Our Home is Nowhere (The Borrowed Land, Book 1) (13 page)

21

Night had fallen on Slushland. The empty, foreboding streets were flushed with moonlight and the glowering shadows from overhead lights. An airplane, single-manned by the sound of it, whizzed overhead.

Silently Joe loaded his backpack with supplies: a flashlight, water bottle, chalk, and the pistol. He was tired of the mystery surrounding the Guttermen. Not for a second did he believe they came from the river covered in tattoos, or that they were inbred monsters feeding on Slummer children. The time had come to find out. Putting aside his fear, he stood in the center of the room, his backpack loaded with the essential gear.

.........

Joe flashed the light into the gutter, illuminating the rope ladder that led down to the sewer floor. He figured it was close to a seven-foot drop. Slipping off his backpack, he got on his belly and slipped his lower half into the gutter, feeling around blindly with his feet for the ladder’s rungs. He pulled his backpack in with him and, with the flashlight in his mouth, descended carefully into the sewer.

The expected stench never came, and the trash he was positive would be strewn along the sewer floor was nowhere to be seen. It was as if the sewer had been scrubbed clean and sanitized a dozen times over. He removed the pistol from his backpack and put it under his belt. In one hand he carried the flashlight, in the other he carried chalk to mark his way.

An overwhelming smell of bleach stung his nostrils, irritating his eyes, as he continued deeper into the sewer, the flashlight leading the way. Water dripped from the ceiling, echoing Joe’s hollow footfalls.

He stopped when he came to a fork, wondering which way to go. He sniffed the air wafting from both tunnels and shone his light down each. One route carried the distinct smell of bleach and looked cleaner than the other, so Joe marked the tunnel he’d come from with an X and started down the new tunnel.

He didn’t mind small, cramped areas, but after three more turns with nothing but his flashlight to guide him and the walls closing in on him with every step, he began feeling claustrophobic. His mind started going over horrifying scenarios where the sewage water washed away his chalk marks, leaving him trapped in this underground maze. Just as he was ready to call it quits, he heard voices echoing along the tunnel. Joe paused, listening as more people joined the conversation. He shut off the flashlight. Everything went black. The voices continued.

He gave his eyes a little time to adjust to the darkness and crept along the tunnel before running headfirst into a wall. He switched the flashlight back on, touching his hand to his forehead to see if he was bleeding. Looking ahead, he could see there was only one way to go: the path to the right had been blocked off with rubble. The narrow passage on his left was where he could hear the voices. Now that he was closer, he could make out their tone—casual, like the kind you’d hear in a bar on a quiet evening.

His hand went to his waist, hovering inches over the pistol. Cautiously, he walked down the tunnel towards a wall at the far end through which filtered cracks of light. He
arrived at a wooden door surrounded by freshly laid brick that reached from ceiling to floor. Shoving the flashlight into his pocket, he placed both hands on the brick and put an eye gently to the ill-fitting door, where small gaps allowed him to peer through.

In the next room, he could make out people moving around, and he heard the distinct chatter of women and children. And there was the low humming of something electronic. He couldn’t get a decent fix on the room’s layout, but it seemed large enough to hold at least thirty people.

Suddenly Joe felt cold metal against the nape of his neck. He froze, his hands flattened against the brick.

‘One move and I’ll shoot you in the back of the head. Now come on, back up,’ said a man. The metal lifted from his neck. There was something in the man’s voice—a willingness to do whatever was needed to protect the people behind that door—that persuaded Joe to do what he said.

‘Slowly,’ the voice said.

When they had moved at least two feet back from the door, the voice said, ‘Open it up.’

Joe felt around for the knob. He finally found it and pulled open the door.

Light stormed his eyes; noise drowned in his ears; a wall of warm air hit him. In the huge room, men, women, and children dropped whatever they were doing and stared at him. Some, mostly men, stood in alarm, ready to protect. Women grabbed their children and held them close.

The man pushed Joe forward with what Joe presumed was the barrel of a gun and called out, ‘Found this guy sneaking around outside the door.’ The barrel jabbed his spine. ‘Put your hands on your head.’

