Endless

by S. B. Niccum

  “Where did you find it?”

  “With her things.” She points to my junior year picture.

  “Well then it must be someone she knew.”

  “Must be,” Sam says absentmindedly. “I wonder how Alex and Tess ended up together? Obviously, things didn’t work out with Eugenia, and he ended up marrying Tess, who was a year younger.”

  “Well, I think we’ve wasted enough time with this guessing game. I’m tired,” Pete declares, slamming the yearbooks shut and sending a puff of dust flying up in the air.

  “Yeah,” Sam agrees with a sense of forlornness. She liked the escape; she had enjoyed looking at my dresses and my sketches. Part of her wanted to be me, the girl who got to wear all the pretty dresses she could dream up. In her mind I did nothing but play with clothes and attend parties, where I displayed my many dresses. I feel sorry for her. My life wasn’t what she imagines at all, yet I had comforts that she doesn’t have. I had a home until I was eighteen, I had Dorian, and even though I didn’t know it then, I had Alex.

  A few weak rays of slanted sunlight filters through the dirty windows, and Pete winces reflexively the minute they touch his eyelids. I feel sorry for him. Something about light shining into his eyes triggers a nightmare that he doesn’t want to relive, so he opens his eyes wide and looks around the room in a panic.

  “Sam?” He asks suddenly, pushing back the sudden feeling of anxiety that the nightmare has triggered.

  Samantha stirs, and sleepily stretches. Then, awareness dawns on her and she starts up. She looks around the room with her eyes open wide, yet still glossy with sleep. “What? What’s wrong?” She asks.

  “Um…” Pete holds up the dusty blanket and an expired can of pork and beans. “Someone knows we’re here!”

  They had curled up by the embers of the fire, like a litter of puppies, and slept soundly in spite of the obvious cold they felt. Russell and I took pity on them, so we took turns looking for more earthly comforts for them. I found an old blanket that we draped over them with the sword. It was a tedious job, but we managed, without damaging anyone or anything. Then we set out to find them breakfast. All we could find was an old can of pork and beans that had long expired, but we hoped was still edible.

  Holding their breath, they look around the empty room, but nothing seems to be disturbed. There are no footprints on the sooty floor other than their own, and the door is still locked from the inside. Their breaths are so shallow, that I fear they might pass out. I can tell that their senses are on full alert as they try to pick up the faintest of sounds or movements.

  The ham radio is still there, untouched. The fire is cold and ashy.

  “I think it’s her,” Sam says, taking a paper and unfolding it with cold, stiff, fingers. It was a torn page from the yearbook, the page that contained my picture.

  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Pete takes the paper and focuses on my small portrait. “Why her? Maybe it’s him, Alex.” He shakes his head, and hands her back the paper. “Besides, it’s crazy to think that ghosts are helping us, or that they exist, even!”

  “But you said so yourself, last night. When the boxes tipped over.” Sam says defensively.

  Pete rubs his face and takes in a deep breath. “I don’t know what to think anymore. Sometimes I just feel like screaming.”

  Samantha nods understandingly, and gently folds the paper back and sticks my picture in her coat pocket. “Well, we have something to eat. Lets eat it!” With a pocketknife they poke jagged holes into the can and take turns gulping down the meager contents.

  “So what exactly do they do?” I ask Russell, who is studying his sword with loving interest.

  “Well I don’t know what Sam does all day, but Pete here will probably try to infiltrate the underground once more and show off his newfound radio.”

  “Is it safe?”

  “Is what safe? The infiltrating or the underground?”

  “Both, I guess.”

  “Once he’s underground, he’ll be safe.” Russell swipes the sword a few times, making the thing light up like a fiery torch. “I’ll make sure he makes it.”

  “This house has to remain as shut up as possible. We should do our best to not arouse any suspicions about it.” Pete wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and picks up the radio to inspect it for the hundredth time.

  “Oh, Pete, I don’t want to leave it. I feel good here.”

  “In a spooky kind of way, I feel good here too.” He sighs. “But we need to keep a low profile.”

