State of Emergency

He pulls out a thin sheet of white, almost transparent paper. He shoves all the magazines off the coffee table and brings some of the candles closer. “What is it?” I ask, spreading the paper out.

“The tu

“Are you sure?” I press.

“I said as far as I know.” He traces his finger along the route that we should take. Chris listens intently, studying the map from every angle. Me? The whole thing just looks like a bunch of squares and circles, and I hardly understand a word they’re saying. How are we supposed to know what direction we’re headed when we’re traveling underground, anyway? What good does a map do when we’ll have no light to read it with?

“What about light?” I ask. “Do you have any flashlights?”

“Sorry, no,” Walter says. “Mine were electric. Dead.”

I sigh.

“So we’re going to go underground in the dark,” I state. “We’re going to die.”

“We’ll be fine,” Chris replies. “You’re not claustrophobic, though, are you?”

I run my fingers through my hair.

“Who isn’t?” I mutter.

Chris pats me on the back, capturing one of my frizzy locks of hair around his finger. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there to keep you company.” He smiles devilishly, sending blood straight into my cheeks.

“Stop teasing,” I say, slapping his hand away. “This is serious.”

“I know.” Chris looks at the map one more time. “It looks easy enough. We just follow the tu

“That’s all there is to it,” Walter nods. “It’s a piece of cake.”

“Get your stuff, Cassidy,” Chris says. “It’s time.”

I stand up from my cross-legged position on the floor and check my pack. I shrug my jacket on, twist my hair into a messy bun, and pull my boots back on.

“Ready,” I say. “Tah-dah.”

Chris rolls of the couch and grabs his gear, pausing only to flick a non-existent piece of dust off the collar of my coat. I scowl, wishing he’d stop flirting with me. It’s only making things awkward.

Isn’t it?

I shake myself. I can’t think about that right now. It’s escape time.

Walter puts on an old wool jacket and pulls a crochet beanie over his head. I almost burst into tears when I watch him adjust the hat, recognizing the fact that it’s homemade — probably made lovingly by his wife.

Walter turns to us, smiling.

“Let’s go, shall we?”

Chris squeezes my shoulders.

“Stick close,” he whispers.

“Do as I do,” Walter warns, opening the apartment door. I suddenly feel anxious, seeing the dark hallway, realizing that whatever tu

Chris nudges me out the door, lacing his fingers through mine. I exhale, charged with energy from that one simple gesture. I could get used to life-threatening situations.

Walter locks the apartment door behind us, walking down the stairs. He’s incredibly spry for an eighty-seven year-old man. When we reach the bottom level, he takes a long time opening the door and security bars. He exits first. Chris pauses at the door, waiting for the go-ahead.

“It’s safe,” Walter whispers.

Chris and I walk outside. It’s dark on this side of town. No floodlights, no guards as far as I can see. There is light in the distance, though, probably coming from the Relief Camps on the other side of the city.

Walter ducks into an alleyway.

“It’s about a quarter of a mile from here,” he whispers.

“What is?” I ask.

“Weren’t you paying attention to everything we said inside?”

“No. It made no sense.”

Chris releases a deep, soft laugh beside me.

“We’re looking for the entrance to the tu

“What does it look like?”

“You’ll see,” Walter snaps, obviously irritated that I didn’t pay attention to his tu

We take several left and right hand turns, Walter avoiding lighted areas. He stops at the corner of an abandoned Starbucks. “There’s a guard at the end of this block,” he says.

Chris nods as I peek around the corner, spotting a blue-uniformed trooper ambling across the street with a flashlight. He does a sweep of the area and takes off to another part of the city.

“What’s he even looking for?” I wonder.

“Escapees,” Walter says, chuckling.

I swallow a huge lump in my throat. Walter starts moving across the street, leaving Starbucks behind. We walk up to the sidewalk, Walter staring at a metal gutter opening.

“A gutter?” I say, deadpan. “How am I supposed to fit in there?”

“It’s a lot bigger than it looks,” he replies. “Trust me.”

Chris kneels down and wraps his fingers around the gutter grill, popping it out without any trouble. Well, either that or he’s just freakishly strong. I’m willing to go with the latter assumption.

Chris bends down.

“It is a lot bigger than it looks,” he confirms. “Down you go.”

“What? No. You go first.”

He smirks. “You’re scared.”

“Um, yeah. A big dark hole in the ground has the potential to scare me quite a bit,” I point out.

Chris stands up, amused.

“Well, you can take it from here,” Walter says.

We immediately turn our attention back to the old man with the crochet beanie on his head.

“Thank you for your help,” Chris says, shaking his hand, patting him on the back. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”

“This is my home,” Walter replies. “I intend to keep it that way.”

Walter looks at me.

“You keep your eye on him, alright?” he smiles.

“Whatever you say.” I stand there fiddling with my jacket buttons, overcome with the urge to hug him. So I do. I throw my arms around his neck and pull him into a warm embrace. “Everything will be okay,” I say. “This isn’t Nazi Germany. Not yet.”

I step back, hoping he didn’t see that as an invasion of personal space or anything. “I believe you,” he replies, taking my hand. “Be careful, both of you. And good luck.”

Chris drops to his knees and slides under the metal plating of the gutter. He rolls over the side of the cement slope and disappears under the sidewalk. I freeze, waiting for him to hit the bottom.

I hear a soft thud, then, “Your turn, Cassie.”

I turn around and kiss Walter on the cheek.

“Thank you,” I say.

I get down on my hands and knees and crawl under the sidewalk. The cement slopes downward, covered with wet leaves. I swallow and whisper, “Here I come.”

I roll off the slope, twisting to brace for the impact. I land on my feet, halfway on the ground, halfway on top of Chris. He catches me, making the hit pretty soft. “Good thing you don’t weight much,” he mutters.

It’s absolutely impossible to see down here. A little stream of light is coming from the gutter opening above. It’s almost completely extinguished as Walter puts the gutter grill back on, propping it against the sidewalk.

“I’ve never heard of a gutter this size,” I say. “This is against so many safety regulations.”

“That’s the least of our problems.” Chris reaches for my hand and holds on tight. “Don’t let go. Just trust that I know where I’m going.”

“I don’t,” I reply, “but I still won’t let go.”

I reach out to touch the wall, grossed out when my fingers brush something wet and slimy. My shoes are apparently ankle deep in city sludge, too.

“No talking unless absolutely necessary,” Chris says. “We don’t want anybody to hear us.”

“What if somebody else is down here? Somebody bad?” I ask.

“The chances of that are slim. Come on.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Because I didn’t want to.” A few beats of infuriating silence go by before he continues. “If there is someone down here, that would make it even more important to be quiet. Yes?”