Jan. 3, 2009 - Chapter One (Edited)

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

Dec. 21, 2008 - Chapter Five

Tucker was lonely without his brother about to break the dead silence and at least provide another human presence.  The man who brought Tucker food never spoke to the lad, and so Tucker devoloped the habit of thinking out loud.  He was, to his annoyence, having to toss his hair out his face constantly, for the fringe of it was hanging over his eyes.  Contemplating the black mass with his fingers, he realized that he hadn't bathed in a long time and suspected that he smelled like it.

He was lying on the floor one time when he was awake, studying his Bible and being glad that it was deep and had so many layers to be examined when footsteps crossed the floor.  Tucker did not look up, for he recognized them as those of the guard who brought him food.  There was a 'clunk' and the footsteps retreated.  Something batted at Tucker's head where a lock of hair shifted with his breathing. He ignored it, but the batting continued, making hair fall in his eyes.  He tossed it back, and two little paws grabbed at his head with lightning speed. He yelling in suprise and scrambled away.

Tucker, sitting crab-like on the floor, starred in shock at his new companion: a tiny black kitten whose white paws hat been the source of the batting.  Its yellow eyes were big and, Tucker thought, would send his sister into squeals of delight, for they were rather cute looking.  He approached the small creautre carefully, reaching out to rub its head.  It turned its big eyes on his face and arched its back happily at the touch.  He skittered his fingers across the floor and it batted at them, then pounced into his lap, funt paws on his chest, and sniffed at his face.  Tucker grinned and scratched its ears at he grabbed his food.

The kitten remained curled in his lap for a short time, but, uninterested in his food, soon it left to explore its new surroundings.  It remained in the cage, however, for there were creatures in the basementthat, though they never entered the cage, lurked just outside its bars.  The kitted did not like the look or smell of them.  He hissed at them, they hissed back, and the kitten hid itself against Tucker.  Laughing, Tucker stroaked its soft fur and crooned to it.

Tucker and this kitten, who he named Saxon, became close friends.  There was always a scrap of fish or other meat on the side of Tucker's plate for Saxon.  Tucker would tear it into more easily eaten pieces and hand-feed the kitten.  Saxon would often creep about while Tucker was asleep, but he always returned to find a warm spot on the pallett.  He hung close to TUcker, and Tucker was glad of the company.

Eight plates of food later, the cage door was opened and left open.  Tucker and Saxon found that they had free run of the basement.  They explored every corner and found many interesting bits of junk, which Saxon played with and Tucker piled in a corner of the cage to fool with at his leisure.

Then things changed.  Someone besides Dirk came into command of the station, and he was suprised to find Tucker in the basement.

"You've been keeping this walking bundle of cash in the basement?" he roared.  "I want the government contacted!  You!  Arrange for him to be handed over!"

"Dirk said-"

The man cursed Dirk.  "He's got too much heart.  I want this kid in irons, now!  Move it!"  The man shoved a bunch of chains at the mercanary standing there.  "And lock him up!  If he gets away, I'll shoot you!"

Tucker found his wrists chained, and the cage door was locked again.

Saxon, who was shy of the mercanaries and had hidden at their approach, returned from the darkness and rubbed against Tucker, mewing sympathetically.  Tucker absently scratched Saxon's head and moved to the pile of things he had collected, hoping ot occupy himself with them.

Dec. 14, 2008 - Chapter Four

Dirk and his men are not gangsters, they are mercenaries.

Dirk shut the door to the bedroom he used as an office.  These boys were a problem that he did not want.  It would be a simple matter to turn them over to the government.  Then again, they were Underground people. and the Underground folk were repsected by all those who went against the government, as Dirk and his men often did.  Dirk could see the two boys in his mind: Tucker, calm and hoeful; Darcy impatient and sullen.  With that, Dirk made up his mind.  Tucker would stay here, Darcy would go.

Neither of the boys trusted Dirk, but Dirk could see that Tucker would at least respect him and was therefore more likely to cooperate while Darcy scorned the mercenary leader and was very unpredictable.  Dirk couldn't risk more than he had to with these boys.

But, Dirk decided, he would keep the boys hidden a little longer.  The government had not started asked for help from the neutrals yet.  When they did, Dirk would wait a little while, then tell them he had Darcy.  He could then demand a huge downpayment of cash from the officials before he gave up Darcy and even more money after he had transferred Darcy to government coustody.

While Dirk waited for the government ot ask for his assistence, Tucker and Darcy lived very dull lives.  Twice, their cage dropped into a hole in the floor when the government searched the house.  When this happened, they sat with their hearts in their throats, wondering if they could be found.  Otherwise, nothing ever happened.  In the blackness of the basement, they lost all track of time.  Darcy sunk into dispair.

