The Underground Read online

  He checked in on her a little later and saw she was asleep next to a half-empty bottle of vodka. He put the lid on it before turning off the light and closing the bedroom door. He retrieved Reminder of Truth, which he had read with a new fervor since he had seen Shayla’s copy. They had discussed their favorite passages, and he turned to one of those that fueled him when he felt unsure of how he was going to make it through another day, with all that he juggled.

  …You must foster the change, dear reader! Give love and make love, and show the women our compassion. We must show women and the world that not all men are violent, rapists, or cruel. This is the truth and it must be revealed.

  He reread it and absorbed the meaning before closing the book. He carefully replaced it under the sink, hidden away. It was late, and he was headed to bed when the nighttime silence was subtly interrupted with a tapping sound that caught him off guard. At first, he thought the noise came from their grumpy refrigerator, but he realized this stray sound wasn’t coming from the kitchen.

  He stood in the center of the living room, listening. Adrenaline surged from within him, moving toward his fingertips. He couldn’t pinpoint its origin until it changed to a quiet knock on the door and he moved toward it.

  It was nearly midnight. Who could be at the door? It could only be a neighbor from inside the building since anyone else would have to ring the buzzer to get past the initial set of doors. The knocking sound started again. He hesitated.

  “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Brigg. I know it’s late, but can I come in for a minute?”

  Nathaniel felt his muscles relax as the familiar voice calmed him. He was confused as to why Brigg didn’t use the cell to at least text him and let him know he was coming. As he unlocked the door, he again wondered how Brigg got into the building without a key.

  As soon as the door opened, Brigg came in.

  “What’s up?”

  “I have some people I want you to meet,” Brigg whispered, pulling him into the hall.

  “Now?”

  “Yes,” Brigg said, and out of nowhere four men clad in black quietly overtook Nathaniel. One covered his mouth with a gag, two others helped hold him down while the fourth prepared a syringe.

  “Hold still and it’ll hurt less,” Brigg said, but Nathaniel squirmed. What the hell was going on? Why was Brigg doing this?

  “This is for the best, my friend,” Nathaniel heard Brigg say from the distance as he felt a shocking pierce to his arm, and after that everything went black.

  Chapter 11

  “Brigg!” he managed to croak through his cottony-dry mouth. If his friend was in the front of the van, surely he would help.

  Nathaniel’s head boomed in sync with the highway’s jostling ride. With effort, he roused his body to a sitting position, feeling a plethora of aches – presumably from being bumped around in the van for God knows how long.

  “Brigg, come on, man!”

  “One more yell out of you and I’ll pull over and put that gag back on,” he finally heard in an unfamiliar bark.

  Nathaniel looked around the back of the van, shades drawn on the windows so the only light came from the edges. Everything he looked at had a haze. He felt thirsty, like a dehydrated plant. What the hell did they inject him with?

  Most important, he felt no pain in his groin. There had been rumors about people randomly being captured and taken directly to the C Centers before their time. The government propaganda swore it wasn’t cruel since full anesthesia made it so that there was no discomfort. Nathaniel lacked any faith in the government, let alone the C Center literature. To wake up as a Spot would be a permanent hell. Then again, maybe that’s where they were headed.

  Nathaniel silently cursed himself. It must have to do with Shayla. How foolish he was to think that he and Shayla could get away with spending an entire afternoon in a hotel. It was a blur of tangled lovemaking and room service. Someone had seen them.

  He guessed that they weren’t on the highway anymore as the road suddenly grew bumpy. His nerves rattled with each turn. The motor finally ceased and the driver door squeaked open and closed with a slam. Adrenalin and fear tore through Nathaniel. The back door of the van flew open and the shock of daylight blinded him.

  “I’ll do anything you want. Please, just don’t castrate me! PLEASE!” he said as a primal desire for the survival of his manhood made him plead. Two masked people subdued him once again.

  ——–

  Shayla tried to stay focused, but the thought of Nathaniel being castrated made her ill. She hadn’t heard from him in more than a week and shuddered to think that he had been picked up by the Tasers, 26 years old or not.

