One Mile under the Earth’s surface, a week ago:

  A large man sat in a tiny chair, still as a statue, before an even larger screen stretching across the entirety of the twenty foot long wall. He was on the burly side, despite being considered heavyset, and wore a black fedora hat with his dark messy dreads spilling out all sides and circle shaped sunglasses, hand rested on his ruby tipped cane. He squinted at what he saw; Brandon Amesworth falling off the very top of his own building and a dark gray haired older boy standing behind him, arms outstretched just as the other two men--one in a white dress shirt and black tie and another with a kufi--ran out. He put his hand up.

  “Right there, stop it.” his deep voice filled the room with what felt like a slight rumble.

  A shorter crouched-man wearing a ski hat, weathered brown holed up jacket, jeans and blue hoodie wrapped around his waist tapped the screen. He glanced to the larger man, puzzled. “What are we looking at here, Abbas?”

  Abbas slowly stood from his chair, the room seeming to shrink around him. He stepped towards the screen, circling his cane around the image.

  “The one from my dreams, the one who will get us beyond the red walls...”

  “So the boys’ are that special eh?” the shorter man clicked his tongue. “So how’s we go about this then? The usual?”

  Abbas stared at the gray haired boy. “Yes, Spit-Take, you will take Salamander and Trix. Pursue them, find them, then…”

  “Yeah, Yeah, I know.” he said standing up. The sound of his bones popping crackled throughout the room as he made his way to the door. He rolled his neck. “Don’t ‘cha worry about a thing, this part’s my favorite!”

  _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

  NOW:

  “For the last time I’m not taking off MY DAMN SHOES!”

  The voice bellowed across the crowded airport, echoing as on lookers turned their heads to three individuals. An angry, messy-haired man wearing a white dress shirt rolled to his forearms, black tie, pants, and shoes. The second was an unbothered cheerful younger man in an orange beaded kufi, glasses, black dashiki, orange patterned sash and brown cameo cargo pants tucked into black boots. The third was an older, gray haired boy doing his best to hide his face, and wore a white hoodie with black dripping from its shoulders and collar, to his gray baggy shorts, and white socks sticking out of his black high top sneakers.

  Mr. Holdover craned is neck. “Listen pal! We’ve showed up FOUR hours early, told to go SERVERAL different directions, finally get here only to wait in line for THREE fucking hours, then get YANKED out of line for some back room checking, LOOSE our place because of that, and by the time we get HERE we find out our plane actually takes off in THREE MINUTES!! You want us to MISS our flight dumbass?!”

  “Sir, can you please calm down?” the long-faced desk tenant groaned, head resting on his hand. “This is a protocol. Everybody does this.”

  “Protocol?!!” Mr. Holdover snapped, jerking his head from left to right and around them before facing the tenant again. “I see people beside us just strolling by without getting snatched to a back corner or taking their stuff off—actually why do we gotta do that shit when you have FUCKING METAL DETECOTRS!”

  The tenant sighed, glancing at his watch. “Those people you seem so fond of are required to check anyone with suspicious levels of Inner-gi and these people you see strolling by have paid to fly platinum.”

  “You’re shitting me…” Mr. Holdover took a breath. He yanked out their tickets, fist shaking. “So what in the holy hell did we pay eight hundred dollars PER TICKET for?!”

  “Second class.” He replied without even blinking. “Now you can do the twenty minute checking procedure or if you want to continue to hold up the line—”

  “TWENTY MINUTES?” Mr. Holdover boomed. “We weren’t gonna make it PERIOD!”

  “Not my problem sir.”

  Before Mr. Holdover could make a move Xole quickly stepped up, doing his best to get in-between Mr. Holdover and the desk “Look it—it’s fine. just get us a refund and we’ll plan our west coast trip some other time.“

  “Sure, let me see your card.”

  Xole passed him their copper card and the man stuck it into his register, the three could see numbers pop up on the monitor of the device as he yanked it out and handed it back to him.

  “There ‘ya go,” the tenant gave it back to them sounding relieved. “Now can the next person—”

  “Hmm,” Shakar squinted at the amount. “Not sure if it’s just me but why did we only get twelve hundred dollars back?”

