“What did you do to yourself?” she asked Brogan.
Since Brogan always tried to appear lethargic and docile, she did not even look at the guard but just shrugged her shoulders. Guard Z brought her some bandages for her fingernails and some anti-biotic ointment on her next shift.
“You need to be careful,” the guard said, “You might get an infection.”
Brogan accepted the items but did not look up. The guard looked around to make sure she wasn’t overheard and whispered to Brogan, “I talked to the prisoner in the cell next to you who is a doctor, and she said apply the cream on your fingers every night before you go to bed.”
Struggling to keep all expression off her face, hope leaped in Brogan’s heart as she realized Allison might be in the cell next to her. She started keeping track of days and nights by putting hash marks with her feces on the bottom area of the padding, next to the toilet. Yeah, it was gross, but she had nothing else to write with. If each guard worked an eight-hour shift, a rotation through all three guards was equivalent to 24 hours.
One day between guard shifts, Brogan took a big chance and hollered, “Allison, are you okay?”
She heard nothing but silence for a moment and then a tearful voice, “Thank God. Is that you, Brogan? Are you okay?”
“Yes, How about you?”
“Managing. I thought I was the only one left. I didn’t know what happened to you after I saw you in the infirmary.”
“I thought it was you.”
They got no further with the conversation before they heard the boots of Guard X tromping down the hall. They fell silent. Over several days, they tried to discover if Janice and Marco were in the prison, but no one knew. Brogan tried to figure out how she to communicate with Allison about her escape plans. It suddenly hit her: BL code. But how to do it verbally so Allison could figure it out? For several days, her mind wrestled with the problem until she finally decided to try something and see if it worked.
At next shift change, Brogan called out to Allison, “Arrow down, placed on top of a book delivery with a danger sign,” and waited. The code meant, “Brogan, book delivery, danger.” She hoped Allison interpreted the code to mean, “Brogan, escaping prison.” She didn’t know how else to communicate her plans.
The silence extended for a few minutes. Just when she was sure her communication failed, Allison said, “Got it!” At next shift change, Allison said only one word, “How?”
That began their daily coded conversation. After quite a few exchanges, miscommunications and guard shift changes, eventually Allison indicated she understood. Using Roman numerals, they agreed on an escape date in 30 days. Although Brogan had a head start on digging around to loosen the ducts for her escape, Allison managed to speed up her efforts by surreptitiously hiding a surgical scalpel. She often went to the prison infirmary to treat prisoners; it didn’t take long to steal a scalpel. She made fast progress on loosening the duct in her cell and quickly caught up with Brogan.
As the 30-day mark approached, they agreed to meet inside the duct system and see where it led. They wore bright orange prison uniforms as well as T-chips to track their locations. Allison would steal a surgical scalpel and some bandages to remove their T-chips.
During the 30th day’s shift changes between guards, Allison and Brogan made their prison break attempt. They did their best to fluff up their blankets and pillows to look like someone was still on the cot.
Although a tight squeeze, their excessive weight loss made it easier to fit into the air duct tunnels. They removed their T-chips and threw them back into their cells. Since they had no idea where the ducts led, it was pure luck they ended up in the laundry area. They uncovered some dirty prison guard uniforms in the laundry and put them on.
Just before they gave up hope of finding an escape route outside, they heard a truck backing up to the loading dock. The large door opened. Billowing snow could be seen outside the door. It wasn’t long before both shivered uncontrollably in the freezing cold now blowing through the laundry area.
Ducking behind some large crates, they watched as the driver and another man jumped out of the truck, leaving it running as they sauntered into the laundry area to talk to someone. Seeing their chance, the women ran toward the truck. Fortunately, Brogan learned how to drive an old truck in Van Horn and she quickly got the truck moving. She saw in the rearview mirror the driver had his back to them and probably didn’t hear them leave above the noise of the laundry machines and the howling wind of the blizzard.
Trying not to drive too fast to draw attention to them, she pulled out the gate of the prison, waving a cheerful goodbye to the guard. The blizzard conditions made it difficult for the guards to see who drove the truck, but it also made it difficult for the women to see out the windshield.
“Do you have any idea where we are, Allison?”
“I overheard some of the guards say the prison is near Boston, but other than that, not a clue,” she replied. “But given the snow and cold, I’m guessing somewhere in the northern part of America.”
“Can you narrow it down a bit?” She said with a growl. Both were a bit giddy with excitement, but they had a long way to go before safety. The blizzard would help to cover their tracks.
Allison was puzzled at Brogan’s lack of response to her attempt at humor.
“We’re going to need to ditch the truck soon since it probably has a tracking device on it,” Brogan continued. “Lucky for us the drivers left their parkas in the truck.”
They put them on as protection from the bone-chilling cold as soon as they scrambled into the truck. They also turned up the old heater as high as it would go.
While Brogan talked, Allison rummaged around in the truck’s glove compartment and center console, looking for anything to give them an idea of their location.
“Voila!” she hollered, “I just found a vid-phone one of the drivers left. Let’s see what we can find out.”
