by J. Andersen
He ignores me. “Anyway, the guy tells Donovan that an order has just passed by Fishgold and the Council stating that injured adults who don’t show improvement in a matter of weeks or those whose healing is not completed in a yet undetermined amount of time will be subject to disposal, decision made by the Committee itself.”
I stare at the far wall in disbelief. “So, they’re going to start disposing any adult who gets injured?”
“Pretty much. If they can’t fix it right away. Something about overcrowding at the facility, but I think it’s more than that.”
“But they haven’t actually done it yet, right? I mean, they didn’t dispose of anyone yet. Maybe they’re just putting the idea out there.”
“I wish, Kate, but the guy said it was a direct order. Must be Donovan needed to know since he’s in charge of the disposal unit. Besides, I heard something else … They’ve already scheduled one.”
I’m sure my heart just stopped.
The wall scratches at my shirt as I stand up and look around for any sort of monitoring device. “We need to get out of here. What if someone catches us? Who knows what could happen.” Jitters take over my body, and suddenly I’m shaking. “Do you know what this means, Micah? They could get rid of anyone for any reason. Heck, they could even cause an accident if they wanted to.”
“I know,” he says, getting up. His arms wrap around my waist, and he kisses me again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It was just … I freaked out when I heard it and needed to tell someone. Now I’ve got you all upset.”
I take a deep breath and smooth my hands over my pants. “I’m okay. But it could’ve been you.”
“I’ve thought of that.”
“We need to get out of here.”
“Good idea. It’s time I tell the leaders in the Hidden City about this.” Micah eases the door open a crack and peeks out to make sure no one’s there before letting me slide through and into the brightly lit library again. He follows and closes the door silently behind him.
TWENTY SIX
A TREK THROUGH THE UNDERGROUND
“YOU SURE YOU WANT to do this?” A set of keys dangle from Micah’s hand.
“Yeah. I’m ready.”
He twists the key, and the old truck revs to life. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. We’ve been through a lot lately, so if you need more time, I’m okay with that. I know there’s not really a good reason to trust me yet.”
“I know, Micah. It’s fine. You forgave me for cracking your head open with a rock; I think I can offer you this.” I crank the heat up as high as it will go to ward off the nervous chill that settles on my bones.
“And you forgave me for your botched abduction.”
“Call us even. Now let’s get this over with.”
Suddenly, his hands are on either side of my face. He pulls me closer and kisses my nose. “You are an amazing woman, you know that?”
“What I am is giving you a second chance.”
According to Micah, the elders of the Hidden City have agreed to give me a chance to become a sympathizer instead of letting me rot in an underground prison. I’m not sure what possesses me to take him at his word. But Gran told me once that sometimes all the evidence will point one way and your gut will point another, and you have to decide which you’re going to follow. Today, I’m following my gut and hoping it knows what it’s doing.
Twisting sideways, Micah faces me. “I’m sorry you even have to give me a second chance.
“Okay, enough with the apologizing.”
“How many times did you apologize for the afternoon in the Outer Lands?”
“That’s totally different! You were bleeding. And passed out. And needed stitches. Remember the hospital stay?”
“And I zip tied your hands and was planning on having you thrown into prison to rot. I think I win.”
“Okay. You win.”
He lets out a hearty laugh as he fingers the scars along his temple. He throws the truck into gear. In my head, I try to keep track of the turns, but after ten minutes, I’m totally lost. I swear he’s circled the city at least twice before I notice the birds chirping through my open window and the sounds of other vehicles quieting down. We’ve crossed over the hills on the edge of town. Somewhere buried among the trees and dirt is an entire city of NBRs. A Natural Born community subsisting all on its own. A group of people the rest of the world doesn’t even know exists.
Once I lose track of where we are, I spend the time asking about the gran I thought I knew.
“You already know your gran’s opinions about The Institute, but what you don’t know is that she’s one of our main sources of information. The whole dementia thing she puts on is the perfect ruse because many times the doctors and administrators talk in front of her. She sets herself up in a busy hallway or near the nurse’s station, allowing her to lift sensitive material. She’s even helped to thwart a few scientific experiments.”
“Like what?” I ask, now thoroughly fascinated with this side of my gran.
“Well, a few years ago, the research department wanted to increase the microchip abilities before implantation at birth. Suppress any physical pleasure of any kind. They’ve already eliminated the need to procreate, so why not eliminate all forms of physical pleasure? As soon as your gran overheard their plans, she informed our Institute plant. It allowed us to work with our contacts and sympathizers in the designated areas to overturn such decisions. That’s not to say The Institute workers won’t try again, but we were able to at least put it off for a while.”
My gran, an underground spy. How cool is that? Knowing this makes me prouder of her.
“How many people do you have in the community?”
“Not as many as we’d like. That’s why we’re getting more and more rash with abductions. We need more people and waiting for an accident like the one I used to enter topside takes too long. The point is they aren’t people you’d notice. We have to blend in or our entire existence is at stake.” He downshifts as he talks, and the truck tilts as we climb a hill. “I can’t tell you numbers. Honestly, I have no idea how many of us there are. We don’t even know each other half the time unless it affects our personal assignments. Then we’re informed of the people we can trust.”
