Children of the Underground

by Trevor Shane

  THE REVOLUTION IS DEAD. LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION . . .

  Addy didn’t know what the message meant. Maybe it was simply meant to let everyone know that people were still out there. If it had a greater meaning, it was lost on Addy. She didn’t need a greater meaning. It was enough for Addy to know that she and Evan weren’t alone.

  The crowds began to pour onto the beach. It was only a matter of time before someone recognized Evan. Addy reached down and shook Evan awake. His eyes opened.

  “You ready?” Addy asked. She didn’t wait for an answer. She didn’t even know why she bothered asking the question. Whether Evan was ready or not was no longer relevant. “Let’s go,” she said.

  Addy didn’t tell Evan what she’d learned. Not yet. She made him keep his face hidden as they walked, but she didn’t tell him why. She was afraid of how he’d react. She was already dealing with enough unknowns. For now, Addy simply wanted to get the two of them moving again. The revolution is dead. Long live the revolution. Someone was out there still sending messages. Addy just had to figure out how to stay alive and keep Evan alive long enough to find them.

  “Where are we going?” Evan asked.

  “Have you ever heard of the Underground?” Addy answered.

  Eleven

  We’re going to Meridian Hill Park. I made Michael stop on the way to Fayetteville to get a Washington, D.C., guidebook. I’ve found landmarks that match five of the six clues in the postcards. I think the references to the days match up with days of the week. I don’t think the pictures on the postcards mean anything, and I still can’t figure out what the poems mean. Today is Friday. The fifth day.

  Don’t doubt the rust,

  Don’t doubt the fall,

  Don’t doubt the clock

  That is ticking on the wall.

  On the fifth day, freedom can be found in Malcolm’s park.

  Meridian Hill Park is also known as Malcolm X Park. I thought the poem might be a reference to a clock or a sundial or something. When I told Michael what I’d figured out, he told me that it all seemed kind of obvious. Even without figuring out what the poems meant, the other clues weren’t hard to decipher. It made me more nervous that we were walking into a trap. I wasn’t worried about myself. They weren’t allowed to hurt me. I was worried about Michael. I told him that he didn’t have to come, that he shouldn’t come, that it was too risky. He told me that he owed it to me to stay with me until I found the Underground, since I helped him get out of St. Martin. Once we found the Underground he’d go back to his own life, whatever that meant.

  Michael turned off the highway. I could see the monuments on the other side of the river. I knew each one by name from studying their pictures on the postcards and my tourism book. I could see the Jefferson Memorial and the Lincoln Memorial. I could see the Washington Monument jutting into the cloudless blue sky. We crossed the bridge into the city and drove past the monuments. We drove right between the Capitol Building, sitting like a giant ivory castle at the end of a long stretch of grass, and the Washington Monument. We headed north. I looked over at Michael. He was drumming his hands on the steering wheel. Every so often he’d lift his back off the seat and lean forward toward the steering wheel with his whole body. “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Stretching,” he said.

  “Stretching for what?” I asked.

  “Just in case,” he replied without looking at me. I didn’t ask him to elaborate.

  We drove around a circle with a fountain in the middle. It was a beautiful spring day. Throngs of people were sitting around the fountain, probably drinking iced coffees while absorbing the sun. “We need a plan,” Michael said to me as we turned off the circle and started driving up a hill, still going north.

  “I thought we were going to Meridian Park,” I said to him.

  “Going to Meridian Park isn’t a plan. The plan is what we’re going to do once we get to the park.” I stared at him blankly. I had no idea what he was talking about. “If this is a trap, and I’m not saying it is, it was a trap set for me, not you. The only way you get pulled in is if you’re too close to me.” He paused to think. I could see the wheels turning in his head. “Here’s what we do. I’ll go into the park first and find someplace where I can see the whole park without being afraid that someone might sneak up behind me. You wait five minutes and then come in. This way you can look for whatever it is you think you’re looking for, and I can keep an eye on you. Once you’re in the park, you have to pretend that you don’t know me. Anything else is too dangerous.” Pretend I didn’t know him? I didn’t know him. Still, I wasn’t ready to split up. My heart rate sped up when the car stopped. “Got it?” Michael asked, putting the car in park.

  It all seemed so crazy. It was a beautiful day. Quiet. Serene. I tried to think of everything bad that had ever happened to me. I’d been through enough to know that how beautiful a day it was didn’t matter. “I got it,” I said.

  Michael got out of the car. Before closing the door, he leaned down and looked over at me. “Five minutes,” he said. I nodded. He closed the door. I looked at my watch. It was a little after two o’clock. I marked the exact minute so I’d know when I could leave. Then I watched Michael walk away. I tried to concentrate on the plan and the clues. Don’t doubt the rust. Don’t doubt the fall. Don’t doubt the clock that is ticking on the wall. I tried to clear my mind of everything else, but it was impossible. You were in my head. Joseph was there too and now, surprisingly, so was Michael. For a moment, I didn’t care why he was helping me. I was just glad not to be alone anymore. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, five minutes had passed.

