Tucker awoke courtesy of Darcy's knee, which was digging into his ribs.  He opened his eyes but could see nothing.  Feeling his way across the room, Tucker found the trapdoor and pushed at it with all his might.  It would not budge.  "Lord," said Tucker softly, "Did you spare us from the fire only to let us die her from thirst?  I don't want to die like this, God!  Let us out, dear Lord, set us free!"  He drew a shuddering breath, remembering the five words that he had been taught to say at the end of his prayers.  Bowing his head, he struggled to mean them.   "Not my will, but Thine," Tucker finally whispered.

Time dragged past.  They had no water, and soon their throats were dry.  Angela coughed raggedly.  Darcy tried to dig through the concrete in hopes of locating ground water.  Tucker couldn't swallow.  Twenty-six hours after they had run to the basement, Darcy had given up on digging - the concrete was too thick.  Angela lay across Tucker's lap, moaning pitiously, and Tucker was considering joining in her keening.

"Hello?" A small shaft of light and a voice startled them.  It filtered through one of the air vents, echoing slightly as it reached them.  Tucker rose unsteadily, wrapping his fingers around the grating, and pulled himself up. 

"Down here!" he rasped.

There was a great deal of crashing, and dusts and ash billowed about.  A flashlight shone in Tucker's face, and he squinted. 

"Are you alright?" the voice asked again.

"Thirsty," Tucker croaked.

"It's alright, man.  "We'll get you out of there."  The flashlight went away. "Okay, guys," said the same voice, "Let's get that beam moved.  On three.  One, two, three!"  There was the sound of grunting and straining, then a loud 'thud.'  Then, "Watch the handle on that trapdoor, Max.  It'll be hot," and, "Good grief, Toby!  Get clear before you have an allergy attack."

Another person, supposedly Max, asked, "If I'm not supposed to touch the handle, exactly how are we supposed to open this door?"

"Here, use this hook."

"Hey, Mark," said a new voice.

"Yeah?" Mark, apparently the first voice they'd heard, asked.

"Group of peple headed this way.  Not ours."

"Flashlights off.  Get down.  Don't move unless you're a scout."

"We are all Scouts, Mark," someone whispered teasingly.

"You know what I mean, Jake," Mark hissed back.

Loud voices approached.  The young Rebels lay still and silent until the potentially hostile group had passed and their scouts had assured them that the party was not doubling back.  Then they sprang back into action.  The trapdoor thudded back, and the siblings saw two sillouets framed against the night sky.  One of the boys, Max by the sound of his voice, dropped into the room.  "Are any of you hurt?"

"No," they replied.

Angela was handed up first, then Darcy, with Tucker last.  Max tossed up their backpacks, then swung up himself.  The boys produced water, granola bars, and D ration chocolate bars for the hungry and dehydrated siblings.  They lay low, talking in soft voices.

"Our parents?" Angela whispered, screwing the top onto an empty water bottle and accepting a second from Toby, who looked pleased by the fact that his backpack would soon be much lighter.

Mark, sitting on his heels next to them, shook his head.  "I don't know.  I do know, however, that your parents are the first station masters to be captured, so they wouldn't just be killed on the spot.  Either way, we should get you guys to Jonesy and put you on the Underground."

"I'm afraid that isn't an option right now."

The voice made them all jump.  "Good grief, Jay," Mark gasped.  "You're going to give someone a heart attack someday.  Tucker, Angela, Darcy, this is Jay.  He's part of our stealth group and acts like a ghost most of the time.  But Jay, why isn't Jonesy's an option?"

"He's being watched," Jay replied, crouching next to them.  "Don't worry; he's not red right now, but we're trying to keep it that way."

Mark nodded.  'They're trying to catch him hot, then?"

"Yeah.  He's had to sever his connections temporarily."

"Are there any backups?"

"One, maybe.  The Resistence isn't sure about him yet.  You should take them to the Thomas's home."

"That's a step back, Jay!" said Mark.  "The sooner they," he gestured to the siblings, "are at a Resistance Base, the better.  What about Jonesy's other contact?"

