Beyond the Walls

Chapter 3

In my room, I slip my arms into my coat, zipping up the front. I step into my boots and draw the laces tight. There is a small torch on my dresser that I slip into my pocket. Fastening my brown leather belt around my waist, I slide the dagger that Ajax gave to me when we first met into the sheath. Finally, I pull the strap of my sword in its scabbard over my head so that it rests against my back. Just before I step out of my room, I glance at the small digital clock on my desk. 0200 hours. That should be plenty of time to make it to this organisation before 0600 hours.

I quietly tread down the hallway, forcing myself to keep my gaze trained ahead, to not look back. At the bottom of the steps, the two Tranqs peer at me with unease as I approach the doors. They must not be used to someone wanting to the leave the Palace at such an hour.

"Where are you going, Miss Fallon?" the left Tranq asks.

"I can't sleep, I am going for a walk," I tell him, lying smoothly.

His eyes narrow in suspicion and he looks like he wants to protest but the other Tranq cuts him off. "Let her go. President Rowan would not want us to question this girl. She is his friend."

Biting back a smirk, I thank the Tranqs and stride through the doors. The moon has risen to its full height. Pale, ghostly light washes over the city, casting ominous shadows throughout the Palace grounds. The night sky is clear. Stars are visible and the wind is calm. I make my way around the Palace and along the small field of grass bordered by towering trees. I pause at the park bench in the centre, bend down and grasp a small brass handle. I pull it. A wooden trapdoor gives way, revealing the tunnels below. Drawing in a deep breath, I step off the edge and fall through the gap in the ground, landing with a sharp, teeth-rattling thud on the concrete below. I slip the small torch from my pocket and flick it on. The narrow beam lights the path in front of me and I begin moving forward. I do not know the tunnels like Ruben, Ajax, or Killian do, but I have been through them enough to get me from one end of the city to the other.

The distinct sound of rushing water above my head marks the transition from the Concave Sector to the Convex Sector. I weave my way through the complicated passageways, listening to the rhythmic echo of my boots against the concrete. I pass the door to Tranquillity Southern Headquarters and eventually arrive below the trap door that leads up to the Forest. I shine the torch around my surroundings, and just adjacent to the trap door is another tunnel that I had not noticed before. The tunnel is short. At the end, there is a narrow flight of steps. When I emerge at the bottom, there is yet another short tunnel that ends with a door.

Segment Six Bunker, it reads.

Pushing my screaming thoughts of doubt to the back of my mind, I push the door open. I find myself stepping onto a platform. The platform is several feet wide with a track running below it, disappearing into large, dark tunnels on either end. As I advance further onto the platform, the door behind me closes and I become aware of the stillness. The space is empty and silent. Nothing moves. There is a single strip of light on the low rising ceiling, casting its eerie light in ominous shadows across the platform. There is a clock on the wall behind me; the long hand is pointed towards the 9. It will be 3 am soon, when my transport is meant to come.

As promised, when the long hand hits the hour, there is a distant rumbling sound coming from deep within the tunnel to the right. The sound quickly picks up, bringing with it the bright beams of headlights and the rattle of its wheels. A long, metal contraption comes screeching to a halt at the platform. It has numerous connected carriages with doors that open with a hiss as it stops.

A train.

I used to read about such things with Isabelle when we were younger, but these things were always a thing of the past. I thought such technology no longer existed within the walls. With my hand gripping the handle of my dagger, I step over the threshold of the first carriage, eyes strained against the dim light, ears perked. Seats line the walls of the carriage and slim metal poles are connected from floor to ceiling for support if one were to stand. I perch myself on a seat on the opposite side, by the window. With an unsettling jolt, the carriage lurches forward and the train begins to pick up speed. A slight panic rises up my throat at the seemingly unstoppable pace of the train and I grip the seat tightly, my knuckles going white.