"Why?" he asked. "Why did this happen to us?"

Tucker had no answer for him.  He asked the same question of himself over and over and never could answer it.

One day, the mercanaries came down to the basement, and Dirk was with them.  They unlocked the padlock on the door and pulled it open.  "Get out here."  Darcy and Tucker moved towards the door uncertainly.  They stopped Tucker.  "Not you, just your brother."

"Whatever my brother's fate is," said Tucker, "I'd perfer to stay with him."

"We're afraid that can't happen," they replied, slamming the door behind Darcy and locking Tucker back in the cage.

"Why not?" asked Tucker, his hands gripping the bars of the door.

"My orders," said Dirk shortly.

"At least tell me what's happening to him," said Tucker frantically.

"We're turning him over to the government."

Darcy, who was listlessly standing as the men handcuffed him, went stiff and looked up with horror.

Tucker leaned against the bars.  "No.  Please, no."  At least send me with him, Dirk!"

"Out of the question.."

Tucker fumbled for words, finally whispering, "Why?"

"I have no love for the government, Tucker.  You and your brother are valuble prisoners, and the government is offering huge rewards for you both."

"Then turn me in with Darcy!  It will benifit you greatly!"

Darcy made a couple of choaking noises and dropped his head, ashamed of the tears that were tracking their way down his cheeks at his brother's desperate words.

"No, Tucker, you will remain here," said Dirk.

"It would be far more advantagous for you to turn us both in.  You wouldn't have to risk having me here while the government is looking for me, and you could get an enormous amount of reward money.  Besides the Resistence is looking for me as well.  They'll just be something else to worry about if you keep me around.  They'll be less likely to go after you in I'm not here."

"Darcy goes alone," said Dirk firmly.

"They'll send him to government schools!  He'll become another brainswashed kid if I'm not there to give him support!"

"Your loyalty to your brother is noble," said Dirk, "but my order stands.  Anything you want to tell Darcy before he goes?"

Tucker turned his eyes to his frightened younger brother who, at this moment, looked like a very small child.  "Darcy," he said, fighting his emotions, "Don't ever forget.  Mom and Dad taught us alot; remember it.  Don't give up, whatever you do.  I'll come for you, somehow, or I'll send someone.  I won't leave you there.  Somehow, things will come out right."

"You think?" said Darcy.

"I know.  Don't lose hope, brother.  It, faith, and love are all we have now."

"I..." Darcy lost control.  His eyes became wide, frightened, and trusting.  It was an odd expression for him, as he usually tried to maintain a tough exterior.  "Tucker, will it all work out?  Will everything be okay again?"

"Yes."  They were pulling Darcy backwards now, and the younger boy's eyes locked on his brother's.  "Hang on, Darcy!  Don't let the government win you over!"

The group paused for a moment.  "Tucker," said Darcy, "if I never see you again, you should know that you've been the best older brother you could be, no matter what stupid things I've said about you before.  You've done alot for me.  I love you."  And then he was gone.

Tucker slid to the ground.  'I love you.'  Not the fuzzy kind of love you saw in the movies, but the love between siblings, brothers.  A strong love.  "I'll get you away from the government, Darcy," Tucker vowed.  "Even if it's the last thing I do."

Dec. 3, 2008 - Chapter Three

Tucker and Darcy crept through the dark streets that night.  At last they could see the steeple of the desecrated church.  The boundries of Three-fold Parish were deffinate: barbed wire, rubbish, dead animals and possibly people.  Tucker and Darcy took a deep breath and walked openly down the street, past shattered windows and bullet-pocked walls.

They were abruptly surrounded as soon as they had gone a hundred yards into the Parish.  "What's this?" hissed the masked, gun-wielding gangsters.  "Two chickens begging to be plucked?  Hands up!'

Tucker and Darcy obediently threw their hands up as their pockets were searched.

"Nuttin' but a quarter?  Where you come from?"

"South side of town," said Tucker.

"That so?  What you doing here?"

"Our home is gone."

"You run foul of the government?"

"Maybe," said Tucker carefully.

"Hu."  The gangster who had questioned them waved his gun at Darcy.  "Hand me that backpack you got, kid."  The gangsters went through the backpack and found nothing but some clothes, two blankets, and Tucker's Bible.  "You a Christian?"

"Yes," Tucker told them, half expecting a bullet between his eyes.

