The ground-floor door slammed shut. It could be Devon; she can make a racket—but then again, maybe not.
I scrambled to hide the ancient ham radio set. Booted steps pounded on the stairs to our second-story walk-up. I closed the false front of the bookcase just as the apartment door banged open.
Whew—not the jack-booted thugs.
Devon rushed in, hands waving a couple of rolled-up tubes, short blond bob spiked up, dust and dirt smudging that face I love. “Baby, I’ve found it. The tunnel. I know where it is.” She rushed to the worn sofa and spread a large, yellowed sheet of paper on the crate we use as a table.
I took a deep breath to calm myself. The radio’s not exactly illegal, but the Enforcers can be rough when they confiscate ancient artifacts, as the government calls them. They really didn’t want us to talk to anyone outside our Preserve, so having the radio, well, let’s just say it would draw unwanted attention.
I sat down next to Devon and gave her a quick kiss to say hello. “So, what about the tunnel? It’s just a legend. You’ve been searching city maps for months. There’s nothing down there.”
“Ah, but you’re wrong. Yes, I couldn’t find an entrance on the city maps. So, I took a different approach. I went to the library.”
“The library?” Kind of a waste of time, I would have thought. Nobody really needs the books until we can end the Preserve—until the Reds are gone. “What did you need the books for?”
“I didn’t ask to look at the books. I asked to look at the maps from the time before the Reds carved out the middle of the country, before the Blue Preserves were established.”
“What did you expect to find on the maps?”
Devon scooted a little closer, put one hand on my knee. That earnest face—she had found something. “Did you know people used to travel to the West Coast?”
“Well, sure. Maybe in the old days. But nobody has left the Chicago Preserve in centuries. Besides, it’s a long way to the West Coast.”
“But Mac, that’s what the map shows. People used to go to California.”
“Okay, let’s assume they did. How did they get there? Nobody can cross the country; they’d never make it. Certainly, no one from one of the Preserves.”
“How they did it is not important.” She waved a hand at me. “But anyway, they drove. I found a map labeled ‘Get Your Kicks on Route 66’. But that’s not what’s important. That road, Route 66, ran all the way from Chicago to the West Coast.”
“Okay, D, an ancient road to the West Coast. What’s that got to do with us now?”
“You know those people, the ones you talk to in Santa Monica?”
“Sure. What about them?”
“That’s where the road ends. All the way from here to there. Non-stop.”
She could be like this. All over the map, excuse the pun, when she tells a story. Sometimes I love it, sometimes, like now, it’s frustrating.
“Can we get to the end? We can’t drive to California, road or no road.”
She turned on the couch, looked me in the eye, and took both my hands in hers. Ah oh. Here we go, she’s got a plan. I may not like it, but she knows I’ll go along. “Alright. What’s the plan?”
She smiled that smile, crinkled eyes, a sly look. It’s going to be one of those plans.
“Here’s the best part. I found another map.” She picked up a second rolled-up paper she’d brought home. “—this map.” She turned to the table and spread out the second rolled-up tube.
She began tracing a line on the map. “About one hundred years after they built Route 66, they built something called a hyper-loop. Right under the old highway,” she said.
“What the hell is a hyper-loop? Sounds like something out of science fiction.”
“It’s the tunnel, Mac—the tunnel. They ran high-speed trains in a tunnel.” She tapped the map. “See here. It’s a train schedule. Three hours from Chicago to Santa Monica. Three hours Mac. Can you imagine?” She paused; there was more coming. “I know where our end of the tunnel is and—where Santa Monica’s end is.”
I was speechless. A route to the California Republic? Nobody has been there since the Red Zone broke off from the old US and the Chicago Preserve was formed. And it’s the same for California. At least they had the desert protecting them to the east. Here we’re not so lucky—food is scarce, energy is even scarcer, and there’s never ending threat for access to The Lake.
“That’s great. But so what? What can we do about it?”
“We’ve got to go see the mayor. She’s got to open the tunnel.”
“You want me to talk to the mayor? About a tunnel? She’ll laugh me out of her office.”
“No, she won’t. I know she respects you.” Devon squeezed my hand. “And just to be sure, you need to call Santa Monica and let them know.”
I can never say no to Devon. But she usually has grand plans. So there’s that.
“Okay, D. I’ll meet with the Mayor on Monday and see what she says.”
Devon hugged my shoulders. “And I’m going with you. She’s gonna love my plan.”
Oh boy. Not my first choice to take Devon. But a route to California. Could we join forces? Reestablish the Republic? The mayor might go for it. Devon’s enthusiasm can be contagious.
Hmm. I wonder what kicks we’ll find on Route 66.