  “Where are we going to sleep tonight?”

  “The shelters.”

  Samantha’s shoulder slump down, and she looks miserably back at Pete. “No! Not the shelter! That’s the whole reason why we came here!” she protests.

  “I know, but now we have a plan; we have a purpose. You don’t want the officers to ransack and destroy this place, do you?”

  Samantha shakes her head and sighs. “Fine! I’ll go back to the shelter, but every once in a while I want to come back here.”

  “We will, I promise.” He slides his hand under her disheveled blond hair, and kisses her forehead—his first sign of affection ever! She blushes at this unprecedented act of tenderness and looks down, gracing her high cheekbones with her thick eyelashes. Pete seems hesitant to let go of her. He’s having an internal battle between wanting to get closer, and knowing that getting close to people has only brought him grief, pain, and eventually death to those he has loved.

  Not privy to his thoughts as I am, Sam looks disappointed and puzzled, as Pete clears his throat, and pulls away from her rather suddenly. She was expecting something more, a proper kiss, or even a longer caress, but she remains disappointed in this hope. Her mind immediately flashes back to the first time she met Pete at the shelter. She had been the only one from her family to survive an epidemic that swept through the shelter like the plague. Pete and his sister came right after that, not knowing of the plague. Apparently, they had come to be with an aunt and uncle, but when they got there, they only found their cold dead bodies, stacked up in a heap, ready to be burned. Sam’s whole family was in that heap too, and together they sadly watched the gruesome sight.

  As the infernal flames danced across their faces, they exchanged blank stares, and noticed each other for the first time. After this ordeal, they kept seeing each other at the soup line, at the sleeping hall, and just in passing. They never spoke; they simply exchanged silent, vacant gazes, until after the night a soldier took Pete’s older sister. When Pete realized what was going on, he took off after the soldier that was dragging his sister away, and was about to lunge at him, when a strong pair of hands gripped him from behind and dragged him into the shadows.

  “No sense in you dying too,” the man who grabbed him said to him.

  “I’d rather die, than live like you!” Pete spat, and the man stopped his mouth and dragged him even further out of the way. Sam had silently followed them, curious, and ready to help if it was needed, though she had no clue how this would be done.

  “Your time for dying will come, just not tonight. Not like this,” the man growled, quietly through his gritted teeth.

  “That’s my sister!” Pete spat.

  “And she would want you to live to do something that really matters.”

  “What do you mean?” Pete asked, his nose flaring, trying to rein in his anger.

  The man put his index finger to Pete’s lips, signaling him to be quiet. “Not here, not tonight,” he said mysteriously. He then left Pete panting on the floor. That’s when Sam ventured out of her hiding spot and went up to him, quiet as a mouse. Pete saw her come and said nothing as she sat next to him. They sat there in that hallway, side-by-side, not touching, not talking, both staring out at nothing, then quietly crying themselves to sleep.

  They stuck together after that. It was an unspoken mutual agreement they had for days. When they finally spoke, it was as if they needed no introduction.

  While still remembering this and
pondering what it would be like to be kissed, really kissed—Pete calls her attention back to the present and to another, more practical and pressing thought—how to leave the house undetected, and how to come back undetected. This call to reality promptly squelched the other, more frivolous thoughts, to the extent that she felt silly for entertaining such trivial daydreams as kissing.

  While the two of them made plans, the two of us made plans also. “First off,” Russell enumerated with transparent fingers. “I’ll have to go make sure that the coast is clear. Cast-outs and prisoners are just as bad as the ROWE soldiers; in fact they are the masterminds behind every ROWE soldier. If the spirits from Prison get wind that there are two kids holing up here, they’ll alert the soldiers and these two are done for.”

  “What if the coast isn’t clear and they go out while there are bad spirits about? How do we tell them to hide?”

  Russell sighs. “Just remember, their soul is more important than their life, right now. Whatever the circumstance, just make sure you save their soul.”

