The Bleeding Crowd

by Jessica Dall

  “Watch your step.” Heather hugged the other wall. “It normally isn’t this wet, but they tried filling the damn fountain again. Every time they do that they basically put us underwater.”

  Dahlia frowned. “What fountain? Our fountain?”

  “The broken one. In your courtyard I think,” Heather said. “The pipes have always pumped everything in here, but of course they won’t tell maintenance about the tunnels, so they can’t fix it, but they keep trying.”

  “You said there are these tunnels. All over... under town?”

  “Wherever men need to be,” Heather said. “I can get us all the way down the hill this way. We shouldn’t come out far from the hospital.”

  “Shouldn’t,” Dahlia repeated, slowing down.

  “Well, I handle the villas on the other side of town,” Heather said. “This is the first time I’ve ever been over here.”

  “You didn’t think you should have told me that before?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Based on the seriousness of the situation, yes, I think it does.”

  “I found you, didn’t I?” Heather twisted to look at her.

  Dahlia pressed her lips together, but didn’t argue.

  They made a turn, and then another, and another until Dahlia had lost all sense of direction. Heather, however, seemed unfazed, leading them at last to another set of thin, narrow, stairs without a railing, which led up into a dark space. Heather led the way, turning on the lights at the top before Dahlia had reached her. She opened a door with the same key as she had before and brought them out into another hallway before ducking out onto the street.

  Dahlia took a deep breath as the air grew fresher, taking a moment just to enjoy being out of the tunnel before attempting to orient herself.

  “We’re near the hospital, yeah?” Heather looked at her.

  “Yeah...” Dahlia turned in a slow circle, taking in the shadowy buildings from the bizarre angle. She nodded. “Yeah, we’re near the school, but that isn’t far from the hospital.”

  “Do you know a back road that will get you there?”

  Dahlia paused. “Well, I’ve never taken one, but I know the general direction, I bet I could find my way there off the main road. How much time do we have?”

  “Not a lot.”

  She bit her bottom lip, considering it all for a moment. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Where do you think?” Dahlia snapped. “I have an excuse to be out this late in this part of town. I doubt you could say the same thing. I’ll be back soon.”

  Heather frowned, but let her go.

  Dahlia moved off with a quick pace, taking a deep breath to calm the writhing in her stomach before stepping out onto the street. The road was all but deserted. The mild roar from the party, still in full swing downtown, echoed up the hill at times, but it was otherwise silent. She hurried, trying to burn off some of her nerves before she got to the hospital, but reached it before she had much of a chance.

  Mackenzie, the attending medic, looked up from where she sat at the desk, her feet resting on top as she read something on her tablet. “Hey, Lia. Are you working this morning?”

  “No,” Dahlia said. “I was on my way home from downtown and got paged.”

  “Strange.” Mackenzie stretched and then stood. “Nothing’s happened here all night as far as I know, not even party-fueled mishaps, and I’d like to think I would know since I’m the attending.”

  Dahlia nodded, checking her comm unit as if looking at the page again. “Well, I’m just going to run back to my office while I’m here and see if there’s anyone there who sent it.”

  “I don’t think there is.” Mackenzie yawned.

  “Shouldn’t be is the point I think.” Dahlia forced a smiled. “Be right back.”

  Mackenzie nodded.

  Dahlia didn’t waste any more time. Sweat formed along her hairline. She probably looked much too pale, but apparently, she looked normal enough to get by... at least with the sleep-deprived state most of them suffered. Everything appeared much the same, as if nothing of importance was happening. Dahlia supposed nothing was in anyone else’s life. The hospital was clean, still smelled like the same astringent cleaning supplies as it did every day, and, after the damp moldy smell of the tunnels, even the harsh chemicals were a step up.

  She picked up her pace, the wet soles of her shoes squeaking against the linoleum. She was probably tracking dirt from the tunnels and streets across the hospital, but she didn’t have time to worry about the extra work she was leaving for the janitorial staff. A less than sterile hospital was unacceptable, but that was someone else’s problem.

  She reached her office and pressed the key card to the door, waiting for the beep before yanking it open. She didn’t bother to shut it fully before moving to the supply closet. She grabbed whatever was there—ointments, bandages, syringes, pills—fitting what she could into the bag before looking at the room, releasing a shaky breath, and snapping the bag closed.

  She paused. She could leave now. Go home. Send out a page to herself that would make anyone think that she had been called there by some glitch in the computer system. She could go home and more than likely convince herself that that night had just been one long, realistic, strange dream—perhaps even the past few months. What did she really care what happened to the men? Not like she would see them whether they were alive or dead. Yet she’d have to live with that nagging feeling that she had let people die. Even if they were men. Even though it was very possible they deserved whatever happened to them.

  The seconds ticked by and her indecisiveness didn’t do much to help the uneasy feeling in her stomach. She’d have to move one way or another no matter what. She had two options. Standing in her office with a bag full of haphazardly packed supplies until morning wasn’t one of them. She picked up the bag, doing her best to hold onto it without feeling like her arm was sliding out of its socket. She forced her shoulders straight, to look like she had on entry, said a cursory goodbye to Mackenzie, blamed a computer glitch, and left.

