Underground Railroad

I keep my head down, eyes on the cobblestones as I cross the street. The sidewalks are filled with people making their way home, cars sitting bumper to bumper in the narrow roads. I'm trying to look natural, to not draw attention to myself. Isn't that always the way? The more you don't want to be noticed, the more awkward and noticeable you become. Are my arms swinging too much? How do I normally walk?

I shove my hands into my pockets instead and try not to look too obviously at the officers chatting on the corner. It's not unreasonable for me to be here, I remind myself. I walk by, holding my breath. If they ask to see my identification…

Thankfully, they're too busy showing each other something on their screens to pay attention to me. I'm just another shadow on the street.

The rendezvous point is a subway station. My instructions are to wait near a column by the front of the platform. I wish I had my screen right now to double check the details. But of course, I couldn't bring it with me; there's all sorts of GPS tracking devices in those things.

I lean against the column, trying to relax. It feels like my heart is pounding loud enough to give me away. If I had my screen, I could read a book, or browse the feeds—I need a distraction. I've been here two minutes and I've probably looked at the arrivals screen fifty times.

I glance at it again. The next train is still ten minutes away.

A station employee in an orange vest comes around, sweeping up invisible crumbs. "It's getting late," he says with an exaggerated look at his screen. He smiles at me. He's white, maybe forty, with a slight paunch. He seems harmless; it makes me wonder if he's an undercover officer. There's always more of them than you think.

"It's almost curfew." He's stopped to lean on the handle of his broom, looking at me. "You two sure are cutting it close, huh?"

I realize there's another woman waiting near the pillar and that the "janitor" is addressing us both, as though we're together. It makes sense. Women aren't supposed to travel alone. DON'T TEMPT YOUR LUCK... That's what all the PSAs say, emphasized by menacing manly silhouettes. TRAVELING ALONE IS ASKING FOR TROUBLE!

The other woman looks like a mouse caught in a trap, eyes wide and panicked. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.

"We know," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "The boss kept us late. We're trying to get home in time." I look at the arrivals board again. Eight minutes.

He stares at us a moment too long. But then he straightens and resumes his sweeping. "Stay safe," he says, but it feels ominous.

Once he's moved away, I hear a "thank you" so quiet it's possible I imagined it. I nod my head, but don't look over at her.

More people arrive on the platform. Another woman stands near us, playing a game on her screen. Her skin is a deep, rich brown, so she needs to have her hair covered to comply with the dress codes. But I can still see a frizzy black curl escaping by her neck. A tiny rebellion.

Finally, the station fills with the roar of the approaching train. Everyone who was looking mindlessly at their screens surges forward, eyes fixed on the incoming train. In that moment several things happen, too quickly to process.

The rebellious woman steps forward with the crowd and loops her arm through the mousy woman's and mine. "I'll be your conductor this evening," she grins, but her eyes are tense.

We flow towards the train which has just settled into the station. The doors open and I feel the whoosh of conditioned air. Then we are no longer by the doors but at the front of the train. The dark tunnel yawns in front of us, and we're climbing down a tiny ladder.

"We've got less than a minute!" our conductor urges us. She points at the tracks, "Watch out for the third rail," and hurries into the tunnel. We scramble after her, and I try not to touch any rails at all, since I couldn't see what she had pointed at.

I hear the chime of the doors closing and the train's brakes disengaging. Panic spreads through my chest like a bloodstain. The other woman stumbles behind me. I grab her hand and run.

"Hurry!" our conductor says. The wheels are screeching and it sounds like the train is right behind us, and I'm thinking this is how I die.

And then she's hauling us through a door and slamming it behind her. The metal latch rattles as the train roars past. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Behind me, the mousy woman sobs.

Our conductor sighs heavily, then launches herself off the door towards us, arms outstretched.

"My name's Ritta." She takes our hands and shakes them, awkwardly enthusiastic considering the absolutely insane thing we've just done. "Welcome to the Underground Railroad."

***

This room looks like it's for HVAC maintenance, filled with big metal boxes with pipes and vents and fans. A cough echoes through the room and I jump. Someone else is here.

"Don't worry," Ritta says. "That's Hevel. He's coming too." Hevel steps forward and gives us a small, tentative wave. He's got dark, close-cropped hair, olive skin, and an N95 mask which is causing his thick glasses to fog slightly with each breath..

Ritta hands out new identification to each of us. I see my name, stamped in red and gold. New papers for a new life.

It hits me suddenly how real this is, and how terrifying. I can't believe I'm actually doing this, that I'm actually here, that I'm actually leaving.

The door rattles again as another train passes by. "That's our cue," Ritta says, heaving the door open. The red glow of taillights disappears into the darkness. "Let's move."

