Level 2 (Memory Chronicles) (10 page)

I peer at him drowsily, taking in his distressed jeans and his shredded shirt on the way up to his face. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are mere slits. “What do you mean?” I slur.

He shakes me. “The doping gas is trying to invade your mind. You don’t have to let it in.”

The doping gas. I remember then where I am, what I have to fight for. I close my eyes and concentrate on driving the dark thoughts away, on building a wall to keep them out. They screech and groan as I beat them back, a hideous din. I lay the final brick that completes my defenses, and I’m rewarded with the sound of silence. I fall into Julian’s arms, fully spent.

He cradles me against his broad chest. The raw edges of his tattered shirt tickle my cheek, and the heat of his skin sears my own. “You did it,” he says with awe. “You beat the gas. It took everything you had, but you did it.”

I remember our attackers then, and my eyes pop open. “Are they gone? Those men?”

Julian cranes his neck, back and forth in a fluid motion. “None in sight. And there’s even a chamber free,” he says. “Why are you so afraid of them, anyway?” He carries me up the stairs to a chamber. “They’re only simple drones. And after the recent system-wide malfunction, the guardians have reprogrammed the hives to release doping gas every time they register a group disturbance, and sometimes even when a group is only hanging out. It calms them and sends them back to their chambers.”

“But how do you know that?” I shudder. “Sorry. It’s just . . . I hate crowds. Brings back bad memories.”

“It’s okay. I understand.” Julian sets me in the chamber, and I scoot back so I can lie down. “About the doping gas,” he says, “I’m deducing, based on reports we’ve had from other rebel cells, that they are reprogramming. This is the first time I’ve seen it for myself.”

“How come it didn’t affect you at all?” I ask, positioning my hands into the grooves.

He shrugs. “I’ve been out and about a long time. The doping gas can’t touch me.”

The screen takes its time loading, and as it does, I let my eyes flick over to Julian’s face. I expect to see concern or pity, but instead I see cunning. Triumph. It gives me the sickening feeling that he’s using me. So unlike Neil. With my last ounce of energy, I pull up my Neil tags and pick one at random. I press it, and I’m in.

Ward, Felicia. Memory #31938

Tags: Ohio, Neil, Youth group, Underground church

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I slam the door of Grammy’s car and survey the parking lot before me. It’s packed with vehicles, indicating a good turnout for the church lock-in. Even though I’d gotten used to the youth group over the past two and a half months of Sunday church services and Wednesday prayer meetings, I still hadn’t wanted to come. But Grammy needed to go in overnight for some tests at the hospital, and she insisted, told me she made sure Pastor Joe would keep an eye on me.

I rub my hands together and then pull the info flyer from the pocket of my fleece. I probably should have worn gloves, but the budding trees and flowers in Grammy’s front yard had fooled me into thinking that winter was long past. The flyer instructs me to meet the group in the fellowship hall, so I bypass the dark, forlorn chapel and head toward the bright lights of the building twenty yards to its right.

As I enter the foyer, Savannah rushes up and hands me a cardboard medallion hanging from a loop of yarn. It looks like something a child might make. “Put this around your neck!” She’s so keyed up, I think her eyes might pop out of her head.

When I take the medallion from her, she slides my overnight bag from my shoulder and slings it over into the
corner onto a jumbled pile of coats and backpacks. “What’s this for?” I slip it over my head.

“You’ll find out soon enough!”

We stop by the registration table, manned by several adults I recognize from services. A woman looks up at me. “Felicia! So glad you could make it.” She marks off her list and nods. “Your grandmother sent in your payment last week, so you’re all covered.”

As Savannah pulls me into the fellowship hall, I try to push down the simmering anger in the pit of my stomach. Did Grammy really need to stay overnight for those tests, or was it a ploy to get me here? And why is she spending money we don’t have? I am fed up with her interfering.

The large open room is full of teens clustered in groups, sitting on the carpeted floor. Most are balancing paper plates stacked with chips and cookies, and paper cups filled with punch. Savannah skips the snack table and leads me over to her friends, sprawled out right in the center of everyone. As I pick my way uneasily through the crowd, I scan faces, looking for Neil. He hasn’t been at many church activities lately, and I register his absence now with strong disappointment. I reluctantly admit to myself that I so readily accepted Grammy’s excuse because I hoped he’d be here tonight. The realization makes me feel hot and itchy, but it doesn’t mean I
like
him. It just means I like being around him. I plop myself down next to Savannah once we reach her circle, and smile tightly at the girls when they greet me.

