"Think," Marcy says. "What did he say to you when you went underground? Did he give you any clues where the group was?"

I close my eyes, trying to settle my racing heart, shoving my hands in my pockets. And then I feel it. The smooth, thin card the orderly gave me.

I pull out the card and hand it to Marcy. "The people who helped me escape gave this to me."

She just holds the card in her hands, first turning it over, studying it.

Marcy doesn't immediately answer. After a minute, she looks back up at me. "What does this mean?" she asks, pointing to a symbol.

"Good question." I shrug.

Before I'd left the underground station, I looked at it, but it didn't seem too helpful, beyond opening the door to the stairs. The card itself is lavender. One side is blank, and the other has a stylized mark.

"Did he say anything else?"

I pause for a moment, trying to filter through my memory. "He told me that their group was south of the city."

Marcy nods as she continues to inspect the card. "I've seen this symbol before," she says, pointing to the mark on the top of the card.

"You have?" The symbol comprises two circles and two lines, and looking at it again, I realize it looks a bit like a capital Q and R overlapped and then simplified. It is not familiar to me, so I am surprised that Marcy knows it.

"Yeah." She squints her eyes and looks up at the darkening sky. "Last semester, when I had that canvassing job, I got a little turned around when looking for my supervisor. It was spray painted on a wall near where the tram ends."

"That sounds promising." I can feel the spark of excitement. "Maybe there is another tunnel."

"Could be," she says. "And a safer option than trying to break into the Choosing Day Center."

"Okay," I nod, slipping the card back into my pocket. "But how are we going to get there? We obviously can't take the tram."

"I guess we're walking, then," Marcy says matter-of-factly.

My ankle throbs at the suggestion, but I know there isn't any other choice.

If we don't try, we're as good as caught by the time the sun comes up in the morning.

***

Three hours later, after dodging street patrols and keeping to the shadows, we make it to the spot where the tram ends.

Marcy seems to perk up. She holds onto my shoulder and she points across the way. "It was just over there. Come on," she says, looking both ways for patrol cars, and then rushing across the street, skipping past the tracks embedded in the asphalt.

Tugging on my backpack's straps, I follow her as quickly as I can.

When I catch up to her, her shoulders have deflated, and she is shaking her head, staring at a blank wall. "It was right here. I swear it was."

Unbidden, my lip trembles. I'm exhausted. Physically. Emotionally. Was this a dead end? What do we do now?

Marcy looks at me, and even in the dark, I can see the prick of tears in the corner of her eyes. She feels as lost as I do. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

But the longer I look at her, the more grateful I feel. At least I don't have to face this alone. "We'll figure it out," I say, stepping towards the wall.

I reach out, running my hand over the place where we had put all our hopes. In the night air it's cool to the touch, and slick.

It's been freshly painted.

It's been freshly painted!

"Marcy," I say as my eyes widen with realization. "The wall has been freshly painted. This is the place!"

We both start looking around, our eyes devouring every detail we can make out in the dim light. And then Marcy points. "There!"

I look down and see that there is a storm drain at the base of the wall. With a glance around to make sure we really are alone, I reach for and turn on my flashlight. The top of the grate is brown with rust, but the beam of light glitters off the edges.

"This grate has been opened recently. Probably often," I say, excited.

Then I crouch down and shine the beam through the grates. There is a ladder.

"Help me move this," I say to Marcy. "We're going underground."

After I turn off the flashlight, we wrap our fingers around the edge of the grate and yank. It's heavy but moves freely, not catching on any bolts or rust. As we move it over to the edge, a few loose pebbles ping down into the darkness below. We ease the grate onto the asphalt and stare into the hole that has opened in front of us.

"Turn your light back on," Marcy whispers into the void, giving me a nudge on the shoulder.

I grab it and shine it down, and the light glints off the ladder. The metal handholds seem polished with use, but I can't make out much else. The gaping darkness swallows up the flashlight's beam.

"Let me go first," I say before Marcy can beat me to it, and I hand her the flashlight.

I swing my legs over the edge of the unknown and put my good foot on one rung, turn my body around, and grasp the smooth edges of the ladder. I still can't put weight on my right ankle, but by lowering myself with my arms, I can easily hop down rung by rung, making good speed.

Suddenly, a blinding light stabs at my eyes. I freeze, momentarily disoriented. And then I realize what's going on.

"Marcy, knock it off," I say, trying not to yell. "Watch the eyes!"

"Shit. Sorry," she says, and the light moves, illuminating the worn brick wall in front of my face.

After a minute, my foot hits the ground and I step back. "Your turn," I say up towards the light.

"Coming," Marcy responds, clicking the flashlight off and plunging us back into darkness. I hear her shoes hit against the ladder, followed by a metallic scraping sound.

She must be moving the grate back into place.

Smart.

I wait. The darkness hugs me close as I listen to her progress, her steps getting closer. The air is thick with the scent of mildew and old machinery.

