Children of the Underground (37 page)

Fifty-one

It's going to be hard to explain my decision to you. Even if I can explain it, you may never understand it. Don't think that I didn't agonize over this decision. I did. I have to do what I think will be the best for you. I've come to realize that I can't shield you from this War, Christopher. I'm eighteen years old and I'm a part of this War now too.

They would have chased us forever. They would have found us. People I've never met recognize me. They know who I am. They know things about me. I've become a face in the cautionary tales they tell their children. I violated their rules even though I was never supposed to be a part of their War. Now I'm marked. I've been branded almost as clearly as Michael was. Instead of the words
I fight because I remember
branded on my back, I have the words
I run because They won't forget
branded in the lines on my face. I could manage it. I could run. I could hide. I'd be better at it this time. But that's not the life I want for you. You deserve better. You're only beginning. You have so much to learn. I may be young, but I like to believe that there was a time when I could have taught you all the things you deserve to know. That time has passed. Now I can't even teach you the one thing that I most want you to learn—that the world is a beautiful and decent place.

Every day I pick you up and hold you, and I'm happy. That's why leaving you is going to be so hard. It's been three weeks already. You've grown accustomed to me. You smile and laugh when I pick you up in the morning. You clutch me and hug me, and all I can think the whole time is, Never let go, Christopher. Never let go
.
But I know that every day that I keep you only makes it crueler. You're going to cry when I leave you now. You're going to wonder when I'm coming back. When I don't come back, you're going to wonder why I left you, and you're not going to get any explanation—not for a long time, not until you read these words. So let me explain it to you now. I'm leaving you because I love you more than anything—more than my own happiness, more than life itself.

Your first birthday is in a week. It's selfish, but I am going to stay with you until then. So I've got one more week until my heart is ripped out again. It'll be different this time, though. This time I'll know that it's what's best for you. This time I'll be ripping out my own heart, something I'd gladly do for you over and over again if I had more than one heart to tear free. You'll understand someday.

I know a couple who I think will take you in. They used to babysit for me when I was a little girl. They were young then. They weren't able to have children of their own. I know that they always wanted to have a family. I remember overhearing her talk about it with my mother. They'll be good to you. They'll love you. They'll be able to give you everything that I can't. Hopefully, even as you read this, they're the faces that you think of when you hear the words
Mom
and
Dad
. They live in a house down the street from our old summer house in Maine. I haven't been there since I was thirteen years old. I called them yesterday to make sure that they still live there. I found their number on the Internet. I recognized the woman's voice when she answered the phone. It sounded kind. After all these years, it still sounded kind. I hung up. Hearing her voice was all I needed.

Maybe a time will come when things will have changed enough that it's safe for us to be together again. I hope it's true, but I'm skeptical that this War will ever change. I know what I'm going to do after I drop you off in Maine. I'm going to drive to Ohio. I know details about a boy who was murdered in a field in Ohio almost a year and a half ago. I know enough details that they'll believe me when I confess to shooting him in the head. That boy was the first person that I ever saw killed. It doesn't matter that I didn't pull the trigger. If I want to get my old self back, I need to start at the moment when that innocent girl that I was began to fade away. I'll accept whatever punishment they give me. None of it will hurt half as much as the punishment that I'm already giving myself.

In the meantime, it's a long drive from here to Maine. There are plenty of sites to see and places to stop on the way. I figure we can take our time. I don't think it will be a problem stretching the drive out a few more days.

Fifty-two

They were on a boat, skipping violently across the South China Sea. The long, thin wooden boat cut through the smaller waves but climbed and dove over the larger ones. A mist of briny water sprayed up over the boat as the hull smacked down against the surface of the water. Christopher could feel the pellets of mist on his skin and could taste the salt from the seawater on his tongue. He looked to his left and, in the distance, could see whole villages built along the edges of tiny green islands. Entire buildings stretched out over the water, held up by no more than bamboo rods jutting out of the sea. Brightly colored clothes hung along clotheslines running from one hut to the next. To his right, Christopher could see dozens of giant metal cargo ships, each one towering over them, some of them stretching at least ten stories over them, reaching impossibly high above the surface of the water. Smaller boats and giant cranes packed the ships with metal containers. Christopher had never in his life seen anything like it.

Another boat, one nearly identical to theirs, drove past them in the other direction. At least twenty people sat huddled together in the other boat as it bounced above the water's surface. Their boat held only the three of them: Christopher, Reggie, and the captain. The captain was a small, round-faced Asian man. His skin was wrinkled and leathery. He had welcomed Christopher and Reggie with better-than-adequate English and deep, reverent bows. It embarrassed Christopher to be treated with such unearned admiration. “Accept it now,” Reggie told him with each new person that they met, “because you're going to have to earn it later.”