  “You payed eight hundred remember?”

  “That was per ticket. There are three of us in case you haven’t noticed.”

  Mr. Holdover’s faced boiled red. He grabbed the man by his collar and yanked him over the desk face to face. “WHERE THE HELL’S OUR MONEY CHEAPSKATE?”

  “We have a fifty percent no refund policy!!” the man cried.

  “SINCE WHEN?”

  “Please I don’t want to lose my job!!”

  “JOB? YOU’RE ABOUT TO LOSE YOUR LIFE!”

  Xole’s eyes darted around the vicinity until he spotted two larger security guards off in the distance. “Shakar we probably ought to—”

  “Way ahead of you,” he replied, doing his best to restrain Mr. Holdover with his stick “Xole, I need you to hold his arms again.”

  Xole grimaced, doing his best to hold the angry man’s flailing arms and they both dragged him away from the stunned crowed and airport tenant, who was still gasping to catch his breath.

  “Mr. Holdover—please!” Xole struggled, “You don’t want us to get ARESSETED. Remember?

  “HEY!” Mr. Holdover snapped his fingers pointing to the tenant as he was dragged quickly out of sight. “Promise you I’m coming back for that cash! BET YOUR ASS, HAHA…”

  “Well we’re certainly never coming back here again.” Shakar said. The three entered into the airport mall, a building large enough to be considered a super-sized mall itself. Four levels spanning across its entire area lined with escalators snaked along the sides of poster-filled walls with elevator terminals tucked into cubed pillars under every floor, each packed with stores, vendors, cars, and people. Xole was taken back; these ones were much bigger than what he’d seen on TV.

  “What we’re gonna do is grab some food, then it’s round two,” Mr. Holdover said walking quickly up the escalator towards the food court. It was near the center so skylight shone in on field of tables paralleling the dozens of cafes; restaurants and food vendors. Mr. Holdover went straight to the nearest coffee place and ordered the largest black coffee they had.

  “The more caffeine the better.” he said grabbing a handful of bags of pretzels for himself. Xole ordered a small breakfast pizza while Shakar ordered a grilled chicken and cauliflower salad. Mr. Holdover glanced at the card amount anxiously as they waited for their food. Xole watched people pass by, some looking at the odd trio. He quickly diverted his attention back to the two, trying to think of something to talk about.

  “You know now that I think about it, what was up with the whole ‘higher than usual energy levels’ back there? Did he think we were under the influence or something?”

  “Tch! That’d be one of a few things.” Mr. Holdover replied. “People who use their Talent for combat have higher Inner-gi than those who don’t.”

  Xole looked puzzled. “But doesn’t everyone have energy?”

  “No, Inner-gi,” he said as they got their food. The three went to a table near the corner overlooking the first floor. “The shit that fuels talent. C’mon, you literally have—” he checked around to make sure no one was listening, “—Spiritual Talent! You outta know this stuff by now.”

  “Well maybe if you taught me something for once,” Xole mumbled, taking a bite of his pizza. “I’ve had this power for barely half a week and you won’t let me do anything!”

  “’Cause we don’t know anything,” Mr. Holdover answered taking a large gulp of coffee. “Last thing we want is you blowing yourself up or something.”

  “If it makes you feel better, Xole, this is a learning experience for me as well,” Shakar said picking through his salad. “I’m still wrapping my head around the idea of such a Talent.”

  “You better get used to it,” Mr. Holdover said. He took out a newspaper with some maps hidden inside covered with scribbled notes. “Now I read up somewhere that Jakub—”

  “Not this again.”

  “Shut up. Hid his documents where he believed the government would quote; ‘never look too deep’. Get it? Underground City?”

  “I thought you were speaking metaphorically,” Shakar said.

  Xole squinted. “Was this on one of those ‘black web’ forum sites? The same place that claimed a cult of families runs the world?” he asked.

  Mr. Holdover glanced up at him for a second, then back. “Doesn’t matter. The point is if you want to know how to control that Talent then we need to find those documents.”

  “That’s a rather bold assumption to make,” Shakar added. He took a tiny bite of his food. “Deep could mean quite literally anywhere. How are you certain this ‘Underground City’—if it exists—is the exception?”