Finally, she lands next to me, and then shuffles her bag for the flashlight. In the moment it takes for her to grab it, the darkness is almost tangible, pressing in on us from all sides, and I can feel a shiver of fear run down my spine.

Then she flicks the flashlight on, showing off the herringbone tiles on the walls.

I grab my flashlight from my back and click it on as well.

Our beams of light cut through the darkness like knives, revealing the grimy walls of what appears to be a service tunnel. The place feels abandoned, forgotten by time, but there's something about it that tugs at my attention.

Marcy's light falls on a door across from us, and I notice something that makes my heart leap: a card reader. It's a small, inconspicuous device, but it's our key to moving forward.

"We found it," Marcy whispers, her voice trembling with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

I nod, feeling a surge of hope. "Let's see if it works."

We approach the door, our footsteps echoing in the confined space. I can feel Marcy's hand shaking as she reaches out to tap the card against the reader.

There's a moment of silence, a pause that feels like an eternity, and then a soft beep.

The door unlocks.

"Yes!" I exclaim, unable to contain my joy. The sound of success is like music to our ears.

It leads to another tiled corridor. Maybe this is a passageway to a train station?

We walk down the sloping walkway. There are old advertisements on the wall, cobwebbed and smudged and unreadable. We come out to a turnstile, which we jump over, then walk down a broken escalator. When we get to the train platform, there are rails on either side. Arrows written in tile point each side as "Downtown" and "Outbound."

We've reached a fork in the road, which is almost worse than a dead end because if we choose the wrong tunnel, we'll be going backwards.

"What do we do?" I ask, swinging my flashlight up and down the platform.

We haven't seen the symbol from the card again, and I can't help but feel a pang of frustration.

Marcy is studying the walls. "Downtown is back to the Choosing Day Center," she reasons, "So I think we should head 'outbound', especially knowing that the group is south of the city."

I nod. It's a gamble, but it feels right.

We take out our flashlights and head down the tracks. Our footsteps echo, and I can hear the unsettling sound of small creatures—probably rats—scurrying in the distance. Squeaking. The air is stuffy, and a musty smell pervades the tunnel.

Marcy glances at me, concern in her eyes. "Are you okay with your ankle? You're limping."

I wince, but shake my head, not wanting her to know how bad it is. "I'm fine. Let's keep moving."

We continue on, our voices falling silent as the reverberations off the walls remind us of the potential danger of being overheard. The weight of our situation settles over us, and we communicate through glances and gestures, our minds focused on the path ahead.

My ankle throbs, but I refuse to complain, driven by the urgency of our mission and the knowledge that we're on the right track.

Right when I don't know how much further I can go, the tunnel ends, and the tracks continue into open air. Deep breath! There are still tall cement walls on either side, so we're penned in, but we can see the night sky. There's no more fog.

In the distance, something is on the tracks. It looks like an old train.

We approach it cautiously. It seems abandoned. We could walk along it, but we'd be uncomfortably close to the walls. There also seems to be some liquid on the ground ahead. Marcy first climbs up to where two sliding doors meet. She pries them open, then turns around and helps me up.

I feel pathetic, but my ankle is throbbing painfully, so I grab her arm, accepting her help.

We walk through abandoned and empty cars; the seats covered in graffiti, old ads and route maps peeling from the walls, until we reach the front engine.

From the front of the train, we can see that there's another station platform up ahead. The dimly lit area is filled with shadows, and the tracks stretch out into the darkness beyond. The platform is covered in dust and grime, a relic of a time long past.

"We could probably hop off the train and squeeze along the side to reach it," Marcy says, her voice filled with uncertainty as she peers out the window.

I nod, considering our options. The platform might lead to an exit, but right then something catches my eye. The same symbol from the card is spray painted on the train's control panel.

"Wait a minute," I say, rapidly tapping the symbol. "What if the platform isn't our destination? What if there's something else here?"

Marcy turns to me, her eyes wide. "What do you mean?"

I pull the card from my pocket, my mind racing. "Why is this symbol here? What if there's something else here? Something we're supposed to find?"

Marcy's eyes narrow as she considers my words. "A card reader, maybe?"

"Exactly!" I exclaim.

We begin to search the control panel, our flashlights illuminating the various buttons and levers. Everything looks old and worn, but then my light falls on something that seems out of place.

A black box tucked away next to the train driver's seat.

"It's a card reader!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest.

Marcy rushes over, her eyes wide with disbelief. "You're right! This must be it."

I can feel a thrill of anticipation as I reach out to tap the card against the reader.

It beeps, and a green light under it flashes, but there isn't a door to unlock.

Marcy and I look at each other, not sure what to do next.

Then a staticky sound comes from a speaker on the control panel. "Is that you, Charlie? We're coming."

A chill runs down my spine, and I grip Marcy's hand. We've done it. We've found the way.

But what awaits us? Only time will tell.