Going Underground

by Denison, L. N

  The others noticed Jen’s sudden hatred-driven recovery and made their way over to see her, but Oscar was not amongst them.

  *

  Oscar had taken it upon himself to risk his neck and that of the others, by making his way out of the network and into the open to try and reach the warehouse. He had remarkably managed to evade the patrols on his quest, slinking his way through alley after alley and flitting about in the shadows to remain undetected.

  All that remained now was fifty yards of open space that separated him from the warehouse entrance. His biggest challenge would be getting around the patrolmen loitering between a decimated John Howard statue and the warehouse entrance. The patrols seemed to be intent on causing damage that night.

  Oscar collected himself and his thoughts, ready to make a move from out of the shadows. The patrols slowly dwindled before his eyes, moving on to cause misery in another sector. With the last man out of sight, Oscar quickly made his way across to his old hideaway. His main concern was whether or not the patrols had found the printing press—not that it would be much use to him without ink or paper.

  Oscar entered the warehouse with a sense of trepidation, slowly gliding through and checking every orifice as he did so. There was no hint of life within the warehouse. Anyone who had remained had either been slain, or had had the foresight to take refuge within the tunnel network.

  Oscar made his way towards the print room, hoping that everything was as he had left it before his capture. He pushed the door open apprehensively before slowly poking his head round to see what damage had been done. His worst fears were realised; the patrols had found the printing press—but how did they know about it? Could it have been by chance, or had someone betrayed The Independent Mind’s trust and sold them out?

  The thought that he might have inadvertently recruited a mole into the fold rolled through his head like a whirlwind. How could it be otherwise? Unless it was just pure bad luck that patrols had decided to search the warehouse; they frequently carried out spot checks on certain areas of the network. They had become even more common within the Charing Cross network, ever since John Howard had lifted the ‘no patrol zone’ status upon hearing reports of illicit goings-on throughout the area.

  Oscar forlornly examined the damage, wondering if the printing press were salvageable. Twisted metal and broken printing plates had been scattered across the print room with such ferocity that some parts were even embedded in the walls. It was pointless: the printing press was no longer of use, but was it that it had been so viciously mishandled, that made Oscar feel so melancholy and defeated. He recalled the hard work of transporting it from Northwood and reassembling it and asked himself: what was the point of doing all the work, only to have it destroyed?

  There again, a lot of good had come from the printing press. It had been the essential vehicle for disseminating the Mind’s bulletins for nearly a year, so Oscar could pride himself on keeping the people of the networks and beyond, informed of all the governmental conspiracies and underhandedness that John Howard had chosen to rule by.

  Oscar shed a tear and moved slowly around the print room, gathering the dismembered components and piling them tidily and reverently in the corner.

  ‘May you rest in peace, old friend,’ he said, ‘for giving everything you had to the cause!’

  *

  ‘Has anyone seen Oscar?’ Myron asked anxiously, suddenly missing him.

  ‘We haven’t seen him for ages!’ Lonny shouted.

  Myron had cause for concern. Oscar was in far too fragile a state to go off on his own, after being shunned by Myron two hours earlier.

  ‘John, can you come and tend to Jen, please,’ Myron requested.

  Jen was reluctant to let Myron leave. ‘Don’t go, please!’ she whined.

  Myron unclenched her hands from around his waist gently, and held her hands briefly.

  ‘I’m the one who pushed him away, so it’s down to me to find him. I’ll be back sooner than you think!’ he exclaimed with a smile.

  Jen was still reluctant to let him out of her sight, but Oscar was a friend and needed to be found, before any more harm came to him.

  ‘You’re right,’ she whispered. ‘Go—find him!’

  Myron got up, but not before pecking Jen’s forehead with a goodbye kiss.

  ‘Lonny, you come with me—I may need some muscle.’

  Lonny was happy to oblige as he reached over to grab his homemade Clone Cudgel. ‘I’m itching to clobber me some clone arse!’ he declared.

  Myron joined him. ‘Me, too! Pass me one of those, will you, Lonny—there’s a good man. Let’s go!’