  “Cause it’s the only lead we got and that’s where we’re going.” He replied. “Unless you got a better idea of where we can lay low?”

  He sighed. “Well I suppose I wasn’t doing anything better at the moment.”

  “Good. Boy, how ‘bout you?”

  He didn’t reply.

  “Hey, KID—” Mr. Holdover said, snapping up from his paper. To his surprise, he saw Xole staring off at another table where a girl sat. She wore a low cut bunny eared hoodie for her big breasts, black mini skirt and pink sneakers. But what stood out most were her huge blonde pigtails with pink dyed ends.

  Xole sighed. “I’m gonna miss it up here.”

  Shakar smiled and glanced at the girl himself, his face quickly scrunched up into a look of disappointment. “Xole? As your teacher I must say…you can do much, much better.”

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  “I’m good. Heh, we’re even around the same height.” he replied, grinning off into space. The girl suddenly looked directly at him, her own eyes widened and her fair skin flushed. He felt his breath fade as she began to quickly make her way to their table.

  “Guys!” Xole franticly looked back and forth between the two men. “She’s coming this way, what do I do?!”

  Shakar shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you here. These types are a completely different breed.” He took a tiny bite of his salad.

  “Just assume she’s racist,” Mr. Holdover said plainly, flipping through his paper. “That way rejection won’t be as confusing.”

  Xole was slack jawed. “What the—no wonder you hate everyone!”

  “Well no shit!”

  “Hey, you.”

  Xole’s blood froze as the girl stood before them, head cocked, and her hands on her hips. “You’ve got a staring problem or something?”

  “…”

  She stuck her neck out, her face souring even more, “Well?!”

  “Oh uh, heh, heh! My bad miss!” Xole laughed nervously quickly clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean to come off as intrusive or—”

  “Well you totally did, creep!” the girl huffed angrily. “If you wanted to talk or hit on me you should’ve just come up like any normal person so I can tell you ‘NO’ to your face! Ugh! Say you’re sorry!”

  Mr. Holdover chuckled into his cup, shaking his head.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Mr. Holdover spat out his drink as Shakar looked on, bewildered. Even the girl was shocked by his lack of hesitation.

  “Well…um,” the girl said, she noticed a few people watching. “I really didn’t think you’d—”

  “No, no, no, no.” Xole continued, shaking his head. He stumbled off his chair, falling to one knee. “You were right to expect better…I should’ve been better!” He looked up into her eyes, taking her hand. “Please, tell me how I can make it up to you?!”

  ‘What am I watching?’ Shakar thought, his face awe-stricken.

  The girl put her finger to her chin. “Hmm, doo doo doo! I think…” a sinister grin spread along her lips. “Well, I’m a bit late for my six o’clock and I don’t wanna pay a fee…then there’s a mountain of work I need done in three hours…also my friend needed a dummy for target practice—oh, I’ve got it! We can start with the department store I bought out on the first floor. I couldn’t imagine how many bags I’d have to carry…”

  Xole clasping his other hand over hers. “How many?”

  With a roar, Mr. Holdover leaped over the table, snatching Xole under his arm and jumping as far back to the wall. He dropped him to the floor, not realizing he’d hit his head.

  “I’ll take it from here.” He said to Xole’s unconscious body. He slowly looked over his shoulder to the girl. “That’s enough out of you, you little slut!”

  “Oh? Was I talking to you old man?” the girl snapped her head in Mr. Holdover’s direction. “Your son’s busy talking to a CATCH so shut it!”

  He looked her up and down, grimacing in disgust. “A what?”

  Her nose twitched. “Think you’re funny huh?” in a flash she swatted his coffee cup off the table and over the edge of the railing sending it falling into the crowd below. “HA, HA, HA!” she laughed, “Hey everyone look up here, this guy’s—!”

  In a flash Mr. Holdover zoomed back to the table, yanking the girl by her bunny ears, his shadow towering over her. Shakar held his breath

  “Now listen well, you little piece of shit! He’s not my son, you’re not cute, and I don’t care HOW many witnesses there are, you’re paying for that coffee!!” He growled, veins filled his clenched hand. “By any. Means. Necessary.”