  She knew something was terribly wrong. His work record was impeccable. He hadn’t missed a single day of coming to her office door since they’d become lovers. He would never just vanish. Above all, he would never abandon her.

  Shayla had lived her first 28 years without this man, but she was suddenly desperate for him. She hated that, but there was no turning away from her feelings. Her worry, anxiety, and sheer longing permeated every thought and at the end of another long day, she found herself exhausted but unable to sleep.

  She reluctantly took a sleeping pill.

  “Help! Shayla! help!”

  Shayla woke up suddenly, her heart racing as she regained her bearings. She was home in her own bed. It was only a dream. But the comfort was short-lived. What if it was a premonition, or worse, what if this already happened? She had seen the C Center logo in the dream as he was being dragged into the building. Her fingers nervously trembled as she picked up the phone, and made the call, against her better judgment.

  “Good morning, Shayla,” she heard. It was Gerald, her mother’s right-hand man. What was he doing answering her mother’s direct line? Shit. Shayla looked at the clock and realized it was morning-briefing time.

  “I didn’t realize the time. I’ll call back later,” she said, hoping Gerald didn’t hear the worry in her tone. He knew her well. Technically he was a servant, but he had been like a father to Shayla, certainly a more hands-on parent than her mother ever had been.

  “Not a problem. I will get your mother. Just a second,” he said, before she had a chance to back pedal. Shayla’s rapid heartbeat contrasted the relaxed music that whispered from the speaker into her ear while she waited for her mother’s unmistakable voice, the very voice that frightened her as a child. Even now as she waited, she feared the sound.

  “Is everything alright?” her mother asked as soon as she was on the line, concern penetrating her voice.

  “Oh, I’m fine, mother. Just calling to say hello,” Shayla said. She tried to sound casual, but knew it was useless. Shayla rarely called to say hello, and certainly not at 6:10 a.m. As she woke up, a thought came to her. Maybe her mother was behind Nathaniel’s disappearance. It was certainly possible! Why didn’t she think of this before? Her mother had wanted to have a security detail follow her. While Shayla forbade it, that didn’t mean that her mother listened. One thing was for certain, if her mother did have her followed and found out she was dating a manual laborer, it was entirely possible that she had Nathaniel kidnapped.

  “That’s good to hear!” her mother said with the jovial attitude that defined her public persona. “What can I do for you then, dear?”

  “Anything new?” Shayla managed to say, realizing again what a mistake it was to call.

  “Well, my dear, I’m trying to figure that out as I am in the middle of my morning meeting. You sure you’re okay?” the Queen asked.

  Shayla knew her mother’s keen intuition had already detected something was amiss.

  “Fine, I got up early and didn’t realize what time it was. I’ll let you get back to your…”

  “Just a second,” her mother said, interrupting. She heard her mother’s muffled voice in the background. Shayla twirled the end of her long dark hair, a nervous habit from childhood that hadn’t surfaced in years.

  “I’m all
yours,” her mother said.

  “You didn’t have to cancel your meeting! I’m really fine. Besides, I’ve got to get ready for work myself,” Shayla said. She winced at the nervous sound of her own voice.

  “How is that new job of yours, anyway? You getting that out of your system?” her mother asked with the judgmental zing that Shayla knew well.

  “I love the Cambridge Public Works and the people. I’m learning a lot,” Shayla said, with emphasis.

  “You’d learn more elsewhere, but I’m glad you’re happy,” her mother said with audible reluctance.

  “There is, ah, actually something you can help me with, come to think of it,” Shayla said, trying to sound casual as she furiously twirled that lock into a Shirley Temple curl. There was nobody else to turn to with the means to locate him. Wherever Nathaniel was, and whatever happened to him, Shayla had to know the truth.

  “Of course. What is it?” she asked.

  “Do you think you could find someone who is missing?” Shayla asked, trying to edit the fear out of her voice.

  A moment of dead air quickly cooled their warm connection.

  “What do you mean someone’s missing?” the Queen asked with concern. “Who are we talking about?”