  Without further delay, Lonny and he made for the exit of the Charing Cross underground network in an attempt to find Oscar. Myron could only think of one place he might go, and headed that way. The patrols had completely dispersed from the area, leaving it safe to cross over.

  *

  While Lonny entered the warehouse ahead of him, Myron stood watch. He allowed himself the luxury of savouring the cool autumn breeze on his skin, and in his lungs. Breathing in the clean, sweet-smelling night air was almost intoxicating, and he felt reinvigorated for the challenge ahead. John Howard might have the country under his thumb, but Myron would be damned if he would deny him this simple sensory pleasure.

  ‘All clear! Are you coming?’ Lonny grunted from within the warehouse, breaking the serene moment.

  ‘Just a moment!’ Myron replied sharply.

  Myron took a deep breath and exhaled before sliding into the warehouse, casting his eyes this way and that for lurking patrolmen.

  Myron joined Lonny inside and they crept stealthily to the print room, hoping to find Oscar in his favourite haunt.

  Oscar’s senses were set on high alert and he heard his confederates’ movements, despite their caution. He was poised to crack their skull with the printer gear he held aloft in his shaking hand, if the intruder were foe and not friend.

  With agonising slowness, the door handle twisted open and a tall shadow formed on the wall. Oscar knew who it was immediately.

  Myron poked his head round the door and looked upon Oscar with quiet reflection.

  ‘What are you doing, Oscar? Why did you leave?’ Myron asked with some puzzlement.

  Oscar threw the printer gear angrily in the corner with the other parts. ‘I know you blame me for what happened to Jen, but I swear I did everything in my power to make sure we weren’t caught!’ he said, his voice cracking with emotion. ‘I didn’t suspect a patrol would find us. I went out the night before and timed each sector changeover, and I knew when it was safe to move about and when it was not. Something just went bloody wrong, that’s all, and I’m sorry, OK!’

  Oscar broke down and sobbed hysterically. Myron looked upon him with pity.

  ‘I bear you no malice, Oscar—I was just angry that it happened,’ said Myron compassionately. ‘What’s done is done. Nobody could’ve predicted what would happen. Now, won’t you come back with us?’

  Oscar was not entirely convinced, but nevertheless agreed to go back to the tunnel network with Myron and Lonny. He had a few things he needed to do first, but he chose not to share his plans with his colleagues.

  ‘You go, Myron, and I will follow. I need to finish off here before I join you,’ Oscar explained.

  Myron walked over to him and placed his hands on his shoulders.

  ‘Do you need any help?’ he asked.

  Oscar shook his head and waved them away.

  ‘Thanks, but I can handle it on my own,’ Oscar replied almost frantically.

  Myron was suspicious of Oscar pushing them away, but he didn’t question his motives.

  ‘Come on, Lonny, let’s go,’ said Myron ‘So long, Oscar. See you soon, yeah?’

  Oscar waited to be sure that they had gone. Once he heard the distant click of the warehouse door shutting, he was free to carry out his intentions.

  *

  ‘When we get back to the tunnel network, we need to th
ink about the possibility of moving Jen away—it’s far too cold and damp for her in there,’ Myron commented to Lonny. ‘Now that we have no threat of the patrols, I think Ryker’s is the place to go … and Jonah will be expecting us.’

  Lonny was in complete agreement. ‘What about Oscar? How will he know?’ he asked.

  Myron said nothing, and Lonny didn’t pursue it any further.

  They completed the trek to the Charing Cross network in record time. On entering the station, Myron turned to Lonny and said, ‘I’m concerned about Oscar. I don’t think I can trust him anymore. He’s hiding something, I know he is.’

  ‘How do you know, Myron? He could just be trying to redeem himself,’ Lonny suggested.

  ‘Maybe so, but I’m not willing to sacrifice everybody’s safety based on a hunch,’ Myron replied bluntly.

  Nothing more was said on the matter as they hurried to join their friends.

  *

  Jen was desperate to move out of the makeshift bed she had been forced to endure. She felt helpless and wanted to get back to the noble and necessary job of vanquishing Howard from power. Several times she had risen only to be told tersely to lie back down, which of course she refused to do. Finally, her confederates were forced to watch her every move and hold her down when necessary. Being treated like an invalid pissed Jen off royally, but it was for her own good.