I turn my head toward him. “So who else is a spy? Is that what you call them?”
“Call them what you will. You already know about your gran, but the others, I can’t reveal. For their own safety and yours. That way, if something goes wrong, we can’t implicate everyone. As for this little trip we’re taking, I’m anxious to see what my superiors say when they’ve found out what I’ve learned.”
Me, too.
With each turn of the road, my stomach lurches. I swear I didn’t know Micah drove like this. “Geesh, take it easy on the bumps, would you?”
“Sorry, they’re kind of inevitable. No paving where I’m from.”
“Right, well, try to warn me or something next time.”
“No need.” He lets out a sigh as we come to a stop. “We’re here.”
Rubbing my eyes, I look around. There’s nothing. Well, not nothing. Trees are everywhere. And fallen branches. And a few rocks jutting out of the side of the hill. “Wow, this is—” I’m lost for words. Is he losing it? There’s no city here. I expected some abandoned, broken down ghost town or something. A place the people could take over and revitalize, but there’s nothing here.
Suddenly, tension seizes my body, and I can’t move. This place looks like the forest we picnicked in the day I put him in the hospital. Flashbacks flood my mind, and for a moment I wonder if I’m safe here with Micah.
“Kate?” Micah’s voice is smooth and deep. Like a soft rumbling of thunder in the distance.
“Huh? What?” I don’t even look at him, instead, gathering information from my surroundings. Branches, trees, rocks. That’s about it. No ci
ty. No people.
“Hop out of the truck.” He’s standing next to my door. How did I not notice him getting out of his side and rounding the truck? “Watch your step. It’s a bit of a jump here.” He offers me a hand, and I take it, hopping onto the needle-covered ground. My feet press into the soft dirt, but the dry pine needles still crunch with every step.
A branch I eyed earlier is a few steps away, and when we pass it, he bends down to pick it up and props it against the truck.
“Kate, I need some help here. Search around a bit and try to find branches with the needles still on them. We need to hide the truck as much as possible. At least until I can send someone to get it.”
But I just stand there, contemplating if I can fend him off if, by chance, he decides to complete what he started our previous time in the Outer Lands. After all we’ve been through. All he’s told me. Part of me just wants to give in. Stop fighting that instinct telling me to trust no one. It’ll be easier and probably less painful. But I want to trust him, to trust my gut that told me only hours ago that this would be okay.
Apparently, he doesn’t notice my hesitation because he’s busied himself gathering fallen branches lying a few yards away, propping them gently against his truck, trying not to let them scratch the paint. Soon, it’s mostly covered. You can still tell there’s something large and metal there, but from a distance, with just a glance, one might not notice against the backdrop of trees. That must be what he was going for because when he steps away to examine his handiwork, he nods. “Just a few more.”
I hand him a branch. No need for him to think I’m not being helpful. When he’s done, he brushes his hands together and wipes them on his pants. “Kate? Are you okay?”
Suddenly, his hands are on my arms, holding tight, and I’m wrenching my body from his grasp. “Kate!” He shakes me. “Move!” There’s a cracking sound above me, but I can’t process it. It’s like I’m in a daze. Practically picking me right off my feet, he moves me an arm’s length away as a crashing branch careens downward. Where I stood, a huge tree limb lays.
I stare at it for a minute then look at Micah, whose breaths are heavy from the work he’s done. He looks at me with a face I can’t interpret.
Shaking my head, I say, “Sorry, I’m disoriented from the drive.”
He lets out a soft chuckle. “You thought I brought you out here to hurt you, didn’t you?”
My eyes grow wide with disbelief.
My muscles relax, and I blush. “It crossed my mind.”
Micah’s smile widens as he hooks his arm around my waist. “Kate, if I wanted to do that, I had many opportunities before now.” He kisses my cheek.
I glare at him. “Gee, that’s so comforting.”
But his hearty laughter eases my nerves, and I fall into step at his side.
Okay, so he’s right. He’s had many opportunities before now, even this past week. If he wanted to finish what he started, he could have several times. But I can’t help my paranoia. It flares up whenever I get nervous. It’s been practically beaten into me by Dad. Be careful of everything and everyone. Never fully trust anyone, no matter how much you may want to. I can’t help it. It’s part of who I am. But I want to trust Micah more than anything.
Up ahead is a patch of boulders set into the side of the hill. They look totally natural, and when Micah leads us there, I expect he’s stopping for a rest. But I nearly jump out of my skin when he reaches down into the soil, searching for something. Then he stands, having seemingly found whatever he was looking for, and the rock in the center of the patch pulls back to reveal a long, dark tunnel.
I look at him, feeling my skin crawl at the thought of being enclosed under the earth, but he just smiles and takes my hand as he steps his foot into the passageway. “It’s okay. You don’t have to freak. I’m not going to bury you alive.” He chuckles. “This leads to the Hidden City.”