She turned the vid-phone to a news channel and listened as the newscaster spoke.
His Excellency Emperor Priest reports the rebel alliance is now on the run and scattered across the country. The initial battle six months ago, in Laredo, had little impact on the elite soldiers who had a glorious victory. Apparently, when the rebels’ council leaders were killed in Mazatlán, disheartened rebels disbursed in panic.
Citizens of the American Empire can rejoice. Our esteemed leader Emperor Priest and Consort Bernhardt have again shown their foresight in killing traitor Prime Minister Altero, members of House of Lords, and to dissolve House of Commons. Peace is only a whisper away from reality. Long live Emperor Priest and Consort Bernhardt!
The two women looked at each other in horror. So much happened during their time in prison.
“But how much of that is true?” Brogan asked in disbelief. “We know all council members did not die because we are still alive. Things aren’t as rosy as the media is telling citizens. We know Bryan is dead…” her voice trembling with rage.
Allison reached over and held her hand. “I know, sweetie, but others might still be alive. Hope kept us alive and we must believe it kept them alive, too.”
Brogan’s face hardened as she said, “Sandra will pay for what she did. No matter how long it takes. Her betrayal will have consequences. No doubt Priest is responsible for assassinating Altero. Now we must figure out what happened to our fellow council members and other members of Book Liberators. Hopefully, no one revealed where all the books are stored. Janice is the only one who knows all the locations.”
In her anger, she tromped on the accelerator, causing the truck to barrel through the snow storm, the large snow tires gripping the road. Through the windows, the terrain appeared to be rural, with no lights anywhere. They had about decided no civilization was around until they spotted the lights of a small village on the right. Brogan slowed the truck down and turned off the main road. Just before they entered the village, they drove under a rail line. Brogan suddenly had an idea.
&nb
sp; She moved the truck further away from the rail and told Allison what she had in mind. Getting out of the truck, they moved back toward the rail and began to walk beside it, looking for a culvert. They better find it soon or they would freeze to death. The snow quickly covered their tracks. Their thin, prison-issue slippers quickly soaked through from snow, and within minutes they began to shiver uncontrollably. The intense cold began to creep up their legs, making them feel wooden.
Limping and stumbling down the bank into the culvert, the howling winds hid the sound of their entrance. They carefully moved into the dark culvert. Brogan put her finger to her lips to indicate Allison should make as little noise as possible. Toward the center of the culvert, they saw a feeble light, cast by a large barrel with a fire inside it. Huddled around it stood more than a dozen ragged figures. Their faces glowed eerily in the flickering fire light. A few solar lights hung around the culvert. Before they got too close, Brogan quietly cleared her throat. Immediately, weapons appeared in the hands of the hobos, pointing in their direction. Raising their hands, Brogan and Allison stumbled toward the group.
“We mean no harm,” Brogan said quietly. “We are looking for protection and shelter. We are friends of Professor O’Malley and members of Book Liberators.”
While the ragged figures kept their guns at ready, one of the men stepped forward.
“Is that you, Brogan?”
“Marco?”
After hugs and tears, the trio caught up on everything. Allison and Marco were unable to keep their eyes off each other. Brogan tried to be happy for them. Although her heart would never stop hurting from the loss of Bryan, her only thoughts now were about revenge.
Brogan and Allison bombarded Marco with questions before he held up his hands in desperation.
“Whoa! Slow down. I’ll give you answers. But it looks to me like the two of you could use something hot to eat.”
He took a closer look at their attire. He turned around and called one of the men over. “Joe, why don’t you bring these ladies some of the hobo stew we had for dinner. It’s still hot, isn’t it? Sam, see if you can find some boots for these two ladies and bring some warm socks, too.”
“Yes, sir,” the two men echoed each other and jumped into action.
“Oh, its ‘sir,’ now, is it?” Allison teased him. “Somebody is going to get a big head.”
Even in the darkness of the culvert, Marco’s blush could be easily seen.
“Nah,” he said, “I just happened to become the leader of this sorry bunch a few weeks back. I heard a rumor the two of you were transported to the prison outside of Boston. We’ve been trying to figure out how to get you out, while harassing the Priest’s soldiers.”
The other rebels snorted and laughed when he called them a “sorry bunch,” calling back derogatory comments in return affectionately.
“By the way,” Marco asked with a puzzled expression on his face, “how did you escape?”
Before they could reply, Sam and Joe walked up with some heavy boots and several pairs of worn socks. They carefully put them the women’s feet, after drying them with rags and rubbing them to get the circulation going. Wincing from painful needle-stinging as circulation returned, the two women gritted their teeth until the pain subsided. They endured much worse during their six months in prison.
Between mouthfuls of the best food either one of them tasted in months, they told the stories of their imprisonment and escape. Other members of Marco’s team crowded in to listen. By unspoken consent the women avoided the details of their torture. But they did not need to tell. Both women appeared to have been through hell.