Joe obeyed, nervous sweat gathering beneath his armpits. His eyes wandered around the room. It was even larger than he had initially imagined. One side of the room had clearly been designated as the sleeping quarters, and was crowded with dozens of cots and sleeping bags. A kitchen area had been set up, where a lean man wearing an apron was grilling something that smelled like bacon. Joe noticed that most of the children carried books; one of them was holding his stolen comics. Three generators buzzed in the corner, supplying power to the floodlights that hung from the ceiling like oversized wasps nests.

The man who had been cooking the food quickly came over, untying his apron as he went. He was lean, muscular, and about an inch taller than Joe. Without missing a beat, he snatched Joe’s pistol from his waistband, handed it to a nearby woman, and patted Joe down for other weapons. After he’d taken Joe’s backpack and decided he was no longer an immediate threat, he said, ‘Good work, Dan. Take him to the infirmary. I’ll meet you there.’

Dan led Joe at gunpoint through the silent crowd. Everyone stared at him in disbelief, especially the children who looked as if they hadn’t seen anyone like him before. The evident fear in the women’s eyes troubled him. He wanted to shout at them that he wasn’t dangerous, to convince them that he’d only come out of curiosity, not to harm anyone. But he never got the chance. He feared that if he spoke Dan might just get nervous and put a bullet through his brain.

The infirmary was what used to be a supply room for sewage maintenance workers. Three cots with white sheets replaced whatever gear used to be there; shelves stocked with medicine were drilled into the wall.

‘Take a seat,’ Dan said and moved to the far end of the room.

Joe sat down on the center cot. ‘I’m not here to hurt anybody,’ he said feebly.

‘Quiet.’ The barrel still hovered in the air, trained on Joe’s chest.

After a few minutes, the cook and an older woman walked in. Dan lowered the weapon as the woman drew the curtain, cutting off any view Joe had of the main room. The man dropped Joe’s backpack at his feet.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he asked.

Joe looked up at him from the backpack. ‘I…I came out of curiosity. I was looking for the Guttermen.’

‘Well, you found us,’ the man said. ‘Why’d you bring a gun? What did you hope to accomplish by seeking out people that obviously don’t want to be found?’

‘I brought a gun in case the rumors were true.’

‘What rumors?’

‘That you’re monsters. Cannibals. I don’t know. In every rumor I’ve heard you’re dangerous.’

The man scoffed at Joe’s words, but the woman reprimanded him. ‘There’s nothing funny about that, Ronald. You started the rumors. I told you they’d only lead to more people venturing down here. We should have kept quiet.’

Ronald acted like he hadn’t heard her. He crossed his arms. ‘What do you think of us now, boy? Are we as dangerous as they say? Are the rumors true?’

‘I don’t know yet.’

‘We’re not nearly as dangerous as the people up there. The Slummers and gangs—all the politicians who think the bomb is the key to peace.’

‘I’m not a Slummer and I’m not part of a gang.’

‘You’re probably a scout from the Arm. Maybe you thought we didn’t know about them. Well, we keep tabs on the mayhem.’

‘I’m telling you, I’m not part of the Arm. My name’s Joe and I work at an auto shop.’

‘Which one?’ Ronald barked.

‘Zeb’s.’

The woman glared at Ronald with a look that said
See?

‘That doesn’t mean anything, Faith. Just because he works there doesn’t mean he shares Zeb’s sentiments. And he couldn’t have worked there long because I’ve never seen him before.’ Ronald turned to Joe. ‘I’ve known Zeb since the war. He’s not the kind of person who’d go seeking out trouble like you. How’d you find the entrance?’

‘A Gutterman—or whatever you call yourselves—stole stuff from my motorcycle satchel. I followed him to the alley.’

‘Jeb, that damn idiot!’
Ronald turned to Dan. ‘I told you we shouldn’t let a man with no sense go scouting.’ Dan responded with a nod. Ronald continued. ‘We’ve discussed what to do with anyone who discovers our location. I’m of the opinion that anybody from up top cannot be trusted, even your beloved Zeb. I think you should be silenced for good. What’s another body in the Slushland river, eh?’