  As soon as she was out of sight, she hefted the bag higher with a wince, cradling it between her arms, attempting to share the weight equally between her shoulders. As fast as possible, she worked her way back to where she had left Heather.

  Once there, Dahlia dropped the bag with a thud, her arms too tired to worry about hurting what was inside.

  Heather jumped, spinning on her heel. She looked at Dahlia for a moment. “I didn’t think you were coming back.”

  “Believe me, I considered going home.”

  “I figured,” Heather said.

  “Yet you’re still here.”

  “It was wait here or go back to a bunch of men doomed to die,” Heather said. “I figured waiting for someone who very possibly wasn’t coming was a marginally better choice.”

  Dahlia nodded, not surprised. “Grab that. My arms are about to fall off.”

  Heather holstered her gun and picked up the bag with a grunt. “What do you have in this thing? Bricks?”

  “Everything I could fit that might be of any possible help,” Dahlia said. “Can we keep moving?”

  “I’m not a pack horse.” Heather shifted the bag.

  Dahlia just looked at her.

  Heather sighed in resignation. “This way.”

  Rather than going back to the tunnels, Heather led Dahlia to the line of trees just outside of town.

  “It’s really handy that you all decided to plant trees around every town. I know it’s to hide the camps, but it makes sneaking around a lot easier.”

  Frowning, Dahlia stared at the trees. “These weren’t always here?”

  “They might have been,” Heather shrugged. “All I know is every camp I’ve ever worked at has been buried behind a forest, and I sincerely doubt the entire world only consisted of forests before we had something to do with it.”

  Dahlia nodded, not feeling any urge to ask Heather
about her past. The noise from the party downtown grew louder. Dahlia slowed.

  “Are we going towards downtown?”

  “That general direction.” Heather switched the bag off between her hands. “There’s a tunnel at the back of the government pavilion that will take us to where the men are being held.”

  “All but every woman living within fifty kilometers of town is in the square downtown right now. How do you propose we get anywhere near the government pavilion?”

  “Sometimes it’s easier to get around without being noticed in the middle of a crowd than it is trying to be a shadow in the night.”

  Dahlia studied her. “What color are you wearing?”

  “You didn’t notice?”

  “I was a little preoccupied when we had light.”

  “It’s grey,” Heather said.

  “You mean like silver?”

  “Less pretty,” Heather said stonily.

  “But... like the color kids wear.”

  “Well, you don’t seem to consider us much better than kids. You ship us off early enough no matter what our intellect because you need people who won’t be emotionally manipulated by men. You teach us and treat us like other women, but then you put us on a level below you, which you have done remarkably well.”

  “Maybe that’s just biology.” Dahlia trailed behind her.

  “You really want to upset the woman with the gun?”

  “I’m not sure I know what a gun does,” she said. “Anyway, if that’s some sort of threat I’m not that scared. You need me more than I need you right now.”

  “I could turn you in as a sympathizer.”

  “Then all the men would die which is why you came to me in the first place, isn’t it?”

  “You know you’re just a little too smart for your own good.”

  “That’s why you came to me, isn’t it? Because I know what I’m doing?” Dahlia dodged a branch. “Anyway, I didn’t say the hierarchy was from biology, just that you have no proof that there isn’t a difference between lesbians and other women. I couldn’t prove there is, but it’s a little premature to come to a conclusion.”

  “You want to set up a scientific study about it?”

  “I doubt we have the time at the moment.”

  “I hope that was sarcasm.”

  Dahlia didn’t respond. “Are you all unhappy over there?”

  “What?”

  “People generally only revolt when they’re unhappy. Seems there’s a fair share of you at least.”

  “I suppose there’s enough,” Heather said simply, waving for Dahlia to be quiet as they reached the first pools of light outside downtown.

  Dahlia let Heather lead. Even with the heavy bag, the guard moved faster than Dahlia unburdened. For not knowing the side of town they had been on, Heather seemed to have gotten her bearings and avoided low hanging branches and dips in the ground, which Dahlia hit more often than not.

  Heather slowed as they hit paved road, settling into a more casual pace. They moved at a rapid pace, but not enough to arouse suspicion. The women in the square with the party in full swing didn’t give Dahlia and the guard a second glance as they traveled along the edge of the crowd.

  When Heather neared the government pavilion, she slipped just beyond the reach of the lights and led Dahlia ahead. She checked for anyone from the square and then ducked into the alleyway. Unlocking the door at the side, she led Dahlia into the marble hall at the side of the government pavilion’s ground floor before finding a keyhole barely visible in what looked to be just another seam in the marble wall. Heather used the key as a knob, turning it and pulling so the wall swung outward. She waved for Dahlia to enter before pulling the key out and drawing the handle on the inside of the door to swing it shut before switching on the light.

  Dahlia focused on Heather. “All of you can just run around town like this?”

  “Convenient, no?” Heather moved to the stairs.

  “You’d think this would be monitored somehow.”

  “There are cameras.” Heather nodded. “Lucky for us all of them were blown out in a ‘power surge’ today. They won’t be up and running for another couple hours.”

  “You’re sure about that?” Dahlia frowned.