Maybe it’s the creep-factor of entering a damp, musty underground tunnel. Or it could be my heightened everyone’s-trying-to-hurt-me intuition, but taking those first steps into the darkness behind Micah sets off my danger beacon like fireworks at the Parade of Values celebration.
The dampness doesn’t bother me, though I can’t say I’m fond of the sticky feeling that pastes my clothing tight to my body. I don’t even mind the musty, earthy smell that grows stronger with each step deeper into the tunnel. What does totally freak me out are the sounds or lack thereof.
At first, it’s the utter silence. A strange quiet that shocks my core. Even the sound of my footsteps disappears into the blackness. But as I listen closer, I hear Micah’s breath, heavy but even. In the distance, drizzling water echoes as it trickles over the rock walls.
We travel for what seems like hours, though I’m sure it’s only been a few minutes. With Micah’s hand in mine, my sense of time is slightly skewed. I’m more focused on my surroundings and the feel of his palm grasping mine.
His voice breaks through the dark. “Almost there.”
Once he speaks, I find myself squinting through the shadows for any indication of where “there” might be. A few more sloshy steps and we round a corner, which gives way to a tiny beam of light. From what I can see, it’s the end of the tunnel. A rock wall. But to Micah, it must be more.
Reaching the wall of rock, I see shreds of light breaking through holes in the earth. Like a child’s drawing of sunbeams shining over a simple landscape.
“Stand over here,” Micah instructs as he pushes me gently against the wall and moves to the rocks at the end of the cavern.
I stay still as I watch him heave on a huge boulder, knocking it to its side. I have to shield my eyes as the light pours in, and when I look up, he’s standing there, one arm offered to me and the other motioning toward the opening.
“The Hidden City,” he says.
TWENTY SEVEN
THE HIDDEN CITY
A FEW MOMENTS AGO, I thought the light bursting through the walls of the tunnel was sunlight. Now I see it’s from a whole underground network of electrical lines. We must be pretty deep underground because the buildings I see are as tall as any in Sector 4, and the sky is dark in most places, save for the street lamps. Eternal nighttime.
Micah sees my astonishment and answers my unasked question. “The tops of the buildings are disguised as the forest floor. Some of them are inside the trees; others brush the forest floor, which is held up by thick panes of glass, allowing a little natural sunlight into the town.”
I’m speechless as we walk down the main street, inhaling the scent of fresh earth. The buildings are much more primitive than what The Institute would build. The dingy metal shingles are pieced together, some giving way to the rot of rust, but considering they must have been scavenged and brought here piece by piece and put together entirely underground, this place is amazing.
“It started off as a safety bunker a few of our founders discovered long before the first raid years ago. But the population grew,” Micah explains. “They had to branch out. So, they began scavenging and digging tunnels away from the core of the bunker. When people came here, they brought what they could, but now we have a whole group of people whose job it is to create or scavenge building supplies. They cut lumber from the forest, and we even have metal workers to create nails and screws. We confiscate what we can, and with technology, we have most of the conveniences you have above.”
“This must be my history tour,” I say.
I can see the pride on Micah’s face. Or maybe it’s relief. Like the secret he’s kept from everyone he knows is finally out. He can be himself.
It’s amazing. There’s a school, restaurant, and coffee shop scattered down the main street. Off to the sides, I see smaller brick streets lined with tiny suburban looking houses. Pots of flowers decorate an occasional corner. It’s eclectic. No two buildings looking like the next, but that brings out the personality of this
city. A city of diversity.
I point to the flowers and turn to Micah, “How do they—”
“Fake,” he interrupts. “Most of the plants are silk except the giant tree roots that support some of the building structures. We do have a few in the greenhouses, but the fake ones look just as nice.”
That makes sense. No sunlight means few flowers can grow. But the splash of color and the smell of the dirt make it seem like spring.
“There’s a girl here who is in charge of the flowers,” Micah explains. “She changes the pots all around town depending on the season. Notice they’re mostly mums right now? That’s because it’s fall. Come winter, it’ll be pines and poinsettias and in spring, she goes a little crazy with variety.”
The street is long and bustling with people of every shape and color. Shop owners, I presume, but every few people we pass, I notice something unusual. One guy walks with a limp. Another woman sits in a wheelchair, her legs atrophied from lack of use. A little boy with braces on his legs plays in a group of kids his age, and they don’t even seem to notice that he’s different. The amount of people with handicaps here is astounding. On the outside, we might have one or two, resultant from an injury or something, but now with that new law approving disposals of such people, soon there’ll be none. And the different skin colors. At The Institute, at least in Sector 4, everyone has white skin. But here, I see sprinklings of every color. Down the street, I notice a girl about my age with something I can’t identify. A mental disorder of some sort.
She approaches me with her wide face and pinched eyes and shows me a thick-lipped smile as she hands me a flower between her stubby fingers. “For you,” she says with a slight lisp,
“That’s Meagan,” Micah informs me, seeing the look of shock on my face. “She has what they used to call Down Syndrome. She might not be able to have her own business or raise a family, but her positive attitude spreads cheer to everyone she meets. Everyone here loves her, and she loves them right back. But whatever you do, don’t hug her.”