Ritta and I walk together behind Hevel and the mousy woman, whose name is Marin. We need to keep urging them on, since Hevel keeps stopping to cough and Marin creeps along skittishly, like the police are going to burst through the wall at any moment. I realize as we walk that she's taller than me, but she's always shrinking inwards. Like she's trying to be invisible, even here in the dark tunnels where we can barely see each other anyway.

Suddenly, a dark shape skitters across the tracks.

"Rats!" The terror in Marin's voice ratchets up my own. Could there really be rats? Down here?

"Relax," Ritta places a hand on Marin's shoulder to calm her. "They're real."

"How can you tell?" I ask. Some people say rat drones are an urban legend, that they only pull that kind of shit up North. But that's just government propaganda—trying to pretend their little spies don't exist. How else can you explain the disappearances? The people punished for crimes no one else could possibly know they had committed?

"The eyes." Ritta waves her flashlight at the rat and two pinpricks of light flash back at us. "Cameras don't reflect light like that." Ritta pats Marin's arm. "I promise you, we're safe. You've done the hardest part already."

"Thank you," Marin whispers, and her voice cracks. "Last week, at work, someone said something. I think—I think they figured it out somehow." Her resolve breaks, and she's sobbing again. "I can't go back. They'll kill me. Or worse."

That's when it clicks. The reason why Marin is so afraid, trying so hard to be invisible. She's hiding her birth sex. There's not many crimes worse than that, except maybe feticide.

Ritta embraces Marin, crooning softly, and eventually Marin calms down. Hevel and I wait awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Finally Marin rubs her eyes. "What about you?"

After a moment, Hevel coughs. "I thought it was obvious." But no one says anything, so he continues. "I have this immune system condition. I was born with it. Since it's pre-existing I have to pay for everything myself, and I can't afford any treatments and—" he takes a deep, wheezing breath. "And if I don't escape this place, it's going to kill me."

"Hear hear," I mutter. I know all about HealthCorp and its supposed value on human life. I fist my hands in my pockets to hide how much they are shaking.

They all look at me expectantly, but I deflect. "What about you, Ritta?"

"My kids," she says simply. She pulls a silver locket from her pocket and hands it to me. Inside there's a picture of two kids with full, fluffy copper curls and big freckled smiles.

"They're beautiful," I force a smile and pass the locket around, willing the tears back. After a few moments I feel like I can breathe again.

Ritta is still talking. "...I just couldn't imagine not helping people like us." She sighs heavily and loops the locket around her neck, tucking the silver heart next to her own. "But I can't run the line like this much longer. Conducting keeps me away too long. They need me." She wipes her eyes, then looks at her watch. "We gotta keep moving."

But Marin looks at me expectantly.

"Birth control." It's the simplest answer, even if it's not totally true. I do need birth control. Or fertility treatments, genetic testing, something. Anything. I just need options and there are none here. I'm so tired of the pain and the blood. I'm tired of dead babies. I can't take it anymore. So I need to leave, so I can be in control of my own body. So I never have to bury another tiny body again.

***

Finally, we reach the end of the line.

"C'mon." Ritta helps us out of the tunnel and up onto the abandoned platform. Brightly colored candy wrappers and disposable masks litter the floor, mingling with dead leaves. We duck under broken turnstiles and climb up a rusted escalator.

"Now what?" Marin says when we reach the doors. I can hear the fear creeping back into her voice. We're entering new territory.

"There's a big parking lot outside. At the far end, there's a bridge. That's the meeting point. We're looking for a blue van. The driver is named Sev." She looks at all of us carefully. "This is it. Are you ready?"

We don't need to say anything; we all feel the exact same way—too scared to hope.

We're making our way through the overgrown parking lot, looking for the van, when the shot rings out.

I don't even know what it is at first. I think something's happened with one of the abandoned cars behind us and I turn and see Marin on the ground. Then it clicks.

"RUN!" Ritta screams. She pushes me away, but before I can move there's another gunshot.

Ritta falls. Her eyes are open wide, but there's no life in them anymore. I'm on the ground, scrabbling at her throat—there's so much blood. My fingers tangle in the chain of her locket and it comes away in my hand.

Hevel yanks me away. It's a miracle we aren't already dead. He tries to pull me along, but eventually I'm hauling him to the treeline. There's blood splattered on his glasses, on my clothes. We puke our guts out; it's nothing but bile.

"Asha?" Hevel's voice shakes, the question unspoken. What do we do now? I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and realize I'm still holding Ritta's locket. It feels heavier than before. I open it, and look again at her children. Beautiful babies, smiling and waiting for a mama who will never come home.

I loop the locket around my neck, the silver heart resting against my own. "Let's go."

She gave me freedom. And I'm not going to waste it.