Joe didn’t say anything. He looked at the faces of each of his captors; none of them had the face of a murderer. They looked like the kind of people who would be driven to kill only from necessity. But leading a person through the sewer and shooting them in the back? Even in his vulnerable position, Joe didn’t think it possible. Faith had a mother’s eyes, Dan looked like a family man, and the first time he saw Ronald was in the kitchen wearing an apron. Joe mustered his courage and said, ‘I don’t think any of you
wants to kill me. I came down here alone and out of curiosity, not to hurt a soul. If you let me live, I won’t tell anyone about this, not even Zeb.’

‘Don’t tell us what we will or won’t do,’ Ronald said. ‘As far as I’m concerned, you’ve committed just as many atrocities as any other person up there.’

‘I could say the same about any of you,’ said Joe, gulping nervously. ‘I was ten when the war started. I’m not the reason you’re down here.’

Faith spoke up. ‘Ronald, may I speak with you a minute.
Outside.’

Once more, Joe found himself alone with Dan who leaned back against the wall and folded his arms. Joe could tell that he had relaxed about the situation. He decided to try asking a question. ‘How long have you been down here?’

Dan’s eyes lingered on Joe for a moment, considering whether or not to answer. Eventually he said, ‘Around a year.’

Faith and Ronald came back into the infirmary. Ronald looked angry as he took position beside Dan. It was Faith who spoke.

‘If Zeb trusts you, then we’ve decided to trust you as well, even if it puts our safety at risk.’ She nodded towards the curtain that Dan pulled aside. ‘Look out there, Joseph.’

He looked. Children were chasing each other on the far side of the room. One wore an old battered space helmet and wielded a curved stick as a taser.

‘If word gets out about us, all those people that live up there—that you live among—will come down here. They will rape the women and kill the men. I can’t bear to imagine what they’d do to our children. Do you understand what we risk by letting you live?’

‘I understand,’ Joe said, watching the kids racing in circles, bounding through parents’ knees and screeching at each other, until Dan let the curtain slide back into position. ‘I promise I won’t mention this to anybody.’

She continued: ‘There are certain conditions that must be met. You need to keep us informed about anything of significance happening in the country. If there are any supplies we need, you’re to be the courier. Our last courier was murdered by the Arm, forcing us to gather our own supplies lately. I think these terms are a fair trade for your life. Do we have a deal?’

‘Yes,’ Joe answered without hesitation. ‘But how will I know what supplies you need?’

‘You’re to meet one of us at the sewer entrance each week. We’ll have a list for you. You’re never to come here unless expressly invited, understood?’

‘I understand.’

Ronald pointed a finger at him. ‘You sure as hell better understand, boy. If you say one word about us to anybody, I’ll come to Zeb’s myself and tear you apart. I meant what I said about the river.’

‘You can trust me,’ Joe said to all three.

‘We have very little choice in the matter,’ Faith said. ‘Ronald thinks the human race is doomed. I believe there’s still some good that can be salvaged. I sincerely hope you prove me right—for their sake.’ She nodded towards the curtain.

Dan led Joe back to the sewer’s entrance, Joe’s pistol tucked into his pants and holding the rifle at his side. As they walked through the darkness, Joe’s flashlight bobbing in front of them, Dan told him about their group: they consisted mostly of teachers, writers, and painters. ‘Ronald was a famous author back when things like that mattered,’ he said. ‘Faith, if you couldn’t tell, was a teacher. Luckily for you, she’s got a soft spot for kids.’

‘What about you?’ Joe asked, rounding the corner onto the last stretch towards the sewer exit.

‘I was a pianist. I still dabble in it a bit if I stumble on a working piano when I go scavenging, but they’re few and far between.’ Dan sighed. ‘There’s not much need for things like that anymore. We’re only concerned with survival now. Ronald hasn’t written a sentence since we made our home down here. I think he’s just waiting for the day when his skills will be useful again.’