When Nick’s luck deserted him, it ran away like a scalded dog. A fist slammed into his ribs, reminding him how far that dog had run. Nick sagged under the blow. Rough hands hoisted him up by armpits and forced him to stagger forward. Nick’s hands were cuffed behind his back, steel biting into his wrists. His feet wobbled while harsh voices echoed off the dark walls. He tried to remember why blood was running into his eyes.

“Knock that shit off. You keep beating him, we’ll have to drag this meat to the cells.”

“Why bother? I say shoot him in the head. Nobody cares if he dies now or later.”

“We follow orders and toss him in the cell. Don’t make trouble. You can kill him later.”

The angry guard grabbed a handful of Nick’s hair and wrenched his head back. Nick felt the guard’s hot breath on his ear.

“Listen, you. Walk like a man, or I beat you to death right here.”

The rough fingers released his hair. Nick struggled to hold his head up. Another voice spoke.

“He’ll do it, Mate. Best walk if you can.”

Nick blinked at the blood trickling into his eyes. He willed his shaky feet to stagger down the stinking corridor, splashing through puddles of oily water. Far down the echoing tunnel, a pool of light glowed in the darkness. Pain shot up his legs, up his spine. The pain screamed in his aching skull.

You had to play the pathetic hero, didn’t you? You broke their rules and your rules. Now you’re paying for it. You’re going to die here. And for what? You barely knew the woman’s name.

Until yesterday, Nick was nobody, a ghost in the shadows. Keep your head down, don’t make waves. Say nothing and no one hears you. Make yourself invisible to everyone, especially the goons.

Keeping a low profile was an essential survival tool in the new Federated American States. Sink under the surface. Blend in. Obey every rule. Go to the meetings. Do as you’re told. It wasn’t much different from his old life.

Nick’s jangled thoughts were cut short. The goons let go of him and Nick fell to the floor. Rough concrete gouged his knees, then scraped his cheekbone. Nick blinked at the harsh light. He saw the steel bars of a cell. Shadowed figures behind the bars. He heard the rasping of steel against steel, saw the cell door sliding.

The angry guard barked at the shadows.

“You monkeys stay back.”

The goons threw Nick into the cell. A knee crushed his back, pinning him.

Handcuffs clicked loose.

Nick’s bloodless arms fell to his sides, numb and useless. The knee lifted from his back. As Nick gasped for breath, a boot slammed into his ribs. The force of the kick rolled Nick over onto his back. The goon’s face hovered above him, huge and leering.

“I’ll be back, Sweetheart. Then we can clean up our unfinished business.”

The laughing goon stepped out of the cell. The door clanged shut. The goons disappeared into the darkness. The sound of their splashing boots was the last thing Nick heard before blackness took him.

*     *     *
Nick lay on a beach. The sand felt warm against his back. He heard waves lapping the shore. He wanted to sleep, but tropical birds dropped out of the casuarina trees. The stupid birds pinched and pecked. Nick blinked against the glare of the sun. The bird faces wavered into men. The salt smell of the ocean and feathers gave way to the stench of unwashed bodies and shit.

A brown face swam into Nick’s wavering vision. Stern brown eyes peered down from above a black beard shot with gray.

“White man, can you hear me?”

Nick managed a feeble nod.

“Lift him.”

Strong hands held his arms, his neck, and his head. They hoisted him and sat him on a steel bench. The bearded man leaned in, his sharp eyes gleaming. Nick felt the supporting hands disappear. He wavered but stayed upright.

The brown man held him at the wrist, then pushed up the sleeve of Nick’s gray blouse, exposing Nick’s pale forearm.

“He is unbranded. One from the Inside. Guard your words.”

The bearded man pulled down Nick’s sleeve and released him.

“We do not deal with Insiders. If you are a spy, we will kill you. Even if you are not a spy, you may die today. Still, I will do for you what I can, while I can. The goons will return as soon as the bosses decide your fate. If they lead you to the right, they are taking you to the wall. Then you must pray to whatever god you hold sacred. If the guards lead you left, back the way you came, perhaps we will see you again. I have no more to say.”

The man rose and walked into the shadows. Five other men followed, leaving Nick to stare through steel bars.