  “EEK! Let Go!” The girl squealed, squirming out of Mr. Holdover’s grip and leaping back atop another customer’s table behind her, attracting the attention of the entire food court now. “Get away from me! Help HEELLP!!”

  “HELP?!” Mr. Holdover’s neck craned, filling with veins. “You’re gonna need all the help you can get if I don’t get back my damn coffee!!!”

  Now jeers could be heard throughout the crowd. People booed and shouted for the three to leave her alone. Shakar quickly swiped Mr. Holdover’s newspaper and ducked his head behind it. However, the older man didn’t seem to care or notice.

  “Mr. Holdover!” Xole said crawling back over to him, rubbing his head. “It’s not that serious! I’m fine—”

  But Mr. Holdover kicked him back again, sending the older boy tumbling until he landed upside-down against the wall.

  “Stay out of this, boy.” Mr. Holdover said, still focused on the girl. “You’re not ready.”

  Xole’s head spun. ‘What does that even mean?!’ he thought.

  “HEY!” a larger man stormed in their direction. “Leave that girl—”

  “Die.”

  Peeking from behind the daily crossword puzzle, Shakar noticed the man already halfway across the court yelling for 9-11. This was escalating quicker than anticipated. Just then the girl growled, letting her teeth chatter.

  “How dare you embarrass me!” she jerked her body back from him, reaching behind her. “Just wait until I tell Joey!”

  Shakar’s brow creased to utter confusion. ‘What is she even on about?!’

  With that, she whipped out her phone and dialed so everyone could see. “You’ll be sooorrryyyyyyy!” She sang, laughing as she bolted down the upwards escalator.

  Shakar shook his head. “I told you, Xole, a different breed indeed.”

  Xole blinked. He reached his arm out, “Wait…”

  Mr. Holdover growled looking over the edge at his lost coffee and started through the angry yet confused crowd. “Knock that shit off right now, boy!! We need to get back to the house and get out of here!”

  “You know, you gotta stop calling that hunk of junk a house.” Xole said. He scrambled off the ground and following them out the food court. “It’s just a washed up RV, used at that!”

  “What it is, is home.” Mr. Holdover corrected him leading them down the escalator into the sea of people below. He threw a few glances over his shoulder then quickly spun around, as if the mall began to only grow with every passing moment.

  “Dammit! Where’s the exit again?!”

  “I don’t know!” Xole replied, “We ran from the airport so fast I wasn’t looking!”

  “Well look harder!”

  “Looks like you’re finally facing the ramifications of your actions, Mr. Holdover.” Shakar nodded gleefully.

  Mr. Holdover could feel is arm winding back to hit him; however before he could he saw a top hat off in the distance—an unmistakable red and blue striped.

  “Shit!” he pivoted the opposite direction, grabbing Xole and Shakar by their arms “Alright, you two come with me—”

  “Now, now hoooooold on a minute!” the voice rang out behind them, piercing Mr. Holdover’s ears. He slowly turned around to see a blue eyed, older looking happy faced man rolling in on a Segway scooter. White shaggy hair fell from his top hat. He hopped off, dusting his steampunk navy blue coat and red slacks, laughing and slapping Mr. Holdover’s back.

  “It’s been TOO long my friend!” he laughed, continuing to smack the uncomfortable man.

  “Wait!” Xole glanced at the man, then at some promotional posters alongside stores. “Is that the…President?!!”

  Now even Shakar’s eyes widened, doing his best to suppress his shock. “You didn’t tell us you had such…connections, Sir!”

  “I DON’T know him!” Mr. Holdover said trying to push the man off. “He’s just some werido who won’t leave me alone!”

  “Aww don’t be like that friend!” the President said, throwing his free arm up, while resisting with the other. “We’ve known own each other for…what was it ten years? Ah yes a whole DECADE ago. Man how time flies!”

  May change with backstory alteration. Make Shabazz past further back?

  “It flew a little too damn fast!”

  “You’ve known him for that long?” Shakar asked

  “Yep, since the ripe ol’ age of eighteen!” the president answered. “In fact this man helped me get elected! Now all I can do is show my eternal gratitude!”