Christopher and Reggie had already been traveling for more than twenty-four hours. It took that long to make it halfway around the globe. The flight to Singapore took twenty hours by itself, including their short stopover in Frankfurt. It was the first time Christopher had ever been on an airplane. Once in Singapore, Christopher and Reggie boarded a packed commuter ferry to Indonesia. They met the captain of their little boat in a port near the ferry terminal in Indonesia. This was the final leg of the first part of the journey that Reggie had planned for them. First Indonesia, then Istanbul, then New York. Christopher had little idea what each stop would have in store for him.

Christopher looked up toward the bow of the boat. Reggie was sitting near the bow with his back to the sea ahead of them. Reggie's bright green eyes reflected the color of the water around them. His gray hair made him look ten years older than he was, but it gave him an air of wisdom. “How are you feeling?” Reggie shouted back to Christopher when he noticed Christopher staring at him. Reggie had to yell loud enough to be heard over the sound of the boat's engine and the incessant crashing of the waves against the boat's hull.

Christopher was tired. He'd been through so much in the past four weeks. He'd fought, killed, run, been saved, been worshipped, and been lied to. Yet he knew that his journey and his fight were only beginning. “I feel good,” he shouted back to Reggie. He gripped a rope running along the side of the boat to avoid being heaved into the sea by the waves. “I feel ready.” Ready for what? Christopher had no idea.

PHOTO BY KEVIN TRAGESER

Trevor Shane
lives in Brooklyn with his wife and son.

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Read on for a preview of the next book in

Trevor Shane's
Children of Paranoia
series,

 

CHILDREN OF THE UPRISING

 

Coming in trade paperback

from New American Library

in October 2013.

They waited until Christopher turned eighteen before they tried to kill him.

Ever since Christopher was a small child, he knew that someone was watching him. Even though he couldn't see them, he could feel their eyes burning into his skin. He could feel people lurking in the shadows, watching his every move. They were waiting but Christopher had no way of knowing what they were waiting for. He never told his parents that people were watching him. Christopher was trying to protect them. They knew that Christopher had problems. They knew that he wasn't a normal kid but they simply believed that everything related back to something that happened to Christopher when he was a baby, something that Christopher had no memory of. Christopher heard his parents whispering about it late at night when Christopher was supposed to be asleep. Whatever had happened to him when he was young didn't matter. Christopher wasn't afraid of his past. He was afraid of his future. Before he learned anything else, Christopher learned how to be paranoid. That was his birthright.

Since Christopher only knew that he was being watched and didn't know who was watching him or why, he did what he could to prepare for anything. He took karate lessons. He learned to box and to wrestle. He took tae kwon do classes. He took every fighting class the little town he grew up in had to offer, and then, when he got his driver's license, he took every class offered in the surrounding towns. He didn't stick to any one thing for very long. He never felt like he was learning fast enough. He'd get frustrated and quit and then try something new, each time hoping that, this time, he would learn fast enough. Even though he moved around, he learned. He integrated skills. He was a misfit but he wasn't afraid of bullies or jocks or any of the kids in his town. He had other things to be afraid of. Even among the outsiders, Christopher was an outsider. Christopher really only had one close friend. Even before Christopher had felt strangers' eyes watching him, Evan had been his friend. They were different. Christopher was practical. Evan was a dreamer. Evan saw something bigger in their future, something more than what their little town offered people. The other kids feared Christopher because he was different. Evan reveled in the fact that Christopher was different. That's what drew him to Christopher in the first place. He was more than this small-town high school life full of little more than jocks and nerds and cheerleaders.

Maybe everything would have turned out differently had Christopher remembered the key that he received on his sixteenth birthday or the note that came with the key that he never read. He'd hid them in the bottom of one of his draws and tried to forget them. As sure as Christopher was that he was being watched, he was just as certain that the key would unlock answers for him but he wasn't sure he wanted answers. As afraid as Christopher was of the people watching him, he was even more afraid of why. Sometimes Christopher did his best to pretend that he was simply imagining things. Maybe it would have been better that way. Maybe it would have been better if Christopher was crazy and the rest of the world was sane. But Christopher wasn't crazy. Someone was watching him. They were watching him and waiting for Christopher's eighteenth birthday.

It was the evening of Christopher's eighteenth birthday and he was driving home from Evan's house. He was in his own car, a beat-up, rusty heap of junk that he had bought for three thousand dollars the day he got his license. It was already dark. Christopher had gone to Evan's house to show Evan the gift that his parents had given him for his birthday. It was an autographed baseball bat, signed by David Ortiz. Big Papi. “The man who killed the ghost of the Bambino,” Christopher's father, a die-hard Red Sox fan, used to tell Christopher when he was growing up. It meant little to Christopher. No matter how hard his father prodded him, Christopher couldn't find any interest in team sports. They seemed pointless to him. He had other things on his mind. Even so, Christopher's father supported the sports Christopher did play. Christopher's father went to Christopher's wrestling matches and karate matches and everything else. After every match, win or lose, Christopher's father always said the same thing. “Helluva of a match, kid. Just don't forget to have fun, you know.”