He heard their whispered voices. He heard drops of water falling to the floor, a silver sound measuring out the time he had left. Fear coursed up his spine. He did not want to die, not now, not like this. Then came quiet footsteps. A lean Black man sat down beside him.

“They’ll be coming for you. Listen. A stranger helped me once. Different place, different cell, but still. I owe a debt, so now I pay it.”

The man pointed to the darkness of the corridor.

“These goons aren’t men. They’re animals. You understand? No matter where they take you, you gotta walk strong. You beg for mercy, they’ll just make the pain last longer. They enjoy it. You stay proud and silent, it makes them mad. They’ll finish the business quicker. Quicker is better.”

As if drawn by the man’s words, heavy boots echoed in the corridor. The Black man vanished. The goons appeared at the bars. The older one spoke, his voice tired and hard.

“New man, stand up. Hands behind your head. Walk back to the bars.”

Nick did as he was told. He felt steel against his back, and fear in his spine. His guts clenched.

The door grated open. The angry goon bent Nick’s arms behind his back, cuffed his bloody wrists, then dragged him into the corridor.

“Hello, Sweetheart. I’m back.”

The older guard hauled the door shut and locked it.

“Move. They’re waiting.”

The goons turned to the left. The angry guard shoved Nick from behind.

“You heard him. Walk, Sweetheart.”

*     *     *
Two hours later, the goons marched Nick back to the cell. No longer numb, his forearms felt as if they were on fire. The pain seared into his chest, etched each nerve ending in flame. None of that mattered. He was alive.

The cell door grated open. The younger goon uncuffed Nick’s wrists and shoved him inside. Nick stumbled but stayed on his feet. The door clanged shut and the goons splashed away.

He walked to the bench and eased himself down, resting his arms palms up on the stamped metal table. Six men materialized from the shadows and seated themselves without a word. The bearded man faced Nick across the table.

“Show me your forearms.”

Gingerly, Nick raised the sleeves of his blouse. Thick red welts rose from his exposed flesh. Red-hot iron had seared the skin an angry crimson. A black crust formed over the oozing burns. The welts formed a symbol. Three bars running up his forearm, the center bar shorter than the bars to either side.

“Do you know this brand?”

Nick shook his head, wincing at the pain.

“This is Xi, the fourteenth letter of the Greek alphabet. The first letter in the word Xénos, which means outsider, as in xenophobic. Xenophobia is the guiding principle for these barbarians. You are now branded as we are.”

Silently, each man raised his sleeves, revealing matching scars. The white scar tissue contrasted with the black, brown, and tan of their skin.

“What is your name, White man?”

“My name is Nick, Nick…”

The bearded man silenced Nick with a raised hand.

“We do not use family names. They have no value. Nick is not a suitable name for an honorable man. Henceforth you will be known as Nikolas. I am called Razan. Welcome to the Outside, Nikolas. May you live to be useful.”

Razan gestured to the others. They held their hands before them as if holding an imaginary bowl. Their voices intoned the same greeting.

“Welcome, Nikolas, may you live to be useful.”

Their chanted words sent a chill down his spine, despite the searing heat from his burnt flesh. What bizarre world had he fallen into? Who were these people?

Razan spoke again.

“Thus, we acknowledge one another. Individually, we are as nothing. But gathering our nothingness together, as in a bowl, we become something. We become strong. This you will learn.

“I’m sure you have questions. It will save time if I tell you what to expect. Then we can find out who you are. Time is short. This place is a holding facility. The animals will soon move us back to the camps. Shall I continue?”

Nikolas nodded. Razan spoke, his words weaving an all too familiar history.

In hindsight, the animals made subjugating a nation look easy. Rich White men put a clown in the spotlight, a distraction while they worked in the shadows. The new president was a buffoon, a yapping lapdog. When they were ready, the rich men murdered their pet. Blame fell on the Brown folk, as it always will.

A new leader emerged. He was not a buffoon. This man declared a state of emergency and unleashed the new army. The thugs renamed the country. Then came the roundups.

This new regime had no use for Muslims, nor any people of color, or anyone they considered outsiders. The outsiders were slow to fight back, and thus they were taken. Razan found himself a prisoner, scooped up in the first wave.

