Beneath the Shadowlanders

Chapter Nine: Orion

I bid farewell to Calista at the school doors. I watch as she walks away, heading for her science class. As soon as she rounds the corner of the building, I turn and run, pressing against the current of students rushing to their classes. I turn down an alley about a block away from the school and find myself at a familiar dead end. A ventilation shaft at the end of the street leads directly to the now-abandoned subway tunnels, if I don't mind climbing a bit. I crawl into the opening, pulling the grate over the hole behind me. It's a little risky, since the shafts aren't as well-maintained as the military routes to the surface, but they would never let a 16-year-old go up there alone.

I make my way up the dusty passageways, coming out into a familiar section of tunnel. I turn to the left and make my way down to a subway platform I know I can climb onto. I'm not worried about the rails, although I was the first time. The trains haven't run in over four years. They stopped even before the Underland migration. It was too easy a place for shadows to hide.

The darkness and the chill of the tunnel remind me of this, and I stick to the middle of the tracks, sweeping my flashlight beam out ahead of me. If I do stumble across a shadow, I'm not sure what I'll do, but at least I'll have some kind of warning. My footsteps echo down the corridor, making me sound like a dozen men, instead of one rebellious teenager, and I puff out my chest, absorbing the confidence that thought brings.

When I reach the surface at last, I tuck my backpack into a hollow spot behind the subway stairs. So far, my hiding place hasn't been found, although who's out there to find it, I don't know. I move up the staircase, peeking out from behind the shoddy wood barricade before exiting entirely.

I have yet to run into a wild shadow, but I've heard rumors that they do attack during the day sometimes. I keep to the brightest streets, just in case, staying away from the tallest buildings in the center of the city, where shadows are more likely to hide – and attack. I pull a swiss army knife out of my pocket – a hand-me-down birthday gift from my dad, right before he disappeared – and the weight of it eases my fears just a little. I don't know if shadows bleed, but I don't know what else to try if one attacks.

I'm in some kind of residential neighborhood. Houses line both sides of the street, abandoned cars rusting in the crumbling driveways. I've already checked these houses for useful goods or information, but they were looted long before I came up here. I move a ways further down the street and turn the corner onto one I have yet to explore. It's a slightly nicer neighborhood, all two-story American-Dream-style houses. I wander toward the first house on the block and open my knife, ready to pick the lock, only to discover the door is already slightly ajar. I duck inside, giving my eyes a second to adjust to the relative dark.

The living room is in shambles, clearly having been abandoned in a hurry. There are three pairs of shoes still resting by the entryway, surprisingly organized given the state of the rest of the room. A pair of loafers, a smaller pair of black flats, and an impossibly tiny pair of shiny pink ballet slippers. They're lined up neatly, as though waiting patiently to be worn to church or dinner or a nice family party.

I poke my head through a few doors in the long wood-paneled hallway, looking for an office or a den. Behind the third door, I find what I'm looking for. A laptop sits on a wide minimalist style computer desk, plugged in, but probably dead after three years without power. A file cabinet sits against the wall opposite the desk, one drawer half open and hanging at an angle, as if it were thrown open in a hurry. It's empty. A tray of papers on the desk reveals nothing but the family's most recent electric bill – over $200, dated three years and two months ago – and what their daughter – Corinne, apparently – wanted for Christmas, a barely coherent list scribbled boldly on a sheet of printer paper in bright green crayon. The bill reveals that the family's name was Porter. Timothy and Selena. I wonder aloud if perhaps I've run into any of them in the Underland. Probably not. It's a big place.