The bat that Christopher got from his parents was the color of wood near the knob but shifted to a dark, shiny black near the barrel. Christopher's father told him that it was exactly like the ones that Big Papi used to use in games. Christopher genuinely thanked his father. He knew that his father was giving Christopher a piece of himself. He loved his father. He loved both his parents. Before they cut into Christopher's birthday cake, Christopher wanted to drive to Evan's house to show him the bat. Evan was a huge baseball fan. Evan's brain wasn't filled with the distractions that Christopher's was.

“Do you know how much this thing probably cost?” Evan asked Christopher as Christopher handed him the bat.

Christopher shrugged. He had no idea. “No. Do you?” Christopher asked back.

Evan paused, running his hand up and down the nearly polished wood. He shook his head. “I bet it cost a ton,” Evan answered.

“Do you want it?” Christopher asked Evan. He knew that Evan wanted it. He could see the desire in Evan's eyes. Christopher didn't care. Having the bat wasn't important to him—not as important as making his only friend happy.

Evan stared down at the name signed into the wood on the beige part of the handle. He shook his head. “Your father would be really upset if you gave it away,” Evan said. Christopher hadn't even thought of that. Evan handed the bat back to him. “Do you want to go out tonight,” Evan asked Christopher, “to celebrate? I can probably get Tracey to get one of her friends to come out with us.”

Christopher thought about it. Maybe he should celebrate. It was his birthday. He'd had fun with some of Tracey's friends before when he didn't scare them away too quickly. Christopher shook his head though. It was a Tuesday night. He didn't want to put anybody out. Christopher looked out the window. It was starting to get dark. “I should go home. My mother made a cake.”

“Okay,” Evan said. “I'll make Tracey give us a rain check. How about Friday?” Evan eyed his friend, never exactly sure what was going on in Christopher's head.

“Friday,” Christopher agreed, knowing that it was the easiest way to end the conversation.

“Well, happy birthday, man.” Evan got up from his chair and wrapped his arms awkwardly around Christopher, patting his friend on the back with one fist.

“Thanks.”

“See you at school tomorrow,” Evan said.

“Yeah,” Christopher answered, thinking it was true when he said it.

Christopher left the house. He waved good-bye to Evan's parents on his way out the door. Evan's parents waved back, not unhappy to see their son's odd best friend go. Christopher walked across the gravel driveway toward his car. Everything seemed normal. Christopher was even relaxed. He opened the car door and threw his bat in the passenger seat. Then he sat down, started the car, flicked on his headlights and slowly pulled up to the edge of his friend's driveway. It had been light when Christopher arrived at Evan's house but it was dark now. Night came fast this far north.

Christopher had looked to his left before pulling his car out on to the long, windy road. This stretch of road was free of streetlights. Christopher would be able to see the headlights of any oncoming cars from miles away even as the light darted through the trees. Cars drove fast on this stretch of road at night, though. When Christopher looked, all he saw was miles of empty road, surrounded by trees and darkening hollow spaces. Seeing nothing, Christopher stepped on the gas and inched the car forward onto the road. The road in front of him was as empty as the road behind him appeared. His headlights cut through the darkness, reflecting off the yellow lines in the middle of the street but otherwise being swallowed by the dense forest around him. Christopher looked in his rearview mirror again. Still nothing. H
e looked down to turn on the radio. He began to tune it away from the station he usually listened to, the talk radio stations full of shows about UFOs and conspiracy theories where people from all over the country called in to tell strange stories about secrets hidden right in front of us. It was Christopher's eighteenth birthday. He wanted to listen to music. He found a station playing an old Bruce Springsteen song. Evan always made fun of Christopher for liking old people's music. Christopher turned up the volume and then glanced back up again. The road in front of him was still empty. Then he looked in his rearview mirror again, expecting to see darkness. Instead, he saw them. They had finally come for him.

The headlights of the car chasing him were already large in Christopher's rearview mirror and they were getting bigger, bearing down on him. The car had come out of nowhere. It couldn't have come all the way down the road. Christopher would have seen the headlights—tiny specks of light in the darkness—miles before they had gotten this close to him. The only explanation was that the car had been parked in the woods, waiting for Christopher to drive by. Christopher heard the engine of the car behind him rev as it closed the gap between them and neared his rear bumper. The moment that Christopher had feared ever since he was a child had finally arrived.