The animals already held the strings of power before their coup. Unlike the outsiders they hunted, the goons did not hesitate. The new bosses arrested every member of the House of Representatives. The Senate was purged. Congress became a rubber stamp for harsh new edicts.

Paramilitary squads rounded up anyone who dared to raise their voice against the regime. In a matter of months, the bosses had what they wanted: A White America ruled by White Americans. They formed the Army of the Heartland, sealed the borders, and the thing was done. The United States of America ceased to exist, replaced by the Federated States of America. World leaders condemned the FAS, but their protestations were all bark and no bite.

Then came civil war, what the Whites called the Mongrel War. The people fought bravely, but they were too weak to defeat the Army of the Heartland. Some soldiers deserted, not all of them brown and black. They joined the people, but they were slaughtered with the rest. Rifles are no match against drones and tanks and laser-guided missiles.

Razan shook his head, remembering.

“Four years I have been caged in their filthy camps. But you, Nikolas, tell us your story. How did a White man land himself on the Outside?”

Nikolas looked down at the table. He did not want these men to know what a fool he was, but somehow, he could not lie.

“I was absent from a mandatory community meeting.”

The men stared at Nikolas. The lean black man held up his hand, palm outward. Razan nodded.

“Nikolas, this is Thomas. Speak, Brother.”

“Did you miss the meeting, or did you deliberately not attend?”

“I didn’t go. They were going to cane a woman I knew. I was sure they’d call on me to beat her. I just couldn’t do it.”

“Knowing exactly what would happen to you, you chose not to go to the meeting. Is that right?”

“Yeah, that’s how it happened.”

The man named Thomas paused as if weighing his words.

“I mean no offense, but while I see bravery in your actions, I also see stupidity.”

“No offense taken. I can’t explain it. I never fought back, no protests, nothing. I was a mouse, kept my head down, did my job. A good little cog in the gears, never making any noise. But the thought of caning that poor woman in front of everyone broke something in me. So, I hid out. Then they found me.”

“Listen to me, Nikolas. You get called out to cane someone in the camps, you step up and do it. Lay it on hard enough to look real and try not to kill the poor bastard. Otherwise, you end up a dead hero. Dead heroes are useless.”

Razan held up a hand.

“Yes, Brother Razan.”

“Nikolas will learn a great many lessons. The most important is learning how he can be useful. What did you do on the Inside?”

“I processed data. Compiled lists of people, their addresses, where they worked, how they voted, simple computer stuff.”

“Was this your work before the FAS?”

“No, back in the old days I was a white hat.”

“I am not familiar with the term. What is a white hat?”

“I was a computer hacker, but one of the good guys. In the trade, we were called white hats. The bad guys were the black hats. When security folks wanted to find vulnerabilities in a computer network, they hired white hats to hack the system.”

There was a long pause before Razan spoke.

“I will tell you two things. If you are spying for these animals, we will find out, and we will kill you. Please have no doubts about that. Second, I think I know how you can become useful.”

Razan extended his hands as if holding a large bowl. The other five men did the same. As one voice, they spoke three sentences.

“May you live to be useful.”

“May you be useful.”

“May your death be useful.”

*     *     *
Half a year slipped past as Nikolas learned how to survive in the camp. He worked on the pig farm he had been assigned to. He endured the stench and noise of the pigs. Nikolas came to know their constant hunger and the danger of falling into their pens. Nights he spent in the crowded barracks. He had not seen Razan, or the others, since the day he was processed into the camp.

Razan’s words stayed with him. As his branded flesh healed to ropey scars, Nikolas learned that he was no longer a mouse. He traded quiet fear for silent observation and patience.

He observed his fellow inmates. Despair was the quickest way out of the camps. When an inmate stopped eating or succumbed to the filth of the place, Nikolas knew that he would soon feed another body to the pigs.

Debauchery was the middle path. Tobacco, coffee, sugar, and sex were hard currencies. Contraband flowed freely between both the inmates and the guards. Illicit trade at night was far brisker than any labor during the day.

Defiance was the third path, almost invisible to the untrained eye. As Nikolas began to see, he became aware of the others. He saw the useful men scattered amongst the inmates. They moved through the camp like ghosts, in ways he could not. Their impassive faces did not meet his eyes, yet they were always there. Nikolas realized he was being watched.