  “A friend of mine just disappeared a little over a week ago. He hasn’t shown up to work and nobody he knows has heard from him. I just didn’t know if you might…”

  “Of course, I’ll help if I can. It sounds rather strange. Are you sure this person didn’t run away?”

  “Yes, mother. I’m sure,” Shayla said impatiently.

  “Okay, okay. I’m just asking. Who is it?”

  “A friend.”

  “I can’t help if you won’t give me the name, now can I?”

  “It’s a friend from Cambridge. His name is Nathaniel DeLuca.”

  “Is he just a friend?” the Queen asked coyly. Shayla could hear the smile in her voice.

  “Mother. This is serious. My friend has vanished,” she said choking back tears, once again considering the possibilities.

  “Okay, okay…what’s his name again?”

  “Nathaniel DeLuca.”

  “I’ll put some people on it immediately. I promise. In the meantime, why don’t you come home for a few days and relax?” she said.

  “I need to be here now,” Shayla said softly.

  “Nonsense, you need to be with your mother. I’m sending a plane. A few days off will do you some good.”

  In one sense, her mother was the last person on earth she wanted to see, but there was something appealing about going home to the Palace’s insulation. Her mom wasn’t always easy to be around, but Gerald always offered comfort.

  “Let me think about it.”

  “I’ve gotta go. Someone needs to speak with me. I’ll call you later, but thank you for looking,” Shayla said, not looking to see who was calling in as she clicked over.

  “Is this Shayla Smith?” the voice asked in a slur. Shayla’s heart beat fluttered with fear.

  “Yes. May I ask who is calling?”

  “My name is Janice. I think you know who I am.”

  Chapter 12

  The musty basement smell woke him. On top of that, he was shivering. He flipped on the lamp beside him on the floor. The raw brightness from the naked bulb stung his eyes as he surveyed the chilly environment. The room had two doors. One looked like a fortress exit with multiple locks, and the other was open, with a toilet in view. He searched unsuccessfully for a clock before glancing at his chafed wrists, where his watch - an engagement gift from Janice - used to be.

  After going to the bathroom, he returned to the makeshift bed; an old mattress on the floor with a few dirty blankets. His head boomed with each step. It felt like a hangover, but it definitely wasn’t from enjoying too much Maker’s Mark. They had injected him with something. That much he remembered.

  A clicking sound startled Nathanial. One by one, he saw the door locks unlatch, making his fears intensify about the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

  A towering man entered, turned and carefully turned all the locks back before facing Nathaniel. A long, deep scar hovered above his left eyebrow. He had no laugh lines, but rather vertical lines deeply set between his brows. His stance was like a military guard, his eyes had the intensity of a jaguar.

  “I’m Simon. In case your little brain hasn’t figured it out, you’re in the Underground now,” he said, folding his thick arms across his chest, each one a braid of muscles. “And in case you haven’t already become familiar with us, our mission is to help rescue young men, like you, who are nearing the age of castration and have not yet found a mate. It is our understanding that you have a mate, and normally we wouldn’t take such a case. But, there were circumstances in your favor that allowed us to rescue you. Namely, your connections,” he said with an obvious emphasis to signal that he disagreed with this intervention.

  “Why the hell did you need to bang my head and drug me with whatever the fuck that was?”

  “We can’t take chances of getting any form of resistance from those we rescue, until we are sure they – or you – understand that we are here for your benefit.”

  “Where’s Brigg?” Nathaniel asked hoarsely, feeling the soreness of his throat, ignoring the bullshit that this guy was giving him. Nathaniel didn’t trust him.

  “Did you look under the bed?” Simon asked sarcastically, not missing a beat before scratching his crew cut. “In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s not here. Just me and you,” Simon said with no further explanation.

  “Where are we?”

  “I already told you. You’re with the Underground, and that’s all you need to know,” he said loudly, almost yelling. “We’ve got to get going,” he said staring hard at Nathaniel with the look of a bull about to charge. “Now, don’t try anything funny. We’re on your side, pal, and we’d like to keep it that way. Understand?” he asked.