  “…Excuse me?”

  A woman and a freckled kid came over, jabbing her finger at Mr. Holdover. “So it’s YOUR fault our taxes are so high!”

  “Fuck off!!” Mr. Holdover yelled as the woman scrambled away with her son.

  Xole couldn’t believe what he was seeing, so much so he had to make sure for himself. “Uh, Mister Presid—”

  “Shh, shh!” the man hushed looking around. “You can’t be saying that in public kiddo, less we want a whole stampede!” he slid in towards Xole, hand on the side of his mouth. “Just call me, Sam Merkin.”

  “Your real name isn’t gonna be any less suspicious, dumbass!” Mr. Holdover threw his finger above them to an overhead banner. “Your face is literally EVERYWHERE!”

  Sam went over to a poster of him with his finger under his chin, eyes looking up “See, I call this my ‘thinking face’”

  “Ah that would explain all the promotional material,” Shakar said. He glanced around. “If there was any re-election going on.”

  “Ha, ha! A traditionalist I like that!” Sam laughed motioning to his kufi. “Ey, uh where do you think I can get one of those err, African hats?”

  “We’ll have you tried any African stores?”

  Sam made a brief noise as mouth opened, then closed it as his eyes went to the top of his head, finger under his chin. “Ya know, I actually never thought of that.”

  Shakar pressed his lips together. “Then I supposed we both learned something today.”

  “Uh, Mister President—I mean—Sam, why are you at this mall anyways? And where are your body guards!? Actually what the heck’s going on!!?”

  “Well boy—oh my mistake, what’s your name son?”

  “Xole,” he replied.

  Mr. Holdover smacked his own forehead.

  “Xole, never heard one of those before!” Sam chuckled. “Well, Xole, I’m here cause I gotta catch a flight. Real important business meeting oversees and stuffs. But I got bored of waitin’ so I told my security I was gonna grab a bite to eat, shoot some hoops, promote my book—”

  “And they let you?”

  “Of course!” Sam threw his arms in the air. “Cause I’m the GODDAMN PRESIDENT!”

  Xole felt dizzy. To his horror, while a few people stopped by to see what was going on, no one else seemed to care. “That…actually makes no sense!”

  “Trust me, Xole, I don’t do anything unless it’s by choice. Freedom of choice! Haha!” he looked around at the passerby’s. “Can I get an Amen?”

  “You suck!” someone yelled from the distance.

  “Surprised no one’s rushed to see you yet,” Shakar said.

  “My daddy said it best; ‘no mob’s better than an angry one’,” Sam smiled, waving to some younger disturbed girls.

  “Alright this is great and all but we REALLY have to get going.” Mr. Holdover said trying to usher them away. “It was nice seeing you—”

  “Now, now hold your horses, bucko!” Sam put his hands up, pointing to Mr. Holdover. “You and me have got some unfinished business.” Narrowing his hat over his eyes he strode over to him so they we’re shoulder to shoulder facing the opposite way of each other. He lowered his tone. “Ya need to register already, ya hear?”

  Mr. Holdover sighed rubbing his eyes. “I’ll do it tomorrow”

  “That’s what ya told me last time!”

  “Well I’m serious this time!”

  “C’mon, now you just repeatin’ yourself!”

  Mr. Holdover groaned. “Listen, Sam, you already know why I can’t do that.”

  “And I already warned ya what’ll happen if yer don’t,” Sam replied. “Ya ‘know I can’t keep covering for ya. I mean we great friends and all but I still gotta uphold this fine and mighty constitution.”

  Xole looked back and forth between the two. “What happens if we don’t register?”

  Sam frowned. “Well then you’d be losing out on stuff like err…ah! A free thousand bucks!”

  Xole‘s eyes lit up. “Really?”

  Sam nodded. “Oh you bet. Plus there’re tons of other privileges like free healthcare and yer very own blue card. Heard they even let you fly platinum with one!”

  “Wait platinum,” Xole said remembering. “Actually, could help us get our money back—”

  “Shut up!” Mr. Holdover snapped in his direction.

  “Oh who did what now?” Sam’s brow creased. “I know there ain’t no stealin’ going on MY turf!”