A trumpet sounds, and a column of boys dressed as
Roman soldiers marches in the front doors and stands at attention in a single file formation. Neil’s best friend, Andy, drags in a prisoner by a short length of rope, a prisoner whose head is obscured by a burlap sack. The room erupts in excited bursts of chatter when Pastor Joe enters and moves toward the prisoner. We all stand up, trying to get a better view of the proceedings.

Pastor Joe pulls the sack off with a flourish. It’s Neil. Despite his flushed cheeks and tousled hair, he holds his head high, defiant. I squeeze my arms around myself to steady my jangled nerves. He is here after all.

Pastor Joe clears his throat. “It’s the first century AD. The Romans are cracking down on Christians. You are not allowed to gather for worship. You are not allowed to profess your faith. If you do, and are caught, you will be dragged to jail and interrogated. Like this man was.” He jabs his finger at Neil, who makes a show of struggling in his bonds. Andy pulls the rope tighter, causing Neil to stumble against him. “He claims to be your leader and has been accused of organizing a secret gathering of Christians somewhere in this compound. We will make an example of him and throw him to the lions!”

The crowd gasps as two soldiers salute Pastor Joe and lead Neil off. But before they can get far, four women dressed as angels glide in the front entrance and form a barrier between Neil and the soldiers. One of the angels unties the rope. Neil faces us, his eyes pleading. “Find me! I will tell you the truth. And the truth will set you free.” Then
he sprints toward us, and we part to make a path for him. He pushes through the back doors and disappears into the depths of the building, which I know to be lined with small classrooms.

Both Pastor Joe and the soldiers appear to be under a temporary spell. One of the angels addresses us. “By the power of God, we will hold back your Roman persecutors for five minutes. This will give you a head start to try to find your leader, who will be at the location of the secret meeting. If you are stopped by a Roman soldier, they will ask if you are a Christian. If you say yes, they will take you to jail.”

The angel reaches out and takes the hand of one of the audience members, pulling him to her side. She fingers the medallion around his neck. “Each of you has been given a medallion. Open it in private and read the clues it gives you. Good luck. Go!” The angels surround Pastor Joe and the soldiers. The audience jostles around me, and I take deep, measured breaths to stay calm and tell myself that no one here wants to hurt me. They stream toward the back doors, stuffing cookies into their mouths and sloshing down punch. The trash cans near the exit are overflowing with paper debris by the time Savannah and I reach them.

I look over at Savannah. Her eyes are glittering. “I love underground church! We can’t let them catch us, Felicia. Last time, they dunked us face-first in grape jelly, and it took me forever to wash it out of my hair.”

Once through the doors, we’re at a crossroads of sorts. We could go down the hallway to our right or forge on ahead.
“This building is not that big,” I say. “It can’t be too hard for them to find us.”

Though most of the crowd goes straight, Savannah and a couple of her gang veer right. “Looks can be deceiving,” Savannah asserts. The girls around us giggle. I’m embarrassed that I’ve never bothered to learn their names.

We run, our pounding footfalls echoing through the hallway until we hit a dead end. Savannah opens the door on the left, and we follow her into a dark room. She flips on the light switch, and I see a set of stairs leading down.

“This is one of the entrances to the underground tunnels,” Glasses Girl explains to me. “They were built as part of the Underground Railroad to help hide escaped slaves. One passage leads to the chapel. Others lead to the kindergarten, to the gym, to the pastor’s house, and to the administration building.”

I’m impressed. This does make the game infinitely more exciting.

“Listen, girls—we have to find the secret meeting place before the Romans find us.” Savannah scrunches up her face in thought. “So, there are five passageways and five of us, right? I say we each scope out one of them and then meet back here. The one who finds Neil can lead the rest of us to him.”

Glasses Girl speaks up. “But if we find the secret meeting place, they won’t let us leave again. It’s too dangerous!”

Savannah scoffs. “Don’t actually go in. Peek in and come back.”