Serving out his silent probation, Nikolas listened to the other inmates. He listened to the talk of the barracks, and he listened to the guards. The more he listened, the more he learned the structure of the camps.

The camps were meant to be a unified system, but that was a myth believed by no one except the regime’s propaganda machine. Millions of people had been transported from the cities. Their purpose was to farm, tend livestock, work in the mines. They served as cheap labor for the bosses.

New camps sprang up. The system devolved into feudalism, with the bosses acting as lairds. They guarded their fiefdoms, consolidated their power, and paid lip service to the regime. The plantation culture of the Antebellum south had risen again. Greed was the engine that drove it.

Camp life was grim for men but far worse for women. Families were broken apart, and children shipped to youth camps. Young women deemed attractive were forced into the sex trade. The rest ended up in segregated labor camps, or the kitchens and laundries. Women and girls were under constant threat from anyone in power, male or female.

There was another world outside the camps. Guerrilla fighters occupied the contested zones, holdouts from the Mongrel War. They fought and died in the mountains of the West or the swamps of the Southeast. The guerrillas bribed their way in and out of the camps. Greed and chaos paved their path. They recuperated, recruited new soldiers, then disappeared once more to die in lopsided battles.

*     *     *
Winter passed into spring, bringing heat and humidity to the Midwest. The stench of the pig farm rose with the warmer weather.

Nikolas was at the washing trough, scrubbing at the accumulated filth of his workday. As he washed away the grime, he guarded his sliver of soap, a commodity more precious than tobacco. Splashing water over his head, he sensed the presence of another. He spun to the side, his dripping hands raised to fight. Water ran from his hair into his eyes.

A lean black man stood one long pace away, hands interlocked at his waist.

“Greetings, Brother Nikolas.”

Nikolas straightened and wiped the water from his eyes.

“Greetings, Brother Thomas. You are well?”

“I am well. Brother Razan sends his regards.”

Nikolas nodded. He met Thomas’ eyes and held them.

“You have done well, Nikolas. I am glad to see you’ve survived. That is not the message, but I am glad to find you alive. It is no small thing.”

“I’m glad to see you as well, Thomas. What is your message?”

Thomas scanned the area before he spoke.

“A guide will come for you tonight, after the evening meal and before lights out. You will be near your bunk and ready. Do not move without your guide. That would be very dangerous.”

“Brother, how do the guides get past the guards?”

“This is not time for discussion. Greed and bribes, that’s the short answer. You will learn more, but not now.”

Nikolas nodded.

“Then fare well, Brother. May you be useful.”

Thomas walked away without a backward glance. Nikolas watched Thomas disappear around the corner of a ramshackle farm shed. Retrieving his precious soap, Nikolas turned back to the trough and resumed scrubbing himself.

*     *     *
Nicolas sipped the coffee, real coffee served in a clean mug. Long-forgotten memories flooded his mind. He forced his focus back to the table and the present moment. Three other men sat around the small wooden table, Razan was on his right, Thomas at his left. A small Asian man sat opposite Nikolas. Razan had introduced him as The Elephant. Another man stood at the door of the shack holding a shotgun in the crook of his arm. Four men who could move through the camp as if they were invisible.

The Elephant resumed the conversation.

“Our current situation is similar to the Chinese government when I was a young man. The goons want to filter Internet traffic. The bosses are addicted to social media. It is a propaganda tool they are very fond of. This gives us an opportunity. They haven’t shut down the Internet. In their arrogance, they think they can control it. Unfortunately for us, they do control it to a large degree. This makes it very dangerous for us to infiltrate their network and get our messages to the outside world.

“The camps compete with each other. Our jailers are greedy and that is useful. Bribes allow us to move about the camp, but not into their computers. How do we access their networks without getting our people killed in the process?”

Nikolas willed his mind to be calm. The others watched him in silence. He chose his words before he spoke.

“The problem is not accessing the FAS network. The real problem is surveillance further up the chain. It’s a certainty that they have Internet security people monitoring traffic from the camps. Because their watchdogs know where to look, rogue signals are easy to find.”