Jay shook his head.  "No.  And for your own safety, I can't tell you why."

"The less you know, the less you leak?" said Max.

Jay nodded.  "You actually live here in the city, so you're more likely to be captured.  The less you know, the less they'll be able to wrench out of you.  It's not an issue of trust-"

"I know," said Mark, holding up a hand.  "It's best this way.  You just be careful Jay.  What you know could hurt you and a a lot of other people if it gets out."

"You don't have to tell me that," said Jay ruefully.

Yes, the next chapter is coming.   Eventually.  Every time I work out one problem, I end up with another.  My muse keeps writing himself into a corner.  So...we'll see.   I haven't left, though.  Sorry. 

BTW, if you're reading this, could you comment and tell me what you think on the story so far?  I need feedback.

Thanks!

Tucker reached for the jam, keeping an eye on the proximity of his bathrobe sleeve to the dangerously situated tub of butter.  He completed the reach without mishap and proceeded to smear huckleberry jam on his biscut with eagerness.  Next to him, Angela clumsily elbowed the orange juice pitcher.  Only Tucker's quick reflexes saved it fram crashing to the floor.

"Thanks, Tucker," said Angela glumly.  "I'm such a clutz."

"No, Angel," said Tucker, using his pet name for his sister as he reajusted the orange juice.  "You are a perfectly graceful girl who just went through a growth spurt.  Those kind of things throw everybody off."

Darcy was utterly oblivious to this conversation.  He appeared to be completely obsorbed in an experiment involving silverwear, jam jars, and the perfect balence of the former on the latter.  Mr. Smith took advantage of the silence following the experiment's loud crash to tell the family about the position he had been offered the night before.

"A conductor on an underground railroad?"  Angela's eyes shone with the adventure of it.

"I'll bet I could engineer a secret room in the basement, Dad," said Darcy.

"But you're no carpender, Darcy," said Tucker.  "You do the design, I'll build it."  He turned to their father.  "That is, if you become a conductor.  I think you know where us kids stand."

Mr. Smith nodded.  'We will commit the matter to prayer.  Being a station is very dangerous.  I want you all to carefully consider the pros and cons.  Pray about it.  We will discuss it as a family and return an answer to the others at the end of the week."

****

Mr. Smith became a conductor.  Darcy designed a secret room below the basement floor, and Tucker built it with his father.  Sometimes they got children from Mr. Thomas, one of their two contacts, other times the children showed up on their doorstep, ragged and frightened.  The Smith family took them all in, caring for them and sending them off to the next contact.

And so it was that when the government outlawed homeschooling, and, eventually, all forms of Christian education, the New Underground was already firmly established.  Many kinks had already been worked out, and contacts had little difficulty making exchanges without being noticed.  The news coming through the grapevine told the station masters that the Resistance bases were thriving.

Now Tucker, Angela, and Darcy had to hide.  If it was discovered that they did not attend a government school, they would lose all freedom and most likely betray their parent's operation.  They seriously considered getting on the Underground themselves, but were reluctant to leave their parents.

Mr. Smith reached a disition quickly, however, after suspected government spies were seen dangerously near the house.  The three siblings would leave in a week. 

(beginning of part B)

That last week was the most frightening.  The two biggest mercanary bands were expanding their areas of control.  Both wanted command of the same areas, and neither desired to give a single inch.  Unfortunately, the Smith's home was right in the center of the conflict.  The sight of mercenaries pounding on the door demanding food and medical care became more frequent.  Angela kept her hair french braided and always had a hat in hand.  When the pounding on the door started, she would tuck up her hair and lower her voice.  No one ever noticed aside from her family.

Three neatly packed backpacks sat next to the stairway.  As soon as Mr. Smith's contact, Jonesy, gave the signal, the would get on the Underground and go to the closest Resistance base.  But the signal never came.  One afternoon, they were startled by pounding on the door.  "Open up!" came the yell.  "UN Peace Force!"

The family had trained for this.  Tucker, Angela and Darcy grabbed their backpacks and raced down the basement stairs.  They heard heavy footsteps above them as they crawled into the secret room under the floor.  Tucker bolted the hidden door above them, and everything went pitch black.

