“I was bored and wanted some fresh air. That’s all.”
“Bored?” He exhales a slow disgusted breath. “Did anyone see you?”
I remember the flash of white on the rooftop. Did she see me before I saw her? Before I ducked back into the cover of the tree? “No,” I tell him. “It was the middle of the night. No one was out.”
He seems relieved and then chuckles. “Stuck outside, huh? I guess I’ve had worse pillows than a door.”
I take my coffee from the brewer. His sympathy is overwhelming. “Glad you find it amusing. Where’s everyone else?”
“It’s just you and me today, kid. We’re going exploring—down in the T.”
* * *
I learn that even though the T has been abandoned, its underground guts still exist—at least some of it near the old city center. He takes me to the red line first. The entrances were walled up long ago, but the Non-pacts have whittled their way back in, creating discreet new entrances that are nearly invisible. Virtual cities exist belowground but they’re only clustered in the open areas of the underground stations. The Non-pac
ts don’t venture down the dark tunnels that lie beyond. The ventilation is bad and there are many dead ends, blocked off by rubble, and those that aren’t blocked are rumored to have half-dogs at the end of them.
“Half-dogs?”
“Wild things that resemble dogs. Lab creations gone wrong. A few got loose, bred, and now rumor is they live in the tunnels. I wouldn’t worry though. I’ve never seen one. But then, I’m smart enough not to go down into the tunnels.”
Their version of the bogeyman? We can hope so.
We visit parts of the blue and orange lines too. The underground stations are where Non-pacts shop for food, meet in the abandoned restrooms for medical care with doctors of questionable abilities and credentials, sell scavenged items like clothing for whatever they can get, and sometimes just mill around searching for conversation and company. It’s a darker, drearier version of the Non-pact Bazaar I went to in California, this one reeking of sour air and the smoke of grilled meats.
I remember the days these stations were packed with people in a hurry to get somewhere. There was music, bright lights, vending machines, the whistle of trains. It was full and busy—so busy I never thought it could be any other way. There’s no rush here anymore. These people have nowhere to go.
Why didn’t they just choose one side or another long ago? The Democratic States of America or the American United Republic? They had the choice to be citizens once. Maybe they would have chosen if they’d known they would end up like this, but then again, I guess a lot of us would take a different path if we could see into the future.
Xavier acknowledges various acquaintances as we pass. They eye me suspiciously. I stick out like a cop in a pool hall. Xavier notices but doesn’t say anything. “I don’t think I’m going to bump into Raine and her friends down here. Or the Secretary. What’s the point of the tour?”
“Let’s go outside and talk.” He motions to the Non-pact–created entrance and we climb the uneven steps, squinting at the sun as we emerge. He leads and we walk through overgrown bushes that hide the entrance from view and step out onto a path that leads to the street.
“You’re familiar with the green line?” he finally asks.
“I already told Livvy. I lived close to it. The D branch in Brookline.”
“Well, as near as we can figure, the green line was expanded with two more tunnels after you lived here, so it probably isn’t quite how you remember it.”
“Are we going there next?”
He shakes his head. “No Non-pact in his right mind would go down into the green line—stations or tunnels.”
“What? Because of the bogeyman?”
He stops walking and stares at me, clearly not amused at my comment. “Bodies. At least parts of bodies. A headless torso. A leg. Sometimes the bowels.” He looks away and resumes his pace. “But we think they could be ruses, placed there to keep others away. One well-placed body part has years of scaring power. Especially for Non-pacts, who are pretty much defenseless.”
I would hardly describe Xavier as defenseless, but maybe for the typical Non-pacts scrabbling out a day-to-day existence in a city where they have no rights, defenseless sums it up. Especially when it comes to some unknown creature that leaves body parts scattered in their underground realm.
“Maybe there really are half-dogs.”
He shrugs. “If there are, the Secretary’s right-hand man isn’t afraid of them. We saw him slip into a green line entry point at the public gardens and when he came out hours later he wasn’t missing so much as a finger.”
“Why would someone like him even go down there?”
“Because it’s a helluva good place to hide something—and he has something big to hide.”
He doesn’t have to say what the something is. Karden and the Secretary’s own secret detainment facility that’s under the radar of officials.