  “You should’ve been there! He stole twelve hundred dollars! Mr. Holdover was so upset—” Xole said anyways before Mr. Holdover’s fist finally found its way to the top of his head.

  “Ah yes the airport tenant!” Shakar exclaimed only to quickly meet the same fate.

  “Well that does it!” Sam stuffed a gold handkerchief into the breast pocket of his vintage ruffled shirt and adjusted his white collar. He hopped on his scooter, head tilted forward. “You three sit tight, time for the President to go to work!”

  “Sam, Sam, don’t—” Mr. Holdover tried.

  “Outta the way folks!” Sam yelled, speeding through the disgruntled crowd. “Presidential business afoot! WEEWOO! WEEWOOO!”

  Without a second thought Mr. Holdover grabbed the two, still holding their heads, and dragged them to the farthest exit away from the airport, kicking the door open to the fresh outside air and throwing them to the ground. He put his hands on his hips, panting. Xole stumbled up, jerking his head to him.

  “Ok WHAT was that about!” he said. “Oh ‘I’ll get that money back it’s a promise’ what a joke!”

  “It’s better we don’t get involved,” Mr. Holdover said, walking away. “And speaking of a joke, what the hell was that back there? You were about ready to kiss that bitch’s feet!”

  “I knew what I was doing! Besides I had friends who explained the values of being a gentleman.”

  “Well look at all the good that got you.”

  “At least I keep my values!” Xole said catching up. “You never seem to care about authority until they know you by name! What’s up with that?!”

  Mr. Holdover spun around, jabbing a finger at him. “Listen boy, I’m knee deep in favors from that man and I don’t need any more debt! We’re gonna sneak back to the house and get out of here as soon as possible!”

  Shakar raised his eyebrow as Mr. Holdover led the five minute walk back to the front of the airport. They saw their RV parked illegally in the valet zone, a few homeless people sleeping on the curb beside it.

  Mr. Holdover’s eyes darted around the premise. “Think the coast’s clear—“

  “Ah, there ya boys are!”

  Mr. Holdover’s fist clenched, punching the wall as Sam rode in with some paper in hand.

  “Guess what Uncle Sam’s got?” he whipped out wads of cash. “That youngster ain’t gonna be casing no one no harm no more. Now I believe this is for you.”

  “Wow, thanks Uncle Sam!” Xole yipped, accepting the money.

  “It’s the least I could do for fine folks such as yourself,” he said flipping on a pair of dark sunglasses. “But remember, ya’ll really outta get registered. Talented types like ourselves especially.”

  “Now that you mention it, what is your Talent?” Shakar asked.

  Sam smirked, adjusting his jacket.

  “I’m just a great leader.”

  With that, he spun his scooter around to leave “Anyways I gotta scram before I hold up my plane any longer!” He rolled away a few feet, stopping, turning his head back. “And Holdover; you take care of yourself now ya hear?”

  “…Yeah,” he nodded. “You too Sam.”

  With a loud yip, the President of the Collective States sped back into the airport on his scooter.

  Mr. Holdover looked back, “Ok now we REALLY gotta go. Way too many damn eyes on us now.”

  He climbed in the RV with Shakar following behind holding his nose. Xole almost stepped in before hearing a weaker voice.

  “Spare…change?”

  Xole looked over his shoulder to see one of the homeless people, a shorter man in a holed up coat, waving a soda can in his direction.

  ‘He must’ve seen what Sam gave us’ he thought reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few dollar bills he’d just received.

  “It’s all I can do for now. Just make sure to get it carded so you can use it.”

  The man smiled weakly. “Oh, bless you boy, bless you! You’re a special one!”

  Xole smiled, feeling better all of a sudden. Climbing into the RV, he barely got the door closed just as it sped off. The homeless man turned back to his companions, who were now getting up. One of which was a woman, wearing a tight gray jumpsuit under a worn, dark purple poncho matching her scuffed bandaged wrapped boots. She joined his side, watching the RV leave.

  “So that must be the special one? Guess Abbas is never wrong,” she said.

  “I told ya,” The homeless man replied. He stuffed the money into his good pocket and slipped his ski cap on. “But that was the easy part. The real test starts now.”