The Underground Part 6

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? s.h.i.t. 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 h.e.l.lo," Shayla said. She tried to sound casual, but knew it was useless. Shayla rarely called to say h.e.l.lo, 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 att.i.tude 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 m.u.f.fled 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 n.o.body 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 n.o.body 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 bas.e.m.e.nt 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 circ.u.mstances 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 h.e.l.l did you need to bang my head and drug me with whatever the f.u.c.k that was?"

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

"Where's Brigg?" Nathaniel asked hoa.r.s.ely, feeling the soreness of his throat, ignoring the bulls.h.i.t 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 la.s.so 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 st.i.tching 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 bulls.h.i.t, 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 b.i.t.c.h 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 a.s.signment 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 c.r.a.p, 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 a.s.s. 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 fiancee. If Simon's brother had had a fiancee, he surely wouldn't have been castrated and then committed suicide from his depression.

Nathaniel must be pretty connected because they didn't rescue people who were engaged. Simon tried to dig up the dirt on Nathaniel, but all he learned was that the guy's fiancee was difficult. Poor boy. Maybe he didn't love her. After all Simon had seen, he didn't believe in love. l.u.s.t? That was another story. He still enjoyed occasional trysts with Eudora, the head Underground s.e.xpert instructor. The thought of that made him smile. He hoped she was free tonight. He could use a good f.u.c.k after all this driving. She was, technically speaking, his wife, which she had done to keep him out of the C Centers.

"How much longer?" Simon heard from a hoa.r.s.e sounding Nathaniel.

Simon turned the on stereo, selected his favorite CD and cranked the volume, not giving a s.h.i.t if Nathaniel was an AC/DC fan or not.

Nathaniel knew Janice was either worried sick or sick from drinking. Either way, she would surely blame Nathaniel for his disappearance even if she found out at some point that it was against his will. She was probably drinking vodka by the bottle to "calm her nerves," as she used to say.

He couldn't worry about Janice right now. He had his own s.h.i.t to deal with, like figuring out who the h.e.l.l he was traveling with. He tried to think of any unusual past disappearances. He didn't know anyone who had gone AWOL. Maybe some people who went on the record as murder victims were really members of this Underground? Would they declare him dead after he was gone for a certain amount of time?

Still, he felt a little bad for Janice, but not as bad as he did for Shayla. She would expect a phone call if he wasn't coming to work, and Nathaniel never missed work.

"I don't want you to go," she playfully said as she grabbed him one last time before he got dressed when they were in the hotel. "I wish you could stay the night," she pleaded.

"I do too, but I will see you in the morning with a blueberry m.u.f.fin and coffee," he had whispered in her ear the day before he was kidnapped.

"Come early."

"I promise," he had said before a lingering kiss.

Just the thought of it made him grow hard. He didn't think he could last without her. He had to contact her somehow, and soon.

When the engine finally turned off, Nathaniel was escorted from the van into an elevator that went down for so long he felt the pressure in his ears. This was not an elevator with an inspection sticker signed by the state. It was not that kind of place.

The elevator doors opened to a dark hallway, illuminated only by humming fluorescents. Nathaniel noticed the words painted on the wall behind the guard's desk: Keep your Laws off my Body. Equal Rights and Justice for all Men. He knew these words well. Reminder of Truth had them at the end of each chapter, and he would soon see these words everywhere. The Underground's mantra was painted on the shower stalls, cafeteria, lining the warren of hallways that were his new home and in every cell men slept in.

"Welcome back, Simon," the guard said without fanfare.

"Barely here for a rest, but here is my delivery," he said, as though Nathaniel was a box of office supplies. Nathaniel nodded quietly, which seemed safest.