The Green Ones

Episode 2, Part 2

Neca and Olin seat me against the wall in a corner. Kneeling, Olin looks at me funny. I’m about to ask him why when I realize I’ve got my hand on his cheek.

He covers it with his own. “Why so mushy all of a sudden?”

I smile and breathe my first genuine sigh of relief in two years. “Don’t get all weird about it, but you know I love you, right?”

He nods, “I never doubt it.”

“Good.” I drop my hand and straighten my braid. “So how about some water.”

Neca is already offering the canteen. “You guys’ll be fine here for a minute. I’ll get us some grub. Just don’t talk to anyone.” He hurries off without waiting for a response.

Olin plops down beside me, and we take in our new surroundings.

I’ve never seen whatever section of the underground we’re in. I’ve only visited on a few occasions, and only the fringes. The blossoming of the underground, some two hundred years ago, lead to strict regulations on subterranean building. Technically, everything around us is illegal.

Before his death, I asked my father why the government allowed the underground to exist. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but it amounted to one of those, “when you’re older, you’ll understand” sort of answers. I’m several years older now, and I think I’m starting to get it.

I don’t recognize any of the faces rushing past, but they’re the same citizens above ground as below. The difference is posture. Underground they hold their chins high. They rivet each other with their eyes. They nod knowingly. They’re concerned with simple pleasures and small luxuries rather than stretching credits with stale tortillas and sour atolli. They’re happy with a single toe outside the boundaries—pacified by a trifle of rebellion.

There is no kinship between me and these people. But I think I understand.

“I hope Neca comes back soon. I’m starving. What time is it anyway?”

“Close to six.”

“At night?”

I snort, causing Olin to punch me in the arm. “Sorry, I keep forgetting we’ve had different days.”

“Days?”

“Only one.”

Olin leans back against the crumbling plaster. “It felt like minutes. Totally different than last time, when I knew something was wrong.”

“About that, when you woke up, you knew Huatiani was coming. How did you—”

“I could see him gliding down the hall, a billion storms bound by leathery skin. He was…brilliant.”

“Brilliant?”

“Shining. Shimmering like a candle underwater.”

“Like a dream?”

“But real.”

“The sixth sense,” Neca startles me with his sudden reappearance. He’s holding out two plates of food, his mouth gaping wide.

“Wait, what did you say?” I heard him, but I’m hoping for a different answer.

Olin takes the plates before Neca spills their contents. Unfazed, or simply too hungry to care, he immediately starts eating.

Neca fumbles with his braid and looks over his shoulder.

I grab his hand, pulling him down next to us. “Are you saying you think my little brother has gods’ eyes?”

He exhales, “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“Whatever. Just answer the question.”

Watching the steady stream of people pass by, he nods. “Centavo described it to me as lights underwater.”

“But how? I’ve never heard of a mortal with gods’—” I catch myself, “the sixth sense.”

“I don’t know, but he knew Huatiani was—”

“Wait,” I offer an alternative, even though I don’t believe it myself. “Maybe the knock wasn’t the general.”

“I told you,” Olin spits, talking with his mouth full, “I saw him.”

“But the door was closed.”

He shrugs and shovels in another spoonful of beans.

Despite my brother’s atrocious manners, I find myself too hungry to discuss the matter further. Holding the second plate between Neca and me, I offer him a spoon.

“Right. We should eat and get moving as soon as you’re able.”

“I’m already feeling tons better.” Tearing a cornmeal drop biscuit in two, I offer him half. He winks, and I realize I haven’t thought anything mean about the dark-skinned chadzitzin boy since Immortal City. A part of me is relieved. And yet, the other part is disappointed. I’d hate for him to get the wrong idea. “You don’t think Huatiani will look for us down here, do you?” I soften the cornmeal by dipping it in the squash and beans.

Neca swallows while shaking his head. “He’ll wait for the burn to drive us to the surface. Until then, he’ll be preparing.”

I nod, a chill shooting through me at the thought of missing a burn.

“He works alone, no department, no colleagues, no paperwork. Just him and the law. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he brings in the Justice of the Peace, or some of the JP’s volunteers, for a manhunt like this.” Several bites later, Neca nods at my chest. “I almost forgot, we should treat that cut.”

With everything happening so fast, I’d forgotten the gash left by the razor-sharp canine. “My tzotzomatli.” I pick at the edges of the tear in my favorite garment. The collar is rent, one half of it encrusted into the wound.

“Sorry, I was referring to your skin, not the dress.”

I tug the fabric away from my chest with a wince. The cut’s not deep, but it’s across my breastbone. Not as bad as a cut to the head, it’ll still take weeks to heal properly. Even then, there’ll be a permanent scar. And the blood stain will never come out of my tzotzomatli.

Olin chews loudly and swallows. “You guys get into a bit of trouble while I was out?”

I can tell by the smirk on his face he’s being a brat. Neca and I share a glance before I answer, “Nothing to speak of.”

“Or nothing to worry the little brother about?”

“Something like that.” I wait until he shovels a fresh bite into his already-full mouth. “When this is over, I’ll tell you all about Immortal City.”

A bean shoots out Olin’s nose, and Neca and I have a much-needed laugh. My brain is a jumble. My body aches. And yet the three of us sharing an early breakfast in the underground feels as close to family as anything has for the last two years.