The Elephant raised his hand. Nikolas stopped speaking and nodded.

“Then, to use an old phrase, they are looking for a needle, but in a small haystack.”

Nikolas did not speak until the man nodded his head. He turned the problem over in his mind, looking for a solution. There was a way, and he saw it.

In the old days, hackers installed malware or tricked network users without attracting attention. The web was an enormous system, with millions of servers to hide behind. But now the thugs had narrowed the playing field.

The camp rebels used encrypted tunnel protocols to send information packets over the government’s network. And that was exactly what the security people were hunting for. The goons monitored emails from the camps. When they saw a government user sending encrypted data to an IP address outside the closed borders, alarm bells went off.

Nikolas explained all this, then looked across the table.

The Elephant remained still as a statue. Then he began to speak.

“Yes, Brother Nikolas, the alarm bells go off. Then the soldiers appear. They confiscate the infected computer, kill anyone they think is involved, and we are forced back to square one. Your thoughts would be welcome.”

He gestured across the table.

“I think your analogy of a haystack gives us the solution. They are looking for a single needle in a small haystack. That needle is our encrypted tunnel. If we increase the number of tunnels, we force them to look for more needles. We create decoy tunnels that lead nowhere. Their only purpose is to divert attention from our real tunnels.”

A chuckle broke the silence. Pinned down by the eyes of The Elephant, Thomas dropped his head. Then he held out his right hand, palm up.

“Brother Thomas, speak.”

“I apologize, Sir. A thought burst into my head. I did not mean to interrupt.”

The men were silent. The Elephant repeated his gesture to Thomas.

“Very well. As Brother Nikolas was speaking, I remembered an old movie about a group of men in a prison camp. They plan to escape using tunnels. To confuse the enemy, they dig multiple tunnels. If one is found, they have others. The thought made me laugh. I apologize for the interruption.”

The Elephant smiled.

“Of course, I remember this as well. The tunnels were named Tom, Dick, and Harry. Brother Nikolas, can this be done?”

His thoughts racing ahead, Nikolas realized it could work. He would target computers used by low-level bureaucrats in the camp administration. From there he could burrow into third-party accounts, the trucking and construction contractors that serviced the camps. Create tunnels inside of tunnels, all of them spreading the same message to the world beyond the borders of the Federated American States: Help Us!

All eyes were on him.

“Yes, it can be done. The tunnels will be harder to find, but the FAS will detect them eventually. When they do, the goons will still come.”

Nikolas waited for the other man to speak.

“Yes, the beasts will come, and then honorable men will die. I am called The Elephant because I refuse to forget the old ways. We must fight. Understand this, each of you. It is imperative that our message reaches the outside world. Others must know of our struggles. Only from the outside can we hope for aid. We cannot prevent the deaths of honorable men, but we can make their deaths useful. You will begin work on this. Razan and Thomas will guide you. I am done here.”

The Elephant rose from the table. The other men did the same. He held his hands in front of his chest.

“May you be useful, Brother Nikolas.”

Then he turned and walked to the door. The man with the shotgun followed him into the darkness.

*     *     *
Nikolas took up his new duties with a vengeance. The work gave his life purpose, and he took pride in it.

He worked every possible evening, anytime he could slip away without his absence being noticed. Razan or Thomas would guide him to the access point. He worked in basements and storage rooms, patching into the camp network by means of a contraband laptop.

Other nights, a well-placed bribe bought them an unlocked door or an open window. Then Nikolas worked inside the dingy offices of camp administrators, the sort of men who kept passwords under a coffee-stained blotter. This work was easier and faster, but far more dangerous.

Nikolas created a series of phishing emails, each designed to look like an official FAS communication. As the weeks passed, the work began to yield results. And as those results became tangible, the danger increased.

One midsummer evening, Razan and Nikolas sat in a dank cellar beneath an administration building. The connection to the camp network had gone dead.

“There’s nothing more I can do from here. The connection is gone. I am sorry, Brother Razan.”

The older man smiled.

“Tonight, it is just we two, Nikolas. We can dispense with the formalities. You have made great progress. Do not apologize.”

Razan lifted a rucksack from the dirt floor.