  I got out of the car. To be safe, I reached in and grabbed my backpack. It had my journal, your father’s journal, and the baby-development book in it. I took the postcards from the Underground as well, slipping them inside the pages of your father’s journal. Then I started walking toward the park. I could see the steps in the front of the park, two long flights leading up to a large field of grass at the top. I started walking up the steps, looking for anything that might be a clue. I didn’t see anything, but I didn’t linger. I wanted to get to where I could see Michael. Then I could take my time.

  I got to the top of the steps. I could see the whole field, surrounded by benches. Behind the benches were trees that separated the park from the road. I looked down one side of the field. It was full of people—old people and young people, parents playing with their children. I didn’t see Michael. I looked down the other side. Michael was in the middle of the park, standing up, leaning against a broad tree. From where he was standing, Michael could see almost the whole park, and the tree would hide him from anyone standing behind him. I took a deep, relieved breath.

  I kept looking for clues, stopping in every nook to see if I could find anything that might mean something. I studied each bench for engravings or markings. Every few steps, I would look up again to make sure Michael was still watching me. He never looked back at me, though he appeared to be annoyed that I was risking our cover by paying so much attention to him. I didn’t care. Knowing he was there made me feel safe. With him there, the park seemed pleasant, full of sunshine and laughter. I didn’t believe that any of the people around us could be the enemy, not at that moment.

  I circled the park once and didn’t find anything. I started to think that maybe the clues weren’t as simple as they appeared. Maybe we’d come to the wrong place. I wasn’t ready to give up yet. I started to circle the park again. A cool breeze blew by, shaking the leaves on the trees. I decided to sit down at the next bench to think. I looked up at Michael. He still hadn’t moved.

  I looked around again from my new perspective. At one end of the park a young mother was playing with her baby. The baby couldn’t have been much more than a year old. The mother was sitting down in the grass. The baby was sitting a few feet away from her. I couldn’t hear her over the rustle of the wind throu
gh the leaves, but I could see that she was singing to her baby. Every so often the baby pushed himself up onto his feet, lifting himself into a standing position. Once on his feet, the baby bounced up and down to the sound of his mother’s voice. Then he’d fall. Each time he fell, his mother would clap and he would look up at her and start clapping too. Then he would stand up again. The wind stopped and I could hear what the mother was singing. “If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands.” Then the boy fell again, but this time, instead of falling backward, he fell to his side, putting his hands down right before his head hit the ground. Even though he caught himself, he started crying. He cried because he was afraid. I could hear him crying. The mother leapt toward him and lifted him off the ground. I wanted to leap toward him too. Instead, a sudden, muffled sound broke my concentration. I looked up. It sounded like someone was calling my name. I had no idea how long I’d been watching the child. Five minutes? Ten?

  Michael wasn’t standing by the tree anymore. I looked up just in time to see two men pulling him to the ground. One was standing behind him with his hand clamped over Michael’s mouth. The other was aiming something at Michael’s chest. He pulled the trigger and a split second latter, Michael’s body convulsed. Why wasn’t anyone helping him? The two men started dragging Michael’s limp body away. I looked around. It was getting late. Most of the people were already gone. Only a few stragglers were left, and no one saw what was happening to Michael—no one except for me.

  I stood up and started running toward Michael. “Stop,” I screamed as loud as I could. One of the men, the one with the weapon in his hand, looked up at me. I saw panic in his eyes. I ran faster. I didn’t know what I was going to do when I caught them, but I ran. The two men worked faster. One lifted Michael’s legs while the other grabbed him beneath his armpits. “Michael,” I yelled. The man carrying Michael’s legs looked toward me again but he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking behind me.

  Without slowing down, I turned my head and looked behind me. Someone was chasing me. He was wearing a suit and sunglasses and had an earpiece in his ear. He was running fast. I didn’t understand why I was being chased. I stared at the man for a second, and then I felt someone else’s hand reach out and grab my arm. The grip was like a vise. My body stopped with a jerk. The man who grabbed me was dressed exactly like the other one. I looked up at the spot where Michael’s body had been, but he was gone. They’d gotten him. First they’d taken you and now they’d taken him. I started to scream. People around us were staring now. They didn’t see what happened to Michael but they could see me, standing in the middle of the park, being kidnapped by two men. Still, no one did anything to help me. I screamed again. A few people stared at me. Others looked away when my pleading eyes met theirs.

  “Please come with us, ma’am,” one of the men said. I struggled, trying to break free of his grip. The man holding me reached out and lifted me off the ground. He began carrying me outside the park. I kicked my legs, but it was no use. He was so strong. They carried me toward a car parked on the street right outside the park. It was a big, dark sedan. The man with the free hands took a quick look around to see if anyone was still watching him. Then he opened the trunk. The trunk was large and empty. It was covered with a black liner. They threw me inside the trunk and slammed it closed.