They sat there, trembling, Angela trying to keep her sobs muffled.  A tiny green light flicked on, telling that that someone was about to enter the basement.  Tucker and Darcy threw themselves on Angela, squashing her between them and muffling her soft sobs completely.  They cowered against the wall, clinging to each other and wondering if the agents could hear their pounding hearts.  The green light went off, and a blue light came on.  There was someone in the basement.

The siblings waited for what seemed like an eternity.  Then, suddenly, the bolt on the trapdoor slid back, the door opened, and someone dropped into the room, fixing a flashlight beam on them.  They stared at the figure like frightened rabbits, unable to speak.  Time slowed to near-standstill.  Angela trembled and wept until she fainted.  Cradleing their unconcious sister, Tucker and Darcy scooted back into a corner, instinctively trying to make themselves smaller.  The figure advanced, and they cowered away, Tucker with one arm around Angela and the other around Darcy, and Darcy reaching around Angela to cling to Tucker.

"They've no love for the government in Three-fold," said the figure, "But who lives through fires?"  Abrubtly, he turned and left.

Darcy looked at Tucker.  "Fires?"

"Oh, no!" said Tucker, jumping up.  "He's gonna burn the house down!"  He pushed against the trap door, but it didn't move.  "Darcy!" he yelled desperately, "Help me!"

Both boys pushed against the door, but to no avail.  Angela, who had come to, watched them with wide eyes.  At last Tucker and DArcy sunk ot the floor, sweat running down their faces and muscles trembling.

"It's no use," Tucker panted.

"He must have put something on top of the door," said Darcy thoughtfully as he and his brother went back to the coner where Angela sat.  "Why would he burn the house?" she asked.

Tucker shrugged helplessly.  "How should I know?"

Muffled crashes came from above them as they sat perfectly still.  Tucker felt a tugging at his shirt and looked down to see that Angela was huddling closer to him, eyes fixed on the ceiling as the sounds got louder. Flames began to lick about the edges of the trapdoor.  Tucker stared at them, transfixed with shock and horror.  He felt a hand greep into his pants pocket and turned to see Angela pull out his jacknife.
"Angela!" he yelled at his wild-eyed sister, "what are you doing?"

"I don't want to be burnned alive!" Angela shrieked.

Tucker grabbed the knife away from her, nicking his hand on the blade. 

There was a great crashing above them.  The trapdoor creaked and groaned.  A few embers fell to the floor.  Angela screamed, crying out incoherrently that she didn't want to die like this.  Darcy was pale and shaking.  Tucker started praying hard.

The heat in the room slowly increased, though the fire did not advance into it.  Angela stopped screaming, too exhausted to continue.  "Read, Tucker," she whispered hoarsely, her voice slightly muffled.

Tucker looked up from the floor where he had fallen.  Darcy was sitting in the corner, Angela leaned against him, hiding her face in his shirt.  Tucker rose to his knees and fumbled in his backpack.  Finding his Bible and a flashlight, he turned to a random place marked by a small slip of paper - the 22nd Psalm - and began to read.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken

          me?....

Do not be far from me,

     for trouble is near

     and there is no one to help...

I am poured out like water,

     and all my bones are out of joint;

My heart is like wax

     it is melted within my breast;

my mouth is dried up like a potsherd,

     and my tongue sticks to my jaws;

     you lay me in the dust of death...

The all knew the next Psalm and began to softly recite it in unison as they had memorized it:

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:

He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul;

he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil, for thou art with me;

Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:

thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall fallow me all the days of my life:

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

There was a loud crash above them, and the room shook.  Slowly, resentfully, the flames stopped licking at the concrete walls.

"Is it over?" Darcy whispered.

"I don't know," said Tucker, his voice shaking.

More crashing shook the room.  "The house must have caved in," said Darcy.

Angela began to cry softly.  Tucker's throat constricted as he stared upwards.  He hugged his knees, laid his head on them, and began weeping quietly, slowly rocking back and forth.  Darcy and Angela watched him in amazement.  Tucker cried, but he didn't just break down like that...at least, he hadn't before.  They were too miserable to really ponder their brother's unexpected behavior.