For a split second, the only emotion that Christopher felt was relief, relief that the moment was finally here, relief that the waiting was over, relief that his paranoia wasn't simply madness, relief that his paranoia wasn't worthless. Had he known them, Christopher's birth mother or birth father could have told him that there is no such thing as worthless paranoia. Christopher knew that well enough now. His paranoia had value. It was a currency that, if he were lucky, he could cash in to buy his life. The relief only lasted a split second. After that, the relief was chased away by the sudden feeling of inadequacy. Christopher began to question every decision he had ever made. Why hadn't he stuck with one fighting style? Why hadn't he trained harder? Then, after deeming the feeling of inadequacy a waste of time, Christopher was left with only one emotion. Fear. So much fear it drowned out everything else.

Christopher looked at the dark, empty road in front of him and did the only thing he could think to do. He slammed on the gas. The road wound back and forth through the dense forest. Even as well as Christopher knew the road, he couldn't floor it without risking driving off the road and into a tree. All he could hope for was that whoever was in the car behind him didn't know the road as well as he did and would have trouble keeping up. The problem was that they didn't have to follow the road. They only needed to follow Christopher's taillights. The car behind him moved in closer. Christopher felt a heavy tap on his rear fender. It jolted him forward. Christopher began turning the steering wheel later and later as he neared oncoming turns, hoping to lose his tail. He waited until the last possible second; then he would jerk the wheel to one side, barely avoiding driving into woods. The wheels of Christopher's car skidded on the road as he turned. He held his steering wheel tightly to try keep from losing control. Still, the car behind him stayed on his bumper. Whatever they were driving, it was faster and handled better than the piece of shit Christopher drove.

They pulled their car up beside Christopher's. Their car was dark with tinted windows. Christopher couldn't see inside. Then they suddenly rammed their car into the side of Christopher's. Christopher almost lost control. As long as he was on the road, he was outmatched. Christopher knew it. He had to get off the road. It was his only chance. If he could just stay on the road a few more miles, he could get to the woods close to his house, the woods he'd virtually grown up in. If he could make it that far, Christopher knew he'd have a chance of surviving.

The dark car bumped Christopher again, sustaining the contact this time, trying to push Christopher off the road and into the trees. They were going over sixty miles per hour now. Christopher clutched the steering wheel, trying to hold on, trying to keep his car from veering off into oblivion. He could feel his pulse in his hands. He could feel his tires skid sideways. Then the road bent suddenly. Christopher cut his steering wheel as the road curved. When he did, the cars separated. He heard tires screeching again but they weren't his this time. The dark car skidded, trying to stay on the road as it almost missed the turn. Christopher stepped down hard on the accelerator. His foot touched the floor. He only needed to make it another two miles or so. In seconds, the other car was back alongside him again, moving in to try to ram him off the road. This time, Christopher had a plan. As the passenger-side door of the dark car was about to ram Christopher's door, Christopher slammed on the brakes. The dark car flew by him, going at least fifty yards in front of him before they were able to pull to a stop. The dark car skidded sideways as it stopped, blocking the entire road. The car was lit up by Christopher's headlights like it was being shown in a spotlight. Christopher waited, wanting to see what the people inside the car would do. He half hoped that another car would come speeding from the other direction and slam into them but he knew that this was unlikely. People didn't often drive this road at night. He watched the car. He felt like he was watching an animal, a predator. He felt like he could see the car breathing. Then the car's passenger-side window, the window facing Christopher, began to go down. Christopher didn't wait to see what horrors the descending window would reveal. Instead, as soon as the window began to go down, Christopher floored it again.

Christopher knew that he would have to go off the road to get around them. His wheels screeched before they caught and then his car hurled onto the dirt on the side of the road behind the dark car. Christopher prayed that he wouldn't hit a hole in the ground or a tree before he was able to get past the dark car. Christopher's car rattled over the unpaved ground but it made it past them. When he could, Christopher turned back on to the road without taking his foot off the accelerator. Then he heard the screeching of tires as his pursuers once again started up the chase again. The dark car was only seconds behind him but Christopher only needed seconds. He knew where he was now. He watched the trees as he zipped past them. The other car was gaining on him again, coming right up to Christopher's rear bumper. He spotted the landmark he'd been looking for, an old felled tree, its roots sticking up into the air like the tentacles of a giant sea monster. Christopher counted the seconds. One. Two. The car behind him was about to ram him again. On three, Christopher cut the wheel hard to the left, launching himself into the darkness of the woods. He felt the wheels of his car leave the ground as he catapulted off the paved road into the wilderness. As he flew, Christopher turned off his headlights and then he felt himself plummeting into darkness.