“We have some quiet time, a rare blessing these days. I have tea. Would you like some?”

“Yes, thank you Razan.”

Razan poured tea from a thermos into tin mugs. He handed one to Nikolas. The metal was hot against his hand.

“May I ask you something, Razan?”

“As you wish.”

“How did you and the others come to be in that holding cell? I have wondered about that. Were you taken from the camp?”

“An astute question. I wondered when you would ask. The answer is simple. We were on a mission to kill two particularly heinous guards. Luck was not with us. We were captured before we accomplished our task.”

“Why didn’t the goons kill you? Why send you to the holding cells?”

Razan sipped his tea before answering.

“In all forms of struggle, you must understand your enemy. The men that run these camps are very stupid and very greedy. That does not make them less dangerous. Quite the contrary. But understanding their stupidity and greed helps us deal with them. Bribes are the way we move about. Short-term gain is the only thing these animals understand.

“When we leave the camp, we carry alcohol and drugs. If we are caught, we plead the excuse of slipping away for a party, or to look for stray women. The guards understand this because it is constantly on their minds. So, they confiscate the drink and drugs, give us a beating to maintain appearances, then send us to the cells.”

“Then you did not kill the guards you were sent after?”

“No, not on that occasion.”

“Do you believe it does any good, killing guards or sending messages to the outside world?”

“Nikolas, our small works are part of a much greater whole. Our individual lives are of no importance. Yes, we may kill two guards and perhaps a few less of our people suffer. That is a small, good thing. We send messages into the world and more people know of our plight. That is another small, good thing. But spread those actions through the entire network of the camps, through the battles in the contested zones, and it stretches these animals to their limits. You and I will die and be forgotten, but our individual actions have consequences. These tyrants will fall. Tyrants always do. In the meantime, we must remember that while we do our small deeds. We recognize that when we speak the mantra.”

The two men drank their tea. Razan broke the silence with a question.

“Nikolas, did you have anyone left on the Inside when you were taken?”

He struggled to answer Razan’s question. Images flooded his mind, memories of a time before the stench of pigs. He thought of his clean apartment, of being able to shower when he wanted, eat when he was hungry. His life had been regular, regimented, and empty. Even if he could, he would never go back. These men in the camp, Razan, Thomas, and the others, were his family now.

“No, there was no one. My parents died before the takeover. I have a sister in Cleveland, but I lost contact with her after the travel restrictions were laid down. I never married. I went to work, went back to my empty apartment, and attended the community meetings.”

“What about the woman? You chose not to go to the meeting because of a woman. Or is that too personal a question?”

Nikolas shook his head, sipped at the lukewarm tea.

“No, that’s the ridiculous part. It wasn’t personal at all. I was infatuated with her, but no more than that. There were snitches everywhere, in the apartment building, in the meetings, in the shops. Everyone was being watched. She and I shared a few smiles between us, a few quiet words whispered at the bus stop. Her name was Clara. That’s all I knew about her, about her life. It was an empty fantasy.”

“Perhaps, but it does not make your actions less honorable. And now you have become a useful man.”

Nikolas paused, then asked the question.

“Razan, did you have people on the Inside?”

The man drank off the last of his tea. He examined the bottom of the empty mug.

“Yes, a great many people. Come, we need to be going.”

The men set back to the work at hand. Nikolas stashed the computer gear while Razan packed up the thermos and mugs. With a last check of the cellar, Razan picked up a pistol and slipped the weapon into his work jacket. Extinguishing the single overhead light, Razan crept through the darkness to the door. Nikolas followed.

*     *     *
The long Midwest autumn faded to winter. The evening air was sharp, carrying the promise of a hard frost before sunrise. Thomas and Nikolas slid through the shadows between the barracks, two ghosts moving fast and low. Laughter burst out in front of them. Thomas grabbed Nikolas by the shoulder and pulled him down into the shadows. Thomas pointed to a small dark opening at the base of the tarpaper wall beside them. Nikolas nodded and wormed his way into the blackness of the crawl space. Thomas followed. The two men pressed themselves to the cold earth, listening and waiting.

Nikolas felt the warm breath of a whisper in his ear.