"Eh.  You ain't so bad, so long as you don't start preachifying."  He shoved everything back into the backpack and pushed it back to them.  "Keep your hands up and come with me.  Yes, you can take your backpack.  Move it!"

Tucker's arms were sore, so he rested both hands on his head, as did Darcy.  The gangsters made to protest, only prodded them along with their gun barrels.  The entered a house and went to what had been the living room, where the gang leader sat.  "Who are you?" he asked, barely visible in the dim light.

Tucker drew breath to reply, but Darcy bumped an elbow against him, and he stopped short, saying nothing.

"Silence speaks," said the leader.  "Silence screams.  you've gotten on the wrong side of those in high places, haven't you?"

Tucker said nothing.  He didn't know whom he could trust and though his silence spoke loudly, he could still keep the gangsters guessing.

"We are no friends of the government here, boy.  Speak."

"I am Tucker and this is Darcy.  Our last names are our own."

"You may call me Dirk.  My gang is the most prominate in the Parish.  You are Tucker Smith, aged seventeen, eighteen April the 13th.  This is your brother, Darcy, aged fourteen, fifteen this November the 18th.  You have a sister, Angela, aged 16 as of the 9th of this month, August.  Where is she?"

"With friends," said Tucker vaugely.

"I see."  Dirk reached over and scanned more information on his laptop.  "Your parents were conductors on the New Underground."

"You know too much," said Darcy.

Dirk laughed shortly.  "Perhaps so."  He seemed more like a mercanary from an adventure story than a gangster.

"So you know who we are," said Tucker, shifting his hands on top of his head.  "Now what?"

"I decide what to do with you.  Take them to the basement."

Tucker and Darcy were shoved down a hallway.  Their guard unlocked a door, and they went down a steep flight of stairs.  There was a large cage sitting next to the wall, and the brothers were uncerimoniously pushed into it.  The door was padlocked and they were left alone in the dark.

"Is this a good thing or a bad thing?" asked Darcy.  "We're locked in a cage in a basement that reminds me of a dungeon."

"Well," said Tucker, "We've a roof over our heads."

"There's nothing to eat or drink."

"We're alive."

"For God only knows how much longer," said Darcy darkly.

"The government doesn't have us."

"Yet."

"God has us."

"Very true.  You have a sturdy faith, Tucker."

Tucker shook his head.  "I struggle all the time.  I've given myself to God, but my heart is an unrulely servant."

"I never would have guessed that," said Darcy honestly.

"Most people don't."

They sat in silence for a long time.  At last a flashlight beam penetrated the pitch darkness.  someone shoved a package of granola bars through the bars, along with two bottles of water.  "Dirk says you can have a couple of candles and some matches if you want them," said the man after Tucker thanked him for the food. 

"Some light would be nice," said Tucker.

The man left and returned with two candles and a box of matches.  The brother did not light them that night but went to sleep instead, trying not to think of the unsavoury things that crept around basements.

When Darcy awoke the next morning, the candle was lit.  Tucker lay beside it, a blanket over him, the Bible open near his head.  Dacry leaned over to blow out the candle, for Tucker was asleep.  As he did so, his eyes fell on the Bible.  The open pages had been browned by much handling, and they were wrinkled.  Touching them, Darcy realized that they were damp.  How many times has Tucker wept over this passage? Darcy wondered.  His brother lay limply on the floor, as if drained of all energy.  Darcy looked down at his older brother, wondering if this was normal.  Did Tucker struggle this much?  If he did, how did he constantly find this place of total surrender?  Darcy picked up the Bible and began to read the passage:

O Lord, you know;

     remember me and visit me,

     and bring down retribution for me on

          my persecutiors...

Your words were found, and I ate them,

     and your words became to me a joy

     and the delight of my heart....

Why is my pain unceasing,

     my wound incurable,

     refusing to be healed....

If you turn back, I will take you back,

     and you shall stand before me...

And I will make you to this people

     a fortified wall of bronze;

they will fight against you,

     but they shall not prevail over you,

for I am with you

     to save you and deliver you,

                                               says the Lord.

I will deliver you out of the hand of the

          wicked,

     and redeem you from the grasp of the

          ruthless.

The passage from Jeremiah 15 was cross-referenced to 2 Corinthians 4.

We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; preplexed, but not driven to dispair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; alwas carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may be made visible in our bodies...

For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure, because we look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal.

Darcy traced a finger over the words, feeling like they were fitting to the times and their situation.  He felt he better understood Tucker's faith as well.  Setting the Bible down, Darcy blew out the candle.

Some time later that day, Dirk came to see them.  Tucker and Darcy were fixed in a bright beam of light as Dirk began to pace.