  They have to make it to the underground by different ways, by themselves, and each undetected by both mortals and spirits. To accomplish this, I find myself flying in all directions, trying to spy out the area beforehand, and then going back to tell her which way to go. Fortunately, she is very intuitive and listens well. Every time I speak to her and tell her which way to go, or whether to hide and be still—she smiles inwardly—like she knows I’m here, guiding her, and she tightens her hold on my picture that she keeps in her pocket, as if it were my hand.

  Somehow, we manage to make it to the underground in one piece. Pete had given her specific directions on how to get there. If he hadn’t, we would have never found it since I have always been so directionally challenged. The entrance is a boarded-up door to an old commuter train station. A dilapidated, old sign that reads “Caution. High Voltage Area” hangs precariously above the door by one nail. Sam knocks and the sign rattles unsteadily. Looking all around, afraid of being seen, Sam hurries up and knocks again making the same exact rhythmic pattern. From inside a different knock responds and Sam knocks again in a particular way—a secret code, I surmise.

  Two boards part slightly from the inside, and a pair of eyes inspect Sam for a few seconds. “Who sent you?”

  “Pete,” Samantha says, then she clears her throat and speaks slightly louder. “Pete Moore,” she adds. A few seconds later what first looked like a boarded-up door opens up on invisible hinges and a hand pulls Sam briskly in. Inside, the darkness is complete, and it takes us both a moment to adjust our eyes to it. It’s cramped too, literally like a small closet of sorts.

  “Is he here yet?”

  “Who?”

  “My—Pete, Pete Moore, did he make it yet?”

  “No. Your Pete’s not back yet.” The voice belongs to a husky girl, who, unlike Sam, looks like she could defend herself against any soldier, any time, and come out unscathed. She’s holding a large antique handgun, and has it casually resting on her shoulder, with a finger on the trigger and another on the hammer. “Who are you?”

  “Samantha Feltz.”

  The doorkeeper shakes her head. “I don’t recall Pete ever mentioning a Samantha Feltz,” she says with a challenging smirk on her face.

  “Well, he didn’t know I would end up coming so soon, but we found something.”

  “Oh yeah,” the doorkeeper says with mock interest. “What did you find?”

  Samantha looks around nervously, not sure if she should trust this burly gal or not. “He—he better show you himself,” Sam finally says, and the brawny girl laughs at Sam’s insecurities. Chuckling still to herself, the doorkeeper lifts a latch revealing a tunnel, then leads Sam down the dark, muddy, and slippery shaft. Sam presses her hands against the walls and roof of the passageway for support, and still manages to slip a few times. The doorkeeper, however, walks briskly down without slipping once.

  “Wait here,” the girl instructs. “Someone will come for you soon.”

  “Who?” Sam asks, suddenly alarmed.

  The girl laughs again. “Don’t worry, there are no ROWE soldiers here. This is the rebellion, we don’t hurt our own.” She smiles a forced smile, and then disappears up the same tunnel they just came from.

  This holding area is nothing but a muddy, wet, carved-out hole deep underground. There’s only one torch here, providing both light and warmth. Samantha takes advantage of this and puts her hands up toward the flame to warm her frozen fingers.

  “Sam, is it?” a man’s voice surprises her.

  “Yes, Samantha Feltz.” The moment she says her name she realizes she knows that man. It’s the same man that pulled Pete back that night, and kept him from getting killed by the soldier who took his sister. The man watches as this realization registers on her face, then smiles.

  “Miles,” he says stretching his hand affably. “Welcome to the rebellion, Samantha.”

  Chapter 13

  The rebellion headquarters is at the heart of several narrow tunnels that snake their way to an old dried up sewer holding tank for the old city. Apparently, each tunnel leads to a different exit, so as to not attract attention by coming and going from a single location.

  The main area is full of people who turn and stare as Samantha passes with Miles in the lead. Apparently he’s one of the leaders, because they all salute him with reverence, and study the new face he’s brought. Most of the mortals present have angels who, like me, are assigned to watch over them. As I pass by, the angels acknowledge me in turn by a cordial wave of the hand, or a nod. Every mortal and spirit has a workstation of sorts, and they all seem to be busy doing something. Etched on the ground, in the middle of the room are the words, “If not me, who? If not now, when?”