“Something isn’t right, Brother. The guards aren’t supposed to be in this sector and there are too many of them for a normal patrol.”

“Maybe someone snitched on us.”

Nikolas rolled on his side, reaching a hand inside his jacket. He pulled a small notebook from a pocket. He felt for Thomas’ hand in the darkness, pressing the notebook into it.

“Thomas, we have to get this list to The Elephant. This is everything from the last three weeks. It’s the only copy. The list of all the solid tunnels, safe enough to send messages for months.”

Nikolas heard a chuckle in the blackness.

“What could possibly be funny, Thomas?”

“I was thinking how handy a real tunnel would be right now. Wouldn’t have to be Tom or Dick. We could call it Zelda. Yessir, I would crawl right into Zelda’s tunnel if it would get us out of here.”

Nikolas stifled a laugh and poked the other man with his fist.

“What would Razan say if the goons caught us under here, giggling like schoolboys?”

“Yeah, he’d be pissed for sure. Nikolas, you know what I did on the Inside?”

“No, what did you do?”

“I was a history professor, tenured and everything. Not bad for a Black kid from the projects.”

“Really?”

“Sho’nuf.”

“Stop that. That shit isn’t funny.”

“Lying here in the dark with a White man, a bunch of other White men trying to find us, I think that shit’s funny as hell. Let me ask you a question, Nikolas. You have any Black friends on the Inside?”

The question cut like a sharp knife.

“No, I didn’t. People I knew from work, but no one I could call a real friend. And I’m not proud of that.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I wasn’t any better. I knew White folk from the university, but I didn’t invite them to my home. It was the same with the Hispanics or Jewish folks on the faculty. We were all professional and cordial, but after classes, we went our separate ways.

“I taught my kids to be proud of who they were. There’s nothing wrong with that. But at the same time, I watched these powerful bastards driving wedges between people. Every warning sign was there, but I only saw the small picture. I was teaching history, but not seeing the history being repeated in front of my own eyes.”

“You gave it more thought than I did, Thomas. I was just keeping my head down, you know? A good little cog in the gears. Don’t make waves, don’t make noise. This stuff doesn’t concern me. That’s what I told myself, right up until that moment that I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Was she beautiful, that woman?”

“Matter of fact, she was. But now I can’t remember her face.”

“My wife was beautiful. Brought three children into this world, got more beautiful with each one.”

Nikolas felt his memories seeping into the cold earth beneath him. He heard Thomas’ steady breathing only inches away.

“Listen, we’re running out of time. I’ve got to be back in my bunk before bed check. You’ve got to get that notebook out of here.”

“And now you’re going to tell me you’ve got some sort of a plan.”

“Nothing fancy, just a simple diversion. I slip out and head for the barracks. I’ll knock over a trashcan or something. Make some noise. When you hear that, you head for the edge of camp.”

“Nikolas, the goons are out for blood tonight. Something has gone very wrong. Anyone they catch is in for more than a beating.”

“Right, so I make enough noise to attract their attention and then disappear. If my luck runs short, I can use the Razan trick. I’ll be a drunk inmate out looking for a bit of fun.”

“That only works if you have some booze to bribe them with, which we don’t.”

“Then I’ll have to play the white privilege card, throw out the secret handshake.”

“Now whose shit ain’t funny?”

“Let me steal the words of my best friend. Here I am, lying in the dark with a Black man, a bunch of White men trying to find us. I think that shit’s funny as hell.”

“That’s a damn shame, using my words like that.”

“I know it is.”

Nikolas reached through the darkness. He felt Thomas’ hand close over his, squeezing tight.

“I’m going now. Time for me to be useful.”

“Brother Nikolas, you are already a useful man.”

“Thank you, Brother Thomas. I’ll be seeing you soon.”

Thomas watched his friend crawl through the opening and disappear into the night.

*     *     *
Nikolas belly crawled across the cold earth. He peered through the small opening of the crawl space. The glow of the camp lights seemed far too bright. As he pushed himself outside, his hand fell on a loose brick lying in the dirt. Clutching the cold weight of it in his hand, he crouched against the wall of the building.

Scanning the narrow space between the barracks, Nikolas tried to get his bearings. When he was sure, he moved forward. Blood pounded in his ears. He heard the rough voices of guards and the crunch of boots on the gravel between the barracks.