Mechanically, Darcy reached over and turned off the flashlight Tucker had been reading by.  There was no sense in running down the battery.  The room was plunged in to darkness.  The only sound was the crashing from above as charred beams gave way under the weight of the upper stories and the disconnected sniffling coming from the siblings.  Exhausted, they at last fell asleep in a little clump on the floor, all three of the somehow squeezed onto a twin-sized pallet.

(Scripture taken from the NRSV and KJV)

Beginning a book like this is interesting.  A person may have a wonderful prayer life, yet it would rarely, if ever be seen.

I want Tucker to be introduced as helpless and frightened, showing vaunerablity that he would otherwise hide in an effort to  make him more real.  The last thing that I want is superhuman characters.    I also want him to be shown as a young man with a faith in which he trusts.

Tucker knelt on the floor of his bedroom, weeping.  There was nowhere to hide from what had happened to his country, though he wished that there was.  His tear-clogged prayers stumbled from his lips as he poured himself out at his Maker's feet, begging for courage to face the coming days.  He was the eldest of three children, and his siblings often looked to him for stability.  Tucker fell facedown, sobbing.  He didn't think he was strong enough for this, didn't think that he would be able to give his siblings the support that they would require from him.  He fumbled for his Bible.  "And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age" 1  The tears fell on the page as he continued sobbing.

Many would have seen Tucker's tendancy to throw himself on God as a weakness, an inability to stand on his own two feet.  But Tucker did noet expect the government to take care of him; he trusted that God would look after him better than any government.   He still struggled, though, hence another evening prostrate on the floor, trying to make the English language sufficient to pour out his soul.

Tucker's mother found him asleep on the rug late that night, the latest struggle over, totally surrendured.  She covered him with an afghan, hoping that his faith would pull him through this time of uncertainty.

Yet another attempt at a tangible character.  I want Angela to be at least minimally confident in everything but herself.  She feels like a misfit in most circles and tries to hide who she is, dispite the fact that she is a truely wonderful person.

Angela wrote in her journal and battled with herself for the millionth time, feeling that she wasn't good enough.  A wind from her open window fluttered the pages of her Bible.  "Man judges by outward appearances, but the Lord looks on the heart." 2  The sound of crying came through the wall from Tucker's room.  "If ever there was a good heart," she said to herself, thinking of her gentle older brother.  But Tucker didn't just have ha good heart, he was smart and good-looking as well.

Unlike me, Angela thought.  Angela was six feet tall, homely, and struggled in most of her studies.  Her curly black hair was always in an out-of-control poof.  she was usually embaressed when she found herself among other girls; their average height, curved figures, elegent garb, pretty faces and neat hair set her ill at ease.  Sher was happier when she was with her brothers, wearing hand-me-downs from Tucker, her hair tucked under a cap.

She read the verse once more, and suddenly, her height, looks, and sense of unimportence began to fade as she realized that God wanted her devotion.  He wasn't interested in her being a classically built girl, He was interested in her being a Christian.  She wondered if Tucker hadn't just laid her at her Lord's feet.  She certainly felt as if he had.  Angela looked upwards as she lay on her bed and was remided that she was loved, no matter what.

Darcy is the contrast at this point.  He doesn't turn to Scripture imidiately like his siblings do, he uses it as a last resort.  I wanted him to be more of the skeptic who will ask the questions that everyone does and doubts that God, though he exists, really cares.

Darcy laid aside his gagets absently, for the tech objects he usually fiddled with to calm himself were no help.  He hung up a screw driver, finished sorting out parts of several ipods, and slid the little storage drawers back in place.  This done, he pulled a favorite novel off his bookshelf and trued to read.  There was still no release from his anxiety.  Muttering darkly to himself, he began to pace.

Why did things have to be this way? he wondered.  Why couldn't people be logical?  There was some reason in what the government was doing, he supposed, if you looked at it a certain way.  In fact, the entire matter was perfectly sensible for an ideal world.  But Darcy had learned that the world was not ideal.  It was confusing and altogether upside down in everything except perhaps mathmatics.  Darcy reasolutely drabbed the doorknob of his bedroom dor and went out into the hall.  He would speak to Tucker.  His older brother would have the would have answers.

