patrols had caught only a fleeting glimpse of his shadow, attributing it to some scavenging animal. Not even for one second did they consider it could be someone daring to break curfew.

  The old Charing Cross Underground station was in sight, and Gerick’s heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of his chest. Patrolmen had a habit of sneaking up from behind, so Gerick reminded himself to be vigilant at all times while he waited to make his final move towards his destination.

  *

  Myron continued to deliberate over the plans for December 31st, calling it the new ‘Independence Day’ in his mind. He needed to find Gerick to bring his vision to fruition; that was the task he had set himself for the day. It provided a much-needed break from the isolation that he had forced himself to endure.

  Myron opened the back room door slowly and scanned the bar. Everybody seemed subdued, and close to an alcohol-induced slumber—too far gone to notice Myron leaving through the front. Myron watched as Jonah stepped into the loo, so as far as he was concerned, Myron was still in the back room.

  A bitter blast of cold air hit Myron’s face upon his exit from the bar into the back alleyway. He pulled the collar of his threadbare Army-issue coat across his cheeks to alleviate the chill, and quietly made his way through the alleyway towards the street. Myron proceeded with his usual caution to Charing Cross underground on his quest to find Gerick—to truly get ‘Operation: Independence Day’ up and running. He knew that getting to him wasn’t going to be easy, but there was only a short time remaining before New Year’s Eve. He proceeded on his quest like a man possessed.