The Queer Rebels

Chapter 22: Revealing

After Christopher's plea over the radio, the rest of the drive was quiet.

We drove past the elevated train station and navigated to an overgrown playground near the city's border. Then Harry parked the car under a tree near some bushes, threw the keys back under the visor, and instructed me to help camouflage it.

"Grab that branch over there," Harry says, pointing to a large fallen limb.

I hand Harry the branch. After placing it, he steps back to make sure the car is sufficiently hidden.

"Good." Harry then reaches into the duffel's side pocket and tosses me something. "Here."

I grab it, catching it easily. It's a protein bar, and I tear open the wrapper greedily. I didn't realize how hungry I was.

As I'm chewing, Harry leads us a few yards away to a line of hedges. I follow him through a gap in the shrubbery and then through a hole in a chain-link fence.

Then he clicks on his mask, and I do the same, feeling the stranger's facial features click into place.

"How does it feel to be back in the city?" he asks, arms spread wide.

"We're here?" I look around. We are standing on a retaining wall, facing a deserted street. The buildings are dark and utilitarian, but the asphalt is maintained. No cracks or potholes.

"Come on," he says with a gesture, stepping off the retaining wall and down to the sidewalk.

"Is this how you get to work?" I ask. I know he disappears a few times a week for his shifts, but I've never asked how he gets back and forth.

"Pretty much," he answers. "But I'm not usually the one doing the driving."

I could've guessed that.

"So, are we walking the whole way?" My feet ache at the prospect, thinking of the last time I was in the city.

"That would take time we don't have," he says.

Then we turn a corner, and I know where we are. We're near the end of the tramway, right where Marcy and I found the tunnel.

Marcy.

Has she noticed yet that I'm gone? Is she worried about where I am?

There is nothing I can do about it now, so I try to shake the thought away.

Harry pauses, partially unzips the duffel, and withdraws a can of spray paint. "Here, hold this for a second," he says, handing me the bag.

"What are you doing?" I ask, my eyes darting around.

"Just wait." Harry looks both ways and walks over to where the semi-hidden wall is, again, freshly painted.

I can hear traffic on the next street over. There's probably a crowd of people just around the next corner waiting to catch the tram. "You're going to get caught," I whisper, eyes wide.

Harry doesn't respond. He dashes over, uncapping and shaking the spray paint can as he walks, and then with practiced hands he tags the wall with the now-familiar logo of the Queer Rebels. Two circles. Two lines. An overlapping Q and R.

Then he rushes back over, grabs the bag from my hand, shoves the can back in, and ushers me towards the crowd of commuters.

"That was risky," I mutter.

"It's just a game we play." Harry shrugs.

"Game?"

"Yeah, I tag. They paint over."

"Aren't you worried about being caught?" I ask as we continue to walk down the block.

"This is my route to work," Harry explains. "If I was going to get caught, it would've happened already. Oh, and here." He reaches into his pocket and hands me a card.