She assigns the girls their routes, and they dash off.
Then she turns to me. “The easiest to find is the gym.” We take the stairs down together, and at the bottom she points out a narrow passage to our right. “Keep going straight. You’ll know it when you see it!” She squeezes my arm. “Don’t forget to read what your medallion says. And keep it to yourself. Don’t even tell me, because some of the Christians are Romans in disguise. Got that?”

“See you back here?”

“Yes.” She grins. “Well, unless I get caught.”

Savannah heads the opposite way, and I peer down the passage I am to take. It’s narrow and dimly lit. Judging from the amount of spiderwebs, it’s not used often, or maintained well.

I close my eyes for a minute and remind myself I’m playing a game. I’m in Ohio, not Nairobi. Once I’ve gained enough courage, I walk briskly down the chilly passage and ascend the stairway at the end. The door at the top is closed, and I bite down my panic as I turn the handle. Fortunately, it creaks open.

I peek into a cavernous gym. It’s dark, but there is a soft glow of a candle coming from behind stacks of thick blue mats on the far side. Could this be the secret meeting place? Or is it a trap? I tiptoe as carefully as I can across the gym, but a squeak of my tennis shoe betrays me.

“Who’s there?” calls out a voice in a stage whisper. I see a familiar head of curls pop up behind the mats.

“Neil?”

Neil stands up all the way and waves me over. “Felicia!” He looks down at his watch. “Seven minutes, forty-five seconds. That must be a new record. How’d you find me?”

Once I am behind his barricade, he sits down on a low pile of mats shoved haphazardly against the wall. The candlelight flickers, and I’m suddenly aware we’re alone together—really alone—for the first time. “Oh . . . Savannah sent me down this hidden tunnel.” I perch next to him, careful to leave a respectable amount of space between us. “Now I have to go back and get her. Let her know I found the secret meeting place.”

He shakes his head. “You can’t. Against the rules.”

“What are you going to do if I try to go? Handcuff me to a mat?” I run my fingers over the mat’s surface. It’s rougher than I expected.

He leans over toward me on his elbow and looks at me gravely. “If I have to . . . ,” he says in a low voice. But then he straightens and laughs, diffusing the tension. “What does your medallion say?”

I finger the medallion around my neck. With my thumbnail I scrape along the edge to loosen the tape and unfold it. I have to squint to read it. Underneath a password are the following words:

Y
OU ARE THE CHOSEN ONE
.
I
F THE
R
OMANS CATCH YOU
,
THEY WIN THE GAME
.

“It says not to get caught,” I tell Neil, remembering Savannah’s warning. “I have to go back, you know. I promised Savannah.” And I want my promises to mean something.

He sighs. “Since I don’t have a pair of handcuffs handy, I guess I can’t stop you. But I have to lock the door you came through. It’s too dangerous, open like that.”

“But isn’t this a safe house? I didn’t think the Romans could get to us once we’re here.”

“They can—if they can get in. That’s why there are angels guarding the main doors. They only let you in if you have the right password.”

“Right, but they won’t see me if I come back through the tunnel. Couldn’t you let me back in?”

“But how do I know it’s you?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. Can’t we make up a secret knock or something?”

“Good idea.” Neil starts tapping on the mat, sometimes with the flat of his palm, which makes a long sound and sometimes with his fist, which makes a short sound. “So try this.” He slaps the mat three times with his palm, taps twice with his fist and then slaps one final time with his palm. “Long, long, long. Short, short, long. Morse code for
O
and
U
. ‘Open up.’” He grins. “Spelling out ‘open’ would be too long.”

“Where’d you learn Morse code?” I’m sure he has a nerdy explanation.

“In Eagle Scouts. For my signaling merit badge.” Yep, nerdy.

“I was a Girl Scout for a year. Juniors. In fourth grade. I got a badge for selling the most cookies.”

“Just a year?”

“Yeah, I got kicked out,” I admit. “My mother was scandalized.” It makes me almost nostalgic now to think back to a time when getting asked not to return to Girl Scouts was the blackest mark on my record.

“Kicked out, huh?” He looks like he doesn’t believe me.

“The troop leader’s daughter told her mom that I stole her boyfriend. So . . .”