An Escape

“Look, it certainly is a big piece-”

“And all gold-pure gold. But inside, it’s original lithoid for the image. I can prove it too.”

The wrinkled hands of Ms. Leville turned the locket, doubtfully. The young woman across her counter wore three articles: an oversized dirty shirt, inside a poncho of patched and frayed leather, and water logged shoes. But her blue eyes are what stood out; misty and deep. Like a cold pool of water that could be both very deep, or but an inch shallow.

“You see, yeah that man. My Grandfather, He died in the war.”

Inside the locket, Leville saw into the projected screen. A handsome man, in armored sheen, on a, now, non existent Spanish shore. The locked projected inward, creating a sense of reality within the small space; expanding inward and captivating.

“And yet- here he is.”

“My dear,” she replied closing the clasp with a metal snap.

“No! Listen to me. He’s here, and that means it was before he left!” She grasped her hands, opening the treasure herself. “Look at where this was taken, and clearly it will show,” she continued, her eyes small eggs, large and white.

“I understand, truly I do.” The shop keeper’s line began to grow, steadily.

“That must mean not only the gold, but the,” Ms. Leville reached under the counter, “the batteries too. They just don’t make them with the-“

“Look,” she demanded. From below she produced a basket. Inside, dozens of chains snaked together, forging a nest of metal. Peaking between, on top, or in-between bits of metal, rounded edges or sharp points. Hearts. All of them hearts. “All with proof.”

The young woman snatched back the locket, and sulked back into the dark and dripping tunnel.

The long yellow tube lighting cast a sickly tint on the tunnel. In either direction, pockets of broken lights left shadow drenched stains in the uncomfortably straight tube, which faded to first violet, then grey, then black. Sounds echoed: sometimes sharp, close; sometimes muted and muffled, far. Not far from the crack in the wall, constituting an entrance to the trader’s shop, was a tilted sign that read “Broadway.”

Darting left, she quickly took down the tunnel. Her boots splashing in the thinning or deepening of relentless water, entering pockets of darkness, avoiding green and purple rats that scurry away, or larger burnt ones, yellowing in the eyes, grunting, “come here you,” as she continued ever straight.

Approaching a drain pipe, she raised a tattered hood above her head. After a short deluge from the pipe, she crawled in. Widening to five feet, she was now able to walk within the rusting world. Approaching a large breach on the floor of the pipe, the young woman reached within her poncho, taking from it a slender mirror fan. Expanding it, she leaned it delicately forward. With the angle just so, she could peer into an entirely new world below.

Cobbled floors, lit harshly by white light, reflected back at her. Crowds, though small, filtered down the improved, if only slightly, tunnel. Positioned not more than a few feet from the crack in the leaky pipe was a makeshift bench. Two electric doors were also visible, but the shops were barred and closed at this hour. A sign above each plainly read: CLOSED FOR EVE. Electrified- Lethal.

She watched. She napped. She watched. The crowds began to disperse; once groups of fours and threes became quickly moving, solitary individuals. At last, a singular figure appeared, walking with difficulty. The figure saw the bench, and cautiously turned around several times, not without noted difficulty. After a moment of contemplation, a visual sigh came from the tired silhouette. The sudden, and yet deliberately slow movement, ended in a much needed respite.

Reaching again into her poncho, a leather strapped knife handle appeared. In a flash, a blue blade snapped from the handle. With another flick of a switch, it began to glow a soft, and deep, yellow. To her alone, who was close enough to the blade, a familiar scent of burnt hair filled the pipe.

Inspecting her mirror briefly, she shoved it up her sleeve and lunged downward.

Brandishing the now flaming blade she snarled and pounced on figure on the bench. Hunched, as it was cloak fully drawn, it didn’t even turn its gaze.

A crack of wood, a thud on stone, and a deep sound of rigid metal bouncing - not bending- on stone, filled the avenue.

On her knees, knife raised to the top of the earth, her eyes were a cold, blue flame reflected from the light white lights.

“Your gold, or your life,” is what she always said. It always worked. No person- man, child, woman-ever hesitated with that look in her eyes. Not for a long time.

But what lay beneath her, reflected those eyes back. What lay under that flaming blade, was skinny. A repurposed hunk of metal, shroud in an old cloak. A poor excuse of machinery, only able to imitate a feeble woman.

The fire left those eyes. They grey had returned.

“That’s the little rat who took it!”

The voice cried down the stoned tunnel. Muffled by sudden movement of mechanical gears revving. A bandaged woman, with a fresh burn on her cheek, pointed directly- surrounding her, three shiny men. From that distance, all she could see were reflections of brass, steel, and the occasional spark or wire. And three sets of three glaring, violet eyes.

She tried to jump back up into the pipe. Her fingertips grasped, then slipped on the damp rusted crack of steel, and falling on her back with a deep thud, she winced.

The gears revved louder.

“Halt.” Monotonous, and cacophonous, it rang down the stone maze. She ran.

She ran straight. Left. Up. Right. Up. Feverishly she pushed off the walls. Off the small pockets of crowds.

Up.

That was the only thought she had. Uphill, upwards, up and out.

Her eyes were not on where she was going, but on the ceiling.

Soon the steel, turned to plated ceramic, turned to rubbled ceiling. Then earth. The previous flat tunnel now pointed up, and she grabbed the closest steel she found: a ladder. An escape.

How could they be so close? She hurried up the ladder and a locked hatch met her. A menacing red light signaled locked. Sealed. Shut.

“You are in a restricted zone. Any further breaches will result…”

The wheel wouldn’t budge. But in its center, in the red, was an unused key mechanism. A small hole, a small window into the steel.

She jammed her knife inside. No Change.

She twisted the knife. No change.

“Punishment for a surface breach is termination by…”

She jammed the locket inside. A slight crack, and a drop of glowing green emerged.

Striking it with the knife, a wild-blue frenzied spark appeared. The light switched green. The gears approached.

A crack in the dome invited a gust of wind so harsh, she almost fell back to the purple eyes, staring upward, without emotion.

Without a thought she ascended.

And ran.

The ground was sand, and rubble, and dirt. And no plant-like substance, like she was told, could be seen.

The sky was dark. Two floating chunks in sky spun impossibly, but beautifully slow above her. One looked like a cracked mug, or at least the semblance of a circle- at one time. The other was smaller, with smaller bits floating around it still. Not at all like the moon she had been told.

Then she looked down, towards her horizon. And she saw it. And it moved. It was just like she had been told. And worse than her nightmares. And the air, and the sky, and the earth, had a soft blue glow. And she stood silently, without a direction to go.