"You leave me with a delima," he said.  "I could easily hand you over to the government and be paid very well for such services.  Or I could not hand you over and have the satisfaction of witholding two valuble prisoners from the government.  Both are tantilizing options."

Tucker and Darcy look at each other, blinking in the glaring light and wondering what to do.

"The last prisoners I had begged for mercy.  It was very amusing.  But I, somehow, would not put begging past you two."

Neither of the boys spoke.

"It's a tatic of your's, being quiet," said Dirk suddenly.  'You sit there with your mouth shut and your ears gaping, picking up every tidpit of information."

Still the two boys did not speak.

"Now I'm running off at the mouth," muttered Dirk.  He paced silently for a while.  Darcy shifted about impatiently, glaring at Tucker, who sat peacefully, hands resting on his knees, for he sat crosslegged.  His eyes were closed, and he appeared altogether unconcerned.  Dirk watched Tucker with an appraising eye.  He had been told by the guard that Tucker had been crying and had thought that the boy was afraid.  Tucker seemed in control of himself now, however, if he had ever been afraid at all.  Watching the composed youth, Dirk decided that if Tucker was capable of fear, he would go a long time without showing it.  "Tell me, Tucker Smith," said Dirk, "What would you do in my place?"

Tucker opened his eyes.  "I would not give the government ground."

"You would shield two important fugatives?"

"Yes, sir."

"You ask me to put myself at risk to save you and your brother's skins?"

"There are many ways to shield a person, and besides, you are Dirk," said Tucker, trying some flattery.

"So?" Dirk demanded.

"Even the government would find it hard to deal with you, I think."

Darcy, ever the realist, snorted.  Tucker kicked him.  Tucker knew that he himself was not a diplomat, and Darcy was even less of a diplomat than Tucker.

Dirk turned to go, then stopped.  "Are you two uncomfortable in there?"

Not certain how the question was meant, the brothers did not speak.

Dirk understood easily and rephrased the question.  "Do you need anything?"

"No, sir," said Tucker.

"Do you want anything?"

"Nothing that any human could get us," Darcy muttered darkly.

Dirk paused a moment, then said: "I'll have my men bring you pallets, as well as food and water at regular intervals."  He left, and the light trained on Tucker and Darcy went off.

"What kind of man is that?" asked Darcy.  "He locks us in a cage like animals, then asked if we are comfortable.  Getting an essentially neutral reply, he orders some slight comforts to be brought to us.  I don't understand it!"

"He's not all bad," said Tucker, "but he's not all good either."

Nov. 29, 2008 - Chapter Two

Mr. Smith became a conductor.  Sometimes he got kids from his contact, other times they showed up on the 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.

Now Tucker, Angela, and Darcy had to hide.  If it was discovered that they did not attend a government school, the would lose all freedom and most likely betray their parent's operation.  But, even with all their precaucions, they were found out.  The siblings were rushed downstairs as the government car pulled up and huddled together in the basement's hidden compartment, praying.  With horror, they realized that the house was being burned down around them.  Flat on the concrete floor, Tucker begged the Lord to spare them from being burnned alive, and his terrified siblings joined in his pleas.

Their request was granted, and their haven was not damaged.  They emerged into the ashes of their home that night.  There was almost nothing left of the house.  Angela sobbed bitterly, leaning on her brothers, who carried a sack holding the few belongings they had grabbed during their flight to the basement.

Miserable and unable to grasp the agony that was engulfing their lives, they went to Mr. Thomas, one of their father's two contacts; the only of the two they knew how to find, in fact.  The other contact was known only as Jonesy, and they had seen him but once in a dark alley.  Mr. Thomas was a step back on the New Underground, but he could offer them help and perhaps some clues to help them find Jonesy.

Mr. Thomas lovingly welcomed the three new refugees into his home.  "You're a step back on the line kids," he told them kindly as they ate a hot meal.

"We know," said Darcy.  "We don't know how to contact Jonesy."

"We hoped that you could help us," said Angela.

"In that case," said Mr. Thomas, "I have good and bad news for you.  The code is a four line poem.  The first contact says the first two lines, and the second contact responds with the last two.  Jonesy would meet your father at the open-air market when the supply trains would come in.   All that is the good news.  The bad news is this:  I only remember the first line of the poem you need."

"What is it?" the siblings demanded.

" 'Difficult cargo, it takes its time.'  That's it."

"Well," said Tucker, ever the optimist, "it's a start."

Mrs. Thomas looked very sober.  "You can't just find it for your own safety.  There is now a hole in the New Underground that must be patched."