  “Jude blew them with an electromagnetic device which we conveniently forgot to take from him before throwing him in his cell. They won’t go back online until he’s gone or the battery runs down enough so that it can’t affect the control center. We’re on emergency backup for the lights.”

  “Is that why they’re orange?”

  “No, they’re always like that.” Heather shook her head. “It’s just the only reason they’re still on.”

  “And Jude? He’s Ben’s friend.”

  “Computer savant.” Heather nodded.

  “He mentioned a friend, I think.” Dahlia subconsciously refrained from using Ben’s name again. “Not by name, of course, but...”

  Heather didn’t comment as Dahlia followed her.

  Looking around the tunnel, she struggled to figure out where they were. “Are we going down?”

  “Prison’s under quite a bit of ground,” Heather said.

  “Is it safe?”

  “You’ve never been in a subway?”

  Dahlia shook her head.

  “People have worked underground for centuries now. The prison was made pretty much as soon as Patience took power. It’s where they stuck all the men who got the idea to revolt in their heads. Ironically it’s used for the same thing today.”

  “How far underground?”

  “I don’t know. Tenth of a mile maybe.”

  Dahlia just stared at her.

  “Oh, right. I’ve been around the guys too long.” Heather shook her head. “Um, 160, 170 meters.”

  Dahlia nodded, looking at the ceiling. “How far are we from wherever we’re going, from the prison?”

  “Another five minutes maybe,” Heather replied, setting the medical bag down.

  “So, why are we stopping here?”

  Heather grabbed a piece of cloth from her belt near the gun and tossed it to Dahlia. “Put that on. We’re going to have to deal with the pants you have on.”

  “What is it?” Dahlia unfurled the cloth to reveal a baggy polo shirt.

  “Greens aren’t allowed down here, you need to be in grey. It’s probably a little big, but we figured too big was better than too small.” Heather considered her for a moment. “Make sure you keep your hair tucked into the collar. Guards aren’t allowed to have hair past the shoulder.”

  Dahlia frowned. “You think I look like a lesbian?”

  “I don’t know.” Heather crossed her arms. “What does a lesbian look like?”

  Dahlia paused, looking at Heather in the orange light. She was about average height, maybe a couple centimeters taller than Dahlia, not much more. Heather’s shoulders were wider, better defined than hers, but not beyond the realms of femininity. She probably would have had the same physique if she had spent more time trying to tone up. Considering it all, Heather was pretty with her dark hair coming to her shoulders with a little curl to it and delicate features. Dahlia sensed an odd sort of familiarity to her now that she could study her.

  “Do I know you from somewhere?”

  “I’d doubt it.”

  Heather waited for her to pull the shirt on before inspecting her. Carefully Heather tucked a loose strand of hair back into the collar before stepping back and nodding. “Keep your head down, don’t move too much so your hair stays in place and don’t say anything. Just follow me. The shirt should help people not notice you, but if you draw attention, well, the rest of you isn’t exactly in uniform.”

  Dahlia nodded with apprehension, stopping as she felt her hair try to slide free from the collar.

  Waiting for another beat before picking up the bag, Heather rolled her shoulder and then followed another turn in the tunnels. At the end of that tunnel, a dull white light shone. As they neared it, Dahlia could see that it came
from a cavernous room that opened up from the end of the tunnel with little, if any, finesse. The floor dropped off sharply at the end of the tunnel and a short set of stairs led to the level of the room. A number of other tunnels branched out from there as if they were spokes in a wheel, but the main purpose of the room seemed to be to house the pyramidal shape in the middle with a crescent cylindrical box at the top.

  “It’s the hub,” Heather whispered, nodding at the top of the pyramid. “That’s the control center that got blown.”

  Dahlia nodded.

  Heather moved to the floor at the bottom of the stairs, waved at the woman sitting at the desk on top of the pyramid and moved off to their left at a diagonal to reach another tunnel. This one wasn’t plain like the other; instead it was wide with a line of cells separated by metal bars. The lights weren’t orange, but still buzzed oddly. The entire place appeared Spartan, not at all up to her standards.

  Another woman with dark blond hair caught Heather as soon as they were out of sight from the pyramid. “What took so long? That her?”

  “Yes,” Heather said, walking to one of the cells. There were only half a dozen men in there, sitting on the floor.

  A man stood, moving to the bars. “Do you have her?”

  Heather urged Dahlia forward.

  She surveyed the small group. Two younger men were huddled in the back corner looking too terrified to focus on anything that was happening. Three more had risen when she and Heather appeared and watched her with a mix of apprehension or hope. Ben was leaning against the wall to the right, staring at something just in front of his shoes.

  Dahlia took a breath before looking at the man at the bars. “So, what am I supposed to do?”

  “Abel’s got a gash on his leg.” One of the standing men pointed to a man at the bars.

  “It’s doing fine.” The man at the bars waved the other away. “We need our chips out.”

  Dahlia nodded. “I’m not a surgeon. I have no idea how those chips are placed. It’s about as likely that I’d accidentally kill you as help you.”

  “Fifty percent chance of getting out of here is better than what we’re looking at now,” another man said.