Easy, take it easy. Get far enough away to give Thomas a chance, then make some noise. The goons will follow the racket, Thomas gets away, and you slip back into your bunk. But not yet, we’re still too close.

He crept to the corner of the first building and stopped. A wide graveled alley lay between himself and the next building. Taking a deep breath, he set out across the open space. The gravel crunched under his soles, loud and menacing, but there were no shouts of alarm. Nikolas hugged the side of the far building, moving fast and low. For the first time, he was glad the barracks lacked windows.

Another alley opened in front of him. On the other side of the alley, he saw what he was looking for. Two steel trash drums stood side by side. Nikolas sprinted now, heedless of the noise. Running straight at the steel drums, his foot lashed out. The kick sent the first drum clanging into the second. Both toppled to the ground with a metallic crash that rang into the night.

*     *     *
*     *     *
Lying on the cold dirt, Thomas counted away three minutes. He spent the time planning the swift death of whoever had betrayed them. Someone had snitched, and Thomas would make them bleed.

Reaching the end of his count, he slithered across the packed earth. His head emerged into the dim lights of the camp. His eyes searched from side to side, but nothing moved. There was no sound of the goons and no sign of his friend.

Thomas scrambled through the opening and onto his feet. Hunched low and moving fast, he reached the end of the building and crossed the first open space. He swerved to the far side of the next building, zigzagging his way toward the far side of the camp. As he passed the second barracks, a ringing crash broke the stillness. He sprinted across the open gravel and hid in the shadows, his ears strained for the sounds of pursuit.

Shouting voices replaced the clamor of falling metal. The shouts were answered by other angry shouts. For the space of a long breath, the night was still. Then the stillness was shattered by the booming shocks of gunfire, the echoing reports coming too fast to count. There was a pause in the echoes, then one final shot.

Thomas slumped to his knees, his hands limp in front of him. His chin sagged to his chest. For the space of five heartbeats, he remained still, as if frozen to the ground.

Alone in the darkness, Thomas raised his head. His back straight, shoulders no longer sagging, Thomas extended his hands. He held them before his body as if holding a large bowl. In a voice quiet as death, he intoned five words.

“May your death be useful.”

He dropped his hands to the cold ground and pushed himself upright. As a shadow amongst shadows, he ran, vanishing into the night.

*     *     *
Loud shouts followed the din of the fallen trash drums. The voices were close, coming out of the night from all directions. Nikolas swore under his breath and began running. Before he reached the next alley, he heard footsteps thudding on the gravel ahead. From behind came the voices of goons near the overturned trash cans. They were too close and coming too fast.

Nikolas skidded to a stop just short of the next open space. He could hear at least one guard closing fast. He threw himself against the building on the right, his back pressed to the tarpaper wall. In his left hand, he still held the brick he’d lifted from the cold ground outside the crawl space.

Sorry, Thomas, I guess I won’t be seeing you. But you’re going to escape, so at least one of us will make it. Meanwhile, these animals are about to find out just how useful I can be. Please, let this bastard come from the right, that’s all I ask.

He gripped the brick with splayed fingers, the weight of it like a hammerhead at the end of his arm. He raised his left arm into the night, his muscles tensed and ready. The running footfalls grew louder, and a dark figure careened around the corner. Nikolas swung the brick with all his strength.

The guard emerged from the shadows in the same instant the brick smashed into his face. For the space of one heartbeat, everything froze. The crunch of broken bone, the guard’s body suspended in mid-air, the shock of the blow pulsing between the living and the dying. Then the dead guard thumped to the ground and Nikolas began to run.

The night erupted into a cacophony of thunderous gunshots. Angry hornets buzzed past his head. Something slammed into the small of his back, and he sprawled forward onto the gravel.

As he fell to the ground with a bullet in his back, Nikolas saw his parents’ front porch in summer on an afternoon heavy with thunderstorms. His parents sat side by side in their rockers. His sister was sitting beside him on the glider, her head leaning on his shoulder. They were all together, safe under the eaves of the old porch, watching the gathering storm.

Then a huge bolt of lightning flashed, and everything vanished.