"You are the ones to do this," said Mr. Thomas.

"I'm not a heroine," said Angela.  "I can't be!  I don't look-"

"So what if you are as tall as Tucker and I?" asked Darcy.  "Do you honestly think we care?"

Angela looked down.  She did not have Tucker's good looks or Darcy's brilliant mind.  as a matter of fact, she wasn't sure what she had.  Self-esteem had always been an issure for her.  Her brothers took her hands, and she couldn't meet their eyes. They cared for her, that she knew, and she knew that they loved her no matter what.  Her oppinion of herself seemed selfish in this light, but she was still unalble to break the threads of self-rejection.

They spent the night in a secret room in the attic, relating all the more to the children they had sheltered.

"We can't stay here," said Tucker the next morning.

"You are most welcome in our home, dears," said Mrs. Thomas.

"But we're putting you in danger," Tucker protested.

"The government will try to hunt us down," said Darcy.  "There's already one hole in the New Underground; we can't risk another.  We'll go to Three-fold Parish."

Three-fold Parish was the name of a community centered around a small church building.  It had been sacked months ago and was now a hideout for gangsters, black market dealers, and other riff-raff.

"Three-fold Parish?" said Mr. Thomas.  "That's a dangerous place!"

"At least there are no friends of the government there," said Tucker.

"Forgetting the spies," said Angela.

"Well, yeah," Tucker allowed.

Darcy shook his head.  "We have reason to believe that government higher-ups are working with some of the dealers, so there won't be many spies.  The ones that are there will turn a blind eye to alot of things."

Angela squirmed.  She didn't want to go to Three-fold Parish.  The place frightened her.

"But what of Angela?" asked Mrs. Thomas.  "You know the kind of girls that haunt the Parish!  It wouldn't do for her to be thought of as one of them."

"No," said Tucker, "but..we don't want to put you in danger!"

"We'll keep your sister here, then," said Mrs. Thomas.  "One child will be easy to hide, and she'll be safe."

Darcy and Tucker looked at each other, then nodded.  They didn't want to be seperated, but this was their best option.

Nov. 25, 2008 - Chapter One

Freedom.  So desired, so costly, so easily lost or thrown away.

Tucker knelt on the foor, weeping.  There was nowhere to hide from what had happened to his country, though he wished 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.  At seventeen, 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.  He fumbled for his Bible.

"...and lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world."

The tears fell on the page as he continued to weep.

Many would have seen Tucker's tendency to throw himself on God as a weakness, an inability to stand on his own two feet.  But Tucker did not expect the government to take care of him; he trusted that God would look after him better than any government.  He still struggled, however, 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 his 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.

Angela wrote in her journal and battled with herslef for the millionth time, feeling that she wasn't good enough.

"Man judges by outward appearances, but the Lord looks at the heart." 

The sound of crying came throug the wall from her older brother Tucker's room.  "If ever there was a good heart,' she said to herself, thinking of her brother.  Suddenly, her rediculously tall height and sense of unimportance becan to fade as she realized that God wanted her devotion, not a classically built girl.  She wondered if Tucker hadn't just laid her at her Lord's feet.  It felt like it.  She looked upwards as she lay on her bed and knew that she was loved, no matter what.

Darcy laid aside the gagets absently, for the tech objects he fiddled with were no help.  Not now.  Not with what had happened.  He began to whisper a Pslam he had memorized, and it flowed into a prayer for mercy and guidence.  Falling to his knees, he slowly lifted his hands and joined hearts with his older brother and sister.

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

"It's happened," said Mr. Smith.  "Gun control."  He sighed.  "We know what will follow the people being disarmed.  I've been asked to be a conducter on the New Underground Railroad.  Starting with all children seventeen and under, we're evacuating families to secret bases that have been formed.  The Resistance is about to start in full force."

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

"I said we'd pray about it."

And so, together, the family gave their troubles to God and prayed for strength.  The world they had known slowly crumbled as they clung to the One who was, is and ever will be, drawing their hope from his words.  Shots rang through the streets, but they did not fear, not now, not while they were under the Lord's wings.

Nov. 24, 2008 - Prolouge

To see what may happen is a strange thing.  You never know if you preceptions are right.  Even stranger is seeing what may happen happen and knowing that you saw it coming.  This book is a warning, albeit a late one.  I should have written it long ago.  It is of what may happen in the future.  Because of this, I will disclose few locations; if there is ever a Resistance that needs them, I do not want this book to betray their safety.

I pray God that what I write never takes place, but the will of the Lord be done.  He reigns now and for always.  Amen