When Darcy reached Tucker's bedroom door, it was shut.  This was unusual, for Tucker always left his door cracked, if not half open.  Puzzled, Darcy listened for a moment and heard weeping - horrible, gut-wrenching sobs the like of which Darcy had never heard, at least through his older brother's door.  He stood for an instant, reasoning, decided that Angela must have com to Tucker for comfort, and came to the logical conclution that his sister had to be crying on Tucker's shoulder.  Quietly, he cracked the door open and got an incredible shock.

Angela was nowhere in sight; it was Tucker who lay on the floor sobbing.  Darcy softly shut the door and leaned against the wall, trying to compute the scene he had just observed.  Tucker, strong steady Tucker, was lying on the floor, crying like a child. Why?  Darcy recalled the open Bible laying next to Tucker's head.  He knew his brother went through some very intense prayer sessions and had always come out of the looking and acting quite calm.  Darcy really didn't have much of a prayer life, but right now he needed peace.  He walked back to his room, deciding to read his Bible and pray a little.

When Darcy reached his room, he found that he had left his Bible in the living room and decided to recite a Psalm that he knew instead.  He whispered it over and over, beginning to feel the worlds, and suddenly found that he was no longer reciting the Psalm but praying.  As his prayer became more fervent, he slid to his knees and shyly lifted his hands, joining hearts with his brother and sister.

In the master bedroom, Mr. and Mrs. Smith joined hands. 

"It's happened," Mr. Smith told his wife.  "The first really open step - gun control."  He sighed.  "We know what will follow the people being disarmed.  All sorts of crime will get out of control, and the government will feel free to act however it likes.  For our children's sake, I wish we lived in more peaceful times.  How did things go here while I was at the Resistence meeting?"

"Tucker led our evening devotional," said Mrs. Smith.  "He read us 2 Corinthians chapter 4.  It was very encouraging."

"He is a budding spiritual leader and well spoken of.  The youth minister said that Tucker is a great encouragement to him."

Mrs. Smith nodded, then looked soberly at her husband and said, "Tucker had another one of his prayer sessions tonight."

"One of the intense ones?  Well, it's good that he is turning to God in these times."

"Frank," said Mrs. Smith, "He's only seventeen - hardly more than a child - and yet he's prostrate on the floor, weeping as he prayers.  Tonight it lasted for three hours, at the end of which he simply shut down and fell into a heavy sleep.  He didn't decide to go to bed; he collapsed from exaustion."

"I won't wake him then.  We'll talk in the morning, but at this point I think that he's found God's peace again."

"Yes.  I just wish that there were less reason for such fervent prayer."

Mr. Smith nodded. "Indeed.  How is Angela?"

"Still depressed.  She says she feels usless."

"I worry about her.  She'll be sixteen in a few months, and I wanted to do something special for her, but the situation might put a damper on all that."

"You'll think of something, dear."

"I hope so.  And Darcy?"

"Full of questions.  His faith is struggling.  If Sodom was to be spared for the sake of ten righteous men, why can't America be spared when there are hundreds, thousands? he asks."

"He has a logical mind and asks logical questions.  I'll talk to him tomorrow, assuming that he's asleep now?"

"Yes."  What happened tonight at the meeting?"

"Resistence bases have been started.  More and more families are becoming concerned about their children's fate and want them to go to these bases, so we're starting an Underground Railroad.  I've been asked to become a conductor."

"What did you tell them?" Mrs. Smith asked.

"I told them we'd pray about it."

And so the family gave their troubles to God and prayed for strength and guidence.  The world they had known slowly crumbled about them as they clung to the One who is, was, and ever will be, drawing hope from His words.  Shot rang in the treets as two vigilante bands settled their disagreements with hot lead, but the family did not fear.  Now now, not while they were under the Lord's wings.

1 - Matthew 28:20b NRSV

2- I Samuel 16:7b