  “Sorry about your family, Sam. Your dad was a good friend of mine.”

  “He was? You knew him?”

  “Him and your mom,” Miles affirms. “They were both part of the rebellion, so it’s no surprise for me to see you here.”

  “But I never saw you talking,” Sam protested.

  “You wouldn’t have. That’s the whole point of being part of a secret organization.” He smiles and winks. “Sam, if you join there are a few rules you’ll have to abide by.” Sam nods slowly. “No one sleeps here unless you have the night-time shift. When you leave, you have to go back to your shelter a different way each time. You will not acknowledge the fact that you know me, or anyone else from this cave—no one!”

  “W—w—what about Pete? I already knew him.”

  Miles stares at her for a few seconds then smiles. “It’d be best if you didn’t alert the soldiers to the fact that you have a boyfriend. It’ll just remind them that life goes on, and they don’t like that. But since you two have been hanging around together for some time now, I guess you should continue as you were. The main point is not to alert anyone that things are different.”

  Sam nods again and looks over Miles’ shoulder. Behind him there’s a girl about her age, sitting at a desk next to an odd looking button. She’s holding a pencil and had presently paused whatever she was doing to listen in on the conversation. “Sam, this is Gladys. I want you to become an expert at this. It’s called—”

  “A telegraph,” Sam says looking hypnotically at the device.

  “Yes, how do you know?”

  “Am I to learn Morse code?” Sam asks, trying to avert Miles’ attention, for fear of getting Pete into trouble. She had a sneaky suspicion that talking about these things outside of this cave would be one of the rules.

  “Yes.” Miles narrows his eyes and looks shrewdly at her, and just as he was about to say something, Pete’s excited voice diverts his attention.

  “What took you guys so long?” I ask Russell as he glides through the cave, sword in hand, looking tense.

  “We ran into some trouble,” Russell explains. “An escaped dark spirit started tailing us, and I had to use this.” He swings the sword around briskly, then tucks it behind his back expertl
y.

  “What happened to the spirit?” One of the other angels asks, moving toward us with haste.

  “I temporarily erased its essence, giving us enough time to escape. We really need more good spirits though,” he adds, shaking his head wearily. “We need to send these escapees back to Prison, so we can get a handle on this situation. We might be spirits, and we might move fast, but we can’t protect our mortals and return dark spirits at the same time. It’s one or the other.”

  “I’ve been saying this for years!” the angel who came toward us exclaims, as he folds his arms across his chest. He’s a short, Open spirit, who is also packing a sword that is way bigger than him, yet he looks quite comfortable with it and not at all bothered by the huge hilt that sticks out from behind him. “Tony.” The spirit sticks his stubby fingered hand out for a friendly shake.

  While Pete shows a group of rebels his ham radio and Samantha learns how to operate the telegraph from Gladys, Tony shows us around and introduces us to the other spirits in the cave. Most of these spirits are veterans of this war and are the original spirits who helped organize this rebellion. They were around when ROWE was first created, and they chose to stay and extend their missions to help mortals organize a stable rebellion against this oppressive world order.

  “We’ve had to teach them how to operate the telegraph, and we taught them how to read Morse code and how to send encrypted messages,” one spirit explains. “I used to be a spy in my day. I’m a World War II veteran.” The spirit puffs out his chest with pride.

  “Admiral in the United States Navy,” Russell states, saluting the fellow soldier.

  “Good, good, we need as many trained soldiers as possible,” the veteran says, then looks at me with hopeful eyes.

  “Fashion designer. Sorry,” I apologize with a shrug. “But I am a discerner.”

  “And a very good discerner, I might add,” Russell avows.

  “Well, the rebellion is made up of all kinds of ex-this or ex-that’s,” Tony interjects. “I myself am a fellow with a dubious past on earth, but as you can see, I’ve mended my ways, and have managed to Open at last. Now the important thing is to work together and use any skills we can bring to the table.”