  Myron and Lonny reappeared, faced with Jen fighting off the unwanted attention.

  ‘What’s going on, John?’ Myron asked curtly.

  ‘She won’t stay still, Myron!’ he replied frantically. ‘We’ve told her time and again to stay in bed, but she insists on trying to get up. Five times we’ve had to put her back! She just won’t do as she’s bloody told!’

  Myron walked over to Jen with a stern look on his face. ‘Jen, what are you playing at?’ he asked, clearly unamused. ‘You’re not strong enough to move around yet.’

  Jen gave him the angriest look he had ever seen on her face, and he had seen a few. Some girls looked beautiful when they were mad, but not Jen: she looked like a demon from the pits of hell. It frightened him to think what was going on in that mind of hers.

  ‘I can’t just lay here like a bloody cripple, Myron—I have to get out of here!’ she snapped, as she tried to get up again.

  Myron sighed and shook his head. ‘John, tie her down if you have to, but for God’s sake make sure she doesn’t get up! We need her fit for the next wave.’

  John grabbed Jen’s arms and pushed her back down forcefully. She let out a painful scream as she landed on her burnt back. To make matters worse, her shoulder had cracked again.

  ‘I told you to make sure she didn’t get up—I didn’t say re-dislocate her shoulder in the process!’ Myron hissed angrily.

  Jen tried to contain her pain, but it was difficult. She certainly wasn’t going to be getting up now.

  ‘Sorry, Myron,’ said John sheepishly, ‘but it’s like trying to wrestle a wild boar!’

  Myron shooed John out of his sight, and made his way back over to Jen. He sat down next to her on the side of her dislocated shoulder. He proceeded to undress her arm to prepare it for relocation. How John had managed to re-dislocate her shoulder was beyond Myron’s comprehension.

  He took told of Jen’s right arm, placed his free hand on her shoulder, and pulled. Jen shrieked in pain as the shoulder clicked back into place for a second time.

  ‘You will stay lying down until we are ready to move out, or I’ll be tempted to dislocate your other arm!’ Myron warned sternly. ‘We’re going to make the move to Ryker’s shortly. You rest until then!’

  Jen lay in silence and stewed in her own self-pity; her pride had taken a bit of a knock from everybody around her.

  Myron moved over to the corner where the rest of his operatives had taken up residence, and announced his decision to move. Having already been informed of the situation, Lonny kept an eye on Jen.

  ‘I intend to make a move from here during the early hours,’ he told his followers.

  *

  Three hours passed. The time had come to move out of the tunnel network and head to Ryker’s. An eager operative had been dispatched to inform Jonah of Myron’s plan an hour earlier, and the gruff but affable barkeep had readily agreed.

  ‘Gather up!’ Myron cried. ‘We need to start thinking about moving! Curfew is nearly over, so now would be a good time to go.’ He turned to address Lonny. ‘Bring Jen over here, but please be careful.’

  Lonny had remained by Jen’s side for the last three hours, and in that time she miraculously had not moved, also as instructed. Her face was a dramatic portrait of discontent. She was still rolling in self-pity, and didn’t feel comfortable with being constantly watched by people she still regarded as strangers.

  Slowly and gently, Lonny lifted Jen by her left arm and supported her weight. Jen winced slightly as she was positioned. Lonny was, by nature, a gentle giant—except when riled—but despite his caution, he inadvertently pulled on her right side and caused a shooting pain to pass through her shoulder.

  ‘Beg your pardon, miss, I didn’t mean to do that,’ Lonny apologised.

  Then without realising, he placed his other arm around her lower back, causing her to wince again.

  ‘Oh, God—I didn’t mean to do that either!’

  ‘You clumsy bleedin’ brute!’ Jen roared, fixing the astonished man-mountain in her patented icy stare. ‘If I weren’t all gimped up I’d cut you down to size, giant or no. I swear, when I’m fit again, I will have you!’

  Lonny said nothing; he only sniggered at the thought, which angered Jen further.

  ‘You won’t be laughing when the time comes!’ she sneered.

