Children of the Underground Read Online Free PDF Page B

dialed 911. I told them that my one-month-old son had been kidnapped and that his father had been murdered. I didn’t tell them who your father was. I didn’t tell them about the War or the Rules. I didn’t tell them that they took you from me because I was under eighteen and that, according to the Rules of the War, any baby born to a mother under eighteen had to be given to the other side. I didn’t tell them that your father’s best friend took you so that he could give you to your father’s enemies. It would make me sound crazy. I told them only what would make sense in a sane world. Then I sat down and waited for the sirens. I was convinced that the world would help me, but the world isn’t on our side, Christopher. At best, it’s neutral. At worst, it’s against us.
    I knew something was wrong when the sirens never came. Eventually, a single police car pulled up in front of our house, carrying only two police officers. No posse was coming. They weren’t going to round up the townsfolk to chase after the men who had taken you. The police car pulled up the driveway slowly and stopped without a sound.
    I stood on the front porch and watched as two officers stepped out of the car. They didn’t look at me. They stood next to each other for a moment, staring at the car. I could see the shattered windshield and your father’s body by the moonlight from the porch. The police officers were closer to the carnage, only a few feet from the car. One of the officers, a lanky blond man wearing aviator sunglasses despite the darkness, walked over to the car and began circling it. He started on the passenger’s side, walking slowly as he went, looking inside each of the unbroken windows on the passenger’s side. He ran a finger along the car as he walked, as if inspecting for dust. He passed the trunk, turned, and began walking toward the open driver’s-side door.
    When the blond officer finally made it to the open driver’s-side door, he knelt down and peered inside. He knelt there for a moment, staring at your father’s lifeless body. Then he angled his head so that he could look through the bullet hole in the front windshield. He knelt down like that without moving for some time before standing up and slamming the driver’s-side door shut. That instant before he slammed that door was the last time I saw your father, except for in my dreams.
    The inspection complete, the blond officer walked back to his partner. His partner was shorter than him and had darker skin. He wore dark sunglasses that matched his partner’s. The blond officer leaned into his partner. They spoke in whispers. Then they finally turned toward me and started walking up to the porch. As they walked toward me, I remembered the other two dead bodies on the porch that I hadn’t mentioned when I called 911, the bodies of the men that your father killed while trying to save you. They were mere inches from my feet. How was I going to explain them? I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as the officers walked toward me, getting closer with each step. Everything was wrong. The police were wrong. The silence was wrong. I’d made a mistake. The cops hadn’t come to help me. I was alone.
    The cops stopped at the bottom of the steps leading up to the house. I could barely make out the name printed on the badge of the darker-skinned officer. It said GONZALEZ . The blond officer’s badge didn’t have a name on it. When they stopped walking, Officer Gonzalez took a quick glance down at the bodies. The blond officer didn’t even bother. Somehow they’d known what to expect. “You called the police, ma’am?” Officer Gonzalez said. His voice was calm and oddly formal. I didn’t know how to respond to his question. Of course I called the police. My yard was littered with dead bodies. I suddenly felt like the script for this moment was written somewhere, but no