Marco’s heart ached, not only for the woman he now admitted to himself he deeply loved, but also for the widow of his best friend as he imagined the horrors they endured. He had no doubt both women had plenty of scars, both physical and emotional. He’d heard too many stories about what happened in the emperor’s prisons not to have a pretty good idea of what the women had gone through.
Brogan’s hair, buzz cut for the trooper disguise, grew back totally white and it stuck out all over. Her bony frame was hunched over, making her look shorter, and her bandaged fingertips were bloody. A hardness seemed to be chiseled on to her face, the light gone from her beautiful eyes.
His once luscious Allison was a shadow of her former self, gaunt and like Brogan pale from months of imprisonment. Though her animated face glowed from the escape, the deep pools of darkness and shadows in her eyes told the story of what she experienced. Her once beautiful long blond hair had been pulled out by the roots in several spots, and what remained was limp and filthy. Both women desperately needed baths and, if it weren’t for the cold, Marco knew they would smell worse than he and his crew did after weeks hiding in culverts.
After they finished telling the story of their escape and eaten their fill, they tried to keep their eyes open and hear Marco’s tale, but it was impossible; both were too worn out. Marco directed his team to make beds for the women in the middle of the culvert. He ordered extra sentries to guard both ends of the culvert. He sent a team to move the truck to an abandoned barn they used for supply storage.
“To prevent the prison guards finding the truck, throw the tracking device on the next train going through to make them think it is still moving,” he told the team, “And make sure any tire tracks are erased or covered by snow.”
By morning the storm had let up. Prison guards would be out in force looking for the women. He instructed Allison and Brogan on how to hop a freight train to the Chicago province, and how to find his family. Marco and his team planned to travel to Laredo to add their help to the rebels still fighting in Texas province, using the rail system, but going in a different direction.
“My family will help you recover. I’ll try to be there in a couple of months to talk about next BL strategies with you.”
At first, they objected strenuously to his shipping them off to Chicago, wanting to fight the emperor, too. But they realized it would take some time to gain back their strength before they could be of any use as fighters.
They asked him if he knew what happened to Janice and Juan. Marco told them Janice had been killed in the skirmish with the soldiers in Mazatlán, but Juan survived.
“If you remember, when we came out of the tunnel, the soldiers separated us. One group took you and Allison, and another, led by Sandra, took Janice and me. We hadn’t gone very far when Janice suddenly went berserk, trying to escape.
“She fought like the samurai warriors I remember reading about in school. I’ve never seen anyone fight so ferociously,” Marco said. “She knocked out or killed probably five soldiers. But she didn’t have a chance. She tried hard to get to Sandra, but one of the soldiers shot her before she could reach her. I managed to escape while they were fighting her.”
“I remember hearing a shot,” Brogan said sadly, “But I had no idea Janice died. I wonder if her parents know. I better try to send word to them from Chicago.”
“Janice told me once she would never let the empire take her alive, since only she knew where all of the books were hidden across the country. She died a true hero, protecting the legacy of books,” Allison said tearfully.
Brogan’s face went even paler as she suddenly realized Bryan’s dad probably did not know about his death. Her hand shaking, she reached over and grabbed Marco.
“Marco did anyone tell Bryan’s dad about what happened?”
“Yes,” Marco replied, as he held her hand. “After my escape, I sent an encrypted message to your father to let Stephen know. He sent me a return message, telling me about Juan’s escape and how Stephen went with him to Laredo to fight. He said he would let him know.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
Before the women got on to the train, Marco pulled Allison aside.
“Allison, I can no longer keep silent. You must know how I feel about you. I am crazy in love with you.” He clung to her wasted hand, desperately hoping she felt the same way.
She slowly lifted her still beautiful blue eyes up to him. “Oh, Marco, I love you, too. And I have for a long time. But it has never seemed to be the right time for us, has it, love?” she said sadly.
Marco gently hugged her to himself, sure he could feel the bones of her thin frame through the parka she wore. She tucked her head beneath his chin. It was so right for her to be in his arms. If only this moment could last forever. They broke apart and gazed into each other’s’ eyes. No words needed to be spoken. They walked hand in hand back to the group. Brogan was glad to see they finally acknowledged what everyone else had known for a long time.
After instructing the women on how to settle on to the train in true hobo fashion, Marco gave them packets of food and warned them to stay hidden.
“You won’t need to change trains at all. This one goes directly to Chicago City. My dad will meet you at the ticket station on the south end of Michigan Avenue, just outside the city’s dome. I’ve already let him know you are coming. Hopefully, I’ll see you in a couple of months.”
He and Allison hated to break apart, now they finally acknowledged their love. He assured her it was only temporary. The hobos scrounged around and found some worn temperature-adjusting jumpsuits for the two women, so along with the parkas from the truck drivers, the trip to Chicago City turned out to be quite comfortable. They used the five-hour trip to rest and enjoy their freedom, nestled among the empty produce boxes. They took turns sleeping; at least Allison slept. Brogan’s sleep was constantly interrupted by nightmares of her torture.
The White Warrior Page 26