  Myron had heard the goings-on and dashed over. ‘Jen, if you dare try anything, I will beat you down myself!’ he scowled. Privately, he knew the words were just a scare tactic, but they always seemed to work when Jen got out of hand.

  Jen was duly cowed and ceased her rant.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lonny, it’s just frustration talking—take no notice of me!’ she grunted.

  ‘You’ll be back in the frame again in no time, miss, don’t you worry,’ Lonny replied jovially. Absentmindedly, he raised his giant oven mitt of a hand to clap Jen on the back.

  ‘No you don’t!’ cried Jen, horrified.

  ‘Beg your pardon again, miss!’

  Myron led the Mind operatives towards the underground station exit. The outside world was still considered hostile, but it was devoid of any governmental patrols during the transition period.

  Slowly and inconspicuously, they moved through Charing Cross and Leicester Square en route to Ryker’s. Twenty-five minutes had been allocated to reach their destination, and they were right on schedule.

  ‘Come on, guys, we’re nearly there! Keep up!’ Myron ordered.

  The difficult part of the transfer was almost upon them. It was always considered dangerous to make the crossover from the shadows to Ryker’s. Around one hundred yards separated them from the safety—and, of course, the much-needed refreshment—that Jonah offered.

  Myron peered into the street; it was quiet.

  ‘Let’s go! We need to be quick—I don’t want to take any chances.’

  With the exception of Jen and Lonny, everybody else was just a stone’s throw away from safety. Jen found it difficult to manage anything more than a shuffle with her injuries, and Lonny was doing as best he could to get her out of the street before anybody noticed them.

  ‘We’re nearly there, miss, just a few feet more!’ Lonny exclaimed.

  Myron approached the back door of Ryker’s after negotiating the dark alleyway leading to the courtyard. Myron executed the secret code of three raps and Jonah peered through the flap before immediately opening the door.

  ‘Come in, Myron, quickly!’ Jonah beckoned. ‘Say, where’s your partner in crime?’

  ‘Her injuries are slowing her down a bit, but she’s not very far behind,’ Myron replied. ‘Is everything ready f
or her?’

  ‘Yes, the back room has been set up with everything you need.’

  Jen and Lonny had finally reached the back entrance of Ryker’s, precisely one minute after the others had entered. Jonah took charge of Jen, relieving Lonny of his burden.

  To everyone’s surprise, Jonah instantly gave Jen an epic dressing down. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing? Considerin’ your social standing, you should’ve thought twice before stickin’ your scrawny neck on the block like a bloomin’ turkey! And don’t give me any crap that it was done for the bloomin’ cause! Hell’s bells, girl, you might as well have painted a bloomin’ bull’s-eye on your bleedin’ arse!’

  Jen remained stock-still in silent disbelief. Why was he being so hard on her? If it wasn’t for the fact that he was right, she would have replied.

  ‘I’m waiting!’ Jonah snapped. ‘How could you be so bleedin’ irresponsible?’

  Jen turned to face Jonah. There was only one answer for why she had accompanied Oscar: the thrill of doing something dangerous and foolhardy—to get her lifeblood pumping, to remind herself that despite all odds, she was still alive and kicking. Even now she felt a peculiar tingling in her gut, recalling her excitement on that night. There was no way she could articulate this to Jonah—or anyone, for that matter.

  ‘Who are you, my bloody father or something? Don’t presume to tell me what I can or can’t do!’ was her snappy reply.

  Jonah was taken aback, and said nothing further. He would wait for as long as it took for her to open up to him, as he did consider himself a father figure to both Jen and Myron. Her cheekiness was hurtful, but he chalked it up to her tempestuous nature. After all, she was a typical moody teenager.

  Myron was as surprised by Jonah’s tongue-lashing as Jen had been, but realised he only did it out of tough love. He also knew Jonah wouldn’t have been so harsh had he known the unspeakable sadism Jen had endured, but she had shared that confidence only with Myron.

  The door to the back room was a welcome sight for Jonah, as Jen was beginning to weigh him down. Myron had already entered in order to ready Jen’s bed for her complete recovery.