  Nathaniel slowly nodded, even though he was more confused than ever. The Underground?

  A knock at the door broke the tension, and Nathaniel was grateful. Simon answered the door, and took a cafeteria-style tray from mysterious arms that Nathaniel was barely able to see.

  “We’re leaving in 20 minutes,” he said as he placed the tray on the mattress next to Nathaniel. After he left, Nathaniel heard and watched each lock click into place, reinforcing his imprisonment. Nathaniel inhaled the food, very soggy cereal with raisins in milk, and cold, dry toast. What he really craved was a cup of coffee, even if it wasn’t from Chester’s Bakery. But this certainly wasn’t like the hotel he had just shared with Shayla where room service was delivered in style. This wasn’t the kind of place where you could order anything.

  After eating, he splashed freezing water on his face. No soap, but it was better than nothing. He still felt ripe with sweat from the journey. With nothing else to do, he sat on the mattress, the old blanket wrapped around him as he tried to keep warm and wondered what might be next.

  “Time to go,” Simon said when he returned.

  “You’re not going to lasso me again, are you?” Nathaniel asked.

  “As long as you won’t give me a hard time. One wrong move, though, and I’ll have to tie you down. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  Being on Simon’s good side seemed imperative. Nathaniel walked through the building sandwiched between a masked guard in front of him and Simon behind. The corridors were lined with closed doors, and while he could hear movement and voices behind them, there was nothing distinctive to hold onto as they quickly walked.

  “Is there any chance of seeing Brigg today?” Nathaniel asked Simon.

  “No. There is no Brigg, so don’t ask about him,” Simon snapped as they led him to the back row of a humongous garage. There had to be a hundred black vans in it.

  “Get in,” Simon said.

  Nathaniel climbed into the van. One of the masked men secured him into a rear-facing vinyl seat with yellow foam popping out where the old seat cushion stitch
ing had given way. Nathaniel was grateful to be in a seat. He was neither hog-tied nor drugged. This was a limousine ride in comparison to the last one. Wherever he was going, it had to be better than the C Center. For just a moment he felt relieved, but then the motor started.

  ——–

  Simon was glad there was just one more stop with this Grounder. The new ones were always full of questions, but answering them was not part of his job.

  Better to leave the Underground’s orientation to the instructors who were more patient. He knew his limitations. Plus, that gave each new Grounder a uniform experience with clear, consistent rules, regulations, and training.

  Simon preferred to stick to his job’s strict delivery parameters: Pick them up at point A, and drop them off at point B. No small-talk, no bullshit, no glamour, but very necessary to the organization’s success.

  And Simon wanted the Underground to succeed. Badly. Actually, he wanted them to exceed their mission. He wanted more than just equality for all men as the Underground’s mission officially proclaimed. He wanted that evil bitch that America called the Queen to be filleted, but he knew it wasn’t prudent to broadcast that. Technically speaking, it was outside of the Underground’s official agenda. Still, if he ever got the chance, he would do it. She deserved it as punishment for all the men castrated under her rule. Yes, she inherited the laws as they were, but there’s no question she could change the laws. That’s the kind of power, unfortunately, the Queen held.

  “Simon here,” he said, answering his cell phone as he drove along the highway, dusk turning quickly to darkness along the country’s plains.

  “You close?”

  “Be there in a few hours, why?”

  “Got another assignment for you. Not close to home, but important. Drop him off and then you’ll be off again.”

  “Got it. I’ll be ready,” Simon said, hanging up and knowing this meant a short overnight at the Underground headquarters.

  “I’ve gotta take a crap, are we almost there?” he heard Nathaniel yell. Simon didn’t answer. Some new Grounders grated on his nerves more than others. This guy was a needy pain in the ass. Where’s Brigg? Where’s Brigg? Are we almost there? Simon wanted to smack him. Nathaniel didn’t need help, as far as he was concerned. Simon couldn’t understand why he, and countless others, had to risk their lives for a guy who already had a fiancée. If Simon’s brother had had a fiancée, he surely wouldn’t have been castrated and then committed suicide from his depression.