The Queer Rebels

Chapter 5: Escaping

"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.