  It was dark. I screamed and kicked, but it was hopeless. They knew what they were doing. They’d made sure that it was impossible to open the trunk from inside. I heard the engine start. I could feel when we started moving and when the car turned. Whenever the driver hit the brakes, the entire trunk glowed an eerie red from the car’s brake lights. I listened to see if I could hear the men in the car, but either I couldn’t hear them or they didn’t speak. My knees were jammed up into my chest. The next time they hit the brakes, I looked at my watch.

  We drove for more than two hours. My legs began cramping. I had curled into the most comfortable position I could, a fetal position facing toward the back of the car. Even though it was nearly six o’clock when they finally opened the trunk, the light was momentarily blinding. Once my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw the two men in suits standing over me. “You can get out now,” the one who had grabbed me said in a deep, authoritative voice. I could still feel his grip on my arm.

  My muscles and joints were stiff, but I climbed out of the trunk. One of the men offered me his hand, and I took it. My feet hit the ground and I stretched the cramps out of my arms and legs. I looked around me. We were near a ranch-style house surrounded by woods. “Where am I?” I asked.

  “Come with us,” one of them said instead of answering my question. They started walking toward the house.

  I followed them. Then I remembered. “No,” I replied, stopping in my tracks. “What have you done with Michael?”

  The two men looked at me. Then they looked at each other. The one who had ordered me to follow them said, “If he wants to see you, we’ll let him.”

  “So he’s okay?” I asked, not willing to let myself feel any relief yet.

  “He’ll be okay,” one of the men said. “Now please come with us.” I followed them, knowing that I didn’t have any options. They were faster than me and stronger than me, and I had no idea where I was. The inside of the house looked more like an office building than a home. People were milling around. They were dressed more casually than the men who had grabbed me—wearing jeans and T-shirts—but they all appeared to be working, standing over desks, staring down at papers. Some of them looked at me as I walked. Most didn’t. The two men led me down a long hallway and then down a thin flight of stairs. At the bottom of the stairs was a windowless room with a couch, a table, a television, and a watercooler. Attached to the room was a tiny windowless bathroom. The only way to see in or out of the room was through a small, reinforced window in the door. It was a cell. “Step inside,” one of the men said.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, doubting that I was going to get a straight answer. “What are you going to do with me?”

  One of the men grabbed my elbow. He was gentler now than he had been in the park, but I could still feel his authority. “No one is going to hurt you,” he said. “We just need you to wait in here.”

  I began to mutter another protest, but before I could get the words out, they had closed the door. I reached for the doorknob and tried to turn it, but the door was locked. I shouted and banged on the door, but I could feel from the door’s weight that no one was going to hear me. I looked out through the tiny window in the door. All I could see was the empty staircase. Four hours later, the light at the top of the staircase went dark.

  * * *

  A new person came to the door. She came alone, carrying a tray with cereal and juice. When she first opened the door, I looked her up and down, wondering if I could take her. Even if I could, where would I run to? Besides, I knew better than to underestimate these people.

  She didn’t bother to close the door behind her. She placed the tray on the table and sat down next to me. “We thought you might be hungry, Maria,” she said, sliding the tray toward me. I ate. Whatever was going to happen to me, I thought I’d need my strength. The woman sat and watched me eat.

  “What have you done with Michael?” I asked when I was finished, deciding that I would simply repeat the question until I got an answer.

  “He’s fine,” she said. “He’s here with us.”

  “But they shot him. I saw it.”

  “It was a Taser,” the woman answered, “painful but not harmful to someone in Michael’s condition. We don’t normally use them, but things didn’t go as we expected yesterday.”

  “Nobody helped us,” I said out loud, remembering what happened.

  “It’s amazing what you can get away with in D.C. with a dark suit and an earpiece, Maria.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Michael told us who you are,” she answered, “but we already knew
a lot about you.”

  “Who are you?”

  “We’re trying to help,” she answered. She smiled when she spoke.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “When Michael wakes up, Clara wants to talk to you both.”

  “Who’s Clara? Why is Michael still asleep? Are you sure he’s okay?”

  “Michael’s fine. He was up late last night. We were trying to get him to talk to us. He refused to tell us anything without you there. Eventually, we gave up.” The woman stood up and walked toward the door. “I’m going to leave the door open,” she said. “But we’d appreciate it if you stayed here until we come back to get you.” I nodded. Michael was here. I had no reason to leave. The woman walked away, leaving the door open as promised.

  When the woman and another man came for me, they led me back up the flight of stairs to the main floor and through the maze of desks and computers. I tried to listen to the conversation of one man who was talking on the phone, but he was speaking Spanish. We turned down another hallway. I could see a room at the end. Inside, a confident-looking gray-haired woman sat behind a large desk.

  “That’s Clara?” I whispered to the woman in front of me, not knowing why I whispered.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  When we stepped into the room, I saw Michael sitting in a chair. He stood up when he saw me and put his arms around me. I grabbed him and held him tightly. We had touched only two times before, and one of those times Michael was holding a knife to my throat, but I held him now like I would fall if I let him go. “Are you okay, Maria?” he asked.