Children of the Uprising Read Online Free PDF Page A

bathroom. The dim light coming from their bedroom stayed on the longest, but that too eventually went out. Christopher waited for another half an hour after the lights were turned off before he walked the rest of the way to the house.
    The birthday cake Christopher’s mother had baked for him was still on the kitchen counter, covered in plastic wrap. It was a German chocolate cake, Christopher’s favorite. He was tempted to lift the plastic wrap and cut himself one slice—just one. He didn’t do it, though. He didn’t want to mess with his parents’ heads any more than he was already about to. As quietly as he could, Christopher made his way up the stairs toward his bedroom. He moved through the darkness in his house even more easily than he had through the darkness in the woods. He knew every inch of this house. He knew which floorboards to step over to avoid creaking. He knew to lift the door to his bedroom as he opened it to keep the hinges from making noise.
    Christopher walked into his bedroom. When the men had started chasing him, Christopher remembered the key and the note. He opened the top drawer of his desk. He silently pushed aside the papers that were lying inside. He reached for the back of the drawer. His fingers felt the envelope. The envelope had some weight to it. Christopher pulled it out, being even more careful now not to make noise. If his parents heard him now, he would have no way of hiding what he was doing. He opened the envelope. He found the key inside with the note that he had never read. He took out his cell phone so that he could use it as a flashlight. He thought the note might have answers for him. To his dismay, it didn’t contain any message at all. The only thing that was written on the paper was an address in Montreal and a number.
    Christopher took the key and the note and put them in his pocket. Then he gathered up a few changes of clothes and his cell phone charger and threw them in a backpack. Even if the note was a bust, he figured the key had to lead to answers. He looked around the room to see if he should take anything else, not knowing when he would be able to come home again. His breath began to tremble over his lips. He was almost overcome with a surge of emotion, but he willed it to stop. He’d spent his whole life training to never let himself break like that. Even as a child, his parents told him, he rarely ever cried.
    Christopher took a deep breath and walked out of his room. He walked past his parents’ bedroom, stopping for only a moment to listen to them breathe. Then he walked silently down the stairs and out the front door.

Two
    Christopher sat in the café across the street from the bank. He ate his breakfast and eyed the other people in the café. He listened to the sound of forks and knives clinking on cheap china. He felt like he could hear every spoon that rattled against the edge of a coffee cup. No one appeared to be looking at him. They were looking at their plates, at their food, at the waitress. They talked to each other. Christopher could still feel eyes on him. Somebody was watching him. He just couldn’t tell who. He had hoped that the feeling of being watched would end after he faced down the men in the woods. He’d hoped that he’d already seen enough, that it was now over. But it wasn’t over. Christopher knew it. He stabbed his fork into his eggs and felt eyes on him. The guys in the woods weren’t alone.
    Christopher felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He took it out and looked down at the message on the screen. It was from Evan: “where the hell r u? this story better b epic . . .” Christopher put the phone back in his pocket. Epic didn’t begin to describe it. Christopher wouldn’t even know how to describe it. Terrifying would be a start. Confusing. Christopher looked out the window toward the bank. People were beginning to move around inside. It was almost eight